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

her room. She let my hand go, and turned, so that I could pass before her into the curtained dimness within. I stepped hesitantly past her, and stood with my back to the door, listening to it shut over the sound of my own harsh breathing. I felt her move behind me, and my mind gathered stray impressions, while her hands busied themselves at the fastenings of my dress. It slipped away from me, to the floor, letting the slight chill of morning air from the open window cool my bare skin. I was wearing only the plainest of underwear, and suddenly I was ashamed of the plain whiteness of my bra and panties. I wished I could be dressed for sacrifice.
    Quick fingers snapped the catch of my bra, and my breasts were pushed forward, free, while the warm breath of Anne tickled on the short hairs of my neck. I shuddered, and the rosy tips of my tits swayed in gentle time to my quivering frame. Anne’s cold fingers slipped around my ribs and clutched in greediness at the swollen tips. She pinched both stems with hard fingertips, while the bra gathered in the crooks of my updrawn elbows. I gasped, and pushed my buttocks back at her to steady myself, until I felt the roughness of her trousers rubbing, and the tine of her belt scratching at my lower spine. She released me, for a moment, and I heard the whisper of her jumper sliding over her hair, then the first shocking contact of her stiff, bare nipples against my back. Her perfume rose in waves around me, and I swayed in a near faint when she popped the clasp of her belt open. The trousers hissed over her skin, and she flicked them, with a foot, across the polished bedroom floor. They struck against the skirting board, and the movement drew the attention of my overheated mind. As I turned my head to look, she stopped the movement with a gentle hand and whispered, in the gentlest of sighs, ‘Don’t. Not yet! I want to play with you like this.’
    I stood, stiff-limbed, while ripples of goose bumps ran over my naked flanks, and felt the play of Anne’s warm breath on my back. The first light tickle of her fingers at the swelling of my hips almost passed by unnoticed, such was the fevered state of my mind. There was too much sensation. Too much that was new. The unfamiliar room, the presence of another woman, naked at my back, the vulnerability of my circumstance.
    Anne’s warm hands slid over the tense muscles of my hips, and met over the flat plain of my lower belly, just above the waistband of my knickers. She pushed the tips of her fingers, like blunt knives, between my skin and the tight hem. The sheets of muscle at the side of my bellybutton fluttered at the contact of the soft pads, and I caught my breath when they slipped, ever lower, to stroke and scrape at the flattened tangle of my pubic hair. Anne was leaning heavily into my shoulders, and I felt the hair above my ear float away from her whispered words.
    â€˜What are you hiding in here, Jessica?’ she asked, and I could not frame a reply, for one of those impudent fingers had stroked its way, through the crisp hair, down to the seam of my sex lips and now pressed lightly against my bud. I felt the skin of my clitoral hood slide over the little nub, as Anne’s knowing finger rubbed its way between the moistening lips of my sex. Slow, delicious tingles spiralled lazily up my spine, like bubbles fizzing along the stem of a straw, and my hips rocked unconsciously with the flares of pleasure produced by Anne’s manipulations. My cheeks brushed against the silky fronts of Anne’s hips, and the realisation of her total nakedness poked through the fabric of pleasure that her finger was weaving in my mind. She was wearing no knickers, and the fleeting contact of her pubic hair against the crease of my bottom confirmed this. I pushed my bottom back more firmly, to feel her nakedness better, and the front of her melded into the back of me like we were made of plastic. Her breasts bulged against my