"I hope you don't mind me being forward like this," said Rebecca Lafitte, bending forward over the sofa where she had installed Elle. It was so lovely to see the nearly twenty year old, naturally blonde daughter of her good friend Andrea Lenoir sitting there in her party outfit β a simple midi skirt and blouse, that made her look even younger than her nineteen years.
She noted that young Elle was looking a trifle bemused, holding the dregs of her first or possibly second glass of champagne. Well young Miss Lenoir would not be driving anywhere that night Rebecca had determined some while before.
As such, Rebecca was not in the least reserved as she began to tip the magnum of champagne towards the young woman's glass as only a good hostess can do, holding only when the vessel was filled to the brim and the bottle was completely empty.
She noted how the young woman just sat there wide-eyed, watching the glass being filled up as if it were happening without the aid of Rebecca's pudgy hands. If Elle hadn't been wondering what had happened to the rest of the party, then it was quite possible that she could well have been holding her hand over her glass and paying more attention to Rebecca's unblinking, wolfish stare.
Elle was, however, quite fixated on the absence of other company. She only really became conscious of the proximity of her hostess when she saw Rebecca's shadow leaning over her and felt that first kiss. It was a feather light placed neatly on the young woman's slightly snub nose, as Rebecca pulled the neck of the bottle away; a whispering touch but Rebecca already knew it would be the first of many.
Elle sat there unsure whether to blush or to disregard this first advance. This was her best friend's mother for goodness sake! But Elle didn't want to offend, if only out of friendship for Shannon. She decided to play the ditzy card: slightly giggly, watching the bubbles rise and fall, wanting to look as happy as a princess with her newly replenished glass.
"Do you mind?" Rebecca repeated and leaned forward to put the bottle down, showing off her large cleavage.
"No, not at all," Elle looked up at her hostess and smiled groggily, wondering at the size of those dΓ©colletΓ© breasts. She touched her recently kissed nose and wrinkled it, before giggling again, continuing to play the ingΓ©nue: "I don't like backward people at all."
"What happens to them?"
"They get tongued with my lash," the young blonde grinned in appropriately ditzy fashion.
"A girl might sometimes rather get lashed by a tongue," Rebecca chuckled softly at the girl's slightly drunken spoonerism and took the opportunity to plonk her large form down next to Elle's elfin body.
"Any girl I know?" Elle queried as Mrs. Lafitte's hand slipped effortlessly onto her upper thigh and squeezed it fondly.
"Me."
"I see. You're hardly a girl though, Mrs. Lafitte."
"I'm a big girl at heart and I want to embrace you harder than anyone has embraced you before."
"You'd rather I stopped being amusing and entertaining, then?"
"The gathering has dispersed, Elle, as well you know. There's no more need for small talk."
"Can I hiccup?"
"You can. It's just you and me here to have a little party all of our own," Rebecca grinned evilly and slid her hand up over Elle's silk blouse, pressing against the young woman's breasts and belly. Elle shivered and hiccupped again.
"Are you chill or just pretending to be a little tiddly?"
"I'm a little nervous and practically tipsy."
"You pretend very well, dear."
"Pretence is good for someone with little experience they say."
"Haven't you been with a woman before?"
"Girls of my own age like Shannon," Elle confessed, watching mesmerised as Rebecca's plump motherly fingers undid one blouse button after another. "And that's just flirting and silliness."
"I'm only forty, Elle."
"I know Mrs. Lafitte. I didn't mean to be rude."
"It doesn't matter and I'm not offended. And I agree with you: flirting and silliness is good," Rebecca smiled and ran her finger down Elle's breastbone, so that the cheesecloth blouse parted faster than the Red Sea at Moses command. "And I knew you liked Shannon."
"You don't mind me liking Shannon, then?"
"Not at all, Elle; so long as you can put up with her fat, old mum, too."
"Forty isn't that old."
"Thank you pet."
"And you're not fat; you're fuzzy," Elle slurred.
"That's the drink, pet."
"Is it?"
"Yes, but I'm glad you are kind."
"I mean it. I'm not just being polite."
"You're very well brought up, pet."
"Thank you."
"I wonder if you could also be well brought-down?" Rebecca queried and slid her hand into the unbuttoned blouse, rubbing her palm over the soft, young breasts and letting a finger slip into the brassiere.
"That's very naughty, Mrs. Lafitte," Elle giggled.
"Naughty but nice?"
"You make me sound like a cream cake."
"Do I?"
"Yes, actually."
"You know what?"
"What?"
"I love cream cakes."
"I'd never have guessed, Mrs. Lafitte."
"Now, who's being naughty?"
"I am. I'm sorry."
"I may have to spank you for that later. Spank you very hard indeed."
Elle held her breath as the thought of being spanked by her friend's mother percolated through her slightly drink-addled mind; but she said not a word as the trespassing finger slid lower and brushed her nipple.
"You won't tell Shannon?" Elle blushed, finally finding her voice once more.
"My lips are sealed. Well, they will be soon - round your delicious little pink breast."
"It's not that little, Mrs. Lafitte," said Elle indignantly, struggling to sit up.
"Stay still," Rebecca insisted, pressing Elle down with a pudgy fist firmly on the young woman's breastbone. "Good girl."
Elle said nothing, but looked up abashed.
"It's not that pink either, Elle," smiled Rebecca, opening up the blouse and tugging Elle's bra straps off her shoulder. "Shall I slap it a little and bite it to make it a little more pink?"
"That's not...very nice."
"Your eyes are shining at the thought though."
"I think that's your eyes not mine, Mrs. Lafitte."
"Well, I have to blame you for looking so delicious, young lady."
"My mum always blames me too."
"I'm following an excellent example then. Would you like a top-up, Elle? I'd certainly like your top up, but don't let me influence you."
"You'll make me blush with your flirting, Mrs. Lafitte."
"I've got a fresh bottle of chilled Veuve Cliquot: almost as tempting as the taste of your baby teats, pet."
"I'd love some more champagne, Mrs. Lafitte. And I'm not a baby. I'm nearly twenty."
"You're almost cute enough to eat," Rebecca confided and withdrew her hand from the young woman's cream-coloured silk blouse, slipping an arm round her waist and hugging her close; "but your mother said you would be."
"My mother said what?"
"Yes, when she left about half an hour ago with Shannon. Now sit back, you never know where the cork will end up with cold bottles like this."
"Mum left with Shannon?"
"Don't look so disappointed, Elle. Is it really so bad to be stuck with Shannon's mum and a bottle of champagne?"
"Of course not, Mrs. Lafitte; it's just..."
Rebecca chose that moment to pop the cork which bounced up to the ceiling. The champagne gushed out all over Rebecca's legs, just below the hem of the rather short skirt of her little black party dress: "Oops, clumsy me!"
"Shall I get a cloth from the kitchen Mrs. Lafitte?"
"No, it's quite nice to be wet and sticky down there."