Later that evening I chased like a child through the wide-open meadows of my mind, carefully sweeping as many of my butterfly thoughts into a delicate net as I could. The beach was now empty and only the sleepy ghosts of happy days remained. A tired sun, its dwindling energy spreading like a worn, burnished cape around it, was balancing uneasily on the far horizon. The darkening sea was giving up cool hints of her salt-scented breath, which every so often lifted wisps of hair from my face and gently caressed my cheeks. Underfoot, the tepid, soft-orange and pale-grey pebbles, like solid, speckled eggs smoothed by the ebb and flow of liquid years, shifted and slid treacherously. I sat down and opened my net to give freedom to the fragile wings within.

I realised that I had reached the age of twenty-one without knowing who I was or where I was going. Events of the previous few days had unexpectedly begun to slide open the stubborn and weighty doors of my heart and confront me with questions that were as strong, demanding and mysterious as Veronica. In a matter of days I had somehow allowed a woman I barely knew to move into my mind and exercise control over it, albeit a delicious control.

I was romantically, as well as sexually, inexperienced. My two previous relationships had been short, although neither had been particularly sweet. My mother had been unimpressed when I introduced her to my suitors and, although both were intelligent, stable young men who I suppose many girls of my age would have been delighted to be involved with romantically, under the surface I never felt comfortable with either of them. That said, I had never consciously felt attracted to other women either, which made my experiences of the previous days that much more perplexing.

Veronica had obviously awoken something which had lain dormant within me; feelings, attractions and, yes, lusts. It felt like the start of something; it felt like beginnings. It was, however, more than just lust, I knew, although the power of that feeling and the urges it produced could not be denied. I felt as though my life had somehow suddenly and dramatically been switched on and I began to wonder what might happen if I allowed myself simply to become abandoned to the push and pull of the wave. I was immediately met with the consuming thought that ‘allowing myself’ no longer felt like an alternative. It felt as though I was now committed to being led to whatever destination awaited. I knew my life was changing, but it felt like there was plenty of room for change.

My mind drifted back on the easy evening breeze to events of earlier that day. As it did so, I saw her face again, painting itself onto the soft canvas of my mind. My heart suddenly began to beat that little bit faster. Between my legs I felt a delicious tingling and the exciting warmth that was beginning to become more and more familiar to me. In my heart, it felt as much like love as anything I had ever known. I sighed, however, as I realised the chances of me growing inside her heart were probably as likely as recapturing the imaginary butterflies I had just released into the rusty evening sky.

Brighton’s ‘old town’ is an elaborate labyrinth of quaint alleys and weaving passageways, delicately scented by the subtle hint of herbs and freshly roasted coffee, where the romantic and the curious can spend hours believing that time has drifted to sleep and is held deeply within the soft confines of a Regency dream. Veronica had told me to meet her there the following morning at eleven o’clock, at a small but exclusive boutique called “ Amelie’s ”. It had the kind of discreet, understated frontage you could easily be forgiven for meandering carelessly past without necessarily noticing, seduced by the idyllic surroundings and the almost irresistible lure of the rustic, intimate coffee shop next door. The refreshed sun was rising strongly in an ice-blue, cloudless sky as I arrived at the boutique. I glanced down at my watch. It was one minute to eleven.

I heard the shy tinkle of shop bells as I pushed the door open and entered the boutique. Amelie’s was the kind of place which catered for a certain kind of woman with a certain kind of financial status: in short, a woman like Veronica Hamilton. It was patronised almost exclusively by professional women who wanted to dress with powerful sophistication. I closed the door and walked down a couple of shallow steps, breathing in the alluring fragrance of exclusive women’s clothing and extortionate price labels. Everything about Amelie’s oozed class and exclusivity. From the rear of the shop I could hear a seductive click of heels on the hardwood floor growing louder.

The wearer of the heels emerged from the rear of the shop. She was a mature woman who I estimated was probably in her mid forties, with long, strawberry blonde hair tied tight back in an efficient ponytail. She was immaculately presented in a navy blue pencil skirt and sober white blouse. The clicks had been produced by a pair of elegant navy blue shoes with slim, slightly intimidating heels.

“Good morning, madam,” she said. Her voice exuded professionally courteous efficiency. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Good morning,” I replied. “That’s very kind, but I’m actually supposed to be meeting somebody here.” Her lips, faint with the suggestion of red lipstick, broke into a polite smile.

