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Angela - Part Two - Breakfast in Bed

Tags: lesbian, lust,
The second night in Paris
My boss, Angela and I had become lovers during a business trip to France. It had always been a rule of mine never to mix work and romance but in her case the two were inseparable. She was a fabulous lover and after that first night in the Hotel du Roi our trip of three days became a mix of meetings, dinners and bed.

I woke up the morning after our arrival still in her bed. I woke up because her mouth was covering mine and her hand was between my legs. She claimed it was an ‘alarm kiss’ and that I should get my arse up to my room, get fit for work and meet her in the lobby. I did but I decided that before I did so I had to demonstrate that two could play at taking the lead and, anyway, I wanted her. I not only returned her kiss but gently and firmly pushed her onto her back, licked down over her breasts and belly and down to her trimmed mound. She tried in vain to push me away.

‘You’ll make us late!’

I looked up, my chin resting on her mound, and said, ‘Not if you stop wasting time.’

Angela gave a mock ‘tut’ and said, ‘Well, get on with it then.’ The smile in her eyes told me all was well.

So, with the backs of her knees over my shoulders, her legs spread wide and her hands in my hair I got on with it. I knew she was going to climax when her legs tightened around my ears, her back arched and her hands gripped tighter. She seemed to levitate and a gurgle came from somewhere deep within her and its tone rose to a sort of gentle wail before she gasped and her body relaxed. I kissed her clitoris and left her lying spread-eagled on the bed, pulled my dress over my naked body and returned to my room.

There, I showered and washed my hair, dried it, applied a little makeup, no bra, silk knickers and stockings with suspenders, a long, dark blue skirt a white silk blouse and a yellow linen jacket. I was not going to let her down. I gathered my professional appurtenances of slim brief case containing notepad, phone, pens etc and went down to the lobby. My phone is her lifeline. She has no bloody clue about time normally (her ‘alarm kiss,’ was an aberration) and so I keep all her appointments and contacts in mine. I am efficient, mostly, and rather enjoy making her life easier.

She was late in the lobby and as she walked across the huge lobby I took in her look for the day: a black, calf length dress with a mandarin collar and typically tight waist, buttons all down the front and she wore black stockings with lowish black heels. Around her neck, a simple band of silver twisted like a rope sat over the collar. Her hair was shining in the light from the candelabras. Gorgeous. She whisked past me with an impatient ‘come along, you tart.’ Smiling, I followed her out to the waiting cab and we slid onto the leather of the Mercedes’s back seat where I gave the driver our destination in execrable French. He did a Gallic shrug and lurched off. Angela squeezed my hand.

In meetings Angela is magnificent. She sells without selling, understands clients’ needs, cajoles, guides and tempts them. Immaculate. Her designs, which she carries on her laptop, are always stunning and she is imaginative but sensitive to trends while maintaining her own style. I sound like her publicity material but, well, I did write some of it.

The first client of the day was an elderly very butch woman in a dark business suit (trousers) and a white shirt. I swear she had a bulge in her pants where no normal woman does. Her assistant was a beautiful Italian girl, all jet black hair, swollen breasts and fleshy lips.

I thought, ‘She won’t age well.’ But then I thought that her boss didn’t want her for the long run, she’s an item of jewellery.

Back in the cab Angela kissed me much to the amusement of the cabby. ‘Well done.’

I wasn’t sure what I’d done but she explained that the old dyke was rather taken with my braless nipples which, for some reason were hard when Angela’s knee pressed against mine under the paper-strewn desk, so that she had barely noticed either the meeting or the pricing. We giggled.

Meeting two was more difficult. He, the client, was a tall patrician Frenchman of the old school, like a president in waiting. He wore a beautifully cut grey suit and crisp white shirt as did his male assistant who was effete and had slicked hair. Gigolo for men I thought.

