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Subject: The appointment Pt. 1(F/? nc public)
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THE APPOINTMENT

This is a work of fiction. It's of a sexual nature too, otherwise I
wouldn't have posted it here. If you feel offended, don't read. if you
like it, send me a line: 100550_1306g@csi.com


This was definitely not Vivianes day. When she woke at around 8:30, she
realized she had ignored the alarm. A strange dream had kept her in a
soft, warm and wonderful place. It took her an eternity to fight her way
out to reality. She felt physical pain when she became aware that it had
only been a dream and when she looked at the alarm, she already had
forgotten what she had dreamt. What remained was the feeling of great
loss and loneliness. Viviane raised from the bed. "I've gotta speed up",
she thought, tumbling to the bathroom. She stepped out of her boxer
shorts and sat down on the toilet. Sloppy as she was she had completely
forgotten to run the washing machine so she was left with what underwear
she could find in the stack beside the washing mashing a gray cotton
body stocking with only one button left to close it. She brushed her
teeth while checking her face. With twenty-nine years she still had the
looks of a little girl: A small stubby nose covered with freckles and
big green eyes, that wouldn't loose their dreamlike stare over the day.
Even though she had quite a good figure, sometimes she looked just like
she had grown too fast. Her wild mane of dark blond hair would this
morning resist every effort to bring it into shape, so she gave up
combing after some useless strokes with the brush. She fought her way
into the body stocking and went to the sleeping room to complete her
wardrobe: A gray cotton skirt and a pair of white cotton tennis shoes.
In the kitchen she gulped down some cold coffee that was left from
yesterdays breakfast and while tumbling down the stairs she slid in her
jacket.

Today she had to make a presentation at a clients office. For two month
now she had been designing logos, artwork and color schemes for a new
company. A difficult task, because there was not much she new about the
company itself – a TV producer, preparing a new game show for the
pay-tv-market, all top-secret. Some brainless nonsense, where moron
housewife's had to guess the price of washing powder, microwave ovens
and beauty lotions, Viviane thought with distaste. The design had to be
sexy but decent, her boss had insisted. Whatever that meant. Sexy seems
to be the new fashion word of the entertainment business, she thought.
Well, her layouts were sexy, the goddamned best artwork, she had made in
month. Funny thing was, the clients company had urged her boss, that the
presentation had to be done by herself. Gerard wasn't quite happy about
that. He'd rather have his marketing-assitant Jean-Luc do the job.
Jean-Luc was gay, but he had charm and was great in convincing
hesitating clients. Viviane was not really charming. She had a blunt way
to deal with people that would not share her opinion. But Gerard had to
give in even though he knew her opinion about TV-people and now she was
on her way. Halfway down the staircase it came to her mind that it would
be a good idea to bring along the large cardboard folder containing her
layouts. She climbed up to the seventh floor again – to find out that
she had forgotten to close the front door.

Viviane worked as a graphic designer in a down ridden art bureau in
Paris’ IXth Arrondissement. Her office was located in a grayish building
on the lower Rue St. Denis. Making the way to her workplace was always
running the gauntlet: Whether the hookers that line the pavement of Rue
St. Denis took her for a competitor, or passerby's whispering obscene
invitations to her – there was no single day that passed without
insults, molestation or worse. After two years Viviane still hadn't
found out why: She was six foot tall, so she never wore high  heels. Her
breasts hadn't grown since she was fourteen and with what little she
had, she didn't have to bother wearing a bra. Her fingernails were short
and colorless because she couldn't quit the habit of biting them down
when she was concentrating on a problem (she spent hours to trim them
afterwards because she didn't want anybody to find out about
nevertheless). Apart from a pair of simple creole earrings she never
wore jewels either. And day in day out she dressed in simple cotton or
woolen skirts, mostly in black or gray. To cut it short, her outfit
couldn't' be the incentive to all the humiliations she had to endure on
the short way between subway and office. It was in fact her physical
appearance, the dreamy, startled look on her face, her long slender arms
and legs, that gave her an air of being most vulnerable and inviolable
at the same time.

