Thanks for reading! The rest of this novella (The Woman in Red: A Foreign Liaison in Vienna) is FREE on Kindle today and tomorrow! The follow-up The Woman in Red: A Thickening Predicament is out today! The third segment drops on February 11 :)

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I uncharacteristically woke up late that morning. I had one of those nights the evening before where I was too horny to sleep. I pulled up a video and pulled out my toy. It wasn’t human contact, but at least I knew how to get the job done. Still, I didn’t get as much sleep as I would have liked and had hit the snooze button a few times too many times. 

Come on, Jessa, I told myself. 

I looked at my watch, jumped out of bed, and rushed to the bathroom. Looking at myself in the mirror, I tucked my blonde hair behind my ears to assess my face. My skin was radiant, without a hint of the dark circles I had expected to see under my eyes. I turned on a hot shower and slipped my nightgown off before sliding in. I let the steaming water envelope me, turning my skin red. My clit gently throbbed in response to the heat and I knew that I was in a bad space. I needed to get laid. In the meantime, I would have to ignore what my body was telling me it wanted and carry on with my busy work day. 

Out of the shower, I wrapped the towel tight around the curve in my hips and clipped my long hair in anticipation of the rest of my morning routine. 

I stepped out of my apartment less than ten minutes later, having spun my hair back into a low bun, and in a quickly thrown together outfit, a light blue shift dress, navy cardigan, and nude heels. Just as I was about to press the button for the elevator, the doors opened and two gruff men carrying an ottoman stumbled out toward me. 

Another new neighbor. Great. 

I had been in Vienna, Austria for a year at that point and already had four different neighbors in that unit alone. One Austrian couple hosted loud parties. Later, a large English family with young kids tested my patience with the thin walls. It frustrated me, to say the least, but then again, who was I to talk? I moved to a different country every couple of years because of my job. I was usually the new neighbor. I decided on the elevator ride down that I should try to be more friendly. 

On the sidewalk, I felt a hint of the upcoming fall season. I checked the time. Even though my first meeting of the day was approaching, I had already prepped for it and knew I needed one thing more than time to gather my thoughts at my desk. I beelined for the coffee shop halfway between my apartment and my work. 

I felt confident about my decision until I joined the slow-moving queue for iced lattes and espressos. It wasn’t normally this crowded, with locals opting for the slower cafe culture offered by the shop across the street. 

I stared ahead at the people ordering. German tickled my ears; I tried to pick out words I overheard to test my vocabulary skills in the language. I took a deep inhale of the intoxicating smell of fresh coffee grounds. A warm vanilla scent also reached my nose and, when the woman wearing a red blazer in front of me shifted her stance and threw her medium-length, black hair behind her shoulder, I realized it was coming from her. The two smells commingling were heavenly and seemed to put my nerves at ease. I leaned a little closer to her, almost subconsciously. 

I walked through the upcoming meeting in my head: the agenda, the tasks that would need to be assigned, the debate about where to place our organizational focus during this period of tumult as a new administration was likely to start in January. Of course, I’d be the only woman in the room. 

The line moved forward and I found myself focusing on the woman in red instead of the cashier. I could see her typing a message on her phone, her dainty wrists exposed as her slender thumbs tapped gently on her screen. Her nails were short and manicured. Her left wrist held a single gold bracelet. 

She switched to using her right pointer finger, softly scrolling up with long, but light movements until she found herself at the front of the line and able to order. When she put her phone back into her bag, I jolted awake from the hypnosis of watching her hands. What was wrong with me? It had been a while, I guess. I thought back to the night before—the unfulfilling attempts to excite myself and the lack of spark when I first touched my own clit. 

The woman in red grabbed her cup of coffee and walked to the side. I stepped forward, feeling the rush of being late, when the woman suddenly pivoted around in my direction and bumped into my left arm. A small splash of coffee came out of the lid and, with my cardigan sleeves pushed up, stung my exposed forearm. Burning hot coffee.    

“Ah!” I yelped in an automatic response to the heat.  

“Oh my god! I am so sorry!” she said in German. She set her coffee down and grabbed napkins from a dispenser by the register. The coffee dripped down my wrist. I held my arm outward in an attempt to save my clothes from my arm’s fate. She turned back toward me, leaning down slightly to cradle my arm in her hand and hold napkins against my skin. The black tank top she wore under her blazer fell from her skin as she leaned down and I saw her tan bra underneath, showing an outline of her small breasts and thick, hard nipples. Fuck. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” she said, in German again, straightening and turning her gaze from my arm to my eyes. The woman in red was beautiful. She was Asian, with a youthful, round face, pink button lips, and huge, brown eyes. She looked at me with her brow furrowed in concern. I felt her hand gripping my arm gently. I breathed in vanilla. 

