Chapter 15

Priscilla, sitting cross-legged beside Susan, and with her fore- and middle fingers inserted deep into Susan's vagina, used her thumb to swipe her lover's swollen clit. On the bed, Susan gasped and mewled, making sounds Priscilla was very familiar with, and she knew the end was near.

Sure enough….

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAhhhhhhhhh!" Susan bellowed, arching her back as she exploded in orgasm.

Priscilla's eyebrows shot up. Her fingers were being squeezed hard! She could also feel that whereas Susan's previous three climaxes had been wet, this time the dam had really burst, and her fingers were now being splashed with the blonde's essence.

She chuckled.

"Jesus!" she couldn't help uttering.

She stopped her thumb's motion in order to let Susan's pussy enjoy the orgasm without her no-doubt-by-now-really-sensitive clit overwhelming the experience.

"FUUUUUCK!" Susan screamed after gulping in a huge breath. "Oh my GOD!"

Priscilla watched Susan's body begin bucking in reaction to this strong release. Her own clit responded by pulsing rapidly, and her inner walls clenched, causing more of her own arousal to sneak out past her folds.

Susan pounded the mattress twice with her little fists before clutching the sheets with both hands to finish riding out the orgasm, while crying out, yelping, and moaning throughout the storm.

Meanwhile, Priscilla looked down at the woman she had just brought to those pleasurable heights, and licked her lips.

Susan Worthington was a delectable feast for the eyes. Especially when she was nude.

She had just turned thirty a few months ago. She had a slender figure with a cinched waist, and pert, young breasts that were flawless…without even a single mole on the soft flesh. Her left nipple was pierced, and so was her navel. Her mound bore a neat tuft of hair that was the light brown of a summer ale, with a few strands that were as brightly blonde as the hairs on her head. These pubic hairs were all matted and weighted down now with the sweat from their sexual antics.

When it was clear Susan's orgasm was ebbing, Priscilla slid her fingers out. Although she had been tasting Susan's most intimate flavors all afternoon, she couldn't help bringing the fingers to her mouth and sucking them clean of what covered them. She closed her eyes as the taste stimulated her tongue, which she worked around the two digits, wanting to get every single bit of Susan off them…and then she swallowed.

Done, she laid down beside the other woman.

This had been exactly what she needed! The intense sexual cravings she had felt ever since stealing The Young Shepherdess had been satisfied.

At least for today.

Tomorrow…who knew?

She was a very sexually rapacious woman. Always had been, if she was honest with herself, and it hadn't diminished with age, thank goodness.

She dreaded that day.

"Fucking hell, Priscilla," Susan gasped next to her. "I think I broke something!"

Priscilla laughed.

"I'll take that as a compliment," she replied.

"I can see it now," Susan went on. "Me at the gynecologist. ‘How did you sustain an injury in there?' she'll say. And I'll say, ‘Having an orgasm that made me see dead relatives.'"

Priscilla burst into laughter.

"You are too funny!" she said. "And adorable." She licked her lips and swallowed. "I need a drink."

"I'll get it," Susan offered. "What would you like? Water?"

"Fuck water," Priscilla replied. "I have the makings of a martini up here. Two olives, please."

One of the doors in her bedroom led to a small sitting room next to the closet. Priscilla had outfitted it with a bar because sometimes a woman wanted to have sex and cocktails within easy reach, in the same room.

"Right away," Susan said, sitting up. "Now, where did my underwear end up?"

"No underwear," Priscilla said.

Susan looked at her with a quirked eyebrow.

"I am dripping!" she stated with a smirk.

"So drip," Priscilla told her. She cocked her own eyebrow "Do what I say."

"Mm…yes, ma'am," Susan said, her smirk growing smirkier.

She got out of bed and Priscilla watched her walk to the room with the bar, admiring just how perfect her ass was. While waiting, she positioned herself so she was sitting up, her back against the headboard.

She looked at the bookshelf on the wall opposite the bed.

She was craving to see The Young Shepherdess. It was a physical need. Of course, it was impossible. But even that excited her. She liked having this secret.

Susan returned shortly with two martinis.

"Stay there," Priscilla instructed when the blonde reached the side of the bed with the two cocktails.

Her heart pumping faster, Priscilla rolled onto her belly. Now her face was directly in front of Susan's pelvis.

She licked her lips—not from thirst this time, but from want…

Susan was dripping! And her thighs were shiny with all of the come that her vagina couldn't contain, and which gravity had taken hold of. As she watched, she saw even more of the arousal emerge from between Susan's folds, and then her eye caught sight of two drips that were rolling down her left leg.

"I may have left some drops on your carefully polished floor," Susan said.

