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Emma strolled aimlessly along the sea front, the warm summer breeze carrying with it the hint and scent of a thunderstorm. 'I knew I should have brought a coat, ' Emma sighed to herself, knowing that three successive days of hot English weather was about the best she could really hope for. The approaching storm had turned the air humid, making her flowered cotton sundress stick to her in places she really wished it wouldn't. Emma loved being able to wear summer clothes and wished she could be walking along a beach in the Seychelles, wearing nothing but a skimpy bikini and a diaphanous sarong. "Someday," she whispered to the rising wind, but in her heart of hearts she knew that at thirty-two it was unlikely to happen now.

All Emma had to look forward to right now was the six-week summer holiday that she considered the major, if not only, perk of being a teacher. As tradition demanded, she and her colleagues had gone out to celebrate the end of term with a few drinks. That had been only three hours ago and already she was alone, the others gradually drifting away with excuses of children to tend or spouses to meet.

"Trust Andrew to go away today," Emma softly cursed. Although even to herself she admitted that it wasn't really his fault he had to go away for work, or that he spent so many hours working these days he no longer seemed interested in her. More often than not he would claim tiredness as a well-worn refrain for slinking off to bed early, leaving Emma even more alone than when he wasn't in the house.

To try and fill the void that seemed to be widening with every passing day, Emma looked for other avenues to provide at least a partial distraction to her loneliness. She'd even considered having an affair, knowing at least two semi- decent candidates at her school who would not have objected. But like so many things in her life, such possibilities remained simply unfulfilled fantasies.

She had, at least for a short while, even tried to turn her hand to writing erotic fiction, finding a huge audience for such work on the internet. But she soon found that what people wanted was sex, not eroticism, let alone the kind of romance she wanted to write about. She had tried, but quickly realised that her lack of experience with men, other than Andrew, was a severe handicap. And one drunken kiss with her college roommate, no matter how enjoyable, could hardly give her a basis for writing lesbian stories.

Not surprisingly, her literary career waned, just as she herself sometimes thought she was doing; each day she felt smaller and less significant than the last, expecting one day to just disappear. 'Would anyone notice?' she wondered.

As she gazed out to sea, thinking of wasting away, Emma found herself contemplating her evening meal and thought of the selection of 'meals for one' currently residing in her freezer. 'Meals for people who eat alone' Emma termed them. She wanted to host dinner parties for people like herself, not sit in front of the TV with some aeroplane food in its own little plastic bowl. But friends were scarce, most of them left behind when they'd moved from their hometown a few years back for the sake of Andrew's career.

The first spot of rain broke in uninvited on Emma's reverie, and she thought about catching the bus home, but on looking up saw that she had walked further than she had realised and was only a couple of streets away from Gino's. At first a smile lit up her face as she recalled the lovely little Italian bistro she and Andrew used to go to in their younger days. But the smile faded, and her sadness, almost as heavy and cloying as the atmosphere, deepened as she realised she couldn't even remember the last time they had gone there.

A distant rumble of thunder threatened worse rain to come, and Emma made a quick decision to go to the restaurant for shelter; as much from her loneliness as from the rain.

With her high heels slowing her progress slightly, and the wind starting to blow her curly brown hair in front of her eyes, Emma made her way through the small side streets leading away from the promenade.

The rain was now coming full-tilt, gusting on each roar of thunder as Emma rounded the corner of the street on which Gino's stood. Small rivers of rainwater began to run down the edge of the road as the drains failed to cope with the sudden deluge. Had it not been for the awnings over the shops, Emma would by now have been totally drenched.

With her head down as she walked into the teeth of the mounting gale, her small clutch bag held ineffectually over her hair, Emma moved as fast as she could, only lifting her eyes occasionally to check on her progress. She stopped and was about to go into the restaurant when a silver Mercedes sports car pulled up sharply at the curb beside her. A plume of water shot out from under the car's front wheel towards Emma, soaking her best hold-up stockings from her feet to her knees.

Emma seethed; and as the driver's door opened and a large black umbrella was opened from inside, she fully intended to berate the driver for being such an inconsiderate oaf.

