Chapter 3

A few outright requested to have their nipples sucked or their pussies eaten. Fear would be in their voice, terrified that they’d made a mistake, that I’d kick them out and have them banished from the boutique, then informing their boss and they’d get fired from their job. To their delight, that never happened, and their pussies were served.

Older women were the bread and butter. The lifeblood of that place. Over the course of a month, I observed almost a hundred business women actually making use of the dressing room perks. I didn’t handle all of them, my co-workers did a lot, but I helped with the heavy lifting. Nipple sucking, pussy eating, body kisses. Patrons would leave with a glowy air about them.

The main thing you need to know about older women is that they like to feel special. Staring into their eyes, telling them how beautiful they are, caressing their skin. It’s part of the experience they want. Even the most prominent women in business needed their fix of affection in the dressing room. And I gave that to them.

I remember feeling like the cycle was complete when Tania Montgomery returned to the boutique with her three young employees, who all landed full-time jobs working for her. Tania went into a back room to receive special service from my boss, while I once again tended to the three young women. Their demeanor was different. They dressed sharper and had more confidence. In addition to being diligent young financial workers, they also learned to be skilled pussy eaters.

They waited in the dressing room with their hot coffee while I selected a wardrobe of coats and sweaters, hanging them on a rack and wheeling them to the private space. They were delighted to see me and I knew why. In the office they ate pussy. But in the boutique, my job was customer service.

Unlike our first meeting, this time they had the courage to strip in front of each other, down to their bras and panties, barefoot on the carpet. I helped them dress and we talked like friends catching up. They modeled in front of the mirrors, giggled, taking advantage of the fact that everything would be paid for on the company dime.

There was another perk they were interested in taking advantage of.

“So… since we’re spending a lot of money here… do we get anything?”

The girls were wide-eyed at the prospect of service. One was fully dressed in a new coat, another was partially dressed, and one stood in her bra and panties.

“Whatever you’d like,” I said. “My job is to cater to your needs.”

Part of me hoped they wouldn’t push any further, because being around the same age as them, and being new in our respective industries, I saw them as peers. In another life we could have all been friends, going to the mall together and grabbing lunch and sweet drinks. I guess they saw me as a friend also, but one who gave benefits.

All three of them went bottomless sitting at different spots in the room. Two shared a couch while the other used a stool. It was my job to kneel for them and perform the task I was trained for. It was my first time handling more than one pussy at a time, which was a different kind of challenge.

Each girl tasted different. Pussy is pussy, as I’ve come to learn, but the flavors are unique, which includes sweetness. When I put my tongue inside, I felt the difference in their tightness. When I made them cum, their bodies reacted differently, some trembled and breathed harder, one was more vocal with a relaxed body.

Seeing them at the front desk and processing their payments was a different kind of awkward, as you can imagine. They were still acting friendly, but I became submissive to them since I had made them all cum together. Before finalizing the bill, they each bought erotic undergarments, like crotchless panties and see-through bras, and had them bowtie wrapped as gifts. For whom? I don’t know. Maybe for other lovers they had or those in their office circle. I never saw them again, so that will always remain a mystery.

Two nights later Agent Esparza showed up at my apartment. It was late in the night and I was dressed only in a large tshirt with nothing underneath, my hair messy from getting out of bed. That didn’t concern him the slightest. Unlike our previous interactions, he had a defeated look on his face when he closed the door.

“I wanted to tell you this in person,” he said. “We’re pulling the plug. Higher-ups in Washington know about the spy ring and I was told to leave it alone. It’s above my pay grade.”

That was the biggest gut punch of my life.

“After all that sacrifice?”

“Welcome to being an agent. Win some, lose some, you get paid either way.”

“Like that. It’s over.”

Everything felt like a blur, though I remember crying and him sitting next to me on the couch and consoling me, having no idea what was wrong. That was so on brand, I thought, because even though he put me in that position, he was baffled at my current state.

When I calmed down I told him everything I’d done in the dressing room. Not in explicit detail, but I told him that I’d been on my knees for business women who walked through those doors. It shocked him, but not totally. He wasn’t sure if I’d gone that far. But I did and it forever changed me. To this day, I don’t think Agent Esparza knows that I still fantasize about it.

I quit my boutique job the next afternoon. Although I didn’t have to, and probably shouldn’t have, I expressed my gratitude to Madame Isabelle for the grace she showed me, for teaching me and giving me valuable life experience. Without verbally saying it, I thanked her for the sexual experiences as well.

That was during lunch break and she didn’t show any emotion. I was nervous. Really nervous. For some reason my hands trembled and I had to clasp them together. Being face to face with a woman like her and explaining myself was daunting, but again, I felt I owed that to her. I didn’t tell her that I was an FBI agent but I wondered if she was suspicious.

“Come with me to the dressing room.”

I followed her and she made a stop at her office, grabbing a small box from the drawer of her desk, then we went to an open dressing room and she closed the door. Nerves got the better of me. It was a real possibility that she might try to kill me, that perhaps she’d suspected for a while, or an intelligence contact tipped her off.

The opposite happened and she pinned me against the wall and got down on her knees. She got down in a dignified way, not wanting to be submissive, but nonetheless taking a submissive posture, and she ate me out. I could barely look at her while her tongue probed with force. Perhaps she did this on purpose, but I was facing the three full-length mirrors and watched myself being eaten. It was the first time I’d ever seen myself while getting a sexual act.

When I came, she swallowed every drop, then she spun me around and did the same thing with my ass. Another first. Her tongue was once again a probing force and it felt so crude that I wanted to stop her. Her tongue swirled as she held my butt cheeks open.

I learned what was inside that box she brought from her office. There was a waist-strap along with a 6-inch blue colored dildo. She pieced everything together like a secret agent assembling a gun. It was the reason she ate my ass. Lube. Women like Madame Isabelle don’t just let valued employees leave on a whim, they have to exert their final level of control. And the truth was, we both got something out of that. I got a final experience at her hands. She got to finally have me, instead of loaning me out to other women.

When the act was done, she calmly put everything back in the box and got dressed. She didn’t say a word. It was like she was upset about losing me.

As the workday closed and the employees left, Madame Isabelle touched my shoulder in the showroom area. She handed me a wrapped package with a bowtie on it.

“You deserve this,” she said.

The box was the same size and shape as the strap-on box she used earlier.

“Why are you giving it to me?”

“I like the thought of you using it on yourself. In that same sensitive area of your body. And maybe, as your confidence grows, you’ll use it on other women. I like paying it forward.”

When I got back to my apartment where all my stuff was packed, I opened her gift, and there it was, the object she used on me. Shiny and clean. Not the cheap stuff you’d find in a sleazy store, but something of value. My first reaction was to throw it away. But how could I? I ended up keeping it as a souvenir.

So that’s my story. The period which shaped my sexuality and career.

My office is a few miles away from Quantico and I teach a surveillance course for trainees. As it turns out, Agent Esparza was right, the skills I learned were valuable to my career. Madame Isabelle was also right about something, I keep her gift box in the drawer of my desk. I use it on myself sometimes in my office, when the stress of an active investigation gets too high.

I’ve developed a penchant for older women. There’s someone who works a few floors above me, a female agent in her late 50’s who enjoys being strapped in the bathroom. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that older women need special care.

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