Freyja's Surprise

A SERIES OF SHORT STORIES
by
Jenni Gee

FREYJA’S SURPRISE

Although I am dressed in the smartest and newest clothes I can afford, or at least what my poor plastic will allow, I feel shabbily dressed in here. Whenever I am in Paris, no matter how I try I can’t resist coming to this designer boutique to look at what I would wear if only I had the money.
The styles! The quality fabrics!. Naughtily, sometimes I try on a dress or two!

There! There is a woman that not only can afford the high prices here but is one for whom these dresses are designed. She studies herself in the cheval mirror; she poses, she preens, she admires and bit by bit she approves each facet of her appearance.

As I catch sight of her face reflected in the mirror I become transfixed. The features are of eastern origin; almond eyes, high cheek bones, small mouth. She wears, for me, a little too much make-up, more in keeping with my image of a starlet of the movies. But what an exquisite beauty, the features expressionless until, having studied her twin image in the mirror, she smiles revealing too, too perfect teeth.

Suddenly I feel the blood rush to my imperfect cheeks; I am a voyeur who has been discovered. The eyes in the looking glass are fixed on me, and I am fixed to this spot by them. Desperately I try to drag my admiring eyes from her, but like a rabbit caught in the headlamps of the automobile that is about squash it into the pavement, I remain motionless and gauche.

A smile that has my heart beating faster spreads over the beauty’s features, the index finger of her gloved hand beckons me to her. Like some small child I comply. Her voice is a surprise but non-the-less adds to her beauty and also adds an element of eastern mystique; it is soft and almost husky. Unfortunately I do not understand her words for I have yet to master my mother tongue of English let alone her native language of French. Seeing my distress and confusion her smile widens and she repeats her words but now in precise English with the soft accent for which the French lovers are known.

In reply I have to admit that yes, I was admiring not only the clothes in which she stood but her whole aura. With light laugh she takes me gently by the hand and I follow blindly. At a rack of dresses my mystery lady stops, takes both my hands, holds them out and studies me from head to toe. Once again blood invades my cheeks and I self-consciously drop my head and drop my eyes to the floor. A gloved finger hooks beneath my chin and gently raises it until my eyes meet those dark almond pools. Seconds pass as we gaze unblinking into each other’s eyes.

At thirty years of age I am not without sexual experience, indeed among my social group I am considered somewhat liberated in that, whilst I enjoy the sexual side of relationships I have chosen not to be tied to any one person. Not that I am promiscuous; I choose my sexual partners very carefully, giving myself to each one exclusively for the period of the relationship. My frame is small and I maintain my body in good condition by choosing a healthy diet and exercising regularly. Most men and many women tell me that I am attractive, pretty, etc. All my sexual experience has been exclusively with males; I have never been tempted to cross the male/female divide.

So, with her eyes and mine locked in a gaze, her now bare hands holding mine I am astonished to suddenly realise that my libido is attempting to wrest itself from my control and an all too familiar sensation begins to make itself known. Normally this will occur at times when I have full control and usually but not exclusively in bed with a lover.
The woman’s smile acts as a diversion and her voice wakes me from my reverie.

Skirts are taken from the rail and deeper in the shop blouses are added to the skirts. Underwear is likewise collected, with me a dazed but willing passenger on this journey.

At the changing room, a room for me as large as the tiny kitchen in my batchelorette apartment, I am invited to change completely into the ensemble. With her encouraging words in my befuddled brain assuring me that everything is OK and that she is sure that I have a body to be proud of, I overcome my initial reluctance to disrobe in front of this stranger. Although, now in my underwear I feel exposed and vulnerable. But gentle fingers unclasp my bra and it is whisked away leaving my small breasts naked. Those gentle fingers now hook over the straps to my string panties and softly wiggle them down my legs. At seeing my embarrassment that the crotch of the string has so obviously secured itself between the lips of my pussy my undress-er merely giggles softly. With the panties in her hands she looks at the moistness at the crotch, looks at me, tilts her head to the side and makes a soft clicking sound with her tongue.