“I’m fine,” I replied, also using German and trying to look nonchalant about what just occurred. My German wasn’t great in crisis and, in a flustered moment, I switched to English. “I was just surprised is all.”

“Are you burned?” she asked, immediately switching over into perfect English. She removed the napkins from my skin and, leaning down again, gently ran the back of her left hand down my inner forearm, assessing the aftermath. Her tank top opened up again and I thought about slipping my hand down to massage her…

“I’m fine, really,” I said. 

“Would you like to order?” the unimpressed barista asked in German, grabbing my attention away. 

“Sorry, just a large iced latte and two kipferl,” I responded, asking for caffeine and small Viennese rolls in my obviously American-accented German. This was one of the few places that served coffee like back home. I wanted to stay on their good side. 

“I got it,” the woman in red said gently, looking at me with worried eyes. When I insisted that wasn’t necessary, she placed her hand on my arm, as if to stop me from reaching into my bag, and handed her card over to pay. 

She stood by me as I waited for my drink and rolls, checking on my arm a couple of times. When I had my order in hand, she walked with me out of the door, keeping her hand on the small of my back as we made our way through the throng of coffee seekers. Once outside, we stopped and turned toward each other. Instead of letting her hand fall back to her side as we faced each other, she let it snake around my back to the curve in my hip, where it stayed hovering as she asked me again if I would be okay. 

“Really, don’t worry. Thank you for paying. That’s really sweet,” I reassured her. 

For a moment, as I spoke, she let the weight of her hand come down on the top of my hip bone. Something radiated throughout my body. I wanted to be grabbed. Pulled. Squeezed. 

But, too quickly, her hand floated upward. She rubbed my upper arm and told me to have a good day. 

“You’re sweet,” she added, smirking. Her doe eyes smiled, too.

 She turned and walked away, her black heels clicking as her bright red silhouette disappeared into the morning rush.

***

At work, I headed straight to my first meeting after making it through two rounds of security and picking up my government-approved laptop at my desk. The meeting that day was led by the U.S. Embassy’s top security official, Alden, a former Marine with side-swept chestnut hair and a thick seven-inch cock. That cock, at times, could be found fucking me from behind as I bent over in a bathroom or walk-in closet at this or that diplomatic party. The sex was quick and good and the little secret made me enjoy meetings a bit more, but it was never going to be something regular. He got around and I was unimpressed with his lack of focus on my pleasure. His dick could do a lot, but not everything. 

Still, I imagined walking to the front and pushing him down onto the table. I’d undo his belt, unzip his pants, and hike my dress up to crawl on top of the table and take him into my mouth. I loved feeling it grow as I sucked and gagged on his pulsating penis. It would certainly make for a more interesting meeting; no one could argue with that. 

My job at the embassy sounded interesting—intelligence officer. The layman might say spy, but I wasn’t really that. I was looking for people to spy on behalf of my country. It was secretive and adrenaline-filled, but the day-to-day had its monotony like any other job. I just went through the motions in different countries around the world, this time Vienna. 

It wasn’t that I didn’t like it; the career had its exciting moments and I often met interesting people. Plus, living around the world was a constant thrill. Sleeping with new people around the world was thrilling as well, but there was always a part of me that wanted to just live in one place and be more stable, with my location and even with a romantic partner—someone to do life with. Someone to be with. To share and chase dream with. To get me off. To know how to get me off. 

For me, that person could be a man or a woman. I was bisexual, even though I had limited experience with women. It never felt so urgent in my twenties, but now, at thirty, sometimes moving to countries where those relationships were not encouraged or even hidden, I found myself missing a woman’s touch. The softness of her skin and the wetness between her legs. It had been years now and sometimes I wondered if I would ever experience being with a woman again. 

I took opportunities as they came my way and, usually, they were unexpected, like Alden banging me as the sound of a party echoed through the door. Or like the French guy I met in Indonesia who ushered me into my first threesome with his male best friend. Or the British diplomat I dated in Argentina who almost made me feel like we might drop it all and make a life for ourselves in the British countryside. 

The other layer to all this was that those at my job were very concerned with my dating life, too. I was a target for other countries’ intelligence. I had to have anything that was more than one night with any non-American approved by my higher ups, meaning I had to divulge my sex life to colleagues at work. Awkward. 

