Pleasure In Control Ch 08

Julia lands a dream job with a top fashion lingerie house that leads her into a life of beautiful women and daring sexual exploits. In this autobiographical story, Julia explores her sexuality and her body as well as her new contacts. Gradually she pushed the boundaries of her experiences and enters a secret world of lesbian passion, sex and more. This is only as fictional as you want it to be but you will not recognise any of the names. Act out parts of my life if you wish, but be kind, stay safe and stay legal.

This is a full-length novel and this is Chapter 8 of 17. You will enjoy this much more if you have read the preceding chapters first.

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Chapter 8 (Friday and the weekend)

I slept wonderfully through Thursday night and woke at 9:45 with dim but pleasurable memories filling my head. I found myself lying in bed completely naked. My legs ached and my pussy throbbed subtly. I slid my hand between my legs to give it a soothing stroke and realised my mound was totally bare. When I climbed out of bed I saw at the foot of my bed a dark grey body stocking that I had not owned the previous day, and in my living room a very crumpled black dress on the sofa.

I smiled and switched on the coffee maker.

During a long soak in a hot bath I sifted through the previous evening's events and tried to make sense of it all. Mostly, the Dems had adhered to the 'Look Don't Touch' rule but Vikki & Abigail had been exceptionally imaginative. Stevie of course had completely overstepped the mark but I had enjoyed my time immensely.

I struggled some more with my dilemmas including 'Just what do I tell Emma?' and 'Am I a latent lesbian?' I convinced myself that I was not because I had not touched another woman's breasts nor her genitals and I had not kissed her. In my self-justification, rubbing my pussy on another woman's did not count; neither did caressing a woman between her legs with only the thinnest and most tightly stretched wisp of fabric separating my finger from her clitoris. So, I was in the clear.

I dressed and sat at my laptop, tapping intermittently as I composed my report. Satisfied that I had discharged my responsibilities as fairly as I could, I raided the fridge for an early lunch before visiting the Regent Street Passionella sales outlet. The new Bodystocking range was prominently displayed and very well presented. I was served politely but I did not try on anything as I found it hard to concentrate. My mind was already thinking about the weekend and my promised encounter with Kirsten. I stopped by the sports department to pick up some active-wear for the following morning and some food for a quiet evening in front of the TV.

I slept fitfully that night, excited by the prospects for the weekend ahead.

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Clambering out of bed I threw back the curtains to let the bright, fresh morning light flood my room. I took a wonderfully refreshing shower in the middle of my lovely bathroom and I towelled myself dry, congratulating myself on a body that both looked and felt terrific. But there was more to come – this morning I was to meet Kirsten at the health club for some physical exercise and to plan the rest of our weekend together.

I arrived early and I slipped on my new blue bikini that covered what it needed to, but not much else. I dived into the water and felt a sensual rush as the refreshing water encased my body. The suit was quite thin and I could feel the coolness on my breasts and especially on my pussy, realising that this was the first time I had swum with a shaved peach. I enjoyed the feeling enormously as the water rushed between my legs with every stroke.

"Hi, sorry I'm late," Kirsten called to me from the poolside.

"Come on in, get yourself wet!" I yelled and grabbed her ankle to pull her in. She saw it coming and dived in beside me where we splashed around like kids and laughed a lot.

As I climbed out, I noticed that my bikini had become virtually transparent so that the outlines of my cold, protruding nipples were clearly visible. But Kirsten was looking lower down, with a quizzical expression on her face. I could feel the cold fabric of my strappy bikini bottoms clinging to the curves of my smooth mound and forming a taught crease in the centre between my legs where it had gate-crashed my slit. I ignored her and returned to the changing room where I stripped and dried off. Kirsten joined me and I realised the reason for her puzzlement.

"Where have your pubes gone, sweetie?" she exclaimed, looking straight at my crotch.

"It's a long story," I started, "Lets get a drink and I'll explain."

I told Kirsten all about my experiences at the launch party, in frank and explicit detail. She was captivated and shifted constantly on her seat. I told her about Fiona and how she had come for the first time in ages and I told her all about my time with Stevie and how she had shaved me.

"You lucky, lucky girl," drooled Kirsten. "I'd give almost anything to get that sort of attention from Stevie. She great. Go on, any more sleaze?"

