Over my shoulders she placed what looked like a white dinner jacket, the sort of thing men wear to formal parties with a pleated-front shirt and black bow tie, only I wasn't wearing any shirt, and I wore no tie. In fact, I wore nothing at all under the jacket. The jacket, when buttoned, only just covered the cheeks of my ass. My shaved, powdered and perfumed cunt was barely hidden.
While Linda dressed me, her hands were softly touching me. The stockings ended at mid-thigh, but her hands had lingered on the scented powdered skin between my legs, near my most sensitive place. When she fastened the clasp on the necklace, she let her hands slide down my back to softly hold my bottom. She pressed a finger between my legs and I opened myself wider for her. She slid her finger into my slippery cunt from behind, a cunt that had been wet with wanting for what seemed like hours. The orgasm, so close while I was being bathed, that got even closer when Linda dried me, the orgasm that had come so near to sending me over the top when she patted my cunt with the perfumed powder rose again. I found myself begging her out loud, pleading for her to touch me more deliberately, more directly, to bring me across the threshold from need to have, from aching to hard heaving, moaning, wailing ecstasy; but she did not. She let her finger fall from my cunt, her hand from my ass. Again, I trembled, tried to catch my breath, struggled even to stand. It was torture. I would have done anything for her permission to cum. And this torture, while excruciating, was also exquisite. Each time she touched me now, it was an event unlike anything I'd ever felt in my life.
Even the feeling of lipstick, so expertly wielded by her experienced hands now seemed more like a tongue exploring my lips than mere makeup being applied. When she arranged my hair, slicking it back with glossy gel, combing it with a wide-toothed comb, making me look like some kind of sex performer in a horribly nasty Berlin cabaret, she kissed my neck, and it sent a shiver straight to my now terribly alert and sensitive cunt. By the time we walked out the door together, I was a bundle of nerves, my entire body had become a sexual organ. I'd never felt so beautiful, so sexy, so aroused, so aware of my body and it's ability to feel, so willing to anything in order to find release.
We walked down the hall together, hand in hand, to the elegant Victorian elevator. When it arrived, we entered. There was a person already in there, and we joined him. He was a student I know at school. Dressed as I was, made up as I was, he certainly never would have guessed that I was the quiet girl who sat beside him in class. I assumed that he was working at the hotel for the summer because he was wearing pleated, pressed black pants, a white shirt, and a tie. Nobody around here dresses like that unless they have to! Certainly not the earthy students at the college! My powdered and perfumed body filled the car with the scent of flowers and exotic places. My naked thighs peered out below the jacket, above my unbelievably sexy stockings.
My tilted feet lifted me to equal his height. The jacket I wore barely covered my breasts. My nearly naked legs, my partially exposed breasts were impossible for him not to see. My scent and look, my clear state of arousal were all thrown in that poor boy's face! I imagine it was pretty obvious I wasn't wearing anything underneath the jacket. He tried, in vain, not to stare. He tried, but failed, not to show how quickly the sight and scent of me had brought his own need for relief racing to the surface, the blood flowing into his penis. It was hopeless. I watched his erection grow. He couldn't cover it up, no mater how hard he tried. Finally, he gave up and just stared at me, his jaw slack, his mouth half open.
I knew that I was making him crazy, that I was driving him mad. Something about the obviousness of his overwhelming need, his blatant urge and discomfort got me even more excited. I wanted to exploit my power to create sexual desire, to push it as far as I could; because, I realized, the very idea that I could make another person ache so in wanting me made my own ache grow tremendously. My cunt was getting still wetter. My heart was racing, faster. I thought I might cum without touching myself from the sheer power of the past few hours, the building excitement I'd been feeling for so long. The arousal just kept building.
The elevator was an old one, and it moved very slowly. As it creaked and clanked down to the lobby, I leaned toward Linda, opened my jacket, and put her hand on my breast; mouth wide open, I kissed her. I let my tongue trace her lips before taking her face into my hands and holding it, cupping her chin and cheeks, sucking her tongue deep into my mouth, moaning softly, letting my legs spread so that my cunt was open. I took my hand from her face and ran it across my cunt, wetting it with my lubrication, shuddering with the feeling. When I stopped kissing her, I turned suddenly, looked deeply into the poor boy's eyes and smiled a wicked smile. There was a flicker of recognition. I could almost hear him thinking, "That can't be Audrey!"
I think he was probably about to explode. Before the door opened I seductively wiped my cunt-wet finger--a finger covered with the scent of my sex and my arousal--slowly, across his parted lips. He leaned forward, eyes closed and inhaled. Then, I let the same hand slide across his pants, softly squeezing his bulge. When I did that, I saw felt penis lurch beneath his pants, and the spot where it pushed the fabric into a giant lump became wet, the dark, wet spot growing as the lump lurched in response to his uncontrollable spasms. He turned bright red. I could tell he was terribly embarrassed. "I am fucking deadly!" I thought, and buttoned my jacket. The door opened and we left him there to deal with his wet pants and embarrassment.
