Read Online The Young Wife by Stephanie Calvin - Free Book Online Page B

something alive, as they opened. I could see the tight pucker of her rosy arsehole clearly, and the coral opening to her sex, shimmering with fluid. I bent myself down to her and, in one bold movement, swept my untried tongue into the hot slit that beckoned me. My mind recoiled from the overflow of sensation, and I gasped a breath as the first strong scent of her musk hit my nostrils, while the salty taste of her cunt set my tongue on fire. An odd, bitter fluid flooded on my tongue as I dipped it into her hole. Clean and tangy, it was so strange that I drew back to spread her legs wide and see the source of it.
    Her cunt and arsehole were six inches from my face, so I studied them for long moments, even as I licked the flexing insides of her copper thighs. Then that odd, compelling fragrance drew me back, and I dipped my clever tongue back into her, to lick and suck the silky flesh that bulged to me. I heard her dull groaning as she rocked her pelvis to my tongue. I felt the straining of her inner thighs as she struggled to keep her legs apart. I felt her shudder when I pushed three eager fingers into her warm cunt, and heard the deep grunt of pleasure as she slipped into the bliss of animal satisfaction that only comes on the other side of surrender. I worked my fingers into her, stretching her, even as her orgasm subsided, and I felt the convulsive tightening along her perineum in the grip of her sex on my fingers. The juices spilled over her arsehole, and I noticed that she was totally hairless all along the rubbery seam of her arse. It gleamed like plastic in the glow of the overhead lamp. The smoothness of her fascinated me and I realised, with a start of mental satisfaction, that she had no hair on the lower lips of her cunt either. It made the swollen pursing of them round my fingers look more dirty, and even more delicious. My fingers felt strange when I pulled them from her, like they had been in bathwater too long.
    It was some time before she recovered, and I busied myself with studying her lovely, lazy, spent and supine form. She lay, sprawled across the heavy creamy bedcover, in the tangled, careless way of pretty girls in men’s magazines. I wanted to photograph her, just like that.
    â€˜That was fucking lovely,’ she said, interrupting my reverie, and sat up to arrange her clothing more comfortably. She smiled a sweet, and misty-eyed smile at me, before asking, ‘Mind if I use your phone, Jess?’
    I mused on the change of name when I nodded my amused consent, and watched her tap out a number on the periphery of my vision, while my eyes drifted over the creamy swell of her long hip and thigh. Her dress was still rucked up at her hips, and she looked delightful. So sweet and naughty.
    â€˜Angela, it’s me,’ I dimly heard her say. ‘Is it on for tonight still? . . . Good . . . Can I bring a friend?’ She continued chatting in a vacant way for a while, then hung up after saying, ‘Ciao.’
    She turned her megawatt smile at me and said, ‘Fancy going out tonight?’
    â€˜Going where?’ I asked, in bemusement.
    â€˜To a club I know. A very special club,’ she answered in a mock snooty accent. ‘It’s ladies’ night tonight, but then it’s ladies’ night every night. Come on, let’s go and tell Vivian not to wait up for us.’
    And then she threw her head back and laughed. She could be, as I later discovered, a little wild when she was aroused.
    â€˜I’m going to be making some arrangements for Leo’s care,’ was what I told Vivian, when we met her in the hall. ‘Several professionals will be coming to stay here until he recovers, so I will require all the rooms. You and Antonia are welcome to use the guesthouse for the duration, if you like?’
    She didn’t know quite how to respond, so I merely nodded at her, and continued with, ‘I will not be using my old room, so Miss Simpson