“Is it Miss Richardson?” she asked. I nodded. “I am very pleased to meet you. My name is Sophie, and I will be looking after you this morning. Miss Hamilton has already arrived and is waiting for you in the back. Would you follow me, please?”

Sophie went to the boutique door, flipped over the rather antiquated-looking sign which hung on it, so that it now read ‘Closed’. She then began to lead me purposefully through the shop towards the rear, her authoritative heels again generating a percussive, empty wooden echo. I could not help but feel more than faintly confused about why I was there, but I was slowly learning to allow all thought to simply abandon my mind and ‘ride with the tide’ where Veronica was concerned.

The back of the boutique was rather narrower than the more open area at the entrance, where strategically placed racks and rails of quality women’s clothing greeted the customers, although I had little doubt Sophie would refer to them as clients. However, it curiously felt slightly less claustrophobic and more intimate. Veronica seemed lost in concentration as she swished through a rail of clothing, the combined price of which would probably have been enough to purchase a thoroughbred racehorse or two.

“Good morning, Miss Richardson,” Veronica said, continuing to slide the contents of the rail through her hands. I was slightly taken aback in relation to her mode of address, which felt markedly more formal than I had been used to from her.

“Good morning, Miss Hamilton,” I replied. Sophie stood a little distance back from Veronica, and to her side. She looked as though she wanted to say something helpful but was holding back.

“Ah,” said Veronica suddenly, opening up a space between the clothing on the rail and lifting a hanger from it. It was a black, tailored, two-piece pencil skirt suit, with the merest suggestion of a pinstripe. “Let’s try this one, I think, Sophie.”

“An excellent choice, Miss Hamilton,” Sophie replied. From most sales assistants, such a comment may have sounded nauseatingly sycophantic. However Sophie managed to make it sound positively genuine, perhaps because it was.

“Now, Miss Richardson,” Veronica continued, looking at me. “I want you to try it on. Sophie is going to give you all the help you need.”

Sophie pulled back a large, blue velvet curtain which slid back effortlessly and almost silently on the silver track above it, revealing a plush changing room. A full-length mirror covered almost one entire wall of the changing room, which also contained a luxuriously upholstered chair, in a blue as deep and rich as the curtain. There were two brass hooks on the wall facing the full-length mirror. Hanging on one of the hooks I could see a pristine white blouse perched perfectly on a hanger, and on the other a small carrying bag bearing the logo Amelie’s, of the kind the boutique would use to put customer purchases in. Sophie began to put the suit Veronica had chosen onto the brass hook behind the bag and I began to remove my jacket.

“Miss Richardson?” said Veronica, who had now sat down on another comfortable-looking chair just outside the changing room. “I thought I told you that Sophie was going to give you all the help you need.” I stopped what I was doing. Having hung the suit up, Sophie positioned herself in front of me.

“Allow me, Miss Richardson,” said Sophie, maintaining her courteous professional smile. Slowly, she moved her hands onto the lapels of my jacket, moved round to the back and slipped it off my shoulders in one easy movement. She moved back in front of me once more, holding my jacket in her right hand. As I looked at her, I almost sensed an apologetic look in her opaque, blue eyes, before she suddenly threw my jacket out of the changing room. It landed on the floor, a few inches from Veronica’s feet.

As she did so, I caught my breath and felt my face adopt a surprised, ‘what-have-you-just-done’ look. I had only bought the suit a few days earlier, specifically for the starting the job and it had been what I had regarded as an expensive purchase.

“Don’t look so concerned, Miss Richardson,” said Veronica, smiling. “You won’t be needing it again.”

“Shall we continue, Miss Richardson?” asked Sophie. I said nothing and swallowed hard, trying to regain a little visible composure.

Sophie moved her fingers to the buttons of my blouse. One by one she began to unfasten them. Watching her eyes as she did so, for the briefest moment I saw them take in the swell and contour of my breasts, held within the confines of my delicate, black lace bra. Reaching the waistband of my skirt, she stopped for a moment, grabbing each side of my blouse just above it, before pulling it firmly but expertly from within. Her fingers then continued their journey down until each pearl-white button was finally undone. Again, in one move my blouse was slipped from my shoulders before being casually tossed in front of Veronica, still watching a few feet away.

