for ‘our guest’. Dressed in her Brighton clothes, a navy trouser suit and a small blue hat with black veil, she pretended to have been a visitor to Lord and Lady Montrose’s residence. The taxi took her to Paddington Station. Her visits to Brighton always began on the staff’s day off and her most recent escapade had followed the usual routine. She’d caught the train to Brighton, sat among the hoi polloi, her head lowered, reading or facing the window, ignoring all other passengers. The likelihood of meeting any of their peers was negligible, however caution was her byword.
When in Brighton she adopted the persona of Mrs Brown, widow—comfortably well off, still in deep grief and requiring complete peace and rest. The boutique hotel where she stayed accepted her cover story and she’d become a regular customer in years past with, recently, two sojourns in as many months.
It took but a short, brisk walk from the hotel to reach the establishment in Moore Street that specialised in ‘sexual satisfaction for lonely ladies’, or so their discreet reputation purported to supply. Henry had made the initial enquiries, having overheard it being discussed at regiment’s reunion.
In her first foray to this establishment she’d filled in a form on which she could state her sexual preferences. She’d stipulated no bestiality, no children involved, no penetration with foreign objects and no cocks in her mouth—Henry being the only male entitled to fill that space.
Next to anal penetration, she’d put a question mark. She could always indicate at any time that she wanted an activity to cease. She’d requested a blindfold be supplied, not to be submissive but because she didn’t want to know who pleasured her. She didn’t care. All she wanted was to be sexually aroused and satisfied, sufficient to last her a few weeks, even months. In her mind she always imagined Henry at his most ardent, sharing the Brighton bed with her.
She’d never stated the number of partners she wished to have and her last visit had contained a surprise, her first experience of ménage à trois.
Her sexual experiences in Brighton always delighted and titillated her. They were so well managed and luxurious—no lady could ask for more. Each bedroom in the establishment had a bathroom attached and once she’d washed and applied the perfume of her choice, she took herself to the bed, naked or dressed as her fancy took her and waited to be pleasured—she preferred to be naked. Being undressed slowly didn’t arouse her particularly, but that could always change.
Her limbs were relaxed at the beginning of the session. The fresh linen under her buttocks made her feel like a young girl again climbing between crisp ironed sheets on a hot summer’s night. The perfume of the fresh lavender in a nearby vase caused her to imagine she was about to be seduced in a bed of herbs, hidden among trees. Her shower had left her thighs moist and she could feel her heat surging, adding to the dampness. The anticipation aroused her and her excitement kept building until she heard the door open, then close with a soft click.
Her servant had arrived.
Where would it begin, this slow waltz of sexual teasing? It sometimes started with kisses, but this time, it started at her toes. Soft licks and gentle sucks moved along a toe at a time, and when each foot had been thoroughly treated the tongue began its long journey around her ankle and slowly up the inside of her leg. By now she’d decided from the touch of a cheek on her instep that the tongue belonged to a man. He stopped at the knee before beginning again at the other ankle. Next he moved from knee to thigh. Each inch that his tongue travelled closer to her clit aroused her even more. His hands slid up her sides to clasp her breasts, gently massaging them, feather touches over the nipples like being brushed by butterfly wings. With slow caresses, he stroked the insides of her thighs, bending her knees,
When in Brighton she adopted the persona of Mrs Brown, widow—comfortably well off, still in deep grief and requiring complete peace and rest. The boutique hotel where she stayed accepted her cover story and she’d become a regular customer in years past with, recently, two sojourns in as many months.
It took but a short, brisk walk from the hotel to reach the establishment in Moore Street that specialised in ‘sexual satisfaction for lonely ladies’, or so their discreet reputation purported to supply. Henry had made the initial enquiries, having overheard it being discussed at regiment’s reunion.
In her first foray to this establishment she’d filled in a form on which she could state her sexual preferences. She’d stipulated no bestiality, no children involved, no penetration with foreign objects and no cocks in her mouth—Henry being the only male entitled to fill that space.
Next to anal penetration, she’d put a question mark. She could always indicate at any time that she wanted an activity to cease. She’d requested a blindfold be supplied, not to be submissive but because she didn’t want to know who pleasured her. She didn’t care. All she wanted was to be sexually aroused and satisfied, sufficient to last her a few weeks, even months. In her mind she always imagined Henry at his most ardent, sharing the Brighton bed with her.
She’d never stated the number of partners she wished to have and her last visit had contained a surprise, her first experience of ménage à trois.
Her sexual experiences in Brighton always delighted and titillated her. They were so well managed and luxurious—no lady could ask for more. Each bedroom in the establishment had a bathroom attached and once she’d washed and applied the perfume of her choice, she took herself to the bed, naked or dressed as her fancy took her and waited to be pleasured—she preferred to be naked. Being undressed slowly didn’t arouse her particularly, but that could always change.
Her limbs were relaxed at the beginning of the session. The fresh linen under her buttocks made her feel like a young girl again climbing between crisp ironed sheets on a hot summer’s night. The perfume of the fresh lavender in a nearby vase caused her to imagine she was about to be seduced in a bed of herbs, hidden among trees. Her shower had left her thighs moist and she could feel her heat surging, adding to the dampness. The anticipation aroused her and her excitement kept building until she heard the door open, then close with a soft click.
Her servant had arrived.
Where would it begin, this slow waltz of sexual teasing? It sometimes started with kisses, but this time, it started at her toes. Soft licks and gentle sucks moved along a toe at a time, and when each foot had been thoroughly treated the tongue began its long journey around her ankle and slowly up the inside of her leg. By now she’d decided from the touch of a cheek on her instep that the tongue belonged to a man. He stopped at the knee before beginning again at the other ankle. Next he moved from knee to thigh. Each inch that his tongue travelled closer to her clit aroused her even more. His hands slid up her sides to clasp her breasts, gently massaging them, feather touches over the nipples like being brushed by butterfly wings. With slow caresses, he stroked the insides of her thighs, bending her knees,
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