Chapter 2 (Tuesday)
“Good morning, Julia, did you sleep well?” Instinctively I sat bolt upright, startled by the voice beside me in the unfamiliar surroundings. “I’ve made you coffee, orange juice and croissants.” My breasts peeped over the bedclothes and Kirsten smiled at me. “It’s 9:30 and you have 45 minutes before you need to leave for the Passionella offices. I need to go to work now. Come and see me at the store and tell me how the interview goes. Bye.” Kirsten was dressed in a fitted jacket and short-ish skirt in company burgundy, and she had a purple round-neck shirt underneath. Damn, if I had woken earlier, I might have seen the elusive naked Kirsten. The apartment door closed with a click.
Alone in her room, I ate Kirsten’s croissants, drank her coffee, and thumbed through her wardrobes, having no option but to take up her offer to borrow some of her clothes. I found a stretch top that just about fitted me and a pair of loose-fitting trousers with a tie waist. Finding a bra I could get into was more of a challenge. They were all so beautifully made and flattering but virtually all of Kirsten’s bras were size 32B and even some in 32A. I tried on several, they all looked and felt gorgeous and they all carried the Blowing-Kiss logo in one form or another. But I could not get my 34Cs more them halfway into most of them; some of them I would push my nipples down inside the cups and they would just pop out again. Others I could not even do up! I tried padded uplift bras with the pads taken out. I tried stretch bras with Lycra and I tried bras in all kinds of colours and fabrics. I twisted and turned to admire myself in the long mirror. If I was going to a nightclub or was dressing for a night in with someone very special I might have risked one or two of them. In my state of suppressed sexual arousal, this was all too much for me and I feared that I would at best leave my wetness on Kirsten’s undies and at worst I might make myself late for my special interview.
Then I tried the deeper bras that Kirsten had described as Bustières. These were more promising and I found a russet-brown one in size 32C which I could stay in at least whilst standing still. My boobs swelled proudly and defiantly above the lace edging of the cups and their full weight was supported by the reassuringly wide shoulder straps. I fastened the back on the least-tight setting and wriggled my boobs till they felt comfortable. Eventually I found a matching pair of russet panties that fitted me, they sat high on my hips and the front was cut in a broad vee, ending just above my mound. There was no way I could wear yesterday’s, they were still damp, and how could I possibly go to see a quality lingerie retailer wearing uncoordinated bra and panties? I don’t know why I thought anyone would see my underwear – this was just an interview after all. But wearing matching undies boosts a girl’s confidence, you know.
It was now 10:15 and the black cab that Kirsten had so thoughtfully ordered was waiting 4 floors below in the street, tooting impatiently. Grabbing my handbag and one last look in the mirror, I slammed the door behind me, fully prepared to face the day. One thing I had definitely decided – there was no way I was going back to Claud – London will be home again.
The taxi ride took me through some of the bumpy back mews streets of Mayfair as the taxi-driver used his local knowledge to miss the jams. I was already having second thoughts about my choice of bra as the motion of the cab cause my boobs to wriggle slowly but surely out of their imprisoning bustière. After 5 minutes my nipples had broken free and were pushing over the tops of the bra-cups. Every time we cornered, they rubbed exquisitely against the lace edging causing them to grow larger and firmer, only accentuating the problem. It was too late to turn back and I had not thought to bring Kirsten’s spare key with me. I looked down nervously to see my twin nipples in their fully-erect glory, pushing purposefully against the fabric of Kirsten’s stretch top. By now the cabbie must have noticed my dilemma in his rear-view mirror, in between relaying the latest soccer results to me and solving the worlds political and social problems single-handed. Trying to ignore the luscious feelings all this was creating in my crotch, I reached up inside my top pulled frantically at the uncooperative bra, just managing to nestle my agitated twin peaks back inside as we drew up outside the designated address. To my relief, Kirsten had even pre-paid the cab, allowing me to dive out without needing to make eye contact with its driver.
I walked up to the front door of the Passionella UK head office, identifiable only by its street number and a small but reassuring Lips logs on each door. I could barely see through the smoked-glass windows so I pushed the door open and strode confidently into the reception area, 1 minute early. The décor and furnishings were modern and very striking in their simplicity. The walls were adorned with large, poster-size photos of glamorous models clad in the most alluring and sophisticated lingerie. I paused for a moment to admire the high quality of the photography and the beauty of the subjects.