Sophie then turned her attention to my skirt, popping the button with a deft twist of her fingers, sliding the zip down, and easing it over my bottom. As she did so I could feel the still slightly tender memory of what Veronica had done to me two days earlier. My skirt dropped unceremoniously to the floor, and I stepped out of it. Sophie bent down to pick it up. It then received the same disrespectful treatment as the other items of clothing she had removed.

I turned my head momentarily to the left to look at Veronica. She was still sat on the chair with her legs crossed, looking at me intently. Her left elbow was resting on the arm of the chair, and her thumb and forefinger were lightly pulling and teasing at her lower lip. Delicate, flimsy items of black lace may still have been protecting the last of my privacy but in front of Veronica I somehow felt naked and shamelessly exposed. The truth was that at times she seemed to have the ability to make me feel that way, even when fully dressed.

“Sophie,” said Veronica firmly, “do you think the suit I have chosen will fit comfortably?”

Sophie was now stood directly in front of me again. Without saying a word, she moved her hands to the base of my neck, one on each side of it, and slowly began to run her fingertips lightly over my shoulders to the top of my naked arms. As I felt the gentle touch of her fingers against my skin, an exquisite, almost electrical tingling sensation began to radiate from the base of my neck and down my back, causing me to lower my shoulders slightly.

Sophie then moved her hands slightly under my armpits and began to move them down the sides of my body. As they passed close to my breasts, I felt her thumbs brush lightly against them through the flimsy lace. As they did so, I sensed my nipples respond involuntarily within the confines of my bra. They began to enlarge and grow firm, before pressing insistently against the delicate material. The palms of her hands then continued to follow the undulating contours of my sides, all the way down to my hips and the waistband of my panties.

“I think it will fit Miss Richardson perfectly,” Sophie said, turning to Veronica for a moment. “Would you like me to get her prepared now, Miss Hamilton?”

“Yes you may, Sophie,” Veronica replied.

Sophie reached into the bag that was hanging on one of the brass hooks just above my head, and carefully removed an exquisite black lace suspender belt with six thin, adjustable straps of ribbon that shimmered provocatively. Sophie slipped the suspender belt around my waist and deftly bound me into it with the delicate hook and eye fastenings at the back. The featherlight ribbon straps hung down loosely against the tops of my thighs, the fastenings brushing sensuously against them with the slightest movement of my body.

“Now, would you like to sit down in the chair please, Miss Hamilton?” Sophie said, her hand outstretched, directing me to the chair in the corner of the changing room. I sat down, allowing the rich material of the chair to yield to my body. As I did so, Sophie removed the small bag from the hook.

Sophie then carefully went to her knees in front of me, folding herself into a neat, compact package in front of me.

“You have the most beautiful legs, Miss Richardson,” Sophie said, as she extended her soft, slender fingers around my left ankle. “They really are perfect.”

“Thank you, Sophie,” I replied somewhat weakly, as I felt her fingers begin to caress the contours of my ankle, before allowing her fingertips to slide a little way up the back of my calf and then back to my ankle. Light electricity was once more beginning to cascade down my back from my neck, and as Sophie continued to caress higher up the calf of my leg I once more felt an irresistible tingling and warmth teasing me between my legs.

Sophie’s fingers were now moving freely up and down my lower leg, caressing the skin with a touch that was somehow both firm and gentle at the same time. She took my left foot in her hand and placed it into her lap, leaning forward slightly as her fingers moved ever higher, reaching the back of my knee. It was as her fingers floated and teased behind my knee that I perhaps realised for the very first time that my body had sexually responsive areas that I had never known before. Between my legs I knew my sex was moistening, preparing itself once more.

Gradually, Sophie’s fingers worked up beyond my knee. She spread her slender fingers and began massaging my thigh. Every now and then her elegantly shaped long nails, with their immaculate deep red glossy shine, lightly and provocatively scratched the satin skin of my inner thigh.

“Such beautiful legs,” Sophie purred, looking up into my eyes for a moment. Her own could barely contain the fact that caressing my leg was giving her a pleasure she could barely contain. “I could caress them all day, Miss Richardson.”

“Dress her now, Sophie, please.” Veronica’s firm interruption suddenly pulled Sophie back from the strengthening swell of sensual feelings that she was obviously beginning to lose herself in.

