The Girlfriend Experience free porn video

"Good evening Sir." The ma?tre de looked up from his reservation book, hidden behind his tiny walnut desk. I'd been sized up in an instant -- the expensive tailored suit (borrowed), the contemporary haircut (my own), the general sense of unease and my lack of date all marking me down. I flashed what I hoped was a winning, confident smile. "Good evening," I said warmly. "I have a table for two booked for eight. I'm meeting someone here." I looked around, hoping to give the impression of belonging. Several couples stood around me, either jealously waiting to see if my table was ready, or hoping for the schadenfreude moment that would see me join their ranks. "My name's Richard," I lied. "Richard James." My name, like my suit, borrowed for the occasion. He scanned his list, raised one eyebrow and appraised me again. I involuntarily stood a little straighter. "Yes Mr James, good to have you back." He smiled, complicit in the lie. "Your table is ready, but your companion has yet to arrive. Would you like to wait in our bar?" He gestured to a chrome, leather, and walnut area behind him, dotted with red heart balloons. "When your companion arrives I will send someone for you." "Thank you, yes." I smiled and strode confidently towards the bar - feeling the envy of the gathered no-hopers in my wake. I ordered a gin and tonic and sat on a high stool, as much to appear occupied as to calm my nerves. I glanced up, and saw my reflection in the chrome. Neat, clean-shaven and handsome, I like to think. The tie and shirt (purple and mauve) plain against a tailored pinstriped suit. Everything was a lie, right down to my boxers. I was out on a Valentines day date, wearing my flat-mates clothes, using his name and credit card. Richard and I were both medical students, and we'd lived together since we were freshmen. He was neat, tidy, and an excellent student. He cooked, he cleaned, he was, quite frankly a catch in the flatmate stakes. I was neither neat, nor tidy, not a particularly good student, but he and I got on, and it worked. My family were paying my way through college, Richard was paying his own, so in exchange for him playing house-husband I paid a larger share in the rent, bills and food. One thing we did have in common was the rowing team. We spent probably as much time working out as we did at lectures; more in rowing season. It wasn't that we were competitive, just that we liked to win. Not that we won often, but it did mean that we were in great shape, and so had no shortage of party invites and partners. I say partners because, well, obviously Richard was gay and, hopefully equally as obviously, I'm straight. It wasn't a big deal to be honest. He told me when we moved in together, I admired his honesty and that was that. We both seemed to have the same luck in relationships too -- we'd see someone for a little while, long enough for them to become familiar, and then it would end. Until recently that is. Richard had gotten a job that made him keep pretty unsociable hours. It was varied and there seemed to be no pattern to it. Some nights he was in, others he was out until sunrise. Whatever it was, it was paying well, as his wardrobe expanded with expensive clothes, and our fridge was overflowing with nice food. He didn't seem to want to talk about it, and I didn't really care: He'd done some pretty boring jobs. The bar was filling up with beautiful people. Elegant was the word; refined. Soft classical music was barely in the background, mixed with the easy laugh of girlish women and the low rumble of men holding court. I looked around for others in my position: waiting for their date to show, anxious that they might get stood up. A man at the end of the bar in a cheap suit caught my gaze and gave me a half smile. I raised my glass. "Excuse me," a soft, nervous voice spoke from behind me. I turned my head and stopped, dead in my tracks. The woman that stood in front of me was stunning, statuesque, a model. She was tall, with blonde hair that cascaded around her shoulders. Her bright red dress lit up the room: Halter-necked, it was scooped low - showing a hint of cleavage - hugging her every curve like a second skin to just above her stocking-clad knee. Her red high-heeled shoes glistened in the low light and I knew that they alone cost more than my tuition. She nervously held a small clutch purse in her hands and was looking at me with a hopeful expression. "Are you Richard?" she asked, her ruby lips smiling to show impossibly white straight teeth. Her bright blue eyes stared straight into mine, dancing with hope and delight. "I hope you are." She added quietly. "I hope I am too," I replied, grinning and standing up off the stool. She laughed, a