Once again my arms are extended so that those almond eyes can examine every part of my now over exposed body. By carefully selecting open shade at various beaches I have achieved an all-over tan with no pale areas to spoil the effect. Thus, I receive approving looks from my new friend. She seems to approve too that I depilate all superfluous body hair. In my trips to the gym I have of course been naked in female company but nevertheless right now I felt far too exposed; the sexuality of the situation was inescapable, particularly as both of us were now aware that I was most certainly aroused.

My friend insisted that the first garment to be tried was a bra, and I was suspicious that she had selected one that was obviously too large, and in demonstrating this fact her fingers and hands poked, prodded and moulded the fabric and my breasts. This was repeated with various sizes of bra until the correct size was found. Although my breasts are by no means large, with the right bra I can achieve an enticing décolletage, coupled with a revealing top I can show just the right amount of firm flesh. Such a bra was now producing that effect.
Next, the top, a white lacy blouse that allowed the bra to display the aforementioned flesh. This too required fingers to brush my breasts.

At this stage I was well aware that not only was my friend taking every opportunity to satisfy her curiosity concerning my breasts and upper body but had deliberately left bare my pubic area at which I saw her take long looks. It was not lost on me that in all the preceding ‘fitting’ I was made to move around considerably and every opportunity taken to place my legs apart. Together with her incredibly subtle and sophisticated perfume, this awareness had had a very pleasurable but unwanted effect on my libido. It was obvious even to me that the musty smell of my vaginal secretions was beginning to permeate the air in this room. Just what effect it was producing in my friend was not revealed on the inscrutable face.

Inevitably the moment arrived to choose and fit the panties and if the fitting of these went along the same lines as the bra then I feared, or was the fear just sexual excitement, what opportunities would be taken.

Seven styles had been chosen! Couldn’t I just slip each pair on and off? Of course not! This beautiful woman was going to extract the maximum pleasure not only from touching and looking at my body but also I believe from my slight discomfort.

First up a pair of low cut boxer panties. These were pulled up, for I was not allowed to help, just a little bit too tight and with apologies nimble fingers prized the thin fabric out from between my butt cheeks. Then spotting that the crotch was disappearing, those same fingers teased it out from between my pussy lips and smoothed out any wrinkles taking a number of attempts to achieve the desired look. That my juices were by now flowing sufficiently to instantly soak the thin fabric as soon as it touched seemed not to be apparent to my by now quite intimate friend. Each style of pantie received the same painstaking attention, although I was near to a spontaneous orgasm when she fitted the tiniest string that I have ever seen and her fingers ground onto my clitoris more than once.

I asked her name, this mysterious woman, after all those fingers where in places that no woman had touched since my mother had powdered me twenty-nine years before. Emaelsh, she said, an Indonesian name, but she preferred to be called Emm.

As fitting followed fitting and Emm’s fingers probed ever more intimately, and as my sexual temperature rose I worried that the store would call the authorities when they discovered much of their stock was soiled by my juices. I indicated my fears to Emm but she brushed aside my protests by saying they are all yours, the whole ensemble, I will make a gift to you. Of course I protested but I have to admit very weakly as what fitted me were beyond my budget and indeed my wildest dreams.

As soon as the words were out of my mouth I regretted asking how I could repay such generosity for it occurred to me that this female would only take payment in kind, and from my body! But no, when I had dressed in my obviously shabby clothes and she had put the cost on her store account she told me that in repayment all that she required was for me to join her at a pavement café to share a coffee and to chat.

The chat turned out to be very brief as an almost forgotten but pressing engagement had her scurrying off but not before leaving me a note to meet her and a particular address in a classy arrondisment of Paris, in one weeks time.

I am very organised so the rendezvous was entered immediately onto my Blackberry and I left the café, finished my shopping and returned home.

Of course other things took my attention when I reached the apartment and I completely forgot the incident of earlier in the day. And of course I am lying!
I watched the world news in English and had dinner. I showered, then wrapped in a robe I settled down to read a novel. Yes the novel was before my eyes but they saw nothing of the words on the pages as my mind was full of the most bizarre images; images generated by the thought of that woman. I gave myself a good talking to, yes, out loud! Never have I ever been the slightest bit tempted, curious or otherwise about intimate contact with another woman; I adore men and the wonderful feeling of a man’s hard flesh pleasuring me.

