If the tiniest thought had crossed my mind that Petra might not ‘make the effort’
on our second meeting. It was quickly dispelled. Not just quickly dispelled but absolutely
and without question. This was a woman who knew how to look her best in work suits. For an
early evening meeting however, with a friend in a stylish city wine bar, she excelled.
More than excelled. But she knew that.
Petra wore a shimmering gold dress made mostly of silk, with sequins. But around
the low cut front it was edged with delicate gold lace that framed the uplift of her
heavy, succulent breasts to perfection, making her orbs partly obscured, and yet teasingly
not. The flesh could be seen to move and roll through the silk, through the lace edging
and also the bare flesh above the dress material. The dress also had a low cut back that
plummeted down in a gradual ‘V’ from her shoulders and the narrowest point ending up just
above her tailbone. Delightfully tantalizing. A perfect back, with a natural spinal curve.
The dress, a cross between a cocktail and party dress, was short. Above mid thighs but
delicate gold tassels hung in a fringe all the way round them hem. These tassels swirled
and danced in time to whatever movement she was performing at the time. And which gave
teasing little glimpses of upper leg. A totally astounding sight were Petra’s legs and
deliciously extended by her shoes. Legs so long, so perfectly shaped and tapered and
enhanced more with those ‘killer heels.’ Calves well-shaped, tawt from the high heels.
Gold court shoes, with stilettos of at least five-and-half inches. Absolute killer heels
that at the same time, contrasted and blended in with the sheer, silky dark brown hose
that sheathed the seemingly endless legs. My secret purr resonated in my throat when I saw
her.
When she entered the bar I was already there. I intended that. I wanted to see her
entrance. I had a feeling that this woman liked to make entrances and I was so right. A
woman who could turn heads, absolutely with no problem whatsoever.
Her make up was just perfect. Even to the eye shadow with gold glitters matching
her dress. Striking, almost trademark deep red lips, lined hard for effect. Not smooth
gloss though. Slightly textured, glittery lipstick which just went with her overall dress,
totally. And her striking red hair. Looser than the first time we met. Looser, that is,
around the back and sides and yet some of the hair gathered from high at the back of her
head and banded into a little, high ponytail. This added to her grace and elegance. Even
to her height. Drawing attention to it, highlighting it.
As she walked in, looking around for me. Heads just turned towards her, taking her
in. She was used to this. Liked it. Practically wallowed in such adoration. I didn’t let
her see me at first. Just dodging behind a pillar so I could watch her move. Watch her
smile at the men who poured their eyes over her. At their women who seethed through
gritted teeth at her. Some of those women would be in total glee at what would be in
eventual store for Petra. If they knew. Or maybe not! She loved it. Knew how to dress.
Knew how to make the best of her best attributes. Knew how to impress. Indeed I was
impressed. I eventually waved through to her and she saw me. A beaming smile across her
wide, full-lipped mouth.
“Petra..... My god, you look totally out there, girl. I am impressed.”
Exaggerating my Arabic accent a little. Moving in for a hug and, true to form, she
presses herself right into me, crushing her breasts and hugging, then kissing my cheeks,
just to the side, but very close to my mouth so that I can feel, and all but taste her hot
breath. I feel my own breath quicken. Taken away. But I keep it in check. Regulate it
again. Respond to her tease with a wry smile.
“Why thank you Sabirah. It’s so good to see you again, really it is. And you are
looking better every time I see you.”
The same smile. I am dressed a little more conservatively having come direct from a
business meeting. Fitted suit, jacket, blouse, hose and heels. My own five feet six inches
only moderately boosted with four inch heels.
“Awwwww Petra, you’re too kind..... Why don’t we get a booth down here. We can
talk.”
I point and Petra is only too happy to lead the way knowing that my eyes are all
over her from behind as she walks. Heels forcing something of a strut, her bottom
slip-sliding and moving inside the silk of the dress. The back view of her amazingly long
legs as spectacular as the front and side views. We order a bottle of white on ice and
slide into the plush velvet seating.
“Mmmmmm so Petra, what have you been up to? And have you thought any more about
that three month vacation period?”
I see no point in delaying the important questions. Petra checks her makeup in a
little mirror. At the same time she is nodding slightly, acknowledging what I am saying to
her and what I am asking her.
“Oh absolutely I have. I’m doing another week and a bit. Do a little hand-over to
my stand in.... and well, the world’s my oyster, as it were.”