girlish awkward giggle. "But yes, I am, its lovely to meet you?" I left the question hanging in the air. I'd forgotten her name. "I'm Rebecca," she confirmed, looking me up and down with a flick of those gorgeous eyes -- presumably sizing me up just as I had her. "It's lovely to meet you Rebecca," I leant in and kissed her on the cheek. She tasted sweet, and smelled like an angel. Thank God, I thought, this could have been a disaster. I'd gotten home that afternoon from lectures and found Richard in his dressing gown, covered in tissues and looking miserable. I made him some chicken soup (well, ok, I opened a can of chicken soup) and a cup of tea, and force-fed him paracetamol while he watched black and white movies. Man flu is a big deal, and I certainly didn't want it. He was lightly dozing on the couch when his pager went off. Figuring it might be important, I punched the number into our phone and got a pen and paper as it rang. "GFE," a delightful sounding woman sang down the phone to me. "Excuse me?" I replied. "Girlfriend Experience escort service," the woman gently insisted. "What would be your pleasure sir?" The emphasis on the word pleasure alone would probably cost 20 bucks. My imagination was racing with possibilities, until I noticed Richard had woken up, and was looking at me with a decidedly worried expression. "I'm calling on behalf of Richard James," I said, shooting him a mischievous glance. He started shaking his head. "You paged him." "Ah yes, thank you. I'll transfer you." The woman was suddenly all business, my fantasies dashed as some elevator music started playing. I put my hand over the receiver. "I'm being transferred," I told him. "Do you want to take over?" Before he could answer, the music stopped and another woman spoke. "Richard. Thanks for calling in. I'm really sorry about the short notice but can you meet a client tonight? Seven thirty for eight at Mal Maison. There's also a reservation at Hotel du Vin in the name of James. Are you available? Please be available." Her voice was playful but insistent. My eyes never left Richard's face, his gaze locked to mine. He shook his head and mouthed "no." "That's no problem," I replied, attempting my best Richard impersonation. He fell back in his chair, swearing under his breath. "Wonderful, her name will be Rebecca Hall. She's a new client, so be extra great, ok? That's a doll. Have fun!" The phone went dead and I replaced the receiver. Well, at least I knew what his new job entailed. A waitress showed Rebecca -- "call me Becky" -- and I to our table by the window. Our chairs together round one side rather than opposite, I insisted in holding out her chair for her as she sat, her hands sliding over her gorgeous pert derriere as she did so, subtly pulling that dress down. I sat next to her, unbuttoning my jacket, but keeping it on as I ordered champagne for two and turned back to face her. Her face was handsome, rather than pretty: Her jaw a little too square, her nose a little too wide. I pegged her as older than me, possibly early thirties. Maybe a little too much makeup, but she certainly knew how to use it: her skin glowed, her lips plump and luscious red. However, her eyes were the prize and I couldn't help but stare: Perfect large round pools of blue, surrounded by dark eyeliner, long full lashes and a hint of eye shadow. Her expression changed to one of concern. "What's wrong?" she asked, reaching down for her clutch purse. "Sorry, you caught me," I replied. "I was just thinking how beautiful you were." She stopped, straightened up and smiled a big genuine smile. "Tell her she's beautiful," Richard croaked at me while I ransacked his wardrobe. "These women they want to be told they're special. Talk about her clothes, her looks. Try not to ask too many questions, they don't want to talk about that stuff" I held up a mauve shirt against the suit jacket. Richard nodded. "Sounds like the perfect date." I buttoned up the shirt over my naked torso. "And you're saying I won't have to sleep with her?" "Definitely not." Richard shifted in his dressing gown. "Most of the time they just want a nice night out, to be told they're pretty and a kiss goodnight. You'll be fine. You're such an ass." Becky and I talked as we drank the champagne. She was a lawyer, she told me, and this was her first time. Mine too, I said. She laughed. I liked her laugh. I liked her. She seemed so tense, so nervous I was sure that she'd maybe had some sort of surgery. She wasn't comfortable in her skin, that's what I had decided, and so I wanted to make her comfortable. I wanted her to laugh more and worry less. I really wanted to sleep with her. We drank to first dates, our glasses clinking and our eyes never leaving the other. I think