Dancing In The Erotic Light Of India

Before I could even get close, Brett threw his arm across her chest stopping her and, on the other side; Olga too, extended her arm forming a symbolic fence across her path. Panting for breath, she stopped in the center of the stage. Her face a tortured mask of pain, she turned her eyes away from me and returned to the cot.On her own, she laid down on it, and held on to the straps. With loud whimpers she endured while Brett and Olga disinfected her back and thighs with alcohol. Jane fanned her back to help evaporate the alcohol and thus shorten the burning. It appears that this pain was not directly part of the show; instead it was a necessary and unavoidable precaution. After it was over, Jane returned to my side and Olga helped Lynette outside, presumably to the bathroom.With the two women out of the way, Brett poured himself a drink and brought me one too. The fiery taste of the malt braced me and at the same time restored my sense of time. It was close to midnight. I presumed. My sunlight was suddenly partially blocked as drowsily I tried to read my book. I looked up to see a couple about my age and a younger woman, I presumed the couple's daughter. They stood on the terrace facing away from me, as if to find a free table: the terrace was busy, it was apparently the warmest and sunniest day for some weeks. I observed the group. Usually, I have only a passing interest in the beauty of young women, my attraction being towards mature women of near and older my own age, mid-fifties. I guessed this young lady to be eighteen or nineteen, so I was more drawn to observing her mother, well-dressed, well-groomed and a confident manner - everything to stir my casual interest. Just then, the breeze that had been rustling the square's traditional plane trees swept on to the terrace. It caught the very short skirt of the younger woman's brown sleeveless soft dress and revealed the tops of suntanned thighs, the small roundness of her suntanned buttocks and a thin.
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