Knowing one's place - Sex Stories

Knowing one's place

A flush of crimson momentarily embraced the clinical white of the top floor office walls, as the deep red sunset flooded through the large glass windows. Perched in the comfortable white leather armchair, Camille Montsarde listened attentively, giving only the occasional nod so as to encourage her patient to continue. Her head was tilted subtly to one side, the weight of which was supported by her elbow. Her electric red fingernails, offered a natural frame to her oval face and matched that of her flaming red lips. She surreptitiously crossed her legs, causing her tight, black pencil skirt to ride intriguingly up her toned thighs. "I just can't help myself,” he mumbled, diverting his eyes away from the black-haired beauty. “Whenever I see a woman walk past I have an insane desire that I need to have her.” “And does zis scenario repeat itself with just any woman?” Camille questioned. Her movements were slight and controlled as she studied his awkwardness with alert eyes. “Mostly,” he answered, his gaze shifting to the floor, not ready to meet the eyes of his protagonist. “My mind goes into overdrive and I wonder what it’d be like to have her as...," his voice quietened almost to a whisper, "my plaything." To her expert eye, his dilated pupils betrayed his arousal. Tracing her fingernail along her lower lip, Camille dropped her tone, leant towards him and whispered conspiratorially "Is zat 'ow you're imagining me right now Monsieur 'enley?" His posture was as rigid as his ...

... dick, which strained against the zipper of his blue jeans. He was startled, unsure of how to respond. Just talking about it excited him and talking so openly with a woman seemed to work him up even more. She wasn't just any woman either. Sitting there behind her glass desk, melted into the deep red sky, she appeared as a goddess, the personification of all of his heavenly desires. "P..Pardon?" he stammered. His beady eyes were drawn to her body. Her crisp, white shirt clearly revealed her bra. She knew he had noticed how the v of her black jacket perfectly emphasised her ample bosom. Indeed any old woman would have, it didn't require her professional expertise. Her long black hair was fastened above her head. She reached up, accentuating the curve of her breasts, released it and shook it out. "If you want me to 'elp you, you must be brutally honest. Remember, all of zis is absolutely confidential," she assured him in her heavily accented English. He gulped, "Yes, I am imagining you like that," he confessed. His cheeks flushed red. While he had naturally wished to look on her as he did any other woman, as prey, the direct questioning appeared to have destabilised him. Pathetic, she thought to herself and very much mistaken about who embodied which role here. "Would you like me to open my shirt Monsieur 'enley?" she volunteered sultrily. He was apparently being thrown ever further off balance with each additional question. He nonetheless managed to unconsciously smile an irritating ...