Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 137588 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137588 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
Who’s been sleeping in my bed?
Bad little Helen Palmer.
The screen showed the side of Anna’s face as she leaned forward, and I heard the press of lips, and then the camera moved, and pictured them both. Mr Roberts looked so much younger. His hair was longer, past his shoulders but just as curly and with no grey, and he was clean shaven. And happy.
He looked so happy.
He kissed his wife as the camera watched, and he brushed her cheek with his fingers and I knew how that felt and my skin tickled, too.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and breathed into his mouth and I knew how that felt, too.
“I’ve been thinking about you…” she breathed. And her hand moved to her chest, pulled down the satin. “I painted a roomful of strangers today and every single one of them was you.”
“And how many of those strangers made you wet?” There was something in his voice, something I hadn’t heard before. Something dark, and dangerous that made me shy, even though I was all alone.
“All of them.” Her eyes widened as she stared at him.
I heard a rustle off camera and she gasped.
“You touched yourself…”
She grinned and it was beautiful. “Many times…”
“You know what this means?”
She nodded, and her eyes twinkled. “Yes, sir.”
“Have you forgotten your manners, Anna?”
“I think I need reminding, sir.”
The screen went dark and all I could hear was my own breath until the picture resumed. The camera was on a stand of some kind, and it looked like the art room, the same big workbench without all the clutter. And there was Anna, and her wrists were bound and secured somewhere out of view. She was naked, and her arse was positioned on the edge of the bench, her thighs lolling out of shot, and her hip bones pronounced as she tensed and arched her back. Mr Roberts was naked as he came into view and I burned up at the sight of his erection. He was more wiry in the video, leaner somehow, and his expression was dark and full of lust, and I felt that hurting jealousy again.
He lit up a candle.
“Such a beautiful canvas,” he said, and lit another, a red one. And then one in blue, and then green, and purple, and he lined them up in a row on the bench beside her and their flames looked so pretty dancing in the darkness at the edge of the screen. “Show me…”
She moaned and wriggled.
“Show me that naughty little cunt, Anna…”
And she moaned again, and I did too and my stomach tickled. He said the C word.
He pinched and groped her thighs and she squirmed.
“Show me what’s mine…”
She pulled her legs up, and spread them wide, and there was no hair between them, and she looked so swollen and soft. I was burning up, and my heel was tapping, my eyes flicking to the doorway even though I knew he was miles away.
“Keep them spread…”
She murmured, and turned her face to the side and her breath turned ragged as he picked up the green candle.
“My beautiful, beautiful canvas… my beautiful wife…”
She groaned as he tipped up the candle, and wax splashed her thighs. It dribbled as she squirmed, and her toes curled.
“Ow…” she hissed. “Oh, Mark… ow…”
“More.”
It wasn’t a question, and she groaned again as he splashed her again. And he squeezed her, and pinched and smeared her, dribbling pretty rivers of wax all over her legs, over her stomach, and she wriggled and she gasped and sometimes she even flinched, and tensed up and dropped her legs until he’d order them back up again.
I felt dizzy, and the flutter between my legs wouldn’t stop, I sat forward in my seat and rocked a little, imagined it was me.
Different colours, bleeding together and snaking over her skin, and he directed it all like a man consumed, his canvas alive and breathing and hurting for him. She whimpered as he spiralled red wax around her breasts, closer and closer until big, hot drips splashed her nipples. And he pinched them, and scratched them, leaving jagged streaks in the pattern until he covered her up with more.
Her skin was marbled and splotched and pretty with wax, and she was smiling, moving towards the heat, towards his hands, towards his touch.
“So pretty…” he said, and kissed between her legs. “So pretty and soft… and vulnerable…”
She gasped as he pushed his fingers inside, and so did I, because he pushed in three and he wasn’t gentle, and she made a little squeak as he pushed in another. I felt heady and my mouth was dry.
“Oh yes, Mark, please… please… please fuck me… Oh, Mark, fuck me…”
I slipped my fingers between my legs, and it felt so wrong but I couldn’t stop.
She squealed and rocked her hips as he dripped wax onto her pussy, and it was so pretty, the pattern he was making, the beautiful marks on her skin.