I recounted Vikki & Abigail's erotic bondage show as best as I could remember and I was obviously arousing Kirsten with my increasingly explicit descriptions. I took advantage, speaking more slowly and sensually as I added more detail. By the end, when I described how I had very nearly come just from watching my two naked, tethered and cruelly-restricted Dems, and how I frigged the bodystocking on my pussy to bring myself to orgasm, Kirsten was breathing quickly.

"Sounds terrific. You're a pretty horny babe, Julie," she observed, correctly.

"What about you then?" I asked. "Not serving canapés all evening, I imagine!"

Kirsten had demonstrated for a new customer who had recently started to shop in the Oxford Street store. "Her name is Xara and she is gorgeous. She's about 35 but looks younger. She's tall and quite slim, she's got a tight bum and lovely long, soft wavy blonde hair. And ... "

"Well?" I encouraged, in eager anticipation of what might come next.

"... her breasts are just fantastic. They are so large and so sexy and squeezable and, and, so, so ... well, pendulous!" she exclaimed with obvious delight.

I had seen a woman fitting this description at the party but she was demurely clothed so I hadn't noticed her figure.

"Julie, we had a terrific time together in Bronze. She tried on virtually every bra in the Passionella range that comes in her size, 38DD. She wore lacy bras and satin uplifters. She tried heavily padded bras that made her look huge and low-cut designs that she nearly spilled out of. My favourite was a sheer bra that encased and enfolded her breasts perfectly. It didn't support them very much but that was the beauty of it – it didn't disguise their proud, rounded and pendulous shape, it merely emphasised them. Julie, she looked fantastic."

"So, did she do anything else?" I enquired, eagerly, "other than just wear clothes and look fantastic."

"Well, yes, of course. She tried the new chair."

I looked at Kirsten questioningly.

"Didn't anyone show you the new relaxer chairs in Bronze, Silver & Gold?"

I shook my head, but I had remembered seeing a kind of reclining chair in some of the rooms.

"Oh, my. You do have a treat in store! They were specially made by a client's company that designs and manufactures specialist furniture and equipment for dentists, physiotherapists and clinics. Linda drew up the specification. They are covered in soft, supple calf leather to match each room and they tilt in all different ways. They have head, arm and leg rest that can be raised and tilted. And they have straps too."

This sounded rather exciting. "Did you strap Xara to the chair?" I enquired.

"She stripped naked and we adjusted the leg-rests so her knees were lifted high and wide apart. But I only strapped her ankles to the chair. Oh, and her calves ... and her thighs too. And, yes, I did strap some wide belts around her waist and her upper body, above and below her breasts. But only because she asked me to. Quite tightly actually, just so she couldn't wriggle free you understand."

"Then?"

"Then she borrowed a 'house' vibrator and basically just lay back and fucked herself all the way to oblivion and back again. I counted four orgasms but she may have had more. She ran the buzz over her breasts and spent ages on her nipples – I love watching a client do that – they grew very long and really hard. That's how she came the first time."

"What, just by teasing her nipples?"

"Yes, I've never managed it myself but I'd heard it's possible. I thought it was most likely if you have small, tight boobs and big nipples. But no, Xara with her massive drooping boobs must have super-sensitive nips, or maybe it's all in the mind and she can think herself wild."

I was fascinated and leant forward, encouraging Kirsten to continue.

"Anyway, then she rubbed the tip over her pussy slit and her clit for at least 15 minutes and came at twice more; she said the chair was great because she could relax and didn't get tired holding her legs up and wide apart. I gave her sips of drink as her mouth was so dry from panting and crying out. Finally she fucked herself to another orgasm with the vibrator thrust deep inside her and pronounced the new chair a great success."

Kirsten's vivid description of Xara strapped in a tilting chair getting herself off had me squirming in my café seat and I had to change the subject to divert attention away from my pussy: "Come on, let's hit the gym."

We worked out on the exercise machines for an hour or so. But every piece of equipment seemed to have leg rests or foot straps or adjustments of some kind and I kept thinking about Xara in that chair. My leotard felt wonderfully tight around my body and it rubbed my nipples into hard points. This, combined with the rhythmic movements of the exercise bike and the weight machines just made my pussy twitch even more.

