Journal Of A Timid Temptress Read Online Free PDF Page A

probably press my twitching clit against that rough fabric on which I lay. And if I did that, I'd probably come in a few seconds. As badly as I wanted to, I didn't dare.
    Before I became utterly frustrated, the bed shifted as Philippe sat on one side and Linds on the other. I identified which was which by scent and sounds. Philippe had on his now-familiar woodsy aftershave, while Linds wore some kind of musky perfume, heavy and extremely sensual. The rhythm of their breathing was different, too, as were the small sounds everyone makes without realizing it.
    Surely more than four hands then began to touch me, to caress, pinch, poke, stroke, tickle, and rub. Wild energies hummed through my nerves. The textures of those touches changed from skin to fluffy softness that felt like fur, like feathers, like chamois or velvet. In between there were little stings, slaps, pricks and nips, piquant and bright, like a dash of lemon to freshen the palate in preparation for another gourmet dish. I could only lie there and endure--enjoy and endure, for there was pleasure in it, some of the most intense I had ever felt. My body was on fire. I could only shiver, tremble and shudder as voracious need seared through me.
    Foreplay had never been anything like this before. No wonder none of my fumbling Lotharios had ever brought me to climax. They'd not even begun to awaken my body.
    It was awake now, more aware than it had ever been before. I was slickly wet with my own juices, while every atom of skin was alert, attentively waiting for what came next. I'd never before thought of my entire skin as an erogenous zone, but it was. No matter where the touch was--on my soles, my legs, my back, my shoulders or spots normally more responsive, every contact was arousing.
    Dimly I realized that my ankles had been freed. A hand--I think Philippe's--lifted the link of the cuffs off the hook. I was too limp and weak to do it myself, but, with an assisting push, I rolled onto my back.
    I was free to move, but I still didn't dare. The blindfold remained in place. I'd started to understand that sightlessness added a new dimension to the other sensations. Now what?
    Linds and Philippe conversed briefly, I think in French. At any rate, I could not understand what they said. It sounded like a bit of disagreement, words hissed and spat in taut whispers.
    "You haven't said 'stop' yet." Philippe's tone held amusement, but no surprise. He seemed to know me better than I knew myself. "Does that mean you want to continue?"
    "Please," I replied, hoping the question gave me the right to speak. I knew what I needed, a big O in the worst way. I could not even touch myself to ease the fiery ache between my legs.
    The bed rocked then. Someone had come up over the foot and moved between my legs, which remained sprawled apart, even though they were no longer fettered. Then a hand clasped my right ankle. Wait, whoever knelt between my knees could not be doing that also. Which one was where?
    My question was answered almost instantly. I felt the kneeler bend forward. Then warm lips closed over my left nipple, stiff and swollen with my state of arousal. The cheek and chin that brushed my skin held a hint of stubble; the scent that floated up to me was piney instead of musky.
    Philippe. Yes, oh, yes! Fuck me. Now! Please!
    After laving both my breasts with eager licks and laps, he began to work his way downward, trailing elegant loops and swirls of moist heat, as if writing love notes on my body with his talented tongue. Finally he nuzzled into my crotch, peeling the triangle of my panties away to open his path to my pussy. As his tongue quested between the labia and began to lap the juices I released, I could no longer stay silent and motionless. I writhed and moaned, half expecting a slash, but none came.
    At that very instant, another set of warm lips closed over my big toe. I let out a yelp of surprise. No one had ever sucked my toes before! It tickled excruciatingly, but,