For a diversion I turned to the computer and surfed my usual sites to window-shop more clothes and all things that constitute retail therapy without actually making a purchase. Inevitably my mind strayed to sex between women and it wasn’t difficult to find a site that offered videos of just those activities that one would imagine take place in such circumstances.

The more graphic of the videos made me feel slightly sick and I felt that this was what was needed, aversion therapy. As I surfed this pornography some less graphic and less gross images emerged; some were of an amateur nature in which it was apparent that the couple were sharing love not just raw lust. I watched spell bound and sought-out more of the same. An hour into my exploration found me sitting naked on my chair, legs crossed and fingers buried deep in my pussy, eyes closed, breathing heavily and on the point of what culminated in the best self-induced orgasm that I had ever experienced.

After another cleansing and cool shower I went to bed, but my sleep was disturbed by images of me naked in a square in Paris making love to a female and a man while all around people watched and sang and danced. Time after time during the night I awoke as from a nightmare.
This was not going to beat me and I determined that I must go as arranged to the classy part of the city.

I arrived a little after the appointed time and pressed the bell push by the old but ornate metal gate and waited. Two minutes passed and I pushed the bell again. Behind the gate appeared Emm, as gorgeous as before despite the rather heavy make-up. The gateway lead to a tiny courtyard, surrounded by high buildings that seemed to stretch up to the sky and felt a little claustrophobic but which, at this time of day was pierced by the sun that was almost overhead. In the centre of the courtyard stood an old water pump decorated by a sun-bleached wooden frame from which hung some kind of vine and lianas.

In Emm’s apartment it was cool despite the blazing sun outside. The coolness was due to the fact that there appeared to be only one tiny window. Of course she looked utterly fantastic dressed in fine silk top and loose fitting harem pants. We talked, mainly about me and soon the sun disappeared and the room and courtyard became dark although in the street the afternoon sun still shone.

Emm asked me why I had not worn the clothes that she had presented to me. I said that I did not want to spoil them. So into a bedroom she led me to discover that she had converted it into an large wardrobe holding an aladdin’s cave of the most beautiful clothes, shoes and all things feminine. Emm invited me to try everything that took my eye. And I did. Finally I became exhausted with taking off and putting on clothes and rested naked on the floor no longer shy of Emm’s touching and looking. We still chatted animatedly, laughing at each others stories, understanding and commiserating with any bad times or failures. Iced tea was made and we sat together on a small two-seat settee.

To emphasise a particular point in the conversation Emm rested her hand on my bare thigh, it felt good there; natural. I could see in her eyes that not only did she wish to keep her hand there but to touch more of my naked body. Although still somewhat reserved in relation to the thought of intimacy with a woman, with my eyes I gave her tacit approval to go a little further. A smile indicated that she had understood.

Small soft fingers began to trace over my curves, thighs, belly, chest, neck, face, then slowly and exquisitely downwards. I kissed a finger laid gently on my mouth, as it pressed against my lips I took the tip between my lips and sucked it, made it wet. That finger traced a line of my saliva down my neck over my chest between now aching breasts over belly and pubes then it rested briefly on the hooded clitoris. The entire length of the trail of her saliva laden finger now felt cold, of an exquisite intensity. The heavy breathing that sounded in my ears was mine. The beating in my ears was that of my heart.
As Emm’s face neared mine her lips parted slightly and involuntarily I drew a short breath. Was I ready for my first same sex kiss on the mouth? Ready or not warm, soft lips touched mine and electricity sprang between us; or was it magnetism, for my mouth sought hers, my hands clasped her body for the first time. I was surprised only for a second at the firmness of her before passion overtook me and I pulled her tightly to me kissing her gently but firmly, indicating subconsciously that I wanted her. My hands pulled, tugged at her top, not caring if it was expensive, I wanted her as naked as I, to feel her breasts on mine. Emm helped me with the top and I discovered that she was deliciously without naked under it. Her breasts were slightly bigger than mine but as firm and as rounded. Pulling her to me in a passionate kiss I joyed as our breasts met and I felt for the first time the joy that a man must experience as breasts squash against his chest. What on earth would a pussy other than mine feel like? I resisted the urge to delve under her skirt, that would be the ultimate surprise! First I would enjoy and learn the techniques employed by allowing Emm free access to my already naked, willing and needing pussy.