“Hello, Julia, we are expecting you. So glad you came.” As promised, I was met Rachel, sitting at her elegant desk. I stretched out my hand to shake hers but she just smiled sweetly. Rachel was dressed in a corporate-burgundy coloured waistcoat, unbuttoned almost to her navel. Underneath she wore only a glossy black bra that pushed her smooth, tanned boobs into the deepest, firmest cleavage I could ever wish to see. What Kirsten might describe as jaw-dropping. As Rachel wrote my name in the visitors’ book, I was enthralled to see how firm her boobs were. They did not change shape in the slightest when she bent forward and they hardly moved when she changed position. I think she appreciated my admiring stare, making brief eye contact as she stood up quickly.
I gasped. Rachel wore a tiny burgundy mini-skirt, which she constantly smoothed down as she walked. She wore black ankle boots with 3-inch heels that only partly compensated for her short 5’2″ frame. Her long silky-smooth auburn hair reached almost to her neat 24″ waist. It was tied back neatly at the nape of her neck and flowed behind her. “Follow me,” she requested in her cheery London accent, as she wriggled her trim hips down the corridor in front of me, pushing the company image, the dress code and her bra fastenings to their limits, I imagined. Visually, Rachel could easily be described as tarty-meets-glamour, but she carried an air of maturity several years beyond her age, which I guessed at 19.
We walked past several identical doors each marked Private Room in a different colour and up a flight of stairs to meet Emma, the Passionella UK personnel manager. Rachel introduced me, and Emma smiled warmly. “Please come in and close the door. I’ve already heard quite a lot about you and am excited to see you. Take a seat by the window and make yourself comfortable.” Emma was at least 10 years older than Rachel and could only be described as voluptuous. She had her wavy streaked-blonde hair piled high on her head, her dark-brown eyebrows and eyes suggesting that her muff does not match her mane. She wore a well-made white long-sleeved shirt that strained as her large, full breasts tried to escape. Her bra created a long and inviting cleavage above the last fastened button.
Emma immediately created a warm, caring impression that put me at ease. She made comfortable flowing small talk like a true professional and enquired about my education, my background and my experience. Her eyes constantly darted between mine and my mouth, picking up my mood from my facial expressions. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her curves but she never apparently so much as glanced down at mine. Just as well, because if she had she would have clearly seen that my nipples had once again worked themselves free from my borrowed bustière and were pointing forwards, straining against the stretch fabric of Kirsten’s top. Each time I changed position in my leather chair, they rasped against the top edge of their inadequate 34C-cups. This again made my nipples even larger and harder and they made themselves even more obvious. I sat bolt upright, trying to keep still.
Emma then lightly moistened her full lips with the tip of her tongue and began to explain the company background and the new vacancy. “Passionella is an Italian lingerie manufacturer with an enviable brand image that is respected throughout Europe for its high quality fabrics, the latest styles and designs, beautiful colours and a careful and dedicated approach to fit, comfort and total customer satisfaction.” “Passionella UK (she swept her perfectly-manicured hand through 180o to encompass the building in which we sat) is the local sales office and we uphold and exceed the company principles.” The UK Vice-President is Linda (no-one seemed to have surnames) and she runs a caring and hugely successful company. Everyone works directly for Linda and she runs a very open and flat organisation. There are only 3 levels of employee. All the Sales Demonstrators – we call them Dems for short – who work in the retail outlets, plus Rachel, are level one. You will, er … would, be level two along with the Personal Shoppers like Kirsten.”
An uncharacteristic slip.
Emma continued unflustered. “Personal Shoppers act as guides and supervisors to the Dems and also take special care of our key clients, the high-spenders. The only level threes are myself and Charlotte, our Marketing Manager. Everyone at Passionella UK earns the same salary but the differences are in the bonuses, the extra money the Dems and Personals can earn – let’s call that ‘gratuities’ – and some ‘extras’ the company provides.”
Emma dropped her voice a little, implying confidentiality. “Our clients are mostly successful independent women: businesswomen, media & publishing executives, legal professionals and aristocracy. Others are wives and partners of high profile and wealthy diplomats and politicians. They all come to Passionella because they seek quality and innovation in their lingerie. They also expect first-rate service and absolute discretion, and can afford to pay for it. Many of them live lonely lives – it can be tough at the top – and love to be pampered.”
“We have 8 sales outlets at present, all are concessions inside high-end department stores. Key clients can also come here to try and buy. We have very few rules but one you must remember at all times – we never touch our clients. We give them very close personal attention but this rule, imposed by Linda, ensures there can never be any suggestion of indiscretion that could ruin a client if it became public. We call it LDT – Look, Don’t Touch. Also, all employees are 100% natural, no cosmetic surgery. Are they home-grown?”
