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Ass

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 güvenilir bahis 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 güvenilir bahis siteleri (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 iddaa siteleri 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.

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