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Chapter 1 (Monday)
I felt a warm glow of familiar pleasure as the Monday morning Eurostar trainfrom Paris pulled effortlessly into the terminus at 9:50, 5 minutes early.It was going to be great to be back in London after so long, even if it wasonly for a couple of days. Things had been getting progressively worse betweenClaud and me as he became more and more overbearing, placing ever more absurdexpectations on me. I dreaded sex with him to the point where eventually Icouldn't even bear to let him touch me at all. It made my skin creep. I neededto get away to have time and space to myself and found the perfect opportunity,or shall I say, excuse. I had answered a job advertisement for a position whereI could use my marketing skills and my qualification in textile design. Butmost important was the offer of paid return travel expenses and an overnightstay in London.
I grabbed my leather overnight bag from the luggage rack, brushing away theoffer of help from the kindly gentleman sitting opposite. 'I don't need a mananymore' I confidently said to myself, shocked to realise that it was probablytrue. Stepping off the train with my new-found self-assurance I walked downthe long platform with my head held high. At 5 feet 7 inches tall, with shoulder-length,naturally curly honey blonde hair, high cheekbones and a world of opportunitiesahead of me, how could I fail? By the time I reached the ticket barrier I hadalready decided to stop by the fashion stores to buy a couple of items to bettermatch my mood before I could approach the interview in the right frame of mind.Brussels is a fascinating city but in the 5 years I have lived there I havemissed the high-quality clothing stores that I know so well in the main streetsand small arcades of London's Bond Street area.
Emerging from the 'tube' station I strode to that landmark department storeon Oxford Street, delighted to find it had been recently refurbished so thatthe centre of the store was filled with cool natural daylight, so importantto show off the true colour and texture of the clothes. Now, what better toboost a girl's ego than a new bra? Heading to the large and comprehensivelystocked lingerie department I became temporarily bewildered by the array ofitems on display. Here was everything any woman could need, from plain, functionalbut exceptionally well made everyday wear to the most glamorous and exquisitelyfine silk and lace garments from the top designers.
I needed something that would not show under the plum-coloured knee-lengthdress I had brought with me and which would hold my breasts in place so asnot do draw too much attention to themselves. Not that they need much control,as they are nicely firm and well proportioned. An English size 34C, they standas prominent and high on my rib-cage as they did when I was at school and theother girls would cat-call and jibe out loud in the showers whilst secretlyhalf-whispering comments of jealousy and admiration to each under their breath.Absent-mindedly my mind drifted back to those school days when I became deeplyaware of my own body and the pleasure it gave me when I would stand admiringmy blossoming teenage curves in the mirror. I would cup my breasts and feeltheir even, balanced weight on my hands, allowing my fingers to stray ontomy dark nipples, the pleasure enhanced by the certain knowledge that I wasbreaking one of the boarding school's stuffy rules. Yes, there was even a rulethat forbade the girls to even so much as to touch themselves, on the breastsor genitals except whilst washing or showering. How the school's founders everplanned to enforce such a rule I could not imagine, but judging from the moanscoming from under the sheets at night, I was not the only one to break it.And we definitely were not allowed to touch each other, anywhere or any time.
My mind was brought sharply back to reality by the strong but polite voiceof a store employee standing behind me. "Are you looking for anything in particularor would you like me to make a few suggestions?" Even if I had known what tosay, I could not have spoken at that moment as I was totally enthralled bythe short but striking woman I saw as I spun round. She was slim with jet-blackhair in a precision-cut, short straight style. She wore a dark burgundy jacketbuttoned high up to her neck, a matching calf-length skirt and black, high-qualityshoes. My marketing experience told me first to read her name-badge: 'Kirsten – PersonalShopper', engraved on a platinum-coloured badge bearing a discreet but unfamiliarlogo.