We took a short, late lunch with meeting three and by this time I was flagging. Not Angela though, she was firing on all cylinders and ready for the next fore. By the time we got back to the hotel after a further meeting with a large retail store around which we were led endlessly my feet were killing me and I longed for a hot bath, preferably with a glass of something long and cold to drink as I soaked away my weariness. Naturally Angela was, I hope, totally unaware of this. Her chaotic life is part of her allure and the last thing I wanted was for her to think I could not keep up. The ’phone bleeped and I picked up the receiver in my bathroom.

‘I am knackered. How do you keep going?’ I grinned happily to myself.

‘Sheer determination.’

‘I’m going to grab an hour’s sleep. If I am not in the bar by nine, give me a call.’

I didn’t need to. At nine precisely she arrived looking fresh and fit. We had a glass of champagne, ‘when in France, dear, when in France,’ ate a sumptuous meal over which we discussed the day and the next. She was delighted to know we had the morning off since our ten o’clock had cancelled and out next was lunch at a restaurant near the Tower and not until two.

‘Next time we travel together don’t bother booking two rooms, darling. It’s such a waste.’

Our knees touched all through the meal and her hand kept touching mine and mine hers as we chatted. The atmosphere between us was one of expectation, flirtatious and we both knew that we were going upstairs and we’d take our time. Nothing said, we just knew. I’d brought my favourite nightdress to wear for her. I was determined to use the damn thing – it had cost me a small fortune when I had bought it not for someone but in anticipation that one day I’d wear it to enflame someone’s desire. It was ankle length, almost sheer and dark blue. The tiny straps sat like threads of hair on my shoulders, the back plunged almost to my arse and the front revealed about as much as it could and still actually be there. It was silk and whispered between my legs.

‘I have a bottle of bubbles in my room,’ I said with a look of innocent invitation in my eyes.

‘My room’s bigger, or it had better be anyway.’

‘The bed’s the same size and so is the shower.’

‘I pay you too much.’

‘You’re paying for the room and for me.’ I smiled, less innocently this time.

‘I had never thought of you in that way,’ she smiled. ‘I think I like the idea of a whore coming to visit me in my room.’ One eyebrow lifted higher than the other. It was a question then.

I thought about this for a moment or two. I felt the germ of an idea develop and smiled at her, taking her hand in mine and squeezing it. I like games.

‘Why don’t you go to your room?’

Angela smiled a wicked grin and said, ‘I expect her,’ here she looked at her watch, a Cartier of course, ‘at midnight.’ She stood up, picked up her bag and without a backward glance left me to sign the bill. I had less than an hour.

Back in my own room, I showered again but kept my hair dry. I got the nightdress out of my drawer and put it on – I felt deliciously sexy and it was all I could do resist touching myself. I lifted the skirt of the nightdress, rolling it at the waist until it came just mid calf, then tied it in place with a black silk scarf. I put on a long, dark blue overcoat and checked in the mirror. It looked as though I had come in off the street but, of course, I had forgotten stockings and shoes so swiftly rectified that omission. My deadline was approaching but I had time for a gin and tonic from the minibar before I left.

It was a few minutes after midnight that I rang the bell at the door of her room. She kept me waiting, the bitch, but eventually the door opened and she stood there in a towelling robe.

‘You had better come in,’ she said and turned indifferently away from me as though a tart arriving at her door at midnight was an everyday occurrence. I followed her and closed and locked the door behind me.

‘Want a drink?’

‘That would be nice, thank you.’

She went to the minibar. She hadn’t even looked at me and I did wonder momentarily whether the whole idea had somehow soured in her mind. I put my bag down and turned to face her. She had opened her robe and beneath it she was naked except…..

Except for the leather corset she had worn the night before and a pair of sheer black stockings held up with a leather belt. She smiled.

‘Lose the coat.’

Smiling at her, I unbuttoned the coat slowly. I held it open and it was her eyes’ turn to widen. I dropped the coat and undid the scarf tied at my waist. The silk whispered down my stockinged legs. We stood looking at each other, each taking in the sight of the other. She came close to me and handed me the drink he had poured, a gin and tonic and I wondered if she read minds. I took the drink and she took the scarf from my hand and ran it over her breasts, smiling into my eyes. She pointed to a chair.

