Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           It’sfur!Afurglove?

           Christiantrailshishand,unhurriedanddeliberate,downtomybelly,circlingmynavel,thencarefullyfromhiptohip,andI’mtryingtoanticipatewherehe’sgoingnext…butthemusic…it’sinmyhead…transportingme…thefuracrossthelineofmypubichair…betweenmylegs,alongmythighs,downoneleg…uptheother…italmosttickles…butnotquite…morevoicesjoin…theheavenlychoirallsingingdifferentparts,theirvoicesblendingblissfullyandsweetlytogetherinamelodicharmonythatisbeyondanythingI’veeverheard.Icatchoneword—“deus”—andIrealizetheyaresinginginLatin.Andstill,thefurismovingdownmyarmsandaroundmywaist…backupacrossmybreasts.Mynippleshardenbeneaththesofttouch…andI’mpanting…wonderingwherehishandwillgonext.Suddenly,thefurisgone,andIcanfeelthefrondsofthefloggerflowingovermyskin,followingthesamepathasthefur,andit’ssohardtoconcentratewiththemusicinmyhead—itsoundslikeahundredvoicessinging,weavinganetherealtapestryoffine,silkengoldandsilverthroughmyhead,mixedwiththefeelofthesoftsuedeagainstmyskin…trailingoverme…ohmy…abruptly,itdisappears.Thensuddenly,sharply,itbitesdownonmybelly.

           “Aagghh!”Icryout.Ittakesmebysurprise,butitdoesn’texactlyhurtandtinglesallover,andhehitsmeagain.Harder.