Pleasure in Control Ch. 06

I was feeling warm, and shrugged off my bathrobe.

Now Ginger Girl wants some action. Dark Girl produces a big dildo from her bag – it's totally clear and must be made from strong glass. She rubs some lubricant on it and Ginger lies back on the sofa. Dark Girl rubs loads of lube on Ginger's cunt then presses the tip of the glass dildo against her vaginal entrance. I can now see just how big it is, and it looks like Ginger has a very small pussy. But slowly Dark Girl pushes and twists the dildo and Ginger's pussy opens up. To my amazement, she swallows it all in.

"Push it right in, go on, give her some cock, you horny bitch. Yeah, slide it in and out slowly so I can see her juices all along the shaft. Hey, don't touch your clit, baby, let her do all the work. She's going to make you come. Take it all inside you, bitch."

Shit, I realised that's not the TV sound. That was me, naked, locked in my hotel room, shouting at the actresses on the screen. Taking my hand away from my crotch, I sat back and watched the rest of the double bill. I was mesmerised and I saw girls doing things to themselves and to other girls that I'd never even imagined girls doing.

The second film was less explicit but featured girls dressed in the most gorgeous lingerie and outfits. Some items were made from shiny materials and might be rubber or patent leather, or some kind of stretchy plastic. I'd never seen anything like those in a Passionella store nor during my training. Bit specialised but very sexy to look at.

Eventually the films finished and I was feeling tired. My nipples were hard and sore so I rubbed some left-over body lotion into them, which kind of helped. I noticed how swollen my pussy was and I was shocked that I'd been so turned-on by a couple of trashy films.

I slipped into cool silk pyjamas, climbed into bed and turned off the lights. I had to exercise tremendous self-control to prevent myself from delivering the blissful relief I knew my body craved. But I remembered the feelings of self-denial that I had enjoyed before and I wallowed in the deep, glorious sensations of heightened but unfulfilled arousal. Slowly I controlled my breathing and eventually fell asleep.

But I slept fitfully, dreaming of huge dildos being forced into me, nearly ripping me apart, and of being surrounded by numerous gorgeous scantily-clad and naked girls, some of them rubbing oils and lotions over my entire body and into every orifice, others shouting the most provocative and erotic suggestions.

*******************************************************

I woke at 6:00 am. My body was cold and damp with perspiration and I'd kicked off the duvet in the night. I pulled it over me and buried my head. I managed another two hours' sleep before my alarm woke me. Croissants, jam, coffee, dried fruit, yoghurt, pastries, fresh fruit, fruit juice, yes that should do it.

I had time to kill before my flight to Scotland. I had intended to catch up on some phone calls but instead I dropped by the Manchester store I had visited the previous afternoon.

Sadly I couldn't see Vikki, but I was approached by the store Personal Shopper. She made some polite conversation then asked if I needed any extra help; I'd picked up a super bright blue bikini in size 12 but declined to try it on. It was made of soft, stretch fabric with no underwiring and had masses of thin straps on both the bra-top and the bottoms so I was sure I could adjust it to fit my curves.

Ms. Personal Shopper must then have recognised me from the day before and enquired if I would be at the Thursday show in London. I said that, yes, I planned to attend and she apologised that she would be unable to get along – she had to run the store outlet alone for 2 days as all her Dems would be there. That meant Vikki would be at the show. I knew all that I needed to know.

Arriving 15 minutes early at Edinburgh airport I walked the short distance to the rental car pick-up point where my priority car was ready and waiting. On the way into the city-centre store I carefully formulated a plan in my head. I should be able to collect my black strappy bra and panties that Stevie had reserved for me. I would then ask to see some really sexy stuff and try it on in the changing rooms. I'd push the limits, to establish whether the Dem really would allow me to masturbate right there in the changing rooms as Kirsten had suggested.

What if she says yes? Do I go through with it or make my excuses? What if she is old and ugly? What if I'm not in the mood? I pondered all these things over an early lunch at a trendy coffee bar on Princes St.

I stood outside the store for a moment to collect my thoughts. As I strode purposefully up to the Passionella sales area I was immediately approached by a stunningly beautiful lady who introduced herself as Maria. I watched her luscious full lips as she spoke and guessed from her accent and her appearance that she was originally Spanish, Portuguese or South American. She was in her late twenties and a little shorter than me although she was wearing very high heels which made her more imposing. They also caused her to stand with her pelvis tilted and her shoulders back, pushing out her breasts. Her eyes and eyebrows were very dark brown but her hair was dyed subtle coppery-blonde in masses of long flowing waves.

