"Be carefull," she instructed. "Don't wrinkle my clothes."
I took them off with all the precaution in the world, studying each thing she wore as if it were a precious, unique object, kissing with devotion every centimeter of skin that came into view, breathing in the soft, lightly perfumed aura that emanated from her body. Now she had a small, almost invisible scar near her groin because her appendix had been removed, and her pubis had even less hair than before. I felt desire, emotion, tenderness as I kissed her insteps, her fragrant underarms, the suggestion of little bones in her spine, and her motionless buttocks, as delicate to the touch as velvet. I kissed her small breasts at length mad with happiness.
"You haven't forgotten what I like, good boy," she finally whispered in my ear.
And, without waiting for my reply, she turned on her back, spreading her legs to make a place for my head as she covered her eyes with her right arm. I felt her begin to move farther and farther from me, the Russel Hotel, London, in order to concentrate totally, with an intensity I've never seen in any other woman, on the solitary, personal, egotistical pleasure my lips had learned to give her. Licking, sucking, kissing, nibbling her small sex, I felt her grow wet and vibrate. It took her a long time to finish. But how delicious and exciting it was to feel her purring, moving, rocking, submerged in the vertigo of desire, until at last a long wail shook her body from head to toe. "Now, now," she whispered in a choked voice. I entered her easily and embraced her with so much strength that she came out of the inertia in which the orgasm had left her. She groaned, twisting, trying to slip out from under my body, complaining, "you're crushing me."
With my mouth pressed against hers, I pleaded, "For once in your life, tell me you love me, bad girl. Even if it isn't true, say it. I want to know how it sounds, just once."
I took them off with all the precaution in the world, studying each thing she wore as if it were a precious, unique object, kissing with devotion every centimeter of skin that came into view, breathing in the soft, lightly perfumed aura that emanated from her body. Now she had a small, almost invisible scar near her groin because her appendix had been removed, and her pubis had even less hair than before. I felt desire, emotion, tenderness as I kissed her insteps, her fragrant underarms, the suggestion of little bones in her spine, and her motionless buttocks, as delicate to the touch as velvet. I kissed her small breasts at length mad with happiness.
"You haven't forgotten what I like, good boy," she finally whispered in my ear.
And, without waiting for my reply, she turned on her back, spreading her legs to make a place for my head as she covered her eyes with her right arm. I felt her begin to move farther and farther from me, the Russel Hotel, London, in order to concentrate totally, with an intensity I've never seen in any other woman, on the solitary, personal, egotistical pleasure my lips had learned to give her. Licking, sucking, kissing, nibbling her small sex, I felt her grow wet and vibrate. It took her a long time to finish. But how delicious and exciting it was to feel her purring, moving, rocking, submerged in the vertigo of desire, until at last a long wail shook her body from head to toe. "Now, now," she whispered in a choked voice. I entered her easily and embraced her with so much strength that she came out of the inertia in which the orgasm had left her. She groaned, twisting, trying to slip out from under my body, complaining, "you're crushing me."
With my mouth pressed against hers, I pleaded, "For once in your life, tell me you love me, bad girl. Even if it isn't true, say it. I want to know how it sounds, just once."
in The Bad Girl by Mario Vargas Llosa