The words died on Emma's lips, however, as the umbrella was quickly followed by a tall redhead in a sumptuous green dress. "Oh, I am so sorry, honey," the redhead soothed, her voice dripping concern.

Wet though she was, Emma simply stood on the pavement as the woman walked around to the curb. Emma looked with a little envy at the woman as she nimbly stepped around the growing puddles, graceful, even allowing for the 4-inch stiletto heels of her gold strappy sandals that added to her already statuesque 5 foot 10.

The arm that held up the umbrella was bare, her obviously expensive green silk dress fitting under her left arm before sweeping across the top of her ample breasts in a diagonal line to her right shoulder. The right arm was close-sleeved to the elbow, and from there the material opened with a fluted diagonal edge that terminated in a point just above her wrist. A three-stranded diamond bracelet glinted in the dying light and matched the choker that encircled the woman's pale throat. The dress fitted tight around her waist, enhancing her breasts, then it flared slightly over her hips before cascading in soft folds to just above her knee.

"I really am sorry, honey. I just saw the parking space outside Persephone's and couldn't believe my luck, so I slung the car to a stop. I didn't see you; or the puddle," the redhead explained as she towered over Emma's petite frame, the umbrella now shielding both of them from the worst of the rain.

Suddenly, lightning flashed behind Emma, illuminating the face of her assailant and, like a strobe in a disco, it burned the image of red lips and deep green eyes on Emma's retina.

"Are you okay, honey?" the redhead asked, bringing Emma to her senses a little.

"Yes," Emma replied woodenly. "I'm fine. A little damp, but I suppose there's no real harm done."

"Are you going far? You'll catch your death in this rain."

"No, not far." Emma said, the hint of a smile just brushing her lips. "I thought I'd be able to get to Gino's before the worst of it came. But I guess I was wrong."

The redhead bit her glossy lower lip before saying, almost sadly, "I'm afraid Gino's closed eighteen months ago, honey. It re-opened as Persephone's about six months later."

Emma looked over her shoulder at the dusky pink that had replaced the slightly flaking green, red and white, confirming that Gino's was no more. Emma sighed at the thought that yet another of her memories would remain simply that, out of reach, never to be replayed in her humdrum life.

"Look, you can't go anywhere in this weather dressed like that, honey. Come inside and at least let yourself dry off until the rain stops. I'm sure they can find you a towel or something," the redhead said as she took Emma's elbow and turned her towards the blacked-out glass door of Persephone's. Emma waited at the door; gaining what shelter she could from the small overhang whilst the green-robed vision shook the heaviest drops from the umbrella. With the umbrella now folded, Emma opened the door, holding it for her companion.

"Why thank you, honey."

Emma found heat rising on her cheeks at being called 'honey', especially by someone who was obviously younger and richer and, she conceded, more beautiful than she was.

Once inside, the door closed quietly behind them, muffling the sound of the storm that still raged outside, and even the brightest stroke of lightning could not penetrate the blackness of the doors and windows.

Emma looked around and realised that the exterior paintwork was not the only sign of change in the restaurant. The whitewashed walls and pictures of the owner's former home in Tuscany were replaced with dark terracotta, made even darker by the subdued shell-shaped uplighters on the wall that provided what was now a totally separate reception with its only source of light.

Emma heard another door opening and she turned to see a woman emerging from what she assumed was the main dining area. No aging Italian matron here; no, this vision looked like she had just escaped from an old Robert Palmer video Emma had seen on VH1 only the other day. Quite simply, she was dressed in black; from her patent-leather high heels, up her stocking-clad legs to the shortest, clingiest jersey dress Emma had ever seen. The fact that the dress came right up to the woman's neck and had long sleeves only added to the overall sultry effect. Her jet-black hair was cut short and slicked back, and her eyes were surrounded by smoky eye shadow. The only hints of colour were her high cheekbones, which were blushed a rusty rouge, and her lips that almost glowed, they were so red and glossed.

The woman in black completely ignored Emma, turning on a magnificent smile which she aimed at the redhead and said, "Miss Amanda. How lovely to see you again. Please excuse me, I will be with you in just two seconds, Miss Amanda."

