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I had linked my arm in hers as we were exiting the building. I had been joking about her unsteadiness, but in reality, my companion was a little wobbly. The cute little red-haired girl (I thought of her as a little girl but in reality, she was almost as tall as I am in her heels and I am a flat-footed 6’1″. And her body? Definitely not a little girl’s body! I could feel her rather large but perky breasts jiggle against my arm as we walked. They were magnificent and the lacy black fabric of her dress did little to conceal that she was braless and evidently enjoying our tactile contact as her nipples were quite pronounced and erect. Yes, I did that.) Anyway, momentarily sidetracked by her nubile body, my apologies, this cute red-haired woman had confided to me that she had had too much to drink and did not feel comfortable driving home. A good call, I told her not to worry and I would make sure she got home safely. She was an ER nurse in the hospital in which I worked as a trauma surgeon. We had met three years ago when I treated her after she had been involved in a life-altering car accident. We had some history together and I felt responsible for her safety on several levels.
She stopped us at a red little sports car; hers and she wanted to make sure she had locked it before I drove her home. If she was a sports car lover, she was about to have a real treat. I often drive a Maserati Granturismo MC, one of my ex-husband René’s prized possessions that I had liberated from him when I divorced him and gained my freedom from our marriage which had been a living hell for me. My ex-husband was an English Baron which by right of marriage made me a Lady Baroness. I am Anneke, Lady Beauchamp. He also was a crafty and manipulative person with no scruples or loyalties to anyone but himself. Being a sociopath made him a very successful businessman, a deplorable husband, and me very rich from the divorce settlement.
Her little car beeped and flickered its yellow corner flashers. Good to go. I had parked at the far end of the parking lot so some lout would not be tempted to scratch or dent my paint. Sure enough one of the local “red-necks” had parked his filthy large truck next to my poor little automobile. Lynne looked down the row as we approached and joked about me being the owner of the truck. I was amused by her wit and told her that I actually did own a “pick-up” but I would take care of mine. I suggested that I didn’t need large artificial machinery to make up for a lack of penis and that I took care of things I value. I am not sure if she completely picked up on the not-so subtle double-entendre. Oh well, can’t win them all.
I stopped us in front of my car and went digging in my purse for my remote. She was salivating over the car and made a strange comment. I don’t think she realized that I owned the car because she said, “Wow, this is sex on four wheels. I bet the owner gets a lot of action because this is a pussy magnet without a doubt. Its owner already has me hot and bothered!”
I just can’t believe as shy as she was that she would make a candid admission like that to me if she knew I owned the “sex-machine” or if she knew that I could sense her arousal. I looked over at her and she jumped just realizing that she may have said something indelicate. I guess she was more than a little drunk. She apologized as I triggered my remote and the car came to life.
If she only knew the truth of the matter; the car was a powerful seduction tool. First, René had used it for such purpose and after the divorce and I was able to live without the fear of being murdered because of protection by the Russian mob, I had used it to seduce many women in New York for my carnal pleasure. Indeed it was a “pussy magnet.”
When she realized that this was my car, all embarrassment was forgotten and she became animatedly excited by the prospect of being allowed to ride in my supercar. I found myself enamored of her easy sincerity and genuine demeanor.
Her candidness allowed me to approach her without calculation although I left out the part about my use of it as a tool of seduction. “It was my ex-husband’s and you are right, it is a ‘pussy magnet.’ One of the many reasons I divorced him was his inability to keep his penis in his pants. I am sure he replaced it with a more expensive vehicle, but this was one of his favorite seduction tools and I decided to deprive him of it.
But that is all in the past and although I no longer love him, I love this car!”
She allowed me to guide her to the passenger seat and place her in the seat. I am not 100 percent sure, but as she got in the car she accidently flashed me. Her dress had a mini-skirt and I do not think she was wearing any panties. I could swear that I saw a little glint as if her vagina was moist, but I could not be sure; the light was not good in this corner of the parking lot. She did not do flash me on purpose to excite me and I found that all the more stimulating. Her innocence excited me and I could feel the early heaviness of arousal izmir escort in my labia at this point. I was having so much fun this evening. I did not want it to end.