"I'm Julie and I need a nice bra to wear under a plummy-ish coloured sortof dress type of thing, nothing too racy, er ..., if you know what I mean".All of my new-found confidence had drained away as I looked into the clear,blue eyes of Kirsten - Personal Shopper. "I am sure I can find just what youneed – follow me". The way she spoke made me feel so inadequate; so powerfulyet polite. I wish I knew what assertiveness course she had attended.
Kirsten led me to a rail of mid-priced lingerie in plain colours and a varietyof styles. Amongst them was a bra in the perfect colour, my size and in a cutthat the label described as Balcony. "This looks OK", I said, feeling morerelaxed now as Kirsten put me at ease with words of encouragement, speakingmore softly with an underlying Irish accent. Without even asking, she pickedup my overnight bag for me and led me to the luxuriously-appointed changingrooms. Expecting her to wait outside, I was surprised when Kirsten steppedinto the large cubicle behind me and quietly closed, and locked, the door.
"Sorry, I should have introduced myself. I'm Kirsten (I knew that) and I'myour personal shopper (I knew that too). If you would like to try on the bra,I will help you to adjust the straps for a prefect fit. I'm happy to bringother sizes for you to try. But more than that, I can advise you on the subtledifferences between the styles and cuts, which items are most suitable underyour clothes and which will give you the shape you want." Whew! This is exactlywhat I need. I love lingerie but I have always wondered at the range and complexityof bras, panties, basques, waspies, bodies and more that are available. NowI have an expert to help me. "But don't worry, I wont actually touch you – it'sagainst the rules here." Hmm, where did I hear that before?
We moved into easy and relaxed conversation. Some of it small talk interspersedwith much helpful advice. The plum bra fitted perfectly. It was made of a smooth,satin fabric, with narrow straps, lacy edging to the cups and perfectly-stitcheddetails. I noticed it had unusual metal rings to adjust the straps. The under-wiringcame up the centre between my boobs, holding them slightly apart, with a smallmetal stud in the centre in the shape of delicately pursed lips, shaped justas if they were blowing a kiss. Kirsten explained: "A Balcony bra lifts yourbreasts slightly and holds them, but does not push them together so you don'tget a jaw-dropping cleavage. It's a bit like cupping your hands under themto feel their weight. You're lucky; your breasts are very firm for their size,so you don't need a lot of support. Look how they don't bulge over the edgeof the bra-cups, they just continue to follow the shape and curve of the fabric."
"You could wear almost any style of bra, just according to your mood. A push-uplifts your breasts and pushes them together too. They are bought mostly bywomen with small, wide-spaced breasts who want to make the most of them. Buta push-up would give you a very deep, fascinating cleavage. You would lookstunning in an uplift ½ cup bra as the whole of the top surface of yoursmooth-skinned breast would be visible above the edge of the cups but you wouldn't'spill' when you leant forward. You can get away with wearing wear soft, lacebras with no under-wiring as you don't need the support. Only a few makes comein your size as normally only smaller-breasted women like me can wear these."
To be honest I hadn't noticed Kirsten's figure, well concealed under herbusiness-like suit. "So who actually employs you?" I quizzed. "I don't workfor the store. I'm paid by Passionella, look, this is their logo on my badge".It was the same Blowing-Kiss design as the stud on the bra. "It's a bit ofa con, as customers assume they are getting impartial advice but I'm here topush my products" Kirsten knew all about pushing all right. "You know yourlingerie". "It's my job, and my passion too". She pursed her lips, as if toblow a kiss.
The more I spoke to Kirsten, the more I became fascinated by her. Open andfriendly on the surface but I sensed a much deeper aspect to her personalityand her interest in me that I could not fathom. I decided to buy the balconybra. Kirsten brought two or three pairs of matching pants and I decided tobuy both the 'sensible' deep-sided pair and the high-cut, narrow thong thatbarely covered my pubic hair and was virtually non-existent at the back. StrangelyI was not embarrassed to undress in front of Kirsten. Maybe it was becauseI knew she would never touch me.