"Thank you, Jane," Amanda said as she looked in Emma's direction.

Jane followed the glance, and, in the time it took to swivel her head, turned off her smile like someone had thrown a switch. "I'm sorry. This is a private members' club and, if I'm not mistaken, you are not a member." Jane said with undisguised disdain as she regarded Emma's soaked dress and hosiery.

Emma was about to offer an apology and leave when Amanda said, whether for sport or some other motive, Emma was not sure, "This lady is my dinner guest, Jane. Please show her the respect that deserves."

Amanda didn't even look at Emma to see if she wanted to eat with her and Emma wondered why such a young, vibrant woman would even want to. 'Probably feels sorry for me standing here like a drowned rat, although that is partly her fault I suppose, ' Emma thought, but part of her was quite thrilled at the idea of having company whilst she ate and dried off.

Jane turned back to Amanda, and her obsequiousness made Emma's skin crawl as she said, "I'm so sorry, Miss Amanda. I hadn't realised. Does that mean you will not be requiring Sally's services tonight? I'm sure she will be most disappointed."

"Tell Sally she may wait on us instead, and inform her that I will, of course, render her usual tip."

"Of course, Miss Amanda," Jane said as she turned to Emma, her look saying that she still thought that Emma did not belong here, continuing, "You will have to sign in your guest, Miss Amanda."

Amanda took the pen that Jane held out to her and signed her name in the 'Guest Book' and passed the pen back to Jane. "I'm sorry, Miss Amanda, but I need her details; we're a private club, and the licensing laws..." Jane started to explain.

With a conspiratorial wink at Emma, Amanda said, "Why don't you fill it in, honey. I can never spell your surname."

Returning the smile, Emma took the pen from Jane and filled in her name, address and, a little reluctantly, her date of birth. Amanda stood by her shoulder reading what she had put. With the pen placed on the reception desk again, Jane spun the book around towards her and said as she read. "Thank you, Emma."

Taking a deep breath Jane started to recite what was obviously a prepared speech. "As the guest of a member of Persephone's, you are allowed to dine in the main dinning room providing you are accompanied at all times by a member. Due to the licensing laws..." Jane seemed determined to inform Emma about licensing laws, and unfortunately Amanda did nothing to stop her this time. "... you are not allowed to purchase food or alcohol; these must be ordered by the member. You are not allowed to enter any other area of Persephone's, except in the company of a member."

Jane then turned her attention back to Amanda and asked, "Will you or your guest be using the dressing room?"

Emma really didn't like the sneer in Jane's voice as she said 'guest', 'And what', she thought, 'is the dressing room?'

Amanda seemed to consider Jane's question for a couple of seconds before answering, "No, I don't think so, Jane; not tonight." But as she looked at Emma's still-damp legs, added, "However, I think Emma might like a change of hosiery. Have some sent to our table."

Emma was about to protest, but was cut short by Jane simpering, "Of course, Miss Amanda. Please follow me."

Jane opened the door through which she had recently emerged, and Emma found herself 'tagging along' behind the two taller women as they entered the room. "I have your regular table available, Miss Amanda." Jane said as Emma took a couple of seconds to take in the strange layout of the restaurant.

Whereas Gino's had been light and noisy, the owner cramming in as many tables as the fire authorities would allow, Persephone's was dark and almost as quiet as the grave.

The room, which was smaller than Gino's had been, Emma thought, was sectioned into small private booths surrounded on three sides with red velvet curtaining. Each booth had red leather bench seats around the three enclosed sides, allowing four people to dine in comfort, or six at a squeeze. At the open side, curtains were hung from brass poles and tied back, allowing the diners total privacy if they so desired, although none of them appeared to do so.

The booths were on either side of a wide aisle, and although the insides of the booths were hidden from view as Emma entered the room, it was possible to see into them as she walked past. Emma, who was not normally a nosey person, couldn't help but glance in as she passed.