When she left the office yesterday, Gerard, her boss, had made once more
tried to make sure she was aware of the importance of this particular
client: "Yanel will be the key player on the pay-tv-market in one year,
you can bet. If WE get the account, we're back in business. Don't mess
it up!" He went on with half an hours explanation about what they would
do with the money – building up a whole department for the animation-
and trailor-stuff, their TV-client would need, web design and all that
crap – if only Viviane would get the account and so on and so on.
Viviane shrugged. She had her own ideas about selling her abilities. She
played with a pencil as Gerard again outlined the offer he wanted her to
explain to their future client. When he was through with it she gathered
the files she would need from her desk. It looked a mess, she admitted
in her thoughts. Piles of unread magazines with pizza cartons and filthy
dishes on top beside her Macintosh, whose keyboard was covered with a
grayish layer of grease. Some photos she had clipped from newspaper were
pinned to the wall, showing the grotesque side of life – she had a
faible for absurdities like cows with two heads or the like. "Not much
to give up", she thought.

Viviane entered the metro station and a wave of human scent hit her like
a wall. It was a warm day in May and people seemed to emit even more
natural odors than on any other day. The station was packed and she had
to push through the crowd, trying not to get caught with the unhandy
cardboard folder. She checked her watch. The metro heading to Rive
Gauche seemed to be late. If she catched that train, she would have an
hour or so till the appointment. She relaxed as the train entered the
station. She entered the train holding out the huge briefcase in front
of her like a shield. When the doors closed, she was trapped in a
closely packed crowd. People all stared into thin air, avoiding each
others looks. Viviane could hardly breathe. The air in here was even
worse than in the station. The train gathered speed and the acceleration
pressed her against the other passengers. She struggled to hold her
balance, unable to reach out for the handles hanging from the wagons
ceiling.

Just in front of her stood one of these businesslike men in that
indefinable age between thirty-three and fifty-five. She tried to read
the ads fixed in plastic frames above the wagons windows. The train rode
through darkness, the lights from within the wagon illuminating just now
and the some graffiti, that some crazy sprayers must have had the nervse
to paint here in the guts of Paris. Viviane mused about the rendez-vous
with the Yanel-people when suddenly she felt a movement in her back,
irritating her. She was unable to move, the large folder she carried
across her chest had caught between the bystanding passengers,
immobilizing her. There it was again, a hand nestling in her back. In a
feeble attempt she tried to turn but soon had to realize there was no
way. She breathed a little faster now, feeling alarmed. Viviane turned
her head as far as she could, but couldn't make out the perpetrator of
her irritation. The fumbling went on. She tried to relax, to get
accustomed to the activity at her backside, when suddenly something cold
forced its way between the waistband of her skirt and her body stocking
right in the small of her back. Viviane started, her sudden movement
causing angry looks from her fellow passengers. "This is outrageous",
she was about to exclaim when suddenly her buttocks felt a slight breeze
and she realized that whoever had fumbled in her back had cut the
waistband of her skirt.

Vivianes face flushed bright red with embarrassment. Her helpless
struggles started to draw the attention of the fellow passengers. "Some
f…ing teenage creep tries to make fun out of me" she thought, persuading
herself to keep calm. She forced on a blank smile. An elderly woman,
that had studied her with curiosity turned away when Viviane made a face
at her. But now an impudent finger pulled at the thin strap of her body
stocking disappearing between her buttocks. The cloth was drawn away
from her skin and that force was enough to let the remaining button,
that had fastened the body stocking in her crotch, give way with a light
snap, leaving her genitals exposed to the warm humid air, that filled
the wagon. Viviane shuddered, her heart began to race and she tried to
move forward, when the bussiness-man turned his head. "Can't you see
that there is no space to move in here? So would you please refrain from
pushing." She stood still, sighing. At her back, she could feel a slim
finger entering the cleft between her buttocks. She tried to press her
checks together when she felt something being moved between her knees,
forcing them apart. Struggling to keep her balance she fell forward
again. "Now would you please stop fidgeting" was, what it earned her.
Whoever was standing behind her was slowly pushing a suitcase or a box
between her feet, preventing her from closing her legs. Viviane started
sweating. The train slowed down and came to a screeching halt. The doors
opened and more people forced their way into the packed crowd. The doors
made several attempts to close and finally the metro picked up speed
again. As soon as the shaking journey continued, the slim finger made
contact with her bare behind again and entered between her spread
buttocks.

