“It's Claire who's your wife.”
“Come to my room.”
“Your room? No, I don't want your room.”
He falls upon me again. On his knees. He holds my foot and kisses it, a lovely kiss, his tongue fluttering. His agitation is amusing. What a delight he is. His lips are sensual. Another kiss. The other foot. Silence now in the room as Edward is at my feet. Then he looks up at me, his hand stroking, his eyes feverish.
“Do you want to drive me mad?”
“Don't be silly.”
“I think you want to drive me mad.”
I pull my foot away. I wonder what he was like before they married. He seems so weak with Claire, as if he wanted it. But he maintains a degree of dignity. Even upon his knees, he maintains a degree of dignity. Does he have a stand? He waits for me. I amuse myself in the waiting. How absurd it is. How ordinary. We must have something better than this. That awful fellow from Zurich who kissed my feet and then fell over dead drunk on the rug.
Now Edward is at my legs again, his hands pushing at my dress, his hands upon my calves, his murmuring. He wants the central spot, darling. He's like a puppy-dog. One must have tenderness for the passion of the male. Completely aroused. I ought to make an effort at modesty. My legs are exposed, my knees, my garters. Edward is at my body. He presses himself upon the fortress. His face pushing at my thighs. One thinks of the delicious prospect. His lips quivering against my thighs. My dress pulled up. My thighs so wantonly exposed. He mumbles again. Is he really so intoxicated? Now he removes a shoe. Then the other. Then he wants my stockings off. His fingers tickling my feet. His greedy eyes upon my legs. How delightful it is. This lechery that he shows in his face, this abandoned devotion to the senses. I want to see him naked. I want to look at his cock and balls. How silly he looks as he kisses my knees. You're a wanton, darling. You revel in your wantonness. How lovely it is. His mouth. Does he understand the meaning of it? I wonder if Claire is amused when he kisses her legs. His back bent. This homage they pay to the woman. I won't go upstairs with him yet. Certainly not yet. I must have something here in the drawing-room. Something to remember. One always needs something to remember.
He looks at my face now. “Let me see it.”
“See what?”
“Julie, please…”
The puppy-dog begging. “Darling, you mustn't.”
“Yes, I must.”
He goes on, his fingers pulling at my drawers, at the bows that hold them. My drawers come down. I must raise my hips. An accomplice. My dress falls again to hide my belly. He succeeds in slipping my drawers off my feet. He returns to my thighs again, pushing at my dress to gradually expose what he wants.
I show reluctance. One must always show reluctance. But then my belly is uncovered. My nest. Edward's eyes are upon me, his hands upon my body. I sigh. I pretend to be reconciled to it. His gaze. How much force and power it has. His eyes show an intense gratification. His senses overwhelmed as he contemplates the realities. His face so close to the realities. I have the pleasure of it. I like to be looked at. I like the close perusal of my little garden. I like the pleasure in their eyes. How intoxicating it is to be looked at like this. He whispers at me. He splutters. His face. His lips. The tickling sensation of his breath. He reveals himself. His salacious temperament. I want to see him. His instrument. The lewdness of him naked. Seduced by the Devil, darling. You want the sensation of having your sister's husband. Yes I do. Well, I already have him in a sense. His face at my copse. Just looking. The anticipation in his eyes. What does he see? The intrigue of the feminine flower? How silly they are sometimes. One thinks of the passion. One imagines the pleasures. Claire's husband. Well, we've already gone too far to draw back. Is he pleased? The way they well with lust. We ought to be wary of the door. One of the maids might come in. Or both maids at once. Edward upon his knees in front of me, his face between my thighs, his mouth almost upon me, his nose sniffing at me. Does he have a taste for sweets? Shall I grant the favor of it? How wicked it is. His eyes burning upon my slit. Mademoiselle? His amorous fancies. Shall I confess the truth? Shall I tell him how much I adore displaying myself? Shall I tell him how much I adore what he is about to do? I want to excite him. I want his lust. I want his confirmation. Yes, I suppose that's what it is. His confirmation. One gets confirmed each time it's done. The kiss. The intimate kissing. Now, Edward, now. Yes, darling, you