‘Take a seat.’

I sat and sipped my drink as she did in a chair facing me. I cannot find words adequate to describe the tension in the room. The cliché is ‘electric.’ We sat staring at each other and I decided a whore had to earn her fee. I placed the drink on a table at my side and lifted one leg over the arm of the chair. This had the effect of stretching the silk of my nightdress so that it became even sheerer and I slowly ran my hand over my breasts and down to my pussy. Her mouth was slightly open and I remembered what she had said about it being a sign of arousal.

With my free hand I squeezed a nipple and, lifting my other leg up onto the arm of the chair and slowly, oh, so slowly, lifted the nightdress so I was fully exposed to her and began first to stroke my pussy and then to finger myself, spreading myself so she could see everything. I shuffled down in the chair and she emitted a small moan and her own hand went between her legs.

I continued to finger myself and squeeze and pull my nipple, my mouth open, my eyes locked on hers. I stood and slowly turned, knelt on the chair and lifted the silk again to reveal my arse to her. I bent forward and exposed myself to her again, my hand between my legs and entering myself, first my pussy and then, when my finger was wet and slippery, my dark star.

I heard a rustling behind me and looked over my shoulder. She was standing, moving towards me, in her hand the black scarf. She came close and to my surprise she wrapped the scarf around my eyes and tied it behind, lifting my hair over it.

I leant back into her and she held me, kissed my neck and whispered hoarsely, ‘You are delicious, you slut.’

As I stood, she guided me, holding me gently but firmly and led me, blind and vulnerable, to the side of the bed and carefully positioned me so I was lying across the bed, my head hanging over one side. The next thing I heard was the whisper as her robe fell to the floor and then she straddled my face and I could almost taste her. I lifted my head, searching for her and came into contact with her delicious moist lips and began eagerly to lap at her. I could hear her soft noises of pleasure.

Her body curled down over mine and the leather caressed my belly where she had lifted the silk over me. Her nipples were hard and pressed into me like gentle nails. When her tongue finally reached that part of my anatomy that mine had found on her I lifted my hips and moaned into her pussy.

It began then, the long, slow mutual pleasuring that became almost a fight to give the most pleasure. Handicapped as I was by the blindfold I had to rely on my other senses to find her points of sensitivity. But working senses compensate for those that are denied and my touch found her, her breasts, her nipples, her spine – that delicious little spot at its base that seems to drive her over an ill-defined edge.

The smell of her, the leather; the taste of myself on her mouth, everything combined to lift me to an ecstatic peak where, momentarily I plateaued and then, just as water held back by a dam suddenly overwhelms it and cascades, so too did my orgasm. It was not an explosion, it was a tsunami. I may have cried out but at that moment my face was buried between her thighs and any noise I made was muffled in her. It seemed to be the catalyst for her own crisis and I felt rather than heard her groan deliciously as she let it go and with it a flood of her covered my face.
Our bodies lay conjoined, enfolded, her face at my core, mine at hers. Breath came in spasms. Nothing else in the entire world existed for me at that moment, just the wondrous sense of total fulfilment.

There was a tap at the door, ‘Room service!’

Angela slid out of bed as I sleepily opened my eyes. She pulled her robe over her otherwise naked body and allowed the girl with the trolley into the room. How many pairs of eyes can widen in one account? The waitress’s surely did. She must have seen a woman, me, spread under crisp cotton, hair a mess, the obvious signs of a night of total abandoned lust, love perhaps. A leather corset dangling from the head of the bed, a stocking cast aside, a nightdress on the floor were all the signs anyone would need to understand.

Angela signed, tipped and closed the door behind her.

‘I must remember the number of that escort agency.’

She slipped back into bed beside me and we fed each other a delicious, hedonistic breakfast of scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, brioche and champagne.

‘You’re wasted as a PA.’

‘You haven’t paid me yet.’

‘Don’t push it.’ Her smile told me that all was as it should be. I kissed her.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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