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Raising her veil, Cressida tried to adjust to the dimness of her new environment. Strangely, she felt no fear, for there were only women, she saw, and all three, in the midst of a gentle, swaying dance, were smiling at one another as if they were as close as sisters.
Cressida blinked as she tried to orient herself, moving into the shadows behind a huge, luxuriant potted palm as the unidentifiable heady scent filled her nostrils and her eyes adjusted to the light. Two young women, dressed in similar flowing robes of white, swayed gently in time to a soft chant in the background. Their hair, held back by silver fillets, fell in loose ripples around their waists and their smiles were warm and gentle. Even in such an alien environment, Cressida felt a sense of comfort and safety. And belonging. She was amongst other women. Young and beautiful women, full of confidence. They surely did not have fears like hers.
The taller of the two stepped forward, linked her hands behind her partner’s neck and kissed her, ever so softly, upon the lips. Her eyes, slightly unfocused, were the palest blue and she looked so supremely at peace with her world that Cressida longed to learn her secret.
She glanced around her, uncertain if she should step forward and declare herself, yet too afraid. The scene was surreal—two women gently cradling each other before pressing themselves closer to deepen their kiss.
They had come here to give themselves up to pleasure. Two women? Did women do this?
Cressida tried to remember when she had last enjoyed uninhibited and carefree enjoyment. Too long ago to remember, beneath the covers of the marital bed in the warmth of her chamber as Justin’s hard body covered her own and stroked her into wild and wonderful sensations. Since her first night as a young bride she’d never been afraid of the act. For years she’d revelled in the glorious wantonness Justin had managed to stir up inside her, and thrilled to the shattering climax that had preceded the peace and contentedness that had soothed her into sleep, Justin’s warm, loving breath on her neck.
No, it was just the consequences of the act that terrified her.
She drew in a shuddering breath, her body alive, nerve endings prickling the surface of her skin, a desperate throbbing ache building between her legs as she remembered those halcyon days with Justin. If only she could return home tonight and offer up her body to his tender ministrations with no danger of the consequences.
She couldn’t. That was the dreadful, painful reality.
But here she was watching two women enjoying a world full of love and beauty with no pain, no guilt, no terrible consequences. No conception, no pregnancy, no pain.
The women had not broken their kiss. Gently they swayed in time, running their hands over each other’s face and body as if they were the most natural of gestures.
All at once the tempo changed. Alertness pulsed through Cressida and she strained to see what was happening. The faint chanting rose to a crescendo then suddenly ceased, and from a dark corner of the room strode a man of such height and magnificence that Cressida gasped at the sight of something so splendidly not of this world.
The reaction of her companions was the same as they huddled together and gazed at this being who seemed to command such power.
The haze cleared a little, both in Cressida’s mind and in the room. She saw that in the centre was a large bed with carved wooden posts and sheets of crisp white linen. The man stood behind this on a raised dais and he beckoned to the women.
“Which of you lovelies will be first?” His voice was low and mellifluous, the accent slightly clipped, slightly foreign.
“I will be first.” Ariane’s voice, though still softly sweet, was firm. She made her way towards him, rising upon a hidden staircase and the stranger caught her to his muscled chest, sliding one hand up behind her neck, the other slowly contouring her body. With a soft groan, Ariane went slack and he whisked her up into his arms and laid her on the mattress before him.
“I offer myself up to your pleasure,” whispered the girl who had led Cressida to this place as she kissed his feet, her hands twining up the thick muscles of his legs. As she kissed her way higher, the haze in the room and in Cressida’s head cleared more. Ariane shifted position and Cressida gasped to see that this magnificent creature was entirely naked. He held himself like a Greek god, proud and arrogant, while Ariane swept her hands all over him in a manner beyond Cressida’s imaginings. Now Ariane was on her knees, her expert tongue flicking against the backs of his knees, rising higher.
And higher…
The pleasure haze dissipated further. Cressida stepped back, fascinated and horrified in equal measure as Ariane gently cupped the pouches beneath his rampant manhood.
She’d never seen a man naked. Not in eight years of marriage. She’d been gently pleasured in Justin’s warm, secure embrace beneath the counterpane in the darkness of the marital bed, but she had never seen her husband clad in less than his night shift or banyan.
The pupils of the magnificent creature in the middle of the bed dilated and he threw back his head as Ariane, with calculated care, put her mouth to his engorged member and slowly circled it with her tongue.
So apparent was his rapture that Cressida felt her own body pulse with sensation despite her shock.
She put her hands to her face to cover her gasp.
No one seemed to register her. All eyes were on the scene in the centre of the bed—eyes greedy, lascivious, wanting…
Cressida glanced around her in the dark, her terror growing. This was not a sight for a gently reared woman like herself. She had to escape.
In the gloom, she thought she recognised the door through which she’d come and stumbled towards it, turning as the man groaned his pleasure.
A final glance at his glazed eyes made plain that he was enslaved by this extraordinary act.
Cressida turned the doorknob and staggered into a dim corridor, gasping for air. She had spied on a naked man in the throes of passion when she had had no right to. What had she done? Her recent fascination now seemed nothing more than wicked prurience.
She was going to be ill, she knew it. Panting, sweating, she sought desperately for the privy, which, to her relief, was pointed out to her by a motherly looking woman dressed in cerulean silk.
When Cressida staggered back into the passage a few minutes later her saviour was waiting for her, a look of sympathetic concern upon her face.
