Worth Her Weight In Gold

Worth Her Weight in Gold 

‘That dinner was disastrous. I can’t believe you embarrassed me,’ Eleanor declared hotly. ‘You kept me waiting in front of my friends, arriving forty minutes late. Then you ruined my new gown by spilling red wine all down it. ’

Montel retaliated quickly, ‘I’ve already apologised for being late, twice, and as for the gown, it was an accident, and would never have happened had you not suddenly squeezed my crotch so tightly under the table, just as I lifted the glass. You were positively wicked, when everyone was looking.’

‘Which only served to make it all the more exciting. And as for you being late and spilling wine over me, it didn’t end there. To add coal to the fire, you had the nerve to send me home alone in a cab.’

‘I had a little business to finish with Armstrong before I could leave, and knew you were eager to get out of your soiled gown, so it made sense for you to go on ahead.’

‘Well, I don’t like being taken for granted.‘

He bowed his head and raised a hand in mock horror. 'I would never dream of taking a woman such as yourself for granted.’

‘But what am I to do? My lovely gown is absolutely ruined,’ she protested sulkily. Knowing him as well as she did, she gave him time to consider her question. He would eventually relent, give her what she wanted, and she knew it.

Montel looked at her then. She had changed out of her gown and was lying on a chaise-lounge, her tantalizing form draped loosely in a robe of palest blue, arranged so as to suggest rather than conceal its exquisite outline. Her head rested on cushions of the softest, snowiest white, with her hair tumbling about her shoulders in soft golden waves. Still, after all this time he admired her beauty. Her skin glowed pale and translucent in the candle light. A kind of magic seeming to radiate from her, a matchless piece of loveliness, wondrous as the ideal of a poet's dream.

‘Then I’ll buy you another,’ he offered generously, settling in a deep comfortable chair by the fireside, with a good cigar in one hand and a glass of brandy in the other. ‘And all the accessories to go with it. Whatever your heart desires.’

‘Oh, Monty, you are so good to me,’ she replied in no more than a whisper. Her faint smile showed satisfaction.

'Am I forgiven?’

‘But of course. And I apologise for my burst of temper earlier.'

'Apology accepted, my darling,’ he said good-naturedly.

The pleasure of enjoyment was the link Eleanor Raemonn held him by. She had made him lose his taste for inconstancy and new faces. Again and again, an invisible hand forced him back to her, because she truly fascinated him. Her face held a thousand mysteries, her body a thousand sweet promises, designed to please, to charm, as others were to breed. He often left her gifts of two, sometimes as much as three hundred pounds in bank notes on the table, for the privilege of spending the entire night with her, which she accepted without as much as the faintest blush. 

A smile tilted the corner of his mouth. ‘Need I say, just how lovely you look. And how enticing.'

'Thank you for the compliments,' Eleanor murmured seductively, fluttering long gold-tipped lashes in play.

'You deserve them, every one,' Montel replied smoothly, his voice low and intimate.

With a surge of sudden energy, Eleanor swung long, smooth slender legs over the side of the chaise-lounge and rose to her feet, the robe she had on falling open to expose her nakedness in full view, the whole region of delight, the soft light from the flickering flames moulding the deep hollows and peaks of her creamy flesh.

Montel’s blood warmed just by the very sight of the woman before him, devouring everything with his dark appreciative eyes. The exquisite thighs, fashioned to the point of perfection, the smoothness of her softly curved belly … so much sheer femininity. With that delicate and voluptuous emotion which she alone had the secret to excite, which constitutes the very life, the very essence of pleasure.

Then, as if her impressive performance wasn't tantalising enough to raise his temperature, she cupped one of her ample firm breasts, running the other hand down over her smooth belly to the little triangle of soft fair fuzz between her legs.

Wild fire sprang up in his stomach, the whole of her an invitation to his senses that he scarcely knew how to resist. It would take the resolution of a saint to deny Eleanor Raemonn. She really was, in every sense, a most exquisite companion, bewitching him with her sensuality. A supernal loveliness which no words short of poetic rapture could even hint.

Eleanor could see how it was with him, below the belt, with the object of his desire. She had the power to draw him, drag him to her by his senses, as a magnet draws steel, and bind him with chains that he would not want to break. Her eyes glinted with humid fires, locking with his, reading his approval of anything she might have in mind.

