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herself, picturing what it would be like to have
one of these Nordic twins inside her, filling her with their
hugeness.
     
    She stopped, suddenly embarrassed that she
was standing in the apartment window, where anyone could see her.
Then she relaxed. After all, Marc had made it clear that this was a
private beach, and the normal rules did not apply here.
     
    The bathroom was full of steam now, and she
reluctantly turned away from the eye candy and stepped into the
deep, steaming bath.
     
    She flicked a switch at the side of the tub
and the water began foaming. She stepped into the jacuzzi with a
squeal of delight, relaxing as the firm, warm jets began to pummel
away the stresses of the long flight and her fear that she was
about to be abducted by a gang of slave traders the moment she
stepped into the apartment.
     
    She opened her legs wider, sliding beneath
the water as one particular pulse of warm liquid found its way
towards her vulva and began caressing her labia. She moaned in
pleasure, her lips slightly parted. This time she did not need her
fingers on her sensitive little nub, but instead allowed the
streams of water to do their trick, pounding and pulsing until they
drove her to a shuddering climax.
     
    As she waited for the waves of pleasure to
wash over her and subside, she reconsidered the situation that had
led her from her grotty apartment-share in Chicago to this
luxurious apartment in Europe, with all its temptations.
     
    It had all started so innocently.
     
    A friend request on Facebook from an
unfamiliar name. It happened all the time if you were young and
female - especially if your profile photo was as hot as Megan's and
you were prepared to pose in a tiny green string bikini that barely
covered your full breasts and emphasised your tiny waist.
     
    She normally deleted these stranger requests
immediately, but something about this one made her hesitate, her
finger hovering over the delete button.
     
    It was not just the picture on his profile:
after all, anyone could use a photograph of an insanely-hot
olive-skinned guy with black hair and dark green eyes. She was
scammed like that all the time, by automated computer programs that
used stock pictures of models that you could find for yourself
online if you looked hard enough, or by seedy old guys who used
images of their sons as bait to trap the unwary.
     
    No, it wasn't just the photo: it was the
fact that they seemed to have so many friends in common, and also
that he seemed to know so much about her. She liked the fact that
he was up-front about his age - many thirty-two-year-olds would
have pretended to be younger when making contact with someone who
had barely been out of college a year - and also that his friend
request was delightfully honest about exactly what he intended to
do to her. She appreciated the honesty, and also the imagination
which he had used to spell out his desires.
     
    She had hesitated - then clicked to accept
his friend request. What harm could it possibly do? Since she had
graduated, she had been going mad with boredom. She had managed to
secure a low-paid job with a firm of city accountants that barely
paid for the room she rented in Amy's flat, and she knew she was
lucky to have even that. Her student loans hung around her neck
like a millstone. She could not afford a holiday in Florida, let
alone Europe, so when Marc had made his offer, she had immediately
seized it with both hands.
     
    Megan was not so naive to think that Marc
would actually look like his picture, but the increasingly
flirtatious messages they had been trading had piqued her
curiosity. He had presented his suggestion that she borrow his
apartment for the week as a no-strings-attached offer, but when he
had casually mentioned that he was going to be in the area the same
week and they should meet, she realised immediately what was
involved.
     
    "Only if you pay for my flight," she had
teased.
     
    And she had then been stunned when he
emailed her a