0 comments/  238473 views/  84 favorites

You Are What You Eat

By: krr1957



This story deals with strong themes of reluctant lesbian sex. If such material is likely to offend you then please find yourself another story.

Chapter 1

It was on my thirty-second birthday that he went down on one knee to me.

The pros?

He was handsome, wealthy, a considerate lover and shared my passion for the arts.

The cons?

He was seventeen years older than me, and still trailing the baggage of his first marriage in the shape of his nineteen year old step-daughter, but the biggest obstacle of all was his insistence that we live together in Portugal after the wedding.

In truth, my work as an artist meant that I could base myself anywhere and my friends were already scattered around the world but London would always be my spiritual home. For his part, his two galleries were in Lisbon and his daughter attended the University there.

In the end I proposed a compromise. I would live with him for twelve months in Portugal and then I would give him my answer. He was delighted, believing that, once I was there, the deal was as good as done, but in my own mind there was still a nagging doubt. 

If you asked me if I loved him I would have said yes. I had never felt this way about a man before, and God knows there had been enough of them, but there was something missing, something indefinable and tantalizingly out of reach.

The house was a converted manor farm on the Sintra heights. I had visited twice before but now I saw it with different eyes and, I have to admit, it was a beautiful place in which to set up home. 

As Mateus took my bags inside the joy seemed to radiate from him and the more so when he revealed his first surprise. He had had one of the stone barns converted into a studio with one wall, now entirely paneled with glass, giving a wonderful vista over the verdant slopes to the blue Atlantic in the distance.

We ate together on the terrace that first night and life seemed blissful. We made love until the early hours and when I eventually awoke, at mid morning, it was to find that he had already left for his business trip to Stuttgart. 

I walked out onto the bedrooms small balcony, stretched slowly in the warm sunshine, and was then overcome with almost childish joy when I remembered that I now had a pool at my disposal. 

With that thought I looked down at the patio and was surprised to see one of the sun beds already occupied. Mateus had not mentioned visitors and certainly not one as striking as this. The young woman was oblivious to her surroundings as she lay still in the sunshine whilst reflected flecks of sunlight from the surface of the pool sparked from her oiled body.

Her dark complexion and abundant mane of black curls suggested that she was a local and I found myself envying her taut young body. Many men have told me I am beautiful, and the years had been kind to me, but this woman was cover girl material. 

As she lay there I appraised her with my artist's eye. Her, natural, unfettered breasts, surmounted with dark, almost perfectly circular, nipples were obviously heavy and I guessed at a large cupped thirty four inches. Her waist was thin and her stomach flat but she had the flared hips common to women of the region. Her long legs were toned, neither too fat nor too thin and I would be prepared to bet that she was a keen sportswoman.

I was tempted to fetch my sketch pad but at that moment she moved slightly, turning her face more fully to the sun, and the small shift was enough to bring instant recognition. The girl was Izabel, Mateus' step-daughter.

We had only met three times before and each time she had been dressed in sloppy student garb which, along with a complete absence of make-up, served to make her appear younger than her nineteen years. This was undoubtedly the same young woman but she now exuded a maturity and self confidence that had not been apparent before.

Looking at her then I experienced a momentary pang of jealousy. Had her mother, Mateus' first wife, been equally as beautiful?

It now seemed so wrong, standing there watching her, but, as I was about to turn away, she reached blindly for the bottle of sun oil. She held it over her stomach and allowed the dark viscous liquid to trickle slowly onto her skin. When a small pool had formed she started to work it over her body and I was fascinated by the way the combination of her glistening skin and the fall of sunlight emphasized the shape of her different muscle groups.

I had done some life painting, it was not my subject of choice, but, at that moment, it was almost like seeing the human body for the first time. I continued to watch as her hands moved slowly upwards until she was massaging her breasts and it took a few seconds to dawn on me that her touch was now more delicate. She was no longer working the oil into her skin; instead, her palms seemed to be gliding over the shallow mounds.

I willed myself to take a step back from the balconies edge but I remained rooted to the spot as I watched her fingertips gradually came together to delicately pinch the teats of her nipples. As she did so I felt my own nipples begin to tingle and then stiffen. I drew my robe more tightly around me, unconsciously blaming the slight breeze, but there were other signs which I guiltily tried to ignore. 

For the next couple of minutes I hardly drew breath as I watched her teasing herself. She concentrated on her breasts but, every now and again she moved a hand down to draw lazy circles over her stomach. 

In those minutes I tried to reason with myself. I had no intentions of trying to be a surrogate mother to Izabel I simply hoped that we could be friends. The atmosphere at our meetings had been cool but cordial and I put that down to her protective instincts. Mateus was not her natural father but he was the only father she had known. 

However you looked at it there was no excuse. I should have crept away and respected her privacy but her fingertips were now grazing the waistband of her bikini bottoms and I found myself wondering just how far she would go. I suppose I was envious of her free spirit. I could never have touched myself in that way in such an open space even if I believed, as she no doubt did, that no one else was around. 

As I continued to watch she arched her back slightly and held her stomach in. This created a slight gap where her bikini hugged her waist and her fingers, as though surprised at finding this opening, began a tentative exploration. 

I watched as the back of her fingers bulged the blue satiny crotch and it was almost as if I could feel the touch on my own body. The temptation to slip my hand into my robe was almost overwhelming but that was a step too far even in my current reckless mood. 

Her hand moved lower and I caught the briefest glimpse of dark pubic hair before the elasticated waistband trapped her wrist. Her movements were lazy, unhurried, as she stroked her oiled fingertips over her mound and I could hear the coursing of my blood in my eardrums as I stood unnaturally still in a silence broken only by the courting of insects.

I must have been there for more than ten minutes as she continued to maintain an easy rhythm and I wondered just how far she would take it. It would have been easy to believe that she was falling asleep, so languid were her movements, but then, at last, she gently arched her back and shivered into a long, lazy, orgasm.

When it was over her body relaxed once more and I was forced to retreat in haste as her head lolled towards me. 

I found that I was breathing quickly and I wanted nothing more than to bring myself the same pleasure that I had just witnessed but my guilt won out and I disciplined myself to take a shower. 

Afterwards, I went downstairs to find that the cook had laid out a simple, but extensive, breakfast buffet and I indulged myself with some ham, eggs and fresh baked bread whilst perusing the morning papers.

The temptation to take a swim was still strong but I was not sure that I could face Izabel quite so soon after the morning's events and so I refilled my coffee cup and made my way to the new studio. I had two commissions to be started but as I stood before the pristine canvas I could not focus my mind on landscapes. I picked up a fresh piece of charcoal and quickly began to dash off a series of bold curved lines. 

I had started to draw a female form but, once again, I was pricked by my conscience. Almost without thinking I modified the outlined beginnings of muscles groups and what emerged was a drawing of a shoal of fish each one a firm, sleek, healthy specimen. 

I was not a great fan of the Surrealists and their visual puns but I was enjoying myself and I began to apply paint to the canvas in bright vivid swirls. I worked feverishly for over an hour before I stepped back to take in the sweep of my creation and then I almost jumped out of my skin.

"It's beautiful."

Izabel was at my shoulder, having come in unheard, and I almost fell over her as I quickly turned.

"I'm sorry! You took me by surprise."

"My apologies. I should have announced myself, but I was fascinated watching you work."

She must have come directly from the pool as she was wearing a robe and simple pair of flip flops.

"Who is she?"

"She?"

"The woman you've painted."

For the second time I was taken by surprise. Most people would only have seen the superficial image but she had seen through to the subliminal motif. 

"It is no one in particular."

"It's very clever. I would love to be painted like that. Would you paint me?..."

The last was said with almost schoolgirl excitement and sounded a little odd in her slightly stilted American English. 

"...Let's do it now!"

With that she almost skipped across the room and draped herself in the single armchair in front of the window. 

"Izabel, we haven't even had a chance to say hello."

"Paint me. We can talk while you work."

The truth was that I felt guilty looking at her but my artistic instincts won out. I set aside the wet canvas and replaced it with a large sketching tablet. She was sitting almost regally with her lower legs crossed and with her hands in her lap but she was far too stiff.

"You need to relax a little. Be more natural."

She adjusted her pose but she still looked awkward and she would almost certainly become cramped. Without thinking, I knelt in front of her and moved her leg slightly to ease the tension in her pose.

"Do I have a good body?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Is my body good? For Painting?"

I was still kneeling as she turned a few degrees and, as she did so, her robe opened slightly. I saw, immediately, that she was naked beneath it and I felt my breath catch. Hers was a rare beauty and she was fully aware of it. 

"You are very beautiful."

Whilst I spoke as an artist I was speaking from the heart. I guess that I was also trying to flatter her, to make her like me, and to win her approval of the fact that I was now living with her step-father.

I looked up and caught her eye, expecting, I suppose, to find a little faux modesty but her expression was that of someone who had received no less than they believed was due to them. 

We remained frozen there for a couple of seconds and I could not shake the feeling that I was being weighed up. She exuded a self possession beyond her years and it almost felt as though I were the teenager. 

"I saw you...on the balcony."

"The balcony?"

I played dumb but the flush of my cheeks betrayed my embarrassment. 

"You were watching."

Any lingering hopes that she had only glimpsed me at the very end evaporated.

"Did it excite you?...Watching me?"

I tried to recover myself.

"I wasn't watching you. I was just taking the air."

She simply smiled and we both knew that I had been caught in a lie. As her eyes held mine she slowly tugged at the belt of her robe freeing the loose knot. 

I should have stood up and stopped it right then but I found myself transfixed. I was aware of her legs gradually moving apart; I knew I must not look but I felt myself wavering particularly as I saw that the look in her eyes had turned to one of mischievous amusement. 

"Do you want to watch me now...?"

I had never had any sort of intimate relationship with a woman, nor did I desire to do so, but I could not help myself as she held her fingers in front of my face. Her hand slowly dropped between her legs and my eyes followed.