Emma looked down at my breasts and smiled. I nodded, pushed my shoulders back and thrust my boobs forward; Kirsten’s bustière pushed them upwards and they stood to attention.
“Yes, they are all mine,” I confirmed, proudly, suddenly unashamed of my protruding buds.
Slowly, Emma stood up and walked round behind my chair where I could not see her. Then, to my amazement, she reached round my shoulders and cupped my breasts in her hands, allowing my nipples to nestle between her fingers. She squeezed them and a shock of sexual energy shot through my nervous system and arrived at my pussy with a jolt. I closed my eyes and sighed as the erotic feelings subsided.
“Perfect” she purred, and sat down again. She looked deep into my eyes and saw right in to my soul. I was speechless. “But …” I stammered, “I though you said ‘no touching’.”
“I only touched your clothes, darling.”
‘I am going to enjoy this,’ I thought to myself.
Emma went on to explain the role. I would need to visit all of the outlets regularly and act as a typical client. My status must not be revealed to any staff outside of Linda, Emma, Charlotte and Rachel, except of course Kirsten who will be my mentor. I would pose as a wealthy customer to judge the sales skills, care and attention of the Dems and Personals. I’d need to take them into my confidence and test their discretion and integrity.
Emma explained further, “The Dems should help a new client to chose her lingerie on her first visits and will be expected to help you to try it on in the store changing rooms. As they get to know you, they will offer to model items for you. They should carefully gauge your mood and your interest and then may invite you to New Product Launches here at PROM.”
“PROM?” I asked.
“Passionella Regional Office, Mayfair,” Emma explained.
“You should encourage them. Here at PROM you will get the chance to see select fashion shows on our own catwalk and use the Private Rooms to try on our new and exclusive styles.”
I nodded regularly to signal my understanding. “Regular clients are given a Passionella credit card with an embedded chip which stores their size, their status as a customer and their, umm …, preferences. We do not try to attract the lower social groups who aspire to our products, like pop singers, lottery winners and wives of used car dealers from Essex. We discourage them from purchasing Passionella products and they certainly do not get a credit card.”
The way Emma spoke, it seemed quite likely I had already got the job, but then she changed her tone. “Julia, I will now take you down to meet Charlotte, our Marketing and Training Manager. She will pose as a Sales Demonstrator and you should role-play as a client, just as you would if you were Pasionella’s first Mystery Shopper. Let’s call it an aptitude test. OK?”
I nodded and followed her eagerly downstairs.
Emma waved me into one of the Private Rooms where a slightly-built but attractive young woman waited.
“Good afternoon, may I show you some of our latest lines in luxury Italian lingerie?” Realising that the test had already begun, I drew on my distant memories of drama classes at my all-girls’ school. Charlotte showed me some beautiful clothes and I admired them, finally asking to try on a silk bra with delicate appliqué butterflies on the cups and straps together with matching deep briefs. Charlotte guessed my size exactly and brought the items from a hanging rail along one wall. I took the opportunity to look around at the room, which was decorated in the same style as I remembered from the Passionella changing room at Kirsten’s Oxford Street department store concession. It was much larger though, and was furnished with two matching chairs, a low sofa and a dressing table. I noticed there were several full-length wardrobes and another door at the other end.
Charlotte invited me to undress and only then did I realise that my breasts had all but completely dispensed with the services of the bustière; I confidently pulled the stretch Lycra top over my head, shaking my shoulder-length hair free. My boobs rose and fell and I caught sight of my side profile in one of several large mirrors. Charlotte looked at me with a combination of surprise and admiration and I made a coy apology for my seemingly debauched state. She smiled sweetly and helped me into the silk bra, which felt cool and comfortable on my naked skin and took some of the sensitivity from my still-erect nipples. My fantasy sales demonstrator was very attentive and caring and I tried to keep up my act of calm sophistication as she helped me to remove my borrowed panties. I slipped on the butterfly-shaped briefs and admired myself from all sides in the mirrors. Charlotte was very complimentary and told me that I looked totally captivating. I did.
Then she surprised me by offering to model some other lines herself, explaining that some women could appreciate the beauty of the products better on someone else. I remember what Emma had told me and go along with the idea; I thumbed through the hanging rail and asked Charlotte to try on a body suit adorned with ribbon ties. She turned away from me, discretely undressed and slipped into the garment. With her back still turned, for which she apologised, she tied each of the ribbons down the front of the bodysuit in a neat bow.
