For an entire week, Louise found herself caught up increasingly in her work. The firm she represented had begun, with the seasonal influx of visitors to the south of France, a vast promotion of its cosmetics. Cannes, Monaco, Nice, Juan-les-Pins-Louise had to be everywhere at once supervising the project.
Finally, the stage was set. The rich, the spoiled, the pampered could stream in from all over the world, and the solid weight of advertising would assail them on every hand. For Louise, it represented a triumph of her efficiency and uncanny ability at organization.
Wearily, one evening, she drove from her office to her hotel, calling mechanically at the desk for her key and mail.
She noted with pleasure that among the letters was one from Hector. It gave her a momentary lift as she went up to her room.
Inside her room there was a further surprise. A magnificent bouquet of flowers was beautifully arranged, on a low center table. Against the vase was propped a note.
"For so long now, not a word from you," it read. "Would you leave a call for early tea, tomorrow? I have something to tell you. Meanwhile… these flowers – so that you, next to them, might contrive to make them less beautiful. Andrew."
Louise smiled at the compliment.
"Dear Andrew," she mused. Then she drew off her hat, her gloves, and poured a drink, before settling down to read the letter from her husband.
His letter told of complications, of tardy communications with South America, and of the certainty that he might have to delay his return to Nice by at least a fortnight, and probably by even a month. There was genuine disappointment in it and her sympathy went out to Hector. She knew that diplomacy was now his only weapon in concluding the deal that would bring him wealth. And she knew that, in that diplomacy, patience would constitute a major factor.
"Ah, well," she sighed wearily, ringing for dinner. After a light meal and a bath, she remembered Andrew's request and telephoned down for early tea next morning, then went to bed.
She awoke completely refreshed a quarter-hour before her morning tea was due to be served. A trip to the bathroom, a comb through her hair to discipline it, and she was back in bed waiting, when Andrew's knock sounded.
Already, in the quarter-hour she had been awake, she had conditioned herself to accept any sexual advances Andrew might make, in spite of the early hour. Poor thing, she thought, I've been so busy. If he's been waiting for me for so long, why should I not submit, if only for his sake?
But Andrew entered, suave and efficient, and set her tea things upon a table which he drew up to the bedside. Outside, the day gave promise of being warm and bright.
"Thank yon very much for the flowers," she said. "And for the sweet note, it was thoughtful of you, Andrew darling. I was so tired, last nightstand they gave me such pleasure just when I had most need of it."
"It was nothing. Poor girl, so busy? And I've missed yon for so long, almost a fortnight now."
"But that's over now, Andrew. From now on, I can take more time off. This afternoon, for a start, how about a swim?"
"That'd be lovely. But Louise, I've even better news. I saw Imbert here last Sunday and told him I might need a week's leave to go to London. He understands, and said it could be arranged."
"But, Andrew, London?"
"Oh, it doesn't have to be London. Imbert knows I have things to do while I'm here in Europe. If he thinks I want to go to London, what harm? I planned to be with you, though."
"Oh, that was sweet of you, Andrew."
"I thought that Hector, you, Claudine, well, that we'd take a yacht perhaps and take a week off. Go sailing, anywhere, just the four of us."
Louise laughed.
"A wonderful idea. But Hector won't be back for perhaps a month. I had a letter last night."
There was a moment's silence. Then Andrew snapped his fingers as a new idea dawned.
"Why don't we go to Greece then? Fly there."
"Now that's a thought! I don't know about Claudine, though. I haven't seen her for days now. But wouldn't she be all tied up in her new show at this time? Never mind, I'll ring her. When are you free?"
"Tomorrow, next day, any day you say, I can start. It sounds wonderful, Louise!"
"It sounds more wonderful, the more I think about it. In fact, it's perfect. Hector seemed very down in his letter. Perhaps the surprise of seeing us turn up in Athens might be good for him."
"Fine. You phone Claudine, and let me know some time today. I'll make arrangements to take, my leave at once. And I'll meet you on the beach this afternoon."
Louise found herself thinking, with growing appreciation, of this man who was so completely in command of himself in the menial role he had assumed. She had thought he might have left his note with the idea of resuming sexual relations with her in the morning. Instead he had been all friendliness and solicitude itself. Not even by a look had he betrayed any desires that might have beset him. And she thrilled, too, at the compliment implicit in his willingness to take a week off just so that he might be with her.