I have seen many naked bodies in my time, the life models in the studio and the bodies of lovers. I tried to remain dispassionate but she was affecting me in a way that I found totally unnerving. 

"Izabel, stop this, we have to talk."

My body twitched as I tried to force myself to rise but I remained frozen.

"You must have seen many women. Is it pretty?"

She was running the tips of her fingers through the lush, almost unruly, growth of black hair covering her pubis.

The truth was that her sex could not be described as pretty. As she pressed gently I could clearly see her outer labia, thick, heavy, proud folds, and then, glimpsed within, the almost coy pink inner lips.

No, not pretty, but primal and she reveled in the power of it.

And then I caught the scent of her.

One is curious, but now I knew. The smell of one woman's arousal is much like another's. She must have seen it, the slightest flaring of my nostrils, and then it was if she could read my mind.

"You're a virgin aren't you? You've never been with another woman." 

For a second or two I felt exactly that, a virgin. I regard myself as reasonably broad minded but this nineteen year old spoke with a self assurance that hinted at an experience beyond mine.

"Have you wondered ...how another woman tastes?" 

As she said it she eased a finger inside herself and I finally managed to get a grip on reality. I got up from my knees and hurried from the studio with her laughter echoing behind me. 

I walked for hours with my mind in a turmoil. Izabels's behaviour had been outrageous but then again I had been guilty of playing the voyeur. We needed to talk, to get things straight between us. It was early evening when I returned to the house but, having steeled my resolve, Izabel was nowhere to be found.

After a light supper I decided on an early night but I found it hard to sleep. When I eventually dozed off it was only to find that Izabel haunted my dreams.

The next morning I edged onto the balcony and peered over the parapet but the pool area was devoid of life. I learned from the cook that Izabel had returned unexpectedly from university and it would be another four weeks before she went back to her studies but she suspected that most of that time would be spent away from the house with friends.

For the rest of that day I disciplined myself to paint only putting aside my brushes once the sun had begun to set. Shortly after that Mateus arrived home and I immediately felt uplifted. I accompanied him to the bedroom and chatted to him whilst he changed catching up with all the news from Stuttgart. I was sorely tempted to seduce him on the spot but then he broke the news that Izabel would be joining us for dinner. 

I felt myself blush as soon as I saw her at the table but she, by contrast, looked completely composed. She pecked me on the cheek before giving Mateus a more effusive welcome and then we sat down to eat. She did all the talking bringing her step father up to date on university life. I began to hope that the events of the previous day might be quietly forgotten and that we might be able to make a fresh start but then she steered the conversation around to "tastes." 

She enquired about my tastes in music and literature and I answered politely but then she asked about my tastes in cuisine and enquired whether or not I had a sensitive palate. With a completely straight face she asked what sort of flavours I liked and if I could discern subtle differences.

Mateus looked pleased that we were getting along so well little realizing that I was squirming in my seat. 

The following day I accompanied Mateus into the city to see his new acquisitions for the gallery and in the evening Izabel took dinner with us once again. She was going out afterwards and she was dressed to kill. Her skirt was short, showing off her legs to devastating effect, and she wore her flowing blouse loose to emphasize the fullness of her breasts. More than once during the meal my eyes were drawn to her chest as she gesticulated excitedly to stress a point.

That night Mateus and I made love but I could not help but wonder with whom Izabel was spending the night.

The next morning I was pleased to feel a reassuring warmth next to me not least because he had been supposed to make an early start. I smiled to myself, happy in the knowledge that I had obviously tired him out. I stretched lazily and thought about tiring him even more. 

"Is he good in bed?"

My eyes opened with a start. Izabel was seated cross-legged on the bed still wearing the same clothes from the night before. 

"That's a bloody impertinent question."

She shrugged her shoulders as if it was of no consequence.

I struggled to sit up but her weight was pinning the duvet and I was in danger of revealing my nakedness. I wound up propped halfway and I hoped that she would get the message. 

She did not get up immediately and I was at the point of firmly telling her to leave when she reached forward and touched her fingertip to my mouth. Taken aback by this strange gesture I reflexively drew away from her but not before I had unwittingly licked at my lips.

"Oh my God."

Izabel laughed at my shock and sprang from the bed; she was gone from the room before I could react further. 

The taste on my lips was unfamiliar but somehow I knew exactly what it was. It had an earthy quality that teased the bitter sensors on my tongue and then cloyed at the back of my throat. For a second or two I held my breath and then inhaled gently through my nostrils. The unmistakable scent was still there, just present. 

She had been stimulating herself whilst I slept and now she had tricked me into an outrageous act of intimacy. I felt disgusted but I realized that it arose not because of the taste itself but because she had abused me. In fact, even as my anger grew, my tongue slipped out like a guilty traitor into the night and I licked my lips a second time.

Chapter 2

Shocked by my own behaviour I rushed to the bathroom. I filled the basin with water and scrubbed at my face before brushing my teeth with painful vigour. I dressed quickly and set off after her not really knowing what I was going to say but knowing that something had to be said. 

She was nowhere to be found and the cook had no idea when she would be home. I was so overcome with frustration that I could not settle to work. Instead, I spent hours agonizing over whether or not I should say anything to Mateus but by the time he returned home that evening I had decided that it was something that I needed to deal with myself.

Our conversation over dinner was strained and I realized it was because I was trying to steer the conversation away from any mention of Izabel. He did not seem to notice. Afterwards, we made love but I could not relax and for the first time since I had known him I faked it.

The following morning he kissed me goodbye and, being the cook's day off, we agreed to meet up for lunch. Once he was gone I looked out my swim suit and got ready for the pool. I stood for a moment or two in front of the full length mirror and admired myself. I certainly did not look or feel my age and only the previous week a couple of photographers had mistaken me for Kate Winslet at the Tokai charity event. As the actress was in one of her thinner phases I took it as a particular compliment.


You Are What You Eat



With one last backward look at the mirror I made my way downstairs and out to the pool. I was so caught up in thoughts of my own self image that I had passed by the shaded sun lounger before I even realized that it was occupied. 

"You look nice."

I froze for a fraction of a second and then turned to see Izabel sitting up in the lounger nursing a glass of orange juice. She was wearing the same robe that she had worn in the studio and I wondered guiltily if she was wearing anything underneath it but I managed to keep my eyes fixed on hers. The problem was that she was wearing a particularly dark pair of sunglasses and I could not shake the feeling that she was looking me up and down.

"Izabel, we need to talk."

"Come and sit here."

She drew up her legs and made a space on the lounger. There were no other chairs at hand and it seemed churlish to make an issue of it. I sat down on the space that she had created and tried to strike as maternal a pose as I was capable of before I continued.

"I think you owe me an apology."

Her face remained impassive and I found myself staring at my own reflection in her glasses. Only slowly did her face break into a smile. 

"An apology? I was only giving you what you wanted."

For a moment I was lost for words but I quickly recovered.

"Whatever you may think, I have no interest in other women and particularly not you."

She seemed to ponder this before she replied.

"Why do you continue to delude yourself?"

Her condescending attitude caught me off balance.

"Look, like it or not, you and I are going to have to get along. I suggest we make a fresh start and never speak of this again."

It was not quite what I intended to say but now that I had made the magnanimous gesture I felt as though I had gained the high ground.

There was another long pause during which I struggled to read her expression and, for reasons I could not explain, I found my heart beating faster. I was about to get up and leave when she broke the silence.

"I am going to make you this offer just once. If you choose not to accept it will never be offered again."

What happened next shocked me into immobility. The fixed gaze of her sunglasses was unwavering as she slowly parted her knees allowing her robe to slip open. She was completely naked beneath it and, whilst her breasts were not quite revealed, nothing else was left to the imagination. 

She held her legs wide and her scent teased my nostrils causing me to look down without thinking. Her sex stood out pink and raw against the blackness of her pubis and she had obviously been masturbating.

"You may go down on me."

I was stunned by her audacity and I tried to lift my eyes but they slid down her tanned, flawless, legs towards the beckoning pit. The rest of the world faded out slowly into the periphery as my whole awareness became focused on that one spot. 

In my mind I could hear the voice of reason bellowing at me but I was falling prey to a subconscious desire the dark nature of which was settling over me like a heavy shroud. Beneath its weight I felt myself begin to bend and at the same time a phantom taste passed over my tongue.

She was saying something to me. Her voice was seductive, siren-like, but I did not hear the words, only the tone lulling my senses. I was dipping lower, my head between her thighs, and her scent wreathed about me like a miasma.

Somewhere, in the receding distance, I was reprimanding her, reminding her of the respect that I deserved but it was merely a spectre in my imagination.

I was so close now that I could feel the heat of her. I hovered, hesitatingly, just centimeters over the jungle canopy of her pubis and then, in a final surrender, I pushed my tongue down into the undergrowth seeking out the warm reeking mire.

That first taste, as my tongue flattened her puffy, welcoming, labia, was sharp and I felt an almost petulant disappointment but as I tried to delve deeper I was rewarded with a warm syrupy rush which filled my mouth. 

Once I had her taste I wanted more; it was an almost primal urge and I could not fight it. I pressed my mouth to her, forming a crude seal, and pushed my tongue clumsily inside. It was like turning a tap. I could feel the pulse of her excitement and, with every beat, came more heavy dew. 

I do not know how long I remained locked there but at some point her thighs closed about my head and I felt her hands pulling me in. I realized, in an oddly detached way, that I was not breathing but there was a strange comfort in surrender. 

The pressure on my head grew and, with a final heaving shudder, my mouth was assailed by a final gush of moisture. 

As she slowly relented I was able to draw a normal breath but, as my head cleared, the hideous realization of what I had just done came home to me. 

With disgust threatening to overwhelm me I sprang away from her and as I stumbled across the patio it was with her mocking laughter ringing in my ears. 

I slammed the bedroom door behind me and dashed into the bathroom. For a moment I hovered over the toilet as nausea swept over me but then, having regained control of my stomach, I opened the basin tap fully and sloshed water over my face flooding the floor in the process. 

