Claire's Uptown Girls

Chapter One-2

Susan demurred. I looked at her, waiting. She stared at the floor, and finally stammered out that she wasn’t ready. She wondered if Dianne wouldn’t mind starting?

I asked Dianne if she’d get undressed, an absurd question to ask a call girl who’s visiting your hotel room, but we had gotten off to such a formal start, somehow it seemed appropriate. Sue might have been an amateur at this sort of thing, but Dianne was the pro; she showed not the slightest hesitation. She smiled, shrugged nonchalantly, and got to her feet.

“Here, or in the bedroom?” she asked, matter-of-factly.

I looked at Susan, but suddenly shy, she sat with head lowered, avoiding my eyes. I thought that climbing into bed right off, might be a bit much for Susan. We had to take things slowly. So we would start off in the sitting room.

Dianne carefully removed her glasses and laid them on the table. Now her hands were sliding down the lapels of her jacket so she could peel the jacket back, twisting her shoulders free. She let the jacket slip down her arms behind her. Smiling just for me, she bent over, reaching down while bringing up each foot, keeping her eyes locked on mine, while she removed each shoe. In her stockinged feet, and without her jacket, the thin-framed girl seemed younger, somehow more vulnerable, without her glasses. I felt a familiar male urge to protect the slightly-built girl, to hold her, to wrap my arms around those fragile shoulders.

But I sat perfectly still. I kept a smile on my face as I watched her undo the catch at the side of the skirt; the zipper was opened, and the loosened skirt worked down over her slight hips. Leaning over, with knees pressed closely together, the girl rode the skirt down to her ankles, lifted each foot to step free, and straightened up with the discarded skirt in her hands. She ignored us as she neatly folded, and then laid it on the couch — her movements slow and graceful, removing each item of clothing as if she were a woman undressing in the privacy of her bedroom.

Next, she turned her attention to her blouse, beginning at the cuffs, then undoing the buttons down the front, peeling the slippery blouse off and placing it neatly with the other clothes.

I glanced at Susan who was watching the strip show with rapt interest. I saw her tongue peek out to swipe her lips. When she caught me looking at her, she quickly looked away.

Dianne was now reduced to a peach slip that hung from spaghetti thin straps, and honey-colored nylons. I knew they would be thigh-high stockings, because Claire’s girls did not normally wear pantyhose, unless of course the client made that request. The slip, a shiny metallic sheath, was trimmed with a wide hem of embroidered lace that ended just above the knee. Dianne bent forward and lifted up that hem, raising the slip to unveil her slender nyloned legs. Bunching it up, she tussled with it, finally managing to get it off over her head. As she straightened out the tangled slip and folded it carefully, I let my eyes caress that reedy body banded by a narrow, frilly bra and a pair of hip-hugger panties. Her underwear was of the same metallic peach satin as the slip I examined Dianne’s deliciously feminine lingerie: the delicate brassiere, two small demi-cups trimmed in lace formed soft cups to hold their precious cargo, and the low-rise briefs, a front wedge of shiny satin edged in lace. The dusky stockings had wide lacy top bands that held them in place two thirds of the way up the girl’s attractive young thighs, leaving exposed several inches of succulent thigh, smooth and white and inviting. Indifferent to her small audience, Dianne was now turning her attention to her brassiere. It was then that I stepped in.

“No...wait!” She was reaching up behind her back, looking up at me expectantly, as her fingers froze in their search for the catch of the strap.

Turning to Susan I tried to sound casual, remarking in an offhanded way, that it didn’t seem hardly fair that our guest should be reduced to her underwear while we sat there fully clothed. I proposed we even the score.

Without waiting for a reply, I reached down to slip off my shoes and socks, and then stood up to unbuckle my pants. Susan still hadn’t moved, she just sat there with a sort of brittle smile on her face. Gently, I urged her to take her dress off; gave her my warmest, most encouraging smile.

At that Susan seemed to decide. She nodded. Setting her lips in a determined line, she polished off her gin in one big gulp, set her glass down quite deliberately, and rose, a little unsteadily, to her feet. She removed her necklace, and then, in a business-like manner, began unbuttoning the front of her dress, her head tilted down, watching her fingers work open each button, and carefully avoiding my gaze. Now that she was standing, I saw that Susan in her heels, towered over the smaller girl who was now in stockinged feet.

Once Susan’s dress was open to the waist, she wriggled her shoulders free and pushed it down her hips, letting it collapse to the floor to ring her ankles. Stepping deftly out of the crumpled heap, she reached down to gather it up, her movements brisk and efficient. This left my wife in her half-slip, a narrow champagne-colored sheath. Without prompting from me, her hands went immediately to the waistband and swiftly rode the metallic sheath down her legs in one quick motion. She stepped free of the fallen slip, bent to retrieve the silken scrap, and tossed it aside to add to the growing pile of discarded female clothing on the couch.

This left her unsure as to what to do with her hands. Awkward and ill-at-ease, she smoothed her hips and smiled nervously, looking to me in her confusion. I gave her a reassuring wink, and stripped off my T-shirt. Susan’s beige bra was plain and serviceable, designed to give stiff support to those full handfuls I so enjoyed. Her matching panties were clearly visible under the contour-hugging pantyhose that still sheathed her loins. I doubt if she realized that she still had on her pumps — the high heels giving her extra stature and elongating the tapering lines of her attractive legs – my wife’s best feature.