Left to himself Andrew, with his innate good breeding, would never have stepped out of bound. And Louise admired him more and more for his restraint and for his command over himself. All of this, coupled with an invitation to spend a week together and his generous offer to include Hector in any pleasure he planned, was a solid indication that he cared for her.
By the next evening, Louise and Andrew were in Athens. From the airport terminal, she telephoned Hector.
"He isn't there," she said, dismayed at the insistent ringing. "What'll we do now?"
Andrew hunched his shoulders expressively.
"Well, we did try. I've a plan, though. Let's play it this way. We'll check in at separate hotels, because Hector may prefer it that way. I think he will somehow. Then I'll call for you and we'll have dinner somewhere. From then on we'll float it out on the water somewhere and find out if it swims. That suit you?"
"Fine. Let's find a taxi, then."
And hours later, replete with the rich strange food of the Balkans, they sat back in comfort in the intimate little restaurant they'd discovered. The band suddenly broke into the rhythm of Western European dance music – and Andrew led Louise to the little kerchief-sized floor.
They were joined by a few more couples and, in the soft lit atmosphere, they danced.
In his arms Andrew caressed, rather than held, the well-remembered contours of Louise's body. Fitting themselves easily and with consummate grace into the patterns of the dance, they seemed to poise together – two bodies, two minds and two souls merged there into one single entity. The rest of the world receded from them as they gave themselves up to the lilt of the music they were sharing.
Louise sensed his big, comforting masculinity and let herself relax. She allowed herself to melt in his embrace.
And Andrew, in the proximity of her fragrance, felt desire stirring within him, the desire to possess her once more, and to be possessed by her. Memories flooded back in delicious waves of provocation, and as they danced he gave himself up to the fantasy of their last fuck and to all its delightful moments.
Imperceptibly he drew the girl closer to him, feeling the pivot of her hips inside his own, feeling the contours of her breasts hard against his chest; feeling the ripple of solidity in the movement of her back.
They danced in silence, his head at her ear.
Louise did not resist. This was the moment of their togetherness again. Drawn to him, she let his masculinity wash over her. In her loins she felt passion stirring.
The music stopped and in the interval before the band started up again, Andrew looked deeply into her eyes.
"My darling," he breathed. "You know, of course, how this night will end? How it must end?"
Louise did not flinch.
"I want it," she whispered back, "just as much as you do. You're so fine, Andrew. How well I chose when I chose you!"
"And you're so feminine. How I wish that a night like this would never end! I don't think that in all Europe there is a woman I have enjoyed so very much. Not one to compare with you."
The music started again and they danced. In the brief exchange of compliments, Andrew's own stirrings had become manifest. In their embrace now, she could feel the rigidity of his massive prick prodding against her thighs in the region of her pubis. And instead of drawing away from it, Louise snuggled all the closer to it, seeming to encase it in the warmth of her lower body, aggravating it so that it might aggravate her own sex. She felt her nipples tighten and knew that she must surrender to him, that night, that he must have his way with her.
Back in Louise's hotel, soft music was being piped through an invisible loudspeaker. She turned the lights down till the room faded into almost total darkness. Twin beds in one corner of the room beckoned invitingly, and Andrew steered Louise there.
"But first," he whispered, modulating his voice to the darkness of the boudoir, "nakedness. Nudity, my sweet."
"Oh, Andrew," she moaned, happily drinking in his open-mouthed, urgent kiss.
And garment by garment, she allowed him to undress her. Expertly Andrew performed his task. First her dress, slowly drawn past her hips, up her statuesque body, till it came away in his hands. Louise stood in brassiere and cobweb-light panties, with sheer stockings encasing the majesty of her full thighs which merged into the V of her public hair. In reverent adoration, Andrew stepped back to admire her.
"You're so very wonderful, Louise," he breathed, enthralled by the sight of her abundant bosom and rounded belly, flanks and hips. "I should like to remember you like this for all time."
"Not like this, perhaps?"
Naughtily, Louise reached round in back of her and snapped the catch of her brassiere. If fell to the ground and the full majesty and abundance of her breasts was popped into view like rich, ripe melons. They stood out proudly, red-nippled and provocative and utterly regal.
Andrew caught his breath. In the soft glow of the dim lighting, she seemed to take on an aura all of sweet saintliness. She was a Joan of Arc at the Stake of Sexuality.