I must have stood there for minutes on end trying to cleanse myself and at some point I began to cry. For a few seconds I fought to get a grip but soon my body was being racked by a series of heaving sobs. 

Finally, I grabbed a towel and dried myself off but I still felt unclean. I tossed the towel aside and went back into the bedroom and then I started to feel anger. In some twisted way it was focused on Mateus. He had invited me to his home and made me vulnerable. All logic dictated that my ire should have been directed at Izabel but I must have unwittingly given off a signal suggesting an attraction which she had simply tuned in to. 

I had to get away.

My suitcases were in the dressing room, not even emptied as yet, and I heaved them back into the bedroom. Within minutes I had my clothes and personal effects stuffed inside and, with a strength fueled by anger, I dragged them out to the car. 

I was almost at the airport before sanity kicked back in. I pulled over to the side of the road and tried to think straight. I did not want to lose Mateus and why should I? It was not implicit in our relationship that I had to get along with Izabel and in a few weeks time she would be back at University. I had had an aberrant moment but I just needed to pretend that it had never happened. Izabel was certainly not going to raise it with her step-father and if she chose to bring it up with me I would put her straight in no uncertain terms.

Now that I had a plan I began to feel more in control of myself. I phoned Mateus and, pleading a headache, I cancelled lunch and proposed dinner instead. That done, I returned to the manor and unpacked my bags. I was minded to seek out Izabel and clear the air but decided that I would wait and see how she reacted the next time we met.

Dinner went well and represented a return to normality. Mateus invited a client and his wife at the last minute but they were pleasant company and I was pleased to make a good impression. 

When we arrived home Mateus was feeling particularly amorous but, whilst I was anxious to expunge the morning's events, I did not feel up to making love. He was disappointed but understanding when I hinted that my headache had not quite disappeared. 

Shortly after retiring to bed I began to regret my decision. I had trouble sleeping and when I did manage to doze off I was plagued by unwanted images. With the seed planted I had dreams of making love to Mateus but each time we broke apart I found that it was Izabel sharing my bed.

Finally exhaustion overtook me but only to present me with the most vivid dream of all. I was back at the pool but this time it was me occupying the lounger whilst Izabel licked me to a shattering orgasm.

To my embarrassment I woke myself by crying out and found that I had my hand between my legs with two fingers deep inside myself. I remained frozen as Mateus stirred but, having turned over, his breathing steadied and he surrendered to sleep once more.

My body was clammy with perspiration as I slowly withdrew my fingers and then, without thinking, I brought them to my lips. For a second or two I inhaled gently through my nose and then I touched them with the tip of my tongue. Almost instantly I shuddered and thrust my hands down by my side but I had disturbed Mateus once again. 

He nuzzled into me and planted a soft kiss on my neck. I could have remained still, and I am sure that he would have left it at that, but I turned slightly so that I was lying on my back. Taking this as a sign of encouragement he lifted his head and placed a second kiss on my cheek and I could feel his cock coming to life. 

He ventured further, kissing me delicately on the lips, and I felt my own body beginning to react. I brought up my hand and tousled his hair but, at the same time, I pressed gently encouraging him to move down to my breasts. 

I think he was surprised to find my nipples already fully engorged but he did not miss a beat. I gasped as he took the rigid teat into his mouth and began to work his own brand of magic with his tongue. 

Mateus was in love with my breasts and would happily apply himself for as long as it took to bring me to orgasm but, whilst I could come this way, I now had a more urgent need. 

With my hand still on his head I applied a steady downward pressure but he did not yield to it. It may have been that he was reluctant to give up my breast but there was another, more likely, possibility. 

In common with many Latin men Mateus showed reluctance when it came to going down on a woman. To his credit he did extend the favour from time to time and he had proved skillful when put to it but I did have one complaint. He was very fastidious and he could only be called upon to do it immediately after I had taken a shower. This removed any element of spontaneity and, on one or two occasions, this had made me resentful. 

We remained poised, with an awkward tension between us, but this time I was going to put my own needs first. Whilst still guiding his head I slid myself upwards and sideways in a single movement. Taken by surprise he now found his face between my thighs. He instinctively tried to jerk away as he was confronted by my sopping sex but I held him fast. 

"Lick me."

I had never asked him straight out before. I think, psychologically, he could only come to terms with it if he believed that it was his choice. 

He hesitated for an instant and then simply acted as though he had not heard me. He started to rise taking hold of his erection as he did so. For some reason this angered me. It was as if he were suggesting that I did not really know what I wanted and that he knew better.

With rather more force than I intended I pulled him down onto me.

"Lick me!"

His expression was pained but there was no doubt that he had heard this time. For a split second I was tempted to give in but Mateus was trapped by his innate sense of chivalry. He could not refuse a lady and, as I watched, he bent to his task. I am sure that he flinched as his tongue made contact with my sex, which was still hot with excitement, but he quickly hid any qualms that he may have been having and started to lick with a firm steady rhythm. 

It did not matter that his heart was not in it, it was enough for me to have him down and dirty. I think that Mateus saw our lovemaking as beautiful as defined by the art that was so much a part of his life and I realized that I had gone along with him. I was beginning to forget just how fulfilling a simple, lust-fuelled, fuck could be.

With that, I surrendered to a simple animal passion and used both hands to pull him more tightly to me. He stopped licking but it no longer mattered I rubbed myself against him and grunted as I reached a wrenching orgasm. Only as the final spasms passed, and I was coaxed back to reality, did I realize that I still had not let him go.

He got up and, with a slightly strained smile, he padded off to the bathroom. I heard water running and then the buzzing of his electric toothbrush which, for reasons I could not quite explain, I found mildly offensive. 

When he came back into the room his erection had wilted and, without another word, he got back into bed next to me and quickly fell asleep.

The next morning, as was becoming his habit, he was gone before I woke and I went downstairs to take breakfast alone. I had already decided that I would drive into Sintra to sketch the Palacio National de Vila with its curious conical chimneys. I had a regular buyer who collected paintings of historic buildings and I hoped to interest him. 

I wanted to take a blanket so that I could sketch on the grass and the cook directed me to the linen cupboard in the upstairs hall. As I made my way I had to pass by the guest rooms and my natural curiosity drew me to look inside. The first two were tastefully furnished with period pieces and both were immaculately kept. The third came as a surprise. Its centerpiece was an exquisitely carved four poster bed but it was a bed that had been slept in. The bedclothes were strewn halfway onto the floor which was littered with women's clothes. Stepping cautiously inside I realized that this must have been where Izabel was staying not withstanding the fact that Mateus maintained a room for her in the family wing of the house. 

I hate untidiness and almost without thinking I straightened the bed and started to pick up clothes. Beneath a carelessly discarded skirt I found a pair of black panties and, with a feeling of distaste, I was about to leave them just where I had found them but then I noticed the gold motif. It was a pair of limited edition Janet Regers exactly the same as a pair that I owned. 

Now my suspicion was roused and I picked them up to check the label. 

"You've taken to sniffing my panties now. Is that it?"

I turned around to find Izabel standing in the doorway with a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. She was leaning against the doorframe and her tousled hair and short red silk chemise suggested that she was not long out of bed.

I had no idea how long she had been watching me and I felt my anger rising..

"Don't be so impudent. Can't you tidy up after yourself?"

She came into the room.

"What are you? My mother now?"

This was not an argument that I wanted to get into and I was frustrated that I had not got a good enough look at the label to be able to challenge her.

As I struggled for a reply she put down her coffee on the bedside table and then, having plumped up the pillows, she sat up on the bed.

"You don't have to resort to panties...all you had to do was ask."

She slowly drew up her knees parting them as she did so putting herself lewdly on display. 

Once again it was her brazenness that confounded me; I could no more act like that than take my own life. She was a complete slut but then, with a pang of guilt, I reminded myself of my own behaviour just hours before with Mateus. Was I any better?

She cut through my thoughts as she spoke again.

"I'm prepared to overlook yesterday's impetuosity, after all, it was your first time, but today I want you to focus on my needs."

She spoke as though scolding a guilty schoolchild but her words triggered some deep-seated impulse. My mother was as good a parent as I could have wished for but I always had the sense that I could not satisfy her. Through school and university she was always chiding me gently, calling for more effort, and I was driven to please her. 

Izabel was somehow tuned in to this vulnerability and she was playing on it. She gently patted the bed beckoning me forward and I was drawn in like a satellite in a decaying orbit. 

Once I had taken the first step forward I was lost and her smile confirmed it. I laid down on the bed and put my head between her legs seeking out the comfort offered by her womanhood.

"Take your time...lick me gently."

Her scent clouded my mind and I simply wanted to consume her but I did as she asked, wanting to please. I licked at each of her labia in turn coaxing them to life.

"Suck them..."

I turned my head slightly and delicately drew a fleshy lip into my mouth before teasing it with my tongue.

She moaned with pleasure and shifted slightly on the bed.

"Don't stop."

For the next few minutes I teased each angel wing in turn as she leaked moisture on to an ever growing damp patch on the bedding. Fired with success I started to press my tongue inwards. I wanted the taste and the comforting pressure but she had other ideas.

"Not yet. Lick me some more...long strokes."

I wanted to rebel but the sheer depravity of what I was doing was acting on me like a drug. My heart was hammering and I could feel myself getting wetter.

I flattened my tongue and licked along the length of her sex . I soon found a rhythm and bobbed my head back and forth my nose rasping against the coarseness of her pubic hair with each stroke. I was getting so into it that it took a moment to realize that she was sipping at her coffee even as I laboured. 

"That's nice...just like that."

I should have felt demeaned but, like the ambitious student I once was, I was simply spurred to try harder.

It was at least another ten minutes before she put down the cup and I did not flag even though my tongue was tiring fast. 

The next signal came as she used two fingers to press herself open revealing the pink pearl of her clitoris. My first thought was that it was so much bigger than my own, almost masculine in it's prominence; I felt a curious envy but with it came a feeling of intimidation.