"Hello, I am Julia;" I passed her my card. "I've come to collect some lingerie you are keeping for me."

Maria politely excused herself for a moment and returned with a gift-wrapped package. The combination of her stature and her very high heels caused her to walk in a wonderfully provocative way. 'Pure catwalk,' I mused.

"This is yours. Would you like to try on your new purchases, just to be sure they are the correct size?"

"Oh, but they are so beautifully wrapped ..."

"No, it's no trouble at all – I can wrap them again. I must be sure they fit you."

10 out of 10 for customer service.

"Yes, of course thanks."

Maria waved her hand politely towards the changing room.

"May I choose some other items, and try them on together?"

"Of course, what would you like to see?" enquired Maria.

"Well," I commenced my rehearsed storyline. "I've been invited to a Murder Mystery evening at a luxury hotel near here and I expect I'll need to change into my costume in front of some other guests who I won't have met before," I explained, my plan working to perfection. "I want some underwear which is attractive and makes a statement about me but which is modest at the same time."

I walked over to a rail full of lace and elastic and picked out a soft, unstructured sleeveless bodysuit in black stretch lace with a deep-plunge neckline at the front. I also found a fantastic-looking glossy gold basque with attached suspenders and matching deep briefs. Maria diplomatically suggested my choices were inappropriate, but I insisted: "I'd like to try them anyway."

Maria led me into the changing rooms and locked the door. She was perfect. Polite and attentive; I soon warmed to her. She helped me to undress and openly admired my lingerie. "That's a lovely bra you're wearing today, Julia. It gives your bust a remarkably dramatic shape." I love to be complimented.

I was wearing the white half-cup bra I'd bought from Manchester Mandy the day before, without trying it for size. If I had, I might not have taken it, but now I was glad I'd taken the risk. It was labelled a 34C but even I had been surprised when I put it on for the first time that morning. My boobs don't so much sit in it as on it. The bra pushes them up high on my chest, creating two prominent, well-rounded and very visible mounds of slightly mobile flesh sitting on opaque undersling quarter-cups, nicely edged with narrow crescents of white lace that just manage to conceal my nipples.

Facing Maria, I released the front-fastening catch and, pushing my arms back and my boobs forward, I shrugged the bra off my shoulders. Maria smiled and nodded in approval.

First I tried the lacy bodysuit. "Look, my nipples poke through the lace – you can see them when I stand sideways!" I enthused. Maria smiled a slightly naughty smile. "And I'll need to be careful if I bend forward."

Maria warmed to me. "You're a lucky lady. Your breasts are quite firm so you can get wear stuff like this that has no support. Try leaning over."

I did, and she was right. Maria squatted down to look at my cleavage and our faces stopped within inches of each other. We made long, long eye contact before I stood up. It was working.

Maria stepped back one pace and remarked: "It fits you really well, but I still wouldn't recommend it for the party. Try the basque."

I peeled off the bodystocking slowly, sending out 'I'm enjoying this' messages to Maria and she sensed my mood perfectly. "My job is so much more enjoyable when my customer appreciates fine clothes and knows how to wear them" she commented. "You certainly know how to dress, and undress too."

Maria was making me feel really good.

She held the basque so I could slip my arms through the shoulder straps. Then she fastened the hooks and eyes at the back and adjusted the straps whilst I settled my boobs into the push-up cups. "Hey, keep still. I can't strap you in if you wriggle," she chastised.

I loved the tight feel of the highly-structured waist pulled tight around me and diverting blood flow to my lower body. "It's certainly a tight fit, as you said. Where are the panties?"

Maria already had them in her hand and I steadied myself on her shoulder as I stepped into them. She pulled them high up on my hips and they pressed against my pussy.

"I like it soooo much," I enthused some more, "Look how it pushes my boobs up and together. It makes me feel really sexy. Do I look sexy?"

"Julia, you look terrific, I'm glad you like it."

"But I can't choose between this and the bodystocking."

Maria took the lead. "Why don't you keep that on, and I'll model the bodystocking? I'm a similar size to you. Then you can compare – we can see which looks best."