"It's like some statue," he whispered. "Something someone's erected over a person who's died. You're all the statues in Florence, all the statues in the Louvre, all come to glorious life."
He came to Louise and sank in mute adoration to his knees, clasping his arms around her buttocks and drawing her hips to his face, burying it in her nylon-clad crotch and bestowing a sacramental kiss there.
Louise thrilled to the touch of his hands and arched her hips up to his caressing face. Her smell permeated his nostrils and, enraptured, he breathed it in.
Then he slipped his fingers expertly into the catches of her suspenders, drawing her stockings in a lazy floating motion down her flawless legs. She stepped out of her shoes and allowed him to pull off her hose. And now she stood clad in only her nylon panties, smooth as gossamer over the elastic of her girdle.
In a moment these confinements, too, were off and discarded and Louise stood, thrillingly nude, before the man who knelt in reverence at her hips. As he sought to bury his face once more in the magic warmth of her pelvic girdle Louise spread her knees, opening the hairy valley of her cunt to his lips.
He kissed her as she swiveled to allow him complete access to the parts of her body he desired, and to allow those parts to thrill, in their turn, to the electricity of his caress.
Finally he stood up and faced her.
"Louise," he said. "Never in my life have I ever known so much woman, so much sheer desirability. I love you. I want you to know I love you."
Still fully clad, he tore his coat from his massive shoulders and worked to free himself from his silken shirt. In one swift moment, he was as completely naked as was Louise.
His great penis throbbed out of his mass of pubic hair pulsating for the quest of pleasure upon which it would shortly embark. Andrew seized Louise in his embrace and, bending her head back, kissed her fiercely as her body molded to his. He felt the mass of her mammaries squash solidly into his naked chest. He maneuvered his cock clumsily amid the warm cunt hairs. He ran his hands electrically up and down the flanks, the back, the hips and over the belly of the girl, straining into him to receive his embrace. Finally he drew his mouth from hers and thrust her against one of the beds so that she sprawled flat on her back along its length.
For long, delicious moments, Andrew held his proud prick in his hand, anointing Louise along the length of her nudity with the silvery love-juice now dribbling from it. He brushed it from her knees up to her throat, probing its head at the yielding flesh of her pancaked tits, rubbing it along her belly, pressing it into her cunt-V and down inside her sensitive thighs. To and fro it went, while Louise lay there absorbing this sacramental rite.
Then she reached for Andrew's tool and, taking it into hands that seemed too small to contain it, pulled at it until Andrew was upon her. Shuddering in the grip of her passion, she wrenched it and writhed beneath him until she could apply her lips to it. Wetly she began to suck it while Andrew, fumbling with fingers at her twat, managed to open the labia and insert a finger into the mucoused recess where he would shortly slide his vast engine. "My, but it's magnificent!" she groaned, as she sucked at his tool. "This must he the penis of all time, the prick of all mankind. And it's yours, darling, yours and mine!"
Andrew yielded to her tonguing and as she sucked its tip, he strove forward to cram more and more of its length into her receptive mouth. The red of her lipstick now made it appear more angry and more engorged.
And as she sucked, Louise gave vent to her customary tirade of filth and obscenity.
"Andrew, ah, Christ, I can wait no longer! My cunt is hungry for it," she sobbed. "My whole body aches for it! Ram it into me! Up me! Up my cunt, my vagina – up, up, up – right into my fucking womb! Give me the length of this wonderful prick. Penis me! Tool-prick me into my twat so that I ache! Piss over me, if you will, piss I beg of you. I crave it of you! In your mercy, Andrew, I implore you, fuck me, piss on me, fuck me! Ah, fuck me now or I swear it, I'll kill you, somehow I will!"
Andrew, listening to her raving as she thrashed about beneath him, grinned as he thought what an absolute virago she could become, this woman who was all svelte and elegance only a few hours ago.
With compassion and understanding, he let her rant on as she thrashed her body about in the snaking movements of someone deep in the throes of desire. He, in his turn, bent at her twat, and bearing mightily upon her twisting hips, stilled her movements sufficiently to insert his tongue into her cunt. That valley, controlled a moment ago, was now agape, its lips seeming to flap open and shut in the agony of her desire to be fucked. The moment he slid his tongue on to the length of her clitoris, Louise went berserk. Her stream of profanity cut itself off in one long moan of desire and she threw herself about upon the bed in one great pulsating moan of outraged femininity. She pulled at Andrew's hair and beat at his head. She brought her thighs up and together, applying a wrestler's scissors hold upon his neck, squeezing his face into her cunt so that his tongue might accomplish what she so fiercely desired.
