Zane Pella - Fanchon_s Book

Somehow, she managed to brace herself and balance on one leg. I couldn't tell for sure. I knew only the thrust of her violence, that foot-kicking into me, kicking, kicking/-and I fell flat on my back and yet it stayed with me, still doing it, still kicking savagely, smashing away with the force of a brutal battering-ram, driving deep into the slippery shaft of my now erupting passion; nor did it stop until my upheaval ended and the tension drained and I lay weak and trembling in the divine afterlife of the most excruciating and exquisitely lethal orgasm I had ever experienced.

When I returned to earth again, she was seated on the chaise and caressing my head with her toes. I angled my face up to kiss them; she muttered an impatient negative and I realized that her immediate desire was for neither the giving nor the receiving of kisses or caresses. Only cleanliness. I bunched my disheveled hair in both hands and finished the job for her, wiping the precious little foot dry.

"Oh, you do love me, Fanchon. If we could be together… "

"We will, we will. Together. I'll do it."

"Such fun. A holiday for just the two of us." Settled, then. The thing. The not-quite-honest venture. But it all seemed so far away and I was tired, so tired-and I saw her leaning back and spreading her thighs in an invitation that might become a command if I didn't"Fanchon? Too sleepy to suck me?"

Not an invitation, not a command. Just a question.

But I gathered my remaining ounces of energy and made the only possible reply and knew that sleep was as much "out of the question" as if it had never been mentioned.

A holiday for just the two of us! How quickly and easily it all came about: a peek at my husband's papers, a few words to Kristi, a short wait-and that was that. We were off to laze in the luxury of the sun and the sea. Dolce far niente. For a week, at least, and probably longer.

I didn't dare stretch it too many days, though, considering the dubious yarn I had told Oliver about scrimping and saving and squeezing the money for my much-needed nerve-tonic vacation out of the household budget. He groused a bit, as expected, but he was too busy with affairs of state to make any firm protest, poor dear. I felt sorry for him. But what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him-and anyway, Kristi and I were already on the journey south; the time had come to put all our cares behind us.

All our cares.

Yes, and that included the malaise of my own conscience. The deed was done now, the not-quite-honest thing, and I had even given up stewing over Kristi's unrevealed contacts, the mysterious "people" with the financial know-how. It no longer worried me that such masterminds should be so accessible to a common working girl. (Common?-oh no, far from it: ages ago I had recognized that my golden-haired inamorata was no ordinary servant.) And regardless of the consequences-not that I anticipated any-we had pocketed enough money for our holiday and were hell-bent on enjoying it.

I might have wished for a more auspicious beginning, though. The trip was tedious; we arrived at our destination in a late-night rainsquall and got miserably chilled getting to the hotel; by the time we reached our room Kristi was alternately glum and glowering in weariness and exasperation. On the verge of a tantrum, evidently, and I figured I'd better do something to forestall it, but quick.

Not that I felt much better myself. But every minute of our holiday was precious, and I refused to allow her little-girl petulance to depress me further. I ordered a pair of potent drinks and suggested a bath. To cheer us both up, I told her.

She sniffed crossly. "It'll take more than that, Fanchon. I'm exhausted. Let's just go to bed, huh?"

"Without bathing? I'm too grimy."

"Me too, but who cares? It won't keep me awake."

"Darling, this is a big occasion. We can't just go to sleep on our first night, can we?"

"I can." Then, after a drowsy yawn, "Oh well, maybe a drink will help. I guess we ought to unpack, anyway."

"Uh-huh. But you don't have to-"

A knock interrupted me; the liquor had come and I scurried to fetch her drink before she changed her mind. Alcohol would give her a lift-and likewise me, although I truly didn't need any artificial stimulant: as I set the tray down and bolted the door, I had a sudden sensation of holiday-spirit giddiness, a lovely emotional whirl that made me want to ring bells and sing carols. We were here. Together. Just the two of us with the rest of the world locked out; why, it was like some kind of delirious super-honeymoon!

Saturnalia time, then. Tired or not, we were going to celebrate-and if my little bride seemed a trifle wilted, well, I was strong enough for both of us. And sexy enough-oh yes, I knew where all my pith-and-vinegar was coming from-wet weather and travel fatigue couldn't cramp my libido on this, our first night of stolen sweets. (Hmm, like that ribald joke Oliver used to tell? Fanchon rides tonight!) It must have been my locking the door that did it, an unfamiliar door sealing us alone together in an unfamiliar place, a bit of seductive symbolism: there was something exciting about clandestine lovers in a hotel room. Right now anything less than an orgy would be like craving tartar steak and settling for soggy meat balls.

But I could see that a little persuasive pampering was in order. "Why don't you relax, darling? I'll get our things unpacked. Is the drink all right?"

"Not bad. Pretty good, as a matter of fact. Fanchon, I'm sorry to be such a dud. I'm just pooped out, I guess. "

"Think nothing of it. Let me take care of my melancholy doll-baby tonight. I'll do everything. You won't have to move a muscle. When I'm through unpacking, I'll run a tub for you. I'll even stay right there and bathe your beautiful body."

"Silly… "

"Uh-huh. That's me. Silly in love. And industrious, too. Come now, I'll help you undress and you can stretch out and sip your drink and watch me work" I undid a few fasteners and began plucking at her clothing.

"Mmm, you're so sweet to me. I like it." She wriggled sinuously, letting me strip the garments away. "I'll bet you've got an ulterior motive, though."

"Who, me?"-wide-eyed, simpering in mock innocence-"an ulterior motive?" I bent swiftly, flicking a pink nipple with the tip of my tongue. "Darling, how ulterior can a motive get?"

"Oooh, don't… "

But her voice quavered coquettishly and my heart was full of love and I knew it was going to be a wonderful night; I just couldn't resist pressing a warm breathed kiss into the priceless jewel of her intriguingly indented navel. Such an adorable little tummy button, so dainty and delicate and "Hey, slow down. Don't you have work to do? Besides, I haven't had my bath yet."

"Dmmm… "

"Fanchon, please!"

This time her tone was peevishly adamant and I had to suppress my amorous inclinations. Yes, there was work to be done, suitcases to be unloaded, clothes to be put away; why dawdle? Oh, I had energy. abounding now: it fizzed and sputtered and gurgled inside me like a choked-off geyser clamoring for release.

I undressed for freedom of movement and attacked the task vigorously. Eyes shut, Kristi lolled upon the bed, an inspiration in the nude; even while busy at the closet I stole glances at her and licked my covetous lips. The leg nearest me lay flat, lax, the knee of the other was drawn up in a rounded steeple, its flexuous thigh-curve luring my gaze downward to the exposed crest of hair. The palm of her hand covered her navel limply (or was she treasuring my kiss?) and its barely perceptible rise and fall concurred with her measured breathing, the only indication of life. But I knew she wasn't asleep, not in a pose so deliberately provocative; such a temptress! did she have any idea what that voluptuous vision was doing to me?