"Lick it nicely" 

It was curiously smooth and tasteless as I lapped with the tip of my tongue but the effect on Izabel was immediate. Her body became taut with expectation, as though she feared that movement would break the spell, and I felt a subtle shift in the balance of power. Now I began to tease her, at one minute flicking my tongue rapidly and the next circling slowly around the retracted hood.

"You little bitch..."

It was an admonishment but there was the tiniest hint of admiration and I felt a swelling of pride. I redoubled my efforts and, as her body to jerk, I stayed with her ratcheting up her pleasure notch by notch until, suddenly, the pawl slipped and her orgasm took her with the rapid release of tension.

I wanted to go deep, to taste her at her moment of bliss, but she scissored her legs behind my head keeping me firmly pressed to her clitoris. 

When she finally deigned to release me I wanted to lap at her ripeness of her sex but she peremptorily pushed me away and I felt, in some way, cheated.

"That was nice. Perhaps I ought to make it part of my breakfast routine."

I knew she was mocking me but I chose to ignore it as I summoned up courage. Moving down the bed, a little away from her, I raised my skirt a couple of inches.

"Will you..?"

She let the unfinished question hang in the air for a moment before answering with a cruel laugh.

"Don't you get it? I don't do other women."

Chapter 3

I slunk out of the room without another word, my humiliation complete. I recognized that my relationship with Izabel was deviant but I had believed that we were co-conspirators both sharing a common need. I was badly wrong. Our needs were completely different. Hers was a selfish pleasure heightened by her delight in belittling me and mine an unnatural appetite that stripped me of dignity.

I had to get away if only for a few days. 

Mateus would have been upset if I had said that I was flying back to London, my preferred destination, and so, instead, I phoned to tell him that I was going to Seville for a few days. Claire, a contemporary of mine at University, was in the city for a month researching a new book and she had issued an open invitation. The good thing was that I had already broached the possibility of a visit some days earlier.




You Are What You Eat



He seemed put out that I was leaving with such unseemly haste and he asked me if I would wait a day or two to see if he could juggle some free time. I laughed it off and said that it would be just "girl talk" and by lunchtime I was already through Lisbon and well on my way.

Claire was as lively and free-spirited as I remembered her and we spent five days visiting galleries and museums and generally enjoying the best that Seville had to offer in the way of bars and restaurants.

She seemed surprised at my decision with regard to living with Mateus. She was the same age as me and her published books had made her attractively wealthy but she had no immediate intention of settling down. By the end of my stay I was tempted to sound her out, to get her views on bisexuality. She was a beautiful woman and, given the circles she moved in, I was sure she must have received propositions from both sexes. I was curious to know how she dealt with it but everything she revealed suggested that she was strictly heterosexual and so I never plucked up the courage.

On the journey home I tried to examine my feelings about her, to see if there was any sort of attraction, but there was simply the warmth that one felt from being with a true friend. 

After the break I felt reinvigorated and ready to face the world. I went out to the studio and fired up my laptop ready to catch up on my e-mails. The longest message was from my London agent. She told me that I had received two new commissions and that the plans for an exhibition of my paintings at New York's prestigious Lafayette gallery were finalized.

Buoyed up by the news I stood up at the window and mouthed a silent cheer. Immediately I did so I felt slightly embarrassed. Sitting out on the grass watching my strange pantomime was Izabel in company with a friend. They were seated in a couple of deckchairs with a bottle of wine between them on a small table. 

I stepped away from the window but, after a moment's hesitation, I knew I had to be bold. Gathering myself, I went outside and crossed the grass towards them. They were both wearing bikinis and formed a stark contrast. 

Izabel had chosen black which was nicely set off by her dusky natural colouring whilst her friend had favoured white in keeping with her thick blonde hair and altogether paler complexion. 

As I approached the blonde smiled displaying a set of perfect teeth.

"Is this her?"

Her accent was west coast American and I guessed that this must be Pam. Izabel had spoken of her over dinner one night. She was an exchange student spending a year at Izabel's university reading Iberian Studies. 

"Good afternoon girls. May I join you for a minute?"

Without waiting for a reply I sat down on the grass between them.

"It's a beautiful view. The original owner had great taste."

"A great fortune more likely."

Pam laughed at Izabel's remark and I hoped that the ice had been broken. For the next few minutes Izabel gave a brief history of the area and I got the impression that she sided with the peasant farmers who had been displaced to allow the magnificent landscaping that we were now enjoying. As she continued to speak I felt that we had returned to blessed normality.

Izabel paused to take a sip of wine and, as she did so, Pam leaned across, her heavy breasts threatening to spill from her barely adequate bikini top.

"Make her do it. I want to see."

Her simple remark hit me like a cosh and I felt myself flush with humiliation. Obviously Izabel had not been discrete and I wanted the ground to swallow me up. Mustering as much dignity as was left to me I started to get up.

"I'll leave you girls to it."

"Wait."

I froze midway and Izabel stood up in front of me. Without a trace of embarrassment she shimmied her bikini bottoms down her legs and stepped out of them. 

I was a deer caught in headlights. I knew I had to flee but I was incapable of movement. She was standing no more than a foot in front of me and she ran her fingers through her nest of curls casually fluffing them. 

"Come and get it."

It struck me at that moment. It was not attraction it was debasement. Perhaps I had always harboured latent lesbian desires but they might never have surfaced had Izabel not allied them to her unique brand of imperiousness. 

I knew Pam was watching, I knew it was so terribly wrong, but I was already bending my knees.

"Oh shit!"

The expletive came from Pam and I could imagine her incredulity as I put out my tongue and slowly began to lick.

To start with Izabel was dry, she was simply proving a point, but after a moment or two I knew I was getting to her. It was then, presumably to impress Pam, that she became theatrical.

"Yes...lick it..."

"Get your tongue in...let's see how deep you can go..."

With every demand I felt myself becoming more aroused and she too was getting hotter.

"Oh God, I'm creaming....come on, I want to hear you swallow."

I did not need to be exhorted. I had my tongue buried deep and now I sucked the rich essence from her. As I did so she shifted forward pushing me under and bending my neck back but I did not feel the pain. 

I wanted to make her come, to drain her, and I brought up my hands to hold her to me. As an artist I preferred the word derrière and hers was perfect. It felt smooth and plump under my touch, so different from a man's coarser musculature. I found myself running my hands appreciatively over her contours even as my tongue continued its greedy assault.

"Hold still!..."

I remained fixed beneath her, my mouth wide open. As her legs shook I felt a hot spurting at the back of my throat which, once started, seemed never ending. She was gasping, no longer mistress of her own limbs, and with each new jerk of her body I was rewarded with more of her taste.

At the end I had to fall back from her as her uncontrolled weight threatened my spine but by then she was completely spent. She slumped back into the deckchair whilst I knelt on the grass licking my lips like a five dollar whore. 

"I want her to do me."

I felt a hot rush of anger. I had brought myself lower than I would have thought possible and I had had enough. I turned to face Pam, the expletive ready on my lips, but I was not prepared for what I would see. 

At some point she had taken off her bikini and she was now slouched in the deckchair with one leg over each arm. With one hand she was rubbing her impressive breasts whilst she used the other to open her sex. 

She was completely shaved but this only served to emphasise the raw pinkness of her inner labia which were already wet with arousal. As soon as I saw her I was lost but she too had picked up on the nuances. 

"Come over here slut."

I went on my knees.

"Lick it."

She used both hands to part herself presenting a dark gash fully illuminated by the overhead sun. 

I used the flat of my tongue and groaned as I roved over the whole of her sex. Her taste, coming so soon after Izabel, was subtly different. If I had to guess their ages from taste alone I would have chosen Pam as the younger. 

"Hold me open."

I did as she asked whilst she used her own hands to stimulate her nipples. From my vantage point her breasts were broad hillocks surmounted by heavily dimpled teats which she tugged roughly between her fingertips.

The sight, as I continued to toil between her thighs, increased my own arousal and I wondered if Pam could be counted on to return the compliment. The prospect of having her go down on me encouraged me to try even harder to make her grateful and I firmed my tongue and pressed it deep inside her. 

To my surprise she immediately started to climax. Her body reared up and the arms of the deckchair creaked as she braced herself. Inside, I felt the, now familiar, contractions, around my tongue but she was not nearly as wet as Izabel. 

"Are you finished?"

Izabel sounded almost bored but Pam was not going to let the opportunity slip.

"Not..yet..."

She put her hand to the back of my head painfully entwining her fingers in my hair in the process. She pulled me slightly bringing my mouth to her clitoris. Even with her legs wide spread it remained a shy object and only as I began to lick did I realize that it was not going to put itself fully on display. 

I wondered if I was doing something wrong but as Pam, still not fully recovered from her first climax, began to whimper I felt more confident.

"That's it...just there...don't stop."

Her second coming took a lot longer and my tongue felt swollen with effort before she finally exploded.

"Yes!...Oh Fuck!.."

She closed her eyes and squeezed her breasts painfully as she submitted to the power of it and then her body went totally limp and only with a painful effort was she able to unhook her legs from the arms of the chair.

I remained close to her, daring to hope, but Izabel spoke once more.

"Haven't you got something you should be getting on with?" 

I looked up at Pam but, as she lazily composed herself, her face held nothing but disdain.. 

Getting up, I hurried across the lawn to regain the sanctuary of my studio and it took a moment or two to register what was wrong. Sitting next to my laptop was a cup of coffee now almost cold. It could only have been brought by the cook.

I frantically began to check sightlines but the glass wall was open to the world and there was no way she could have missed what was going on out on the lawn. The question was would she tell Mateus?

Catrina must have been in her late forties and had been with Mateus for years. I had worried when I first arrived that, having served as cook to his first wife, she might play Mrs Danvers to my Rebecca but she was a sweet soul with a ready smile and always prepared to go the extra mile. 

In earlier years she had been hailed as something of a village beauty and her two darling daughters had inherited the best of her looks. We had even discussed the possibility of them sitting for me one day. 