Then she gracefully swung round to face me and stood as tall as her 5’4″ frame would allow. I shuddered in excitement. Charlotte looked exquisite as the delicate fabric clung to her slightly-built body, a 32A-22-32 I guessed. She twisted and turned and I complimented her and the product that she showed off so well.
She then explained that this bodysuit was designed specially so it can be removed gracefully, to entertain a partner. Charlotte invited me to sit on one of the armchairs and she started to undo the laces, starting at the top. Slowly, one-by-one she pulled at each bow and allowed the fabric to part at the front. In between each one, she looked at me with a dreamy and tantalising expression that suggested she was enjoying the show as much as I was. I started to squirm on the sofa and make encouraging noises. By the time Charlotte has loosened half of the bows I was starting to perspire and my nipples were straining at the soft silk of my borrowed bra. I desperately wanted her to undo the remaining ties so I could see her naked, but she just kept her cool and teased the hell out of me. I was breathing heavily now and I willed her to let me see the shape of her breasts.
“You teaser. For fuck’s sake untie the last ribbons.” I pleaded, finally losing control.
I realised that I had just blown my chances of getting the job but I was past caring. I started clawing at my own breasts. I leant forward and pressed my hot pussy into the chair, rubbing it back and forth on the cushion. Charlotte is so very sexy and I had never seen a woman undress so provocatively. She still had three ties to go when she walked slowly towards me, stopping just out of my reach. Pulling on the ribbons, she released another bow to reveal her navel, which is pierced and adorned with a blue jewel. I’d just about had it now, and started to move my hands towards the silk that encased my pussy.
“No, hold out your hands,” Charlotte purred, “you have my permission to undo the last bows” and she stepped forward. Shaking uncontrollably, I reached out and pulled the ends of the last two ribbons. Finally, and very, very slowly, Charlotte slipped the narrow straps of the bodysuit off her shoulders, parted her legs very slightly and allowed the suit to fall silently to the floor. I was spellbound. Her tits were small and conical and exquisitely formed, with fiery red nipples jutting upwards. Charlotte ran her hands from her collarbone down over her breasts; her nipples jumped as her fingers ran over them. She continued to caress her skin, down, down over her flat belly, skimming over her protruding pelvic bones and on down her legs, avoiding her Mound of Venus that was delicately covered with dark brown neatly-trimmed curls. She bent forward and planted her hands firmly on her knees and her breasts hung down in small, delectable, perfect cones. She looked directly at me and blew me a kiss; I nearly cried as I sank back into the sofa.
“You’d better get dressed, Linda will want to see you know” explained Charlotte, standing up abruptly. I shook myself out of my heightened state of sexual arousal and grabbed my clothes, trying to cover my nearly naked body in utter embarrassment. I had let my powerful sexuality take over and ruin my chances of getting a great job. I also felt thoroughly cheated by Charlotte who was supposed to be testing me. I dressed quickly and asked the way to Linda’s office. Charlotte slipped on a gown and led me up to the top floor of the building, where I found Emma waiting. She introduced me to Linda, Vice-President of Sales, Passionella UK; we entered Linda’s office and Charlotte closed the door behind us.
Linda indicated for me to take a padded chair near to the window whilst she, Emma and Charlotte stood close together on the far side of the room and discussed what had happened downstairs. I overheard Charlotte describing the scene in graphic detail, much to my intense humiliation, then they dropped their voices and I strained to overhear.
The three women walked across to where I was sitting and joined me around a low table. I reddened up and started to speak, hoping against all hope that I could explain away my actions but it was going to be difficult with Charlotte, my tormentor and honey-trap, sitting right beside behind me.
But Linda stopped me with a single word.
This is no time for sarcasm, I thought.
“You’ve got the job,” Linda continued, holding out her hand. “Welcome to Passionella.”
I stared at her for a moment then glanced across to Charlotte. She smiled broadly then made her excuses and left.
“But, I thought that Charlotte told you how appallingly I behaved downstairs and …”
Linda stopped me again and explained: “You carried yourself perfectly, you have all the qualities we are looking for. Charlotte described the way you admired the products and discussed your desires just as a typical Passionella client would. You put on a wonderful act as you role-played a fictitious customer. You have a wonderful imagination and Charlotte enjoyed your performance tremendously. Can you start immediately?”
I was stunned and tried to go along with the plot. “Well, thank you very much, I think I will enjoy the work.”
