soapy mass. While it soaked in she picked up the bar of honey-scented soap and began to wash her body, running it over her breasts, her stomach, her mound...
Her nipples hardened as she ran the soap over the deep cleft of her sex, imagining those strong, calloused hands holding her, brown eyes boring into hers, forcing her down, his lips hungering for her breasts, demanding she take his cock into her mouth and tease it to full size with her tongue until he pushed her over and forced himself into her dripping cunt.
Meinwen pressed the soap inside her, using her fingers and pelvic muscles to simulate a great, wet cock while the ball of her palm thumped and ground against her clitoris until she peaked, her spasm sending the molded soap clattering against the shower drain.
She leaned against the wall of the shower to catch her breath, shampoo dripping over her breasts.
Chapter 5
Meinwen was woken by the tiger-rumble of her stomach. Apart from the cup of tea with Mr. Fenstone, she’d had nothing to eat or drink since the cheese sandwich during her vigil for the Holly King. The momentary thought of Jimmy prompted a rush of heat to her loins but, tempted though she was to dally under the warm sheets, she bridled her desire and rose, pulling fresh clothes out of her chest of drawers and trotting downstairs with the washing basket.
In the kitchen she was faced with the mud all over the floor and the sodden blanket. She kicked it into the corner and put her clothes in to wash at the ecological thirty degrees. She made herself a cheese and mushroom omelet with the shaggy ink caps, a pot of fennel and raspberry tea and headed into the tiny conservatory with the morning’s Laverstone Times . The headline today was “Cat rescued from Heating Vent.” Sometimes she missed living in cities. When she first moved to Laverstone she’d seen a headline about a cyclist prosecuted for speeding. The strains of Radio Three filled the air with Mozart and Debussy in an effort to compensate for the pendulous nimbostratus currently soaking Laverstone. The inclement weather made her wonder if she could rain check the visit to John Fenstone’s house. She was worried her fantasies about him might affect how she dealt with him. After a minute’s thought she decided the pros of going outweighed the cons of girlish infatuation.
When she finished lunch, she carried her plate back into the kitchen and went into the study for her laptop. All that remained of the tower system she’d come to Laverstone with was the hard drive, now mounted in an external USB case. Harry Prosser, who lived by the bus station, did computer work. Not publicly, for there was no shop front and not even a brass plaque next to the door but he’d do small things for friends.
A quick internet search revealed John Fenstone had worked for Smiles Estate Agents in Dark Passage. By an odd chance, if there was such a thing, the Estate Agents was next door to the bookshop run by Harold Waterman and his friend, Mr. Jasfoup. The Estate Agents listed the deceased as a “vibrant, fun-loving agent with a passion for selling ‘quirky and individualized houses.’” He also had a FaceSpace account, which, most interesting of all, referenced a Dominus account, a matchmaking service for people into BDSM. Meinwen had let her full membership there lapse, but she still had basic access.
She logged in to the latter but couldn’t trace John by his real name. She tried searching for dominants by location but still had no success. She tried “all men within ten miles” and almost jumped when Jimmy’s eyes appeared on the page.
A quick glance at the age and gender preference of the figure in the full leather face mask confirmed it wasn’t Jimmy. This was John, and his profile page explained exactly why Jimmy had no clue as to the identity of his brother’s girlfriend. He was a submissive and gay. That would also explain the missing pictures Sergeant Peters had referred to. If
Her nipples hardened as she ran the soap over the deep cleft of her sex, imagining those strong, calloused hands holding her, brown eyes boring into hers, forcing her down, his lips hungering for her breasts, demanding she take his cock into her mouth and tease it to full size with her tongue until he pushed her over and forced himself into her dripping cunt.
Meinwen pressed the soap inside her, using her fingers and pelvic muscles to simulate a great, wet cock while the ball of her palm thumped and ground against her clitoris until she peaked, her spasm sending the molded soap clattering against the shower drain.
She leaned against the wall of the shower to catch her breath, shampoo dripping over her breasts.
Chapter 5
Meinwen was woken by the tiger-rumble of her stomach. Apart from the cup of tea with Mr. Fenstone, she’d had nothing to eat or drink since the cheese sandwich during her vigil for the Holly King. The momentary thought of Jimmy prompted a rush of heat to her loins but, tempted though she was to dally under the warm sheets, she bridled her desire and rose, pulling fresh clothes out of her chest of drawers and trotting downstairs with the washing basket.
In the kitchen she was faced with the mud all over the floor and the sodden blanket. She kicked it into the corner and put her clothes in to wash at the ecological thirty degrees. She made herself a cheese and mushroom omelet with the shaggy ink caps, a pot of fennel and raspberry tea and headed into the tiny conservatory with the morning’s Laverstone Times . The headline today was “Cat rescued from Heating Vent.” Sometimes she missed living in cities. When she first moved to Laverstone she’d seen a headline about a cyclist prosecuted for speeding. The strains of Radio Three filled the air with Mozart and Debussy in an effort to compensate for the pendulous nimbostratus currently soaking Laverstone. The inclement weather made her wonder if she could rain check the visit to John Fenstone’s house. She was worried her fantasies about him might affect how she dealt with him. After a minute’s thought she decided the pros of going outweighed the cons of girlish infatuation.
When she finished lunch, she carried her plate back into the kitchen and went into the study for her laptop. All that remained of the tower system she’d come to Laverstone with was the hard drive, now mounted in an external USB case. Harry Prosser, who lived by the bus station, did computer work. Not publicly, for there was no shop front and not even a brass plaque next to the door but he’d do small things for friends.
A quick internet search revealed John Fenstone had worked for Smiles Estate Agents in Dark Passage. By an odd chance, if there was such a thing, the Estate Agents was next door to the bookshop run by Harold Waterman and his friend, Mr. Jasfoup. The Estate Agents listed the deceased as a “vibrant, fun-loving agent with a passion for selling ‘quirky and individualized houses.’” He also had a FaceSpace account, which, most interesting of all, referenced a Dominus account, a matchmaking service for people into BDSM. Meinwen had let her full membership there lapse, but she still had basic access.
She logged in to the latter but couldn’t trace John by his real name. She tried searching for dominants by location but still had no success. She tried “all men within ten miles” and almost jumped when Jimmy’s eyes appeared on the page.
A quick glance at the age and gender preference of the figure in the full leather face mask confirmed it wasn’t Jimmy. This was John, and his profile page explained exactly why Jimmy had no clue as to the identity of his brother’s girlfriend. He was a submissive and gay. That would also explain the missing pictures Sergeant Peters had referred to. If
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