As a matter of fact Viviane never had a lot of pubic hair. Since
adolescence, she was always subject to the jokes of her classmates when
they found out that she was almost as bare as an egg at places, where
the other girls grew hairs in thick curls. She tried to avoid going to
the showers after sport lessons, knowing that her childish appearance
would provoke nothing but mockery. Over the years, not much had changed.
Now and then, when she paraded in front of the mirror, trying on new
underwear, inspecting her flat tummy and butt, she came to a stop,
putting her hands on her hips, standing square in front of the mirror:
"I'm looking like a thirteen year old girl." Even with her legs closed
the space between her thighs was four fingers wide and nothing concealed
the pink bud of her clitoris protruding between her bare labia, giving
her genitals the appearance of a flower about to open. "My lips are way
to short", she thought angrily. She would never wear a silken skirt
without panties – at first look everybody, who saw her at the right
angle against the light, would know every detail about the most intimate
part of her anatomy. "At least I haven't got to trim my hair when
wearing a bikini" she thought, but it wasn't much help.

Suddenly Viviane felt the smooth fingertip on her sphincter and a
shudder went through her body and she jolted. The finger made a little
circle over the pressed ring of muscles and traveled further down,
trailing the fissure between her labia. The blonde girl was trapped, her
knees spread at least one foot apart by a bulky piece of luggage, her
hands clasped around the folder, her backside exposed from the hem of
her leather jacket to her feet. Viviane gasped, when the warm hand
between her thighs gently forced her to open her legs a little more. By
now she nearly had to stand on her tiptoes and was about to stumble.
"Excuse me she", she mumbled to the gentleman standing right before her,
"I just wanted to… oh!" When she made a little step to have a better
stand, with the lightest of movements a cheeky fingertip made contact
with her protruding clitoris. Her heart stopped for a second. The
passenger opposite to her, blocking her way, himself cramped in the
crowd, turned his head again. "Are you OK?" he asked, studying the
confused expression on her bright red face. "Thank you, I'm …ahhh… nghh"
was all she managed to answer, when the sleek intruder continued his
assault. Right now the fingertip was running in a delicious circle
around the tip of her clitoris. Whoever stood behind didn't want to hurt
her, so much for sure. Quite the opposite. Viviane was startled. The
finger playing with the most sensual part of her body must belonged to a
female – she was sure she felt the soft scratching of a long nail
against her labia. A man would never act so careful, she thought.

She
grasped the cardboard harder, her knuckles turning white, when the
finger retreated towards her vaginal opening. She held her breath and
sensed her inner lips opening like petals of a blooming flower. "This is
not happening", she tried to gather her willpower, but when the
fingertip lightly slid over her urethra, her clitoris filled with blood
as it was touched by a fingernail. Then the finger made contact with the
soft tissue of her vaginal opening. Viviane felt the moisture, that had
gathered at the entrance of her vagina, cursing herself, hoping that her
tormentor wouldn't feel it too, realizing her arousal. When the tall
girl felt a small trickle of saliva running over her chin she realized
she had her mouth open. Just when she was about to close it, the finger
slowly started to slip into her vagina. The air, that had built up in
her lungs, escaped with a long sigh. "Unghhhhhhhhhh…" was all she was
able to articulate, when she felt the first joint of the intruding
finger passing the ring of muscle, that guarded her opening. Due to the
lubrication she secreted by now, there wasn't much resistance and the
finger slid in as easy as in melting butter. "Ahhhhh…" – the second
joint had made its way inside of her. The finger advanced ever so slowly
until it was buried inside her and she could feel the flat of her
assailants hand resting against the skin of her buttocks. Vivianes
heartbeat sped up a considerable rate, her breath became flat. The
finger came to a halt. At the same time, two fingertips, belonging to
the same hand, started a slow stroking motion through the folds of her
drenched labia, alongside the swollen shaft of her clitoris. Viviane had
to bite her lower lip as the lust radiating from her genitals, raged
through her nervous system. Another movement, a slight bending and as
slowly as it entered the finger began to retreat, sending delicate
shivers down her spine each time a joint passed her entrance. She felt
the walls of her vagina contracting in an involuntary movement, trying
in vain to prolong the retreat.

When finally the finger, covered with a
film of her fluids, broke free and her flesh closed again, she couldn't
prevent arching her back, sticking out her bottom. Her knees felt like
jelly and Viviane was afraid they might give way when the man in front
of her turned his head again, having heard her dreamlike sound of
disappointment. He managed ot turn around and stood now only inches
away, his body separated from hers only by the huge cardboard folder she
held on to. The man, clad in a dark double-breasted suit, white shirt
and a red silk tie, began to study her face. Vivane realized she gave
indeed an astounding sight, her mouth and eyes wide open, her cheeks
bright red, her face a mask of terror. Suddenly a musky smell hit her,
and Viviane thought she would die from the shame. The scent of her
fluids dispersed from her sex and through the trains  compartment. "He
knows exactly that I'm being aroused", a panic filled thought raced
through her mind: "I must stop this." She fought to regain her
composure, trying to concentrate on her business meeting,
third-world-hunger, her grandmother, anything when the finger started
his cruise again. This time it spread the fluid escaping her sex around
her tight anal opening, traveling between her sex and her anus in a slow
and gentle massage. Vivianes eyes started to fill with tears. This
delicious torture was more than she could bear. The fingertip went the
other way between her inner and outer lips on one side towards her
clitoris and  back again on the other side. Another massage of her
sphincter and the finger returned to her clitoris, which by now stood
out like a sprout between her open labia. Again the fingertip started a
circle, avoiding direct contact with the bud itself.