Emma and I discussed some of the practicalities of my new employment, my training and my objectives but I was in a daze and absorbed only a fraction of what she told me. Then I explained that I had no-where to live at present. “You may share with Kirsten for the rest of this week until we can get your own apartment ready. She will be your mentor and will provide some of your training. Is that OK?”
“Yes, that’s fine,” I agreed, “but how much will my rent be when I get my own apartment?”
“The apartment is provided free. You will also get your own Passionella credit card that will also allow you to buy clothes and items for the apartment and for your other expenses. We’ll settle the monthly account.”
This was almost incomprehensible, but I dared to ask the unaskable question.
“What will my salary be? Once I am fully trained, of course.” Emma smiled.
“You do not need to know, you will find out when you get your first payment credited to your bank account. It will be more than you expect and more than you will need. Passionella is a successful and profitable business and we pay very, very well.”
I could hardly speak now, my throat was dry and my heart was thumping but I had one last question.
“Why me? Why have you taken me into your confidence so quickly when I only walked into your retail outlet 24 hours ago?”
Linda interjected. “One of the key responsibilities of the level twos, like Kirsten, is to scout for new employees. As soon as you walked into the Passionella concession yesterday, Kirsten saw your potential. You have the easy, natural charm and the subtle beauty we seek. You have poise and style in the way you stand, walk and talk and I, err … I mean Kirsten, fell for you straight away. Later, in her apartment, you demonstrated that you appreciate fine lingerie and enjoy admiring yourself and others and wearing our products. You are perfect for the new role of Passionella Mystery Shopper.”
“I’ll take it” I enthused, and a small tear of joy welled up in the corner of each eye. Emma and Linda looked at each other, smiled and Linda walked through to an adjoining room. She soon returned with a bottle of chilled champagne, which she adeptly opened and decanted into 3 glasses, passing one to me.
“Welcome, you will not be disappointed. You may leave now but please be here at 9:30 tomorrow for your initial training with Charlotte and Rachel. Here is your Passionella card.” Linda passed me a credit card that reflected the light like brushed stainless steel, with my name already embossed on it. Then she blew me a kiss. “Remember, LDT. You may not kiss Passionella employees or clients. If you want to show affection, blow them a kiss; just like the logo. And do not blow your cover, we are investing a lot in you.”
I downed my champagne demurely and moistened my parched lips with my tongue before thanking Linda and Emma profusely for their faith in me and my abilities. “I’ll not let you down,” I promised, and left.
I almost flew down the three flights of stairs to reception, trying to keep my ‘poise and style’ intact and wafted past Rachel. I blew her a kiss and walked confidently out onto the bright London streets. I was on top of the world and my mind was racing with 1001 questions. But first I realised I was starving hungry; it was already nearly 2:00pm. I walked 2 blocks to a small café-bar I remembered from years ago and was pleased to find it was still there. I sat outside and ordered mineral water and a char-grilled chicken salad, and sighed long and deep as I relaxed back into the wicker chair.
Why so much emphasis on Look, Don’t Touch? Surely these lonely executives would love a bit of close personal attention. A loving caress on the shoulders to ease away stress, a polite peck on each cheek, Continental style, would do no harm? Why do I find Charlotte so damn sexy? Where did she learn to undress like that? Am I tuning into a lesbian? Why was my credit card already prepared, unless they had already decided to give me the job? So why the ‘aptitude test’? Why are the private changing rooms at PROM so large? What I am I going to tell Claud? Do I ever want to see him again? How will I get my stuff over from France? Do I have any stuff in France worth keeping, now I can restock my wardrobe at Passionella’s expense?
Then I started to think more rationally as the delicious, olive oil drenched salad slipped down my throat and started to nourish away my distracting hunger. I used my marketing skills to run a rough-cut business plan in my head. 8 outlets, estimated average turnover €500 per hour each, 50 trading hours per week = €10.4m t/o per year. Maximum gross profit margin 50% on luxury goods like theirs (oops, ours) = €5m. There is no way that €5m gross profit per annum will support PROM, pay Linda, Emma, Rachel, Charlotte and now me as indirect overheads who do not sell anything, plus 8 level-twos including Kirsten and, say, 24 level-ones. Plus massive stocks of product, several luxury apartments, unlimited expense accounts, lavish décor, champagne. It doesn’t add up, there must be another source of income.
I settled my lunch bill on my new card; the waiter accepted it without question. Then I walked briskly towards the Oxford Street department store where all this had started only yesterday. I was exited about shopping for some clothes so I did not need to borrow from Kirsten, even though the thought of living with her for another few days filled me with eager anticipation. I waltzed through the huge main entrance doors and adopted my new persona of independently wealthy professional woman. I remembered Linda’s last words to me: ‘Do not blow your cover’.
