areolas thus seemed to be raised, forming an atoll. If it had not been for this detail, which recalled the vulnerability of their soft flesh and evoked its juicy taste, their contours might have been too perfect to be exciting; they might have looked too much like the breasts of a statue.
When, panting from this exercise, she took hold of the chrome uprights of the ladder, she saw that the exit was blocked. Ariane de Saynes was standing on the glazed edge of the pool, leaning over her.
“Roadblock!” she said, laughing. “Show your credentials!”
Emmanuelle was annoyed that one of the “idiots” had found her, but she smiled as best she could.
“So here you are, playing like a water sprite when honest women are doing their shopping! Why all this secrecy?”
“But you’re here, too,” Emmanuelle pointed out.
She tried to climb out of the pool. Ariane was in no hurry to let her pass.
“Ah, with me it’s not the same thing,” she said, with a show of mystery. But Emmanuelle did not ask her to elucidate.
Ariane calmly examined her prisoner’s charms. “You’re built divinely!” she said with admiration.
She pronounced her judgment in a tone of conviction and Emmanuelle told herself that, actually, she did not seem malicious. She might be a little wild, but there could be no doubt that she was stimulating, invigorating. Emmanuelle no longer had to force herself so much in order to be friendly.
Ariane finally stepped away from the ladder. Emmanuelle climbed out of the pool. She calmly pushed her breasts back into her bathing suit, or rather the lower half of her breasts (nearly all of the nipples remained visible), and sat down beside Ariane. Two tall, Nordic-looking young men came up and began talking to them in English. Ariane answered good-humoredly. It mattered little to Emmanuelle that she could not understand what they were saying. Ariane turned to her abruptly and asked, “Do these two appeal to you?”
Emmanuelle made a little grimace and Ariane notified the two candidates that they had failed. Apparently without rancor, they laughed loudly. But they still showed no inclination to leave. Emmanuelle thought they looked incredibly simple-minded. A short time later, Ariane stood up with determination and pulled her by the arm.
“They’re boring. Come to the diving board with me.”
The two women climbed up the twenty-five feet to the platform and lay on their stomachs, side by side, on the rope matting that covered it. Ariane quickly took off her two-piece bathing suit.
“You can sunbathe in the nude,” she said. “From here, you can see people coming.”
But Emmanuelle had no desire to be naked in front of Ariane at that moment. She stammered an unconvincing explanation —her tight bathing suit was not easy to take off and put on again . . . the sun was too hot . . .
“You’re right,” conceded Ariane. “It’s better to get used to it gradually.”
They soon sank into a semi-lethargy. Emmanuelle decided that, after all, Ariane had her good points. She liked people with whom she could be with without talking. It was Emmanuelle, however, who broke the silence.
“What can one do here, aside from the pool, cocktail parties, and social evenings here and there? Don’t you finally get a little bored?”
Ariane whistled, as though she had just heard something outrageous.
“What an idea! There’s no shortage of pastimes here! I won’t say anything about movies, nightclubs, and other trifles like that. But you can ride, play golf, tennis, or squash, go water-skiing on the river, or drift along the canals in romantic melancholy. And you can visit pagodas too. Why not? There are close to a thousand of them. At the rate of one a day, you’ll have enough to keep you busy for three years. Going to the sea is worth the trip. The beaches are fantastic, endlessly long and wide, lined with coconut trees, deserted, with seashells all over them. The water is fabulously phosphorescent at night,
When, panting from this exercise, she took hold of the chrome uprights of the ladder, she saw that the exit was blocked. Ariane de Saynes was standing on the glazed edge of the pool, leaning over her.
“Roadblock!” she said, laughing. “Show your credentials!”
Emmanuelle was annoyed that one of the “idiots” had found her, but she smiled as best she could.
“So here you are, playing like a water sprite when honest women are doing their shopping! Why all this secrecy?”
“But you’re here, too,” Emmanuelle pointed out.
She tried to climb out of the pool. Ariane was in no hurry to let her pass.
“Ah, with me it’s not the same thing,” she said, with a show of mystery. But Emmanuelle did not ask her to elucidate.
Ariane calmly examined her prisoner’s charms. “You’re built divinely!” she said with admiration.
She pronounced her judgment in a tone of conviction and Emmanuelle told herself that, actually, she did not seem malicious. She might be a little wild, but there could be no doubt that she was stimulating, invigorating. Emmanuelle no longer had to force herself so much in order to be friendly.
Ariane finally stepped away from the ladder. Emmanuelle climbed out of the pool. She calmly pushed her breasts back into her bathing suit, or rather the lower half of her breasts (nearly all of the nipples remained visible), and sat down beside Ariane. Two tall, Nordic-looking young men came up and began talking to them in English. Ariane answered good-humoredly. It mattered little to Emmanuelle that she could not understand what they were saying. Ariane turned to her abruptly and asked, “Do these two appeal to you?”
Emmanuelle made a little grimace and Ariane notified the two candidates that they had failed. Apparently without rancor, they laughed loudly. But they still showed no inclination to leave. Emmanuelle thought they looked incredibly simple-minded. A short time later, Ariane stood up with determination and pulled her by the arm.
“They’re boring. Come to the diving board with me.”
The two women climbed up the twenty-five feet to the platform and lay on their stomachs, side by side, on the rope matting that covered it. Ariane quickly took off her two-piece bathing suit.
“You can sunbathe in the nude,” she said. “From here, you can see people coming.”
But Emmanuelle had no desire to be naked in front of Ariane at that moment. She stammered an unconvincing explanation —her tight bathing suit was not easy to take off and put on again . . . the sun was too hot . . .
“You’re right,” conceded Ariane. “It’s better to get used to it gradually.”
They soon sank into a semi-lethargy. Emmanuelle decided that, after all, Ariane had her good points. She liked people with whom she could be with without talking. It was Emmanuelle, however, who broke the silence.
“What can one do here, aside from the pool, cocktail parties, and social evenings here and there? Don’t you finally get a little bored?”
Ariane whistled, as though she had just heard something outrageous.
“What an idea! There’s no shortage of pastimes here! I won’t say anything about movies, nightclubs, and other trifles like that. But you can ride, play golf, tennis, or squash, go water-skiing on the river, or drift along the canals in romantic melancholy. And you can visit pagodas too. Why not? There are close to a thousand of them. At the rate of one a day, you’ll have enough to keep you busy for three years. Going to the sea is worth the trip. The beaches are fantastic, endlessly long and wide, lined with coconut trees, deserted, with seashells all over them. The water is fabulously phosphorescent at night,
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