She smiles that infectious, gorgeous, still flirty smile and we spend the next
half-hour exchanging pleasantries. All the time I am watching her, studying her. I can’t
help that. Not only am I lesbian with a penchant for statuesque women, but I am also a
psychological professional, with an interest in what makes people tick. It’s the deeper
aspect of what makes people tick that appeals to a particular side of my lesbianism. I let
her lead the conversation. Knowing that she wants to.
“Sooooo tell me, about this Hypno stuff you’re into then. I’m fascinated truly. I
always said that I could never be hypnotized. I’m too self-centred, too self-obsessed. If
I am honest, I never believed that anyone could actually, truly be ‘hypnotized.’ No
offence like.”
She grins, believing her own words. I just take a sip of wine, nod, showing that I
hear what she’s saying.
“Nahhhhhh Petra, it’s the self-obsessed, self-centred ones that make the best
subjects. Trust me, I know. But hey, I applaud you for your honesty and no offence taken
really.”
She giggles kind of mischievously. I know she’s just teasing me. Kind of
refreshing, even endearing in a mature woman. Obviously one who only really lets her hair
down away from the office. That’s good, I respect her professionalism.
“Look, I’ll show you. I won’t put you right ‘under’ here. But I can partially
trance you. Just sub-trance you. You’ll feel relaxed, chilled but aware of everything.
Then I’ll take you out of it as quickly as I put you into it. Up for it? Hmmmmm?”
I look directly at Petra. See her smile fade slightly. But still a fascination,
almost too strong to resist. My direct prodding at what really is an inherent fear of
being taken out of her comfort zone, obvious, glaring. And yet, a curiosity, like that of
a young child, drawing her in as well. Like peering through clenched fingers at the
monster in the bedroom closet.
“Awwwwwww I don’t know… sounds a little freaky to me....”
“Ok, it doesn’t matter. No harm done. Just wanted to show you that you could
actually be tranced.”
I don’t force the issue at all. I don’t need to. I know I don’t. Just letting what
has been said tumble round that pretty head of hers. We sip a few more mouthfuls in
silence and then Petra speaks again.
“Ok.... what do I have to do?... and not all the way under right?”
I take a long slow sip of the wine. Don’t answer straight away as I sense the
anticipation in her voice. Let it linger. Let it dwell. I slowly finger a large ring on my
middle finger of my right hand.
“You don’t have to do anything, Petra. Just watch my ring here. Focus on it and
focus on my voice. Block everything else out. Just focus on the ring and my voice. Nothing
else... ok? Just totally relax. Chill. Focus.”
I look at her, and her at me for a split second before she looks down at my ring.
“W-well, ok then...”
The ring is a clear cut crystal. A large stone that reflects and retracts light in
all directions and in all colours. It isn’t a ‘magic ring.’ Just a point of focus.
Something to hold the focus whilst my voice filters in.
“Just relax. Look at the ring. See only that and hear just my voice...”
My voice changes from the ‘friendly lesbian’ to a more professional, slightly
sterner voice. But softly so. Not forcing itself. Just gently filtering in with stronger
more direct undertones.
“You’ll feel slightly sleepy but your eyes won’t close. Just relax. Listen watch
the ring. Listen to my voice. Watch and listen. Watch and listen. Watch listen. Listen
watch......”
I’m right, so right, and can see the signs as she sinks into a void, halfway
between reality and another place. It’s not hard. It never is with women who have Petra’s
outgoing, confident personality. In truth, most of her sort, want control taken from them
to differing degrees. I continue to watch her. Watch her eyes focusing on the ring. Watch
her sinking into that part-trance.
“Ok Petra, you are there... no dramas... no pain... just there in that good place,
yes? You feel good right? Chilled. Relaxed. Good, yes?
My voice almost like liquid silk and it pours into her psyche.
“Mmmmmm yeah, I do feel good actually, yes.”
She smiles a little dreamily. But still acutely aware. She feels ‘good’ because
that is what I have ‘suggested’ she feels. She’s sub-trance and very vulnerable to
manipulation.
I lean forward, gently at my hips, keeping my own legs crossed, and place one hand
on Petra’s uppermost thigh. My first touch of her spectacular legs, Then, so very gently I
bend one finger and use the nail to ‘scritch’ against the sheer nylon.
Scritch, Scritch, Scritch.
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