she wanted to sleep with me too. The amuse bouche arrived and we delicately ate the cold soup out of the tiny cups. We chose wine; we ate starters of rabbit. Our conversation became more animated, beyond the small talk. I was telling her about my rowing prowess when she touched me and felt my forearms. She bit her bottom lip and shifted a little in her chair, her nylon-covered legs now touching mine. "Nice forearms." She gave me a little squeeze. I put my other hand over hers and gave the back of her hand a little stroke. "Amazingly not my best feature." "What's your best feature?" she asked with a wicked smile. Her warm hand wasn't moving. Neither was mine. "You'll see," I replied. Her lips parted in a playful gasp. I leaned in and kissed her, softly at first, and then more hungrily as I felt her push back. Her perfume was making me dizzy, her warmth exciting me more and more. She broke it off after a moment, pulling away and awkwardly running a hand through her hair. She reached down for her clutch purse and I realised it had been vibrating. "Wow. Excuse me," she said, standing up and pulling down the hem of her dress. "I won't be a moment. Stay. Right. There." I half stood and watched her walk away to the back of the restaurant, enjoying the shape of her perfect bottom as it wiggled under that second skin dress. I really wanted to get under that skin. So this is what Richard was doing every other night. Eating in fancy restaurants with beautiful women in expensive clothes and fucking their brains out. And getting paid for it: The lucky devil! Maybe they only hired gay men to make sure they didn't do anything untoward. All I wanted to do to Becky was untoward. Her scent lingered in the air as I took a drink of wine and stared out the window. I could get used to this. Her return was as good, if not better than watching her leave: her perky breasts gently bouncing with each step. I stood as she approach, pulling her chair out for her and sliding it in as she sat, my fingers touching her back where it was bare between her shoulder blades. She gave a small shiver. "That was terrible timing, sorry," she said as I sat down. "They were calling on me to make sure I was having fun." "Are you?" I asked, taking a sip of wine and letting the arm nearest her drop under the table. "I mean; I like to take my job very seriously." My hand found its way onto her knee, the sheer nylon and warmth of her legs radiating through my fingers. "I asked them to call back in half an hour. A girl can't be too careful," she smiled, taking a sip of wine. "Lets get out of here, I want to do something crazy." "Where would you like to go?" I asked, my hand now gently massaging her knee. "I want to go dancing. Take me dancing," she replied with a huge delighted smile. "I want to do everything." She uncrossed her legs under the table and my hand moved to the warmth of the inside of her thigh. "Whatever your pleasure." The club was loud, and full of sweaty gyrating bodies. I'd never been here before, but Becky knew it and had just strutted past the queue as if she was the queen of the night. The bouncers had pulled back the rope for her with a leer and we were in: Coats checked, a cocktails bought and drank. She kept leading me by the hand, like an excited school girl in a toyshop. Within minutes of arriving we were stood on the edge of the dance floor, her in front of me, wiggling that delightful derriere in time to the music, talking at me over her shoulder about how amazing it all was. She was dancing in no time, spending half her time clinging on to me, the other half with her hands in the air, flashing that big smile to anyone who looked at her. And everyone was looking at her. "Thank you so much for bringing me here!" she yelled in my ear, wrapping her arms around me and pressing her body against mine. "The restaurant was great, but, well, I can do that anytime, you know?" I turned to answer, but was thwarted by her lips, which met mine in a full-bodied kiss. I felt her tongue snake into my mouth, her hands grabbing mine, and forcing them onto her curvy behind. This was the sexiest woman I'd ever met. If this is what life as a male escort was like, sign me up, I thought. "I have to go to the little girls room, back in a second, ok?" She started to pull away, but I held her tight. "You're going to leave me standing here with a huge erection?" I whispered to her with a smile. She giggled, mouthing the word "Yes" and pushed me away in the direction of the bar. Not for the second time that night I stood alone at a bar, looking around at everyone else and thanking Richard. That reminded me, I should check in with the patient. I pulled out my cell phone from his suit jacket pocket and dialled home, as I tried to find