Urgently he tore the sheet from her naked, writhing body. Louise was arching her hips so that her cunt stood out, a veritable chasm, redly disappearing into the black of its darkened depths, gaping there between its luxuriant growth of black pubic hair.
He bent his face down to it, and flicked his tongue into the warm wetness of her vagina, licking first one then the other, of the labia, until Louise was near to going demented by the torture of it.
She literally threw her cunt at him as she went through the movements of fornication upon his tongue, seeking to grip it and to tear it bodily from his mouth, but losing it each time in the slipperiness of his spittle and her own flowing cunt juices. She moaned, low, in randiness, and Andrew, fingering her two nut-hard nipples, knew superbly well how to prolong and accelerate her passion.
Backwards, forwards and sideways Louise writhed in her agony, calling out obscenities to him.
"Oh, fuck me! Suck-fuck me, my wonderful, my darling! Ah, if I could only stuff your whole prick right up my cunt right this moment! Your cock, your prick, your penis, even your balls! Oh, to have you suck me, deliciously, like you're doing now, oh, Christ – forever! Oooh-h-h-h, but this is wonderful! Christ! Andrew – I'm so close to coming! Yes! Now I will come! Oh, but I'll come, I'll piss into your mouth! I'll drench you with piss, I swear I will! Ah, suck me, suck me off till I scream, please! As you love me, darling, fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
And Andrew persisted till he felt that her undulating hips were really coming to the fever pitch of her orgasm.
And then, there it was – throb after throb, as she moaned and screamed. Andrew seemed to suck out her very clitoris, seemed to drink the whole structure into his mouth, until her ability to bear the torture was strained beyond her endurance. She thrust at him. She strove with all her might to break away from his mouth. But he held on with his lips, to the raging furnace that was her cunt. She shouted. She rolled. She tried desperately to push away his head from where it was, cushioned busily between her thighs – and finally, she could bear it no longer. With one long, shuddering sigh of defeat, she subsided limply against the sheets.
And there Andrew left her, satiated beyond her wildest needs. His own penis was a spear of red hot flesh against his fly. But he knew it would go down again. Besides, at two in the afternoon, he would be off duty. Then, who knew? There were plenty of women in Nice who would welcome him eagerly to their beds for the siesta, even if it should happen that Louise herself were not available for him. What did matter was that he had managed to satisfy this wonder-woman for the second time.
Andrew withdrew silently from the room.
CHAPTER SIX
Lunch was over, but the remains of it – the champagne, the cheese, the fruit – were still on the table waiting to be cleared away.
On the balcony overlooking the azure calmness of the Mediterranean, Louise, her husband and Claudine were sipping brandy with their coffee. There was peace in Nice at that moment. Not a ripple marred the surface of the sea. The cars had ceased their endless whir of tires against tarmac. Even the people seemed to have withdrawn from the heat of the afternoon.
"I wonder where they all go to?" observed Hector lazily.
"To sleep, I have no doubt. Eat first, then the siesta. What a wonderful custom! And what more wonderful place than this for the siesta to have evolved in?" said Claudine, equally languid.
She had on a patterned sun frock, gaily floral against its basic cream. A frock it was, whose simplicity belied its expensive material and the elegance of its cut. And she had on only the frock, for beneath it, it was obvious that no underwear fettered either her breasts or her hips.
"And it's such a natural phenomenon, this siesta," put in Hector. "You couldn't imagine it in Sweden, for example, or in dreary London. I wonder what they are all doing? How they spend their siestas, all those people who were lazing about in the sun this morning?"
"Making love?" suggested Louise impudently.
"Oh, doubtlessly," said Claudine, taking up the challenge in Louise's remark. "And what more delightful occupation? What better relaxation after a long luncheon than to fall back into bed with one's husband, and give oneself up to his desires?"
"Or one's lover?" put in Louise, eyebrow cocked.
Hector darted a look at his wife, wondering if she were readying to denounce Claudine. But Louise's expression was blandly objective. Amused, he decided to leave the conversational ball where it lay, there in the respective courts of the two women.
"Or one's lover, as you say," observed Claudine.
"And I wonder which might be the more enjoyable?" asked Louise. "One's husband, or one's lover?"
"If we could answer that question, then it might be the end of all lovers and all mistresses for all time."
"I'm sure. Personally, I think it largely depends on three things. The time, the place and the people involved."
"Doesn't that go for all love? Do you object, then, to the lover-mistress relationship?"
Louise paused a moment.
"I used to," she said, finally. "I suppose that's my American origin creeping through. In America we set great store by fidelity, you know."
"There is no infidelity in America, then?" asked Claudine, in mock innocence.
"Oh, don't get me wrong now," said Louise. "There is more probably than here in Europe. But there we keep it hidden. We do not flaunt it as I have found it flaunted here. Or, if not flaunted, then at least condoned. Tolerated."
"So you disapprove then?"
"Did disapprove," corrected Louise.
"And now?" probed Claudine, again innocence personified. "Would you tolerate it, for example, if Hector were to take a mistress?"
Louise allowed a lazy minute to go by as she sipped her brandy.
"Now, well, let's see," she said. "Yes, Claudine. I think I would – now, that is. In six years, Europe and the world, they have broadened me. If Hector had a mistress, a mistress like you yourself, for example, I think I would quite happily permit it."
Claudine's face was a perfect mask, Hector noticed. Expressionless. Not by the movement of an eyelid did she betray an inkling of her knowledge of what Louise meant.
"You see," Louise went on, this time visibly startling Claudine, "I know that you are Hector's mistress. The point I want to make is that I am now conditioned to accept a lover-mistress relation accomplished in bed as I myself am with my ship in Hector – with one proviso. That she be as husband. Perhaps a second proviso, then. That she be as attractive on the street with him as I am. I would not want him to be, or to be seen, with anyone inferior. You agree, perhaps?"
Louise had deliberately chatted on, to permit Claudine to recover from the embarrassment of the direct charge she had made in front of her husband.
"So," Claudine replied eventually. "You know then about Hector and me?"
"I do. And Claudine, because I know, that is why we have lunched together today."
At this stage, Hector interjected: "You see, Claudine, this is what I was getting at when I phoned you this morning."
"I see," said Claudine. "You did promise something interesting. Was it this, then, to bait me deliberately in front of Louise? Fie, Hector! I rate Louise higher than that!"
Hector laughed.
"You're wrong, Claudine," he chided gently. "Louise has another idea in mind entirely. Look, let's not fence with words. Her proposition's a simple one. It's this. We're all reasonable, adult people. We've lunched together. We've discussed together a point in human relationship. What we propose now is to perform openly an act that we have up to now – you and me, that is – performed only in secret. We've agreed, you and me, that it's been divine. Now all we have to do is to show Louise how divine it really was. What we've done together, my sweet one, surely we can do again, now, in front of Louise!"