Oliver paid for the taxi, an expense that I supposed would appear on my bill. As we rode the elevator up to my apartment, he began to take off my dress, sliding the straps over my shoulders and forcing my breasts out of the bra I wore. He held a nipple in each hand, pulling my breasts out so that they hung over the top of my dress. As I fumbled for the key in the lock, he stood behind me, a breast in each hand, supporting their weight and then dropping them, fingers lightly pinching each nipple, his face buried in my neck. I felt my legs begin to shake. My panties were now saturated with sweet warm juices, a trickle of which escaped and began to roll down the inside of my thigh. I could smell how aroused I was, and I was sure Olivier could, too.

We stepped over the threshold of my apartment and pushed the door closed behind us. He unzipped my dress, removed my bra, slowly rolled my panties down my legs and removed them. He held them to his nose and breathed in deeply before discarding them with a flick of his wrist. Then he kneeled before me like a slave to undo each shoe in turn, an intimate act I found immensely arousing. Now I was naked apart from my jewelry, which I kept on as a reminder that I was the one paying, a symbol of my status, power, and control. But the fact was I didn't feel in control at all. I was at the mercy of this sexy, sophisticated man who knew exactly where a woman needed to be touched.

I watched Olivier disrobe. Confidently, slowly, he peeled off layers of expensive clothing to reveal a toned olive body: my fantasy man from the computer screen made flesh before my eyes. He picked me up in his arms, and I felt a sizzle of desire as our bare skin touched for the first time. Burying his face in my chest and taking a hardening nipple between his lips, he carried me into my bedroom and sat me on the edge of my bed.