Kirsten led me to the pay-point where I paid cash in Euros. Kirsten noticed. "Usingup your holiday money?" she enquired. "No, I live in France, with my boyfriend" Kirstennoticed a small tear well up in the corner of my eye. "Where are you stayingwhilst you are over here?" she delved deeper; I resented her intrusion intomy personal life, and it showed. To relieve the tension, Kirsten suggesteda coffee – "It's my break time now". We chatted endlessly about my newjob opportunity and when I mentioned the name of the hotel I was booked intoand that I needed to get across town in time to change, freshen up in timefor the interview, Kirsten looked horrified. "You can't possibly get therein time – it's miles. Look, my apartment is just 3 blocks away, behindPortland Square. It's provided by Passionella and you are a customer.Here's the key. You can use the shower; there are fresh towels on the rail.There won't be anyone there and you'll be gone by the time I finish here. Justleave the key on the table – it's a spare."
Why did Kirsten trust me, a total stranger? How could I argue?
******************************************************
I let myself in and I stumbled into the hallway of Kirsten's studio apartment.It is beautiful and is decorated in a modern but comfortable style best describedas Cosmopolitan European. The quality of furnishings is entirely consistentwith the image its owner – one of Italy's most respected lingerie manufacturers.Kirsten has a large living/bedroom with a king-size bed at one side and a hugecomfy-looking sofa under the tall window. There is a state of the art kitchenand I can just see through the partly-open door into her luxury bathroom. Ithrew my bag on the sofa and made myself a coffee. I stripped naked and divedinto the power-shower, which had jets all around my body and made me tingleall over. Drying myself on the thick, soft towels, I felt wonderful. I slippedon my new Passionella bra and pants, choosing the thong - no risk of VPL – andfelt on top of the world, except I realised that I desperately wanted to seeKirsten again. The apartment smells of her. It contains her things. I startedto look around me and I peeked in her wardrobes. One contains a selection oflingerie, neatly arranged on hangers. Briefly I thumbed through them, noticingsome that I didn't remember seeing in any shop. Then I chastised myself forbeing so rude as to look in someone else's wardrobe.
I looked at myself in the full-length mirror and liked what I saw. I twistedand turned to see myself from different angles and as I did so, the fabricof my new bra rubbed on my nipples. It fitted perfectly, nestling snugly undermy boobs; they looked fantastic and I just had to feel them through the fabric.I turned sideways to see my profile and could clearly see my nipples in silhouetteas they pushed through the taught bra. Normally I have large, round dark areolewith small nipples sitting neatly in the centre. But when I'm aroused my nipplesbecome long and large; they are parallel with slightly dimpled ends. The areolepucker up as the sensitive skin is pulled to attention. Just like now. I movedwith a slow rhythm, enjoying the moment of seductive privacy and the imageI saw in the mirror both surprised and pleased me. It pleased me a lot.
I started to become aware of the delicate, skimpily-cut panties between mylegs. The side straps are as thin as the bra straps and have the same adjustingrings allowing me to set them high on my hips and pull the straps tight sothere is no chance that the matching plum fabric covering my crotch can becomeloose. I pulled the adjusting straps a little tighter. And a little more. Iliked these adjusting rings. Mmmm. The thin web of smooth satin material atthe back of my new thong had now wedged itself deep within my bum-cheeks andhad made its presence felt against my anus. I noticed that the smooth triangleof fabric at the front only just about covered my honey blonde pubic hair,which I keep neatly trimmed but which I never shave.
I moved a little more in front of the mirror, which reflected back an imageof a woman I hardly recognised. My smooth skin was pulled very taught acrossmy flat belly and it seemed to shine in the afternoon light streaming throughthe window. My waist looked narrower and leaner than ever, accentuated by thenarrow straps of the thong, which I had now pulled up as high and tight asI could.