a quieter spot. He answered after only one ring. "Sitting by the telephone?" I teased. "You needn't have worried, I'm doing great. She's hot, really hot. Having a great time." His voice was still bunged up, his manner not much improved. When I told him I'd taken Becky clubbing he was quite upset. I laughed at him, told him we were both adults. I told him not to wait up and hung up on him. I glanced up to see Becky walking towards me, now with bare legs and with a friend arm in arm. The other girl was shorter and more slender, with loosely curled red hair and a pretty, round face. She was wearing a very short black bodycon dress and knee length boots. The two girls looked like they'd been friends forever. "Hold these please, thank you!" Becky held out her hand, and dropped her bunched up stockings into my waiting hand. The new girl giggled. "These too please," the other girl said, pressing a bunched up white nylon thong into my hand. "Thank you!" they said in unison, and strode off together towards the dance floor. My phone started vibrating, Richard calling me. I ignored it, putting it, and the panties into my jacket pocket. On the dance floor, the two girls were gossiping, giggling and dancing. I rolled my eyes and went back to the bar. We left hours later, straight into a waiting taxi, her now-bare legs pressed up next to mine. We kissed gently all the way to the hotel, as I collected the room key, ordered some champagne be sent up to the room and as we waited in the elevator. We kissed in the hallway, as I fumbled with the room key, and as we eventually burst into our lavish suite. We kissed as Becky removed my jacket, and laughed at the now cold panties hanging from my inside pocket. "Wait, wait, wait," she said, standing back from me. "OK, this is really stupid but I've never done this before. What happens now?" She looked so nervous, where a moment ago she had been vivacious, larger than life. I wasn't sure what to say. I'd never done this either, and couldn't just suddenly say, "Sorry, yes, I've been lying to you all night and I'm not the male prostitute that you ordered." I decided that since I hadn't had to pay for the meal or the hotel, this probably wasn't a "leave the money on the nightstand" sort of arrangement. "I want to," she said before I could answer. "Oh, oh wait there. I've remembered." She left me standing alone as she almost ran into the hotel room, kicking off her heels as she went. I chuckled and followed her inside, picking up my expensive suit jacket and hanging it by the door. The room was huge, with two plump sofas and thick carpet. I could see Becky disappear into one of the doors and guessed it was the bedroom. "Are you coming?" she asked, her voice carrying from the other room. "Not yet." "Naughty!" She emerged from the bedroom, hanging from the doorframe. "I need you to help me." The bedroom was probably the same size again, with a huge king-sized bed. A mirrored wall dominated the room, and was open in the middle revealing a sea of clothes hanging in the space. A white silk pool of fabric glistened on the bed among a flurry of rose petals. "Unzip me," she said, turning her back to me as I walked in. I gently put one hand on her hip and very slowly tugged down the zip of her dress from the middle of her back to her waist, revealing the tight strap of black lace of her brassiere. I made to unhook it. "Not yet," she said, quite sharply. I looked up and saw her, watching the sexy tableau in the mirrors. "The collar." I did what I was told, slipping my fingers tenderly under the halter neck and unhooking it before kissing the neck it exposed. I let the red ties fall and felt her quickly move her hands over her breasts to keep her dress decent. I continued to kiss as I wrapped my arms around her middle, my hands finding hers. She purred, and then pulled away. "Sit there." She pointed to the corner of the bed and walked around it -- positioning me between her and the mirror. Fuzzily I remembered Richard's advice. "You are so beautiful in that dress," I said. I meant it. "I am, aren't I?" Those big blue eyes flicked down to me, and then back to her reflection. Slowly, she drew the top of the red dress down her front, unveiling her perky round breasts in their strapless black lace brassiere. She folded the front of the dress down to her waist where it stayed -- tight around her slender waist. "What do you think?" I thought about getting up and touching her, about taking off my shirt and pants and showing her what I thought, but I understood: This was about her. "You're perfect," I said. "I've wanted this for so long. It feels like a dream." Her voice was soft and far away, he eyes locked on her reflection. I wasn't sure what to do, so trusted my instincts, and