My Week With Elvira

Everyone in this story is over eighteen. It seeks to explore lesbian masochism, which I know exists.

It was my husband's fault. Really. Mike was a horny bastard, and something of a voyeur. And that was how he lost me – simple as that. We used to go to a lot of parties, with other young married couples, many of us fancying each other's partners like mad. Nothing unusual in that, I suppose. But Mike had this notion that if I went without underclothes, and he could watch me as I danced with other guys, it was about as sexy as could be. I humoured him, by wearing slinky, silky dresses, and no panties. Actually, I got rather used to the idea myself, and liked the feel of the soft material against my naked skin. I went one better, as summer came around, and I needed to shave to wear a bikini. I thought I might just as well shave off the lot, and found the feeling even more sensual.

Came the day when Mike was invited to a big party to celebrate his firm's launch of a new product. I dressed in a long grey silk halter-neck backless dress - and nothing else but a pair of high-heeled sandals. My smallish breasts were unfettered under the loose folds of the top, and the skirt clung nicely around my hips and long legs. I took care with my hair, which was long and straight, with a centre parting, and wore some long gold drops in my ears, and a tight gold amulet just above one elbow. I had had my nails done that afternoon, and, looking in the mirror as I put finishing touches to my make-up, I thought – you look good enough to get yourself into trouble, Greta.

We were being picked up by Mike's colleague, Jake, who lived close by, and his wife Laura, and we talked with them when we arrived. While the other couple went to get some drink for us, Mike whispered, 'Why don't you have a dance with Jake? He fancies you like mad.'

I nodded resignedly – what I thought didn't enter into it, and I didn't fancy the overweight, ginger-haired Jake one bit. I humoured my husband, knowing that Jake's seniority in the firm was necessary to his career, and let the sweating guy hold me close, rejecting a feeling of revulsion when his hands wandered over my near-naked buttocks.

'You're not wearing much under this dress, are you, Greta?' he breathed in my ear.

'Nothing at all,' I confirmed, and felt his hardness against my stomach – flattering, I supposed, but hardly welcome. I saw Mike watching us as he danced with Laura, a cheerful but not specially attractive blonde, and smiled in his direction, but when the music stopped, I murmured something to Jake about needing to go and get a drink, and we parted company as we left the floor. It was then that I saw her.

She was standing beside the drinks table, surveying the dance-floor, with a haughty air, as if she owned the place. I was rivetted by her incredible elegance and beauty – I had never seen a woman who even approached her looks, never in my life.

She had long straight hair, like my own, but it was platinum blond, and looked fine and silky, falling down her long straight back, to her waist. It contrasted startlingly with her black satin dress, which could only have been by Versace, I thought. It was open down almost to the waist, showing just the right amount of cleavage, and the knee-length skirt looked almost too tight to allow her to walk. Perfect legs, in black, seamed stockings, were perched on impossibly high needle heels. As I approached the table, and she turned to pick up a drink, I saw that the dress was, like mine, backless, but hers was spectaculary so, and the start of her buttock-cleavage showed above the top of the material. Up close, as she turned back around, I saw that she was, indeed, supremely beautiful, with a perfect, olive complexion, and immaculate, understated, make-up. Her eyes, in the brief glimpse I had, were a startling shade of violet, under long, black lashes, tipped with silver – an erotic touch. I was all too conscious that I was staring at her, and turned away, suddenly embarrassed, as her eyes fell upon me. I walked back over to where Mike was standing alone, Laura having just reclaimed her husband.

'Just who is that?' I asked, trying to indicate the magnificent blonde I had just been entranced by, without actually pointing. Mike knew who I meant – she stood out like a zebra in a herd of horses.

He laughed quietly. 'Quite something, isn't she? Fact is, nobody really knows. Jake's heard a rumour that she actually owns the company. She's been coming and going for the last few months, popping in to old Turner's office, and going off to lunch with him, then disappearing in a taxi. Never speaks with the likes of me. I did hear her speak to Julia the other day, and she had a funny accent.'

'Mr Turner's secretary?'

'The same – our very own black dyke.'

'Oh please, Mike! Aren't we in the twenty-first century?' I walked away. I knew Julia slightly – in fact, she had made a distinct pass at me at the Christmas dinner, but was cheerful in rejection, a tall, smiling, coffee-coloured girl with a lilting Jamaican accent she hadn't lost despite living in England since she was a child. I resolved to seek her out, and spotted her, in a white broderie anglaise dress, across the big room, talking to another secretary.