After lunch at the gym, Kirsten and I went our separate ways, arranging to meet at our favourite Belgian restaurant at 7:00 pm.

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Terri arrived at my apartment exactly on time at 2:30 and immediately busied herself cleaning and tidying. I'd been careful to put away all my clothes and my personal items to make it easier for her and she complimented me on my tidy lifestyle. And on my hairstyle. And my clothes, and my skin, and my figure, and my shoes.

Then she started to open up and tell me more about herself, how she came to be in England and about her life back 'home'. She hadn't had a happy childhood; "My father never said that he loved me; he was always running me down. I grew to distrust men, not actually hating them, but I have always found it difficult to form relationships with men. So now I'm a practicing lesbian"

I was totally shocked by her frankness and hid my embarrassment behind crass humour: "keep practising and you'll become perfect" I blurted out. Terri began to cry and I put my arm around her to comfort her. "Sorry," I apologised, "I didn't mean to be flippant, you surprised me." I took a tissue and wiped away her tears.

That's when she kissed me.

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As I dressed to meet Kirsten I tried to put the afternoon out of my mind. I showered and paid special attention to my skin and hair. I shaved under my arms and my legs and I shaved the first light re-growth from my peach. I was very careful not to nick my soft skin and I enjoyed the attention I gave to my sensitive self, causing my pussy to swell and moisten again. This was becoming a regular occurrence.

We would be going back to Kirsten's apartment after our meal together so I packed a small bag with some very special items of clothing. Then I chose what to wear. First I selected the black, backless bodysuit that I had bought when I met Vikki the first time in Manchester. That should get Kirsten warmed up nicely, I thought. Then I poured myself into a pair of very tight trousers and slipped into a sleeveless top that showed off my cleavage nicely without giving away any secrets of what lay beneath. I grabbed my bag and strode confidently into the warm early-evening air.

The restaurant was about 10 minutes walk and I savoured the admiring looks from the men and women sitting outside the trendy bars along the way. But I had promised myself to another, my all-seeing but un-touching colleague, partner and friend.

When I arrived, Kirsten was already there, wearing a thin strappy top with obviously nothing underneath so the twin shapes of her unsupported 32B breasts were clear for all to see. Her nipples sat prominently on their swollen areolae and prodded forward aggressively. She wore a short denim skirt with bare legs and plain shoes. I'd hoped she would have dressed more the part of the sensual temptress but I enjoyed looking at her anyway. So did many of the other diners.

Kirsten and I talked animatedly but neither of us was very hungry. My reason, and I think Kirsten's was the same, was that I was just too excited and already far too aroused by the day so far and the thoughts of what lay ahead. We picked over our food as Kirsten explained her plan:

"Julie, we must walk back to my apartment on opposite sides of the street and pretend we are alone. We mustn't be seen going in together.

I waited outside her door for a moment then knocked as agreed but there was no reply. I knocked again louder and Kirsten shouted 'just a minute'. I was getting more excited as I waited and when she finally opened the door I gasped in surprise. Kirsten had changed her clothes and was now wearing a long, clinging gold satin dress with a wide patent leather belt around her slim waist. She looked so elegant, so different from the casual girl in the restaurant. She invited me in and had cocktails already poured, scented candles burning around the room and sophisticated music playing in the background. I started to speak but she put a finger to her full, glossy-red lips; she beckoned me in and passed me a glass. We drank a few sips and Kirsten started to dance, just small sensual movements, and she pouted at me.

My heart was already racing and my tight trousers were firmly wedged into my bum crack so they rubbed against my arse-hole and my pussy whenever I moved. I started to dance to Kirsten's rhythm and I felt tremendously excited, not knowing what she had in store for me next.

I didn't need to wait long to find out. She walked to the other end of the room and stood facing me and made direct eye contact with me for what seemed like ages. She slowly moved her hands to her breasts (which were obviously now supported by an undergarment) and very, very slowly closed them over her boobs, squeezing them and letting out a long, low sigh of pleasure. By now she had her legs crossed under her long dress and she pushed out her bum, a move guaranteed to put pressure on her pussy. She gave away her inner feelings by closing her eyes dreamily as she danced.

