My Innocent Indiscretion by Eva Cassel

Author:Eva Cassel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Spice
Published: 2012-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty minutes later, back in my hotel room, I went crazy on myself. Masturbation is typically an efficient, rather hurried, affair for me; the possibility that someone might unexpectedly come home, however remote, makes my heart race and my fingers shake, as though I have only ten seconds to defuse a complicated bomb. This was the first time I was truly alone in seventeen years, and I made the best of it. I scrambled out of my underwear, noting the glistening sheen covering the crotch, lay face-down on the bed, spread my legs wide, and inserted three fingers into my pussy from behind, my wrist nestled between my ass cheeks. Then I slipped my other hand under my stomach and jiggled my index finger quickly over my clit at the same time. In my mind, Chad was fucking me from behind, his fist entangled in my hair. I actually had to stop myself from coming too fast, breathing deeply while the sweetness subsided; I wanted this to last. It didn’t, though—two minutes later I was writhing on the bed, eyes squeezed shut, gritting my teeth while my cunt contracted around my fingers.

It was one o’clock when I glanced at my watch. I was still lying half-naked on the bed, dazed, useless as an overpriced courtesan between clients. The past day seemed more and more like an exquisite dream. Every time I thought of Chad my smile grew wider. How amazing to have had this little adventure. It was no different, I told myself, from Jeff buying the occasional Penthouse magazine, or flirting with a coworker, or downloading porn off the internet as he procrastinated on his latest book. I was not such a naive prude to begrudge him these little tidbits of excitement, these little treats for accepting his domestication at such a young age. He needed these things to feel vibrant. But then I was allowed something too, was I not?

But why a man eleven years younger than me? I bemoaned as I got up and stretched like a cat that had been sunning itself in the window all day.

If it had been a forty-year-old millionaire with an uncanny resemblance to George Clooney, okay, I’d understand; but an Australian (or whatever nationality he was), rugby-playing backpacker?

Then it hit me: it was the context. Of course! I almost slapped my forehead with the realization. When I stepped off that plane in Paris, I was suddenly eighteen years old, carefree in Europe as I had planned. It was a time warp of sorts: my expectations for the trip hadn’t changed since then.

Chills ran down my spine. What if I was living out some parallel universe? What if I had been meant to meet Chad when I was eighteen? What if he was a figment of my imagination? And, most importantly, did that mean that I was free to fuck him?

I looked at my watch again, compulsively. I had six hours to fill before Laura arrived. I felt a sudden sense of

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