Pixie Pt. 01 Ch. 09: Sarah , Pixie


I had watched my friend, Emmanuelle, disappear off with Anne. Pressed for time as I was, with only a few hours until the concert began, I asked my new lover, Emily, what she thought of Emm.

‘What do you imagine I think, Pixie. She is drop-dead gorgeous, no wonder Anne has taken the afternoon off…’

‘No,’ I interjected, ‘you must have missed what they were saying. Emm is looking for a Mistress.’

‘Well, little Pixie,’ Emily said, tickling me under the chin, ‘you have one, so why shouldn’t your blonde friend?’

‘No,’ I protested, ‘you don’t understand. Emm wants something far deeper and more depraved than we have.’

‘Does she now?’ Emily looked interested. ‘Tell me more?’

‘Emm and I have known each other for ages. I’d love to be her lover, but a flat-cheated midget like me takes what a goddess like Emm is prepared to offer. But Emm, who has everything, wants to be totally subservient to a decadent Mistress.’

Emily smiled.

‘She’s found the right woman with Anne. Anne has a stable of subs back in the States. Sounds like a match made in BDSM heaven. Well, darling little Pixie, I must get off, but see you at dinner after the concert.’

As usual, whenever Emm came on the scene, my lovers gravitated to her like bees to a honey pot. I couldn’t, and didn’t, blame them, I’d have done the same – but chance would have been a fine thing.

There was a lot to do before the concert, bursa escort and the next few hours rushed by in a blur of interventions designed to calm nerves and deal with the Maestro’s bad temper. I just had time to nip back to my hotel room to change into my little black dress (courtesy Young Miss Selfridge), and redo my make-up.

I was still fussing round with the sexy woman from the BBC, who turned out to be called Sarah, when I saw a vision enter the auditorium. It was Emmanuelle. She was with Anne. The two of them made the most striking tableau.

Anne was about five nine or even ten, I couldn’t see her heels from up in the gantry. Her dress was to die for. Long and sequinned, she looked as though she was at the Oscars. Off the shoulder, it showcased a bust of such magnificence that even from my vantage point, it was just asking for my face to dive in. The gown cascaded down, and was cut at the side to reveal one leg. Anne’s legs were long, and shapely. Her hair was up, and the diamond earrings and necklace she wore just radiated class. By herself, she was a sight to stop the traffic.

Emm was slightly behind her, holding her hand. She was in high heels. Emm was five foot seven, but was taller now, than Anne. I couldn’t see the shoes, but they must have been five or six inch heels. Her long blonde hair was worn loose about her shoulders, which were on full view, as were her magnificent breasts, bursa escort only just held in by the architecture of the black dress, which showed a generous proportion of them.

It looked as though the slightest movement would reveal all. As they turned to the side to take their seats, I could see that, at the back, it was cut so low that it stopped at the base of her spine.

The BBC soundman with whom I was doing last minute checks was, I swear, salivating.


Sarah, who was clearly as lesbian as I was, said, ‘I wish. Pixie, your friend is so bloody hot, any chance of dining with her later?’ Her eyes were shining.

‘I’m dining with them both,’ I said, ‘and I am sure that you would be more than welcome.’

‘How about me, Pixie?’

I laughed, understanding why the Soundman wanted in, but had to disillusion him.

‘Sorry, this is a girls only outing.’

The needs of the hour pressed us all away from our erotic imaginings.

Whatever could be said about the Maestro of the Ensemble as a human being (and most of it would have been negative), as a musician he was at the top of the class. Purcell was not usually at high on my list, but the programme he had put together, was superb, as was the playing. The ‘Lament for Queen Mary,’ always made me cry. Poor Queen, married off to a gay Dutch midget, she always attracted my sympathy, but the Ensemble’s performance bursa eskort made me cry. I was still dabbing my eyes, when Sophie leaned over to me, and gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

‘That was bloody marvellous, Pixie. See you in about an hour? Yes?’

I nodded, noting that the red light was back on. While she was telling the BBC audience what it surely already knew, which was that we had been privileged to hear a great concert, I edged my way to the door, and, once out, headed for the press room.

The Maestro was in fine form. Released from the tensions of the rehearsal period, and buoyed up by the universal praise, he even hugged me. I arranged the press, and he gave forth his views on everything under the sun. My work was nearly done.

It had been a long day. I’d started tired after a night of lesbian passion with Emily and Anne, and it was now nine thirty. The hotel had arranged a late supper for theatre-goers, so I was okay for time for that. It suddenly occurred to me that I’d had nothing to eat since the croissant more than twelve hours earlier. I talked with the press officer at the theatre and asked if she was okay to finish the day off. Thankfully, she was.

I wandered through to find Sarah from the BBC. She was on her way to find me. She gave me a hug.

‘You’re such a darling to invite me to see Emm again. That quickie earlier was nowhere near enough. And who was that equally gorgeous woman she was with?’

I explained the situation, as far as I could, but said nothing about the BDSM side of things.

Sarah took my hand, and as we walked back to the hotel, I wondered what the night held. Suddenly, I was not so tired, after all.

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