As I rode the escalator to the Women’s Exclusive Fashions floor I invented a convincing character for my new self: proprietor of a small, exclusive Executive Search & Selection recruitment agency, specialising in placing ambitious women in middle and higher management positions in media and entertainment companies. I smiled broadly and launched myself into a generous but selective shopping spree, buying dresses, blouses, tops, trousers, shoes and accessories. My Passionella card was accepted in each department with respect and the kind of eye contact reserved by the store sales staff for special customers. Lastly, I headed for the lingerie department to make my last purchases and to meet Kirsten, recalling that I did not bring her spare apartment key.
I thumbed though the racks and rails of products from Passionella’s main competitors, evaluating the quality of the designs, the fabrics and the standards of manufacture. I was approached by several sales assistants and became more aware then ever of their style, manner, tone of voice, appearance and even their choice of perfume, as I started to form a benchmark against which to compare ‘our’ girls. Finally I moved to the Passionella sales display and was immediately aware of a striking redhead standing off to one side. I rustled idly through the beautiful Passionella products on display, feeling inadequate as I did not yet understand the subtleties of the many styles and designs but enjoying the cool, sensuous touch of the material, the straps and ribbons.
Then, with perfect timing, Fiona – Sales Demonstrator approached and introduced herself politely. I made some small talk and then handed her my Passionella card to gauge her reaction. She smiled politely and enquired about my prospective purchases. I made up some plausible story about my need to purchase several sets of lingerie for daywear, evenings and nights in. She ran my card through the reader to get my profile then invited me to undress in the changing room whilst she fetched some products.
Standing starkers in the smallish room, my heart jumped when Fiona knocked softly, walked in without waiting for a reply and locked the door behind me. She carried an armful of the most exquisite silk, lace, satin and lycra and laid them out neatly. Fiona was probably in her late thirties, a fraction shorter than me and a little fuller in the figure. She carried her red hair in a short, stylish cut and had not concealed her lovely freckled complexion with overly applied make-up.
She helped me to choose three bras in varying designs and suggested two or three pairs of panties to match each one, but in different cuts. As I tried on each item she helped me to adjust it for a perfect fit and was honest when a colour of shape did not suit me. I admired myself from all sides in the large mirrors and liked what I saw. Every piece was supremely comfortable and made me intensely aware of my own body. My favourite was a deep cerise sheer bra with lace trim along the top edges of the cups that continued up the inner edges of the shoulder straps. I selected deep sheer briefs that all but covered my navel. All the time, Fiona stood close to me in the small room but never touched me once.
Then she showed me some more exotic items and I tried on two basques that came down to the tops of my hips. I enjoyed the sensation created by the tightness around my waist and chose the navy blue one with detachable suspenders and shoulder straps. One sumptuous Passionella garment after another encasing the most precious parts of my tingling body, followed by the fresh air around my now barely-covered pussy, rekindled the feelings that I had suppressed after my experience with Charlotte in the Private Room. I took a deep breath to regain my composure.
Fiona had an easy, reassuring manner and knew her products well. With this being my first visit as a card-carrying Passionella client, she would not be expected to model for me; even with my limited knowledge of Passionella’s expectations, I couldn’t fault her. In fact, I liked her and she made me feel good about myself. Finally I selected two pairs of embroidered silk pyjamas and a short satin nightie; I authorised the card transaction and looked around for Kirsten.
I had not seen her before I went into the changing rooms but immediately recognised her from behind when I turned away from the pay point. I waited until she had finished talking with a client and approached her. I desperately wanted to throw my arms around her and kiss her right there in the store. I wanted to show her what I had just bought, to tell her all about the interview and I wanted to scream ‘I got the job’. But frustratingly I could do none of these. I had a new set of rules.
“Excuse me, could you recommend a good place to get coffee, where I could meet a friend.” Kirsten smiled broadly at me and had already smelt the sweet scent of success that oozed from every pore of by body. “The cappuccino bar on three is usually quiet at this time of day” replied Kirsten, followed by a discreetly-whispered “see you there in ten minutes.” I was so happy I couldn’t contain a girlish giggle of excitement.