As he felt her body racked by great shudders, Andrew knew beyond a doubt that she was ready for rape – and he struck. He surged through the thighs locking at his neck, and pinned her down beneath him by the sheer weight he exerted upon her. His prick at the gaping, choking lips of her twat, he slid it brutally and viciously into its lubricated bed, plunging the whole nine inches deep, true and hard into her so that he felt the breath leave her body in her surprise at his violation.
And he gave no mercy. Angrily, he fucked her as solidly as he had ever fucked any woman. And he felt her recoil in gratitude as, in her turn, she began an equal and opposite paroxysm of fucking at him.
In one swift moment, it was all over. This was a fierceness such as Andrew had never before known; it seemed he had hardly entered the woman when, with one great "Ah-h-h-h!" she sighed and spent, clutching at him, seeking with her nails to slash and gouge at his back and arms. But disregarding the onslaught of her climax, he kept slamming into her, spilling his load and drenching her insides with jet after jet of gushing sperm, ramming at her and probing away deeply inside, seeking more and more space to deposit his great discharge.
And so they copulated, boring into each other, spending of their sex in one another in gradually diminishing paroxysms of ecstasy until they lay sweating and strained in a dumb insensibility which was not sleep but yet was more than sleep.
How long they lay spent in utter exhaustion neither of them knew. After long moments, however, Andrew became conscious of his weight pressing upon the supine body of the girl beneath him. He eased off her and felt the involuntary twitching of cunt muscles, like grasping little baby fingers, as she sought to contain him inside her. His tool was wan and limp within her. It lay uselessly encased in the depths of her wet cunt. And then Louise stirred, smiling up at him. She limply relinquished his engine from her twat, and he grinned ruefully down at her as he rolled off her stomach.
"My God! What a ferocious affair that was!" he grinned. "Love it, honey?"
"Oh, Andrew, it was magnificent! More, please?"
"With this?"
He flicked at the wet head of his penis as it lay, limp and grotesque along one thigh.
"Oh, but I love it, even as it is now. It'll rise again. Just wait."
"I know. But tell me honestly, darling, could you fuck again? Right away, I mean. Now? This moment?"
"Of course I could," laughed Louise. "That's something you men'll never understand. I can see that you couldn't face it again, not right now. That's evident, from what's happened to your tool. But I could. Women can, you know. Trouble is, we always have to wait for you men to get a hard-on, once more, and that takes time. We're built differently."
"Just how are you built, Louise? Seriously, you know, I've never studied a cunt. Mind if I look, now?"
"Go right ahead."
She rolled over on her back, and spread her thighs. Andrew raised himself on one elbow to study the ravine of pleasure in which he had poured out his manhood.
"Explain it to me?" he invited.
Louise's fingers parted the major lips of her entry. "These," she demonstrated, "are the labia majora – the big, fleshy outside lips. They lie over the two minor lips, the ones that fold over the actual vagina. And the clitoris lies along here, from about here to here."
Andrew gazed in fascination at the lesson in sexual anatomy he was being given. He could see the clitoris as she strained it tightly under its folds of membrane. Like the stub of a pencil it gleamed, blue and hard, against the thin fold of skin that contained it.
"That," she went on, "is the thing that gives me most pleasure. When I feel your cock sliding to and fro against the head of the clitoris, I could climb up a wall! Ever look at a clitoris properly? Look, I can slide its little head out, just like you can slide the head of your prick out of its foreskin."
With practiced fingers, Louise demonstrated. Andrew gazed raptly as a little head, resembling the helmeted tip of a man's prick, slid in and out of its fleshy bed.
"But surely, that's not the only area that gives you pleasure?" he asked.
