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White mother & daughter learn a lesson in sharing big dick.
It reflected in the deep shine of the lacquer. There was also a card telling me how welcome I was. He had excused himself for having to rehearse all day for the concert that night. I was asked to relax. I would be picked up for the concert around 7:30 p.m. He was looking forward to having a late supper with me afterwards.
You see now that it was much more than "just sex"?
I had tea in the gorgeous lobby and I strolled along the Magnificent Mile. Then I returned to my suite to sink into the bath and ponder what to wear.
Well, I wasn't really pondering.
I knew what I'd wear. I just had to work up the courage to do it. You see, before I left for Chicago I had bought this slinky, deep red velvety dress with a daring plunge, front and back. It was ankle-length and hugged my body very nicely.
The point is it could only be worn without a bra.
Another point was that I had never shown myself in public without one. I don't have huge breasts. And they don't really need the support. But they are large enough to do this telltale jiggling when given their freedom. And they have quite spectacular nipples. Nosy little rascals. They love to come out and play when all that jiggling and rubbing wakes them up.
After getting dressed and made up, I walked over to a tall mirror.
I had never seen myself like this. I'd never dared. But I knew I should have. I looked good. Sexy, yes. Sexy from my shining red lips down to my cleavage. From the curves of my hips down to the slit that showed a leg and the stiletto heels that made me stand tall.
But it was a high class kind of sexy. Subtle and tasteful. Classy enough to make me swallow my fear. "Damn, you look good, Anne," my voice whispered in a breathless way.
The sound made my nipples swell.
Did I feel guilty? George had never seen me like this. I had never dressed for him this way. Yes, of course I felt guilt. For two seconds, to be precise. And it annoyed me. For this wasn't for George. It wasn't even for Wasilly.
It was for me.
My cell phone rang.
"Yes, darling, me too. So glad to hear your voice."
"Oh yes, the journey was good…no problems."
"Don't worry. They are very hospitable."
"The Drake, yes. Mmmmm, George. We should come here together soon. Such a lovely place."
"Ah, well, dinner somewhere, I guess. They pick me up."
"I know. Me too."
"Must leave, love. I'll call you."
"Yes, me too, George."
"Me too…bye love."
My finger and thumb left my right nipple. The aroused flesh strained against the velvet.
I looked down on the stage from the box to which they had ushered me.
The orchestra was tuning up. It created the chaotic forest of sounds that never fails to stir up feelings of anticipation. I just love to be rocked by this ocean of strings. When I close my eyes I see a seascape. I hear seagulls — clarinets and flutes. I feel the deep, low ground-swell of cello's and bassoons.
I really love music.
At the center of the stage was a grand piano. It stood alone and slightly raised. Its polished lacquer reflected the myriad of lights. There lay a single rose on its keyboard. Seeing it took my breath away.
Ah, definitely…this was so much more than sex.
The hall filled slowly with well-dressed people. Women in gowns, men in suits, even tuxedos. A warm and festive murmur rose to my elevated position. I found binoculars and started observing people. I saw a gorgeous blonde on the arm of a gray tycoon. I spied on the first violinist. And I took in the rose on the piano.
A silence fell.
Then applause welcomed the artists. The conductor was old and fragile. His hair was thin and white. The program told me he was famous and Russian. To his right walked Wasilly. He looked great. Just watching him sent a flush to my cheeks.
I felt special.
The conductor took his place in front of the orchestra. Wasilly went to the piano. He sat down. Then he took the rose. He smelled it and looked straight up to where I was sitting.
My face was on fire.
Only then did I see the young girl