“Yes, of course Miss Hamilton,” she replied deferentially, almost submissively. I could not help but love the way Veronica was somehow able to control those around her so effortlessly, and with so few words. I looked across to where she was still sat and exchanged a brief glance with her. Her eyes looked into mine, and I sensed a wicked, intimate smile within their depths.

Sophie placed her hand into the bag and removed an oblong packet, which she broke open. From within she carefully slid out a pair of gossamer thin black stockings which she proceeded to separate from each other. With obviously practised ease, she took one in her hands and cautiously began to roll the delicate nylon down towards the reinforced toe, taking the utmost care not to ladder the flimsy material.

My left foot was still resting in her lap, my toes pointed upwards. In one smooth move Sophie slipped the stocking over my toe and eased it carefully over my foot, before beginning to stretch the delicate material slowly over my lower leg and up to my knee. I stretched my toes a little against the light web of sheer nylon, which expanded deliciously as I did so.

“Could you stand up for me, please, Miss Richardson?” Sophie asked politely. I smiled and stood up. As I did so, I felt a sudden and unexpected surge of power as I looked down at Sophie kneeling below me. It felt almost as though she were somehow worshiping me, and obediently ready to indulge each and every one of my immediate sensual desires.

Little by little Sophie stretched the fragile, dark material to the top of my thigh, unveiling its delightful and dainty lace top. One by one Sophie’s fingers eased one part of each fastener under the lace before drawing its partner over the top and securing the stocking to it firmly. I felt the straps pull taut against my thigh and cheek of my bottom as she adjusted them, and another wave of sexual pleasure surged between my legs. Sophie then repeated the process with my other leg, smoothing each of the stockings out carefully with her palms and fingers, before looking up at me.

“How do they feel, Miss Richardson?” Sophie asked, cradling her hands in her lap. I looked down at her and then looked across in the mirror opposite me. I had never been vain or conceited but as I looked into the mirror I caught my breath. The stockings felt divine against my legs, and my reflection showed a woman that I felt I barely recognised but actually loved. I wondered for a moment how so little material, and so flimsy, could suddenly produce such feelings of sensuality and power. I may not have recognised the woman in the mirror, but I knew that she was me, and I was beginning to adore her.

Sophie stood up and removed the blouse from the hanger. She moved behind me and I slid my arms into the sleeves. Once it was sitting on my shoulders, Sophie moved round in front of me and slowly began to fasten the buttons, top to bottom. The blouse was a crisp white but light and soft against my skin, with a V-neckline which subtly revealed a somehow tantalising yet modest hint of cleavage.

Sophie then removed the skirt from its hanger. She then bent down in front of me, holding the waistband, and invited me to step into it. Slowly she slid it up my legs and eased it over my bottom. With another deft movement of her fingers she fastened the side button and slid the zip up, before standing back a little and smiling.

I looked at myself in the mirror opposite again and caught my breath once more. I suddenly remembered that Veronica had told me the day before that she thought I should be showing off my legs a little more. The skirt, which fitted me to perfection, was several inches shorter and tighter, in spite of a deliciously provocative vent in the back, than anything I had ever worn, or dared to. I realised that the length of the skirt meant that there were only a few dangerous inches between the hemline and the lace tops of my stockings. I also realised that these few inches were undermined precariously at the back by the vent in the skirt.

“How does the skirt fit, Miss Richardson?” Sophie asked.

“Perfectly,” I said, still gazing intently into my reflection, turning every now and then to try to get a different angle. I brushed my hands down the material, which felt soft and outrageously expensive.

“If I may say so, you look fabulous.” She turned to Veronica. “Don’t you think so, Miss Hamilton?”

I turned to look at Veronica too. She was still caressing her lower lip with her finger, and her eyes were dark once more, as they had been in the wine bar during our first meeting.

“I agree, Sophie,” said Veronica, bending forward slightly in her chair and picking up a box that was on the floor beside it. She stood up and approached me, before lifting the lid of the box. Putting her hand inside the box, she lifted out a pair of exquisite high-heeled black shoes, the backs of which she had hooked over her fingers.

