face. For the entire trip Brigitte wondered over and over if this man could accept her life as it was. He seemed so sensitive to beautiful things and refined manners, to a womanâs softness and delicateness; he would no doubt be horrified to learn where she was going and what she would be doing for the rest of the evening.
* * *
She arrived at her workplace with only a few minutes to spare and hurried to get ready for her first number. She could not stop thinking of Vincent, the softness of his lips, the heat of his kisses. As if floating on a cloud she got up on stage and started her first dance. The bar was crowded with Mexicans and, most of all, with American tourists and businessmen. It was quite a chic place, and the clientele was decidedly upscale. Brigitte had been told that the customers rarely got out of hand or made trouble, so she felt completely secure. She stepped forward on the stage, wearing a sequined bra and a matching g-string, perched on stiletto heels. Her graceful body started to move to the rhythm of the music. Gradually, she transformed herself into the goddess she became each time she got on stage for the pleasure of her audience.
Her movements became more and more languid, as if her body were there only to be admired and desired by the spectators. The audience was attentive to her every move; each man looked at her with a certain glimmer in his eye. She asked only to be possessed, devoured. Her long legs seemed to go on forever; her open thighs displayed her almost totally shaven blonde bush. She finally took off her top, letting her long hair caress her back and tickle her breasts deliciously.
All she could think of was Vincent. She wanted him there admiring her. For all the men who were looking at her now she was nothing but a dream. They faded into nothingness next to Vincent. She imagined his hands running over her body, massaging her ample breasts, spreading her thighs to discover her hot pussy that longed only for him.
At the end of the number Brigitte hurried off stage, as if waking up from a dream. She fled to the bathroom. Her breath came in gasps; she could not help but think of Vincent. Her dance had made her very excited, the many eyes on her firing her desire. Reaching down between her legs she caressed her damp sex, and in only a few seconds came with a long sigh.
* * *
The next morning she went to the terrace at ten. Vincent was already waiting for her with a glass of orange juice in front of him. He got to his feet, his face lighting up with his incomparable smile. Brigitte did not look quite so fresh. She had slept badly, dreaming about Vincent, his body next to her in bed, then on her, and in her. She had almost broken a record for masturbation and had to force herself to stop, more frustrated than ever. But now, seeing him there in all his magnificence in the bright morning sun, her good mood instantly returned. Fearing she might be ill at ease after the way they had separated the night before, Vincent was determined to reaffirm his intentions. He did not even give her time to sit down, but took her in his arms and kissed her with as much conviction as the day before. All she wanted was to suggest they go have breakfast in his room, but something prevented her. He seemed to emanate a deep respect that would not allow things to be hurried between them.
They ate in near silence; their smiles spoke volumes about how they were both feeling. After a bountiful meal they decided to head for the inviting beach. Vincent knew how to do everything. He introduced her to the joys of undersea diving, sailing, and parachuting. He seemed to have a natural aptitude for everything physical. Brigitte pondered about this aptitude, impatient to see just how far it went. But indeed, Vincent seemed to be in no hurry. She would have liked to suggest a little afternoon nap, but again held herself back. If he wanted to make her wait, why shouldnât she do the same?
They went swimming,
* * *
She arrived at her workplace with only a few minutes to spare and hurried to get ready for her first number. She could not stop thinking of Vincent, the softness of his lips, the heat of his kisses. As if floating on a cloud she got up on stage and started her first dance. The bar was crowded with Mexicans and, most of all, with American tourists and businessmen. It was quite a chic place, and the clientele was decidedly upscale. Brigitte had been told that the customers rarely got out of hand or made trouble, so she felt completely secure. She stepped forward on the stage, wearing a sequined bra and a matching g-string, perched on stiletto heels. Her graceful body started to move to the rhythm of the music. Gradually, she transformed herself into the goddess she became each time she got on stage for the pleasure of her audience.
Her movements became more and more languid, as if her body were there only to be admired and desired by the spectators. The audience was attentive to her every move; each man looked at her with a certain glimmer in his eye. She asked only to be possessed, devoured. Her long legs seemed to go on forever; her open thighs displayed her almost totally shaven blonde bush. She finally took off her top, letting her long hair caress her back and tickle her breasts deliciously.
All she could think of was Vincent. She wanted him there admiring her. For all the men who were looking at her now she was nothing but a dream. They faded into nothingness next to Vincent. She imagined his hands running over her body, massaging her ample breasts, spreading her thighs to discover her hot pussy that longed only for him.
At the end of the number Brigitte hurried off stage, as if waking up from a dream. She fled to the bathroom. Her breath came in gasps; she could not help but think of Vincent. Her dance had made her very excited, the many eyes on her firing her desire. Reaching down between her legs she caressed her damp sex, and in only a few seconds came with a long sigh.
* * *
The next morning she went to the terrace at ten. Vincent was already waiting for her with a glass of orange juice in front of him. He got to his feet, his face lighting up with his incomparable smile. Brigitte did not look quite so fresh. She had slept badly, dreaming about Vincent, his body next to her in bed, then on her, and in her. She had almost broken a record for masturbation and had to force herself to stop, more frustrated than ever. But now, seeing him there in all his magnificence in the bright morning sun, her good mood instantly returned. Fearing she might be ill at ease after the way they had separated the night before, Vincent was determined to reaffirm his intentions. He did not even give her time to sit down, but took her in his arms and kissed her with as much conviction as the day before. All she wanted was to suggest they go have breakfast in his room, but something prevented her. He seemed to emanate a deep respect that would not allow things to be hurried between them.
They ate in near silence; their smiles spoke volumes about how they were both feeling. After a bountiful meal they decided to head for the inviting beach. Vincent knew how to do everything. He introduced her to the joys of undersea diving, sailing, and parachuting. He seemed to have a natural aptitude for everything physical. Brigitte pondered about this aptitude, impatient to see just how far it went. But indeed, Vincent seemed to be in no hurry. She would have liked to suggest a little afternoon nap, but again held herself back. If he wanted to make her wait, why shouldnât she do the same?
They went swimming,
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