stayed where she'd put me. I watched her slowly cup her breasts with both hands, closing her eyes as she gently squeezed. This girl was crazy. And hot. "Hand me that please," she said, opening her eyes and looking at the white silk chemise on the bed. I hesitated, suddenly aware of the tightness in my pants from watching this girl. Her lips curved into a wicked smile. "Oh my God!" she squealed. "Really? You're hard? I made you hard? Just from watching me. Oh my God." "Becky, " I began. "You are a sexy woman. I can't take my eyes off you. So yes, watching you has made me hard. Touching you would make me harder. And fucking you, well..." "Show me," she said, crossing her arms under her bust. She struck a pose designed to looked authoritative, but ruined it with a hesitant lip bite. I knew her game, and my role. I reached up and loosened my tie, slipping it from my neck, and unbuttoned my shirt down to my waist, tugging it free from my trousers. If I'm honest, I did flex a little bit as I took off the shirt, and let her see the muscles underneath; my broad shoulders. I stood up, turning to face her and unzipping the suit trousers, stepping out of them as they fell to the ground revealing my white boxer briefs, straining against my bulge. I don't like to brag, but my cock looks pretty good. "Oh my God," she said, not looking at her reflection any more. "You're. You're a man." "And you're a woman." "Hand me my chemise," she said, looking away. "Fuck the chemise." "That's my fantasy." "What about this. Isn't this a pretty good fantasy?" I took two steps towards her and took her head in my hands as I kissed her. She responded hungrily, wrapping her arms around me and squeezing herself against my naked chest. I reached down her back and unclasped the bra and felt the band fall, tickling my sides. Her hands snaked into my briefs at the same time my tongue entered her mouth. I moved my hands down her bare back to her ass, ready to help her out of the dress. "You took my bra off," she said after our lips parted, pressing her tits against my chest. "I didn't say you could do that." There was a knock at the door. "Room service," we both said in unison, dissolving into laughter. "I'll go," I said, sharply pulling away and reaching down for my discarded trousers. I tugged them on quickly, and lunged over the bed to the chemise. It felt slippery and cold in my fingers as I gathered it up and turned to present her with it. She stood exactly where I'd left her, wearing the same mischievous smile, one hand over her bosom, holding her bra in place. "Thank you," she said, reaching out to take the garment with her free hand. There was another knock at the door. I reached in to kiss her, handing her the garment and hurrying to the door, opening it to take delivery of the Champaign and two glasses from a bored and tired-looking busboy. While he set up the table, I heard the bathroom door close. The moment had gone. I tipped the guy, pulling out a crumpled five from my pocket, along with my keys and mobile phone. "Thanks," he said, slightly sarcastically, taking the money all the same and leaving me alone in the massive suite. My phone had 8 missed calls, all from Richard. There were also eight text messages. Where are you? Dude, its my ass if you fuck this up Answer your phone! Where ARE you? Please don't do anything stupid. Look, it's not what you think. Please call me. Are you OK? Was I okay? I was great: I'd had a great night flirting with a hot girl, all expenses paid and I was about to get laid. I took a sip of Champagne and deleted the messages. It's not what you think. What did that mean? The phone began to buzz in my hand -- another call. "What's going on?" Becky stood framed in the bedroom doorway, slinky in her chemise - stretched tight against her curves, her nipples clearly visible. "Nothing at all," I said with a grin, dropping the phone onto the nearby couch and picking up the other Champagne glass. "Did they phone you too?" she asked, taking the long-stemmed glass from me. "They keep checking up on me. I said you were wonderful." "You did?" "I did." She took a sip, unconsciously hugging herself with her free arm. "You have room for a phone in that outfit?" "There's barely room for me in this outfit." "We can fix that." She laughed, taking another drink: Larger this time. She was nervous. I could fix that. I leant it to kiss her, surprised that she tasted different, sweeter. As our lips touched I took the glass from her tight fingers. "Come with me," I whispered. I moved past her, back towards the bedroom, not looking back, confident she would follow. I needed to take charge. I set the glasses down on the bedside table, kicked off my shoes and unbuckled my trousers, quickly drawing them