This story deals with strong themes of reluctant lesbian sex. If such material is likely to offend you then please find yourself another story.
Chapter 1
It was on my thirty-second birthday that he went down on one knee to me.
The pros?
He was handsome, wealthy, a considerate lover and shared my passion for the arts.
The cons?
He was seventeen years older than me, and still trailing the baggage of his first marriage in the shape of his nineteen year old step-daughter, but the biggest obstacle of all was his insistence that we live together in Portugal after the wedding.
In truth, my work as an artist meant that I could base myself anywhere and my friends were already scattered around the world but London would always be my spiritual home. For his part, his two galleries were in Lisbon and his daughter attended the University there.
In the end I proposed a compromise. I would live with him for twelve months in Portugal and then I would give him my answer. He was delighted, believing that, once I was there, the deal was as good as done, but in my own mind there was still a nagging doubt.
If you asked me if I loved him I would have said yes. I had never felt this way about a man before, and God knows there had been enough of them, but there was something missing, something indefinable and tantalizingly out of reach.
The house was a converted manor farm on the Sintra heights. I had visited twice before but now I saw it with different eyes and, I have to admit, it was a beautiful place in which to set up home.
As Mateus took my bags inside the joy seemed to radiate from him and the more so when he revealed his first surprise. He had had one of the stone barns converted into a studio with one wall, now entirely paneled with glass, giving a wonderful vista over the verdant slopes to the blue Atlantic in the distance.
We ate together on the terrace that first night and life seemed blissful. We made love until the early hours and when I eventually awoke, at mid morning, it was to find that he had already left for his business trip to Stuttgart.
I walked out onto the bedrooms small balcony, stretched slowly in the warm sunshine, and was then overcome with almost childish joy when I remembered that I now had a pool at my disposal.
With that thought I looked down at the patio and was surprised to see one of the sun beds already occupied. Mateus had not mentioned visitors and certainly not one as striking as this. The young woman was oblivious to her surroundings as she lay still in the sunshine whilst reflected flecks of sunlight from the surface of the pool sparked from her oiled body.
Her dark complexion and abundant mane of black curls suggested that she was a local and I found myself envying her taut young body. Many men have told me I am beautiful, and the years had been kind to me, but this woman was cover girl material.
As she lay there I appraised her with my artist's eye. Her, natural, unfettered breasts, surmounted with dark, almost perfectly circular, nipples were obviously heavy and I guessed at a large cupped thirty four inches. Her waist was thin and her stomach flat but she had the flared hips common to women of the region. Her long legs were toned, neither too fat nor too thin and I would be prepared to bet that she was a keen sportswoman.
I was tempted to fetch my sketch pad but at that moment she moved slightly, turning her face more fully to the sun, and the small shift was enough to bring instant recognition. The girl was Izabel, Mateus' step-daughter.
We had only met three times before and each time she had been dressed in sloppy student garb which, along with a complete absence of make-up, served to make her appear younger than her nineteen years. This was undoubtedly the same young woman but she now exuded a maturity and self confidence that had not been apparent before.
Looking at her then I experienced a momentary pang of jealousy. Had her mother, Mateus' first wife, been equally as beautiful?
It now seemed so wrong, standing there watching her, but, as I was about to turn away, she reached blindly for the bottle of sun oil. She held it over her stomach and allowed the dark viscous liquid to trickle slowly onto her skin. When a small pool had formed she started to work it over her body and I was fascinated by the way the combination of her glistening skin and the fall of sunlight emphasized the shape of her different muscle groups.
I had done some life painting, it was not my subject of choice, but, at that moment, it was almost like seeing the human body for the first time. I continued to watch as her hands moved slowly upwards until she was massaging her breasts and it took a few seconds to dawn on me that her touch was now more delicate. She was no longer working the oil into her skin; instead, her palms seemed to be gliding over the shallow mounds.
I willed myself to take a step back from the balconies edge but I remained rooted to the spot as I watched her fingertips gradually came together to delicately pinch the teats of her nipples. As she did so I felt my own nipples begin to tingle and then stiffen. I drew my robe more tightly around me, unconsciously blaming the slight breeze, but there were other signs which I guiltily tried to ignore.
For the next couple of minutes I hardly drew breath as I watched her teasing herself. She concentrated on her breasts but, every now and again she moved a hand down to draw lazy circles over her stomach.
In those minutes I tried to reason with myself. I had no intentions of trying to be a surrogate mother to Izabel I simply hoped that we could be friends. The atmosphere at our meetings had been cool but cordial and I put that down to her protective instincts. Mateus was not her natural father but he was the only father she had known.
However you looked at it there was no excuse. I should have crept away and respected her privacy but her fingertips were now grazing the waistband of her bikini bottoms and I found myself wondering just how far she would go. I suppose I was envious of her free spirit. I could never have touched myself in that way in such an open space even if I believed, as she no doubt did, that no one else was around.
As I continued to watch she arched her back slightly and held her stomach in. This created a slight gap where her bikini hugged her waist and her fingers, as though surprised at finding this opening, began a tentative exploration.
I watched as the back of her fingers bulged the blue satiny crotch and it was almost as if I could feel the touch on my own body. The temptation to slip my hand into my robe was almost overwhelming but that was a step too far even in my current reckless mood.
Her hand moved lower and I caught the briefest glimpse of dark pubic hair before the elasticated waistband trapped her wrist. Her movements were lazy, unhurried, as she stroked her oiled fingertips over her mound and I could hear the coursing of my blood in my eardrums as I stood unnaturally still in a silence broken only by the courting of insects.
I must have been there for more than ten minutes as she continued to maintain an easy rhythm and I wondered just how far she would take it. It would have been easy to believe that she was falling asleep, so languid were her movements, but then, at last, she gently arched her back and shivered into a long, lazy, orgasm.
When it was over her body relaxed once more and I was forced to retreat in haste as her head lolled towards me.
I found that I was breathing quickly and I wanted nothing more than to bring myself the same pleasure that I had just witnessed but my guilt won out and I disciplined myself to take a shower.
Afterwards, I went downstairs to find that the cook had laid out a simple, but extensive, breakfast buffet and I indulged myself with some ham, eggs and fresh baked bread whilst perusing the morning papers.
The temptation to take a swim was still strong but I was not sure that I could face Izabel quite so soon after the morning's events and so I refilled my coffee cup and made my way to the new studio. I had two commissions to be started but as I stood before the pristine canvas I could not focus my mind on landscapes. I picked up a fresh piece of charcoal and quickly began to dash off a series of bold curved lines.
I had started to draw a female form but, once again, I was pricked by my conscience. Almost without thinking I modified the outlined beginnings of muscles groups and what emerged was a drawing of a shoal of fish each one a firm, sleek, healthy specimen.
I was not a great fan of the Surrealists and their visual puns but I was enjoying myself and I began to apply paint to the canvas in bright vivid swirls. I worked feverishly for over an hour before I stepped back to take in the sweep of my creation and then I almost jumped out of my skin.
"It's beautiful."
