Pleasure In Control

Chapter 6 (Shopping)

I slid the key into the lock and turned it. The door swung open and I stood for a moment, absorbing the excitement of the first apartment I could truly call my own. Kirsten pushed me from behind. "Go on then, go in" she insisted, with an excited girly giggle.

The front door opened into an inner lobby, off which there were only two other doors. One was just a storage cupboard but the other opened into the main room of the apartment. "Wow … Wow … W-fucking-OW" I exclaimed as I saw that the main room is huge and furnished in an ultra-modern Japanese-cum-minimalist style. On the right is a large peninsula behind which I found a small but very well equipped kitchen. The main area of the room is carpeted in light grey and the furniture is all in black and darker shades of grey. Looking around I could see a long, low sofa, two matching chairs and several cubes that looked like coffee tables or could be moved together to make a larger surface. There was no table to eat at but I guessed I could manage with the kitchen bar, which has 3 stools around it. I didn't plan to do a lot of entertaining 'at home'.

Kirsten and I wandered around. The separate bedroom is divided from the main room by a very Japanese-looking open-grid screen with linen blinds behind for privacy. The room it conceals is surprisingly large and contains only a continuous wall of fitted wardrobes with floor-to-ceiling mirrors and a very low, wide bed so there is plenty of room to walk around. Finally we found the sumptuous bathroom, which opens off the bedroom. It is also entirely fitted out in grey, black and white with a large bathtub (which later I discovered includes a spa system) and a wash-hand basin set into a large marble surface. The shower is mounted directly over the middle of the slightly-sloping floor. Loads of room to move around under the shower then!

"It's just wonderful," I repeated to Kirsten as I explored further "and the firm pays for everything?" "They do for me so I'm sure they will for Julie, their rising star. Come on; let's start to get your stuff unpacked.

"I didn't tell you, did I? I met Terri, your maid, on Thursday," I called to Kirsten as she busied herself putting food, wine and beer in the fridge. "I've taken her on and she is coming in this afternoon to make up the bed and freshen up the place."

"You lucky girl! T is terrific. She does a good, conscientious job and she's a lot of fun to have around. She told me she wasn't taking on any more work – she must like you. I'm sure you'll be pleased with her. But how can she make the bed, you don't have any linen."

"I thought we could shop together this morning. You can help me choose. Can we risk going to your store? You won't be recognised will you? "

Kirsten and I bought sheets & pillowcases in the most exotic satins and feminine colours, towels and bits and pieces for the kitchen. We talked animatedly over lunch and stuffed our purchases into the boot of a cab back to my new home.

"Kirsten, I'm going to miss having you around," I said pensively as I unlocked my front door.

"Julie, sweetie, we can see more of each other, even though you have your own place." I looked her in the eye and replied: "Kirsten, there isn't any more of me to see. You saw it all last night."

The doorbell rung and the tall, lithe and dramatic T swept in. "Hi, oh Kirsten, I didn't expect to see you here too. Julia, what a fantastic apartment. I like this. Hey, I've always wanted one of these. Look at …"

"Hold on T, whose apartment is this?" I quipped. "Sorry. I'll get on with my chores."

Kirsten took me to one side. "Keep an eye on T, she's so gregarious. Before you know it you'll find her wearing your clothes and sleeping in your bed. But she is great company, and very pretty too."

T finished and I paid her two weeks in advance in cash. We agreed she would come in every Saturday afternoon and on most Tuesday evenings, unless she had college commitments. She would organise all my laundry and dry-cleaning too. Fantastic. I thanked her and she left.

Kirsten also needed to go. Disappointed, I reminded her "I'm travelling to the north and Scotland on Monday. I won't see you until Wednesday evening."

"Can't do Wednesday either, but I'll be at the product launch at the Mayfair office on Thursday – I'll see you there. Bye, love"

We blew each other trademark kisses and I closed the door behind her.

 

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

I settled into my business-class seat on the Monday morning flight to the north of England, striking up a polite conversation with the man next to me. He probably thought I was chatting him up. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

He would never know what I was wearing under my serious suit. Who would have thought that an unattached self-employed recruitment executive on a business trip would be wearing a lemon-yellow bra with matching lacy panties?

Why should she?