As the meeting concluded and Alden winked at me, I told myself that Vienna might be the last go-around. I could always quit and find the life that I wanted, if I could just sort out exactly what that might be. I held onto this thought in each assigned country, promising myself that I could leave if things felt desperate. Having that in my back pocket usually helped me push forward in my public service and moves abroad. 

***

That evening, I stopped by a popular sushi spot to grab take-out rolls and sake for an evening watching TV at home. By the time I walked into my building, the light was just starting to fade away. I dreaded the early-sunset afternoons we would soon be experiencing. 

I waved at the desk attendant and pushed the elevator’s up button. 

Ding! 

I stepped in and, as the doors closed, I sighed, exhaling the day out through my mouth. I was ready to relax. I leaned back against the railing and looked down, letting my thoughts wander. 

The elevator, on its way to the eleventh floor, stopped at the fourth floor and someone clicked-clacked onto the elevator. I kept my eyes down. The doors closed and the familiar butterfly feeling of ascent hit my stomach until, several seconds into the ride, the elevator suddenly jerked to a stop without reason. 

I grabbed the railing and looked up at my fellow rider. I saw red. 

“Hi, it’s you again,” she said in English. 

It was the woman in the red. 

“Oh my god, hi…,” I said with confusion and surprise. “What do you think happened to the elevator?” I asked. 

She looked over at the panel of buttons. 

“I have no idea,” she said under her breath while reaching out to press the emergency assistance button. 

A few beeps sounded before a voice came over an intercom. The woman in red explained the situation and, after some back and forth, the operator told us a technician was on the way. 

“It could be an hour or more, though. Is anyone in duress?” they asked in German. 

The woman in red looked my way and responded in German, “There’s two of us. We’re fine.” 

A click seemed to indicate that the line was cut. I set my takeout down and leaned back against the rail. 

“I guess we should make ourselves comfortable,” she said, sitting down on the floor with her legs outstretched and crossed. 

I slowly and awkwardly followed suit, trying to get into a sitting position while keeping my dress covering me.

The woman stood up, took off her blazer, and carefully wrapped it around the camera hanging from the corner of the elevator. 

She turned back toward me. “Don’t worry, they can’t see,” she said. And added, with a smirk, “And I don’t mind.” 

She ran her fingers through her dark hair and leaned back against the wall as I finally maneuvered myself into a similar position as her, my legs outstretched and crossed. Our feet brushed up against each other’s—hard to avoid in such a small elevator. 

We both sat in silence for a moment, looking around at our captive environment. We met eyes and held each other’s gaze for a bit. I had just met her, but already her face, her eyes, had some sort of hold on me. Her left cheek had a mole right in the middle. Her skin was radiant and taut and her deep, brown eyes burned into me, like the coffee she spilt on me just that morning. She kept her focus on me, unafraid of our silence. 

I cleared my throat after some seconds and grabbed the bag of sushi and sake. I held it up.  

“Dinner?” I asked. 

***

Over two shrimp-avocado rolls, I learned more about the woman in red, or May. We talked about life along the Danube and life back home. I told her about my Upper Michigan upbringing, the snow and the simplicity. It was a cover story, but not a hard one to romanticize convincingly. May told me about growing up in Macau, near the water and under a mix of Chinese and Portuguese influences. 

She was here on business for a clothing manufacturer out of Hong Kong, she said. They targeted the European market as a growth opportunity and she was in Vienna to seal deals. I told her my normal story, that I was working in management for the Embassy, overseeing performance reviews and real estate for the diplomatic housing pool. That usually was so boring to discourage further questions, but she was interested in my life, how Vienna compared to other places I had lived and where I could see myself ending up one day. The conversation felt so seamless and comfortable, even if my side was mostly lies. 

After she took her last bite, she moved to my side before leaning across me to grab the sake bottle sticking out of the bag. When she did, I felt her body press against my shoulder and upper chest. Her hair was inches from my face. I quietly breathed in the vanilla scent. 

“Shall we?” she asked, leaning back against the wall, letting her arm brush mine. 

She scared me. She seemed unafraid. Bold. I was nervous, a trait my bisexuality brought forth from deep within. Maybe I was misconstruing the way she was acting.  

“Do you think it’ll be much longer?” I asked, avoiding eye contact in a moment of embarrassing thoughts. 

She glanced at her phone.  “At least thirty minutes,” she said. 

Without waiting, she twisted the sake’s cap to snap it open. She held the bottle out to me. 

“You don’t mind sharing one bottle?” I asked. 

She shuffled an inch closer to me, making our arms no longer brush against each other, but be fully against each other. She turned toward me. It felt as if I could feel her breath on my neck. 

“Not at all, Jessa,” she said, emphasizing my name. 