I agreed, trying to conceal my excitement. Maria has such an aura about her, mysterious but increasingly open and receptive.

I had been unable to make out her figure under her corporate-burgundy suit but she quickly unbuttoned her jacket and slipped it off. To my delight, she was not wearing anything else under it except a skimpy sheer bra in olive-green fine mesh with an appliqué pattern on the cups that only just disguised her nipples. The straps were almost non-existent, made from the same sheer mesh with appliqué petals, and as she stepped out of her skirt and quickly removed her tights, she stood in front of me so I could feast my eyes on her gorgeous slim figure and her skimpy thong. Again, the mesh straps were all but invisible but they held up a sheer triangle of olive-green mesh that covered most of her slightly rounded tummy but barely concealed her pubes.

Acknowledging my obvious pleasure, she proceeded to put on a demonstration of mature, sophisticated and highly-arousing provocation.

"Do you like these?" she asked, not expecting an answer. "They make me feel really sexy when I'm working. Most customers would never guess that I wear such revealing underwear under my sensible work clothes."

"I'd like to tell you something else" she continued, trying not to sound too contrived. "Working here, and especially helping truly sexy women like yourself, really gets me going. I get so, so turned on. I have to wear skimpy lingerie or I get too hot, but that just makes things worse. See? My jacket has been rubbing on my breasts and this thin bra cannot possibly protect my nipples. See how hard they have become."

Maria stood closer to me and cupped a hand delicately under one sheer-clad breast, offering it to me like a small dish of exotic food. "Go on, you can touch it."

Shaking a little, I reached out and pressed the tip of my index finger on the small, pink point that I could see through the pattern of her bra. It was hard and it responded to my touch. Maria flinched, but sensed that I was ready for her next move.

"And I'm moist. Actually, I'm more than moist – I'm wet. You must be able to smell my heat through these skimpy panties."

I could.

Maria adopted a coy, alluring expression that sent a rush of energy to my own pussy. "Julia, just watching you undressing, and wearing that lovely basque set, it's so arousing. How does it make you feel?"

I reassured Maria that I was feeling horny too and she smiled. Then, taking a huge risk and using all my training plus a bit of women's intuition, I made a suggestion.

"We could help each other out. We could sooth away our tension, you know, together. Couldn't we?"

I watched Maria carefully to gauge her mood. Would she agree? Would we actually frig ourselves off right there in the changing room? What if I'd overstepped the mark? Misjudged the situation? What if Kirsten had been joking?

Maria looked at me straight in the eye, for what felt like an eternity.

"Yes, we can," she agreed, and I breathed again.

Now I had to go through with it.

Maria took the lead again and stood confidently in front of me. Her body looked fabulous and I felt a gush of juices flood my pussy. She started to move, slowly at first, changing position a little and rocking her hips. She moistened her lips with her tongue, opened her mouth and half closed her eyes. Then she really got going. She reached high and clasped her hands above her head and, twisting and gyrating slowly, she ground her pelvis whilst all the time looking straight at me with her smouldering brown eyes.

"Come on, it's OK" she encouraged.

The tightness of the basque was exciting me and my pussy was already pulsing. I experimented and found a way to move my upper body so my nipples rubbed on the insides of their golden prisons. I pulled my panties even higher so they were stretched really tight over my pussy. I started to pant.

Maria was so sexy. Now she was grasping at her breasts through their green sheer mesh cages and was constantly crossing and re-crossing her legs at the knees, slightly crouched and with her bum pushed back. She had her eyes tight shut and her mouth wide open now and was breathing fast.

I struggled to think rationally: 'If I hadn't already masturbated in front of Kirsten, I could not go through with what comes next.'

But I was past caring. Maria's performance was so hot and arousing I had no choice. I began to whimper: "Maria, you are turning me on so. You are gorgeous and you really know how to make a woman feel sexy. Maria, I'm going to have to, to ... touch myself."

"That's OK, I want you to" she whispered. This was my cue.

I sank back onto the stool behind me and spread my legs. I ran my hands down the stiffened front of golden basque, onwards over the edge of the panties and down, down between my legs. I then lightly, oh so lightly, I ran one finger down the clearly-visible line of my pussy-gash. I had to stifle my cries of pleasure.