“Here,” said Veronica, holding out the shoes in front of her. “Put these on. Don’t worry; they are your size.” I took the shoes from Veronica, put them on the floor in front of me and slipped my feet inside them. As I did so, I seemed to grow three or four inches in stature, but inside the difference felt more like one of increased power. The heels enhanced the shape of my legs and pulled divinely on my calf muscles. Between my legs a delicious warmth was now firmly taking its sensual and irresistible hold.

“Perfect”’ Veronica purred. “Don’t you think so, Sophie?” Sophie nodded and a smile lit up her face, as though every one of her dreams had suddenly come true.

“She looks stunning, Miss Hamilton. Absolutely stunning.” Sophie’s eyes were moving up and down my body, as though taking in every curve and slight movement, as though she were lost in me for a few moments. I saw Veronica’s hand move up behind Sophie’s back. She then quickly slid her fingers into her hair, just under her ponytail. Before Sophie knew what was happening, Veronica had assumed a tight grip of her hair, causing her to tilt her head backwards a little.

“Well, well,” said Veronica, her voice low, husky and demanding attention. “I think you have an admirer, Miss Richardson.” I felt that perhaps I should have been shocked, or at the very least unnerved, by what was unfolding in front of me, and just a week earlier I probably would have been. At that moment, however, the only thing I felt was an intense lust beginning to surge like a tidal wave through my veins, and build feverishly between my legs.

“Miss Hamilton, I’m sorry,” Sophie replied, her voice less controlled but nonetheless oozing deference.

“You are sorry, Sophie?” Veronica continued, her fingers firmly pushing back by several inches the navy blue scrunchie in which Sophie’s ponytail was held, loosening her hair somewhat. “You aren’t sorry, Sophie. You just can’t stop thinking about getting into Miss Richardson’s delicate panties, can you?”

“Miss Hamilton, please....” Sophie protested vainly.

“You can beg all you want, Sophie, but what is in your dirty little mind has been written all over your face since you set eyes on her. You want to fuck her, don’t you Sophie?” I caught my breath as I heard Veronica’s words.

“No, Miss Hamilton, I.....” Before Sophie could finish whatever she wanted to say, Veronica had spun her round by the hair and pressed her up against the wall of the changing room, so that her head was now just below the two brass hooks.

“Are you really going to try and deny it, Sophie?” Veronica said, her left hand now firmly positioned just below Sophie’s neck, holding her tight against the wall. Sophie’s eyes were now wide, the pupils dilated and her breathing accelerating by the second.

“Don’t say another word, Sophie,” Veronica continued. “Your words are meaningless. I am going to find out for myself exactly what you have been thinking about.” With that, Veronica reached her right hand down to the hem of Sophie’s skirt and began to gather its light material firmly in her fingers. In one easy move Veronica slid the skirt up Sophie’s legs. When Veronica had lifted the skirt mid-way up Sophie’s thighs, her hand drifted underneath it and disappeared. Suddenly, the look on Sophie’s face changed dramatically. Her hands reached above her head and her fingers wrapped themselves around the brass hooks. Her head tilted backwards a little more, her eyes rolled upwards and she let out a long, urgent moan.

“Your panties are drenched, Sophie,” Veronica teased. “You are on heat, aren’t you?” It was clearly all Sophie could do to nod. Now, I’m going to ask you one more time. You want to fuck Miss Richardson, don’t you.”

Sophie let out a little, involuntary scream of delight. I could not be sure exactly what Veronica was doing but I was fairly certain that her fingers had found a certain spot between Sophie’s legs, and was toying with it.

“You had better answer me, Sophie,” Veronica continued. “You want to fuck her, don’t you.”

“God, yes,” Sophie replied, her body shuddering and her back arching as if to plead for more pleasure. “I do.”

Veronica removed her hand from under Sophie’s skirt.

“Did you hear that, Miss Richardson,” Veronica said. “Sophie wants to get inside your knickers.” With that, Veronica lifted the fingers of her right hand to my mouth. Before her fingertips even touched my lips, I could detect the musky scent of sex which was coating them. Veronica pressed her fingers between my lips and found my moist tongue.

“Taste her, Miss Richardson,” Veronica demanded. I began to suckle her fingers, the taste of sex beginning to fill my greedy mouth. Veronica slowly pushed her fingers in and out of my mouth, teasing it. My own arousal was now beginning to overtake me.

Veronica moved her fingers out of my mouth and allowed both of her hands to move onto Sophie’s blouse, which was now looking far less perfect and pristine than it had when first arrived.