down my legs and casting them aside. I paused for a second and made a decision. Someone had to take the lead. Still with my back to the door, I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my briefs and tugged downward, freeing my hardening cock in the process as I removed my underwear. I turned round, to see her standing at the foot of the bed, arms folded; her face frozen in terror. "Hey, what's wrong?" I asked. "You okay?" "Oh fuck," she whispered, her gaze locked on my cock. "Too fast? I thought..." "No. Well, yes. But, no. Oh fuck. I'm sorry." She sat on the edge of the bed; arms folded protectively across her chest, and stared at the ground. "I thought I could. I thought I wanted this. I'm sorry. What must you think of me?" "What do I think?" I said, sitting down next to her. "I think you're a beautiful and sexy woman. I think this is your first time, and that you're feeling a little scared." She looked up from the floor and brushed her hair behind one ear, forcing a smile. The scent of her perfume filled my nostrils. "Thank you," she said, her voice small. "No need to thank me. It's true." I smiled at her, fighting my desire to break eye contact. I could think of nothing else but her perky tits and creamy thighs. I would have said anything. Her first time. I wondered if it was her first time, ever. Suddenly it fell into place: the date, the dancing, the inexperienced flirting, the fantasy, the horror. This was a story she'd been telling herself. She was a virgin. I reached out and gently stroked her arm. "This is still your fantasy, Becky," I said. "I can do whatever you want." "I've wanted this my whole life. I've dreamt about nothing else, you know? And now it's here I just..." I held my finger up to her lips. "Now its here. I'm your fantasy. Right now. I promise I won't hurt you. I promise I'll be gentle, and I promise it will be special. I promise to treat you like a princess. This isn't a job for me Becky. I really like you." Maybe the last was too much. Honestly, I would have said anything. Her face lit up, all doubt and worry gone in an instant. We kissed, tentatively, like the first time. Lips touching and no more. A little pressure, yes? A little pressure. Yes. My hand slid down her arm, onto her waist through the slinky fabric, down to her thighs, finally resting on top of her clasped hands in her lap. She interlocked her fingers in mine. Slowly, I took her hand across her lap towards me, unlocking my fingers and wrapping my hand around hers, as her fingers tentatively touched my cock. Her fingers were warm and soft, and surprisingly expert. Her grip was light and my cock responded instantly. I was worried she'd have hurt me in her inexperience, but it was like she'd been handling cocks her whole life. We continued to kiss as she stroked me, my hands leaving hers and finding her the hem of her chemise. I gently laid my hand above her knee. There was no resistance. I slipped slowly under the silk, warm smooth flesh under my fingers. Suddenly, the texture changed. Where flesh had been, now thick, smooth lycra. Spanx, I concluded quickly, deciding to play it cool. My fingers carried on slowly up her thighs, until she abruptly broke off the kiss. "You're pretty good at that," I said, her fingers still around my cock. "It feels so weird," she said with a nervous smile. "Nice. I've never touched another man before. You sure it's okay?" "Can't you tell?" She smiled at me, her eyes sparkling with the rush of the experience. If I was her first, I had a responsibility. I wanted it to be memorable. "Can I suck it?" she asked, nervously. I was taken aback a little, I'll admit. My plans for her had been more to please her, to do stuff I knew girls liked - kissing, stroking, teasing. By God I wanted to fuck her, but I wanted her to think I was good at my job as an escort. Well, Richard's job. I didn't think girls liked to do oral, or at least, they liked it fine when you first met them, when they were desperate to do anything to get you to like them, and then... that was it. I had even thought about going down on Becky, although it wasn't something I liked that much, or was very good at, but I wanted her to experience, well, everything I could think of. She seemed, right then, so full of promise. So willing and excited that I think it was the first time I'd ever thought about someone else first. "What's wrong? Am I not allowed?" "No," I laughed. "You can do anything you want. I'd love you to, if you wanted to." "I've always wanted to," she said, moving to kneel in front of the bed. "Oh my God. Listen, don't... Just... I don't really know what I'm doing." Her head hovered over my cock, her eyes focused on it, and the neatly trimmed bush surrounding it. Her hands gripped