"Quick, get me out of this." I pleaded. I turned on the swivel stool so Maria could release me from the constraints of the basque and I grabbed at my tender breasts the moment they broke free. I pinched and pulled and twisted my aching, swollen nipples. Each time I let go I felt a rush of hot blood flow right to their tips and all the time I was watching myself in the tall mirror.

Twisting round again, I saw that Maria had one hand over her left breast and the other was just a blur between her legs. She was still wearing her sheer bra and panties but she had pulled the side straps of her thong high up over her hips, right up to her waist. The narrow straps were cutting deep into her soft flesh and I could see the edges of her swollen mound escaping from either side of the mesh triangle between her thighs.

"You first, do it. Now," she instructed, with a real sense of urgency in her voice.

I needed no further encouragement. The sight of Maria in the last throes of her own masturbation was arousing beyond words and I pressed hard on my clit through the shiny golden fabric of my panties. I rubbed and circled for just a few moments; it didn't take long. I even wondered afterwards if I might have come just from the incredible sexy sights, sounds and smells of our illicit (but permitted) encounter. I enjoyed a short but highly satisfying orgasm deep inside me and had to fight to stop myself from crying out. I didn't want the whole store to hear. Or did I?

Maria was not far behind as she stood, still wearing that lovely sexy bra, legs spread wide apart and leaning back against the wall for support as she frigged herself through the thin fabric of her matching thong. Right there in front of me. Unbelievable.

Her eyes rolled upwards and she bit her bottom lip. Her tummy tightened and the muscles on the insides of her thighs spasmed, confirming that this was for real. She pulled the most excruciating and ecstatic expression on her face and silently slumped forward.

Neither of us spoke.

We sat and we looked at each other for a while as we caught our breath.

Then Maria broke the silence, saying: "Julia, that was terrific, Thanks. I hope you enjoyed yourself as much as I did."

Then she looked more concerned and continued: "you did realise, didn't you, that there can be a lot more to being a Passionella client than just buying the world's sexiest lingerie?"

I half nodded.

"But did anyone tell you that you will be charged for the, er, extras?"

I looked at her with a quizzical, tell-me-more expression.

Maria explained. "Not directly, you understand, but of course you will need to buy the stuff you are wearing. And I can't just charge the normal swing-tag price. Your card will be debited a rather higher price, to include the use of the changing room, and for the extra time we spent together."

Maria looked at me carefully to gauge my reaction – she had been as delicate and tactful as anyone could expect.

"You must understand. Obviously, I can't charge you directly for our 'quality time' and what we did in the privacy of this changing room," she explained further. "What would it look like on your credit card statement? How could you explain an item called, say, 'personal services' to your partner, if you have one, or to your accountant? It's much easier to explain away if we just charge a premium price for our clothes. Most husbands don't even bat an eyelid if their wife spends €1,000 in one day on lingerie. Excuse me for being intrusive, but are you married?"

I shook my head.

"Some clients have told me that their partners are more puzzled as to why, when they've spend so much money on sexy clothes, they aren't interested in sex when they go to bed that night."

"Yes, yes, I understand completely," I confirmed, "although no-one ever explained it to me like that. I know you're not a tart; but you have just made me feel so very happy, so highly valued and so wonderfully satisfied. Thank you, it's been worth every cent."

Maria looked relieved. I imagine she's had some close calls with women who'd totally misunderstood and hadn't known the rules of the Passionella game. I was very, very impressed by Maria's handling of the whole situation. I had also found her to be incredibly sexy.

"I think I'll just take the black strappy bra and thong as they are, all nicely wrapped up. I just don't feel like trying on any more lingerie just now," I said with a sigh.

Maria laughed. "Can't take the pace?" I laughed too; Maria put me totally at ease. I liked her a lot.

I changed back into the lingerie I was wearing when I arrived and passed the basque set to Maria. We got dressed and tidied ourselves up; the changing room had ample supplies of tissues, hair-care products and make-up all discreetly provided.

Maria unlocked the door and walked out, as though nothing had happened. She carefully packed my purchases in a big Passionella 'Lips' carrier bag and charged them to my card. I authorised €85 for the gift-wrapped black strappy set, plus €680 for the most expensive basque and panties I could have bought anywhere, in London, Paris, Milan, New York or Timbuktu.