My only hope was that she had been in the room before things had got out of hand. 

I had to know.

I went to the sink and cleaned myself up and, having brushed out my hair, I walked back to the house. I entered through the kitchen door but the room was empty and so I walked through to the dining room where I found her laying the table.

I knew, as soon as I saw her, that she had seen everything. Her face expressed both admonition and disappointment. There was no point in beating about the bush.

"What are you going to tell him?"

She fixed me with her dark eyes and there was a long pause before she spoke. 

"Tell me, how could you do that to his daughter?"

I knew that Izabel got on well with Catrina but it had not occurred to me that her welfare would be her main concern.

Without even thinking I blurted out my angry reply.

"She made me do it"

As soon as the words were out my mouth I realized how stupid they sounded. Catrina looked at me with contempt and with a flash of anger she lifted the front of her heavy skirt.

"She raises her skirt, you come running?"

My eyes dropped to her legs. They were a little stouter now but I could see that her reputation was not unfounded. I was struck by the fact that she was wearing stockings and the white of the nylon and the matching suspenders made for a striking contrast with the tone of her skin which was a shade darker than Izabel's. I wondered if the wearing of stockings was common amongst older Portuguese women but then I noticed that her panties, which were a sensible everyday design, had a vain edging of pale blue lace.

I quickly looked up but I had let my gaze linger a fraction too long. Without dropping her skirt she interrogated me with her eyes and I felt as if my soul was open to her. After a few seconds of awkward silence she spoke.

"My husband has never done that to me..."

I knew that Catrina had married young and so it was not unfeasible that her only experience had been with her husband but I found it harder to believe that someone as spirited, as she had proved herself to be in conversation, would have chosen a man with such masculine prejudices.

"...but you will do it."

I heard the words but for a moment I did not take them in; only when she reached under her skirt to remove her panties did I fully understand.

I was still struggling for words as she calmly sat down in an armchair and opened her legs. The truth was that I could not do it; not because she was the hired help, although that had a strong bearing, it was simply that I had had enough. My mouth and tongue ached from my earlier exertions and I knew I had to get a grip before I slipped irreversibly into a state of self induced psychosis. 

With a sudden spark of clarity I knew that it was not going to work with Mateus. Even if Catrina said nothing I knew that I would have trouble living a continuing lie. However I viewed it recent events had shone a spotlight into dark recesses of my psyche and I needed to understand what it said about me.

I turned my back on Catrina and walked to the door.

"If you don't do this for me, I will tell him."

I was tempted to tell her to do as she wished but, even though my decision was made, I did not want to hurt Mateus any more than I had to. It was a galling prospect but it was a price that had to be paid.

I stopped and turned around. Catrina looked both surprised and a little nervous and the more so as I stepped towards her. I told myself that it was simply a job that had to be done; no more than five minutes and then I could get on with my life. With that thought I knelt down between her legs and pulled my hair back from my face.

I could almost hear the pounding of her heart as I surveyed her sex which was covered by a dark mat of curls that made no concession to a bikini line. Like Izabel she had ruddy, protuberant, labia and, as I moved closer, I watched them swell almost imperceptibly. 

In an effort to get it over and done with I put out my tongue and licked firmly along the ruffled ridges but as soon as I did so Catrina had to fight back a squeal. I guessed that, now I had actually dared, she was having second thoughts but she opened her legs even wider and I found my tongue sinking into a warm, moist, interior.

Whilst Izabel's sex had the tautness of youth Catrina had borne two children and there was a soft, relaxed, quality as I blindly explored. Even her taste seemed to have a pleasing maturity but I guess this was a trick of the mind. 

Now that I was set to my task she began to whisper in Portuguese. I could not understand what she was saying but it almost sounded like a prayer; only later did it occur to me that she was thanking me and begging me not to stop. Not that I wanted to. There was a gentleness to this coupling which was oddly soothing and I found myself searching out those spots which brought her the greatest pleasure.

She seemed content to have my tongue deep inside but after a few minutes I felt my sorely abused jaw making a painful protest and I gently eased my way up towards her clitoris. 

It was not easy to find and I had to press and part her with my fingers to reveal the hidden pink gem. As soon as I touched her with the tip of my tongue she drew a deep gasping breath and it occurred to me that a man who refused to go down on her had probably never given any thought to clitoral stimulation. 

She froze as though the tiniest movement might scare me away which, at that moment, was the last thing that she wanted. I licked gently, barely moving my tongue and her first orgasm came quickly. It reached deep into the core of her and she drew in a series of short sharp breaths without exhaling. 

I kept my tongue pressed against her clitoris and could feel the manic pounding of her pulse as well as a warm wetness on my chin. 

As it came to an end her body stiffened slightly before relaxing once more but I did not relent. Even before she had descended from the plateau I began to lick again with tiny circular movements. 

She gasped in surprise as she comprehended that her body was not completely sated and was capable of more. 

Her second climax came more slowly but no less violently and she raised her legs into the air as if to salute its arrival. Her body shook and she issued a quiet oath as her body remained balanced on the verge of cramp before the waves of pleasure dissolved all the tension.

She brought her feet wearily back to the floor and I was aware that the tops of her stockings were darkened with perspiration but I was taken with the spirit of mischief. 

I began to lick again over the whole of her sex lapping up the fresh, sour-sweet dew. Still speaking in Portuguese she made a fatigued effort to push me away but I slid my hands underneath her and held her tightly. 

For the next few moments I licked gently, probing now and then to gauge the extent of her arousal. It seemed that she might be truly exhausted but then, deep inside, I felt a slight increase in pressure and her taste was noticeably stronger.

The numbness in my neck, jaw and tongue had merged into a single dull ache but she was close and I could not stop. How long had I been on my knees? Forty minutes? Perhaps more, it did not matter. 

"Agora...por favour..." 

She was ready and I knew what she wanted. Once again I switched my attention to her clitoris, stretching her open with my fingers whilst I darted my tongue with rapid teasing flicks. 

This time, as she came, she closed her legs about my head and squeezed painfully as she drew up the final vestiges of pleasure from the very depths. I felt her fear that she might fail, that she might collapse with the summit tantalizingly within reach, but with a final screaming effort she reached the roof of the world. 

I swallowed her last offering and then her legs went limp. Looking up I found that she had fainted and with a satisfied smile I got up and left her in her state of deshabille. 

Chapter 4

Back in my room I was overcome by a feeling of self-loathing. There was no doubt that Catrina had coerced me but I had taken control of the situation and enjoyed doing it. The pretence that I only did these things because I was told to was proving to have a shaky foundation.

I sobbed myself into a fitful sleep and when I awoke I phoned Mateus and told him I would meet him in town for dinner. As I got ready I fretted about how I would break the news to him and, more than once, I wondered if I was making the right decision. 

As it happened, by the time evening came, I could hardly talk. My jaw was stiff and my tongue swollen and eating was out of the question. Mateus was almost painfully concerned and insisted that I see his doctor. The following morning I felt a little better but I played out the charade. Based on my symptoms, and I threw in a headache for good measure, the doctor diagnosed neuralgia and prescribed some painkillers.

Mateus was so good about my state of health that I could not bring myself to tell him straight away and when he suggested that I spend a couple of days at the beach house to recuperate I simply took the easy option. 

Strictly speaking, the beach house belonged to Izabel. Mateus had had it built for his first wife on the secluded beach front just north of the Cap de Roca but, on her death, she had bequeathed it to her daughter 

Mateus said that he had to go back to Stuttgart to deal with a complication and he would try and join me later and so I set off alone on the half hour drive. Having stopped off along the way for some provisions I arrived late in the afternoon. 

The house was a simple adobe affair with a single large room on the ground floor giving on to a wooden deck built into the sand. Upstairs there were two bedrooms and a bathroom with wonderful views out to sea.

The house was a little musty when I arrived but with the patio doors open and the help of a mild sea breeze it was soon aired. Without waiting to put away the shopping I changed into my swim suit and waded out to sea where, for the next twenty minutes, I swam a vigorous front crawl. 




You Are What You Eat



Back at the house I felt so much better and, after a long shower, I put together a simple salad and opened a bottle of wine. By the time I had drunk half a bottle it was still early evening but I went upstairs and lay on the bed armed with a copy of the latest Booker prize winner.

I had hardly started on it before my eyes began to close and I gave in to a deep sleep. When I awoke it was to find that night had fallen but the temperature still felt up above twenty degrees. As I slowly came to I tried to sit up but found that I could not move. I had a momentary fear of being caught in a dream state but a sharp pain as I jerked my arms confirmed that I was fully awake.

The room was lit by rippled moonlight reflected on to the ceiling from the sea but there was enough illumination for me to see that my wrists and ankles had been secured to the four corners of the bed with large white ribbons.

Had I been bound with ropes I would have feared the worst, not that the beach house had much to offer an intruder, but the ribbons brought to mind gift wrapping and my immediate thought was that Mateus had returned and decided to set up a surprise. The problem was that his sexual proclivities had never hinted at an interest in bondage.

As I pondered my situation I began to pull at my bindings but, innocuous as they looked, they proved to be extremely effective. After a minute or two I was starting to panic but then I heard a car on the gravelled approach. I remained still and as I strained my ears, the sound of laughter was carried to me on the breeze.

Shortly afterwards I heard movements downstairs and I debated whether or not to shout out but to do so may have been inviting trouble. As I continued to listen someone turned on the stereo and a drum and bass rhythm pervaded the house.

For the next ten minutes I listened to the hypnotic pulse which was punctuated, from time to time, by further bursts of laughter, and then, suddenly, I heard footsteps on the stairs and the bedroom light was switched on.. For a second I was blinded but as my vision returned to normal it was to find Izabel hovering over me.

Somehow I knew it would be her. The whole scenario was too daring for Mateus and I could not bring myself to believe that outsiders were involved.

"I have to say it was something of a surprise to find you here, so much so that I thought we might have a little party."

"Izabel, a joke's a joke, now let me go."