Kirsten sat down next to me and sipped at the large latte I had chosen for her. We talked endlessly about my interview with Emma and I told her all about what happened in the Private Room. She was not at all surprised; she admitted that she had given me a glowing recommendation. We then discussed our plans for the rest of the day. We would meet at her apartment later; we had to take care not to be seen together so as not to raise suspicions about my status as a Passionella client. I offered to order pizza and Kirsten said she would pick up some cold beers. She gave me her door key, and blew me a kiss. I found the whole scenario very exiting, the subterfuge added to my enjoyment.
I let myself in and dumped all my heavy shopping on the floor. Kirsten would be back in about 30 minutes so I just had time to rest and collect my thoughts. I undressed down to my lingerie (I was still wearing the silk butterflies bra and panties that the sexy Charlotte had put on me) and as I lay back on the sofa, my head filled with powerful images from the Passionella Private Room.
I must have fallen asleep because I was woken with a start by the doorbell. I jumped to my feet and rushed to open the door and Kirsten stood admiring me in my new underwear. “You lucky girl” she mused, “that design isn’t even in the shops yet. Judging by how it looks on you, it will be a huge success. You look ravishing.”
What, I wondered, would I have said if I had opened the door to find the pizza delivery boy there instead?
Kirsten stepped in and closed the door. I opened my arms to give her a big hug but she moved away. “LDT” she reminded me, cocking her head slightly to one side. “What, even in private?”
“Yes, always – Linda’s rules.” I felt desperately frustrated.
“Show me what you bought then,” insisted Kirsten with a huge smile. I unpacked my bags and laid out my new clothes and accessories on Kirsten’s bed.
“Wow,” she exclaimed, and I pulled on a long, narrow sleeveless evening dress in dark bronze with a high neckline. “Oh” sighed a disappointed Kirsten; “I can’t see your boobs in that.” Just as well; the pizza delivery arrived and I opened the door to him. Kirsten and I sat down in a few minutes of quiet and satisfied at least one of our needs. Then I put on some new high-heeled shoes and tottered about with a beer in one hand, chattering endlessly about my new wardrobe. She sat and enjoyed the show, making encouraging noises and giving helpful suggestions on mixing and matching.
I noticed a change in the tone of her voice when she asked to see me in my new underwear. Not wanting to miss the fun, I suggested that Kirsten undresses down to hers too so I didn’t feel at a disadvantage. She agreed and stood up, facing me. Slowly and deliberately, she reached behind her back and pulled down the zipper of her burgundy dress. Slipping her arms out of the sleeves she dropped it to the floor, stepping out of it with care so as not to catch the high spiked heels of her ankle boots. She looked stunning. She was wearing a white lacy bodysuit with opaque satin panels at the sides that followed and accentuated the curve of her narrow waist. It had under-wiring to fit the cups neatly under the curves of her boobs and high-cut legs that accentuated the vee of her pussy-mound. What sort of woman goes to work in a shop wearing such sensuous underwear?
I complimented her in return and turned to the bed. Picking up one of my new bras, pale blue satin with light padding, I realised that there was no alternative; I had to undress in front of Kirsten, right here in her apartment. Somehow it felt different from the safe environment of the store changing room. The atmosphere was charged with sexual energy as Kirsten adopted a highly provocative pose, turned slightly to one side and with hands on her hips. She was still wearing her boots, which caused her stand with her pelvis slightly tilted. I reached behind me to undo the clasp of my butterflies bra, a move that pushed my rounded boobs forward. I breathed in deeply then exhaled; this released the tension on the bra catch, but not in my mind. I slipped off the shoulder straps and allowed my silk to fall away from my breasts. I watched as Kirsten’s blue eyes flashed from one partly erect nipple to the other and back, finally making contact with my own eyes. She moved edgily to shift her weight onto the other leg and I continued with my show.
Becoming more excited by the effect I am obviously having on Kirsten, I felt more bold and confident and I chose next to slip off my panties before I donned the pale blue satin bra. Hooking my thumbs in the waistband, I wriggled my hips and pushed the silk briefs slowly down my hips one side a little then the other, as if they were a very tight fit. I enjoyed the suspense that this delay created and saw that Kirsten was enjoying it too. Not wanting to give away too much too soon, I turned sideways to the bed before finally removing my briefs, quickly picking up one of the new pairs that matched the blue satin bra I had selected. I slipped them up my legs and pulled them neatly into place on my hips. They were more skimpily cut than those I had just removed and they slipped easily between my legs. I turned back to face Kirsten who was now sitting on a chair a little further away. She nodded approvingly, saying nothing.