As she was led past four pairs of booths Emma noted that the clientele were a mix of all ages and body sizes. The only constants seemed to be that they were all female, all in 'couples' and at least one of each couple was young, looking no older than late teens or very early twenties. 'It must be fancy dress night.' Emma chuckled to herself as she surveyed the eclectic choice of clothing. In fact, Emma realised, there were only two people who wore the same, or even similar, outfits. In both these cases it was the younger half of a pairing. Their white blouses tied in a knot beneath their breasts, pleated grey skirt, black stockings and open-toed black sandals just screamed 'school girl', even if you ignored the fact that their hair was tied with little silk bows into plaited pigtails.

mma smoothed her dress over her backside, feeling the still-damp cotton cling a little too closely as she slid across the bench. Amanda did the same, although, Emma had to admit, with a lot more grace. When they were both settled facing each other across the table, Jane asked Amanda, "Can I get you any drinks, Miss Amanda?"

Without bothering to enquire of Emma what her preference was, Amanda replied, "Vodka and tonics, I think, Jane." Fortunately for Emma she did quite like the odd V&T.

As Jane moved away to organise the drinks, Emma couldn't help glancing at the couple in the booth across from theirs. The one sitting the same side as Emma could not have been more than twenty-one with short blonde hair and was wearing the most gorgeous powder blue suit over a white blouse. Emma guessed that the other woman was at least forty-five, but still had a nice firm body; her dress, however, belonged on someone much younger. It was pink gingham-check with lace trim and a very short skirt. Emma had to accept though that it did go really well with how her hair was dressed with ringlets and small pink bows.

Emma glanced down, her eye caught by a movement under the adjoining table, and she saw that the young blonde had discarded one of her blue court shoes and was rubbing her stocking-clad toes up the calf of the older woman, just above her white bobby socks and black patent T-bar shoes. Emma felt the blood rising in her cheeks and, although she wouldn't admit it, a stirring lower down.

A little embarrassed by what she saw, and how she felt, Emma turned back to her dinner companion, who sat silently, a small grin lighting up her bright red, glossy lips. Unlike Amanda, Emma was not comfortable with silence and found herself saying, "I do like your dress, Amanda. It must have cost a fortune."

"This?" Amanda said as she held out her right arm, her hand turned in slightly so that the pointed open cuff hung straight down, leaving her forearm bare. Emma realised for the first time, at least consciously, just how thin the dress's material was, allowing it to almost mould itself to Amanda's large, firm breasts. "A few hundred, tops," Amanda informed her. "But worth every penny, if you like it."

Emma heard the 'come on'... was it a 'come on'? Emma was getting a little warm and glanced away from Amanda's chest as the blue suited 'businesswoman' slid round to sit beside her pink frocked 'little girl'. Emma had a habit of attaching labels to people sometimes.

The 'businesswoman' slipped her left arm around the 'little girl's' waist, her right hand resting protectively on her knee, but the 'little girl' just looked straight ahead, chewing a piece of gum.

"Quite cute, aren't they?" Amanda more said than asked, a hint of mischief in her voice. Emma dragged her gaze away and found herself looking into Amanda's eyes. 'Such a beautiful green, ' Emma thought, and a phrase from one of her own stories came unbidden to her mind, 'Eyes you could lose your soul in.' Her reverie was disturbed by a polite 'I am standing here, please take notice of me' cough.

Emma and Amanda both looked up to see a young brunette who was wearing the same sort of 'school uniform' as the two diners Emma had noticed on the way in.

"Good evening, Miss Amanda," the tall, leggy brunette said, with a smile reserved only for Amanda. Emma then remembered Jane's comment about Sally and how she would be 'disappointed that Amanda had a guest', and more enigmatically that Sally could wait on them instead. 'Instead of what?' Emma thought, her normal sharpness dulled a little by the closeness of the air; although whether that closeness was due to the late night summer heat or the overt sexuality of Persephone's she could not say. Eventually, the penny dropped. 'Of course! The two similarly dressed diners were waitresses joining the patron for dinner if they were unaccompanied!' Although why someone as beautiful as Amanda would need such a companion when every man, or woman for that matter, would give their right arm to dine with her, Emma couldn't comprehend.

