EDrake Today: 10:15am
Would you like to join Miss Alice and I for tea on Tuesday @ 2:00?
I'll reserve our usual table at Callaways.
I would be delighted.
Mrs. Elizabeth Drake is one of my more interesting clients. Thirty-two years old, she's happily married and well-heeled. I have been seeing her several times a month for about a year, but we have never had any physical play. By her own admission, her husband keeps her well-satisfied in that way. It's a different aspect of her sexual appetite that led her to me.
Having started as a youth, she still enjoys pleasuring herself to her own hidden desires. Well, okay. Who doesn't? My involvement began when, remembering an old fantasy, she developed an urge to do so publicly and in the company of someone else, not as a fellow imbiber, but as a trusted watcher and vocal sounding board. But who? Obviously, her husband would not do, which left her in a quandary. She takes her marriage vows seriously and, as might be imagined, involving a third party directly rattled up pretty hard against her conception of faithfulness.
Beside herself with the frustration of denying this want, she vaguely confided her problem to a friend after a five-martini hen party. The woman, who enjoys the occasional role-play bliss with me, understood well enough to give her my number. After considerable thought, Miss Alice was born, free from the constraints that bind Elizabeth to her marriage bed. I am quite willing to bet our arrangement would raise any analyst's eyebrow, but it works for her and it works for me, so fuck them.
Which brings us to Tuesday. Mrs. Callaway's Tea Shop is an oasis of proper British calm amid our normal west coast dither. Patterned after Rennie MacKintosh's Willow Tea Room, it is a spacious and elegant setting for an afternoon cake and cuppa or, in our case, some rather different personal treats.
She is already seated when I arrive. The linen-draped table is in a small front alcove backed by milky white and stained glass windows. She sits facing out as always, allowing her a view of the room and the room a view of her. I sit opposite, off-center to the right, with a convenient wall mirror for my own observations.
"It is lovely to see you again after so long, Elizabeth. How was Europe?"
"Busy and entertaining, though Miss Alice was quite lonely for your company the whole time."
"That is so sweet. I missed her, as well. And how is she now?"
"Beginning to feel her old self," she smiles. "Oh, yes, quite her old self," she adds, squeezing her eyes shut with a strangled mew. After a breath, she asks, "She visited the salon today. Would you like to see?"
"Absolutely." I deftly flick up the damask and bend down to search for a nonexistent dropped spoon. Looking across beneath the table, I see gartered silk legs widely spread beneath her rolled back skirt. A finger traces up and down, teasing the open slit of her plump, coral pink cunny. At our last time together, there had been just a whispered triangle of hair on her mons. Now, above her silky smooth lips, a three-inch wide strip of full, radiant, auburn curls rise from above her clit's long hood to their natural glory. As I begin to straighten, she combs her perfect red nails through the forest, making me groan.
