Bree 3 A Trip To The Mountains
- 1 year ago
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A Girl Called Bree In NYC Part 2 free porn video
"Hi, it's Paul."
Fuck, Paul, colleague, drinker, funny, womaniser, compose compose
compose
"Hi Paul, how are you? Just arrived?"
"Yeah, just dumped my bags and my guts, shaved my face, lynxed up and
ready for a couple of drinks. You coming?"
"Er yeah sure why not, give me 20 mins." You look at the gorgeous girl
in the mirror, hair and make up perfect, dressed for pleasure and
leisure, all that hard work undone in 20 minutes.
"20 mins! I'll be two up by the time you arrive. See you in 10.
Cheers."
Click and phone goes dead. You sit down at the dressing table and start
removing your make up and transforming back. You slide the bikini cut
panties off and pull up the cotton boxers, removing your nails with
their fabulous French tips, unclipping your dangling earrings, and
finally button up your blue cotton shirt. A very picture of
respectable masculinity, hiding a decidedly feminine soul with a love
of elegance. Picking up your key card you head for the lift. As the
doors slide apart, there, in civvies and clutching a rose, is Richard.
Your eyes meet and a confused expression crosses his face, mixed with
surprise. You look down, to the sides and seeing the stairs you dart
towards them. Behind you a shout of, "Wait, hold on," but you're
hurtling down towards the lobby. You compose yourself as you enter the
bar and see Paul sat at the bar, drinking beer and talking to strangers
at the bar, his favourite pastime.
"Alright, you took you're time, bothering the chambermaids, don't mind
if you do!"
He lets out a rumbustious roar and his new found friends join in. You
smile and laugh, waving the remake away with a casual, "You know, when
away," and take seat. Paul's new friends gather round as he regales
them with stories of his somewhat exaggerated adventures. Underneath
Pauls bravado and swagger was a decent bloke, he has a lovely wife, he
adored his kids, he's worried he isn't taken seriously at work and he
gives up his weekends to teach street cricket to kids from inner city
estates. You sit and listen to the stories you've heard a hundred
times before, chipping when required and laughing at the right times.
Glancing at your watch and time has pushed on, you make your excuses
citing jet lag etc and tell Paul you'll see him in the morning.
You open the door to room, shutting it safely behind you. Flipping the
lights on you wash, cleanse, and brush up. You find the luscious night
gown under the pillow, slipping it over your head, the thin straps
resting on your shoulders, the built in bra cushioning your soft
chest, and cool softness enveloping you. You need a glass of water so
you go back to bathroom. On the floor by the door is an envelope, was
it there before you ask yourself? Collecting your water glass you pick
it up turning it over in your hand. On the front in a plan handwriting
is the word "Miss"
You slip under the sheets and pop open the envelope. Its reads,
"Miss, I'm so sorry I startled you earlier, please accept my apologies.
I've been so confused up since we met, can't get you out of mind, tell
the truth its racing right now. I have never encountered such a
beautiful girl before, right there, in front of me. I gues I can kinda
spot girls now, working the lobby and a guy with lots of luggage is a
big give away.
When I saw your dinner order I saw my chance to see you again, to let
you know that I know but I'm cool and you can trust me and that its
alright. I did not expect the vision of female perfection that opened
the door, the way you were so bold, so daring, so goddamn beautiful,
and so forward. I lost my cool, nerves shot clean through and I bolted.
It took me an age to calm down and compose myself, and when I did I
decided I just gotta see you and then I was in the lift and well the
rest is history.
This is a long way of saying I hope you and me can be friends and I'll
have a chance to meet you again.
Yours, Richie x"
Goodness, What have you done! In a hotel with colleagues staying and
the bell boy wants to slip his hand into your knickers and you're
encouraging him. Oh why didn't you just ignore him, getting changed,
nonchalantly opening the door and taking the tray, blow apart his
bloody give aways. But somewhere in you had wanted to do it, to reveal
yourself, a glorious butterfly with a keen admirer, his intention
straining to be seen and now under the cotton and satin yours too. What
a mess, what a mess, what a mess (but in some sense a delicious sexy
mess). You put the letter down and snuggle down, enjoying the sensation
of skin on satin.
