“Turn round', Monique commanded. “I can't quite judge the effect from this angle”.
Jean allowed herself to be turned, Monique's hands exciting her as they grasped her shoulders. Pursing her lips, the girl carefully arranged the string of pearls so that they actually touched Jean's nipples: making the woman shiver as the cold stones brushed against her warm red teats.
Then she stepped back a pace, head cocked on one side, pleased with her artistic adjustment. “They set your breasts off beautifully, Jean', she cried. “Oh, I wish mine were as big as yours!” She put her hands beneath her own titties and lifted them ruefully.
“Don't be silly, darling!” Jean smiled, pleased with the compliment, knowing that her figure was more well- developed than Monique's and glad that the girl envied her the ripe, buxom breasts. “Yours are just as nice as mine… Maybe not quite so large, but those darling nips more than make up for that!”
Monique rubbed her fingers over her nipples, making them perk up almost immediately. “Mmm”. she sighed slowly. “All the same, I love to feel your titties so much, Jean! If they belonged to me, I could touch them whenever I liked, couldn't I?”
Jean paused a moment; then, in a quieter, more deliberate voice said: “They could belong to you, darling, if you wanted them to! You could treat them as your own… your very own, you know.
You only have to ask me — ”.
Despite the intimacy of their relationship, Monique felt herself beginning to blush at Jean's words. She brought her hands up, away from her breasts, and reached them out towards the woman.
“Wait”. Jean held her away, though Monique could see that she, too, longed to move into a warm, passionate embrace. “Don't forget that Michael is waiting for us. We'll have to go down now, darling. But soon we'll be able to hold each other and do everything we want… Come on.”
She took Monique's hand in hers, intertwining their fingers, and led the girl through the door. Their hands brushed constantly against their bare thighs as they walked downstairs — making a silent promise that in just a few more minutes they would roam freely all over the more intimate parts of their bodies…
As they re-entered the bedroom, hand in hand, Jean kicked the door softly shut with the flat of her foot. Demurely, eyes downcast, they presented themselves for Michael's approval: standing at the foot of the bed, looking like girls out of a thrilling but impossible dream.
Michael sat up slowly, his eyes wandering with an expression of mounting pleasure over their scantily-clad bodies. They were playing their parts to perfection, he thought. Monique, the shorter of the two, strongly resembled an Eastern slave girl, with her lightly tanned skin, her small but firm breasts and her slender, petite waist.
He stared at them for some time, feasting his eyes on the voluptuous spectacle of his wife and the French girl standing before him, meekly awaiting his commands. Finally, visual stimulation became insufficient: he desired the greater delight of actually touching these beautiful, submissive creatures.
Accordingly, he clapped his hands loudly and beckoned them to approach the bed. Slowly they drew nearer to him, moving with a cat-like grace, keeping their eyes on the carpet.
Michael waited until the girls were standing right next to him, then swung his feet off the bed — planting them on the floor between Monique and Jean, pushing between them and separating their bodies. He raised his hands, letting them glide softly on the girls' outer thighs. His fingers moved slowly upwards to caress their long, naked legs; his face only a few, exciting inches from their bellies.
Whilst they stood there in silent resignation, the man ran his hands possessively up and down their firm fleshed thighs. He stroked them insistently, revelling in the fact that they were so docile, so eager to please him.
Monique held Jean's hand tightly. More and more, the French girl was falling under the spell of her “role”: she allowed herself to half-believe that she really was enslaved to Michael, and that Jean was her sister in bondage. A curious fairy-tale atmosphere seemed to have been kindled in the bedroom. As the man pressed their thighs, making them tremble with a mounting excitement, Monique recollected the stories of the Arabian Nights. To her fevered imagination they were now remembered as being full of incidents where girls had been held captive- completely at the mercy of a ruthless, highly-sexed Sultan, who did exactly as he pleased with them…
When she had first read them as a young girl, Monique had felt a strange, rather discomforting sensation in the pit of her stomach. It had spread to her loins, firing them with an unfamiliar and disturbing heat.
Without being consciously aware of the fact, she had closely identified herself with those sorely-tried young maidens, whose destiny it was to be nothing more than objects of pleasure to the insatiable rulers of harems, palaces and mosques.
Whenever she imagined herself dressed in their scanty, revealing garments Monique felt a thrill of sheer ecstasy shoot through her body. To be forced into doing all sorts of terrible things… and in the presence of other, similarly dressed girls…
She had never been able to bring herself to go further and act out in her imagination what exactly would happen in such a situation. And when Michael had suggested to her that the three of them should play the very game she had secretly yearned for since her childhood, Monique had known an intensely powerful excitement: it was almost as if he had psychoanalysed her and understood the deep, subconscious sex-fantasies which she scarcely admitted even to herself.
Monique gave a little shiver of foreboding. It was both thrilling and frightening that someone knew so much about her. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Michael's hand stroked her thigh. The man's fingers were sinking firmly into the flesh, now moving around to the back of her leg; now caressing around the circumference and fondling down the inside of her thigh.
The silk scarf which hung over her loins, not quite wide enough to conceal the deep crease on either side of her crotch, felt sexy against her mound. It brushed with an acute tickling sensation on her naked quim as Michael made her thighs wobble gently…
At last, he tired of this pleasing but innocuous fondling. Running his hands higher up, Michael gave the girls a brief arse-feeling — cupping their buttocks firmly and squeezing the relaxed globes between his fingers.
Then he released them, lifted himself back onto the bed, and once again stretched at full length in front of them.
“Show me how you please each other when there are no males around', he commanded. “Let me see what games you females get up to when you are alone together!” He propped a pillow behind his head so that he could watch them more comfortably. “Do anything you wish — only make sure that I am well pleased!”
Monique bowed her head. “As you wish, oh master', she murmured. “We shall do all we can to carry out your desires!”
She knew that the colour had risen to her cheeks, staining them a blushing crimson. But though her heart pounded furiously against her ribs, Monique felt herself gradually escaping into her character of slave-girl with ease. And it was as a captive, obediently resigned servant that she now turned to Jean, her arms extended to the woman in a welcoming embrace.
But Jean haughtily swung around, presenting Monique with her back; crossing her hands proudly over her breasts.
The girl realised that Jean had taken on the role of a rebel, that she was inviting Monique to force her into submission. “Jean, we must do as we are told!” she whispered urgently. “We dare not disobey!”
She put her hands tentatively on the woman's hips, at the same time moving close to Jean and letting her “loin-cloth” press against her companion's bare arse. Monique could feel the delicious heat coming from Jean's ripely-fleshed curves — and pressed her fingers more firmly into the woman's hips.
“No!” Jean cried. “I won't do such things! If you want me to… then you'll have to make me!” Her eyes glinted with a provocative challenge. “If you can, that is! Go on — I dare you! Show our master which one of us is the stronger! I dare you!”
Michael leaned forward intently, hardly daring to let his eyes blink for fear that he would miss a single second of the girls' “performance”.
Monique ran her hands slowly up Jean's back until they gripped the woman's shoulders. “You must do what he commands!' she hissed. “We could be flogged or put to death for such disobedience! Please, Jean — I don't want to suffer even if you don't mind!”
But Jean thrust her away with a violent backward heave of her body. Monique staggered, the silk scarf flaring up momentarily and giving Michael a teasing flash of the girl's sex.