My pale blue bra had a front fastening so I put it on like a waistcoat, which again forced me to push my arms back and thrust my breasts forward. Kirsten enjoyed this immensely and broke the silence by complimenting me on my shape as I set the wide decorated straps carefully on my bare shoulders. Pulling the cups over my boobs, I felt the cool fabric against my protruding nipples that, far from defusing their sensitivity, only caused them to stiffen and grow larger, sending indescribable messages back and forth to my pussy. I closed the front catch, which was fashioned in the shape of the Passionella Lips logo.
Kirsten commented on the fit: “Julia, you look absolutely brilliant in that. I love the way it pushes your boobs upwards and together very slightly. Instead of creating an aggressive cleavage, I can clearly see the curved inside surfaces of your boobs. They look great.”
Finally, I took a long gold waist-chain from its velvet-lined box and attached it securely around the narrowest part of my body. The remaining few inches of chain led down from my neat navel and continued their journey towards but not quite as far as my briefs.
“Come over here and give me a closer view,” Kirsten suggested.
I took a few steps forward and squatted a little so the seated Kirsten could admire my curves. I turned from side to side and caught sight of myself in the mirror. I hardly recognised the woman I saw and the sight of my own body in profile turned me on. My boobs looked prouder than ever before and my tummy was taught and smooth. My legs looked longer too, accentuated by the high-cut legs of my matching pale blue my panties. Forgetting that Kirsten is watching my every move, I twisted and turned some more then stood with my back to the mirror. I looked over my shoulder to admire the way the satin clung to my rounded bum cheeks and nestled warmly into the crack between them. Facing the mirror again, I hooked my index fingers under the narrow side straps of the panties and pulled them higher on my hips.
“Does this look better?” I enquired. I did not hear her answer as I became lost in the wonderful sensation between my legs as I pulled the fabric tighter still. I found that if I rocked my pelvis from side to side, I could pull the panties higher and higher right up to my waist chain. The long end of the chain now reached down inside the front of my panties, leading Kirsten’s eyes downwards, like a pointing signpost. The satin enveloped my pussy in its warm caress and the soft edge seams pulled tighter and tighter into the folds where my inner thighs meet the tender flesh of my outer labia. I looked in the mirror and see a damp patch on the light blue as my juices seeped through.
I look down at Kirsten and saw that she was gripping the arms of the chair with her hands, turning her knuckles white. Her contribution to the conversation was reduced to a few Mmmms and Aahhhs of pleasure and her breathing was noticeably shallower. She was moving her own hips in time with my rhythm and I noticed a glazed look in her normally clear eyes.
Kirsten’s small breasts only just peeped from the top of her bodysuit and I was still unable to picture their natural form. Nothing that she wore gave away their shape. How I longed to see her naked breasts but she was careful to conceal herself from me. I had to be content with the small areas of flesh visible above their lace-edged support.
In stark contrast, Kirsten’s firm legs were splayed wide apart as she sat on the front edge of her upholstered chair. I could see that the narrow strap of her body suit had pushed deep into her crotch and that the curves of her mound had swollen either side of the white cotton. I expected to be able to see her pubes too but the areas of visible flesh were smooth and white. I wondered for a moment if in fact her entire pussy might be shaven but Kirsten suddenly regained her composure. Seeing me admiring her most precious secret, she closed her legs and stood up, making flustered comments about having a busy day tomorrow and needing to make some preparations.
“I think we had better save the rest of you fashion show ’till another time, I need to make some business calls and get an early night. You’ve had a busy day today and you must be tired too. What’s in store for you tomorrow?” she enquired. I explained about my planned training at PROM as we finished the last of the beers.
“I’ll be away for a couple of nights,” Kirsten explained. “I need to visit a potential new outlet in the North. Take the spare key and make yourself at home in the evenings.” Then I told her that I would be getting my own apartment at the weekend and she look a little sad.
“I’ll miss having you around, but we can still see each other. I’ll help you move in on Saturday.” She spoke to me like an old friend.
I undressed in the bathroom and took a long hot bath to sooth my tense body before slipping into a pair of my new silk pyjamas. Kirsten had already changed into a long kimono. We slipped into our separate beds and I fought to ignore the intrusive twitches in my pussy as I ran over the day’s events before I drifted into deep, satisfying sleep.
I woke briefly during the night and was vaguely aware of a muffled buzzing sound in the room. At first I thought it might be a large insect, but the pitch rose and fell as if someone was controlling its speed. I looked across at where Kirsten lay in bed but she had her head buried under her duvet so I doubt that she heard anything. I sank back to sleep and thought no more of it.