She walked to the wardrobe and drew out her favourite floor length hunter green silk dress. She laid it lovingly on the bed and turned to the chest of drawers, taking out her sexiest black lace wonder-bra and matching g-string panties. She drew out her black lace garter belt and the sheer black silk stockings. She walked over to the edge of the bed, sat down and began to dress herself. She rolled the sheer stocking on, up over her slender calves and felt the sensuous feel of the silk against her smooth skin. She stood up and stepped into the lace garter, clipping the 4 flimsy straps onto the stocking tops. She then pulled on her g-string, taking her time and admiring her look in the mirror. She looked a picture of sex, clad only in black stockings, and garter and g-string, her naked breasts were high and pert, denoted by her tan lines. Their milky white skin just seemed to draw her gaze, and her nipples began to harden again.
She continued dressing, strapping on her wonder-bra and then turned sideways to admire her profile. She liked what she saw and grinned mischievously at her reflection.
“You sexy witch.” she teased at the mirror. She slid into the dress, it fit her long lean body like a second skin, moulding over the flair of her hips and across the twin mounds of her shapely ass. She grinned at herself again, feeling wanton and wicked. She knew she had the looks and charm to snare any man, but the game was always fun and she enjoyed the challenge immensely.
She grabbed up her make bag and headed into the bathroom. Pausing in front of the vanity mirror, she adjusted her hair, first piling it high on her head, then draping down over her shoulder, she laughed aloud and winked at the reflection. She applied the hairbrush and brushed it out, long , down her back, it reached well past her shoulders, her crowning glory. The hair that could make her look as coy as a school girl, or the evil temptress, with just the help of mousse, hair-spray and her ever faithful fashion knowledge. She finished her hair and started on her makeup. She recalled her mothers advice from long ago.
“Less is more.” her mother always said. Her mother had passed on this little gem at the age of 13. Selena had experimented with styles and believed that the heavier the makeup, the more alluring the look. Her mother had been one of England’s top fashion models, reigning on the catwalks of London, Paris and Milan for more than a decade. Her irish roots were especially pronounced in Selena, the natural red hair, the emerald coloured eyes, and the faintest irish brogue, when it suited her, and a temper and sexuality to match it all. She looked at the face in the mirror and her mother smiled back at her. She briefly stifled the tears, then she let go, holding the vanity for support. It had been 6 years since the tragic accident that had taken her mothers life.
Selena composed herself and skilfully applied her make up, she soon was smiling again. She put the finishing touches to her eyes, then applied her lipstick. She was ready, ready for a fabulous meal, a few drinks, a night of dancing then wild sex to round out the evening.
She crossed into the room and slipped on the finishing touch, a pair of spike heel shoes. She twirled in front of the mirror, checking everything was just right. She looked good, well over 6ft tall in her heels, 115 pounds of dynamite with flame red hair. She grabbed the green wrap from the closet and headed out the door into the passageway. She marched toward the first class dining room, stalking the corridor almost, like a cat on the prowl, she was hungry, and for more than just food, She wanted a man.
She swept into the dining room and the Matre’d met her immediately. He led her across the dining room toward a window table, eyes followed her path as she strode confidently behind him. He held her chair while she seated herself and bowed as she dismissed him. He smiled graciously and left her. On his way back toward his post, he raised his hand to his brow and slyly wiped the fine mist of sweat from his forehead. She had that effect on men, it was a combination of her power, money and sexuality, and she used it to her best advantage.
The wine waiter arrived next, dipping low as he offered her the wine list.
“Vodka tall with lemon slice, make sure its Absolut.” she answered before dazzling him with a smile. He left and experienced the same effect the Matre’d had, he was sure the temperature had risen by 10 degrees.
She glanced around the room, scoping out the other occupants. A few hung around the bar, mostly men in their 30’s and 40’s. A crowd of five guys good naturedly shared a joke and laughed a little too loudly and she smiled in their direction. She sensed a friendly reception a little later, after dinner she would join them for a drink and maybe something else.
The waiter arrived with her drink, he placed it in front of her and held his tray nervously while she took a sip.
“Perfect.” she whispered to him. His look of relief was evident as he walked away.
Another waiter appeared at her elbow.
“Would madam care to order?” came the waiters question while proffering her the leather bound menu. She took the menu and scanned it briefly. She pondered briefly before speaking.
“Sirloin, medium rare and a caesar salad, thank you.”
“Very good madam” came the waiters reply as she handed the menu back and he left the table.
She relaxed and sipped her drink, listening to the ambient music of the dining room and the hum of others conversations, everything felt good and she smiled to herself. A waiter arrived with a basket of breadsticks and a selection of crackers and pates, she thanked him and tucked in with gusto. She enjoyed the cold clear tang of the strong vodka and munched on bread and pate till the waiter reappeared with her steak. She cleared away the pate dishes and he placed the meal before her. He withdrew and she tucked into a fine meal. Half way through her steak she motioned the waiter for another vodka.
After finishing the delightful meal, the waiters reappeared and cleared away her dishes and she declined their offer of a desert.
“I’ve got to watch my figure.” she jokingly replied to the waiters question. She rose from the table and taking her glass with her, she strolled towards the bar, heading for the group of guys. She laid on her most dazzling smile and watched them melt before her. They welcomed her to their little clan and introduced themselves.
“Selena Rotheram” she spoke clearly as she proffered her hand to each man in turn, self assuredly. She had always preferred her men older than her 23 years, and she had little time for people her own age, finding them boring and shallow. These guys were charming and fun, laughing and having a good time and she relaxed into their company. They made small talk, with the odd innuendo thrown in, and she gave it back as good as she got. She dazzled them all with her conversation skills and amazed them with her courage when she challenged them to a game of pool at the nearby table.