My heart raced.

I reached out to take the bottle from her, our hands touching during the transfer. I leaned my head back and gulped a large amount of the smooth liquor. It instantly unlocked a greater sense of ease within me. Thank god for alcohol, I thought. 

“I’m impressed,” she said, with a coy smile on her face. She took the bottle from my hand and followed my lead. 

After her shot, she paused before taking another swig. She handed the bottle to me right after. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, letting out a slight cough. “Your turn.”

“The technician is going to think we’re crazy,” I said under my breath, uncrossing my legs and sitting up a bit straighter before opening my throat to take another gulp. 

May laughed, leaned over, and gently nudged me with her shoulder.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked. 

“Yeah,” I said, turning slightly to the side to face her, but trying not to look at her straight on—we’d be too close. 

“You took my breath away the moment I saw you today,” she said. 

I laughed nervously. 

“I’m sure you were worried about how I’d react to the spill,” I said, brushing off her comment. She’s not flirting. I’m making it up.

She studied my face then said, “I was panicked you would just walk away.” 

She came closer to me and laid her hand on my right leg, spreading her fingers out along my inner thigh. She squeezed. I instinctively widened the space between my two legs and took a deep breath in. 

“Is this okay?” she whispered in my ear. 

Still not turning to her, I said, “Yes.” 

My stomach flipped. I was anxious, but wanting of her touch. She seemed to know it. She was leading me into my own desire.

May’s face was against my ear. I could hear and feel her breathing as she ran her fingers upward along my leg. My breath was short and I could feel myself getting wetter. As her fingers reached the top of my right inner thigh, she led her pointer finger down toward the side of my underwear, near my ass, and traced the edge upward. 

She was so close. 

She swiped her lips across my neck as she moved her finger to my left inner thigh, tracing the same deliberate path on the other side. I thought back to watching her scroll on her phone at the coffee shop. I hadn’t even seen her face yet, but her hands mesmerized me. I slightly squirmed, needing her more. 

She picked up her finger and pressed on my asshole through my underwear, dragging her finger up along my slit until almost reaching my clit. She stopped. Hand back to inner thigh. 

“You’re warm,” she whispered. “And soaked. I bet you feel so good.” 

I turned toward her finally. 

She sat up and guided my face toward hers, with her left hand cupping my chin. Our lips met, both pairs supple and open. Her tongue stroked mine and I felt like we could melt into each other. 

As we kissed, her right hand gently tugged at my right thigh. I responded by opening my legs up even more. My hands sat dumbly at my sides, frozen. She squeezed my thigh once before cradling my vagina and pressing up, putting pressure against my clit while she did so. 

I let out a moan.

She got up on her knees and tossed her hair behind her. 

“Come down,” she uttered, wrapping her arms through my legs and leading me down to my back, legs spread before her. 

She looped her fingers through each side of my underwear and wiggled them downward until I was there, exposed before her, in the elevator. 

She crawled over me and came down, face-to-face, to kiss me.

I set my hands on both of her hips, but she led one up her shirt and underneath her bra. Her breast fit perfectly in my hand and her nipple pushed against my palm. I squeezed my hand, feeling her fill my grasp, and moaned. I could probably make myself come by just doing this—it had been so long. 

She unlocked our lips to lick my neck, letting me focus on her tits. I led my other hand up, massaging, before taking her nipples between my fingers and thumbs and squeezing them. She moaned, running one of her hands through my hair and pulling slightly, moving me where she wanted me to go. I had a conscious thought of not believing the moment I was in. 

She let up with a sense of urgency and moved down my torso, nibbling me as she headed downward. By the time I could feel her breath against my wet pussy, I thought there must be a pool of liquid on the elevator floor around my opening. My heartbeat pulsed throughout my vascular system. 

She gave me head the same way she fingered me, teasing me from side to side, without rushing. I shuddered when her tongue hit my opening and trailed up. Closer and closer. My breathing deepened. I could feel my breasts heaving. I was panting. 

Feeling her tongue hit my clit in a strong, upward motion sent my head backward. My body heaved into her, wanting more. She wrapped her arms around me and licked long and wide against my clit. Over and over. 

Just as I had acclimated to that pacing, she slid her tongue sideways, popping my clit back and forth. I shuddered. It was almost too much. Right in time, she went back to gentle, long licks, before keeping the pressure but hastening the pace. She reached one arm up along my stomach, under my dress and bra, and took as much of a handful of my large breast as she could. She squeezed hard and I moaned. I wanted her to take control of me entirely. I had just met this person, but it didn’t feel like it. And it didn’t matter. 

