Her face, tilted back, was close to mine and the laugh had gone. In its place was an open-lipped desire. Her breasts, which I could feel, distinctly and in outline, thrust into my chest, heaving slightly, her hazel eyes, with their beautiful whites, imperceptibly blue-tinged, seemed hardly to see me, to be turned in on themselves in a deep desire, lids half closed, heavily.
I kissed her and a shock seemed to run through her body, clamping her electrically against me. Her hands slipped from my chest up over my shoulders, lacing round my neck and crushing my face hard down on hers. I could feel her strained breasts pressing still more firmly against me.
"Henry will be here any moment," I whispered, brushing my lips over her face as she held me in a grip whose physical force suggested desperation.
"No he won't." The words breathed out separately with difficulty. "He has to go to the other side of the town."
I had not really been expecting this madness.
"Surely," I whispered again. "You don't want to risk him finding us! We must wait until this afternoon."
"No, no, please," she whispered fiercely. "I can't wait until then. He'll be another 15 minutes. We have time."
Christ! I nearly laughed. What a woman! "If you're sure," I said softly.
She made no answer, her hands merely roaming over my back, clasping me around the hips and straining me towards her as she thrust her lower body into me. My penis had risen in a mountainous hump and, feeling this through the flimsy covering of her skirt she raised herself on tiptoe, forcing the junction of her legs against the mound.
I needed no further encouragement and pushed her cold-bloodedly across the room onto the bed. I didn't particularly want to be discovered by her husband in a compromising situation and, in spite of her feelings in the matter, I was certain our time was limited.
She fell back onto the bed, still holding me and I fell forward on her belly. Leaning slightly sideways I reached down between us and unbuttoned my fly. My penis was hot and alive almost with excitement, even to my hand as I pulled it forth. With a quick movement, I drew her skirt up to the top of her thighs, exposing them, firm and brown as I had seen them in her bathing suit, but somehow so much more secret and intimate now.
We had no time for preliminaries and I did not caress her, didn't even notice the features of her body or pull the skirt higher than necessary to slip my penis under it and up.
As I reached the point of entry she abruptly drew up her thighs and I entered her with the effect of a double shock and she gasped, her breasts straining from the bed, embedding their firm points in my chest.
It was the first time, I could remember that I had had a woman so nearly completely covered with clothes. Only her legs were bare, her skirt draping down around her hips and flanks, making the intercourse a more secret, exciting thing, adding a furtive lack of complete knowledge to it, which coursed a shot of extra power, like a sudden sharp injection, through my organ, twisting my loins, reaching its chill hand up through my belly to my chest, where my heart palpitated under the wonder and intimacy of the sensation.
With the lips of her sex, moistly brushing my trousers at the point where my penis shot stiffly from them like some stripped fruit, I wriggled farther and farther into the depths of her passage.
She, obviously a woman who needed sex to a great extent, and gave her body as its instrument once the fire in her was kindled, clasped my hips with her knees, pressing her thighs against my trousered body as if trying to hold me there in a vice, while she rotated her hips in little semicircular movements.
Her eyes were half open still, with the lids, paler than her brown skin, half lowered. Her eyes, I felt, did not really see me, but were concentrated in seeing nothing but the inner rage of her sensation. Her brown fingers dug into my shoulders, my back, to the accompaniment of an agonized gasp every time I entered her with a strong, hard stroke.
The thought of Henry's imminent arrival added a further boiling intensity to my passion, creating and holding in my chest a nervous thrill, as if a bladder were enlarging to bursting point inside me.
I heard a footstep on the stairs outside and half stopped.
"Henry?" I hissed, in a rush of uncertainly.
But Gene pulled me back into her, writhing her hips.
"Oh, don't stop, don't stop!" she whispered furiously. "I don't care, I don't care."
The door was locked on the inside and I continued with a furious rapidity of movement, trying to force the explosion so that I could hide away if necessary before Henry was let in. But so loud were Gene's involuntary, undisguished moans that I had no doubt her husband would hear us from the other side of the door. But there was nothing to be done and I could feel myself mounting to the great pressure against which I could do nothing.
To my relief-almost subconscious and comparatively unimportant though it was-I heard the footsteps pass and continue down the corridor and I was able to turn my whole mind back to the squeezing, bloodsucking fury which grasped and drew on my penis, enlarging it, bloating it, making it feel three times its size as my stomach, my abdomen, swirled in a liquid excitement, Gene, legs drawn back against her body, so that the skirt had fallen back to her waist and her buttocks were partly exposed as well as the intimate sensual regions where my organ buffetted and tortured her, began to bite into my neck with quick little paingiving stabs of her sharp teeth, stifling her moans and strangled throat noises in the flesh of my shoulder.
