oil.
Penny felt a charge of sensation wash over her as the hands gently spread her thighs then massaged in firm downward strokes, the fingers pressurising her muscles to let go of that last strain, that last stressed out tension.
Nothing could have prepared her for the surge of ecstasy that swept upwards from her throbbing sex. The hands that had massaged her thighs were now splayed upwards over her pubic hair, the thumbs lightly playing against her surging clit. A new tension gripped her, a tension that could only be released with a huge orgasm. Her breathing quickened, her hands clenched beneath her head. She wanted to open her eyes, she wanted to close them. She wanted to see this man in action, and watch the pliable hands taking her ever upwards to sexual fulfilment. But yet again, she wanted to see nothing and just to feel the exquisite sensations.
As a tumbling cascade of gratification racked her body, she arched her back and cried out. With trembling muscles she sought to drain the last tremor of climax from the knowing hands that had brought her to this apex.
Cries of delight were lost in her hair and in the sweet smells of the cotton pillowcase. Her hips writhed to and fro as throb followed throb until the final wave was spent.
Opening her eyes, and murmuring her thanks, she let her gaze wander to the mirror. She smiled.
I wonder, she thought, whether Alistair could resist that; whether his hands were busy masturbating his own cock as she was brought to stupendous heights. She hoped so. In that, there was success; and in success, there was power.
Thoughtfully she rubbed her hand over herself. Her pussy jerked, still tingling with the residue of her climax. She was satiated, in need of no more for the present time.
Gregory re-entered her thoughts.
‘I’ll rub you down.’
The statement was abrupt. No reply was awaited. The hands that had manipulated her to orgasm now rubbed her down. The towel was taken from beneath her hips and whisked briskly over her skin until it shone with honed perfection and glowed with healthy vitality.
‘Rest,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll unpack.’
Lovingly, as though she were a prize horse herself or an errant child, a coverlet of cool cotton was tucked around her. Surprisingly, she did rest. Her eyes closed, then opened. She took one last look at the mirror before she snuggled further down beneath the fresh-smelling cotton.
Sublime was the best way to describe how she felt. She felt renewed, invigorated and able to take on the best . . . yet she also felt at ease enough to fall into a peaceful sleep.
4
THE WHITENESS OF her dress accentuated her honey-brown complexion, and the hint of gold around her neck added a richness to the simple cut and style. Her legs were bare, firm and bronze, the muscles of her calves well defined beneath the tightness of her skin.
Simplicity extended to her hair which she had left hanging in glossy waves of turbulent perfection. A rich mix of light shone through the art nouveau glass-shaded wall lights giving it extra sheen and colour reminiscent of old port and sleek ebony.
Zest for life and new experiences shone like white-hot diamonds in the blueness of her eyes as she surveyed the finished effect in the mirror. Her breasts were high and firm, the slight curve of her waist exaggerated by the cut of her dress. Over her hips, the dress caressed rather than clung, so that when she moved her body undulated independently of the material. Only the sound of it swishing lightly was evidence that it was there at all. And it was cool against her flesh. She wore no underwear. There was pure intimacy between the material and her skin.
Appraising her own self, her own body, she felt there was nothing she could not achieve; she could tempt anyone or try out anything.
‘Fit to conquer,’ she murmured, and smiled. Her teeth were like pearls against the rich pinkness of her lips and the tawny shine of her face. With pleasure and with satisfaction, she
Penny felt a charge of sensation wash over her as the hands gently spread her thighs then massaged in firm downward strokes, the fingers pressurising her muscles to let go of that last strain, that last stressed out tension.
Nothing could have prepared her for the surge of ecstasy that swept upwards from her throbbing sex. The hands that had massaged her thighs were now splayed upwards over her pubic hair, the thumbs lightly playing against her surging clit. A new tension gripped her, a tension that could only be released with a huge orgasm. Her breathing quickened, her hands clenched beneath her head. She wanted to open her eyes, she wanted to close them. She wanted to see this man in action, and watch the pliable hands taking her ever upwards to sexual fulfilment. But yet again, she wanted to see nothing and just to feel the exquisite sensations.
As a tumbling cascade of gratification racked her body, she arched her back and cried out. With trembling muscles she sought to drain the last tremor of climax from the knowing hands that had brought her to this apex.
Cries of delight were lost in her hair and in the sweet smells of the cotton pillowcase. Her hips writhed to and fro as throb followed throb until the final wave was spent.
Opening her eyes, and murmuring her thanks, she let her gaze wander to the mirror. She smiled.
I wonder, she thought, whether Alistair could resist that; whether his hands were busy masturbating his own cock as she was brought to stupendous heights. She hoped so. In that, there was success; and in success, there was power.
Thoughtfully she rubbed her hand over herself. Her pussy jerked, still tingling with the residue of her climax. She was satiated, in need of no more for the present time.
Gregory re-entered her thoughts.
‘I’ll rub you down.’
The statement was abrupt. No reply was awaited. The hands that had manipulated her to orgasm now rubbed her down. The towel was taken from beneath her hips and whisked briskly over her skin until it shone with honed perfection and glowed with healthy vitality.
‘Rest,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll unpack.’
Lovingly, as though she were a prize horse herself or an errant child, a coverlet of cool cotton was tucked around her. Surprisingly, she did rest. Her eyes closed, then opened. She took one last look at the mirror before she snuggled further down beneath the fresh-smelling cotton.
Sublime was the best way to describe how she felt. She felt renewed, invigorated and able to take on the best . . . yet she also felt at ease enough to fall into a peaceful sleep.
4
THE WHITENESS OF her dress accentuated her honey-brown complexion, and the hint of gold around her neck added a richness to the simple cut and style. Her legs were bare, firm and bronze, the muscles of her calves well defined beneath the tightness of her skin.
Simplicity extended to her hair which she had left hanging in glossy waves of turbulent perfection. A rich mix of light shone through the art nouveau glass-shaded wall lights giving it extra sheen and colour reminiscent of old port and sleek ebony.
Zest for life and new experiences shone like white-hot diamonds in the blueness of her eyes as she surveyed the finished effect in the mirror. Her breasts were high and firm, the slight curve of her waist exaggerated by the cut of her dress. Over her hips, the dress caressed rather than clung, so that when she moved her body undulated independently of the material. Only the sound of it swishing lightly was evidence that it was there at all. And it was cool against her flesh. She wore no underwear. There was pure intimacy between the material and her skin.
Appraising her own self, her own body, she felt there was nothing she could not achieve; she could tempt anyone or try out anything.
‘Fit to conquer,’ she murmured, and smiled. Her teeth were like pearls against the rich pinkness of her lips and the tawny shine of her face. With pleasure and with satisfaction, she