Subdued light seeped through shuttered windows, making all seem distant and unreal. The bed, surrounded by clouds of white, seemed to be floating in the spangled light of the candles spread about the room. Here, one was transferred to a remote and separate existence, for the roundness of the room and the curved dome of the roof sprinkled with stars, the fragmented dull gold of the extraordinary furniture and the winged Goddess of Love above the fireplace, all had a quality of creating a little independent world.

Montel threw his unfinished cigar in the fire, placed the glass down on the side table, and was up on his feet, sweeping her in to his strong arms, crushing her body against him. He lifted her bodily and stood her down before one of the long gold-framed mirrors, gazing at her reflection. He was convinced she was the most beautiful woman in the universe. A golden Goddess superbly fashioned to give pleasure. The fact that she took her change of lovers like a change in the weather no longer perturbed him. He had even began to ask himself if it were not better to own part of her as a mistress who knew how to make a man happy, than all of her who lacked opportunity to acquire the art. For it was an art, along with the fantasies she invented.

‘Well, my darling, some things never change. You still have the talent to please me, which you know is a necessity in my life. I do believe we are well matched in our desire for pleasure. We're utterly compatible, you and I. Just made for each other.'

'Then why fight it, my love? Enjoy it while it lasts.'

He started to kiss her on the neck, touching the tip of his tongue on the throbbing little pulse at her throat, and greedily fondled her breasts, all the time observing their reflections in the mirror, flaring an incendiary passion.

Sensing what he needed, Eleanor deliberately set out to please him, in the only way a woman could, which was what she was good at. She pushed in effectually against his grip, putting pleasure effectively in motion, as ardent as he was himself, quivering with self-congratulatory bliss. Letting her robe slip from her shoulders, she helped him off with his clothes.

They sank to the floor, the soft luxurious carpet cushioning their naked bodies.

'Lie back and relax ... enjoy,'  she whispered against his skin.

Montel relaxed the best he could and closed his eyes.

She spoke very little, but made it up emphatically with action. He felt her kiss his lids, his cheeks, lingering on his lips, pulling away when he reached for her, running her tongue over the skin of his neck, down to his chest, sliding it over his body, missing nothing. Then a soft, moist mouth closed around his throbbing erection, her tongue teasing its very tip, her teeth closing around it with restraint, just enough to keep him wanting more, and his tumescence, too much to bear, started him quivering uncontrollably.

He groaned, his eyes snapping open. 'Ah ... for pity's sake! If you don't want this over too soon ... you best ... best stop that right now.'

Asserting his dominance, he pulled her away, forcing her head up.

She smiled and licked her vermilion lips, pouting and swollen as if freshly stung by a bee. What a woman! A clever, skilful woman.

'Don't be in such a rush,'  she crooned softly. ‘Is it not pleasurable?’

‘Pleasurable! Why, it’s unbelievable.’ He laughed, pulling her to him, cradling her with one arm and reaching with the other to wind his finger in the soft bush of golden pubic hair. 'You are an incredibly beautiful woman, in more ways than one.'

She closed a warm hand around his testicles and gently squeezed. 'And you, my handsome friend, are an incredibly well-proportioned man.'

His warm hands did the most extraordinary delightful things, setting every nerve in her body tingling.

'You like that, don't you?' he murmured against her lips.

She mumbled her answer into his damp flesh. 'Yes, oh … yes ... don't stop.'

He teased her, tormenting her, rising to a gentle crescendo and then abandoning it.

'You brute....' she whispered breathlessly.

She eased herself free, and straddling him, grasped his still rock hard, erect manhood with velvet fingers and guiding him into her, lowered herself onto him. She was unstoppable. Supporting herself on her arms, she began to move up and down, slowly at first, savouring the sensation, her warm breasts brushing tantalisingly against his skin, sending his spirits soaring in the dizzy heights of rapture. Hell-bent on pleasure, she arched her back as her excitement rose again and again, savouring every sensation.

He was overpowered with the ecstasy, senseless of everything and in every part but those favourite ones of nature in which all sensation was concentrated, driving him wild. The active energy of his eager upward thrusts, favoured by the fervid appetite of her motions, stirred him beyond bearing, in a frenzy of passion that engulfed them both. He threw back his head and gasped just as she cried out, both lost in a flood of delight.

When the steamy session was over he was well satisfied and it seemed, so was she. To do her justice, she never gave him any reason to complain. He couldn’t put a price on such experience. She really was a treasure, worth her weight in gold.