If the penny dropped before, the full pound now crashed right through the floor. Emma couldn't believe she had been so naive. Even in her mind, Emma couldn't enunciate the word 'lesbian', but she knew that Amanda, and more than likely everyone else in the place, was gay. 'Everyone', Emma corrected herself, 'but me!'

Her cheeks burning from her epiphany, Emma turned her attention to Sally, who held a small silver tray balanced daintily on her upturned left hand. From the tray she removed two clear cut glass tumblers whose contents fizzed slightly around the ice cubes which clinked gently against the sides. The drinks delivered, Sally said to Amanda, "I have the hosiery you requested for Emma, Miss Amanda."

Emma found she didn't like the way Sally said 'Emma', leaving aside the lack of the 'Miss' she, and for that matter Jane, used when addressing Amanda. Unconcerned about Emma's disapproval, Sally passed a flat cardboard package to Amanda. Emma could see they were a very nice pair of Charnos 'Light Fantastic' lacy hold-ups 'with lycra'. At 7 denier they were much more sheer than Emma would normally wear. "Thank you, Sally," Amanda said, dismissing the waitress... disappointed diner? "I'll call you when we are ready to order."

With a "Yes, Miss Amanda," and a half curtsey, Sally moved away, and Emma followed her with her eyes and couldn't help seeing that the 'businesswoman' now had her right hand up the 'little girl's' skirt and was whispering something in her ear. The 'little girl' was motionless and continued to stare forward, chewing her gum.

"The one in the pink is Debra," Amanda informed Emma, who on hearing Amanda's voice turned to her companion. "And the one who is surprisingly still wearing the suit is Carla."

"Are they both 'members'?" Emma asked emphasising the word.

"Debra is," Amanda confirmed. "Carla is one of the waitresses, although I understand she has been put up for nomination; presumably by Debra."

Emma was intrigued. "Nomination?"

"That's how you get to be a member. Well, that's the free way, anyway. You can always buy your membership, but believe me, it isn't cheap," Amanda explained. "To be nominated, you have to have spent time 'on the staff', so to speak."

"I see," Emma said, even if she didn't completely.

Emma knew she shouldn't look, but she couldn't help herself, and she found her throat tightening, a feeling that even a sip of Vodka and Tonic couldn't quite quench, as she noticed Carla nibbling Debra's ear, her hand moving obviously beneath Debra's skirt.

"Don't worry, they'll more than likely move to a private room soon, or I can close the curtains if you like."

Emma smiled and said "No, it's okay, I don't mind, really." Even as she thought that, actually, it might be quite nice in here with the drapes closed.

Emma reached out with her left hand for her drink, but as her fingers touched the glass she stopped and, though she didn't really want to know, asked anyway. "Why did you invite me to eat with you?"

As soon as the words left her mouth, and before Amanda could reply, Emma had gone though the most likely responses, guarding herself against the inevitable bitter disappointment, 'Because I felt sorry for you.' 'Because I thought it would be amusing.'

"Because," Amanda started. Emma steeled herself. "I didn't like the way Jane treated you, and..."

'Here it comes.' Emma thought.

"I wanted you," Amanda continued, allowing just enough of a pause to send blood rushing to Emma's cheeks. "... to experience Persephone's, to know that sometimes, although one door closes, another one opens."

Emma assumed Amanda was referring to Gino's and Persephone's, but she wasn't a hundred percent certain. She almost withdrew her hand reflexively as she felt Amanda take it from her glass, holding it gently in hers. Emma looked up into Amanda's beautiful eyes and once more the phrase from the story echoed in her mind.

"But why did you choose, me? You could have been eating with Sally or Jane or, I should imagine, anyone you wanted to," Emma gushed to cover her feelings as she reacted to Amanda's hand on hers.

"I know you aren't gay, honey," Amanda said softly, the tip of her thumb running back and forth over Emma's white gold wedding ring as if offering that in evidence of her statement. "And I can't hypnotise you just by simply clicking my fingers and make you be. I just wanted to get to know you, honey. You looked lost and I wanted to invite you in to sit by the fire and..."

Emma felt so warm, the air almost condensing around her, and she could almost feel that fire Amanda talked of, although the only flames she could see seemed to be dancing in Amanda's eyes. Even if she had wanted to, she doubted she could have looked away.

