She knew only his first name. To him, however, the woman he had just enjoyed remained nameless. What the hell would it matter, he thought, if he were never to know her name, or she his, as long as they would be able again to accomplish what they had just accomplished another time?
And finally, sighing, Andrew rose silently, to dress and to depart. And on the bed, a mocking, complacent smile on her lips, Louise slept…
When Louise awoke, there was still the hint of a smile in her expression as she busied herself with her toilette. Faintly she tra-la-la-ed the rhythm of a cha-cha number while she waited for her bath to fill. Occasionally she permitted herself a pirouetting twirl as she moved about the suite, preparing for the day ahead of her.
In her bath, she was magnificent. She lay awhile, wallowing in the softened, perfumed water, observing the perfection of her flawless body.
From the floating mounds that were her breasts she noticed how, under the transparent water, her hips rounded out into the twin columns of her thighs like some underwater growth of marine biology, the to taper into the twin symmetries of her ankles.
At her pubis, the soft tangle of hair swayed lazily submerged rocks of some grotto. And she thrilled involuntarily as the memory flooded back of what she had so recently enjoyed.
On an impulse, she brought up her knees, so that the lips of her cunt were parted to the voluptuous warmth of the water. At the same time she caressed the still-sensitive vagina, bringing back exquisitely the memory of the furious fucking it had so recently endured.
Ah, woman! she thought. That Andrew! Christ, that was a man, indeed! And she sat up, still smiling, to lave her luxuriant body in soap, delighting in the gentle touch of the sudsy cloth over her skin. Fresh from the fragrance of her bath, dried and warm, she squatted over the bidet to complete her fastidious ablutions by douching out the depths of her cunt. Finally perfumed, fragrant and groomed with all the care her wealth could provide, she began to dress, choosing first the sheerest of black panties. Through these, her triangle of cunt hair lay visibly pressed back into a matted triangle of desirability. Her vast bosom she snapped into a cut-away brassiere that strove valiantly, albeit woefully unsuccessfully, to contain all the curves that were suddenly entrusted to them.
Over her hips she drew a skirt that was tight enough to allow the panty-hems to show as they clung tightly to the healthy, formed flesh of her buttocks.
A pale yellow blouse followed, filmy enough for just the most enticing suggestion of brassiered tits to be conveyed – twin hillocks of loveliness, objecting to the confines of the nylon strap that sought to bind them.
Stockings, then, and shoes from which more material was missing than had been used in their construction. Gloves, handbag but no hat and Mrs. Louise Henderson was ready for the street. Ready to meet the husband whose return she had been looking forward to so very much.
And as she swished expensively through the foyer of the hotel, she thought she caught a glimpse of the easy-moving figure of Andrew, who had proved so perfect a lover earlier that morning.
And she smiled again, the same smile she had worn throughout her morning bath routine.
CHAPTER THREE
The drive to the airport at Nice is not a long one. But it is a pleasant one, with the blue of the Mediterranean on the left providing a placid contrast to the grassed hills rising above the homesteads on the right, once you pass the busy promenade of the seafront hotels.
Louise hummed softly as she paid off her taxi and entered the modern airport building. Conscious of her body, she used it to maximum advantage to win the admiration of men as well as women in any crowd. Unwittingly she did this, for it had now become second nature to her. The hips wiggled, they jounced, the head was carried high, proudly, almost disdainfully… And her breasts – these she flaunted with just the correct degree of insouciance.
Heads swiveled as she progressed through the traffic hall to the bar at the far end.
Nice's airport is thronged by the great of this world. Celebrities use it daily, as well as business czars, diplomats and the elite of international society. So the people at Nice airport, on any given day, are unlikely to spare more than a passing glance at anybody who may show up there. They've seen it all before.
But a beautiful woman, the world over, can win herself a second glance anywhere. Louise was such. She was a beautiful woman anywhere. Admiration was her due. What is more, Louise superbly knew how to evoke admiration.
She had not long to wait. Refusing a drink from the barman, she had barely laid her bag and gloves upon the bar when a loudspeaker announcement told of the arrival of her husband's plane.
And then, minutes later, there he was, hatted, coat over arm, striding towards her. There was love and warmth in his greeting.
"My!" he grinned. "You're adorably lovely, my darling… Wonderful to see you again!"
She clung to his embrace a long moment.
"And to see you," she gave back, in welcome. "It's been so long, Hector."
"Ah, my love, it's the long absences that make the short reunions so wonderful!"
"You're so right," she whispered happily. "Where are your bags? You have brought them, haven't you? You are staying a long time this time, darling? Aren't you?"
Hector laughed.
"One bag. Quite enough for me. A fortnight, darling wife, then I have to go again. To Athens."
"On business?" she pouted.
"The biggest deal of all. Come, let's find a porter! Really the biggest – if it goes the way I hope it does, there should be a few hundred thousand dollars in it, spread over the next year or two. Maybe even more."
"Business! I hate it. Always here, there and everywhere, jumping 'just to this place', 'just to that place' – and we're never together!"
Gaily the man gathered the girl into his arms. "But this time, Louise, for such a short time. And so much at stake. At most I'll be in Athens a week, maybe a fortnight. Lambrakis is there now, and I know he has to fly to Buenos Aires in three weeks. But come, let me look at you. Let's get the hell out of this airport to a place where we can be alone."
Hector's hotel was invariably the Ruhl.
As he moved about his room, unpacking, they discussed the deal in which he was involved – the placing of a vast succession of shipments of Brazilian coffee into Europe through a Greek importer. His unpacking completed, he divested himself of his jacket, and went into the bathroom to wash up.
"Now," he grinned, returning from the bathroom, "let's get on with the honeymoon! This is always the exciting part of being in the same town with you, knowing you are here, and that I can talk to you, feel you, instead of just writing to you."
He took his wife into his arms, and Louise went limp at the long and ardent kisses he showered her with.
And as their kissing progressed, with Louise insinuating her body against his, she felt his penis growing erect against her thighs. For any woman this feeling, this sensation of mastery of her man, is irresistible. It was so for Louise, to the point of being fatal. Nothing provoked her so as the knowledge of what her nearness could do to a man. She responded, sinuously twisting herself against Hector, exulting in her power over him.
"Christ!" he breathed as, moments later, they drew apart. "What you do to me! Come now!"
Willingly she submitted as he drew her to one of the beds in the vast boudoir. Outside it was bright noon. They had not yet lunched. But, sang Louise's heart, what matter? Her husband was with her. Her six-year-long honeymoon was about to begin all over again.
"Off with it," said Hector, unbuttoning her yellow blouse. "It'll crease."
"Who cares?" she smiled, submitting to his eager fingers.