Her body jack-knifed and convulsed, jack-knifed again and a moment later, the sucking of the juices of my body down through the tube of throbbing flesh, which joined me to her, exploded in a rushing waterfall which cascaded into her inundated channel. I cried out, gripping her so tightly that she squealed and then I flopped flat onto her and lay, cheek against hers, drained of breath and feeling.
When our heaving bodies had subsided and the noises of the world outside swam more clearly into our consciousness, we rearranged ourselves quickly, Gene, brushing-in a charming gesture-the surrounds of my flies.
"You'd better go now quickly darling," she said, smiling at me as if we had been lovers for months, "and I'll see you at the same cafe this afternoon between 3 and 3:30. Maybe I'll let you into a secret then."
I raised a quizzical eyebrow. "You don't mean to say you have secrets from me already?"
She laughed, kissed me gently, moistly on the lips and bustled me softly from the room.
Walking from the hotel, I passed Henry's car coming back from the trip which had given his wife time to be unfaithful to him on his own bed. The vehicle swept majestically by and Henry-thinking of his golf, or of his wife, perhaps-didn't notice me.
After lunch I remembered to buy some painting materials just in case Gene reminded me of my offer to paint her. Although now I could see that the main point of her conversation had been to provide us with an opportunity to make love, I laughed to myself as I remembered, too, that my first thought had been that it would provide us with a good opening. It had not occurred to me at the time that she'd be quite so actively inviting-so demanding, in fact. She was certainly the sort of woman who'd take chances and think afterwards-and without any regrets.
Vaguely I wondered what her secret could be. Probably something quite fatuous: that it was the first time she'd been unfaithful to Henry? Hardly, I thought. I settled myself early in our cafe to await the answer and a more luxurious indulgence in the forbidden pleasures of adultery.
When Gene arrived, it was in a well-cut white cotton dress which set off to advantage the brown, soft texture of her skin and the round, willowy curves of her body. She sank into a chair beside me and twined her fingers in mine.
"Mine's a long lemonade," she said, Everything happened very naturally with Gene, no awkwardness, no strain; we seemed to flow into each other. I decided she was a very pleasant person to be on intimate terms with-and all so quickly.
"Everything all right?" I asked.
"Yes. He had no idea," she answered. "
He got back soon after you left. You must have seen him."
"In the distance," I replied. "But weren't you a little afraid he'd find us?"
She smiled at me.
"You can bluff your way through anything if you're clever," she said. "And what do we get out of life that's worth having except excitement in one form or another? I couldn't live without it."
"That makes two of us," I grinned. "I knew we were well suited," , She squeezed my hand and brushed my cheek with her mouth.
"I'm glad you think that," she murmured.
"What would you like to do this afternoon?" I asked after we'd made a fair start on fresh drinks, "Or, rather, where would you like to go to do it?"
She looked at me, thinking about something and didn't answer for some time.
"I told you I might let you into a secret," she said at last. "But I don't know if I should."
"You and Henry aren't married," I prompted, clucking my tongue in disapproval.
"Oh no, nothing so terribly immoral as that," she laughed "This is a question of forbidden pleasure."
"A subject which never fails to fascinate me."
For a moment I wondered if she was a call girl. Such things did happen to highly-sexed women in spite of-or even because of-secure and elevated positions.
"I know of a club," she suddenly admitted, "where all sorts of pleasurable activities go on. But perhaps sex en masse doesn't interest you."
"I find any variation on existing experience worthwhile," I replied.
"Well I'm not sure that I want to share you," she said with a pretty little pout, eyes twinkling.
"You hold the cards," I answered. "I'm quite content with things as they are, but I do like to see these interesting sidelights on the activities of my fellow men-and women.
"Well we could go there. It would be a very nice place for the two of us, anyway. The intercourse doesn't have to be communal." She mused a little and finally said: "Well, let's go for a little drive and I'll see.
"You mean to say you've got the car?"
She laughed in a triumphant little tinkle, "Certainly. I always get my own way. Henry's gone to the links in George's car."
A block or two away we climbed into the car where she'd parked it out of the sun. I was surprised and amused by the woman's most uncommon outlook. Knowing me as a lover for the first time, she was already risking my being attracted to others in what sounded like a most peculiar set up. But that was typical of her inability to prevent herself from embarking on courses of action. The results of which were very much open to question. There was an ease about her, a confidence, as if she felt sure of her ability to get her own way over a period if not at once. And it became more and more apparent that sex was her main idea of excitement-as, in fact, it is for most of us-and that she wasn't prepared to limit her excitement.
All around us in Cannes, as we drove through the crowded streets, holidaymakers, tourists, short and long-time visitors to the sun thronged and jostled. On the beaches they stretched in silent sun-worship, the hue of their skins betraying the length of their stay.