Priscilla grinned.

"That's why I have a housekeeper," she said. "Open wider."

Susan spread her legs a little more.

Priscilla reached forward with her right hand and played with the slickness covering Susan's right thigh, her own clit pounding. She then scooched herself forward a bit and licked the upper leg, getting more of Susan's essence on her tongue.

Susan let out tiny gasps while this happened, and Priscilla was aware of the younger woman's legs trembling.

"Don't spill our drinks," Priscilla cooed.

"I won't," Susan said in the plaintive tone of a woman needing something. "Ma'am."

"Good girl," Priscilla replied.

She stretched out her tongue to its maximum length and licked Susan's still-swollen labia.

Once…

Twice…

"Oh fuck!" Susan groaned.

"Don't spill our drinks," Priscilla repeated, before resuming the work with her tongue, catching more of the stream of warm liquid coming out Susan's pussy.

"Mmmmm…" she groaned, deciding that her martini could wait.

***

As expected, she and Susan were done with one another by five p.m. After showering together, Priscilla had Diane prepare them a light meal of teriyaki tofu with noodles and broccoli, which was served by Madeline on the second-story balcony overlooking the backyard.

"She's staring at me again," Susan said with mock petulance as she glanced to her left, towards the house, after spearing a cube of tofu with her fork.

At first, Priscilla thought Susan meant Madeline, but when she also turned her head to look into the house through the ten-foot high windows, all she saw was her living room.

"Who?" she asked.

"The girl in the painting," Susan said, with a chuckle. "Every time I come here, I can feel her eyes on me like little daggers."

Priscilla looked back into the house and laughed.

Above the fireplace hung Jeune bergère debout—another Bouguereau that had miraculously come up for auction two years ago, and which Priscilla—not so miraculously—had made sure she obtained.

The shepherdess depicted in that painting had an entirely different mien from the one hidden upstairs…

She was also a dark-haired young peasant girl in her teens, standing barefoot in a meadow with her sheep in the near distance. But in this painting she was facing the viewer full-on, leaning on her staff in an attitude which seemed to dare anyone to come closer to her animals. Her lovely face also carried this challenge. She stared at the viewer with a set jaw, lips that weren't smiling, and eyes that were hard, warning those looking at her that she was not to be trifled with.

"I always feel as though she disapproves of my being here," Susan went on.

Priscilla shrugged.

"Don't know what to tell you," she said. "She's been staring at people like that since 1887. I don't think she knows how to do anything else."

"She reminds me of you," Susan said, tilting her head in the direction of the house.

"In what way?" Priscilla asked, feeling flattered but not showing it.

"Well, the girl looks like…well, she looks like she could be a sweet little girl, with not much to her," Susan began. "But then you really look at her, and you begin to realize that she knows more than you think, and that she's dangerous."

Priscilla cocked an eyebrow.

"Am I dangerous?" she asked.

She had heard that term used with regards to her before, but only within the realm of her business dealings…

"It's dangerous to cross Priscilla Kroyn."

"Don't underestimate Priscilla Kroyn, that's a dangerous mistake."

"Priscilla Kroyn can be a dangerous adversary."

But this was the first time—in her entire life—one of her friends had used the phrase to apply to her—as just Priscilla.

Susan shrugged.

"I don't think you're going to up and stab me one night out of the blue," she said. "But let's face it…being allowed into your inner circle means playing by your rules, and woe betide those who don't."

"Woe betide?" Priscilla said, laughing. "That is simultaneously very odd to hear someone who is less than seven-hundred-years-old say…and very hot."

"Hey, I know words!" Susan said, rolling her eyes. "The next time I come over, I'll betwixt, erelong, and anon you until you come so hard your eyes roll back in your head."

Priscilla waggled her eyebrows.

"Yum!" she exclaimed.

At that moment, Madeline stepped out onto the balcony.

"Sorry to interrupt, Ms. Kroyn," she said, "but the museum has sent an armored truck to pick up the painting, and only you can sign the papers."

The Corot portrait she was donating to the museum. Earlier today, it had been boxed up in a wooden crate by a professional art packager.

"I'll be right there," Priscilla said, wiping her mouth with her napkin and then standing. "Excuse me," she said to Susan.

"Wow, an armored car," Susan replied off-handedly. "I take it the painting wasn't done by your godchild?"

Priscilla was godmother to her friend Leigh's six-year-old daughter. The child enjoyed painting, and often gifted Priscilla some of her "masterpieces," which Priscilla proudly displayed in her library.

"No," she answered Susan. "Little Flora is an enthusiastic painter, but so far her works aren't worth eight-million dollars like this one is. Be right back…"