In my work as a limousine driver I meet all sorts of passengers: executives, party goers, airline passengers and the occasional celebrity. I had a very interesting job recently.
I was booked to collect a passenger, a lady called Eleanor, from some kind of evening reception. From the address in a smart part of London I guessed it would be a pretty classy event, so I wore my best uniform, peaked cap and all, checked my car was spotless inside and out, and made sure I got there in good time. When I arrived I saw I hadn't been mistaken. I drive a big, silver, almost new top range Mercedes, but even that was outclassed by the Rolls Royces, Bentleys, Jaguars and other pricey metal outside. Guests were already spilling out. As I waited for my passenger I eyed up the luscious women in expensive dresses, trying not to remember I only had my lonely bed and memories of my ex to go home to. Then my passenger appeared.
Eleanor had obviously been given my car's details. She came straight to my car and I'd only just got out to open the rear door for her when she reached me. She was perhaps mid thirties, a couple of years younger than me. She was an executive of the organisation hosting the event, and she was a beauty! She was in a long black, figure clinging, evening dress, which I think is one of the sexiest garments ever invented. It was halter topped leaving her shoulders bare with her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, and slit high up her bare thigh. The low cut cleavage was closed by a brooch that seemed to only just stop her big breasts from oozing out. Jewels sparkled at her ears, her wrists and on that brooch between her boobs, and a necklace hung in a V enticingly pointing the way down her cleavage. She radiated sophistication as well as wealth. I held the rear door open for her and she slid her well rounded backside onto the black leather seat, treating me to a display of cleavage and bare tanned thigh as the slit of her dress parted.
As we made our way through the ever busy London traffic, in my imagination I undid that brooch and the halter clasp, let her dress drop, watched her slip off the black thong I imagined beneath and saw her in kinky nude poses before I had her in every sex position I could think of.
We arrived at her house, a Georgian mews terrace in one of the most expensive parts of London, with even a resident's parking space outside for my limo. She treated me to another display of cleavage and thigh as she got out. I thought that would be the last I'd see of her breasts and thigh except later when I jerked one off thinking of her, but she stopped with one high heeled foot on the steps up to her front door. She smiled at me, and spoke.
"Would you like to come inside and see some more of my breasts and legs?"
As she spoke she playfully pulled her dress up her thigh, opening that slit and treating me to a display of even more bare female flesh. I felt as if an electric shock had run through me. I had followed her up the steps into her house even before I remembered I had no more jobs that night and was free till the next day. She led me into the lounge. I stood gazing at the antique furniture and the works of art on the walls. I was still dazed by the shock of being invited in by a sex bomb woman when the lounge door opened, and a second shock hit me.
In walked a pretty girl, perhaps early twenties, with neat almost black hair in a page boy cut, wearing a crisp white blouse well filled with boobs, and a dark grey miniskirt high up her shapely sheer black nylon clad thighs. Eleanor introduced her.
"This is my au pair, Michelle."
Michelle gave me a look that I've never seen in a girl's eyes without ending up in bed with her. I felt my throat go dry and my erection begin to stir.
"So pleased to meet you, Monsieur," said Michelle with a sexy French accent.
"Michelle, we must make our guest comfortable. Let's have some champagne."
"Oui Madame," replied Michelle. She twirled on her high heels, showing off the seams at the backs of her black nylons and wiggling her bottom as she left the room.
