Chapter 11

For the next four months, Agi, shared my life, more or less. She had, by no means forgotten her humble beginnings, but she said that the life she

had with me, grounded her, and gave her a sense of proportion.

She said that she liked the “simplicity and comparative calm” of my lifestyle.

It was an essential escape, she said, from the hectic and manic way of living that she was used to. As she put it poetically, “a calm haven in an ocean of storms”.

I had asked her once, if Richard’s life was just as “simple and calm” as mine.

She looked at me as if I had asked her to run a marathon.

‘Of course bebby, but I can’t fuck Richard can I?’

That was very true, and I couldn’t argue with it.

So that, in a very big nutshell, is how I came to be in a relationship with one of the world’s top, and sexiest models. And how I now find myself on a camping trip with her. Agi had grown increasingly uncomfortable about the wig, glasses and flat shoes that I insisted she wear. Sometimes, like today, she would refuse to wear it, even though I insisted. Occasionally, she needed

that recognition and adulation.

Also, it’s how I found myself standing in a shower block, with at least four women who were just feet away from the famous, wonderful Bailey, without realising it. I felt rather smug, that I DID know it.

The stall two down from Agi’s was empty, and I slipped in and had my shower. I hurried, so that I didn’t finish before her. I didn’t want her standing around waiting for me and perhaps being recognised. She had a habit of automatically adopting a photographic pose.

I finished and dried off, before waiting, and waiting for Agi to emerge. She always took ages to shower, but she was a bit quicker when it was with me, fortunately, most of the time. I moved things along a bit quicker and got the job done.

Finally, she came out, looking gorgeous in her silk dressing gown, her wig and glasses in place. Happily, there was only one other woman present, a doddery old girl who probably wouldn’t even recognise herself in a mirror, never mind a supermodel.

Agi gave me a peck on the cheek, completely unnoticed by the octogenarian. ‘OK bebby, I’m ready.’

We walked back to the mansion/tent and dived inside. We dumped our stuff, well at least arranged the towels so that they would dry, and set about planning our day ahead. I was relieved that no one had made a definite identification, she had got by unmolested by fans. Agi, however was slightly peeved.

The next order of the day, was food. The restaurant here, was first class. Linen table clothes, fine tableware, waiter service, it had the lot.

This time, I naggged her, pleaded with her and generally bullied her in to agreeing to wear the wig and stuff. Agi also agreed to tone down the haute couture a bit. A nice pair of blue slacks and a round necked white jumper was good enough for breakfast, I assured her. But her boobs did push out the front of her tight sweater rather fetchingly, it was bound to cause stares, amongst the men at least. No matter how she dressed, or undressed, Agi was always very fanciable. A blessing and a curse. For me, black leggings under a shortish grey skirt and a pink cardigan. Next to Agi, I still looked like a bag lady.

We got in to the restaurant and took our seats, and a waitress immediately attended to us. No recognition so far, just a few gawping men. Par for the course. We ordered breakfast. Cereal, toast and a full English for me, and toast and a glass of water for Agi. I had become used to her bird-like meals, her weight and figure were her fortune. Mine were a burden. But on the other hand, she said that she liked a little meat on a girl. I was both flattered and offended.

It wasn’t long in to the meal, that I felt Agi’s bare foot wiggle its way between my thighs. This woman just would not stop, but I never complained, why would I? She was paying me huge compliment, one that said, “I, Bailey, find you, Pamela Wilkins, irresistible.” That suited me fine.

I shifted on my chair so that I was sitting on the edge. Agi pressed her toes against the crotch of my leggings. I looked across at her and she had that devilish smile. She really enjoyed making things awkward for me, but truth be told, I enjoyed it just as much as she did. Nevertheless, I made sure that I conveyed just enough annoyance at such behaviour. It didn’t stop her though, it just made her worse. Whether it was feeling my bum in a queue, or like now, sticking her foot up my skirt and rubbing my fanny, Agi just would not leave me alone. And I loved it.

The pressure on my pussy increased, her foot was now hard against my clit and rubbing it. I stared across the table at her, the wig, and the glasses did not hide the fact that it was Bailey that was masturbating me under the table.

Happily, the table cloth overhung the table sufficiently to hide the lewd proceedings going on underneath

She nodded at the plate of food in front of me.’Is that nice bebby?’ She wasn’t referring to the bacon and eggs, she meant the fanny rub that she was giving me. I had a knife and fork in my hands, but all attempts at eating my breakfast had been thwarted by Agi’s foot, deliciously grinding against my clit. I opened my legs wider and just sat there letting her rub me.

I nodded and whispered. ‘Yes, it’s lovely, thank you.’ Her smile broadened. She knew my weakness, and she played on it.

It all became a little, “When Harry Met Sally” and I was Meg Ryan. I wasn’t going to start shrieking and screaming, and I doubted if anyone was going to say, “I’ll have what she’s having”, but it was beginning to feel very, very nice under that table. It became impossible to hold the rising blissful sensations back, my rapidly growing orgasm demanded release. I gripped the cutlery tightly in my hands and closed my eyes, as a most wonderful climax billowed up from my crotch and rippled through my body. The naughtiness of the location had created a huge boost in my level of arousal and excitement.

Whereas Meg Ryan had been faking it, I most certainly was not.

I opened my eyes, and miraculously, nobody was staring at me in horror.

I took a moment to gather myself. The sudden surge of orgasm, had caught me off-guard, I had wet my knickers. Not a full pee, just a dribble, but enough to make my gusset feel damp, and uncomfortable.