Maybe I should shorten the bra straps a little? Just a bit more lift won'tdo any harm and if it helps me at the interview ... I threw my arms back behindmy head and stretched upwards, the tight bra pushing my boobs up and forward.They looked better than ever. The straps are widely-spaced; they follow a delicateline from my shoulders down the outsides of my proud boobs and are neatly stitchedto the outer ends of the under-wiring. They are intended to hold up the branot my luscious, firm tits and allow a full, uninterrupted view of their upward-facingcurves.
As I continued to stretch upwards, the thong really didn't cover my pubes.How could this be – had it shrunk? I realised that my pussy lips werestarting to part and my mound was swelling. The stretched fabric had pulledinto a tiny fold as it moved into the space now opening up between my outerlabia lips, which moved apart some more and gently moistened the material withmy personal wetness. I felt wonderful, my throat was dry and I was breathingfaster. But, as I posed in front of the mirror I realised that mine was notthe only image I could see.
Lost in my own world I did not hear the apartment door open and I was notalone. Still dressed in her smart business-like suit, Kirsten - Personal Shopper- was now standing behind me, just as she did in the store. She apologised. "Don'tlet me stop you – I was enjoying the show. I should have made more noisewhen I came in." I grabbed the towel off the sofa and bashfully tried to covermyself. "Don't be so prudish. During my work I see so many naked bodies, butfew of them are as lovely to look at as yours". I relaxed a little and caughtmy breath enough to down the rest of my coffee, which had gone cold by then.
Confused, I quizzed Kirsten. "I thought you said you finish a six-thirtyand that I would be gone by the time you got home. It's only 5:15 now and Ineed to be at my interview soon." "Sorry, but I had reached my sales quotafor the day, and I was feeling a little tired and, well, I rather wanted tosee you again" came her reply. My heat beat increased just a little and mythroat started to become dry again. "Don't get me wrong, actually I am quitepleased to see you too." In fact I had the feeling I was going to see rathera lot of Kirsten.
"What time is this interview anyway?" "Seven-thirty". "We have time to getfreshened up then walk down to a bar I know, get a drink to boost your courageand you'll still be there on time. I'll get changed." Once more, Kirsten hadtaken charge and left me no option, but I didn't mind. Sounded good to me.
Kirsten suggested I put on some make up so I made myself comfortable in frontof her dressing table. Behind me, Kirsten started to undress from her workingclothes, I could see her reflected in the dressing-table mirror and I moveda little to the left to get a better view. I was not sure if Kirsten knew Iwas watching her, but I was intrigued to know what she was wearing under herdaywear and especially, what type of lingerie a Passionella employee wears.Kirsten unbuttoned her jacket from the top down. Was it my imagination, orwas she releasing each gold button from its embroidered buttonhole slowly anddeliberately, and was that a coy, sideways glance she threw from time to time,directed at me?
She let the front of her jacket fall open: I was surprised to see that shewas not wearing a blouse or camisole underneath. She pushed her shoulders backand allowed the jacket to slip down her arms to reveal an exquisite lace-cupbra, which neatly but completely covered her breasts. It was a warm, creamcolour and the lace was applied over matching satin so the bra cups were opaque.The straps were wide with lace trim and nestling between the cups was the now-familiarPassionella Blowing-Kiss logo. Without realising, I had swivelled myself aroundto face Kirsten but she did not object. Here I was sitting in her bedroom,watching my new friend undress with the style and confidence of a professional,totally captivated. I couldn't wait to see what else she was wearing and Ididn't need to. Kirsten pulled the zip of her skirt and let it fall to thefloor, revealing matching lacy panties and to my delight, not pantyhose butdelicate ribbon suspenders in co-ordinating cream lace. Intriguingly, her suspendershad three straps each side; I had only ever seen designs with two. These inturn were stretched taught to hold up the sheer flesh-coloured lace-toppedstockings that encased her firm, slim legs. At the end of each ribbon strapwas a small catch to hold the top of the stockings, decorated with the PassionellaBlowing-Kiss design.