How could he also have known that I had a matching suspender belt holding up sheer stockings under my sensible skirt?

But if she knew she was going to spend half her day getting undressed in front of young and very attentive sales professionals in high-class clothing stores she might.

I took a cab from the airport straight to my city-centre hotel so I could drop my overnight bag. The reception desk staffs were polite and charming and they were able to give me an upgrade to a larger room with a balcony and additional facilities. I presented my Passionella credit card, which they accepted; the Lips logo caused a slight smile to rise at the corners of the receptionist's mouth.

Taking the lift to the top floor, I found my room at the end of a short corridor well away from the noise of the ice-making machine and with less chance of noise from other guests returning late and standing talking in the corridor outside my room. That does annoy me so!

I dropped my bag on the bed and hung my clothes. Looking quickly in the bathroom I saw it was enormous, subtly-lit and had a huge bathtub as well as two washbasins, a walk-in shower, a bidet and a big basket full of all those lovely skin-care products. 'I'll enjoy those later', I thought. There was also a wide-screen TV with heaps of satellite channels and pay-movies, the sort that I assume are only watched by sad, lonely men.

The doorman called a cab for me and I headed for the first of 'our' two existing retail outlets in Manchester city centre. I found the lingerie dept. easily but took some time to locate the Passionella display – it was not well signed but I recognised the products. Rustling through the rails, I identified the usual popular lines from my in-depth training with Charlotte but many were mixed and I could not see anything I liked. Finally, a Dem walked up behind me and tried to sell product without asking my requirements and interests and gave me no opportunity to present my Passionella card. If this is Mystery Shopping, my job is going to be easy. Mandy (from her badge, she never did introduce herself) then suggested I try on some items and badly guessed my size at two cups too small and 2 inches too large (my Passionella card would have told her). Mandy ushered me into the changing rooms, and left me. "Shout if you need any help" was all I got. Terrible.

The morning had not been a good experience. I grabbed a quick lunch in a cappuccino bar nearby and typed furiously typed my report into my palm-top so as not to forget anything. I downloaded a map showing the location of the other store and finished my sandwich.

Walking into the lingerie dept. was a revelation and the contrast with the morning's store was striking. The Passionella brand was clearly displayed near to the lifts and the clothing was well displayed. Two staff wearing Passionella badges were talking by the till but as soon as I approached they stopped. The younger of the two introduced herself as Vicky (spelt Vikki on her badge) and immediately enquired about my needs and also how I would be paying. I gave her my card and she proceeded to gush information, and compliments. Almost before I knew it, I was locked in the changing rooms with Vikki and armfuls of underwear and nightwear. I had to smile.

Then, to my great amusement and surprise, Vikki stripped to her panties before me in about 20 seconds. "Let me help you undress" she insisted and reached for my buttons.

I stepped back to slow the pace, but also to get a better look at an exuberant Vikki. She could only be described as 'small but perfectly formed', about 5' 2" tall and no more than 21 years old, and had tousled brown hair. Her waist was so very slim, about 22 inches, her tummy very flat and smooth and her hips were narrow.

Her boobs looked exquisite; small and slightly rounded, set high, high on her chest. Wow. Her nipples cried out to be noticed, perched right on the tips of her boobs, pointing slightly upwards and sitting exactly central on small, raised pinky-brown areolae. Surely they couldn't always look so perky and suckable? I was captivated by the way she stood and moved, brimming over with self-confidence, and I tried not to stare at her breasts.

"Why don't you try this on?" she suggested, holding up a riot of lace and straps. "It's terrific. It looks like a bodysuit from the front but it's a skimpy and strappy bra and thong from the back." It sounded fun so I agreed to let her help me undress.

The already-nearly-naked Vikki quickly unbuttoned my jacket and I slipped my top over my head. Vikki kept talking all the time – she was making me tired! – and complimented me on my yellow Passionella lingerie. Stepping out of my skirt, I turned my back to her and without prompting she unhooked my bra. Her positive attitude excited me.

I turned back to face Vikki who looked down at me and sighed: "I always wanted big boobs like yours, but mine never grew."

"Vikki, yours are beautiful" I reassured her, "Just be grateful for what you've got."

We released one stocking-top each and Vikki slipped the catch on my suspender whilst I pulled down my briefs. I was now totally nude.