"Oh no. There's the whole of the mouth of the thing, the introitus I think they call it. It's all sensitive, an all solid, electrifiable area when I get randy, and I'm getting that way right now. But the feelings, the actual sex sensations, are all different. For example, the rubbing against the clitoris that's an unbearable pain! Pain, and yet pleasure, you see. But quite unendurable. Then, on the other hand, there's the feeling I get among the labia, and even in the hairy area close to the labia on the outside. That's like a needle spray when you touch it. The nerves hammer at you when there's a sex bout going on. But this hammering I can bear it's all pure pleasure. And then, of course, and Louise spread the lips further apart and the hole of the vagina, still laden with its recent drenching of creamy sperm, gaped redly until, deep down, its redness faded into the darkness of invisibility, there's the actual twat, the vagina itself. Somewhere I've heard that there's no actual sex feeling in the vagina. But I don't believe that. With some women, maybe. But not with me. Christ, I swear I can feel every skin contact with your prick, all the way, every millimeter all along it. And that now, is a third kind of sensation. I think I can best describe it as a warm sensation, getting warmer all the time until I get to a pitch of unbearable hotness. That's when a girl comes, when you can bear the hotness no longer. You just boil over at least that's what happens to me."
"And then, I suppose, it's a combination of all three sensations. You get the pain-pleasure of the clitoris, the needle spray of the labia, and the hotness of the actual vagina?"
"That's it," said Louise. "That's just it. All three assail you at once, and boom! You come can no longer endure any of it."
Andrew could feel his own passion returning as the fascinating anatomy lesson went on. He stole a look down at his tool. Half hard, it was already swelling to its mighty length as he enjoyed, by intimate finger contact, sight and smell, the parts of her cunt which Louise was demonstrating. Most adorable of all, he thought, was the oily wetness of the beautiful little thing.
"Where does that come from, that lubrication?"
"Christ knows," she said. "Where does your come from? I know it comes out along the pipe. But where does it come from? Can you tell me?" Louise wriggled round, and saw with pleasure the half-rigid state of Andrew's tool.
"So, it's getting back to normal again," she exclaimed delightedly. She grasped it. This, to her, was the most exciting state of all fornication. When a man was not yet quite at full erection, when he had but a "half-a-hard-on". That way, the penile length was still a flexible truncheon. You could bend it this way or that, sideways or any way. And yet it was warm, throbbing and vibrant, a thing holding infinite promise of the wrath to come, of the danger it could wreak when it was fully aroused. It was a prick, when it was only half hard, of excitement, of precious possibility or even of danger.
Entranced, Louise thrashed the penis with a few masturbating rubs, and Andrew surrendered mutely to her ministrations.
Pistoned in the cylinder of her palm, it throbbed its way to full maturity, to the massive thin of flesh and sinew she knew it could become. And as she rubbed, beads of pre-come spunk oozed from the tiny pipe cutting its top end almost in two. Louise palmed the precious oiliness using it to lubricate the now raging penis she was massaging.
"I love that," declared Andrew in blissful surrender. "Ooh, but I love it when you toss me off. Throwback, I suppose, to one's childhood. When one did it oneself. And yet it's different when you do it. It's a thousand times more exciting than self-masturbation, and I'll tell you why. Because, when you jerk yourself off, you know every rub and thrust that's coming. But when you do it for me, I'm never sure of just what pressures and tempos you're going to exert. Makes it all so much more exciting."
"That's just how I feel," confessed Louise. "I love you fingering and feeling around inside my cunt. Most of all, I love you sucking at it, though when it comes to cuntsucking, give me a woman every time. They know what to do to give pleasure. A woman sucks another woman's cunt much more expertly than any man can. But it's different with masturbation. I'd rather have you toss me off than a woman, because I never quite know what's coming next, which part of my twat, lips, clitoris, or the vagina itself you're going to play with next. And it's so exciting, never quite knowing!"
"But let's not finish this one by masturbation, exciting as it is," pleaded Andrew. "There are so many more ways to fuck. When I'm with you, I want to try them all, and all at once."
"And me too, Andrew! Look, there's one way I would especially like. Let me up for a moment."
Andrew removed his fingers from the warm recesses of her twat, and Louise sat up on the bed. As she did so, her breasts filled their skin containers once more, full and abundant, so that Andrew drew in his breath in admiration.
"What utterly adorable tits you have," he murmured.
Louise cupped them, one in each hand, exposing their full nipples as she massaged them into differing poses for Andrew to admire.
"God, I'd devote an hour a day every day of my life to adoring them, if you were mine," he said.
Louise smiled. Then she twisted to lie, stomach downwards, on the bed. Turning her head on the single pillow, she said over her shoulder: "I want you to come at me from the back. When you get your prick into place, I want you not to slide it into me. Rather keep it out of the vagina, but slide it in and out of the lips of my cunt. I want you to keep it sliding, right from my asshole all the way forwards till the tip of it hits my clitoris."