It wasn't until much later that I managed to catch Julia, while I was refilling my glass.

'Hi Julia,' I said, 'how are you enjoying the evening?'

'It's OK,' she replied, 'but I didn't think you'd remember my name after....after....'

'Don't be silly,' I said, 'and I was flattered, anyway.' I patted her arm, 'Maybe I'm not quite as.....er..straight as you think I am.'

I had her full attention, and I noticed gold flecks in her big brown eyes as she regarded me. In spite of myself, my pulse quickened at her nearness.

'I love your dress,' she was saying, and I found that I enjoyed her admiration. We took our drinks and sat down, her closeness, probably assisted by a few vodka martinis, having a marked effect on me now. But just then, the platinum blonde walked by in front of us, very slowly, obliged to take tiny steps by the tightness of her skirt. She turned and smiled briefly at Julia, then made her way to the ladies room.

It was my chance. 'Who is that?' I asked.

'Elvira Mendoza,' she said, 'she owns the company. Do you like her?'

I couldn't lie. 'I think she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.'

'Strangely enough, she asked me who you were earlier. And yes, she is very lovely, isn't she?'

'Do you know her well?'

'It sounds as if you are interested in her,' she said, with an evasive sort of half smile.

At that moment, Elvira returned from the cloakroom, and paused by our chairs, a cloud of fragrance – Guerlain? – accompanying her, and her nearness itself even more intoxicating than the perfume. She turned towards me, her eyes entrancing.

'You are Greta, I understand,' she said, her accent definitely Mediterranean, but not immediately identifiable, 'Perhaps you would come to dinner with me – shall we say next Wednesday evening?' Smiling, she handed me an embossed card, then she walked away, the rear view a voyeur's dream, her naked back, the long cascade of fine white-blond hair, the ultra-tight skirt, Blahnik heels – I was astonished to feel a wetness at my crotch, and worried briefly that it may be staining my dress. I had never entertained a single Lesbian thought in my life – what was happening to me? And it wasn't only Elvira, I realised with a shock, as I felt Julia's long-fingered hand on my thigh, and didn't want to reject her.

'Oh Greta, you

will

go, won't you? I'd give a year's salary to change places with you.'

I looked at her, and saw that she was smiling. I covered her hand on my thigh with my own, but then saw that Mike was heading in our direction, and that broke the moment.

'Yes, I believe I will,' I said, as I stood to join my husband and go to get some food.

All the way home, I wondered what I was going to say to Mike – what excuse I was going to make for going to dinner with his Managing Director – because I had not a moment's doubt that I should go, in fact I somehow knew that my life was about to change, and change dramatically.

But when we got home, I could see that Mike had other things on his mind. He whirled me around as he closed the front door, and grabbed me, pulling me hard up against him, so that I could feel a massive erection under his trousers as he kissed me hungrily. I pulled away and led him into the lounge, where I sank onto the sofa. When he made to jump onto me, I told him to back off, and made him wait while I slowly raised the hem of my dress, sliding the silk up my legs, keeping my eyes on his, enjoying the anticipation as much as I knew he did. As I revealed my naked, shaven pussy, I slid my tongue out a tiny way between slightly parted teeth, in an unmistakeable signal, then, parting my knees, used two fingers of one hand to spread the outer lips of my pussy, and show Mike my glistening pink cunt.

Showing more control than usual, he slowly dropped to his knees, but, by this time, he had his big, stiff cock in his hand, and, dragging my arse towards him on the seat of the sofa, he impaled himself into my hot, wet vagina, until his balls slapped against my arse-cheeks. I gripped and released him with my cunt-muscles in the way I knew he liked, and moaned with each deep thrust to heighten his pleasure. But unbidden into my mind came images of Elvira's lovely face, her silken hair which had so briefly wafted across me when she leaned to speak to me, and the unknown delights hidden by the beautiful dress she wore. And it was her body that drove me to a wonderful orgasm as Mike shuddered, stiffened and shot his hot load of cum deep within me.

When he had withdrawn, and was slumped beside me on the sofa, he said, 'I've been so horny tonight – just the thought of you dancing with that bastard Jake, and not a stitch under your dress......'

'Go and get me a drink, love,' I said – the best response I could come up with.