Vikki offered up the bodysuit and I stepped into it. She was right. Looking at myself in the mirror, my lower body appeared to be totally sheathed in pretty black lace. The crotch was cut high and narrow and my pubes peeked cheekily from either side. Moving up, the fabric followed the narrowing of my waist and the top was underwired and cut in a deep vee, pushing my rounded boobs high and together and forming them into as deep and seductive a cleavage as any bra I'd owned. I felt proud of my body and hoped Vikki was not too jealous.

"Can you see your back view in the other mirror now?" she enquired. I held up my long blonde curls to see better, and I was amazed. The top of the suit consisted of just two narrow black straps that held the bra-top place. Then nothing right down my bare back all the way to the bottom of my spine where two more narrow straps wrapped their slender way around from the sides of my waist and over my hips to connect at a tiny triangle of lace, with a just single thong strap between my legs. Very revealing. "The Passionella designers have done a great job – they know how to make a girl feel special," observed Vikki. They had, and I did, especially between my legs.

Vikki offered to model some other clothes but I declined; she might get herself into trouble. I decided to buy the body suit. "May I keep it on?" I asked.

I headed for the coffee shop to make some notes. 'Vikki has such a big personality but she is too enthusiastic. Needs reigning in a bit, but has great potential,' I typed. 'Where did she come from?' I wondered. 'I hope she's at the show'. When I got back to my hotel room I downloads my notes into my laptop and filed my day's reports to Emma. The rest of the evening was now my own.

I'd noticed that my new bodysuit was beginning to get uncomfortable so I undressed, stopping to admire myself in the mirror. Uncomfortable, yes, but very, very sexy. I posed a little more then reached around behind me to release the bra-catch. To do this, I had to push my shoulders back; my boobs all but escaped from their cups and my nipples pushed hard against the fabric. The combination of the uninvited nipple stimulation and the crotch pulling tight between my legs sent tiny messages to my pussy that I chose to ignore.

I hate eating out alone so I ordered room service dinner – just a light pasta dish and a cold beer. "With you in 30 minutes, or it's free" was the promise.

I ran a deep, hot bath and luxuriated in the foam. I mulled over the events and justified my feeling of self-satisfaction; a good day's work. After drying myself carefully with the snow-white fluffy towels, I explored the basket of toiletries. First I shaved my legs and underarms with the ladies razor provided, then I rubbed soothing body lotion onto my hands, arms, legs and feet. A dab of cologne in all the strategic places, a clean-up with a couple of cotton buds and I was good as new.

I remembered that my pubes had shown around the sides of my latest bodysuit, so I pulled scissors from my washbag and trimmed around the edges. Is that enough? One way to find out. I slipped the suit back on and tried unsuccessfully to trim the ones that still poked out.

I'd never shaved my bikini line before, but I decided to give it a try. I removed the suit again (my nipples enjoying the feeling even more this time) and pulled the razor over the areas either side of my mound, but leaving a generous vee of neatly-trimmed blonde curls concealing my gash. I rubbed some more lotion over the tender, sensitive and newly-exposed soft flesh between my thighs.

I admired myself in the mirror – I liked what I saw and the sight of my own body made me feel tense and excited. Proud breasts, smooth skin, flat tummy above curvaceous hips (but not too broad). Well-defined legs and now with a neat and attractively-trimmed pubic area nestling between them.

I thought some aromatherapy oil might help me to relax so I opened the small bottle from the bathroom and smoothed some over my neck and shoulders, down over my firm, round breasts and downwards to my upper legs and bum cheeks. Then some more on my thighs, down the outsides then up the insides. Mmmmmm …

My skin glistened under the recessed ceiling lights, smooth and radiant. Turning sideways on, my nipples were now erect but not really hard … until I rubbed some more oil into them. I rubbed the tips of my fingers all around my areolae and over by buds, making them long and hard. I squeezed them; warm, inviting sensations spread to my pussy and little by little I wanted to …

Feeling dreamy, I began to think about Vikki and I lay back on the bed. I massaged my sensitive skin some more then, pulling up my knees, I planted my feet on the edge of the bed and spread my legs. With my head propped up on a pile of feather pillows, I could look down between my thighs and see myself in the mirror. My pussy was beginning to open like petals of a flower and small beads of moisture sparkled under the bright, warm lights, clinging to the edges of my labial lips.