Andrew bent over her and felt her buttocks part as she yielded the warmth and hairiness of her twat to his tool. It was a sump of oily slipperiness and he felt the tip of his prick disappear, as if by sheer instinct, once it found the passage of her vagina.
"No, not that, Andrew," she called. "Keep it out of the vagina. Keep it just between the lips." Andrew withdrew the lubricated tool and tried again.
Louise tightened up what amounted to an outside sphincter at the mouth of her vagina, and the massive prick slid forwards between the fleshy labia, probing ever onwards until it emerged in the V of her pubic hair. He felt the girl shudder beneath him as the length of his penis made electrifying contact with the throbbing pencil of her clitoris.
Backwards, slowly, he went again, feeling her shudder once more.
Louise inched her knees up, under him, the better to present her wet valley to his penis. As she did so, her superb tits hung, forwards and fleshy, and Andrew reached forth to cup their bounty. At his touch on her nipples, Louise groaned. She tossed back her head in ecstasy.
"Keep it like that," she urged, striving to present her sex to him and facilitate his fucking.
Andrew complied, enjoying this. The hungry lips of her cunt sought to possess the cock sliding to and fro between them. It was a quaint, piquant copulation but, thought Andrew, not much different from the sensation of an ordinary fuck. And now that he was in the groove, it was easier to prevent his tool from sliding into its appointed, natural cylinder.
And ever, as the helmet of his masculinity probed over her clitoris, he felt Louise shiver uncontrollably as the spasms of sex possessed her. Her head was thrown back proudly, its carefully-tended hair now a mass of unruly waves. He would have given anything to have seen the look on her face, thinking, as he fucked, how important it is to be able to watch one's partner's expression while screwing. But he fucked on.
And Louise was helping him all she could. She arched her bum into his hips so that its twin globes pressed into his hairs, flattening them against his belly. Then she parted her buttocks for the forward thrust of his hefty tool. And she seemed to be even expanding the massive volume of her breasts, soft and pendulous beneath his caressing, massaging hands.
And so they went at their upside-down sexual ritual until he felt the spasmodic twitching of the woman extending into the drawn-out ecstasy that is copulation's climax. Louise was tossing her head now, like some jungle beast. She arched her back into her rider's hips. She moaned and spat her obscenities into the night. She seemed to thrust her clitoris at the column of prick appearing and disappearing there in the valley of her two cunt lips. It was as if she never wanted, to relinquish it and, realizing her necessity, Andrew ceased his withdrawals, resting the red tip of his tool at the throbbing clitoris, keeping it against that rod-like erection of hers. Louise gyrated and spun in the acme of her climax, as if skewered on his tool, beating furiously into the pillows with tiny fists as she sucked out the last torment of delight from the fucking she was getting.
And Andrew, feeling her need at that moment, gave all he had. His own turn could come, later. And come it did when, utterly spent in the consumption of her climax, Louise sank on rubbery knees into the softness of the bed. Andrew let her lie until her shivering orgasm was over.
With a mighty heave, then, he drew her ass up once more to his, and reveled at the quick sight of the red, engorged, open cunt. He held her, gazing at her mesmeric twat for a moment or two. Then, roaring mutely deep down in his throat, he plunged the heft of his penis fully into its appointed place, ramming the piston into the cylinder of her sex. Ten or a dozen furious thrusts he made deep into her bowels, with Louise moaning in instinctive protest at the pain and fury of his outrageous rape-like onslaught.
And then Andrew was coming in huge spasms, drenching her vagina for the second time with his load. And the growling in his throat now became audible once more. Fiercely he gripped her to his body, demanding of her cunt that it wrap and grip his penis in its all-absorbing vagina. And still growling in orgasm, he collapsed upon his woman, sprawling his big frame across her back.
For hours, they slept as they lay, until the grey fingers of the dawn probed through the morning skies at them, and they awoke in the delicious half-light of earliest dawn.
And they smiled. And in their smile was their love and trust and friendship and their regard for one another, and their utter respect for the sex capabilities each possessed. There was thanks in their smile, and admiration and sympathy arid understanding and utter gratitude.
And, although each was randy in awakening, by tacit consent they refrained from having a final intercourse.
Silently, Andrew rose, and dressed, and tiptoed from the room, leaving Louise to that loveliest of all slumber that comes after sexual satisfaction, and after the first awakening.