She kept the pace going and my legs shook. I didn’t often reach this point with men, who would generally give up much earlier, commenting about a sore tongue or my lengthy time to orgasm. But the woman in red didn’t seem bothered by it—she reveled in it. I opened up, grinding myself up and down. A familiar feeling came over me before my body hardened. I put my knuckles in my mouth to try to stifle the noise. 

I orgasmed on the elevator floor. 

I drank in air as I came to my senses. May got on her knees and slipped my underwear back on. She pulled me up until I was on my knees, too. We looked at each other and kissed, wrapping our arms around each other until I brought one hand up along her upper back to run my fingers through her hair. It was one of my favorite things—gently caressing a woman’s hair felt so intimate. 

Suddenly, the elevator lurched to life. We both squealed as we stood up and grabbed each other, looking at the door and bursting into a fit of giggles. I smoothed the wrinkles out of my dress and she picked up the trash from our meal. 

A click. 

“Hello, it’s the operator. The technician says it should be working now. Our apologies!”    

We passed the fifth, sixth, and seventh floors. We smiled at each other as we transitioned back to reality. 

When the elevator slowed at the eleventh floor, I turned to May. 

I tucked my hair behind my ear. 

“Well, this is my floor. I hope you have a good night,” I said, unsure of what else to add after what we had just done. 

“This is my floor, too,” she said, grabbing her blazer from the camera and putting it back over her tank top. “I’m just moving in.”

I tried to hide the shock from my face.  

We stepped off and walked to our respective doors right beside each other. 

“Have a good night, neighbor,” she said, glancing over at me from her door. 

I turned my key and blushed. “You too.” 

***

Inside, I set my things down and stripped by the door. I went straight to bed. I slipped in and touched my wet pussy, my clit still pulsating from her expert touch. I put hard and consistent pressure against it again as I writhed against my sheets and squeezed my own breast in ecstasy. I thought about licking her. About squeezing her ass. About bending over to expose my little cunt to her, letting her do whatever she wants with it. Fuck. I came again. Waves came over me. 

As my breathing stabilized and my heart rate slowed, I sat up in bed with racing thoughts. 

It was perfect: the way we met, our touching at the coffee shop, her top hanging down for me to see, our unexpected second meeting, the elevator malfunctioning, her directness, how she took charge and gave me exactly what I wanted, and how she happened to live right next door.

I put the covers over my head and groaned. An intelligent officer never assumes privacy. 

It was too perfect. 

Anyone in my position knew that unexpected attention from strangers should be met with cautionary skepticism. We held information that people wanted from us. While looking after our own assets abroad, we had to be careful not to become one ourselves. 

I walked myself back. Maybe I’m wrong. I mean, I didn’t scream ‘into women,’ but some women had certainly picked up on my inclination before. It wasn’t impossible. Given where she was from, and considering the animosity between our respective countries, I had to be extremely careful to follow protocol. 

Anything more than one night… 

If she was who I thought she might be, she would find more ways for us to coincidentally bump into each other and get closer. One more run in like the elevator and I would submit a report on her at work. If they approved, I could continue. If not, it couldn’t. Simple. 

I turned in bed and thought about her flicking my clit with her tongue. God—it was so good. 

What if they said no? I fretted over the possibility of losing someone I had just met. 

Anything more than one night…

I sat up. 

I could test the situation that night. If anything happened, I would technically not be breaking any rule yet. 

I jumped up and showered off quickly. I dressed in a beige pajama set with a thong underneath. The pants hugged my ass and the thin, long sleeve shirt stretched across my breasts. I threw my hair up and put a little makeup on before grabbing my laundry bag. 

I would go to the laundry room and see if we bump into each other. It was information to help me decide what to do next, I told myself. I grabbed my keys on the way to the door and opened it to find May standing in my doorway in a gray tee and black pants, with a wine bottle in one hand and a tote in the other.  

“Hey,” she said. “Sorry to come around so soon, I just wanted to make sure you were okay with everything that happened earlier.” 

She didn’t look too worried. She looked sultry. She looked empowered. 

In my mind, I knew what I would have to do at work the next day. And I knew this might be my last chance with her. A confidence overtook me. I pictured what I was about to do all night long if I could. My pussy throbbed and dripped. 

I brought my hand to her elbow and trailed my fingers down her inner arm until we were holding hands. 

“Can you come fuck me again?” I asked innocently. 

Her eyes lit up and she squeezed my hand. 

May looked at me for a second longer, keeping a strong grip on my hand. 

“Get inside,” she said with authority. 

“Yes,” I obliged.