The light clicking of her heels did not go unnoticed by her husband, who was in his study, "Ah, she finally returns." he called out and approached her...In the context of art, if Rhea were Botticelli's wet dream then her husband would qualify as a certifiable nightmare. The contrast did not end at their physical appearance alone, for as wealthy as her husband was, he was also a classless brute, for whom 'beauty' was just the amount of zeros in front of his net worth. He also for some reason. I reached for her waistband and undid the button, and she obligingly slipped out of her pants. Now she was bottomless covered to the knees in flowing filmy black fabric. I studied her for a while, and she stood and let me. Then I led her to the bed.Our love making that night was gentler then Christmas Eve. We spent hours exploring each other's bodies finding the sensitive spots. Somewhere along the line, I lost my pants, but Chris wore her caftan all night. I enjoyed darting under it to find. More

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