my thighs, a little too tightly. I felt her take me into her warm mouth. Her tongue licking me. She pulled back almost instantly. "Wow, that was intense." "I know," I said, encouragingly. "Just, oh God. It tastes different? You know?" "Really?" "Really. Was that good?" "Maybe try a little longer?" I suggested. She gripped tighter and tried again, taking me further into her mouth, and working her lips up and down. Her teeth scraped against me a few times, causing me to shiver, which she took as signs of encouragement. In truth it wasn't bad at all, but worrying about her meant that I wasn't turned on in the slightest. After thirty seconds of bobbing up and down, she came up for air. "God this is hard work," she said, gasping. "And you're softer than you were when I started. Oh, I'm sorry." "It's fine," I said, gently. "Tonight should be about you, not me." "You're lovely," she said. "Really lovely. I'm so glad I got you. I was so nervous tonight, and you've been great. You've treated me like a lady, always saying the right things, making me feel so special." She got off her knees and turned to face the mirrored wall, walking towards it. "Honestly, I don't think I could have done this without you. I was so scared. And so excited, of course, but... Being in public, like this. It's so wonderful." I stood up and went to her, wrapping my arms around her middle and pressing myself into her fleshy behind. Just being near to her again, smelling her perfume, enjoying the girlishness of her figure, meant I quickly sprang back to life. I kissed down her neck, sneaking glances down the front of her chemise. "Help me," she said, lifting her arms above her head. I obliged, reaching down and working the silk garment up over her plump hips, and gathering it up her body before pulling it over her head. Her tits were perfect; small and full and impossibly pert. Her nipples were dark and puffy, fat and desperate to be sucked. "Not so sexy, really," she said. "I think they're beautiful," I replied mesmerized. "I meant my sexy panties," she laughed, sliding her hands over her curvy hips and rear. The spanx I had felt earlier looked even more severe in the flesh: tightly squeezing her, lifting her and shaping her. Barely visible patterns and circles conspired to lift and sculpt her flesh under a thick layer of nude-colored lycra. In an effort to present as a feminine garment, the bands clinging to her waist and mid-thigh were edged in a delicate lace. I'd never seen anything like it. "They are sexy," I said with a wink. "I love my tits too though. Boobs. They're my boobs, sorry. Breasts. Whatever. I love them. Do you like them?" In reply I wrapped my arms around her again, my hands easily finding her and cupping her tits. I kissed her neck again as I squeezed them gently, my thumbs brushing against those fat, puffy nipples. She gasped as I touched her, holding her breath as I felt her warm flesh. They felt amazing in my hands - delightfully soft to the touch and yet firm to squeeze. I felt her gently lay her hand over mine and begin to massage. I opened my eyes and looked in the mirror. Her mouth hung open, her eyes closed as she panted. God, her tits must be so sensitive, I thought, until I saw what her other hand was doing - rammed between her thighs, massaging her groin furiously. I grinned, and moved one of my hands down her front, over her taut little belly and laid it over her furiously working hand, mirroring her actions. I tried to work my fingers under hers, to touch her directly through her underwear, but she batted me away. I shrugged and kept doing what I was doing - kissing her shoulders, massaging her boobs and pressing my hardon into her ass. "Why don't we take those off?" I whispered. "I want you to go now," she said, still working furiously. "What?" "Leave. Please. Just go." I couldn't believe she'd said that. We were just getting started. "So what did you do?" Richard asked me, swaddled in his dressing gown. "What do you think? I gathered up my clothes, kissed her on the cheek and left. Oh, and I grabbed this on the way out." I held up the bottle of Champagne I had been slugging. Between the wine, the cocktails and the first half of the bottle, I was quite drunk. "So you didn't, you know, see anything?" he asked, shifting in his chair. He'd stayed up for me, which was funny. I guess worried I'd have done something to get him fired. "Like gross girl parts?" I teased him. "No, I told you. She kept those massive panties on. Honestly man, she was hot. I'd have given anything to get in those panties, but I'm not an asshole." "No," Richard laughed, before dissolving into a coughing fit. "No, you're definitely not an asshole." I handed him the three-quarter empty bottle. "Happy Valentines Day."