The Stallion (7 page)

The towel was folded and pushed under her hips. It was a surprisingly comfortable position. Her breasts were not crushed. Briefly, she looked over her shoulder at her bottom. It was thrust slightly upwards, round, pink and gleamingly fresh from its thorough sponging. Like softly rounded hills, she thought, before closing her eyes.

Being healthy, she decided, the blood would all be running to her head and her shoulders, the first points to be massaged.

Softly she murmured, her senses poised for take-off, ready for her alone to take full advantage of this unexpected ‘treatment’.

The fine fingers and oiled palms prodded new vitality into the tight muscles around her neck and down over her shoulder-blades. There was knowledge in them, an experience of touch that eased them to softness and coaxed her into relaxation.

Such was the exquisite rapture of the sensation that she hummed softly through closed lips in time with the sensuous sweep of his hands.

Long firm strokes ran down over the soft undulations of her firm flesh. Hands, sideways on, pressed into the long indentation of her spine. Her buttocks clenched then relaxed as his cool palms rolled each cheek as if kneading bread. The fingers
pushed
gently at each knot of tightness, spreading her cheeks to either side of their joining cleft before rounding each curve and proceeding down over her thighs.

The scent of flowers and sandalwood pervaded the air with each fresh application of oil. Her hips moved against the firmness of the towel which pressed pleasurably against the soft cushion of her pussy. A little harder, a little more pressure, and the thickness of the towel would be enough to bring about her climax.

But this was good enough, she thought. Most massages she had received before were from Ariadne who was good at it. She had of course returned the service, but according to her blonde and brazen friend, she was basically a no-hoper.

Her whole body trembled with pleasure as she was stroked, pressed and pummelled. The tight muscles of her thighs burned with new vitality as the massage continued on to her calves. She was disappointed when the hands ceased. Without being asked, she turned over and her bright-blue eyes, now infused with the electric blue of excitement, surveyed the rigid form, the face that never altered, the eyes and mouth that never smiled.

Just as she had surmised, oil was being re-anointed into those experienced palms.

Speculatively she let her gaze wander around the room; over the dark greens and dull golds of the tapestries, the dark rich wood of the furniture, until they settled on the mirror which was high and wide and edged with a vibrant carving of plump grapes and plumper naiad thighs. Well-endowed satyrs chased the running naiads just as they did on Alistair’s desk. For the first time she noticed the size of the satyrs’ manhoods, so large it took both hands to handle their priapic erections.

Lucky naiads, she thought to herself, and smiled knowingly at the sheet of glass. Was there someone behind the mirror at
this
moment in time? She guessed there was and wondered at their racing breath, their pulsing veins and their rising passion.

She stretched beneath Gregory’s hands, opening her legs slightly and smiling secretively at the mirror as she did so. How did her yawning cleft and bouquet of pubic hair look to those hidden eyes? she wondered. And how did it look to Gregory?

Would he take her now? Strangely enough, she knew the answer. There would be pleasure with this man. There would be a shattering orgasm. But there was more to him than a straightforward tumble. She also guessed he had been given strict instructions, and those that had given them were safely ensconced behind the carved mirror.

Her gaze shifted and rested on the thick tuft of pubic hair that rose so defiantly from her plump mound, like fragile trees on a far-off hill. Then it travelled to her eager nipples that blushed like crushed roses at the advent of the busy hands. Penny mewed like a kitten as the fingers pulled, pummelled and pinched. All action was welcome and invoked response. Again, she closed her eyes as tension was replaced with ecstasy.

The thumbs pressed gently against her throat, the palms and fingers circled her neck. She groaned unashamedly as they travelled downwards, pressing across her collar-bone, easing the tightness away with experienced fingers.

Nothing could stop the moistness from gathering between her legs like a hidden well, and nothing could prevent her clitoris from raising its head and pushing through the matt of dark pubic hair.

With delicious pleasure, her tongue licked slowly over her quivering lips. The probing fingers were massaging her breasts, pulling at her nubs of desire that rose so prominently from their crown of pink flesh.

Slippery with oil, the hands rolled each breast between both hands. The fingers pressed around the nipples, drawing gasps of ecstasy from Penny’s throat. She raised her hips as if those sweet nubs of pink were but remote controls for the rest of her body. In response, the hands progressed down over the flatness of her belly, tracing the lines of her taut stomach muscles.

As the tight thumbs pressed against the rising mound of her sex, she wriggled her hips, aware that her seeping juices were running towards the cleft between her buttocks and mingling there with the residue of 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
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 finish this now or go on down to dinner and save it till later? That would be hard, of course, but then there was no knowing what encounters might arise from the dinner table, now was there?

With a sudden pang of regret she wished she had tried harder with Gregory. If only she could have got him to lie with her, to cover her and to push his hard cock into her. Thinking of him suddenly made her lose interest in the mirror, and she dropped her skirt. She would save her arousal for whatever the later hours of the evening might bring.

As though they were golden orbs for occasional viewing only, she cupped her breasts again and pushed them back inside her dress. At first she did up the undone button. Then, with a rising of her eyebrows and a careless ‘So what?’, she undid it again, pulled the bodice down slightly and left her cleavage free to the world.

Nadine Beaumont and Alistair, her brother, were on the other side of the mirror. Nadine’s cloud-grey eyes watched and, as her mouth was wide, so, too, was her smile.