Viviane started to
sob,  this was to much. She knew only one touch would bring her over the
edge. Orgasming in the middle of an indifferent crowd, in a metro
waggon, in the face of a stranger that wouldn't let his eyes off her
face, that studied the contorted expression of lust on her face, the
silent begging for release in her wide open eyes, the tears of
frustration running down her cheeks. "Just touch it – please" was the
only thought she was able to hold, herself indifferent to the crowd, to
the stranger in front of her, to the humiliating nakedness of the nether
half of her body, her juices by now trickling down the inside of her
thigh. "Oh my god, please" she whispered when the tormenting fingertip
finished another circle. Her clitoris felt like it would burst any
moment. Viviane had lost notion where she was and where she was going,
her mind centered around her painful lust. Her tormentor must be
perfectly aware of her state of arousal. The finger moved with a
delicate ease through the soft folds of her sex, touching her most
secret places with exception of her clitoris: It stroked the left side
of the shaft, the right side, then tensed the tissue at the entrance of
her genital cleft so that the hood of her clitoris retreated further and
the engorged bud came to stand out still a little further. Viviane
couldn't stand no more, her eyes sending pleading looks. "Please… hrch…
ohmygodohmy… gnnnrrach" she gritted between her teeth, yet the finger
retreated again, collecting more fluid from her vagina, massaging her
anus once more. Viviane was about to burst, her genitalia felt like a
volcano, hot lava running down her leg. She prayed for an eruption, sensing
it so close yet out of reach, beyond her control.

The fingertip
continued to massage her sphincter, applying more and more pressure in
the center until suddenly it broke the slight resistance of the ring of
muscle. Viviane lost control. When her rectum relaxed, she felt her she
couldn't hold the content of her bladder. A few drops of urine escaped
her urethra. She tried to hold it back, but a constant trickle of liquid
found its way out. She closed her eyes in shame, avoiding the staring
look of her spectator. The invading finger stayed completely still. "Oh
my god no please don't stop it I can't take no more please" she sobbed -
and as if her tormentors heart finally found pity on her trembling body
he withdraw his fingertip from her rectum and without further delay
placed index and thumb on either sides of her clitoris and started a
rubbing motion – as if counting money. Viviane jerked, catched off guard
in her tantalizing reverie, her eyes about to pop from their sockets.
And with opening her eyes again, she saw the red recording light of a
handy cam, pointing at her face. The shock swiped away what little
composure she still had. With a ferocity she never thought possible, the
orgasm flashed through her body like a lightning. Her muscles gave way
and a stream of warm urine washed over the hand, that continued its
stroking motion. "Ohnohh… ohhhhh… nooohhhhhrch…". Her nervous system
approached overload, the knuckles of her fingers pale white, wringing
the cardboard in her hands, saliva dropping from her open mouth. The
camera was only inches from her face, still recording. Her whole body
shook. The fingers around her clitoris exercised the same movement over
and over again and still there was no stop to the stream of warm liquid
escaping her bladder.

The smell of warm urine spread through the wagon.
Viviane was about to collapse, but then her climax subsided and the warm
trickle of urine came to a halt. The eyes of every passenger in the
compartment were set on her. The subway came to a screeching halt. The
doors opened with a hydraulic hiss and passengers poured from the wagon
out into the station. The man with the handy cam had vanished, she
couldn't remember when. Viviane felt the suitcase being torn out between
her weak knees (it must be covered with piss, she thought in a blush of
shame). She didn't have the strength to turn around. Already new
passengers made their way into the wagon when Viviane came to her senses
and pushed her way out of the train. The doors closed behind her, the
train pulled out of the station and gathered speed when she realized,
that from her waist down she was naked. Her skirt – probably soaked as
well – was on it's way to the outskirts of Paris.


To be continued

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