Monday came around, and I wasn't very busy in the hotel reception where I worked.

Mid-morning, and the phone rang. It was Mike.

'Guess what? I'm off to Chicago tomorrow.'

'Chicago?'

'Yes, the USA.'

'I know where Chicago is, but why?'

'Turner's just called me in. He wants me to go to a sales conference.'

'How long for?' My mind was racing. If he was going to be away on Wednesday night, I shouldn't be needing an excuse to go out.

'Until Friday or Saturday, he said.'

I tried for a wifely posture between being pleased with his opportunity and disappointed at him going away.

Next day Mike left, all smart and eager, brandishing a Club Class ticket, and all I had to do was wait until the following evening. Not strictly true – I had to find something to wear. Caning my credit card, I bought a silky scarlet dress with spaghetti straps, which just showed enough cleavage, and was soft enough to show a hint of nipple through the bodice. The skirt was flared and shortish – mid-thigh length. Under it I would wear a pair of diaphanous white panties and white, lace-top hold-ups. I bought some metal-heeled stiletto sandals, then went and had my hair expensively trimmed, leaving it long, but highlighting it with some blond streaks. As an afterthought, I picked up a pair of big gold hoops for my ears, and, rummaging around later, found several gold bracelets a matching anklet and a gold necklace.

When the time finally came around, I slung a shawl around my shoulders and called a taxi.

The driver let out a low whistle when I handed him Elvira's card. 'Quite an address!' he said, and when we arrived, I saw why, as the car scrunched up a gravel drive and pulled up in front of a broad flight of steps leading to a portico, with fluted columns. I rang the doorbell, and an Asian maid, in demure uniform, came to the door. When I followed her

along a corridor and into a spacious lounge, I saw that she had nice slim legs, encased in black stockings, and wore high heels, but was by no means a 'cliché sexy maid' and her black skirt was mid-thigh length.

'Thank you, Dita,' said Elvira's unmistakeable voice, as I was shown into the lounge, and the owner of the voice rose from an armchair where she had had her back to me. I gasped at the sheer erotic effect of her appearance as she came to offer her cheek to be kissed. She wore a sheath of black lace, tight from high neck to ankle, and I could scarcely take my eyes from her nipples, which poked through the lace at the tips of firm breasts, and gave the appearance of having been rouged. I caught a glimpse of something gold glinting below, and thought she must be wearing a chain around her waist under the dress. If she wore anything else under the sheath, I couldn't tell. The sleeves were wide, but gathered at the wrists, and she seemed to be wearing a lot of rings on her fingers. Her gorgeous hair was swirled up into a French knot.

Her nearness was intoxicating – that same perfume again – and I felt weak at the knees when she said, 'My dear Greta, you look ravishing – that dress is absolutely lovely on you.'

She motioned for me to sit down and then asked me what I would like to drink. Undecided, I was about to opt for a gin and tonic when she suggested that we both had mojitas, and I agreed readily, so I sat and drank in the magnificent sight of her while I enjoyed the strong green liqueur. I was aware that my dress rode up and that I was showing quite a bit of leg – even that my stocking-tops may be on view, but, in view of my host's revealing dress, I somehow didn't think it mattered. We talked about nothing in particular until Dita came in and announced that dinner was ready, then Elvira stood, and reached down for my hand, taking it in her cool one, and led me through a door into an equally capacious dining room, where we sat either side of a large table, set very professionally. We ate a lovely dinner, during which we spoke only about the food and generalities, then Elvira told Dita to serve coffee in the lounge, and led me back there. When we returned, instead of sitting in the armchair as before, Elvira, sat on a big, overstuffed sofa, and patted a space beside her, indicating that I should join her. I needed no second bidding.

Passion always starts me trembling, and I tried to hide the fact when I sat beside Elvira, but her hand settled on my stockinged thigh, her light touch feeling electric.

'I think you are attracted to me, Greta, aren't you?' she said, very quietly.

'Oh yes!' I heard myself replying.

'Perhaps you would like me to kiss you?' she said, and I sensed a point of no return creeping up on me fast.

'I...I think so – I mean...yes!' I said

'You don't sound so very sure,' she said, and when I looked at her lovely face, I saw that she was teasing me. Up close, her eyelashes were so long, so perfect, that they must have been false, and they were again tipped with silver – it must have taken her ages to make up.