I got in, turned the key and started my car which responded with its throaty growl and turned to my gorgeous companion and said, “It is still early. Have you eaten anything? Because I am starving. But I can take you home if you are feeling tired.” I so hoped that she would spend more of the evening with me.
She replied that she was famished and I knew just what to do. Le Chat Noir was a very exclusive, very private establishment that has been a high-class bordello in its not so distant past. Its owner Ivan was the Russian mobster whose gay-lover’s life I had saved by my ground-breaking technique that prevented brain damage in very select cases of traumatic brain injury. He had responded to the controversial treatment and I had earned Ivan’s respect and gratitude, and the protection of the Russian mafia without again becoming a pawn in the organized crime world. Ironically, it was that same technique that had delivered the vibrant young woman sitting in the seat beside me. Life is a funny string of coincidences.
I placed the call and made the arrangements. I slipped into Russian so Lynne wouldn’t know the details. I wanted to surprise her. Le Chat Noir had some rather particular rules. They were all designed to protect the anonymity of the clientele as figures of politics and crime both made use of the facilities. And really is there much of a difference between the two? Trysts of all types were kept here and anonymity was assured and enforced. Deals were brokered and fortunes made and lost in the rooms of the Black Cat. It was a powerful establishment. I had rarely used it, but I could be sure that Ivan would be sympathetic with my purpose of seducing this lovely woman.
It was arranged. All I had to do was guarantee to pay for the tab of not only my dinner, but of Anton, Ivan’s gay nephew and Robert his lover. I had met both boys in passing several years ago and they were gorgeous examples of masculinity. No one suspected their romantic affiliation. Layers of trust from Ivan and I could only be thankful for the fates that had delivered Sergei when I had been on call. It had set my life free.
The boys were to be our escorts and normalcy was the bar which made the Black Cat unique. Unless you were one of the select and invited, Le Chat Noir was just a private and exclusive dining establishment, an appearance that was enforced to the point of assassination (rarely). I was placing a lot of trust in Lynne, but I knew that my investment in her was a good one. I had worked with her for the last 6 months and I knew her history spanning three years. She was confidential and I know she did not engage in gossip. She knew enough about so many people and kept confidentiality as a life vocation. Her private life was very dramatic and yet, she did not reveal to anyone the multiple crosses that I knew she had to be bearing.
OK Lynne. It is arranged. You are in for a treat. Ready?”
She nodded and I revved the engine which responded with a throaty roar. I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively and said, “Put your seatbelt on ma Cherie.”
She giggled and as soon as she clicked in, I pulled smoothly out from the parking space and we drove off.
I chatted to her about the joy of driving a quality automobile and then about travelling in Italy. I owned a villa on Lake Como and I described the relaxed Italian lifestyle. She seemed to relax, had a giggle fit over something she would not disclose, and had almost dozed off when I pulled into the hotel at which I had agreed to meet Ivan’s nephew and his lover. She was charming.
She thought we were going to eat dinner at the steak-house hotel restaurant. While it was good, it did not have the intimate atmosphere that I desired. I made the hotel the location for our rendezvous as I wanted to leave my car in a secure location and the valet service at this particular hotel was quite good. I knew my baby would be well taken care of. We went to the bar and I ordered two whiskeys. Lynne almost panicked as she had already had much alcohol and she was apparently not an accomplished drinker (a fact that made her more appealing to me) I told her it was a prop so our dates would know us from the crowd. She did not even have to consume the drink; only hold it as the boys were told to look for two tall attractive ladies, a blonde and a red-hair girl holding whiskey glasses.
We had been small-talking for about 15 minutes when Lynne stopped talking to me mid-speech. I looked and noticed that Robert and Anton had arrived. She was transfixed by them and I was admittedly a little bit jealous. I closed her dropped jaw and told her that these were our dates for the evening.
She appeared to get along very well with Robert. Both Anton and Robert were gentlemen of the first degree and I knew it would be a treat for Lynne to experience some alsancak escort respectful attention after the night’s unfortunate series of events so far. She deserved the royal treatment and I thanked fate that her date for the next hour was gay.