A shiver ran down Emma's spine as she felt Amanda release her hand, and she thought that Amanda had said something else, but if she had, Emma realised she must have missed it.

For something to do with her hands, Emma picked up her drink, noticing in passing that the ice had melted, and took a large swallow to calm herself. She glanced over her shoulder at the next booth but saw that both Carla and Debra had left whilst she had been talking to Amanda, and Emma wasn't sure if she was pleased or disappointed that she hadn't seen them leave.

"I'm so sorry, Emma," Amanda apologised, bringing Emma back from her thoughts. "I completely forgot about your stockings. You must be soaked, still."

Emma concentrated on her legs, but they felt quite dry now. 'Must be the heat in here, ' Emma thought, but on glancing down noticed the small splatter marks where they had dried and thought it probably would be a good idea to change them anyway.

She picked up the packet of stockings and was about to go and change them when she realised she didn't know where the restrooms were. "Er, where's the 'little girls' room'?" Emma asked, an image of Debra in her pretty pink dress suddenly flashing in her mind.

"I'll have to take you; we can't have a guest wandering around alone. Whatever would the licensing people say?" Amanda said, mocking Jane's toadying tone that brought a small laugh from Emma as the two women slid out from the table.

Amanda held out her hand to Emma, who found herself almost involuntarily taking it in hers, and allowed herself to be led past the remaining two booths, only one of which was occupied: by a woman in her early 40s and one of the uniformed waitresses. The waitress was currently sat with her hands hidden behind her back as she took a bite from a strawberry dipped in whipped cream the older woman was holding up for her.

Once past the booths, Amanda led Emma down a dark corridor past several closed doors, each with a number and a "Vacant/Engaged" sign. Most read "Vacant", but a couple were obviously occupied, and Emma was sure she could hear the sounds of passion emanating from at least one of these, and again pink gingham came to mind. 'So this is what happened to the rest of Gino's, ' Emma thought.

The final door was obviously the rest room, as it had a silhouette of a woman on a chrome plaque. Emma was surprised at first that there wasn't a second room with a male, but then remembered where she was.

Amanda pushed the door inwards and, still holding her hand, Emma followed Amanda inside. The restroom was large and clean with a black and white tiled floor. Along one wall were several sinks set in a flat marble shelf, above which the wall was mirrored. The other wall held the stalls, each containing a toilet bowl, but the walls were much wider apart than Emma had ever seen before, and then she noticed than none of the stalls had doors.

Emma looked in the mirror and almost shrieked when she saw her hair and crumpled dress. 'No wonder Jane treated me like a pariah!' she though as she fumbled in her purse for a comb.

"Let me." Amanda said picking up a brush from the marble top.

Emma stood looking in the mirror as Amanda stood behind her and pulled the brush through Emma's hair, softly bringing it back to its more normal style. "There, all done." Amanda said as she replaced the brush on the counter.

"Sit on here," Amanda said, patting the marble shelf. The ledge came to just above Emma's waist, and so she turned so that it was against her lower back, and placed her hands on the cold hard surface and made to lever herself up... but didn't quite make it.

She was about to try again when Amanda said, "Here, let me help." She placed her hands either side of Emma's waist and, as Emma made a little jump, Amanda lift her up and back. Emma's breath caught as she felt the coldness of the marble against her backside.

Amanda left her hands on Emma's waist a few seconds longer than was absolutely necessary and Emma found herself once more losing herself in Amanda's eyes. "No point in wasting the trip," Amanda said, releasing Emma, both her waist and her eyes.

Emma started to remove her damp stockings as Amanda lifted her dress and lowered a pair of green silk panties and sat on the bowl in the stall directly opposite Emma. Emma tried not to look, concentrating on removing her other stocking, but couldn't help looking up as she heard the distinctive sound of liquid spraying ceramic. Amanda was looking straight at Emma, making her blush as she fumbled with the cardboard packet containing her replacement hose.

As she withdrew the wonderfully smooth stockings Emma glanced once more at Amanda, who had just finished drying herself, but, Emma noticed, she made no move to stand; she simply sat there with her panties around her ankles.