""You don't mean that? You wouldn't want to be a spoilsport would you? You're the star of the show."

I was about to curse her when she picked up a pair of scissors and I waited for her to cut my bindings.

"What are you doing!?"

She took hold of my sundress and slipped the scissors under the hem. With a few quick cuts the dress was in tatters and she yanked it from me like a conjurer performing a trick. 

Now I did start to swear but I could do nothing to stop her as she proceeded to cut away and ruin my underwear. 

"Come back here!"

She simply laughed as she walked out of the room leaving me completely, and vulnerably, naked. 

Over the next hour I struggled fruitlessly to try and loosen my restraints all the time listening to the sound of ever more lively laughter which drifted up the stairs. I was hot and angry when, finally, I heard footsteps.

Izabel came into the room followed by Pam and two other girls.

"Izabel, untie me. This stops right now!"

She made no move to release me. She stepped to one side and made introductions as though it were nothing out of the ordinary. 

"I'd like you to meet my cousin, Kyla, and my friend Bernice."

Kyla could have been Izabel's sister. She looked to be a few years older but the family resemblance was unmistakable. Bernice, hanging back slightly, formed a complete contrast. She had a pretty face framed by a bobbed Titian hair style. Where the others wore bikinis with sarongs she wore a simple blue sun dress that flattered her ample frame. She reminded me of someone and it took a moment to click. She was a younger version of the upcoming American opera singer Suzanne Balaes whom I had seen performing in Dallas. Like the singer she was large breasted but she had the same dignified carriage that exuded pride in her body image. 

"Who's going first?"

Izabel addressed the others as though I had not even spoken and Pam, without a hint of embarrassment, stepped forward. 

"Me, I'm dying for it "

I watched in shocked silence as she unfastened her loosely tied sarong and let it fall to the floor to be quickly followed by the same white bikini that she had worn at our previous meeting. 

"Get off of me!"

I struggled violently as she casually climbed onto the bed and pinned my shoulders with her knees but it was a forlorn resistance. With her weight bearing down on my chest I was left looking straight between her thighs where her hairless crotch was already glistening with excitement.

"I'm warning you. I will hurt you."

Pam was unfazed by my threat.

"Don't be coy. You know you can't wait for it."

I wrenched my legs uselessly in a failed effort to unseat her but I was determined to use my teeth as a last resort. I braced myself as she edged forward but then I gasped as I felt someone's hand on my sex. I could not tell who it was but within seconds a knowing finger was caressing my slit.

Pam looked down into my eyes and smiled as she saw the effect it was having on me. 

"If you're a good girl you might just enjoy it."

I tried to focus my anger, to remind myself that they were abusing me, but the finger continued its perceptive probing and with every passing second it became a more well oiled movement.

I found myself trying to lift my hips to encourage an even more intimate engagement but as quickly as it had begun the hand was withdrawn.

"Please!"

I hated myself for surrendering but, in that brief space of time, I had been stimulated in a way that no man had ever come close to and this was Pam's cue. She shifted up onto my face with her sex over my mouth. 

"You know what you have to do."

I did not think twice. I put out my tongue and began to lick with broad sweeps of my tongue over the whole of her plump mound whilst keeping my hips raised in expectation of that delicious touch. 

At first I was denied and I wanted to plead but Pam's sex was effectively gagging me. She was growing more excited and I could feel her slowing parting, encouraging my tongue to go deeper into her hot wetness.

She gave a low whimper and this acknowledgement of my efforts triggered my reward. I felt a pressure between my legs and then the anonymous fingers began to weave their magic again. 

Now it was my turn to groan and the vibrations resonated against Pam's labia bringing her closer to the edge. Soon afterwards she tensed and lifted slightly confusing me slightly but then she came to rest once more with her clitoris centred between my lips and the message was clear. 

I began to lick at the tender bud but I was finding it harder to concentrate as I felt a single finger being pressed slowly and deeply inside me heading unerringly for my g spot. I was breathing raggedly but this too acted as a stimulus for Pam. Her body began to quake, her thighs slapping gently against my cheeks, and suddenly she was coming with series of almost silent cries.

As the waves receded I tensed myself for my own climax but, as Pam reluctantly climbed off of me the pressure between my legs eased and I was left high and dry.

I raised my head to see which of the three had been my tormentress but even as Pam rose from me Kyla slipped into her place. 

She was naked and her body was more lithe than Pam's but, as she came to rest over my face, her olive complexion somehow made me feel claustrophobic and I began to squirm.

"Now don't be like that...I've been looking forward to this."

Kyla's sex was delineated by a coarse Mohican of black hair and she began to brush herself irritatingly across my lips. 

"Come on. Don't be a tease...taste me."

I closed my mouth, refusing to co-operate, but then I felt the teasing finger begin to trace a slow pattern on my inner thigh. I turned my leg outwards to try and make my sex more available but the message was clear, if I did not do what was wanted of me, there would be no reward. 

My upbringing had not been fire and brimstone but my parents had instilled a strong sense of right and wrong and I could almost hear them as I stretched out my tongue once more. In their eyes same sex relationships were for those very few whose genetic make-up had trapped them in a body that nature had not intended, not for the many who simply sought out a vicarious sexual excitement and there was no doubt, at that moment, into which category I fell.

Without the use of my hands it was difficult to penetrate the dark tuft that was presented to my mouth and Kyla seemed to enjoy my struggle as I tried to lick my way through. She moved back and forth over me directing my tongue but at the same time hazing me with her rich scent as though from a censer.

Finally, I managed to part her labia but, as I licked along the length of her tight slit I was still aware of the silky hairs that fringed them. As my tongue moved so did the fingers that continued to tease my thighs. They moved higher until they reached the lowlands of my pudenda but they refused to climb.

I knew that I had to make Kyla give some sign of satisfaction and so I pushed my tongue deeper but she was showing remarkable self control. For my part I could feel beads of perspiration standing out on my forehead and the tension in my bound body was painful as I hovered at a point just short of orgasm. 

Almost in desperation I moved my tongue to her clitoris and found that it was no less prominent than her cousins. As soon as I began to lick she arched her back and bore down on me more heavily and I felt a fingertip pushing its way slowly through my pubic hair. 

We must have formed an odd tableau, my body held in tension by a single finger whilst, in turn, Kyla held herself fixed in place as my tongue brought her the pleasure she sought.

I flicked my tongue rapidly trying to force an orgasm from her but she was not going to be hurried. She allowed it to build and just when it seemed imminent she changed her position leaving me licking at her labia which were slick with her juices. Over the next few minutes the process was repeated. She would allow me to lick her clitoris, bringing her ever closer to the boil, and then she would focus my attention on the rest of her sex the taste of which was growing stronger as she became more heated.

Through all this my focus was still on the fingers which lingered maddeningly without fulfilling their promise. I could feel them stretched across my sex but never applying quite enough pressure to open me up. 

I took out my growing frustration on Kyla. The next time that she centred her clitoris over my mouth I sucked it between my lips and licked less gently. I could tell that she wanted to pull away, to dictate the pace, but I had gotten to her. I had taken her beyond the point of no return and her body stiffened. For the next few seconds my own needs were forgotten as I took a perverse pride in bringing her the joy of a draining orgasm.

As her climax ebbed I hurt my wrists as I unthinkingly tried to touch myself only to be brought up frustratingly short by ribbons now damp with perspiration. 

Kyla tried to retain her poise as she dismounted but she was almost betrayed by her unsteady legs. For my part I welcomed the cool air on my wet face and drew my first breath for some time which was not impregnated with the scent of a woman. 

I was convinced, now, that it had been Izabel who had been toying with me but, no sooner had Kyla finished, than I was abandoned once more.

"You next Bernice."

"Izabel, I've had enough of this. Untie me now!"

Bernice, looked disquieted by my outburst but Izabel completely ignored it and continued to address her friend. 

"Come on, she loves it, look at her."

She continued to stand uncertainly until Izabel and Kyla approached her and began to strip her out of her sundress. 

"You'll love it. She has a wicked tongue."

As Kyla knelt and eased her out of her panties Bernice seemed to suddenly regain her confidence. Her eyes widened slightly and her nervous smile broadened as she approached the bed. 

She was a bigger girl than she at first appeared. I guessed that her breasts must have been a 38DD but she was blessed with a pair that were almost symmetrical, with neat pink nipples, and they were kept in proportion by her broad hips and shoulders. Her belly was slightly rounded with a deep navel beneath which her sex, with its covering of fine red hair, looked relatively small. 

"Bernice, think about this, you'll only come to regret it."

She was at the bedside but she did not look into my eyes as I spoke. Instead her gaze was fixed on my mouth. 

Rather more awkwardly than the other two she moved up onto the bed which gave a creak under her added weight. 

"Please Bernice, don't. I've had enough."

For the space of a heartbeat she hesitated but then, as the others had, she slid forward to pin my shoulders. Almost immediately I began to struggle. Her ample thighs, pressing at the sides of my face, formed the walls of forbidding canyon and I felt the onset of panicked claustrophobia. This was not helped by her weight pressing on my chest making every breath a laboured effort. 

The mocking laughter of the others came to me as a muffled sound but I could tell that they were egging her on. With one final look into my eyes she eased up over my face and then, like the closing of a coffin lid, she sealed me off.

With almost childish glee she spread herself over my face and closed her thighs enveloping me in a clammy darkness that was already evidencing her arousal. With my lungs free to expand once more I instinctively tried to draw a deep breath but my nostrils were pressed closed and I could only open my mouth part way. 

I sucked an unsatisfying draft of air through my teeth and fought for self control but, in the closed confines, it seemed to be getting hotter second by second.

Fortunately, whilst there was much fun to be had from pretending to suffocate me, Bernice had a more pressing need. She shuffled painfully on my face and, having taken up a new position, she lifted herself slightly with her sex meaningfully poised over my mouth. 

