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Emmanuelle: part eleven
By
Pixie_Hoffmann

Emmanuelle: part eleven

The Oligarch Strikes

For some reason (lack of cash mostly) I had never spent the afternoon being pampered at a private spa; I could get used to it. All I need, having had the experience, is the income.

Sophie and I went down to the basement with Ivana, who introduced us to the Manageress, and then, quickly pecking Sophie on the cheek, departed to fulfil Ekaterina's commands.

The Manageress, yet another of the Amazonian blondes by whom Ekaterina seemed to be surrounded, guided us through the options, and we both went for the sauna, body massage, pedicure and manicure.

A naked sauna with Sophie was a treat. Still new lovers, I delighted in discovering her body. As the beads of sweat formed on her luscious breasts, I suppressed the desire to lick them off; but was conscious of a dampness that had nothing to do with the sauna.

'You are so yummily cute, Pixie. And you are MINE, no going off with one of those fucking Amazons.'

'I think YOU are in more danger than me. Flat-chested midgets are at a discount here. I'd need a ladder and a head for heights.' I laughed.  

'Well you are MINE, and no ladders for you my little Pixie.'

It was sweet of her to reassure me.

After the sauna came the massages.

Naturally, there was competition to massage Sophie, and we lay opposite each other, as two more Amazons worked on us.

Mine was clearly torn between treating me as the runt of the litter, or a china doll, varying between undue roughness and awkward pauses, while she worked out how to deal with someone so petite. Sophie's Amazon, having scooped the winning prize, was giving her the full treatment. As our modesty was preserved by a towel, I could not see precisely where she was touching Sophie, but from the sounds she was making and the flush on her cheeks, I could make a good guess. She looked across at me, I looked back.

There is something exquisite, if that is quite the word, in watching one’s fiancée in the throes of pleasure at the hands of another. I was a little jealous, partly for the obvious reason, and partly because I was not getting the same treatment. Of course, she could always have protested, but as she explained later, that would have been rather un-English - and no fun.

As my Amazon massaged me, Sophie’s slowly brought her to orgasm. I heard mine say the word ‘kukolka,’ which I knew meant ‘little doll.’ I later learned that they thought that I was a kid, and had laid off giving me what Sophie got.

Sophie’s cheeks flushed, her breath quickened, and she gave a series of low, throaty moans.

’Bitch,’ I mouthed at her, several sorts of jealous, at which point my Amazon swatted my ass to say time was up.

Clutching my towel to hide my nakedness, I glowered at Sophie, and her Amazon. The latter patted me on the head and said:

’When you grow up, kukolka.’

Sophie laughed out loud, and I came pretty close to a tantrum, before realising that would hardly have helped my case to be treated as an adult.

As we sat and had our feet done, Sophie tried to appease me. Of course, I gave in, and forgave her.

The final session was a manicure. At the end of it, my manicurist did my nails in a cute star pattern. Sophie’s were an elegant plum colour. I suppose to six foot Russian Amazons, it did not compute that Sophie and I were lovers.

They brought us a samovar of tea, with some sweet biscuits. 

‘I could get used to this,’ Sophie sighed, as she lay back on the lounger.

’You mean you don’t get this every afternoon at the BBC.’ I teased.

’Only because of people like you who don’t have televisions.’ She joked back. We were at one again.

Then came the summons to the ‘briefing.’

Dressed as we had been that morning, we went up to Ekaterina’s lair.

Her whole team was there, but there was no sign of Emm.

Acknowledging us, she waved us to our seats, and began the briefing.

She explained that it was an important occasion, with the American Ambassador and the British Foreign Secretary, both present. There would be drinks for a select few, and bedrooms were available. Discretion mattered, and anyone needing a lift home should be provided with it via a Russian car.

It was planned like a military operation, which, in a way it was.

Dismissing her staff, she beckoned us to go with her.

’I hope you enjoyed your little treats this afternoon. But I gather that you, my poppet, were denied yours?’

I blushed several shades of puce, admitting it.

’I will have her whipped. Stupid bitch.’

Cross though I had been, it seemed a little harsh, and I begged her not to.

Agreeing, she led us into her chamber.

I have worked in places smaller than her bedroom. 

Our eyes were drawn, at once, to Emm.

She was being prepared for the evening.

Ekaterina took enormous pleasure telling us what was happening.

She explained that the woman who seemed to be playing with Emm's tits was doing so to replace the nipple bars with micro-transplants which would keep her nipples stimulated, and hard, permanently. The look on Emm's face as she turned and blew us kisses, suggested that they worked.

Emm's pussy had, she explained, been lasered smooth, and she had earlier been given an enema to 'prepare her asshole for use,' as Ekaterina so graphically put it. The woman who was opening Emm's cunt was placing a small egg in there, which allowed her to be remotely controlled. It would, she explained, dissolve after five hours, leaving a vanilla taste to Emm's juices.

We watched as the Amazons completed the masterpiece that was Ekaterina's Emm.

Her hair tumbled and curled to her shoulders, which were bare, like the rest of her. 

Following instructions, she stepped into a pool of material, which was pulled up her sensuous body. It fitted her perfectly. The bodice held her breasts firmly, separating them to give a deep, inviting cleavage. The silver material shimmered. If it was possible to look naked and clothed, Emm looked it.

'While they do her hair and make up, get yourselves ready, and be in the ballroom in an hour.'

And so we were dismissed.

We were quiet on the way back to our quarters. Eventually, Sophie broke.

'Fuck, Pixie, sorry, but just fuck.'

'Hey, it is okay, she always does this, steals my girls.'

'No, baby, I am yours, but who wouldn't want Emm?'

That, I suggested cooly, might be precisely why Ekaterina wanted her.

Sophie's off-the-shoulder evening gown set off her figure perfectly. She had been right about the lingerie, she looked great, and the stockings helped; well helped me want her even more.

For my own part, the game continued. I had a sweet party frock, which Sophie assured me, made me look cute.

We went down to the ballroom. Everyone suddenly looked up. There was Ekaterina, dressed in supple black leather, hand in hand with Emm, who was wearing the figure hugging gown, hair cascading down, in six inch heels. Every eye was drawn to them.

 

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