I stopped in the anteroom that had been set aside for the attending servants of the high-class patrons. Chatting to a couple of the Prince’s wife’s handmaidens, Petra and Leisl, I was warned that I had better watch myself, as Miss Pearl’s demands were known to be extravagant at times, and I may be fetching a bath full of champagne before the night was out. The smaller of the two, a redhead, laughed out loud as I walked away with the Cognac calling after me, “You be careful Pauli.”

I knocked on the door of the box and entered when I heard Miss Pearl give permission. The box was dark, lit only from the lights on the stage. The opera was in full flow; Don Giovanni was dueling with the Commendatore while singing at the top of his lungs. I placed the tray bearing the cognac and glasses on the cabinet and stood to the side waiting for further instruction.

Miss Pearl was lying back watching the events on stage unfold lightly stroking her pendant, drawing my eyes to her ample bosom. She kept pushing the pendant up and down her cleavage, her little finger trailing over the flesh of her right breast. It seemed that more of her areolae was exposed, her nipple only just beneath the silver trim of her dress. Hands clasped behind my back, I watched her chest rise and fall, wishing that my prick would not respond or that I could at least stroke it.

“I think some champagne, Pauli, if you please.”

Shaken out of my reverie, I popped the cork on the bottle and poured a measure into a flute. Carrying a small table round to her right, I placed the glass beside her. I was unable to help myself from licking my lips as, bent forward beside her, I was less than eighteen inches from the pale flesh of her breasts. I quickly straightened up and went to turn back when I thought I felt the softest of touches run across the bulge in my trousers. Looking down, I saw Miss Pearl picking up the flute of champagne and bringing it to her lips. I hesitated.

She looked up at me, “Is there something wrong Pauli?”

“Oh… no Miss,” I replied and walked away around the back of the couch, giving my cock a stroke through my clothes when behind her, to take up station to her left again. I stood there watching her watching the performance. She idly stroked the pendant and would run a finger across the top of her dress, crossing her areolae, slowing as she did. When she next lifted the glass to her lips a drop of champagne landed on those pale slopes and trickled down towards her cleavage. She looked down and then, using the little finger of her left hand, still shrouded in her lace elbow length gloves, traced the wet line upwards. She then placed the finger in her mouth and sucked it quite slowly, first the tip and gradually the whole finger. When she removed her lace clad finger her tongue flicked briefly out after it.

I was almost in agony from the pressure in my loins. I