over her body.
She lay her head on the crisp white linen of the pillow. Gently, she writhed her hips, rubbing one leg against the other in excited expectation.
She closed her eyes as the smell of lavender from the pillow assaulted her senses. Sensuality itself played havoc with her nerve ends.
Purrs of ecstasy escaped from her mouth as she raised one knee, then the other, so that the top of one thigh was always in contact with her aching clitoris.
Through narrowed eyes, she watched him re-enter the room and gasped with sheer lust when she saw he now wore only the briefest of coverings: nothing more than a posing pouch that hid his cock from view but nothing else.
‘Why don’t you take that off, too?’ she asked through rushed breath.
Abruptly and without answering, he turned his back on her and became absorbed with something on the dressing-table.
She watched; licking her lips, rubbing her breasts, mesmerised by the view of his well-formed buttocks divided by the thin strip of material. She assessed the power of strong thighs and the incredibly detailed muscles in his well-honed calves.
He was totally hairless. His skin shone like soft gold in the subtle glow of the ornate lighting.
When he turned back to her, he was rubbing his hands together. Aware of the aroma of sandalwood, musk and wild flowers, she held out her arms to him, telling herself that this was the moment, this was their time.
Suspended for just a moment, she let her arms fall beside her. Although he was walking towards her, he did not look at her. His eyes seemed to stare straight over her head and her bed. What was it with this man? Was she that ugly?
‘Face down,’ he said suddenly, and her spirits rose.
‘OK,’ she smiled. ‘If that’s the way you want it.’
As she lay full-stretch on the bed, her eyes went to the big carved mirror that almost covered the other wall. There was a certain clarity lacking in it. The ones in the bathroom had been similar, she remembered. Then she smiled secretively. They were two-way mirrors; they had to be. Suddenly, she remembered that Alistair liked to watch. She felt like the star turn at the London Palladium. All right, if she was expected to perform, then perform she would.
With rising excitement she awaited the soothing strokes of his probing fingers. This, she told herself, was turning out even better than she’d hoped for. Of course, there was still that tingling around her love temple that needed assuaging. But now, instinctively, she knew that this blond seraphim would bring her to full satisfaction.
The towel was folded and pushed under her hips. It was a surprisingly comfortable position. Her breasts were not crushed. Briefly, she looked over her shoulder at her bottom. It was thrust slightly upwards, round, pink and gleamingly fresh from its thorough sponging. Like softly rounded hills, she thought, before closing her eyes.
Being healthy, she decided, the blood would all be running to her head and her shoulders, the first points to be massaged.
Softly she murmured, her senses poised for take-off, ready for her alone to take full advantage of this unexpected ‘treatment’.
The fine fingers and oiled palms prodded new vitality into the tight muscles around her neck and down over her shoulder-blades. There was knowledge in them, an experience of touch that eased them to softness and coaxed her into relaxation.
Such was the exquisite rapture of the sensation that she hummed softly through closed lips in time with the sensuous sweep of his hands.
Long firm strokes ran down over the soft undulations of her firm flesh. Hands, sideways on, pressed into the long indentation of her spine. Her buttocks clenched then relaxed as his cool palms rolled each cheek as if kneading bread. The fingers pushed gently at each knot of tightness, spreading her cheeks to either side of their joining cleft before rounding each curve and proceeding down over her thighs.
The scent of flowers and sandalwood
She lay her head on the crisp white linen of the pillow. Gently, she writhed her hips, rubbing one leg against the other in excited expectation.
She closed her eyes as the smell of lavender from the pillow assaulted her senses. Sensuality itself played havoc with her nerve ends.
Purrs of ecstasy escaped from her mouth as she raised one knee, then the other, so that the top of one thigh was always in contact with her aching clitoris.
Through narrowed eyes, she watched him re-enter the room and gasped with sheer lust when she saw he now wore only the briefest of coverings: nothing more than a posing pouch that hid his cock from view but nothing else.
‘Why don’t you take that off, too?’ she asked through rushed breath.
Abruptly and without answering, he turned his back on her and became absorbed with something on the dressing-table.
She watched; licking her lips, rubbing her breasts, mesmerised by the view of his well-formed buttocks divided by the thin strip of material. She assessed the power of strong thighs and the incredibly detailed muscles in his well-honed calves.
He was totally hairless. His skin shone like soft gold in the subtle glow of the ornate lighting.
When he turned back to her, he was rubbing his hands together. Aware of the aroma of sandalwood, musk and wild flowers, she held out her arms to him, telling herself that this was the moment, this was their time.
Suspended for just a moment, she let her arms fall beside her. Although he was walking towards her, he did not look at her. His eyes seemed to stare straight over her head and her bed. What was it with this man? Was she that ugly?
‘Face down,’ he said suddenly, and her spirits rose.
‘OK,’ she smiled. ‘If that’s the way you want it.’
As she lay full-stretch on the bed, her eyes went to the big carved mirror that almost covered the other wall. There was a certain clarity lacking in it. The ones in the bathroom had been similar, she remembered. Then she smiled secretively. They were two-way mirrors; they had to be. Suddenly, she remembered that Alistair liked to watch. She felt like the star turn at the London Palladium. All right, if she was expected to perform, then perform she would.
With rising excitement she awaited the soothing strokes of his probing fingers. This, she told herself, was turning out even better than she’d hoped for. Of course, there was still that tingling around her love temple that needed assuaging. But now, instinctively, she knew that this blond seraphim would bring her to full satisfaction.
The towel was folded and pushed under her hips. It was a surprisingly comfortable position. Her breasts were not crushed. Briefly, she looked over her shoulder at her bottom. It was thrust slightly upwards, round, pink and gleamingly fresh from its thorough sponging. Like softly rounded hills, she thought, before closing her eyes.
Being healthy, she decided, the blood would all be running to her head and her shoulders, the first points to be massaged.
Softly she murmured, her senses poised for take-off, ready for her alone to take full advantage of this unexpected ‘treatment’.
The fine fingers and oiled palms prodded new vitality into the tight muscles around her neck and down over her shoulder-blades. There was knowledge in them, an experience of touch that eased them to softness and coaxed her into relaxation.
Such was the exquisite rapture of the sensation that she hummed softly through closed lips in time with the sensuous sweep of his hands.
Long firm strokes ran down over the soft undulations of her firm flesh. Hands, sideways on, pressed into the long indentation of her spine. Her buttocks clenched then relaxed as his cool palms rolled each cheek as if kneading bread. The fingers pushed gently at each knot of tightness, spreading her cheeks to either side of their joining cleft before rounding each curve and proceeding down over her thighs.
The scent of flowers and sandalwood
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