Outside Cannes again on a broad road whose direction I did not immediately recognise, cars thronged in and out of the town, bringing in score after score, hundred after hundred to fill the beaches over again, taking the burned bodies out again to recuperate in the country distances.
Gene drove well and at speed and, watching her brown, warm face, her slim hands on the wheel, I began to want her, to want her in a long, luxurious, unhurried orgasm. The morning's intimate moment had had too much emphasis on the moment. I now felt a desire to know thoroughly her slim, small-boned body. As if she divined my thoughts she leaned over, suddenly, and kissed me, dangerously, without relaxing the car's speed one kilometre. I liked her for that.
"How did you find this place?" I asked her, against the smooth purr of the engine.
"You don't think Henry introduced me to it, do you?" she asked archly.
"Tell me," I said. "I'm interested."
"I met an English ex-Army officer and his wife when I was here about three times ago," Gene told me. "The colonel didn't know anything about it. But his wife, who found him a little unimaginative, had known the owner some years before and had become a member. She introduced me."
"And what did you do then?" I asked.
"Had a very pleasant time," she answered.
I pictured her under the heavy weight of various male members, being crushed under their fiery bodies, limbs atwine.
"The bitch," I thought, with a grin.
We turned off the main road onto a narrower lane, turned into a drive and were soon approaching a large house, standing majestically on a slight incline, surrounded by shrubberies. "This is it," Gene announced.
"Very impressive," I said. "How do you know anyone will be there."
"It's always pretty crowded-not in the sense of the beach of course-there's a hell of a lot of people like the same thing you know."
I grinned and remained silent as we drew up outside the stone steps leading up to an entrance hall. Gene tooted her horn and then pulled round to one side of the building where several cars were parked in a gravel yard.
by the time we'd walked back to the front of the house-mansion would be a more descriptive term-a tall man with a goatee, immaculately dressed in very English-looking sporting clothes, was standing in the portal.
He came down the steps to meet us, a broad smile relaxing his rigid-looking features.
"Hello, my dear," he called in English, with a very little accent, to Gene. "I was expecting you a week or two ago."
They shook hands and he kissed her on both cheeks.
"Yes, I meant to tell you we'd be later this year."
"And how is your husband?"
Gene turned to me with a grin.
"Louis has never met Henry, but he always asks after him so solicitously."
"I thought perhaps my identity had been mistaken," I ventured.
"Oh no, Monsieur." Louis shook his head with a smile. "I am told that Henry is a fat man with looks of no distinction."
"You flatter me and my battle scars," I said.
We shook hands as Gene introduced us.
So this cultured looking fellow was Louis de Chauvreland, rich owner of the mansion and president of the club. His was the inspiration of this sexual paradise whose delights I hoped to taste.
We followed him into the great hallway of the building up the broad main staircase with its plush carpet. There was, it appeared, no fee to be paid for club membership. In fact membership was a rather rashly informal affair, an introduction from an established member sufficing. The aims were very simply to give a little pleasure to individuals who were loathe to go through the conversations, the feints, parries and occasional withdrawals of the less honest world without. Louis de Chauvreland derived his pleasure from the variety of experience which was presented to him by simple introduction and by witnessing the pleasure of his guests. He was a very rich man.
Pressing a button which opened the door to the main hall confronting us, de Chauvreland said: "You have come at a quiet moment. We were just awaiting a little entertainment."
Pushing through heavy velvet curtains we stepped into a room from the Arabian Nights, my breath was caught.
The hall was large, heavily carpeted and rugged; walls of cool mosaic and drapings; enormous, beautiful vases were poised on pedestals which protruded in a pattern of intervals around the walls, and parts of the floor which appeared to be structurally raised, in fact, revealed themselves to be enormous humps of rugs and cushions. In the corners tables of oak and bronze were merged with the drapings and on a framework a huge, glinting, bronze gong hung. Glinting because, although from the shadows of the ceiling a string of myriad-pieced chandeliers glinted also, the hall was lit by a hundred or more huge candles, sprouting in clamped clusters from various altitudes on the walls. The light was dull in spite of the numbers and somehow mysterious
, its mystery accentuated by the macabre effect of shaded lights, hidden by wall curtains, which flung small pools of light to the floor, light which oozed from under the drawn-up drapings, to creep strongly and then more weakly fading into the dusk of the candles along the cushioned fastness of the floor.
In the magnificent opulence of the setting, it was with a slight start that I became aware of the shaded figures, reclining in small groups, or in couples in the shaded places. Figures, all properly dressed, I noticed, who were drinking wine, spirits, coffee, looking at one another, lips moving in quiet conversation.
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