As she continued to twist, sway and squirm provocatively I tried to work out what she might be wearing under her dress but she was giving away nothing. I started to ask a question but again she touched her lips with a long elegantly manicured finger. Shit, I was feeling so frustrated by her slow, teasing, controlling performance.

Kirsten turned to face me and beckoned. I stood closer to her and she breathed her hot, sensual breath on me and looked at me so, so sexily with her beautifully clear blue eyes. Then she crouched slightly and pretended to suck my nipples and to teasingly nibble on them, pulling a wildcat expression on her face.

Kneeling still lower, she sat back on her haunches, moved her face right up close to my crotch and spoke for the first time since I'd entered the room. But not to me, to my clothed pussy.

"Oh, pretty baby. How are you feeling in there? I bet you're feeling so hot and horny! Are you wet?"

I/it was.

"Oh, I do hope so. Do you like what I'm doing to Julie? Do I turn you on with my body, my clothes, my movements? I'm sure I do. Are you opening up? Are your soft, smooth shaven lips parting, as if you want to speak to me?"

They were.

"What would you say if you could speak? Would you say: 'Kirsten, you are a very sexy lady – I want you to touch me. I want you to press your fingers on my parted lips and open me wider. I want you to slide your fingers in and out of me and I want you to rub my clitoris with your thumb?' Pussy, oh sweet sexy pussy, do you want to come? Do you want to reach a thrilling, satisfying orgasm?"

Of course it/I did.

"Why don't you come out to play? Shall we ask Julie to take off her clothes?"

I needed no more prompting. Having Kirsten talk to my pussy like that was the most arousing thing I could imagine. I pulled my vee-necked top over my head in a single swift movement and hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my slinky trousers, pulling them down over my hips. Kirsten glided slowly around me, making sensual admiring noises. Standing behind me, she unclipped the fastener on the back of my bodysuit and allowed it to fall forward. My breasts spilled out and the rush of air caused my nipples to stiffen even more than they already had. I shuddered, sighed and whispered Kirsten's name.

Frantically I pulled the rest of the bodysuit down over my thighs and in a moment of delirium I almost touched myself between my legs but Kirsten commanded: "No!"

I remembered the rules, but my body ached to feel a hand on its naked flesh. Mine, Kirsten's anybody's.

But not tonight.

Looking straight at my now-naked crotch, Kirsten spoke some more:

"Is it good to be free, to be released from captivity? Let me see how wet you are and how open your lips have parted."

Immediately I placed my feet wide apart and Kirsten crouched between my legs. I felt so vulnerable, so naked yet totally unashamed. I trusted her and she smiled, looked up at me then she blew on my pussy. I cried out in pleasure and desperate, pleading frustration.

Kirsten stood up and pointed to the belt around her waist. I undid it just as instructed and cast it aside. She then shrugged the dress off her shoulders in what I suspected was a well-practised movement, leaving it in a luxuriant heap on the floor, and finally revealed what was underneath.

Kirsten was wearing a sheer bustière in the most extravagant silk, mesh and appliqué, with spaghetti-thin straps that tracked over her shoulders from the outer edges of the cups and two more straps that ran upwards from between her breasts and disappeared behind her neck, halter-style. Looking further down, my eyes were drawn to her skimpy, matching thong-style briefs with twin spaghetti-straps that reached around her waist on each side, high above her hips. Finally, her slim legs disappeared just below the knee into a pair of skin-tight, high-heeled black leather boots, which explained why she'd looked much taller than her normal 5' 3" frame. In fact, she looked devastating.

"Another new Passionella design?" I enquired, my mouth dry and parched. Kirsten just nodded with a self-satisfied smile and slowly turned around.

Her smooth, muscular body was almost totally naked but for a riot of narrow straps that all met centrally in the small of her back, without the slightest attempt to conceal her tight, rounded buttocks. I counted a total of 18, which collectively implied 'bondage and control' but by their apparent weakness also spelt 'vulnerability'.

At last Kirsten spoke: "Do you like it?"

"Oh, Kirsten, of course I do. You look sensational." She knew it and once again she started to move around me in time to the music, all the time pouting, posing and wriggling her barely-covered body. As she moved, the thin straps only emphasised her gorgeous shape. Those attached to her thong rode even higher on her hips and her boobs seemed to be climbing out of their delicately constraining cups.