Loathe as I was to admit it, I must have taken some perverted pleasure from the degradation being inflicted upon me, but I had reached my limits. I hated them and I hated myself and I wanted to curl up and die but I was tied fast and Bernice was not going to be denied. 

I closed my mouth in denial but she was so turned on that she was literally dripping onto my face. Once it became obvious that I was not about to cooperate she relaxed her leg muscles and started to rub herself over me.

I tried to turn away but she held me fast between her thighs and her sex split like an overripe fruit smearing me with her heavy scented sap. Seconds later I wished I had simply licked her. 

She discovered that she could bring herself off simply by using the friction provided by my face and she was soon working herself unheedingly over my mouth, nose and forehead.

I jerked my head in revulsion but she simply used the movement and rode me out like a bronco. Somewhere, in another time and place, I could hear the others cheering her on and she rose to the challenge. Her sodden pubis chafed my skin as she rubbed herself ever more eagerly filling my nose with moisture and even pulling at my hair as she rode up into my hairline.

I do not know how long it went on for. My face burned with shame and the heat of movement. I was crying freely by the time she reached a climax with a series of uncontrolled, painful, jerks. Even then she continued to gyrate slowly, smearing me with the last of her offering, before she finally collapsed from the bed.

I swore at her, at all of them, but they simply laughed and the more so as I sneezed out the cloying mess from my nose. At that point Izabel took mercy and wiped off my reeking face with a handful of tissues but my ordeal was not over.

She discarded the tissues and slowly stripped out of her bikini and sarong. She stood for a moment, splendid in her nakedness, confident that she was still the most beautiful woman in the room and it was this sense of certainty that somehow got to me. 

After all I had been through there was a strange comfort as she took up her position on the bed as though it were her rightful place. 

"I hope you've saved something special for me."

Unlike the others she faced down my body and I assumed that this was to allow them to see more clearly her dominion over me but I had underestimated the depths of her depravity.

As I watched she adjusted her position slightly and then reached behind her to take hold of the taut globes of her arse. Making sure that the others understood exactly what she intended she slowly, almost theatrically, parted her cheeks.

I felt something akin to vertigo. My heart hammered in my chest and I was breathing quickly and deeply. Her buttocks loomed large, filling my field of vision, and there at the centre was the forbidden opening. It seemed to pulsate, the dark eye flexing ever so slightly in a movement only just magnified by the grey pink radiating lines. 

My eyes flicked lower, almost longingly, towards her sex but there could be no doubt that she was demanding the ultimate abasement. 

"Lick it."

She spoke quietly, assuredly, and I could sense the others holding their breath. I had never done it before, in fact the prospect of doing such a thing with a man was appalling, but with her it seemed less unnatural.

At that moment she appeared the embodiment of perfection but even as she lowered herself towards me I registered the tiniest of flaws; the way that she had depilated herself slightly unevenly and the dark shadows of a fading pair of tiny spots.

I could feel her body heat as she waited, expectantly, just millimetres above me and my mind was in a painful turmoil. It was so wrong, so shameful, but there existed a bubble of peaceful isolation in which, at that moment only she and I existed.

My tongue seemed no longer to obey my will. I stretched it slowly, uncertainly, until I touched it to dark centre of her cleft and then I licked gently. The taste was a mixture of salty perspiration and stale arousal but I ignored it as I examined the texture of her, from the smoothness of the cleft to the taut, restrained, strength of the muscle itself. 

The room was silent and still but it was of no consequence as I continued with my task caught up in a world of my own. Izabel, held herself poised, accepting my tribute but there was the slightest flutter suggesting that she could not quite believe it was happening. 

I grew bolder, extending the sweep of my tongue to take in her perineum where I was aware of the almost imperceptible hairs that she had obviously been at pains to remove. 

There was a strong temptation to take in her labia, to taste her once more, but we were held in an unspoken tension. Did she dare order me to break the final taboo?

The prospect of it made me shiver inside but the feeling was one of delicious fear which became focussed as a tingling in my neglected sex.

Eventually, she spoke as I knew she would.

"I want to feel you inside me..."

Nervous sweat ran freely from my brow as I hesitated but then she leant forward, dropping onto my mouth in the process, and at the same time I felt the comfort of her hand on my sex.

She began to stroke me gently and with each movement of her fingers my tongue was encouraged to extend further. I touched the tip to the tight opening, which was already wet with my saliva, and pushed tentatively. 




You Are What You Eat



I knew immediately that, in order to comply, I was going to use all the strength of my tongue. There could be no fooling myself that what was happening was in any way accidental.

As if to encourage that effort I felt a finger teasing my clitoris and I groaned as pulses of arousal travelled to my extremities. Without thinking I sealed my mouth more tightly to her and with a single lunge I broke through the outer ring.

For a few seconds we remained motionless. I guess that she had been taken by surprise but then, slowly, she began to squeeze almost as if to test that it had really happened. 

The pressure was almost painful and I worked my tongue to ease it but that only served to increase her excitement. 

"I want to feel it deeper."

I was already at my limit but she was not to be denied. She cruelly ignored my sex and sat up over my face forcing my tongue a millimetre or two further inside. 

It was clear that she had been planning this all along. I could taste the sour residue of soap but it could not disguise a more musty undertone. Even as I contemplated this I was aware of shadows falling over me as the others drew closer and looked on with something approaching awe. 

I was horribly aware of myself, my ragged, noisy, breathing and the trail of spittle escaping from the corner of my open mouth. I wanted to withdraw but now that Izabel had the measure of the situation she clenched me firmly in place and I could fell the motion of her fingers as she began to masturbate.

To begin with she worked on her clitoris but then she pushed her fingers deep inside as though probing for my tongue across the divide. Encouraged by the others it did not take long for her to reach a climax but it brought tears to my eyes as she squeezed me even more tightly whilst caught up in the final, joy-bringing, contractions..

Once it was over I feared that she was going to turn herself round and demand more but she was strangely quiet as she got up from the bed and, as she finally joined in the others' laughter, it sounded just a little strained.

I almost sighed with relief as they left the room but no one had made a move to untie me.

I lay listening as the music started up once more and I could hear their excited voices punctuated now and again by the distinctive pop of a wine cork. At some point I dozed off and, when I became aware of my surroundings again, everything was silent. The room was bathed by the light of the full moon, so I knew it was sometime in the early hours, and I began to dread that they had gone leaving me to my fate.

I turned my head listening for any sound that might allay my fears and then I heard footsteps. I was at once relieved and disturbed as the door opened and someone slipped stealthily into the room.

I was surprised to see that it was Bernice standing by the bed now dressed in a short purple nightie. 

"Bernice, I ache all over. Untie me."

She put her fingers to her lips conspiratorially and then whispered in her cut glass English accent.

"I want you to do it...what you did for her."

I was too shocked to reply but I finally found my voice and spoke in anger.

"Don't be insane. Untie me now!"

I had spoken quietly, albeit tersely, aware, even now, that I did not want to disturb the others. She simply ignored me and, with a grace that her body belied, she moved up onto the bed.

Following Izabel's example she straddled my head facing down my body and I immediately felt afraid. Her bulk, with its heavy promise, eclipsed the moonlight and she allowed her satin nightie to drape over my head.

I could not do it. I filled my lungs, ready to shout, but, as if in anticipation, she came down on my face stifling my cry at birth. In desperation I tried to shake my head but she sat very still her weight keeping me firmly in place. It must have been about thirty seconds but it felt like a lifetime before she relented and lifted herself a couple of inches.

"Bernice..please!"

"Do it!"

"I can't!"

She was not going to take no for an answer. She settled on my face again and the message was clear. This time I did not have time to fill my lungs and after just a few seconds I was fighting for air but she ignored the thrashing of my body and continued to sit in stately fashion.

Again, she lifted herself just clear but this time she reached back to part the soft cushions of flesh that loomed over me.

"Are you ready to do it?"

"Bernice, I....ummmmhhhh!"

She did not let me get any further she relaxed onto my head but this time my nose was pressed deep into her cleft and it felt as if my face was caught in a vice. 

I had not learned my lesson and had not breathed in and this time she stayed in place even longer. When she finally allowed me to draw breath my lungs were burning.

There was nothing I could do. I was tempted to bite her, but I knew that she would make me face the consequences, and it might be hours before any of the others arose.

She remained poised over me with her parted cheeks revealing a deep set opening fringed with sparse red hair.

"Yes or no?"

"Yes"

I spoke the single word of surrender and felt tears pricking my eyes. This time she came down gently, inviting my tongue, and I unwillingly complied. 

She had obviously not washed since her previous exertions but I tried to ignore the acrid taste of her earlier arousal as I endeavoured to get it over with as soon as possible. I speared my tongue and was surprised at how easily I was able to penetrate her. Her excitement was obvious; she too began to finger herself furiously, bringing herself to a climax as quickly as possible, as if she feared that I might fail her.

The truth was that my tongue was numb and when the inevitable pressure came at the peak of her excitement I was able to bear it. Fortunately, as soon as it was over she slumped forward allowing me to breath freely for the first time in minutes. 

I was still working my tongue around inside my mouth, trying to restore some feeling, when she lifted herself upright and turned in a single movement. I opened my mouth to protest only to have it filled by her pulpy sex.

The wetness made it even more suffocating than before and I almost choked as I found myself breathing moisture. I waited for her to move, expecting her to rub herself over my face in a repeat of her earlier performance, but this time she wanted the slower, lazier, option. She wanted me to do all the work with my tongue.

She remained motionless for long seconds, starving me of air, until I had no choice. I pressed my sorely treated tongue deep inside. 

The contrast between the vicious squeezing that I had just endured and the gentler warm embrace of her sex was marked but even this little was too much. My tongue hurt right down to the root and even my lips were beginning to protest from the constant chaffing.

The taste, as I took her to her second orgasm, seemed stronger and I had to endure it for much longer as she made it absolutely clear that she was in no hurry.

She was no longer the ingénue; she made me lick her puffy labia for what seemed an age before directing me to get my tongue deep inside where I was forced to swallow a fresh inundation. 

