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Thursday, November 14, 2013

Europe in Love-Jacqueline George #adult #fiction #sex #erotica

What is it about Europeans that makes them seem sexier? Or at least, sexier than us? I don't know... it couldn't simply be the exotic accent, could it?
You know, I'm sure that's important. As soon as they open their mouths, they sound interesting, different, exciting. If some-one mentions 'fiscal deficit' to me in the pub, I turn away, look for help, anything to avoid being pinned to my stool and bored to death. Now if he had said the same thing in a sexy Italian accent, that's different. Deficits and authentic pasta I might be able to handle.
It's all about the differences, isn't it? No matter how proud I am of North Queensland, and how much I love the people who live here, a breath of fresh air from a European capital is going to grab my attention. It's nice to see women who dress as if they mean it. We tend to slop around in tee-shirt and loose shorts. We do put on some footwear when we go to town, but we will probably wear thongs (that's what we call the flip-flops that fit between your toes). I even have better quality thongs for going out to the pub or for a meal in our one Italian restaurant.
Europeans don't do that. If they wear tee shirt and shorts, you can be sure they will fit properly and look new. They have no time for old and comfortable. Everyone has a bikini or something to swim in, right? Not us; we live on the shores of the Coral Sea and I bet not one person in ten has a bikini in her drawer, and even she won’t use it. We go swimming in - you've guessed it - tee-shirt and shorts. Probably the same ones we used to drive to the beach (and we won't be driving home until they've dried out). That's not bad, but why do we complain when our men drool over European girls who wander around like super-models in make-up and tiny bikinis?
I've got a soft spot for men with some education and experience. I like to hear about the history and politics back home, even if I don't remember it for long. I like to have good wine chosen for me, or new food I've never tried before. No Australian has ever kissed my hand and I'm not holding my breath. Now a man who is confident enough to do that, well, you have to take an interest, don't you? It's is a promise of good things waiting...
Noëlle’s new lover surprises her with a special present...
One morning, Stephen called me at work, and he called from my apartment. “I have a surprise for you,” he announced. “When will you be home?”
“Um - I suppose I could develop a head ache.”
“Oh, no. That’s too early. I need a little more time - could you make it three o’clock? Or even four?” I could hear noises in the background - what was he up to? You can believe that day took a very, very long time to pass.
I unlocked my door very soon after three o’clock and fell into Stephen’s arms. He steered me away from the living room and towards the bedroom. “Get changed, and I’ll show you your present.”
“What sort of changed? Are we going out?”
“Perhaps, later. Right now I want you at your sexy best, and I don’t expect to work my way through layers of clothing to reach the tasty bits.” I ran for the shower.
I threw on stockings suspended from a black lacy basque, one of Stephen’s favourites because it does so little to cover my breasts. Make-up, rings, a black velvet choker with a diamond star, and I was ready for anything.
Stephen waited for me on a new sofa. I felt let down. It was a nice sofa, and goodness knows the old one was past due for replacement, but it was a sofa. I had been expecting something sexy, or valuable, and he was presenting me with a sofa.
A very nice sofa, of course, and its blue grey fabric suited my room. It had a low back and only one arm. “Look here,” he said, “It’s wide enough to lie down comfortably and - see here - this part is separate.”
 He pulled at the square ottoman that made up one end of the sofa and it made a comfortable seat by itself. I pulled him to me and gave him a kiss. “Thank you so much, Stephen. I really needed something like that.” He was smiling like a naughty boy.
“But wait!” He gestured dramatically. “There’s more...” He pushed the ottoman back into place and steered me to lie on my back. He drew my hands up to touch the arm of the sofa and before I realised what he had done, both wrists were trapped in webbing cuffs. I heard the Velcro crackle as he tightened them correctly. The cuffs and their straps must have been hidden between the seat cushion and the sofa’s arm.
He fumbled for a moment on either side of the ottoman to bring up a strap that he led under my knees. There were two more cuffs on it. They fitted my legs above the knees. He secured them and, pulling on the side straps, drew my knees wide apart.
“How do you like your new sofa now, Noëlle?”
How did I like it? How did I feel about being spread open and helpless, like a tortoise on its back?  I thought it was wonderful, and I liked it even more as he began to tease and torment me. I had never been offered like this. Never had control of my own body placed so completely in another’s hands. I closed my eyes and let Stephen do whatever he wanted.
That was the first session of many on my special sofa. Sometimes Stephen tied me down like that. Others I might be on my stomach. Perhaps my favourite position uses just the ottoman. He kneels me over it with the cuffs around my upper arms and tightens the strap to hold me firmly in place. Two more cuffs at floor level to hold my knees wide apart and take all my modesty. All my most secret places lie open for him. He can use his fingers on me (such delicate, magic fingers!). He can lick me and poke his tongue into every corner. He has driven me mad with a feather. I am open for him to use our collection of toys, every sort of vibrator and adventurous dildo. In the end, when I am completely limp and incoherent, he can kneel behind me and take his own pleasure. And my shameless body joins in his climax, without fail.
Find  Europe in Love: https://ganxy.com/
Jacqueline lives in Far North Queensland, on the shore of the Coral Sea. She keeps herself busy with her cats and garden, and by writing books - some of which are far too naughty for her own good. You can find out more about Jacqueline and her books at www.jacquelinegeorgewriter.com 

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