Emilie Lagarde caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and liked what she saw. Dark-haired, slender, she was a classic example of Parisian chic- and devilishly sexy with it. Nineteen years old, she had just finished her first year at the Sorbonne, studying law more for the cachet of the degree than as a career prospect- for she knew she could rely on her wealthy industrialist father to keep paying his only child's way indefinitely. The guarantee of future inherited wealth meant that Emilie was free to spend her spare time living a life of luxury. Which was just as well, considering her expensive love of shopping, and devotion to pleasure seeking in all its forms. Her teenage years had been spent at a string of the finest private schools money could buy, and she had taken full advantage of the education on offer. The other characteristic of her adolescence had been sexual experimentation, with either, an activity that Emilie had had no intention of relinquishing once she was at university. Though the days of the French aristocracy were long gone, the wealthy young heiress was perhaps as close as one could get to a modern day equivalent.
Her elegantly decorated flat was dimly lit, as Emilie soaked indulgently in the bath. She was looking forward to the evening ahead of her, a night out with her friend and occasional lover Marie was always enjoyable, and she was very much in the mood for going home with company. Reluctantly stepping out of the bath, she wrapped herself in a soft white towel, and walked through to her kitchen, ideas for possible outfits turning over in her mind. Pouring herself a glass of a slightly chilled Sancerre, Emilie leant against the kitchen counter and sipped contently. Marie wasn't expecting her to leave for another hour and a half, plenty of time for the appropriate preening to be done.
Walking back to her bedroom, she sat at her dressing table and applied subtle make-up, enough to accentuate her melting brown eyes, without losing the artful innocence that her coltish figure lent her. A few minutes attention to her lustrous chestnut brown hair and Emilie was ready to move to the far more important task of selecting her underwear. Poring through her capacious lingerie drawers, Emilie settled on a simple but classic lacy black bra with a matching thong. On a whim, she also picked out a pair of dark hold-up stockings, which she pulled carefully up her smooth, tanned legs. Stepping into the panties, she settle them about her hips, and turned to the full length mirror, smiling slightly as she saw the saucy young lady pouting back at her. Next she put on the soft brassiere, settling her pert little breasts into the cups, and ensuring the straps were smooth against her elegant shoulders. Satisfied with her choice of lingerie, Emilie proceeded to her walk-in closet to examine her dresses.
Leafing through the rail of expensive designer apparel, Emilie's eye was drawn to an old favourite of hers, a sleek silk mini-dress that would cling in all the right places, and show off her long legs to their fullest advantage. Scooping up a pair of elegantly understated heels to go with it, Emilie strutted back into her bedroom and slipped into the dress, carefully smoothing the material over her hips. She eased on her shoes, fastened them, then stood to admire the effect in the mirror. Emilie frowned slightly, sensing something missing. Opening the ornately carved wooden box on top her dressing table, she extracted a thin gold necklace, nothing too showy- just the final touch to set off the line of her swan-like neck.
Happy with her outfit, Emilie drained her glass of wine, and picked up her bag, extracting her mobile phone and calling a taxi. In between her call and its arrival, there was ample time for Emilie to enjoy another glass of wine; it was a slightly tipsy young lady who locked the door to her flat and sashayed downstairs to the waiting car. Settling herself in the back, she directed the driver to take her to the newly opened Bar Vingt et Un in the Latin Quarter, texting her friend Marie to inform her that she would be there shortly.
The darkness of evening had now entirely suffused the celebrated Parisian skyline, as her taxi cruised down the long boulevard Emilie began to feel imbued with the daring spirit that historically has so typified the Parisian nightlife.
**
The taxi pulled up outside the lively bar, and after generously tipping the driver Emilie swayed her way through the door and towards the bar, her sinuous glide attracting more than one admiring glance. Ordering a strong gin and tonic, Emilie leant against the bar, forcing her breasts into a small yet alluring display of cleavage for the benefit of the young barman. Her flirting was quickly curtailed by the arrival of Marie, a shorter curvier redhead with freckles and pleasingly pouting lips. Marie was a couple of years older, and had just begun work in public relations. Kissing her friend on the cheek to greet her, the two spent the next few minutes chatting at the bar, and cattily casting aspersions about the dress sense of much of the clientele. Emilie could be a terrible snob when it came to matters of fashion. She did however thoroughly approve of the emerald green sheath dress that Marie was sporting; the bare shoulders emphasising the positively gravity defying décolletage on display. Their conversation soon turned to sex as they slipped further towards inebriation.
"But chérie, you're surely not suggesting that Jean-Baptiste is as good a lover as another girl is, however sensitive his fingers are?", Emilie said. Marie tossed her auburn curls and smiled. "You must admit that a powerful man is quite an aphrodisiac. He aspires to political advancement, yet he's still in thrall to a silly little student like me. Amusant, non?"
