Read Online Emmanuelle by Emmanuelle Arsan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Emmanuelle Arsan
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Ariane kissed her gaily on the ear.
“You see!” she said triumphantly, contemplating her with pride. “I promise that you won’t be sorry you came to Bangkok!”
Her tone seemed to imply that Emmanuelle had agreed to sign a pact. She tried to escape. “No, listen, I’m embarrassed . . .” All at once she became bolder. “Don’t think it’s out of prudishness, or for moral reasons. It’s not that. But . . . at least give me time to get used to the idea . . . by degrees.”
“Of course,” said Ariane. “There’s no rush. It’s the same as with the sun.” She seemed to have had a sudden inspiration; she let her lips sketch a furtive smile and sat up. “Come, we’re going to have a massage.”
She put on her bikini. Then, a little disdainfully, as though she were speaking to a small child, she added, “Don’t be afraid, sweetie, only women will be there.”
Emmanuelle left her car at the club and went with Ariane in her open convertible. They drove for half an hour through tricycle rickshaws and motorcycle taxis that spewed smoke into the streets lined with Chinese signs. They stopped in front of a new one-story building flanked by silk shops, restaurants, and travel agencies. The façade was adorned with an inscription in characters that were unknown to Emmanuelle. They opened a thick glass door and stepped into the reception room of a bathing establishment, little different in appearance from what it would have been in Europe. A Japanese woman in a flowered kimono greeted them politely, bowed to them several times with her hands crossed over her chest, before leading them along halls that smelled of steam and eau de cologne . She stopped in front of a door and bowed deeply again. Emmanuelle wondered if she was mute.
“You can go in here,” said Ariane, “the masseuses are all good. I’ll take the next cabin. We’ll meet in an hour.”
Emmanuelle had not expected Ariane to leave her. She felt a little disconcerted. The door that the Japanese woman had opened led into a small, clean, low-ceilinged room where a slender Thai girl in a white nurse’s smock was standing between a bathtub and a massage table. She had the face of a bird that had returned from many journeys. She bowed also, then said a few words without seeming to care whether they were understood or not, came over to Emmanuelle, and began carefully unbuttoning her blouse.
When Emmanuelle was undressed, the masseuse motioned her to get into the bathtub, filled with bluish, fragrant, warm water. She passed a damp cloth over her face, then methodically lathered her shoulders, back, chest, and belly. Emmanuelle shivered as the sponge swollen with lather moved between her legs.
When she had finished bathing and drying her with a big, warm towel, the Thai girl motioned her to lie down on the padded table. First she hammered her lightly and rapidly with the edge of her hand, then pinched her muscles, pressed down on her thighs and back, pulled her toes, massaged the back of her neck for a long time, and patted her on the head. Half-dazed, Emmanuelle felt relaxed and happy in spite of everything.
The masseuse opened a cupboard, took out two devices the size of a cigarette pack, and attached them to the backs of her hands. They immediately began to make a humming sound. Her vibrating palms slowly crawled over Emmanuelle’s naked body, sinking into everything that offered a cavity or a fold, slipping into the hollow of her neck, under her armpits, between her breasts, between her buttocks, with irresistible proficiency. Then they sought the most receptive spots on the inner surface of her thighs. Emmanuelle’s flesh trembled. Her legs parted and she raised her pubis slightly, offering herself with an inimitably graceful movement that held out the lips of her sex as though for a childish kiss. But the hands moved away and rose toward her bust, coming and going with professional skill, making long, repeated sweeps like an iron
Ariane kissed her gaily on the ear.
“You see!” she said triumphantly, contemplating her with pride. “I promise that you won’t be sorry you came to Bangkok!”
Her tone seemed to imply that Emmanuelle had agreed to sign a pact. She tried to escape. “No, listen, I’m embarrassed . . .” All at once she became bolder. “Don’t think it’s out of prudishness, or for moral reasons. It’s not that. But . . . at least give me time to get used to the idea . . . by degrees.”
“Of course,” said Ariane. “There’s no rush. It’s the same as with the sun.” She seemed to have had a sudden inspiration; she let her lips sketch a furtive smile and sat up. “Come, we’re going to have a massage.”
She put on her bikini. Then, a little disdainfully, as though she were speaking to a small child, she added, “Don’t be afraid, sweetie, only women will be there.”
Emmanuelle left her car at the club and went with Ariane in her open convertible. They drove for half an hour through tricycle rickshaws and motorcycle taxis that spewed smoke into the streets lined with Chinese signs. They stopped in front of a new one-story building flanked by silk shops, restaurants, and travel agencies. The façade was adorned with an inscription in characters that were unknown to Emmanuelle. They opened a thick glass door and stepped into the reception room of a bathing establishment, little different in appearance from what it would have been in Europe. A Japanese woman in a flowered kimono greeted them politely, bowed to them several times with her hands crossed over her chest, before leading them along halls that smelled of steam and eau de cologne . She stopped in front of a door and bowed deeply again. Emmanuelle wondered if she was mute.
“You can go in here,” said Ariane, “the masseuses are all good. I’ll take the next cabin. We’ll meet in an hour.”
Emmanuelle had not expected Ariane to leave her. She felt a little disconcerted. The door that the Japanese woman had opened led into a small, clean, low-ceilinged room where a slender Thai girl in a white nurse’s smock was standing between a bathtub and a massage table. She had the face of a bird that had returned from many journeys. She bowed also, then said a few words without seeming to care whether they were understood or not, came over to Emmanuelle, and began carefully unbuttoning her blouse.
When Emmanuelle was undressed, the masseuse motioned her to get into the bathtub, filled with bluish, fragrant, warm water. She passed a damp cloth over her face, then methodically lathered her shoulders, back, chest, and belly. Emmanuelle shivered as the sponge swollen with lather moved between her legs.
When she had finished bathing and drying her with a big, warm towel, the Thai girl motioned her to lie down on the padded table. First she hammered her lightly and rapidly with the edge of her hand, then pinched her muscles, pressed down on her thighs and back, pulled her toes, massaged the back of her neck for a long time, and patted her on the head. Half-dazed, Emmanuelle felt relaxed and happy in spite of everything.
The masseuse opened a cupboard, took out two devices the size of a cigarette pack, and attached them to the backs of her hands. They immediately began to make a humming sound. Her vibrating palms slowly crawled over Emmanuelle’s naked body, sinking into everything that offered a cavity or a fold, slipping into the hollow of her neck, under her armpits, between her breasts, between her buttocks, with irresistible proficiency. Then they sought the most receptive spots on the inner surface of her thighs. Emmanuelle’s flesh trembled. Her legs parted and she raised her pubis slightly, offering herself with an inimitably graceful movement that held out the lips of her sex as though for a childish kiss. But the hands moved away and rose toward her bust, coming and going with professional skill, making long, repeated sweeps like an iron
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