Emma took the first stocking and pulled it carefully over her hand. The hem of her light cotton dress fell towards her as she bent her leg at the knee. With her toes pointed she slipped the sandal-toed stocking over her foot, ensuring it was straight and creaseless. With the stocking perfectly seated and using slow, measured movements, Emma let her hands move up her calf and over her knee. She lifted her foot so that her leg pointed at 45 degrees to the floor, allowing her to seat the elasticated lacy welt around her upper thigh. Forgetting herself, or at least where she was, Emma let her hands flow over her stocking-clad leg as if smoothing imaginary creases, luxuriating it their clinging silkiness.

Suddenly Emma became aware of what she was doing and she glanced at Amanda who was still seated on the toilet, her left hand stroking her own bestockinged thigh whilst her right, shielded partly by her lifted dress, moved slowly, rhythmically up and down.

A rush of sexual excitement, such as Emma had not known for years coursed through her body as she took out the second stocking and repeated the procedure. This time, however, her eyes were transfixed on her dining partner's mounting excitement. As Emma finished the second leg, she let her leg fall so that her thighs were pressed against the marble shelf, slightly apart so that with her dress's hem pushed back, she displayed her ivory silk French knickers to Amanda.

Amanda stood, stepping out of the panties that she left discarded, unneeded, in front of the toilet bowl, and approached Emma slowly, her expensive silk dress flowing back into position like the wind making waves through a cornfield. As she approached, her hips swaying with each measured step, Emma let her legs part wider, inviting Amanda between them.

Their eyes locked as Amanda bent her head towards Emma's, and Emma knew they would kiss. She felt Amanda's sweet breath on her face and heard her whisper, "My little slut."

In the briefest moment before Amanda's bottom lip brushed Emma's top lip, Emma's mind raced. 'Is that who I am? Who I can be? Who I want to be? Some slutty whore used by her rich client?' Her tingling nipples and throbbing clit answered for her in the affirmative.

Emma's whole body trembled as she felt Amanda's fingertips caress the back of her neck, the lightest, most delicate sensation Emma had ever felt. Firmer now, the long nailed fingers entwined themselves in Emma's newly-brushed hair, twisting it, pulling her head back. Emma felt so weak and vulnerable, her throat exposed, her mouth open invitingly as her first gasp of pleasure sought release. She closed her eyes as Amanda's tongue slipped inside her mouth, searching, encouraging Emma to go places she had never even imagined existed.

As Amanda's bare arm encircled Emma's waist, pulling them together. Emma felt her backside sliding easily on the marble counter until her pussy, enclosed in her silky panties, was pressed against Amanda's stomach. Emma's tongue now responded to Amanda's wordless encouragement, their mouths pressed together, painted lip on painted lip. Emma lifted her legs and wrapped them around Amanda's waist, squeezing herself even harder against her newfound lover, losing herself in the sensations that already threatened to overcome her.

Her head spun and Emma felt like she was flying as Amanda lifted her off the shelf and lowered her to the ground, she felt the cold tiles press against her back through the thin cotton of her dress and Amanda's mouth suddenly retreated, leaving Emma's tongue to lick her own lips, trying to taste Amanda still.

Prone on the floor, Emma opened her eyes as she felt hands removing her legs from around Amanda's waist and she looked up to see hunger in Amanda's eyes as she knelt between Emma's thighs, a desire for her burning so bright that Emma thought she would melt.

Hands sought for the buttons of Emma's dress, slipping the first two through the buttonholes and Emma wanted to reach up, to touch this goddess who seemed to want her so badly. Emma felt the ripping of buttons and material as Amanda simply tore open the dress in her apparent eagerness to feast her eyes upon such fertile virgin territory.

A gasp escaped Emma's lips at the violent rending, but she saw no malice, no anger reflected in Amanda's deep green eyes, only love and desire and she knew she was safe.

With her small breasts aching to be touched, Emma's eyes invited Amanda to take her, to use her like the slutty whore she now knew she could be, knew that she was and wanted to be. She felt fingers entwine her own, her hands lifted above her head as Amanda bent her mouth towards Emma's dark and crinkled nipples.