I tipped the rest of the contents of the bottle over my legs and I wallowed in the fantastic sensations as small rivulets of oil trickled down my inner thighs and between my cheeks. As the oil ran slowly and excruciatingly further down the soft fleshy insides of my legs, right to my anus, my sphincter muscles twitched and puckered tight. And I was trying to relax!

I ran the tip of one finger around the rim and gradually my muscles loosened and I could breath again. The feelings were so good; I wondered whether I might just be able to slip a well-lubricated fingertip just inside …

I was suddenly startled by the knock at the door.

"Room Service."

Shit!

I'd forgotten all about dinner. In a fluster, I called 'Coming!' but the delivery boy must have misunderstood and thought I'd said 'Come in.' Horrified, I heard the door began to open and I realised that I had not flicked the dead-bolt.

I grabbed a bathrobe from the bathroom and quickly wrapped myself in its voluminous modesty.

As the door opened, I was greeted by a friendly female smile. "Come in, oh, yes, over there, thanks," I gushed, "Here, here's something for you."

How attentive and perceptive, that the hotel should remember to send a female room-service 'boy' to the room of a single female guest. Actually, a very young, but very pretty female, in a smart uniform. She must have wondered what she had interrupted, as her senses would have been assaulted by the heady mix of lotions and oils, the pile of soft pillows abandoned on the bed, and the sight of an flustered and embarrassed woman clutching a robe around herself (I hadn't had time to tie the belt). Miss Young-But-Pretty looked around the room, probably expecting to see a male companion – 'No Chance!' I thought.

Then, as she was leaving, I (absent-mindedly?) used one hand to pass her a gratuity, and the other to open the door. To my horror, my robe fell open. She stared at me; she must have seen one if not two long bare legs, and maybe more. I felt so humiliated! What if she complained to her manageress? What did she take me for? Why did I feel the way I felt?

I closed the door behind her, uttering lame apologies, and tied the belt tightly around my waist as I caught my breath. Then, in a fleeting, mad moment, I thought of shrugging off my robe completely and calling her back. Just to see what her reaction might be when she saw me naked. Or was it, maybe, because the feeling of intense embarrassment & humiliation might actually hold some attraction for me? But I quickly banished the thought from my mind. Probably just as well. Hmm …

Regaining my composure, I sat down at the desk and realised how hungry I was.

When I'd wiped every last drop of sauce from the plate with my last piece of ciabatta bread, I flicked on the TV. No news on yet. No interesting sport. Old films I'd seen before. Discussion programmes where no-one has an interesting viewpoint or a well-considered argument. I scrolled down to the pay-movies menu:

More old films, and porn. 'Busty Barbara On Top', 'Don't Tell My Wife', 'Deep Down & Dirty'. Who watches this stuff?

'Dream Lesbians/Sheer Luxury' - Double Bill.

I keyed in my room number and sat back, thinking: 'It won't be any good, but there's noting else to watch'.

Well, the 'actresses' were quite pretty, and the acting was passable. Not much plot though. I can undress better than that, and my body is better too. One of the girls has dark hair and is down on all fours, furiously licking a ginger girl's pussy whilst frigging herself off. Their blonde friend is sitting behind them on a chair, also masturbating and moaning convincingly.

I'm not enjoying this; I just want to see what they might do next.

The blonde girl produces a long, slim vibrator from under a cushion and starts to lick it (I noticed that it was similar to the one I found in Kirsten's apartment). When it is thoroughly moistened, she rubs it back and forth along the length of her slit. She's bucking her hips now, and the two other girls stop to encourage her. They drool "Mmm, go on, stick it inside you. That's it, push it up your cunt, you horny bitch.' When the blonde girl pulls it out it's coated with her juices; she slowly slides it back in. The Dark Girl then takes the vibrator and holds it so the tip only just brushes her 'friend's clit. Blonde cries and writhes and wriggles her hips, trying to get more pressure on her clit but every time she moves onto the vibrator, Dark Girl teases her and it moves away. Blonde is really desperate now and pleads with her friend to let her come. Finally she does, fairly convincingly, closely followed by the Dark Girl whose been getting a thorough licking from her ginger friend.

