The Blue Guide by Carrie Williams Page A

a proper look,’ he says. ‘You’ll see that the water is actually going into a recirculating channel. Now just get back in there and enjoy it while it’s still hot.’
    I trot off, wondering why I’m feeling so stupid. How could I have guessed? I didn’t know such a thing exists, although if I hadn’t lost my head I would have noticed that the overflow wasn’t going onto the floor. I tut under my breath, shake my head. Boys and their toys, I think. Gadgets and gizmos. Whatever’s wrong with a good old soak in a normal bath?
    Still, I slide in, allowing the bubbles to caress my skin, trying to decide on the right colour for me. I finally opt for white; I don’t know what it means, but I guess it has something to do with purity, and pure thoughts are what I most need if I’m going to spend a night in this seductive suite within a few steps of one of the world’s sexiest men.
    Immediately I’m in, the air jets beneath the surface of the water begin to work their magic, loosening my muscles, and the sound of the water cascading from the rim of the bath is strangely soothing. I lean my head back and start to drift away, a little sleepy now from the cognac. Then Carlotta pops into my mind again: I imagine her face if she walked in here and saw me languishing naked in their extraordinary bath. From there it’s only a small step to me imagining her in here herself, as she undoubtedly has been, all fleshy and pink from the force of the jets, scrubbing up after awild session with Paco on that huge bed in there. She’s got the colour set to red: relaxation is not on her mind. The minute she’s out of the bath she’ll be back in the bedroom, rousing him from a post-coital doze, clambering onto him like a pantheress, insatiable.
    So much for being purified. I twist my hips a little, so that my pussy is in front of one of the air jets, and feel the tiny champagne-like bubbles whirling around my lips, the pressure prising them open slightly. With my fingers I rub at the bead of my clitoris, excitement mounting to the point where I
have
to satisfy myself now. I don’t care where I am: it’s an imperative. I roll back but find that this bath’s too deep and its edges are too wide to assume my normal position for bathtime wanks: legs looped over the edges. Nor can I turn over and do it on my knees: it’s too slippery. After trying out a few angles, I give up and climb out.
    I lie down on the bath mat and assume the missionary position. It may sound staid, but it’s my favourite both for fucking and for masturbating. I’m willing to try anything, and generally have, but I’ve never found anything that affords me as much pleasure. I think it’s partly to do with how wide I can open my legs: my cunt positively gapes, and that arouses me no end. There must be something of the exhibitionist in me. And then, when I’m with a man, it allows the most powerful combination of vaginal and clitoral stimulation, virtually guaranteeing an orgasm – in me, at least.
    I’m going at it hell for leather now, finger-fucking myself with four digits of one hand, while the thumb of it works at my clit. With the other hand I’m palpating my breasts. Then a little extra something is required down below, and I bring my second hand to my pussy and vibrate my clitoris wildly with the heel of my hand. I’m exploding now, rocking and bucking on thebathmat, trying hard not to cry out as stars dance behind my closed eyes.
    The climax is still ripping through me when I hear a voice and open my eyes just in time to see Paco’s head appear in the doorway. In his hand he’s holding up my cognac glass: I guess he’s come to offer me a refill and I didn’t hear him tap at the door.
    We’re looking into each other’s eyes, unembarrassed. I’m surprised I’m not mortified, but Paco’s gaze is so frank, so curious, that I