“The thing is, I am well aware that you are always a bitch in heat, Sophie,” Veronica said, looking directly into Sophie’s eyes, which were now dark and radiating hunger. “You can never get enough to satisfy your dirty hunger, can you?”

With that, Veronica tightened her grip on the lapel of Sophie’s blouse and in one sudden move pulled it apart, ripping the flimsy material and showering the changing room with a hail of buttons. Sophie’s torso was now exposed, revealing her breasts, which were firm and swollen within the confines of her exquisite, white satin bra. A delicious mixture of lust and shock was on Sophie’s face. Veronica slid her hand back up into Sophie’s hair and tugged the scrunchie a little further down. Her hair now looked disobedient and untamed, and her eyes seemed lost in wild longing.

“What a dirty little bitch you are, Sophie,” Veronica teased. “What are you?”

“I’m a dirty little bitch, Miss Hamilton,” Sophie replied, her voice now wanton and submissive.

Veronica took hold of Sophie firmly by the shoulders, pulled her away from the wall and then pushed her casually but firmly back onto the chair in the corner of the changing room. Sophie collapsed into it. Her hair was now a tousled mess, her blouse was torn and hanging brazenly open, and her skirt was lying disobediently halfway up her smooth thighs. Veronica turned to me.

“You know what you have to do, Lucy,” she said in a low voice, which was barely a whisper. I looked into her eyes. “You don’t need to say anything. You know exactly what to do.”

Inside of me something broke. It was as though every second of my life had built to that moment. I had always tried to think, to analyse and to work things out. As I stood there, none of those things seemed important, because they weren’t. A voice inside of me, which seemed almost as though it were being whispered telepathically by Veronica, was urging me to ‘follow my instinct’. I sensed the corners of my mouth turn upwards slightly in a smile as I looked into Veronica’s eyes.

“I do, Miss Hamilton,” I replied. “I know exactly what to do.”

I walked slowly across to where Sophie was slouched in the chair and knelt down in front of her. I moved my fingers onto her thighs and allowed them to caress and slide over them, just as Sophie had done to mine a little earlier. I took in how her skin felt under my fingertips. I looked up into her eyes for signs of pleasure as I stroked and caressed. She bit her bottom lip and rolled her eyes upwards again as my fingers drifted down to her inner thighs. I pushed her skirt up a little more. From underneath I caught a glimpse of wispy white lace and leaned forward.

Moving my mouth to her inner thigh, just above her knee, I allowed my tongue to slide out from between my lips and drift upwards, leaving a warm, wet streak on her skin. My lips began to kiss and brush against the soft skin of her inner thigh. As my head moved a little higher, I became aware that Sophie was opening her legs wider. Her skirt tightened again against her thighs. Once more I pushed it higher and allowed my mouth to move upwards, tasting her skin, warm and slightly salty.

I felt like a temptress; a tease. My tongue lazily drifted up and down her inner thigh, moving close to the edge of her panties and then drawing back. My nostrils were becoming filled with the scent of her arousal which only served to increase my desire to tease. I could feel Sophie beginning to squirm on the chair, her legs parting and pushing herself forward, as though pleading for more.

I breathed in the warm scent of sex once more and then allowed my tongue to drift onto her panties. They were, as Veronica had said, drenched in her lust and my tongue began dragging over them, up and down, the slightly rough lace feeling exquisite against my eager tongue. Sophie was now pushing herself against my tongue, trying to urge me on. As I leaned forward still further, I could feel the straps of my suspenders become provocatively taut against my thighs and bottom. Between my own legs I felt needy and urgent.

I moved my fingers up to Sophie’s panties and looked up at her. She was clearly desperate. Her eyes were hungry and she was now caressing her breasts with her fingers through her bra, kneading them wantonly. My fingers raked over the flimsy material of her panties. From behind me, I heard Veronica’s voice again, low and husky.

“You know what to do, Lucy.”

I did. In one easy movement I pushed my fingers firmly against Sophie’s sodden panties. The material yielded and then tore as my fingers pressed insistently against it. I hooked my fingers into the torn lace and firmly ripped it wide apart, exposing her glistening and craving pussy.

“Oh fuck!” Sophie moaned.