have him now. His breath. He nuzzles first. Delay. Exquisite dalliance. Finally I groan and pull at his head. The darling man. His mouth. The pleasure of it. I groan. My head back. My hands upon his temples. I squirm upon the cushion. His tongue in my furrow. Up and down. Over and over again. His head moving. How he kisses it. His lips. The tickling of his breath. What an agony of delight it is. His tongue in the wet. Yes, Edward. In the quick of it. Does Claire feel the same? Do sisters feel the same? The way she laughs. He pushes at me, his mouth pushing, his lips pushing. My legs upon his back. His face against my nest. I don't want to groan. I don't want him to hear that. I must pretend a degree of coolness. A small degree. He must not know the disturbance he causes. His face down there. His nose. Sometimes when he looks at me, his interest is so prominent. It's a wonder Claire hasn't guessed it. I must not cry out. Silly girl, you must not cry out. He won't understand it if you cry out. People never do understand it. And the servants. We must leave this room. I want to leave this room but I will not release him. I will not release his mouth. And the pleasure to come. His wet kiss. How lovely it is. His delight is so intense. The way he delights in it. His lips so fervent. The sweet sucking. Now he has the taste and smell of me. His wife's sister. The sound of it. How impatient he is. It's marvelous to have it done with such vigor. Go on, darling. Be as nice as you can. Find whatever you want. I do like it. Oh Lord, I do like it.
In my bedroom now. I refused his room. I want him here, the doing of it on my bedroom. His trousers unbuttoned. His organ in my hand. The exhibition. The lust in his eyes. How obscene it is. The pink instrument. He murmurs. My fingers linger. The moment voluptuous, trembling with a portent of pleasure. My mind is in a whirl. Now that I have him in my hand. The excitement of holding him. Claire's husband. His swollen limb. The lingering feel of his efforts in the drawing-room. My curled fingers upon his vigor as he kisses me. His determination throbbing beneath my fingers. I stroke him. He groans. I test his inclinations, his lust. Then he groans again as I sit upon the edge of the bed and bring him forward. His knob between my lips. I draw at the tip. His pego sucked. He shudders. I want his ballocks out. He groans as I lift his balls, tickle the big stones. His root stiff and swollen in my mouth. He mumbles something, shows his agitation, his fingers touching my cheek. Then I release him and rise, kiss his lips, slide my arms around his neck and kiss his lips again. My thighs pressed against his. His penis stiff against my belly. I look down at it. I play with it. Once again I sit on the edge of the bed and suck it. How fiercely erect he is. The heat of his flesh in my mouth. His huge thing. My fingers lifting his cods, his delicious balls. Slowly, darling. You don't want him spending now. Not will all his clothes on. You must enjoy the moment. You must have the full sweetness of it.
We undress. Edward in haste. His white body appears, his cock extended, flushed pink, his balls in a nest of brown hair. He helps me drop my clothes. Then I fall upon the bed and in a moment his lips are at me. My feet. He groans as he kisses my toes. He groans in his anguish. I recline backwards. Then I lift my head again to watch him kiss my belly. A private view of Edward in his passion. His excitement. He strokes my legs. His hand slides between my thighs to find my nest.
How easy it is to yield to it. The stroking. The kissing. The strangeness of it because this is Edward at my copse. Edward's fingers. One has one's obligations. We have our minor courtesies. I did not expect his passion. He has a certain quality in his manner, something admirable. He touches my breasts with his outstretched hand. We have such power over them. The female charm has such enormous power over their will. One would think they should resent it, and perhaps they do. Perhaps tomorrow he will hate me. But now I have his delight. I have him naked upon my bed. My bedroom. The room next to Claire's. His hands clasped around my bottom. His body is half- twisted to the side and I can see just the tip of his root, the pink knob of it. Moist and pink. Oh yes, the anticipation now. He kisses me again. Our lips joined. His fingers in my sex to indicate his intention.
“I must have you.”
“We'll be sorry for this.”
“You mustn't think of Claire.”
“But I do think of Claire. She happens to be my sister and I do think of her.”