The warm water cascades down, washing away the shower foam and your
tiredness. A night of fantasy dreams, you lost in a strange town
wearing a french maids outfit, cleaning offices and sitting on planes,
tottering through masses of people who ignored you, applying layer upon
layer of lipstick. Now as you adjusted your tie and pulled your jacket
you're ready for a day of conferencing. You thought about no VPL
panties but felt that the softness and femininity would be too great a
distraction. No more envelopes had appeared but that meant that today
could be masculine all the way. You head down to breakfast, and met up
with a hungover Paul with tales of late night strip bars. Together you
wait for the doorman to hail a cab.
The day passes quickly, a series of impromptu and arranged meetings
plus a couple of seminars, a quick lunch with colleagues and few free
martinis at the sponsored cocktail bar. You roll back to the hotel to
freshen up before a dinner with clients. The martinis had been
deceptively strong and you weave slightly across the lobby to the lift.
The doors open and the lift starts to ascend. At floor 3 it stopped,
the doors open and Richard steps in. You exchanged glances, the silence
deafening. Eventually that little part of you took over, maybe freed by
drink, and said, "Thanks for your note, it was very sweet."
"You're welcome. I just wanted to er meet you er again."
"Me or Me?" You giggle.
"You." He winks.
The flash happens, the drop of shoulders, the exposure of doubt.
Looking down and then slowly raising your eyes to his you say, "I don't
know, I've never, well not never, but for a very longtime done
anything, anything like this and now I'm here and I'm scarred, my
colleagues are staying here, they don't know anything about me, and I'm
in the lift with you and we're talking about meeting or something and
most of me says no but then there's this little bit that says go on."
It all comes out as a breathless burst and you become aware that he's
smiling.
"Listen, all I'd like to do is spend sometime with you, and you can
dress as you want to. Nothing else, give you time to dress and spend
time with someone. All that effort and no compliment, thats just not
fair."
His eyes appear sincere, and after a beat you say, "Thank you, that
would be lovely. I dress when I can but I've never been anywhere. I
post things on the web and get compliments but I've never heard anyone
say you look great."
A tear comes from nowhere and you dab it away and he tentatively puts
an hand on yours.
"Just let me know when, heres my number." And he scribbles the figures
on a scrap of paper.
So caught up in the moment you find find yourselves at your room.
"Message me" he says squeezing your hand and then leaves. You watch him
and as he goes he looks back, you smile and give a wave, it's the same
wave from yesterday.
You sit on the bed and look out the window. It's a clear evening and
the view is fantastic, stretching for miles and miles, you're aware
that you no one can see you and that you're one on billions of people.
A few feet away, in the wardrobe hangs your little black dress, and
everything that goes with it, the perfect hair, most delightful heels,
smooth holds up, dramatic red lipstick and delicate jewellery. The
shrill ring of the phone breaks your moment, Paul is downstairs with
the clients and they're waiting for you. You freshen up, imagining
their faces as you glide into the room, feminine perfection, an air
kiss each and the centre of attention, a ton of compliments and a
proposition or three, all politely declined of course. But you're in
your smart casuals and heading out the door. In the lift you take out
your mobile, and type, "Tmw at 8pm, my room. Kisses Bree x'. You put
your phone on silent, adjust yourself discreetly hoping the firmness
subsides. As you sit in the cab, talking to your clients, your phones
flashes and receives a message. Simply it says "Can't wait, R x"
The dryness in your mouth is unbearable. The cocktails, aperitif,
wines, spirits have left you feeling decidedly worse for wear and you
roll over to drink from the glass of tepid water next to your bed.
Somehow you managed to change when you got in, swapping casuals for a
very pretty cami top and knickers combination and promptly passed out.