But I could wait no longer. 'Kiss me, please!' I pleaded, and felt like putty in her hands when she snaked one arm around my neck, and pulled me towards her. Her breath, fragrant and warm, was now over me, and I yielded to her soft lips, opening my mouth as she kissed me, welcoming her questing tongue, letting my own explore the backs of her small, neat, teeth. Her free hand was busy, sliding the thin straps off my shoulders, and gently easing the top of my dress down over the obstruction of my breasts, then returning to cup my small breasts in turn in her palm, before teasing my nipples between thumb and forefinger.

I pulled away from her to catch my breath, and now she had both hands on my breasts.

'Oh, Elvira!' I moaned, 'you are so lovely!'

Her eyes were lidded now, with passion, and I saw that her nipples, poking out through the lace of her dress, were engorged. When I touched them, they felt hard, and rigid, and I bowed my head to take one of them between my lips. It was Elvira's turn to moan, and when I bit gently down on the little red bud, she moaned harder.

Then she pushed me away, and I wondered if I'd done something wrong.

'Wait!' she said, and stood up. She minced off out of the room, and as I watched her go, I could now be sure that the only thing she wore under that lace sheath was a gold chain, the loose end of which dangled across her buttock.

In no time at all, she was back, transformed. Now she was wearing a short white silk wrap, open down the front, and nothing else but the gold chain. I noticed that her pussy, like mine, was completely clean-shaven. When she returned to sit beside me, in her attendant cloud of fragrance, I could have died from sheer joy. Her body was as close to perfection as it is possible to be, with a flat stomach, long, slender legs, and lovely, firm breasts.

'Now, Greta, my dear, I think I am more....accessible, no?' she smiled, 'do you still like me?'

'Oh yes!' I said, all reservation now having fallen away.

'Then I should like you to kiss my pussy. Will you do that?'

Right then, I would have gladly done anything she asked. 'Yes.'

'Good, because you have excited me, my dear.' She lay back on the big sofa, and raised one leg, so that her crack was exposed in as lewd a manner as possible, then, trailing a hand between her legs, she opened the outer labia just as I had done for Mike a few days before. I saw that her cunt was sparkling with moisture in the light, pink and inviting. I sank to my knees on the floor and began to explore her innermost secrets with my tongue, seeking out her clit as only a woman can do, biting it lightly, tonguing the hardening nub, then plunging my tongue deep inside her cunt, making her writhe and squirm with pleasure. But her clitoris was the key, and when I returned to it, she began to groan and her breathing became ragged, then she went completely rigid, grabbed my hair painfully, shouted something I didn't understand, and gushed creamy liquid all over my face.

When finally she let go of me, she produced a fluffy white towel, as if by magic, from under a cushion, and helped me clean her juices from my face.

'I suppose I should apologise,' she said.

'Oh no,' I replied, still quivering with excitement, 'I almost came too.'

'Stand up!' she said, and I did so.

'Raise your skirt!' I did that too, and she reached up and pulled down my white panties.

'Now kneel down in front of the sofa, darling, will you.'

Again, I did as she asked, and she got up and walked across the room, then returned, to kneel behind me. Then I felt her squeezing some kind of gel from a tube and smearing it arund my anus. I started to feel slightly alarmed. Mike had often asked if we might try anal sex, and I had always turned the idea down, thinking it would hurt far too much. Before I had time to protest, however, Elvira was poking a long-nailed finger into the very portals of my virgin arsehole, twisting slightly and pushing ever so slowly – and I had to admit it was giving me not only pain, but a certain amount of pleasure. Then, just as suddenly as she had begun, she withdrew her finger, and I felt a new sensation as a smooth, cool object was introduceed into my rectum. Slowly at first, then with a thrust, she shoved it in, way past my anal sphincter, causing me unimaginable agony, and making me scream.

'There, there, darling,' intoned Elvira, as if she were talking to a baby, and started to work the slim dildo in and out, as I started to know a pleasure I hadn't known existed. I moaned and moaned, then felt the intense, indescribable joy of a mounting orgasm, rushing to meet me until it enveloped my very soul, and took me to a new dimension, a place where only ecstasy existed.

We lay together on the sofa then, sated, Elvira wearing only her flimsy wrap, me dressed but minus panties, and she called for Dita to bring us coffee and cognac. The young Asian didn't turn a hair when she saw her mistress in such a compromising position, but served the drinks wordlessly.