Fanchon's Book(19)

"Princess? Would you like to use me now?"

"That's what I came for. Only I don't feel like playing a princess tonight, I guess I'd rather just be myself. A girl named Kristi." In a single sinuous motion she slithered out of her robe and slippers and fell back upon the bed. "And as for you, Fanchon, we both know what you are. A mouth. A hot mouth. Now multiply yourself a hundred times and kiss me."

I knew I wouldn't have to wait like the last time, days and days; the little darling loved me and wanted more of what I could give her. I could tell. She went about her duties as usual, but now there was a provocative spark in her eye when she glanced in my direction, an expression on her beautiful face that would have seemed impudent if it hadn't been so adorable. Once, just once, while she was dusting the furniture in the living room-she put her hand out toward me in that brusquely imperative manner of hers and I thought we were about to embark on another flight of fantasy. But my husband came in just then (I could have killed him!) and she merely shrugged and went on with her chores. Not that he would have noticed. What with political crises occurring with monotonous regularity, poor dear Oliver lived in a world of his own, a world of presidents and prime ministers but nary a princess. At least not my princess. He was scarcely aware of the change in the household.

Game postponed, then-but I knew the delay would be short. Now that Kristi had sampled my painless kiss, the handwriting on the wall was only too legible: I had been tried and found not wanting in the balance. I bathed alone that night, preparing meticulously, powdering and perfuming my body in delicious expectation, wondering how it would begin. Would I have to beg again?

I didn't mind. In its own way, the ritual had been quite exciting-although it did seem a mite grotesque that I should have to kneel and humble myself at the feet of my own servant. Still, what else could I do? Oh, she was so capricious, my darling little princess, and I just didn't dare defy her.

Multiply myself? I couldn't see how. But I didn't have to, of course, I didn't have to see or understand anything but that beautiful naked body and what I could do for it. One mouth, a hundred mouths-what difference did it make? If such was the desire of my darling princess-but no, she wasn't a princess tonight, just a girl named Kristi; I didn't understand that either, but her legs were spread and the fluff of fine spun silk was there in front of my face, so delectably alluring, the color of antique gold, and I parted my lips to partake of it. I knew what she wanted. I knew what I wanted. Like this, yes, to kiss and suck and"Fanchon, no!"

"Hmm?"

"A hundred mouths, I told you. Do it right. All over. Kiss me, nibble me-come on now, do it!"

I did it. Anyhow, I tried. I kissed her. All over. I nibbled her ears and licked the soles of her feet-and there wasn't much in between that I missed. But always lightly, lightly, and even when I left her lovely breasts and found my way back down to the sweet pink-lipped slit greedily, she stiffened in adamant dissent and refused to let me burrow into its moist depths; I had to content myself with a myriad of kisses upon it and around it and beneath it in the soft creases and hollows of her thighs and buttocks, still kissing, kissing, never sucking; oh, the frustration! I was hot, so unbearably hot! and if she didn't do something soon"Stop now, Fanchon."

"Hmm?"

"You heard me. Must I say it twice? Let's rest awhile."

"Rest? But I-"

"Come. Lie down alongside me. Get comfortable.

You and I have some things to talk about." Talk? Rest? Get comfortable? Oh sure-like a Hindu mystic on a slab of nails, except that I was attuned not to the spiritual but to the physical: I felt every excruciating point. But I lay there without complaint, gritting my teeth and suffering in silence, a reluctant martyr.