We talked and chatted for a bit; Anton was a polite well-mannered young man and the hour passed quickly. I noticed the passage of time and interrupted Lynne’s tête à tête with the gorgeous Robert and suggested we leave.
The poor dear, she had gotten so enamored by the engaging Robert that she had unwittingly downed the prop whiskey and was now obviously quite intoxicated; both by the company and from the liquor. Still, she was a classy lady and did not do anything to embarrass us. I could note her glassy eyes, wobbly gait, and the fact that she was very giggly. It was adorable. She was utterly charming and it made me more infatuated with this young woman.
I purposefully allowed Robert and Lynne to precede Anton and myself because I admit it; I wanted to view her shapely derriere while we walked to our transportation. She had a narrow waist and the black mini-skirt of her dress defined her generous ass cheeks. Look up “callipygian” in the dictionary and a photo of Lynne’s buttocks would be the illustration. Anton laughed at me and told me that I was very bad. He knew my tendencies and reputation as the famous (and infamous in Europe) Dragon Lady. Very few people in this town knew that I had had a short side-career as a Dominatrix who was quite popular with lesbians in New York. I had fled that lifestyle because I had realized that I was reliving my abusive marriage in my sessions and I was burning myself out in the process. I moved south, got some psychotherapy and put my social and sexual life on hold until I recovered.
As we approached our Limousine, I overheard Lynne ask Robert in a loud whisper “Is that for us?”
I smiled at her innocence and child-like excitement. I had gotten very jaded with social life and had been pampered for so long that I expected privilege rather than appreciated it. To see someone awed by the finer things in life was refreshing. I felt renewed by little Ms. McKinney. I think that courting her would be very good for me.
She approached the limo and hesitated before smoothly sitting and pivoting. I realized that she was aware that she was very drunk and was self-conscious about not wearing any panties. There would be no public indecent exposure for this lady. I was wearing crème-colored slacks and jacket. I had no worries, about flashing anyone and although my floral print silk camisole was see-through, the jacket concealed all but the lace swath framing and partially concealing my slight cleavage.
I scooted in to sit next to Lynne and could not resist the urge to touch her and clasped hands with her. I leaned back in my seat and regarded her rather frankly. In the dim light of the Limousine’s interior, she was beautiful. I had seen her right after her car accident when I was the on-call trauma surgeon. The damage to her face was catastrophic. Her left cheek had been torn and her nose severely broken, but it was the damage to the facial bones that was truly horrifying. Her jaw had been fractured in multiple breaks and the arch and orbit of her left eye were crushed. I was the expert regarding the damage to her brain from the concussion and was confident that I could mitigate all of the damage after I looked at the CT and MRI scans. Despite the terrible damage to her face, her brain was remarkably uninjured. The maxillofacial surgeon did a wonderful job of piecing her back together, but I could tell that her beauty had been permanently marred. This former model was in for a shock when she awoke.
I kept her in a coma for about one and a half months to give her brain time to heal and for the facial injuries to knit, but when she woke she still had swelling and discoloration because the repair to the bones of her face had to be done in stages because of the initial swelling. The symmetry of her face was ruined and my heart went out to her. She had suffered so much loss. She was 10 weeks pregnant and had miscarried not long after arriving to the center; the father never came to visit. Her pretty girlfriend came to visit often and I got to know little Haley. She never clarified their relationship but confided in me that she was in love with Lynne but they had had some kind of falling out. She was run off by the family after some kind of drama. I naturally assumed they were lovers and the family was not happy about it.
I decided that I would do what I could for this unfortunate woman. I had ruined enough people, I had a huge karmic debt to settle and helping this disfigured model regain some of her beauty would be a step in the right direction.
I knew Dr. Peter Chapman, probably the most talented plastic and reconstructive surgeon practicing and placed a call that had him fly out to consult on this case. He took it as a personal challenge buca escort and I was admiring the magnificent result in the dim interior lights of the Limo.