I sat on the floor, Emm kneeling between my thighs, and we kissed, oh how we kissed; softly, quickly, slowly, firmly, tongues tentatively exploring the others’ mouth, then passionately, our arms encircling the other body, holding tightly as if our lives depended on never being parted.

At this point I wanted, I silently demanded, that my pussy, now aching as never before, receive the attention that it needed. I gently guided my lover’s hand down my heaving belly to a vulva that attained its peaks of blood engorged lips. No longer able to contain it, the hood had released its grip on my clitoris which now begged for attention.

Deftly experienced fingers smoothed copious juices over any part that wasn’t already wet. A thumb prodded and tweaked at my button. Finger and thumb conspired to bring pleasurable pain to the button. Fingers ran and jumped over labia that had become super sensitive and the moment a finger or thumb entered my tunnel I groaned with the imminent arrival of my first orgasm. As it washed over me we held each other tight.

This little witch’s tongue proved disappointing but only from the aspect that it was no better than that of the best male exponent of cunnilingus that I had encountered. I had heard that a woman’s technique was far superior. However the disappointment was fleeting as Emm employed her tongue and I am sure her nose but I was in no position to see as my eyes were shut tight at the onset of yet another excruciating climax.

What time had passed I had no idea, I continued to enjoy on pleasure after another. But there came a time when old habits die hard. And hard was what I now needed. A cock, a hardness to penetrate deep between my labia, deep inside to my womb.

I must have moaned something in this respect as it is my habit to tell my male lover, not too quietly, to fuck me and fuck me hard. Emm pulled away from me and for a second I feared that I had upset her.

My brain was befuddled by the pleasures that my lover had already delivered to my willing body so I can not be sure just how it occurred… I know that I saw Emm whisking off the harem pants, and I remember noting that she wore a string as I marvelled at her tight butt cheeks… I must have closed my eyes, anticipating her pussy on my body and hoping that I would not disappoint her when I finally made love to her nectar coated labia and echoed her actions on my clitoris, on hers.

Emm was soon beside me again and her eyes looked lovingly into mine as I opened them. Her gentle touches renewed their intimacy with my body; breasts, belly and my oh so eager pussy.

Moving between my thighs the warmth of her body failed to dispel the the almost nagging want deep inside me for a hard cock to pierce me and fuck me but I was determined not to fail her and wrapped my feet around her waist to pull her to me.

With the most exquisite sensation, that had a climax instantly rushing throughout my entire body, something penetrated my pussy, opening it as wide as ever it had been opened and penetrating so deeply. Instinctively I reached for the object wondering from where Emm had produced, like a magician, this phallus.

Yet again I climaxed, this time with a squeal of pleasure, delight and of absolute understanding, when my grasping fingers curled around a hard, thick and oh so real-flesh cock!

Pulling Emm’s face to me I kissed her deep and passionately. My legs wrapped around her pulling that cock so deep inside me, until I felt a pair of balls press tightly against my ass. I ordered her to fuck me, hard, fast and for ever. Emm did as commanded and we fucked in as many ways as we could think of until we could fuck no more but just lie in each other’s arms exhausted.

Emmanuel, for that was Emm’s real name, described herself as a Shemale. She explained that for years she had felt trapped in a man’s body and had taken illegal drugs to permit her to grow breasts hoping to finally have the ultimate surgery to make her a full female.

My guilt at forcing her to fuck me as a man must have shown on my face for Emm queried me. As she wiped away the tears of my guilt she told me that I had shown her that now there was no need to change further for there was the opportunity to enjoy to the full both male and female sex. All that night we made love ; wonderful love, sharing our bodies.

We meet whenever I am in Paris, we shop in the most expensive boutiques and then we make love.

© Jenni Gee 2010

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