By now, I was down to my underwear. Trying to ignore the obvious bulge in the front of my cotton briefs, I suggested we have another round of drinks. Urging Susan to take a seat next to Dianne on the couch, I got up to refill our glasses.

When I returned Dianne had moved, edging closer to the still-tense Susan. I caught her eye and nodded, and she eased in even closer till their hips were touching. She casually slipped an arm along the back of the couch, letting her fingertips play across the top of the cushion, just a few inches from my wife’s bare shoulder.

Now with the two girls in their underwear on the couch, and I took a seat opposite them, worried that my throbbing erection was about to make its appearance peeking out over the waistband of my low-riding jockey shorts. I raised my drink in silent toast to our guest. Dianne quickly sized up the situation. It was obvious that if things were to go anywhere, she would have to be the one take the initiative. She let her hand fall down to touch Susan’s bare shoulder. My wife turned to give her a tiny, brave smile. Dianne met her eyes directly, while Susan worked her lips, blushing like a schoolgirl.

“I love your hair,” she said softly, offering the compliment in a hushed voice, her fingers taking up a tress of Susan’s hair.

Susan turned to me with a look of agonized indecision, her lips slightly parted, as though she wanted to say something.

“Why don’t you kiss her? Go on. Kiss a little bit, huh?” I managed to whisper in a voice that had gone suddenly hoarse. I shifted in my seat, reached down to ease my c**k from the waistband of my underwear while both women watched me.

Meanwhile, Dianne’s hand curled around Susan’s shoulder and she gathered my wife in. Susan didn’t exactly welcome the embrace, but she didn’t resist either. She simply let herself be scooped up, averting her face at the last moment, turning to offer a cheek, as though for a sisterly kiss of affection. But Dianne I (and I) had something else in mind. She brought a hand up to take Susan by the chin, turning her face back, holding her steady while she planted a direct full-mouthed kiss on Susan’s gaping mouth.

I found the scene powerfully erotic: Susan, sitting there in her underwear, her hands limp at her sides, letting herself be kissed. Her lover nibbled her way lower, down cheek and chin and neck as Susan craned backward. Dianne kissed her way down Susan’s chest; Susan’s arms came up, rising in instinctive reaction, to wrap around the blond girl’s narrow shoulders. Susan’s eyelids fluttered down and she let her head fall back as her new-found lover worked her way lower, nuzzled in the crook of her neck, lips and tongue exploring down the front of neck and beyond onto the creamy softness of Susan’s chest, restless lips nibbling along while her tongue left a wet trail along the smooth skin following the top curves of Susan’s bra. Susan straightened a little, twisting her shoulders and I saw that Dianne had somehow managed to undo her partner’s brassiere. Now as she brushed off the flimsy shoulder straps, Susan partner obligingly raised her arms so the more aggressive blonde could more easily free her from the entangling straps.

Now Dianne sat back to study Susan’s exposed breasts, firm and rounded, with just the slightest sag to them. She brought a hand up to cup Sue’s left breast, giving her a quick peck on the cheek, and curving her palm under that soft mound as if weighing that breast, hefting it, then gently closing her fingers to give her partner an affectionate squeeze. Susan sat perfectly still, her head lowered, watching the hand fondle her captive tit from under hooded eyelids. And when Dianne’s fingers closed on her, her eyes closed and she craned back, stretching, arching back to offer up her plump breasts for more of the same.

“Mmmm I love your boobs, Susan,” Dianne muttered in a warm syrupy tone. “Let me kiss them,” she murmured.

And without waiting for a response, that she buried her face between Susan’s full- rounded t**s. I saw Sue’s hands move helplessly, indecisive, then they came up behind the bending girl, fumbling fingers suddenly working to undo the catch on the back of the call girl’s brassiere. No longer the passive recipient of hungry affection, Susan had begun to enter into the spirit of thing! I noted that her n*****s had blossomed, the wide aureoles expanding, tightening in what I knew was an unmistakable sign of her arousal.

Now our talented professional was busy paying tribute to those twin mounds that swayed as Susan shifted forward and arched back as if offering them up to be devoured by her hungry lover. Dianne kissed all over those familiar breasts, down the top slopes, along the sides, over the contours, and into the cleavage, lapping at the stiffening n*****s, slowly, methodically covering every inch of that creamy feminine pulchritude, barely pausing to helpfully lift an arm when Susan peeled down a looping shoulder strap of her loosened bra, and slipping the delicate ribbons off both shoulders, remove the tangle of the lacy brassiere. Bent over as she was, Dianne’s freed t**s now dangled temptingly below her. Small and pointy, the succulent breasts were tipped with precise n*****s of soft pink, which simply invited the lips. The little points were already tight, hard with excitement.

I watched Susan’s hand close on one, capturing the dangling prize and letting the soft weight rest in the palm of her curved hand, before fingering the silky smooth texture, gently squeezing to test the resiliency of the other girl’s delicate breast, while her own t**s were being kissed and lavishly licked.