The combination of pretty girly and hungover boy is incongruous and
within 30 minutes you're back in a suit and drinking coffee in the
breakfast room. Paul appears a little later, looking oddly refreshed,
he's been for swim and feels much better, he tells you smugly. He goes
to the buffet and you check your phone. The realisation hits you when
you see the series of messages to Richie. They get increasingly
graphic, starting with thanks for being so understanding, through to
description of the outfit you're going to wear, ending up with who
knows where this will end up and an assortment of winks and kisses. All
sent in the early hours and no response from Richie. You quickly type
"Sorry for all that, too much to drink, B x'. A message comes straight
back, "Dont worry R x"
"Who ya texting so furtively?" says Paul as he sits down.
"Just my mum, she worries."
"Ha ha thought you'd pulled last night and you'd done a runner, leaving
the poor girl to wake up alone, you heartless wretch."
If he only knew. The thrill of being caught en femme tingles gently on
the back of your neck.
The conference is starts slowly, there's an air of over doing it. A
couple seminars in you decide a coffee is order so you make your way to
one of many stands. Straight black in hand you look for an place to sit
or at least stand. Across the way something captures your eye,
unfinished silk in green with black flower detailing, nipped at waist
with a black belt, short sleeved, with a slight collar and a skirt
finishing around the knee. Black seemed stockings and cute Mary Janes.
suddenly the wearer, a rather handsome brunette with long hair pinned
up, says, "Are you Ok?"
"Sorry." Shy smile. "Bit of hangover and thinking about something
else."
"Oh I know, conference head aches, too much partying and a day of
recycled air from all the other boozers!"
She smiles back and offer you a space at her stand.
You chat, attentively and interested, she's a contractor from Chicago,
her boyfriend is in finance, her parents are nagging her about
marriage, she wants to go travelling. She likes talking which suits you
fine as you're admiring the dress, imagining how it would feel on, your
bum wiggling as you walk, the skirt sliding up your thighs when you sit
down. You say your company is looking for people in Europe, you take
her card and promise to pass it on to the right people.
As you gather your things you say, "Lydia, odd question but where did
you get that dress, it's beautiful and would be perfect for a friend of
mine."
She looks slightly quizzical but it fades replaced by a broad smile.
"I know, isn't it lovely. Don't tell anyone but I felt so ashamed
yesterday with so many well dressed women here and I'm wearing a
trouser suits that's seen better days. So I sneaked out early, took a
cab to Bloomingdales and whacked the credit card. Brians gonna kill me
but what the heck I love it."
You watch her leave, her pert bottom swaying as she moves away, making
a mental note to move more gracefully.
The afternoon doesn't look to promising and you tell Paul you've got to
have a catch up with the office and finish of few things, adding that
you catching up with an old Uni friend this evening so wont be around
for drinks etc. You grab a cab and head back to the hotel. You check
your phone, a message from Richie. "Can't wait to see you, Richie x"
and you get more excited by the second.
Back in the room you get everything out ready. You shower, trim and
smoothe, applying moisturiser and slip your robe on with a pair of
black lace panties, so snug. You paint your toes and newly attached
nails a dark rich chocolate red. Then to add to the thrill you phone
the office to catch up. Mark is out but Helen runs you through
everything, asking you to look at a couple of things for her if she
emails them. If she could see you, silk robe, lacey knickers, painted
toes, false nails, it feels very exciting and naughty.
You cleanse and slowly begin to transform your face, Shania's "Man I
feel like a women" on your ipod. You take your time with the concealer,
foundation, mascara, eyeliner, eye shadow, false eye lashes and finally
lip stick, matching the colour with your toes and hands. As you finish
your phone rings, causing you to giggle, it's Mark and he's got some
questions. You pick up and talk, all the time brushing your hair and
walking up and down in your heels, practising your sway. The emails
arrive, Helen joins the call, you talk them both through the various
point. All done and about finish up, both of them comment on how happy
you sound, how relaxed and to bring that back with you from NYC. If
they could see you now, in your hotel room, face perfectly made up,
smelling of expensive perfume, dressing in silks, lace and heels,
getting ready to receive a young man in your room they would probably
faint!