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 pants?"

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 pants. 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 pants I could have bought anywhere, in London, Paris, Milan, New York or Timbuktu.

Maria also upgraded my card to the next level.

"How many more levels are there?" I enquired. Maria looked at the computer display and then at me.

"Oh," she paused, smiling a knowing smile. "You have quite a few more levels to go yet, Julia."

I started to think that there are many more opportunities at Passionella, about which even Kirsten and E have not yet told me. I left the store feeling emotionally and physically drained. My experiences with Maria had assaulted all of my senses and my head was full of images and ideas. When I got to my car I sat quietly for a few minutes, collecting my thoughts. Then I furiously tapped at my keyboard, trying to be as objective as I could and noting a constructively critical assessment of the store, the displays of Passionella merchandise and 'their' employees. One employee in particular. (E had warned me against becoming emotionally involved).

I drove the hour-long journey to Glasgow and managed to find a parking space in the centre, even at 4:30 in the afternoon. I'd always wanted to visit one of the famous tearooms decorated and furnished in the style of that great early twentieth-century Glaswegian interior designer and artist, whose name escaped me. I just had time, before heading for the Passionella concession area in the central department store.

An average experience all round. Adequate stock, fairly well laid out. Polite staff with a friendly, approachable manner. But I didn't really feel like buying anything and, true to their training, the Dems didn't try to force anything on me either. I found a quiet corner to make some notes in my palm-top and finally left the store just before closing time. I headed back to my car, not relishing the 100-mile drive down to Carlisle for an overnight stop.

I arrived at the small but modern business hotel around 9:00, tired and bleary-eyed. It was tempting to climb into bed and leave my reports until morning but I knew that the detail would fade so I downloaded my palm-top into my computer and tided up my notes before I climbed into bed and fell straight to sleep.

 

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

I was woken by the shrill warble of my alarm clock at 7:30 – I'd hoped to make use of the hotel pool to try out my newly acquired blue Passionella bikini, but I'd slept too long. Pity; I had been looking forward to seeing the embarrassed and licentious expressions on the faces of the pot-bellied sales managers who seemed to make up the bulk (literally) of the clientele at this hotel.

Back on the road to Sheffield, my last store before home. I'd wanted to get round all 8 stores in my first week to start to get a feel for the standard of service I could expect and to get to know a few of the Dems before the show on Thursday.

Sheffield was similar to Glasgow, a perfectly adequate but unexceptional experience. I did take particular note of one of the two Dems on duty though. She had a truly stupendous figure, even though her face was quite ordinary. Her breasts were, well, outstanding, I'd guess she's at least a 38D, and whatever bra it was she was wearing certainly made the most of them. Unfortunately, she was helping another client. Helen, her colleague, was pleasant enough and not unattractive herself. I didn't buy anything and did not reveal that I was a fully paid-up card-carrying Passionella aficionado.

I drove the last leg of my grand tour back to London, my head full of names, faces, store layouts, garments and experiences, some of which I would soon forget and some which would probably stay with me for some time to come.

I arrived at my apartment just before 6:00. Terri had obviously been in. Everything was spotlessly clean and tidy, 'just like home' in fact. In the bedroom I found two large boxes and from the labelling I deduced that these were my belongings from Claud's apartment in Paris. I had now severed all links with my previous life and I felt a huge feeling of relief and pleasure wash over me, confirming I had done the right thing.

I must have dozed off as I was lying on the bed still wearing my working clothes when my phone rang. I looked at the clock – 7:30 pm.

"Hi, sweetie, it's me. Have you missed me?" chirped Kirsten's pleasantly familiar voice with child-like enthusiasm. Kirsten is a real woman, but she loves to put on an act.

"Hi, Kirsten. Yes of course I have, babe." I tried to retaliate by using a horribly sugary term of endearment but Kirsten just lapped it up.

"I haven't been home long and I'm a mess. I've done so much and covered so many miles this week already I haven't had time to gather my thoughts. I'm hungry but I can't be bothered to cook and so the last thing I want to do is …"

"… is to spend the evening alone and sulk. I'll be over in 20 minutes with Chinese. See you, bye." Click. I like a decisive woman.