The stars shimmered against their black backdrop of sky as Charlaine awoke from her post-orgy nap. A cup of hot ginger tea was at her bedside and Jamaica smiled down softly at her from the overstuffed armchair by the bedside table. Charlaine's personal staff had given her the pampering her sore body craved after their very intimate introductions to her.
She'd been carried into the huge whirlpool by Matthew after Jamaica had filled the moster tub, measured in generous heaps of lilac oil and honeysuckle bath salts and turned on the jets.
Miguel had scrubbed her back while Pietro took care of her legs and feet – spending endless minutes tending to the soft interstices of flesh between Charlaine's toes and making sensuous erogenous zones of them.
Jamaica shampooed her hair with deft, soothing fingers that had Charlaine's scalp tingling with life. Once Charlaine had had her fill of the tub, her personal villa staff all took turns drying various parts of her slowly and rubbing her skin to silkiness with lotion. After that, well, she went up to bed drifted off to sleep in a haze of deeply-pleasured and pampered bliss.
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"Ah, you are awake," Jamaica said with a smile dancing on her luscious plum lips as she unfurled her body from the chair with the grace of a world-class dancer. "Would you care for something to eat? Pietro is in the living room awaiting your pleasure."
"You are still here," Charlaine looked up at Jamaica, focusing her eyes as she shed the lassitude of sleep and stretched like a cat in the sun. "You don't leave until I let you go, then?"
"Those are the rules of the resort, Ms. Laine," Jamaica said, a deep, sexy dimple creasing her left cheek. "We are yours until you say we may leave the villa and we return when you call for us. There are rooms for us here, too, so staying with you is no problem at all."
"Oh," Charlaine said, sheepish that she hadn't thought about that. "Well, since you ask, I wanted to explore the island," she added, wincing at the slight soreness of her throat. She reached for the ginger tea and took a long swallow before making her next query. "You've seen what I like so far, Jamaica, what do you recommend?"
"Since you seem to like menages a trois and more, perhaps you want to visit the Wet Pussycat Club? It offers a bar list unrivaled in the world and the bar chow sets a bar all its own. You have suitable clothing for that place in your wardrobe and we can kit you out with any accessories you may desire," Jamaica replied as she walked over to the wardrobe room where, just hours before, Charlaine and her villa staff had begun getting to know one another very intimately.
Rising from the bed and feeling too lazy to wrap a sheet about her, Charlaine followed Jamaica to the wardrobe, her nipples going pert as she looked over at the dais where her first taste of the sybian took place. It was neat once more, with nary a trace of sweat or bodily juices -- and it beckoned like a reclining lover getting his second wind.
Not now, lover. I'm for going out and exlporing now
, Charlaine gave the sybian a slight shake of her head and smiled as she took a seat at the edge of the dais.
Jamaica laid out a set of clubbing clothes on the settee beside the third closet, pulling out soft, flat-soled suede boots in a shade of golden brown that matched Charlaine's eyes and echoed the burnished bronze highlights of her hair. A long skirt in cordovan velvet lay nearest Charlaine and it had a slit all the way up to her imagination. Beside it lay a sheer, long-sleeved, button-front blouse of creamy belgian lace that was tatted to cover her breasts with blooming roses and wrap around her arms and torso in vines and leaves. The neckline was pretty high, but the rest of the blouse showed her flawless skin off to perfection.
"These would suit you very well, if the outfit is to your taste," Jamaica said over her shoulder as she opened yet another closet. "Please try them on."
Charlaine donned the clothes, feeling the softness of the fabric against her skin.
These clothes make me feel voloptuous and beautiful
, she thought as she sat on the settee and zipped her slim legs into boots.
It would be a shame to have to lose them if I get lucky in the club
.
She stood and did a slow quarter turn for Jamaica, who had returned with a basket full of cosmetics, brushes and hair styling products and another full of accessories.
Jamaica ran an assessing eye over Charlaine, her dark eyes flickering flames of appreciation and just the slightest bit of lust as they passed her breasts and the full cuve of her hips. "Perfect. You look delicious, like a chocolate gateau with the dreamiest vanilla icing. Now, for your hair. Up, I believe, and a velvet choker with a cameo and diamond ear studs."
Charlaine got her hair brushed out until her scalp felt more alive than it ever had and then the girl fun with hairstyle and makeup commenced. When Jamaica was done, Charlaine saw a sexy, smoky-eyed version of herself in the vanity mirror. Her lashes were lush and curling beautifully around her eyes and her lips were wanton and wet. Her hair was done up in a French twist and adorned with glittering butterfly clips.
"There you go, ma petit, just one last thing and you are ready for the club." Jamaica clapped her hands happily and took an old-fashioned Lalique perfume bottle, the kind with a glass dip-stick, out of the cosmetics basket.
"Joy by Jean Patou," Jamaica said as she anointed Charlaine's pulse points with the scent. "Let me put some behind your ears, in the valley of your breasts and behind your knees. You will smell so heavenly at the club and so many people will want to pleasure you with this scent leading them to you."
