pervaded the air with each fresh application of oil. Her hips moved against the firmness of the towel which pressed pleasurably against the soft cushion of her pussy. A little harder, a little more pressure, and the thickness of the towel would be enough to bring about her climax.
But this was good enough, she thought. Most massages she had received before were from Ariadne who was good at it. She had of course returned the service, but according to her blonde and brazen friend, she was basically a no-hoper.
Her whole body trembled with pleasure as she was stroked, pressed and pummelled. The tight muscles of her thighs burned with new vitality as the massage continued on to her calves. She was disappointed when the hands ceased. Without being asked, she turned over and her bright-blue eyes, now infused with the electric blue of excitement, surveyed the rigid form, the face that never altered, the eyes and mouth that never smiled.
Just as she had surmised, oil was being re-anointed into those experienced palms.
Speculatively she let her gaze wander around the room; over the dark greens and dull golds of the tapestries, the dark rich wood of the furniture, until they settled on the mirror which was high and wide and edged with a vibrant carving of plump grapes and plumper naiad thighs. Well-endowed satyrs chased the running naiads just as they did on Alistair’s desk. For the first time she noticed the size of the satyrs’ manhoods, so large it took both hands to handle their priapic erections.
Lucky naiads, she thought to herself, and smiled knowingly at the sheet of glass. Was there someone behind the mirror at this moment in time? She guessed there was and wondered at their racing breath, their pulsing veins and their rising passion.
She stretched beneath Gregory’s hands, opening her legs slightly and smiling secretively at the mirror as she did so. How did her yawning cleft and bouquet of pubic hair look to those hidden eyes? she wondered. And how did it look to Gregory?
Would he take her now? Strangely enough, she knew the answer. There would be pleasure with this man. There would be a shattering orgasm. But there was more to him than a straightforward tumble. She also guessed he had been given strict instructions, and those that had given them were safely ensconced behind the carved mirror.
Her gaze shifted and rested on the thick tuft of pubic hair that rose so defiantly from her plump mound, like fragile trees on a far-off hill. Then it travelled to her eager nipples that blushed like crushed roses at the advent of the busy hands. Penny mewed like a kitten as the fingers pulled, pummelled and pinched. All action was welcome and invoked response. Again, she closed her eyes as tension was replaced with ecstasy.
The thumbs pressed gently against her throat, the palms and fingers circled her neck. She groaned unashamedly as they travelled downwards, pressing across her collar-bone, easing the tightness away with experienced fingers.
Nothing could stop the moistness from gathering between her legs like a hidden well, and nothing could prevent her clitoris from raising its head and pushing through the matt of dark pubic hair.
With delicious pleasure, her tongue licked slowly over her quivering lips. The probing fingers were massaging her breasts, pulling at her nubs of desire that rose so prominently from their crown of pink flesh.
Slippery with oil, the hands rolled each breast between both hands. The fingers pressed around the nipples, drawing gasps of ecstasy from Penny’s throat. She raised her hips as if those sweet nubs of pink were but remote controls for the rest of her body. In response, the hands progressed down over the flatness of her belly, tracing the lines of her taut stomach muscles.
As the tight thumbs pressed against the rising mound of her sex, she wriggled her hips, aware that her seeping juices were running towards the cleft between her buttocks and mingling there with the residue of
But this was good enough, she thought. Most massages she had received before were from Ariadne who was good at it. She had of course returned the service, but according to her blonde and brazen friend, she was basically a no-hoper.
Her whole body trembled with pleasure as she was stroked, pressed and pummelled. The tight muscles of her thighs burned with new vitality as the massage continued on to her calves. She was disappointed when the hands ceased. Without being asked, she turned over and her bright-blue eyes, now infused with the electric blue of excitement, surveyed the rigid form, the face that never altered, the eyes and mouth that never smiled.
Just as she had surmised, oil was being re-anointed into those experienced palms.
Speculatively she let her gaze wander around the room; over the dark greens and dull golds of the tapestries, the dark rich wood of the furniture, until they settled on the mirror which was high and wide and edged with a vibrant carving of plump grapes and plumper naiad thighs. Well-endowed satyrs chased the running naiads just as they did on Alistair’s desk. For the first time she noticed the size of the satyrs’ manhoods, so large it took both hands to handle their priapic erections.
Lucky naiads, she thought to herself, and smiled knowingly at the sheet of glass. Was there someone behind the mirror at this moment in time? She guessed there was and wondered at their racing breath, their pulsing veins and their rising passion.
She stretched beneath Gregory’s hands, opening her legs slightly and smiling secretively at the mirror as she did so. How did her yawning cleft and bouquet of pubic hair look to those hidden eyes? she wondered. And how did it look to Gregory?
Would he take her now? Strangely enough, she knew the answer. There would be pleasure with this man. There would be a shattering orgasm. But there was more to him than a straightforward tumble. She also guessed he had been given strict instructions, and those that had given them were safely ensconced behind the carved mirror.
Her gaze shifted and rested on the thick tuft of pubic hair that rose so defiantly from her plump mound, like fragile trees on a far-off hill. Then it travelled to her eager nipples that blushed like crushed roses at the advent of the busy hands. Penny mewed like a kitten as the fingers pulled, pummelled and pinched. All action was welcome and invoked response. Again, she closed her eyes as tension was replaced with ecstasy.
The thumbs pressed gently against her throat, the palms and fingers circled her neck. She groaned unashamedly as they travelled downwards, pressing across her collar-bone, easing the tightness away with experienced fingers.
Nothing could stop the moistness from gathering between her legs like a hidden well, and nothing could prevent her clitoris from raising its head and pushing through the matt of dark pubic hair.
With delicious pleasure, her tongue licked slowly over her quivering lips. The probing fingers were massaging her breasts, pulling at her nubs of desire that rose so prominently from their crown of pink flesh.
Slippery with oil, the hands rolled each breast between both hands. The fingers pressed around the nipples, drawing gasps of ecstasy from Penny’s throat. She raised her hips as if those sweet nubs of pink were but remote controls for the rest of her body. In response, the hands progressed down over the flatness of her belly, tracing the lines of her taut stomach muscles.
As the tight thumbs pressed against the rising mound of her sex, she wriggled her hips, aware that her seeping juices were running towards the cleft between her buttocks and mingling there with the residue of
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