She had always loved Andrew to lick and kiss her breasts, but she now realised just how much he didn't know, about love, about women, and above all else; about her. Without any effort Emma pushed all thoughts of her husband from her mind as she surrendered, body, mind and soul to Amanda.

Amanda's tongue flicked the nipple, pressed it back against Emma's firm flesh, rolled it between her lips, staining it red with her lipstick before opening her mouth and taking it inside. Emma groaned aloud as Amanda softly suckled, and Emma's first orgasm shot through her like a hot poker, her juices staining her already damp French knickers.

She had never before cum without someone or something inside her, hadn't even known it was possible. And yet here she was lying, in the slowly receding climactic haze, on the floor of a public bathroom cumming at the calling of a woman she had only just met.

The thought of the possibility that they might be seen like this by other women coming to use the bathroom, or was it Amanda's tongue now exploring Emma's other breast, that ignited her next orgasm? To be honest, she didn't care; her only concern was for her mind and body to record every last sensation, every sound, smell, taste and, above all else, touch, so that she could play it back, time and again in her lonely life.

Her arms were no longer pinned above her head and Emma felt Amanda's tongue move down her quivering body, lapping at her skin like a kitten drinking milk. Emma's hands moved, one to her breasts, squeezing them, but whether she was trying to dull or increase the ache, she couldn't say. Her other hand found Amanda's face, and she felt it being kissed before Amanda guided it to her fiery red hair. Emma felt it's silky softness and wished she could smell it, taste it, but the thought vanished as Amanda's tongue flicked Emma's engorged clitoris, pressing it through her panties, and Emma knew that Amanda would be able to taste her cum and the switch was thrown again as Emma tightened her grip on Amanda's hair and pressed her against her longing pussy.

Nails scraped gently against the inside of her thigh, moving her loose fitting panties aside, exposing her more than if they had been removed. Then the finger slid easily inside her, twisting, exploring and igniting Emma once more as Amanda's mouth received Emma's clit.

Her eyes fluttered and closed, and she thought she would pass out, so strong was the next orgasm. She was now so aroused and needy that she could no longer distinguish one climax from the next, one word of what Amanda was whispering, Emma felt the words on her skin, punctuated my Amanda's skilful tongue and finally darkness claimed her.

Emma opened her eyes, her body still tingling, breath coming in short gasps, and she looked up to see Amanda smiling down at her, the hunger in her eyes diminished. No, Emma realised, not diminished, just partially sated.

"Hello, sweetheart." Amanda greeted Emma's return, her renewal, her passage of change through the fire of her desire. Amanda held out her hand and Emma climbed, a little shakily to her feet, her crumpled and torn dress hanging limply from her shoulders as she allowed Amanda to lead her to the marble shelf, her flushed but passive face staring back at her like a stranger from the mirror.

In the reflection Emma watched as Amanda peeled back the top of Emma's dress and let it slip unhindered to the floor. Amanda picked up the brush she had used earlier and two pink ribbons from the small pile of clothes that, had she been interested in such things, Emma would have sworn were not there before. Standing behind Emma, her eyes holding Emma's through the mirror, Amanda's hands worked nimbly and quickly plaiting Emma's hair into loose pigtails which she secured with he ribbons.

Emma thought the grey pleated skirt, that Amanda was now wrapping around Emma, showed off her waist and hips to perfection, and the white semi-transparent blouse lifted her breasts in just the right way when it was tied at the front leaving her navel exposed.

There was no resistance as Amanda lifted Emma's left hand, curling all but her ring finger against her palm and let her tongue and mouth coat the digit in a light pink mix of lipstick and saliva. A simple twist and pull removed the white gold band. Amanda held the bright object lightly between her thumb and finger before dropping it to the floor. Emma took the symbol as the deed and in her mind was divorced of her husband.

"I think we better go and order our food," Amanda said taking hold of Emma's hand.

"Yes, Miss Amanda." Emma smiled as she allowed herself to be lead from the bathroom, a torn dress, a pair of green silk panties, a wedding ring and a heady aroma the only evidence of Emma's admission to Persephone's staff.