Trusting No More
- 1 year ago
- 20
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Trusting Rebekka – Ch 3 free porn video
I always feel worse in the morning if I’ve slept solidly for hours and hours than if I’ve slept only a short time and know I need to get up early. So, when the sound of knocking on an unfamiliar door penetrated deep into my semi-consciousness I struggled to respond and to react appropriately.
‘Go away, I’m asleep!’ I complained, and buried my head under the soft goose-down pillows.
Again, insistent knocking. A female voice invaded my personal silence. I looked around the room, puzzled, then my brain whirred into life. The room, the smells, the bed, my oily hair. It all clicked into place. I sat up and called out, ‘Who wants me?’
Rebekka breezed in uninvited and set a large tray on the side table, threw back the curtains and promptly climbed into bed next to me, uninvited.
‘I do,’ she purred, then in an annoyingly bright and cheerful voice she chirped: ‘But c’mon sweetie, it’s 10:30 and you need some breakfast to restore your energy first.’ That confirmed what I suspected, she knew all about last night with the Perfect Ones. She reached across and poured two long coffees.
I sipped mine and gradually rejoined the human race, looking at Rebekka next to me and reminding myself what a beautiful specimen of it she was. Propped up by several plump pillows and wearing a silk robe, an inviting smile and probably nothing else, she encouraged me to consume the delicious pastries, fruit, berries, yogurt and chocolate cake.
‘We have a busy day today,’ she explained, ‘Well, what’s left of it. Some friends are joining us for a meal by the pool. They will arrive at seven. Then we are going out to a very select club in the city. Allowing time to get ready, and assuming you’ll want to use the gym and sauna first, we need to be back from shopping around 3:30. So, sweet Julia, you have thirty minutes more in bed then swoosh!’
Wow, ‘swoosh’ indeed. Busy day.
‘So what exactly are we shopping for?’ I enquired.
‘Since you had no idea what I had planned for you I doubt you brought the right clothes, so I’ll treat you. In the pool, and on the terrace too, you’ll just need a bikini, and perhaps a sarong?’
It was already hot and sunny outside, I nodded approvingly.
‘We can buy them in the city. For later, how about a long clingy bias-cut dress, figure-hugging style? That will turn heads. I know the perfect shop, trust me.’ Sounded good.
‘Tomorrow we’ll rest during the day, but in the evening we’re having a small private party here. It’ll be 1960s themed. There’s a retro shop in the city centre where we can pick up an outfit for you.’ Then Rebekka dropped her voice, adding, ‘And of course, you’ll need some nice lingerie.’
It seemed weird having my life and my wardrobe planned out for me. It all sounded good though. As I sucked on a strawberry I wondered who these friends might be, and if the Perfect Ones fitted in anywhere …
Rebekka stayed whilst I ate then kicked off the covers, commenting on my nightwear as she leaned across and kissed me, brushing her silk-covered breasts against mine and confirming: ‘It’s going to be a very exciting couple of days … see you in the hall at 11:30,’ and she wafted out of the room leaving a trail of exotic perfume, and me wondering what she actually looks like under her robe.
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Rebekka introduced me to her driver Veronique in the hall and we chatted during the short drive. She could lend me some gym-wear, which meant one outfit less to buy, and she also offered to join me working out, which was kind.
She dropped us in the main square and Rebekka ‘swooshed’ me around her favourite shops. Almost everywhere we went they knew her by name and we received masterclass levels of service. I soon had a complete 60s outfit consisting of a pink PVC miniskirt with a wide red leather belt, a pale grey sleeveless turtle-neck rib-knit clingy top, knee-high vintage boots with 4′ heels and a wide-brim hat. ‘Just add pink lipstick and ridiculously-long false eyelashes for the total look!’
I also now possessed (as all this was mine to keep, apparently, courtesy of my wealthy and very generous hostess for the weekend – ‘payback time?’ did I hear myself asking?) a slender purple floor-length slinky dress that clung to me all the way from its strings-of-pearls almost-not-there shoulder straps, moulding to my boobs then clinging tightly down my body, staying ooooo-so-close to my hips and all the way down my legs. Except that it had a long slit all the way up the left side, from my new stilettos right up to top of my thigh. When I pointed out to Rebekka that everyone could see what style of panties I was wearing, what colour they were, and could probably read the label too, her solution was simple: ‘Well don’t wear any then.’
So, that’s no bra … and no panties. Naturally. And when I walk – what then?
Rebekka led me amongst small select boutiques down narrow streets and through bustling squares. We dived through a dark doorway that passing browsers would scarcely notice but which opened out into a veritable emporium of stunning lingerie, sleepwear and swimming costumes.
Miranda, the owner, was probably in her fifties but still very glamorous. Rebekka explained what we were looking for and soon all three of us were locked in a large changing room with armfuls of bikinis, bras and panties. They had me naked in sixty seconds and I must have tried on a dozen or more sets, with both women admiring them and me with equal enthusiasm. I felt fairly relaxed about it all, Rebekka had seen me almost naked the previous week and after all, Miranda was a professional who saw nude female bodies for a living. Nice job, I mused.
We left with two bikinis, one was quite sober and demure in plain black and left everything to the imagination. The other was made in a rich cream-coloured lycra, was the opposite of demure, and left almost nothing to the imagination. It also came with a matching coverall robe to temper its revealing yet classy design. Rebekka also bought me one of those retro burlesque corsets that squeezes your boobs into cones, two delectable ultra-sophisticated bra and pantie sets by one of the top Italian designer houses which that made me feel and look amazing, and one set just like Rebekka’s ‘Riot of Straps’ but in silver. Not quite as slutty as it sounds, but not far off.
Miranda was very attentive, and I got the impression she and my hostess were ‘close friends’.
Rebekka called Veronique and asked her wait another thirty minutes then bring the car to the coffee shop where she had first picked me up.
It was only a short walk from Miranda’s shop. We ordered double espressi and Rebekka introduced me to some friends there, a couple of them were going to be at the club that evening so she introduced us.
‘Martelle darling, come and say hello to Julia, she’s my new discovery and she’s coming out with us tonight.’
Martelle was model-thin and very, very tall even in flat sandals. She double-air-kissed me, whispering, ‘You’ll enjoy tonight, promise.’ Her straight blonde hair was cut sharply into the back of her neck but left long at the front in a steep, well-defined wedge and the tendons of her neck and shoulders stood out prominently. In fact, everything about her was slender and highly-stressed, like a tightly-strung musical instrument.
Rebekka also introduced me to a woman of black African origin whose family had obviously become partly Europeanised but she had maintained her smooth dark brown skin, prominent features and very full pouting lips. She had her tight curly black hair fixed up in a wheatsheaf bundle.
‘This is Gloria,’ Rebekka announced. ‘And you will always know when she walks into a room – everyone stops and looks,’ I could see why. Her figure was stunning, with firm large breasts very high on her ribcage and with the tightest curviest ass that you could ever hope to bump into. She knew how to show it off too, in a tight jumper, even tighter knee-length skirt and a wide belt around her narrow waist. She was wearing four inch heels with platforms but still could not compete with Martelle. The two women had an intense chemistry between them though and they communicated between themselves mostly by touch not words. We nibbled at snacks from the counter and babbled as a foursome about politics in art and fashion until Rebekka grabbed my arm, made our excuses and led me running with armfuls of expensive carrier bags to where Veronique had pulled up.
Mara
- 30.11.2022
- 21
- 0