Kirsten detached the clips one by one and gently pulled the ribbon strapsfrom inside her lacy panties. To my great embarrassment, I realised that Iwas now sitting astride Kirsten's dressing-table stool and I was slowly butobviously tilting my pelvis back-and-forth, sliding my satin-encased pussyalong the padded top of the stool. I was becoming turned on by the sight ofa small and very attractive young woman, I guessed at 24 years old, undressingseductively in her own bedroom. As her finale, Kirsten turned her back to me,set her feet squarely on the plush carpeted floor about half a metre apartand leant forward. Keeping her legs straight, she bent low from her hips andscooped up her stockings. I absorbed the most evocative view of her legs, herstill-covered bum cheeks and what lay between. It was stupendous and I groundmy pussy into the padded stool. Kirsten must have noticed but said nothing;she stood upright and headed to the bathroom, calling back over her smoothshoulder. "Help yourself to make-up and perfume, I'll be ready in 10 minutes.Hurry up or you will mss your appointment". I watched as she walked out ofview, placing one foot in front of the other and rocking her hips from sideto side like a catwalk model.
I composed myself and opened my overnight bag. I slipped into the plum-coloureddress and changed my shoes, deciding I didn't need tights for an interviewwith a down-market flat-pack furniture retailer. I put on some perfume andwaited, musing over the series of events unfolding. There was something aboutKirsten that puzzled me. She seemed just too stylish, too confident and justtoo damn sexy to be a sales assistant in a shop.
Kirsten waltzed out of the bathroom, still wearing her luscious cream braand panties. She grabbed some clothes from her range of wardrobes and slippedon a thick rib-knit sleeveless top with a high roll-neck, and a pair of fashionabletrousers. In moments we were outside in the warm late-afternoon air headingfor St. Christopher's Place. We sat at a table outside a small, friendly Belgianrestaurant and Kirsten drew the attention of the waitress, just by being there.We ordered beers and water, and we talked. We laughed, we chatted and we questionedeach other. I told Kirsten all about myself, my family, my education and myrecent life in France and learnt almost nothing about her. The time with Kirstenpassed quickly as I became more and more enthralled. I couldn't keep my eyesoff her. Hers were always moving, darting from my lips to my own eyes and downto my body. If she thought I was losing concentration she would lightly touchmy sleeved arm, but never my hand. For my part, I couldn't help but admirethe way her ribbed top clung to her small but tight curves. Kirsten had seenme naked; now I badly needed to discover what her breasts looked like, freedfrom the constraints of her employer's products.
"Tell me about this interview, who is it for". I gasped and looked at mywatch. "I must go soon or I will be late". "Wait, tell me about it." "The vacancyis for a Mystery Shopper for a furniture company. They need someone to visitretailers posing as a bona fide customer to test the commitment, product knowledgeand customer-care skills of the sales staff. Then they need written reportsand …". "But Julie, I know that Passionella are considering introducingMystery Shoppers. Surely, a woman with your interest in fine lingerie, yournatural poise and your easy style would rather work for us than some back-streetbookcase-maker? I can call my Sales Vice-President now and ask her if she hasan opening for you." "I thought for a second and was just about to speak whenKirsten pulled from her bag the smallest, smartest mobile phone I had seen.She was through in a moment and talked animatedly. "That's arranged then. Youneed to be at Passionella HQ in Mayfair at 10:30 tomorrow. Here's the address,just see Rachel in reception, she'll be expecting you. You'll be interviewedand have the company philosophy and rules explained to you. There are no vacanciesin France so you'll need to be based in England. When you accept the job offeryou will make another appointment for full training." What could I say, ofcourse this sounded much more appealing than chipboard cabinets. What was evenmore appealing was the way Kirsten had just taken over my life.
