After taking a short power nap on the massive bed, Charlaine got settled in and was enjoying the sound of the slapping of sea against wet sand (why did that sound so erotic in this setting, like the sounds of balls slapping thighs and a hard cock fucking a dripping cunt?).
She listened to the rustle of breezes through bamboo and and the trills and cooing of exotic birds coming in through the open picture-windows that opened out on the Villa Erotique's enclosed patio, which housed a raised hot tub big enough for six.
The patio was covered in smooth and bamboo slats buffed to a high shine and it offered an excellent view of her very own infinity pool bordered by graceful stands of bamboo and delicately scented by rare jade vine blooms.
Charlaine looked over the brochures and menus spread out on the marble coffee table in the sunken living room beneath the loft at the eastern side of the villa, picking them up to read what other delights the Odalisque Resort offered.
These brochures and in-house magazines are beautifully done,
she assessed with a discerning eye and they did more than pass muster.
They piqued her sense of adventure and turned it to thoughts of sexual creativity.
Let's get this house in order to get the show on the road, then.
She'd already selected her chambermaid (Jamaica, a willowy mulatta with endless legs, sparkling gray eyes and a lean, definitely feminine body any red-blooded woman would turn lesbian over), her butler (Miguel, who else?), her chef (Pietro, Italian, naked, with a 12-inch monster of a wang, killer obliques and delts, and a gorgeously wicked gleam in his clear green eyes) and a physical trainer/masseur (African-American, Matthew, with close-cropped hair, chocolate eyes you could lose yourself in, a beautifully-sculpted body, and hands that looked capable of playing Charlaine like a virtuoso violinist would play a solo Mozart piece on a Stradivarius at La Scala).
As for her wake-up call, Charlaine set it for 6 a.m., with Matthew and Pietro kissing her awake in all the right places and, if she felt really, really horny, well, poking her awake in the best of ways in every possible port. That way she could have a work-out and breakfast before seeing what they could do with her and the swing.
Next, she checked out the pantry, which had (thanks to her pre-departure e-questionnaire, of course) been stocked with her favorite brands of foodstuffs and beverages, plus some other items that she'd explore later -- including what looked like edible gourmet body paints and a soft, soft paintbrush that could, in another world, have been used for calligraphy. Perhaps it would. On her. Prior to a tongue-lashing of the sort she had high on her must-have sex list.
Charlaine's clothes had been arranged expertly in the walk-in wardrobe beside the loft bedroom. She also found a most impressive display of vibrators (small, dotted, two-pronged, double-headed, glow in the dark and impossibly huge, among other descriptions), things that looked like clamps linked by fine silver chains, velvet- and fur-lined handcuffs and leather shackles.
There were also scarves and blindfolds of raw silk, naughty swimwear that looked like cobwebs of dental floss in seven candy colors, fuck-me platform pumps with six-inch stiletto heels in red and black, kinky thigh-high boots of the softest caramel leather, a rainbow's worth of teddies in delicate lace and leather corsets cut to show off one's nipples, ass and cunt to perfection, delicate stiletto mules and filmy robes to match the teddies, condoms and cock-rings.
That was just one of the floor-to-ceiling cabinets. The others would wait because Charlaine was getting so very wet all over again.
On a large, raised circular dais in the center of the room and sitting on the thickest red shag carpet she'd ever seen was a top-of-the-line sybian with all the dongs and prongs amid an artful mess of large, fluffy, silk-covered throw pillows in black and red. I've only ever heard of this machine, read about it, Charlaine thought as she bit her lip and smiled. I'm going to have myself a lot of fun on that.
Facing the dais were several beanbags. Obviously for partying with more than one person, she concluded with a raised eyebrow. Kinkier and kinkier. I could be riding the sybian for an audience that's getting it on or jacking off for me.
Hello, Private Show.
The closet doors, when closed, formed banks of mirrors and, as she looked up, she saw the ceiling itself was mirrored and that the lights were cleverly concealed in the cornices. One "closet" actually concealed a vanity table with strategic lighting and the best cosmetics and scents money could buy.
Oh, man, I am such a sucker for mirrors. I can see myself giving the best head ever while Miguel watches himself come in my mouth. Or maybe Matthew could be fucking me while I enjoy the chiaroscuro contrast of his cock pumping in and out of me.
The possibilities of this room alone swirled around in Charlaine's head.
+++
She exited the wardrobe and crossed over to the other side of the loft to what could only be the bathroom. There she found a heavenly shower with eight shower heads, a choice of piped in music or bring-your-own-playlist through an iPod dock and digital controls for setting the water temperature, controlling the music and the shower heads.
It was also big enough to hold at least four people and had metal-rimmed eyelets.
For restraints, perhaps?
The thought made Charlaine go into a heat haze.
Sunk into the Italian tile floor was a hot tub big enough to seat six, surrounded by free-standing shelves that held huge canisters of bath salts, bubble bath and other luxe toiletries, as well as warmed towels so thick and soft they could be used as shag carpet.
Across the hot tub was a floor-to-ceiling glass wall overlooking the sea.
Oh, wow, the possibilities of that,
Charlaine smiled as she indulged a mini-fantasy of being fucked from the rear right up against the glass.
Oh, yes.
Behind a tempered glass wall shielded by canvas blinds was the commode (it even had a warmer in the seat) and sink over which sat a mirrored cabinet full of scented hand soaps, hand-towels and, of course, condoms.
Several colorful dildos, butt plugs, lubricants (flavored and plain), clitoral vibrators and a well-stocked first-aid kit sat in a glass-fronted cabinet by the sink. The goods were displayed to perfection by track lighting inside the cabinet and the sight tweaked Charlaine's imagination some more.
She glossed her full lips with a very wet, very tense tongue as she undressed and stepped into the shower, tuberose-scented shower gel in hand and a definitely naughty smile on her face. She lathered up a luxuriously lush natural sponge molded like a set of cock and balls and began scrubbing the skin on her breasts with it.