I do not think she even noticed that I was candidly scrutinizing her as she was commenting on the fountain sculpture in the front of the hotel. It was a modern abstract piece and although I do not care for much of modern art, it had a certain amount of grace. Robert educated her about modern art and she displayed her open mind and intelligence by drawing a parallel between modern art and performance pieces.
The Limo ride was short and I could tell that it took several circuitous routes and changes of direction. Le Chat Noir had clientele that desired anonymity and the house rules were followed for every guest, no exceptions. I of course knew where the establishment was located and found the car ride a bit much, but like I said; no exceptions. I guess it was good business to play to the ego of the super-rich and powerful and if they felt more secure by all of the cloak-and-dagger bullshit, so be it.
We got out and entered the building and I quickly dismissed the boys. I wanted little Ms. McKinney to myself. She was shy, but she was sending all of the right signals. I had been around her enough to know she did not have a boyfriend. In fact, I had never heard that anyone had been rumored to be in a relationship with her since the accident. Why this beautiful young lady wasn’t attached was an enigma to me. I was no longer her instructor and not her immediate supervisor, so there should be no impediments to our romantic involvement with each other. I determined to court this woman as I found her simply scrumptious. She did seem to have a fragile quality to her, but I thought to myself that if I approached her gently everything would be OK.
As soon as we were alone in the parlour, I thanked her for trusting me and letting me surprise her. I hadn’t explained many of the details of the late evening and Lynne had allowed me to guide her through Ivan’s complicated and unnecessary house rules without any complaint or questions.
She simply smiled at me sweetly and I went over to the address and announced my presence. A door opened in response and we walked down a hallway together. At the end of the hallway, a wrought iron circular stairway ascended to the second floor where the dining rooms were. This building has been a whore-house in the past. I mused that it in some ways hadn’t changed too much because I am sure that some of Ivan’s associates kept trysts here and what are more whorish than shady business deals? But the atmosphere was exactly what I had desired in order to get to know Lynne more intimately. And Ivan employed an excellent cook who was also a first class sommelier. The second floor was where the rooms were located. We would be occupying a small romantic dining room. I think the parlour furnishings were kitschy but good quality. Most Americans seemed to have a fascination with theme park atmospheres. I could see that Lynne was taking it all in with wide wonder. I had been here enough times that it was familiar, not special anymore. But looking at her interest touched my jaded spirit and I found myself enjoying the atmosphere as well.
She stopped and supported herself by resting an arm on mine as she reached down and took her heels off. I could smell her vanilla and sandalwood scent and thought about embracing her there and really snogging her good, but I remembered how she had frozen up when I kissed her in the restaurant and decided against it. I am not sure how a surprise would be received here and I wanted to be gentle with her instead of forceful. We ascended the stairway and mindful of her state of inebriation, I closed with her so she would not lose her balance and fall backwards. The stairway was so steep that I found my face almost in her ass. Not working like I had intended; if she stumbled I did not have much of a chance of catching her. We would both tumble, but it was the thought that counted. Not only that, but so close to the hem of her mini-skirt I could smell a scent that I hadn’t encountered in over three years. I confirmed she wasn’t wearing any underwear because I could smell the unmistakable scent of a sexually aroused woman wafting from her noune. She was a little bit naturally musky but sweet with just a hint of cumin and faintly like sweat. She smelled like she cared about her hygiene. I was instantly turned onto her frequency. Smells are powerful and Lynne’s pheromones were singing to me.
Lynne paused at the open door at the end of the second floor hallway, looked in and exclaimed, “Wow: sensory overload!”
The room was luxurious and very romantic. While I found the parlour to be a bit overdone with the bordello-boudoir theme, Ivan’s decorator had pulled out all of the stops for the rooms It was easy to go all romance novel in here. By romance novel, with Lynne’s scent still fresh in my nose, I mean of course “Bodice-Ripper” and guess my part. The irony did not escape me. The wicked Dragon Lady was set to seduce the nubile but naïve young maiden. We were even dressed for the parts; I was in a masculine pantsuit and my prey was wearing a (faux) corset dress. But there would be no forced seduction here. If anything happened, while seduction might play a role, everything would be consensual.
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