I called the hotel where I was supposed to be and cancelled my interview,only realising after I rang off that, in so doing, I had lost my room for thenight too. I looked Kirsten in the eye and smiled the most endearing smileI could manage, my legs turning to jelly and a warm but nervous rush wellingup inside me. "Kirsten, now I have no-where to go tonight. Can I sleep at yourplace?" It was unlike me to be so direct. "Of course, that sofa folds out tomake a large and comfortable bed." Perfect, I hadn't intended sleeping in Kirsten'sbed with her. "Oh, and I don't have any suitable clothes to wear, I was expectingto be going back to Paris tomorrow." "You can borrow some of my stuff. You'llfind a stretchy top and some trousers that will fit you in my wardrobes. Borrowsome pants, and a bra too – they all belong to the company – butyou might struggle to find one your size" she said, flicking a knowing lookat my full breasts.
The rest of the evening was free now so we ordered food and eventually headedback to her studio apartment at around 10:00. The atmosphere was highly chargedas we entered the room but Kirsten immediately put me at ease. After one lastcoffee, we folded out the sofa bed and Kirsten produced crisp, clean sheetsand a soft duvet. The reality dawned on me that now I was going to undressagain, and I didn't feel in the least bit nervous. Kirsten had seen me nakedin the store, but she had also seen me getting off on her reflection in themirror. She offered to lend me a long nightshirt but I declined. I undressedquickly and climbed into bed, enjoying the feel of the clean linen on my nakedskin. Honestly, it wouldn't have surprised me if Kirsten had climbed into thebed beside me, but instead, and to my relief, she flicked off the lights andheaded to the bathroom.
My mind was racing as I thought about the day. I was unable to contemplatesleep as I thought about the lovely Kirsten undressing in her bathroom, andthe warm, moist feeling between my legs. How I hoped that Kirsten would benaked when she walked the short distance to her own bed, so I could make outthe shape of her breasts, illuminated by the orange glow of the streetlampsoutside. Sadly, when she emerged, she was wearing a camisole and French-knickersset with lace trim and thin shoulder straps. As she turned to climb into herlonely bed, I could just make out the silhouette of her nipples pushing againstthe silk.
I desperately wanted to masturbate myself to sleep. I felt like I had neverfelt before and grappled with the dawning realisation that I could be a lesbian.My thoughts went back to school, to the shower rooms and to the old schoolrules. How could I rub my aching pussy with Kirsten in the same room? I lightlytouched my protruding nipples and had to stifle a gasp as I realised how sensitivethey had become. If I covered them with my hands, my warm touch intensifyingthe feelings. If I didn't, they rubbed tantalisingly against the soft fabricof the duvet with my every move. I moved my shaking hands slowly down my ribcage as it rose and fell with every breath, over my perfectly-formed navel(for which I must thank a caring and skilled midwife) and down my lower bellyto the edge of my prominently rounded Mound of Venus. My blonde pubic hairwas wet with my juices and had become slightly matted. I ran my fingers throughit like a comb to free the curls but the feeling was too intense. My breathinghad become fast and shallow and my throat was dry. Kirsten was sure to hearme.
Then I decided that I needed all my composure and concentration to face thenext day and if I brought myself to orgasm it was sure to be deep, powerful,exhilarating and exhausting. I secretly knew that, sometimes, I enjoy a longteasing build-up, the slowly building anticipation and the self-denial beingas enjoyable as the climax itself. The promise of what is to come being asgood as the come itself. The satisfaction of knowing I have the self-controlto overcome the quivering tension in my body and the aching in my cunt, andthat I can resist the temptation to fuck myself to a shattering crescendo.
I moved my hands slowly to my sides and lay still, basking in the warmthof my new friend's spare bed.
In that blissful limbo between waking and sleep I thought I heard, from theother side of the room, a slow rhythmic rustling of bedclothes followed bya quiet, low moan. I drifted off to sleep.
Hortense
- 14.11.2020
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