Sophie was waxed and smooth. I took in the appearance of her aroused sex. Her labia was pink and puffy; the soft lips were slick, glistening and lubricated for sex. Her engorged clit looked demanding and insistent, emerging as it had from under its hood. I leaned forward once more and felt my tongue against my lips.

The taste of Sophie’s sex, taken from Veronica’s fingers, was still in my mouth as my tongue met her yielding folds for the first time. I drew my tongue up and down her drenched opening and moaned softly as her taste filled my mouth again, this time much sweeter and more potent. I became lost for a few seconds in how she tasted and how she felt against my tongue. I then allowed my tongue give way to its need to press between her moist lips and slip inside her. As I pressed against her them, her sex almost sucked me in with its urgent, desperate desire.

Suddenly, from behind, I felt the back of my skirt being lifted slightly. I sensed that Veronica was now behind me. I felt her fingers drift over the soft flesh at the top of my stockings and caress it. I moaned as my body began to react and respond overwhelmingly to her touch. My tongue was now firm and driving in and out of Sophie’s pussy.

Between my legs I felt Veronica’s slender fingers tease the edge of my panties aside and slide underneath to find my own pussy, which was soaked in my smooth nectar. Her fingers slid around my labia and soft folds, rubbing my entrance up and down. Every so often her fingertips would alight on my own engorged bud and tease it for a moment, causing me to let out little yelps of pleasure.

Driven on by Veronica’s fingers, my tongue became more demanding. I flicked and teased Sophie’s swollen clit. Each teasing touch of my tongue would make her writhe in the chair and increase the intensity of her moans. My tongue was now covered in her juices, which were flooding from within her like a raging river. She draped her thighs over me, allowing me to penetrate her more deeply with my greedy, wanton tongue. I slid it lasciviously against the velvet walls of her sex, satisfying my thirst for her on the sweet, flooding lust she was now giving up so easily.

Veronica’s fingers were now moving more feverishly in and out of my drenched pussy. She was penetrating me deeper and deeper and in a way I never had been before. I lifted my bottom and offered my craving, desperate sex to her wild thrusting fingers. At that moment I felt as though I were her toy, in the same way that Sophie was mine. As Sophie moved to the very edge of her climax, Veronica slid her fingers onto my clit and began to vibrate it firmly and insistently. I felt my own legs judder and low moans escape from my mouth into the wet confines of Sophie’s sex. Within seconds, driven on by my urgent moans, she surrendered in a spasm of uncontrollable pleasure to her own desperate need for release.

Sophie climaxed on my tongue in wild waves just as the intensity of my own overwhelming climax broke between my legs, causing me to press my mouth and face deeper into the flooding confines of her sex. My body juddered and shook, and I let out long screams of delight as I felt my body’s seemingly endless spasms of sexual pleasure take full control. My arms flopped over the edge of the chair Sophie was on. It seemed as though every drop of the smooth honey which slid from her pussy was coating my tongue and covering my face. I remained on my knees for a time, deliciously lost in the wetness and sweet odour of wicked indulgence.

When we left Amelie’s Veronica’s telephone rang almost immediately, and for a few minutes she was lost within the call.

“Lucy,” she said, putting the phone back into her bag. “The private investigator I instructed has had a breakthrough. It seems as though we may have located Faith Foster.”

“Is that a good thing, Miss Hamilton?”

“We need to begin taking her evidence apart, Lucy. Finding her is the first step in that process.

As we made our way to Veronica’s car, my heart skipped a beat as I suddenly realised that I had left my other suit at Amelie’s.

“Is something wrong, Lucy?”

“Well, I’ve just remembered I’ve left my suit at the boutique and...”

“I told Sophie to get rid of it, Lucy. You won’t need it anymore, I assure you.”

My heart sank. In the jacket pocket I had left the telephone number Emily had given me the day before.

“There’s no reason to look quite so sad, Lucy,” Veronica said. Somehow her words did not make me feel any better.

After a few moments she reached into her own jacket pocket, took out a folded piece of paper and held it out towards me.

“Here,” she said, smiling. “I took it out of your jacket pocket before I gave your suit to Sophie to get rid of. It appears to be a telephone number. I thought you might want it.”

Copyright: All of my stories are written entirely by myself. Please do not copy or repost them.

Copyright 2015: claire2013: All Rights Reserved. This story may not be copied, reproduced or linked in any manner, without the express written permission of the author.