You prepare for the final stage of transformation. You step into the
underwear, shaping and moulding your shape, creating curves and
cleavage. When you're happy you step into your blues dress with flowers
flowing over your flanks. It's always got comments online and you love
the way it looks and feels. Finally you're ready for the finale, you
put your head forward, the hair in place, throwing your head back and
brushing your new locks so they settle on your shoulders. When you see
the finished result you're thrilled. You turn your head checking
everything, you're so pleased, as perfect as can be. Standing up, tall
in your heels, you move around the room, swaying and gliding as best
you can, sitting down letting the skirt rise up your silk clad legs.
Excited and elated you feel giddy with nerves. Just then your phones
rings, its Mark, you answer, he asks your opinion about a problem, you
check you painted nails as you answer, give your make up the once over
whilst you give your opinion and checkout your ever so cute round pert
ass in the mirror as you say good bye. What a thrill!
Taking your camera phone you take a photo in the mirror and message it
to Richie with the line "I'm ready when you are, kisses Bree xx."
More preening and posturing and then a knock at the door. You slide the
cover over and see Richie. Taking a breath you slowly open the door and
quietly softly say, "Come in."
His eyes drink you in, every curve, every detail, your legs, your lips,
your breasts, everything. He says nothing until it becomes unbearable
and you say, "Well say something!"
"Oh gosh sorry, you look amazing."
Smiling you thank him, putting a hand lightly on his shoulder, bending
your right leg at the knee and kissing him on the cheek.
"You're very sweet."
You sit on the sofa together and talk, always trying to remember your
femininity, legs together, light touches on his arm and knee, the
occasional giggle and tilting your head. You talk and talk, order room
service and keep talking. The more you talk, the closer you become, the
tighter everything feels and the faster your heart beats. He holds your
hand, and plies you with compliments and drinks. You stand and dance
slowly, holding each other closely. Everything feels so natural and
when you look onto his eyes your heads tilt slightly and then you kiss,
lightly, delicately at first, small lips only but as the passions rise
your tongues interwine in each others mouths. He moves to your neck and
you make little moans of pleasure as he peppers you with quick kisses
and squeezes your ass. You respond, squeezing his cute ass and pulling
him closer, feeling his hardness pressing into you. Breaking in unison
you both say "oh my goodness that was amazing" and kiss again, and
again, and again. All you want to do is kiss, being held by a man and
kissed, its amazing and after all these years, the Nicky evening, it's
still the most wonderful thing.
He looks at you and says, "Do you want me to stay?"
You look down and then up at him, a beat passes, then a pause.
"Yes, but I just want to kiss and cuddle."
"Of course," he says and strips off his shirt and pants, sliding
between the sheets.
You take your gown and robe and prepare yourself in the bathroom. When
your ready you reenter the room, he folds back the sheets, you see his
cock, fully hardened, and you realise that you have a certain of power
over this boy and his body. You slip into his arms, melting into him as
you kiss again and again.
You wake around 4, he's sleeping soundly on his side, cuddling you from
behind, and he's hard again! You gently squeeze out from his embrace
and go to bathroom. The promises of kisses and cuddles has been
broken, intrigued, you'd held his cock in your hand, fascinated by the
look of your hand with its painted nails wrapped around a mans cock,
and gently you rubbed and pulled until he came in hot jags on his belly
and chest, just missing your face and making you both giggle like
teenagers. It was amazing and extraordinary and you loved it. He
offered to return the favour but you declined wanting to remain fully
feminine though your knickers were damp with precum. As you get back
into bed you look at your phone. A message from RF -
Hope you're OK baby? Having some very naughty thoughts about you in
some very pretty underwear. RF xx
Who knows what the future would hold? For now theres a man who needs
to cuddle up with his girl and that's you.
Cathalina
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