Only at the very end, when the outcome was inevitable, did she allow me to give my attention to her clitoris, insisting that I suck it gently as she careened over the edge. 

When it was over she contemptuously rubbed herself over my face, smearing me liberally with her sap, and then she left me with every breath I took a reminder of my humiliation.

Sometime later she came back and I feared the worst but in a surprising turn of events she loosened the ribbon around one of my wrists and left again without a word.

I quickly released myself and braced a chair under the door handle to keep it secure. I then washed, avoiding my own image in the mirror, before brushing my teeth for long mindless minutes.

I could not bring myself to lie down on the bed again and so, covering myself with a sheet, I made myself comfortable in the chair and drifted in unconsciousness. 

Chapter 5

I was awakened by the sun blazing into the room and was surprised to find that it was almost midday. 

I dressed and made my way downstairs, filled with trepidation, but the girls were gone; the only remaining signs were a few breakfast dishes on the drainer and a box full of empty wine bottles set neatly by the door.

I was still trying to get my thoughts straight when the phone rang. It was Mateus, back from Stuttgart, checking to see if I was okay and confirming that he would be arriving later that evening. 

It was comforting to hear his voice and I was touched by his concern. For a short while I almost lulled myself into believing that everything would be alright but the reality of my tender tongue was a reminder of just how low I had fallen. I determined that I would go back to the house and then to gallery if needs be to have it out with Mateus immediately.

With this new determination I packed the car and set off. I found myself driving aggressively and had to make a conscious effort to calm myself down. Once back at the manor I strode into the vestibule and shouted for Catrina but there was no answer. I found this oddly frustrating and I guess this was because I wanted an outlet for my simmering rage.

As Mateus had not answered either I assumed he was at the gallery and so I went up to the bedroom to collect my passport before setting off to confront him.

In the event I confronted him a lot sooner than I anticipated and, in so doing, I came close to fainting. I found him naked on the bed his limbs bound to the corner posts with white ribbons. 

I wanted to flee the room but I remained rooted to the spot, partly out of shock but also because he could not see me; his eyes were blindfolded with a white silk scarf.

I did not know what to think. It seemed fair to assume that Izabel was somehow involved in this depravity, as evidenced by the ribbons themselves, but if Mateus was an unwilling participant his raging erection suggested otherwise.

I concluded that he was in some way enjoying his predicament and I wanted to curse him. His past behaviour had never hinted at any such predilection and I felt that I had been duped but, worse still, I had been sucked in.

Gaining control of myself I decided to take the dignified route and leave without saying another word. The sooner he was out of my life the better. I turned to leave but, as I did so, he moved his head. I saw, then, that the scarf covered his ears as well and so, whilst he knew that there was someone in the room, he had no idea who.

It took me just seconds to make my decision. As he continued to cast his head around searching for a clue I quietly undressed myself. Once naked, I eased up on to the bed and straddled his head and, as I suspected, his docile manner told me that this was not unexpected.

"Izabel?"

Hearing him confirm my worst fears fired my anger but if he thought I was his step daughter what did I care?

I lowered myself, bringing my sex to his mouth, and, almost immediately, he began to lick like a cat lapping milk. 

On the one hand I felt completely gutted, he had never shown this sort of enthusiasm when he had gone down on me in the past, but, on the other, I was quickly becoming aroused. 

It had not been my intention. I had simply wanted to remove his blindfold at some stage and witness his humiliation when he found it was me and not Izabel but how much the sweeter if he brought me to a climax first.

I reached down and parted my labia and, like a well conditioned animal, he switched his attention to my clitoris, licking in a tight circular motion. It was incredibly arousing but I assumed that he would tire quickly. I was wrong. He had obviously had a lot of practise and this realization brought with it a dichotomy of emotions. 

In a moment of uncertainty I lifted myself off of his face, leaving his tongue darting at the empty air, but I could feel my juices welling up inside of me. 

As I continued to hesitate a single droplet teased its way down my labia, growing ever more pendulous, until it succumbed to gravity and plopped between his lips.

For a second he appeared startled but then, when he realized what had happened, he tried to turn his head away in disgust. Given his circumstances, and all that was suggested by them, I was surprised by this sudden display of fastidiousness but he was about to be taught a lesson.

I brought my legs together and pinned his head tightly with my knees. Now that he was fixed firmly in place I pushed two fingers deep inside myself and smiled as I heard a squelching rasp. 

I worked my fingers in and out and it did not take much to set up a flow. In a matter of seconds I was gently moving my hips and dripping all over his face. It was a delicious case of cause and effect; he clamped his mouth closed and tried to shake his head free but his struggles only served to increase my arousal and make me wetter.

Over the next couple of minutes I got an inkling of just what motivated Izabel but, even though my conscience was telling me it was wrong, I did not stop. I needed to come and I knew exactly how it was going to happen. I lowered myself again and shifted forward smearing his face in the process.

He did not have to be told, he had been here before. I felt my heart trip as his tongue sought out my tight opening and then, with a strength born of experience, he pushed his way through the dark portal. 

I hardly dare breath as his tongue seemed to work its way impossibly deep but my fingers found their way unthinkingly back to my clitoris where the merest touch was enough to break the dam.

I was brought back to reality by jerking of his body and found that, at the height of ecstasy I had relaxed heavily onto his face trapping his tongue and restricting his breathing.

I got up from him with a tinge of guilt but his breathing quickly returned to normal and he did not say a word.

The time had come to disabuse him but, even as I prepared to reach for the blindfold, I noticed that his erection was still standing proud. It was an easy decision to make, I would make use of him one last time. 

I moved down his body and he gasped as I took hold of his manhood and guided it into me. I had never felt him harder and I found myself feeling slighted but I was still flying from my first orgasm and, as I closed my eyes and began a slow rise and fall, I lost myself in the pursuit of a second. 

I kept up an easy rhythm but was disturbed as he jerked violently. My eyes flew open and there, right in front of me, was Izabel. She was gloriously naked as she sat imperiously on his face and I could only try to imagine his shock.

I opened my mouth to speak but she put a finger to her lips and cautioned me to silence. Beneath me he settled once more, no doubt caught up in the throes of a new, enhanced, fantasy, and, as I watched I saw his tongue disappear into the dark thicket covering Izabel's sex.

I should have shouted, questioned, raged, instead I began to move once more now driven by the image of Izabel as she teased her nipples to erection whilst she enjoyed his oral ministrations.

Our bodies quickly became sheened in perspiration and I knew that I could not hold out for much longer but, as though sensing that the moment was upon me, Izabel reached up and, putting her hand behind her head, she gently drew my mouth down onto her breast. I sucked ravenously even as I started to come aware that inside me Mateus was ejaculating with an unaccustomed violence.

It took me a long while to recover and, whilst I tried to regain my breath, Izabel slipped away from me. 

Mateus gasped as she got up from his face but his reprieve was short lived. Izabel took my hand and encouraged me to move. I felt his limp manhood fall away as she eased me forward and then I understood. 

I positioned myself over his face once more.

"Não!"

He only managed the single word of protest. Izabel reached under me and pinched his nostrils closed whilst at the same time pushing her fingers painfully into his cheeks so that he could not close his jaw. 

I do not know which cruel demon was driving me as I opened myself but it felt so good as I allowed the commingled fluids to ooze out of me to fall into his open mouth in a viscous trickle. Izabel continued to hold him tightly so that nothing was spared and I fleetingly thought of bringing myself off for a third time but he finally managed to close his mouth and this signalled the end.

He began to rant in Portuguese. It was the most angry I had ever seen him, but Izabel silently handed me back my clothes and ushered me from the room. As we stood together, conspiratorially, in the hall it seemed a fitting end. He would forever agonize over the identity of the second woman in the room.

Izabel went to her own room without another word and afterwards I was left to wonder if she knew I was leaving or if, perhaps, it had always been her plan to drive me to it. I could not even be sure whether or not she had intended me to find Mateus revealed in his true light.

Later that same night I was back in London removing the dust sheets from the furniture in my flat. It was hard to believe that so much had happened in so short a time. It felt as if I had been away for weeks.

The next morning I set about putting my life back on track. I got back into the studio and made a start on the most urgent of my recent commissions and, within a few weeks, things seemed back to normal. 

Mateus tried to contact me but I refused his calls and, after a while, the frequency dwindled. Perhaps, after all, he guessed that I had been the second woman with all that that portended. I returned from the studio one evening to find a letter telling me that there was a packing case awaiting my disposal instructions and I guessed that he had shipped back the remainder of my belongings. 

My New York exhibition was a success but I found that my paintings were taking on darker tones and themes which were a reflection of my continuingly disturbed state of mind. Not a day went by without me thinking of the Mateus of old but, more hauntingly, I could not rid myself of thoughts of Izabel. 

Perversely, the new, more sinister, paintings sold well and I found myself in even greater demand which gave me an excuse for avoiding old friends. I was acutely aware that I had been re-examining past relationships for clues to my recent aberrant behaviour. 

One morning I received an invitation that I could not refuse. Claire was back in London and had been nominated for a literary prize. The ceremony was at the Savoy hotel and her publisher had taken a table at the white tie event. Clair invited me to be one of her supporters and I could not let her down. 

In the event Claire lost out to a young poet who was awarded the prize posthumously. She understood the reasoning for the sympathy vote but she did not take it well. She quickly got fed up with people offering their commiserations and when we went to the loo together she asked me if I would like to help her drown her sorrows up in her room away from the crowds.

Her publisher had put her up in a suite overlooking the Thames and we sat together in front of the picture windows and opened a bottle of wine. We were well into it when she delicately broached the subject of my own misfortunes.

"I was sorry to hear about you and Mateus. You seemed so sure when we met up in Seville."

"Things just didn't work out."

"I didn't like to say anything but I had a feeling you couldn't settle down. You're too much a woman of the world."

"No. It wasn't like that. I think I really loved him."

"Then what's the problem?"

"A jealous step-daughter."

"I thought you got on okay with her."