Read Online The Stallion by Georgina Brown - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Georgina Brown
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smiled to herself, to the mirror and to whoever might be on the other side. ‘I hope you like how I look as much as I do,’ she purred. Then she hunched her shoulders, swayed from the waist, spread her hands and ran them down over her body. It was lurid exhibitionism, more suited to Ariadne than to her.
She eyed the mirror speculatively. Who, she wondered, was on the other side at this moment. A thought occurred to her and blossomed. Her smile bordered on a laugh. The face reflected from the misty glass was not just attractive, radiant with desire, but beautiful.
Carefully, so as not to crease her favourite dress, she undid the top button which was little more than a seed pearl. After that, she let the wide straps with their cool, silk lining slip down her upper arms.
Her mouth, which was as near perfect as her teeth, flashed a more obvious and wicked smile at the mirror.
‘A floor show,’ she cooed to the reflected brightness, pouting her lips as though addressing a potential lover. ‘A taste of things to come.’
As her dress slid slightly she cupped one breast in her hand, withdrew it from her dress and let it bide there, firmly uplifted by the rest of her bodice like a round, plump grapefruit, the areola surrounding her nipple darkly rich against the honey tone of her skin. Slowly, yet deliberately, she did the same with the other. She tossed her hair, cupped her hands beneath her precious assets and surveyed her handiwork in the mirror.
‘Don’t they look good like that?’ she asked the mirror in her sexiest voice. ‘See how firm they are, and how soft . . . ’ she murmured, running her fingers over the cool, silky flesh. Then she bent her head, pushed one breast up towards her lips, and licked her own flesh. She did the same with the other. She addressed the mirror again. ‘And they taste so good and so soft, like melting sorbet. Wouldn’t you like to taste them, too?’
The mirror did not reply. It didn’t need to. She could see the effect for herself.
Her breasts were poised there – higher than they would usually be, and rounder – trapped like two plump pigeons, and their nubs dark pink like the stamens of a tropical orchid. Proudly they pointed directly ahead at the reflective glass.
They did look good. She congratulated herself and gently ran her fingers over her plush pink nubs that darkened to deep mauve as blood raced through her body.
Like a platter of plump fruit, she thought to herself speculatively, like the offering of a goddess, her breasts strapped high and blossoming. The effect pleased her. What man could resist these? she asked herself as she pointed them like loaded pistols at the mirror.
But what if it wasn’t Alistair on the other side of the mirror?
It didn’t matter. She would pretend he was there and that his own bodily desires, too, were racing along with his blood.
In every woman there is that longing to be the one who makes a man override his usual habits and routine existence. There is also the narcissist in each one, and Penny was no exception. She liked to look at her body, liked to see what it was capable of.
Teasingly, she rubbed the index finger of each hand over her willing nipples.
It felt good, it looked good, and a wetness began to invade her rapacious pussy. She took one hand from her breast and raised her skirt. In the mirror, her sex was reflected like a dark forest among white, although her creamy tan did subdue that contrast. She opened her legs and dipped one exploratory finger into her humid well of juice. As she did so, she threw back her head and moaned, yet her eyes never left the mirror.
There, once she’d tilted her hips in that expert way she had mastered with experience, she could see her welcoming haven, the pink folds of satin wetness and the jewels of juice scattering among the dark hair like tiny seed pearls as she retracted her finger.
Her breathing was quick and deep; her trapped breasts quivered as they rose and fell.
Should
She eyed the mirror speculatively. Who, she wondered, was on the other side at this moment. A thought occurred to her and blossomed. Her smile bordered on a laugh. The face reflected from the misty glass was not just attractive, radiant with desire, but beautiful.
Carefully, so as not to crease her favourite dress, she undid the top button which was little more than a seed pearl. After that, she let the wide straps with their cool, silk lining slip down her upper arms.
Her mouth, which was as near perfect as her teeth, flashed a more obvious and wicked smile at the mirror.
‘A floor show,’ she cooed to the reflected brightness, pouting her lips as though addressing a potential lover. ‘A taste of things to come.’
As her dress slid slightly she cupped one breast in her hand, withdrew it from her dress and let it bide there, firmly uplifted by the rest of her bodice like a round, plump grapefruit, the areola surrounding her nipple darkly rich against the honey tone of her skin. Slowly, yet deliberately, she did the same with the other. She tossed her hair, cupped her hands beneath her precious assets and surveyed her handiwork in the mirror.
‘Don’t they look good like that?’ she asked the mirror in her sexiest voice. ‘See how firm they are, and how soft . . . ’ she murmured, running her fingers over the cool, silky flesh. Then she bent her head, pushed one breast up towards her lips, and licked her own flesh. She did the same with the other. She addressed the mirror again. ‘And they taste so good and so soft, like melting sorbet. Wouldn’t you like to taste them, too?’
The mirror did not reply. It didn’t need to. She could see the effect for herself.
Her breasts were poised there – higher than they would usually be, and rounder – trapped like two plump pigeons, and their nubs dark pink like the stamens of a tropical orchid. Proudly they pointed directly ahead at the reflective glass.
They did look good. She congratulated herself and gently ran her fingers over her plush pink nubs that darkened to deep mauve as blood raced through her body.
Like a platter of plump fruit, she thought to herself speculatively, like the offering of a goddess, her breasts strapped high and blossoming. The effect pleased her. What man could resist these? she asked herself as she pointed them like loaded pistols at the mirror.
But what if it wasn’t Alistair on the other side of the mirror?
It didn’t matter. She would pretend he was there and that his own bodily desires, too, were racing along with his blood.
In every woman there is that longing to be the one who makes a man override his usual habits and routine existence. There is also the narcissist in each one, and Penny was no exception. She liked to look at her body, liked to see what it was capable of.
Teasingly, she rubbed the index finger of each hand over her willing nipples.
It felt good, it looked good, and a wetness began to invade her rapacious pussy. She took one hand from her breast and raised her skirt. In the mirror, her sex was reflected like a dark forest among white, although her creamy tan did subdue that contrast. She opened her legs and dipped one exploratory finger into her humid well of juice. As she did so, she threw back her head and moaned, yet her eyes never left the mirror.
There, once she’d tilted her hips in that expert way she had mastered with experience, she could see her welcoming haven, the pink folds of satin wetness and the jewels of juice scattering among the dark hair like tiny seed pearls as she retracted her finger.
Her breathing was quick and deep; her trapped breasts quivered as they rose and fell.
Should
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