Cleo slipped in close behind her. Helen murmured that the conference rooms were shielded against electronic bugging. She turned and carefully locked the door.
"Isn't this clever?" she asked, and showed Cleo how at a touch of a button the double bed came down. "We're very proud of our conference rooms. Seems that some people like to confer in bed, heh-heh."
She hardly could manage the leery little laugh, she had gone so tight in the throat with the onset of hot longing. And so wet in the crotch, where the heat concentrated right on the clitoris, that funny little button they call the man in the boat. He was paddling his boat in a boiling sea. Her cunt lips were positively drooling.
Cleo looked at her and Cleo knew.
Cleo only gave her that secret little smile.
Cleo shrugged off the jacket of her unbecoming tailleur.
Helen, viewing the other woman in a lovely low-cut blouse of clinging silk, gasped and without thinking because her wet twat had her so befuddled – said, "Oh, you're not wearing a bra!"
Cleo smiled her secret smile, glanced down at the tight little nips that showed so clearly, glanced up at Helen, winked, and patted the place on the couch beside her.
"I'm glad we're alone together," she murmured. "I've noticed how Wanderlust hostesses parade their breasts, and I really think it has something to do with the airline's success. But I've wondered if I have enough up-front for the lob."
"Oh… yes…" Helen felt a strange shudder run through her as she stared at Cleo's firm, globular boobies. The woman actually had perfect hostess titties. You bent over a man to put his cup of coffee on the little table that comes down into his lap. You thus give him a view down your neckline into the regulation hostess bra that reveals much and hides almost nothing. Then, as you stand up, smiling, you just happen to bump a breast against his shoulder.
Sometimes they tremble so, after that one-two treatment, that they hardly can pick up their cup.
And don't kid yourself. Women look down other women's fronts, too.
As Helen did now while Cleo leaned forward.
And settled back, and said, "Did you notice the little scar on my left breast?"
Helen gulped. "N-no."
"Right here." Cleo opened her blouse till the clinging silk merely hung on her erected nipples, that jutted forth like tiny buds of pink. Helen could see the corollas of puckered delicate flesh above them and knew those corollas went all around, and how it felt to be kissed there, around and around and around and around…
"Warm," she gasped, and slipped out of her uniform jacket.
"Right here," Cleo said again.
Helen saw a tiny white line to one side and above the left nipple.
"Oh, Cleo dear, that's nothing. It… it…"
"My kid brother threw a sharp stick at me when I was thirteen years old."
"Oh, how dreadful. But it doesn't even…"
"I thought it might make a bump in the wrong place. That's why I wear heavy tailleurs."
"But it doesn't!"
Helen watched her own hand go out. It did not seem to belong to her. It had gone entirely beyond her control. Her hand went out, shaking, and with one finger she touched the tiny scar.
"Not a bit of bump. Don't worry, dear. Don't," and her hand slid beneath Cleo's blouse, causing the silk to give up clinging to Cleo's nipple and fall away, revealing the entire lovely breast. "Worry. Dear. Oooh. That feels. So. Smooth. Oh yes. Better check. The other one. Oooh," said Helen, helpless with longing. Softly she rubbed and cupped both breasts, feeling the taut punctuation of the nipples on the palm of either hand.
Cleo had been quite self-possessed, but now, when she spoke, her voice had become unsteady. "I'd love to be a Wanderlust hostess on the same plane with you. To make sure." (Gasp.) "I did everything right."
Cleo's hand came up as unsteadily as Helen's had, and one by one undid the buttons of the uniform blouse and pushed the blouse off Helen's shoulders.
Then the mini-bra opened as Cleo's hand crept around in back and found the snap. The mini-bra hung on Helen's hot, thrusting nipples. She herself slid it away down an arm and dropped it.
Cleo cupped Helen's breasts, joggled them gently. "You're so firm, dear," she murmured.
"I'll show you all the – the pectoral muscle exercises. Not that you need them, dearest girl. Oh, your breasts are so lovely, so lovely…"
Somehow they found themselves standing. They were just of a height. Cleo slid her own hands beneath her breasts and pushed them up and forward.
"I'm not sure, but… I have a feeling that if we…"
She had the right instincts, thought Helen, who lifted her own breasts and held her nipples against Cleo's. They played a delightful game, rubbing their hard nips around and around each other's corollas. It got Helen so hot she went weak in the knees.
Cleo seemed to thrive on it. She had talked of having no experience with lesbian techniques, but she seemed naturally attuned to the arts of ancient Lesbos. Again she did the right thing.
She placed her nips firmly against Helen's quivering nips and she embraced her partner and took her lips in a delicious kiss.
Their tongues met and slid upon each other in the heated spaces of their sex-hungry mouths. They sucked each other's tongues and made little half-smothered cries of passion. Meanwhile they worked at each other's remaining clothing, and almost at the same moment were down to their scanty panties.
The kiss went on while they squirmed their bellies against each other, two sets of silken skin slithering and glissading together, seeming to throw off sparks as they continued their passionate hula.
Meanwhile Helen did not have to tell Cleo to slide her hands beneath her panties and feel and rub and soothe and squeeze the buttocks. Cleo even knew how to make tiny pinches back there. It didn't hurt. It stimulated the undulating waves of torrid need that swept Helen from head to toe.
She got her own hold on Cleo's ass cheeks and felt her partner's ass muscles, which were certainly in good condition, quiver in little spasms of delight.
Cleo murmured, "Darling, you have such a lovely touch. Go – you know – in between."
Slowly, letting her fingernails slightly indent the petal-smooth skin, Helen ran her fingers to the cleft of the buttocks and then pushed between with her forefinger extended.
When she found the tight bumhole she rubbed it very gently. Which Cleo now did to her at the same time, and they began to thrust their bushes together to make one Mount of Venus hit against the other, in a fucking sort of motion.
In their wild delight they collapsed upon the bed.
"I… I'm not sure what to do now, my lover," Cleo whispered into Helen's ear. Then she kissed the ear all over its inside and nipped at the lobe and tongued it. But this is a hot-pash item both with men and women. It worked on Helen and she dived at Cleo's bush, nosed her way between the silken thighs, took one long, salty, sweet, gluppy, delicious, wide-mouthed, hungry suck at the man in the boat, then remembered a technique she had learned in the girls locker room in high school.
Why not make it last? They might have no other chance to get together again, and Helen still had an hour or more left of her off-duty break. And beside, Cleo was so good to taste and so exciting to be tasted by, and so altogether wonderful in her strange, almost little girlish mixture of knowledge and ignorance – but always eager willingness – in the field of sex in which women turn their backs on the prick and the balls and find ways to hotly satisfy each other.
She lifted one of Cleo's feet and kissed the high arch, tongued it ticklishly, then roguishly took it to her own crotch and worked the big toe up and down her cunny. Then she sucked her own juices from the big toe. Not everyone knows the erogenous use of toe-sucking.