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Portia
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Portia Jace and Chastity had a live in nanny named Portia. She was a young Hispanic beauty. Jace had found himself often admiring her wholesome good looks . It was late at night and everyone in the house was asleep, or so Jace thought. He was walking down the hallway toward the kitchen to grab a snack when he noticed the door to Portia's room was slightly cracked. The hall was dark so he could easily see into the room. He casually peeked in as he went past. He glimpsed more than enough to make him want more. Portia was on her bed, and he could see beautiful, brown, nude flesh. He couldn't make out the details from his quick glance, but decided to get a better view. He ran a quick benefits to risk analysis. Everyone else was asleep. The hall was dark so no one, not even Portia, could see him. He was only going to look. Check, check, check. The blood was pounding in his ears as he approached the cracked door. The music in his head was deafening. Steadying himself against the door facing, Jace leaned in close, and peered through the crack. The music abruptly stopped. All Jace could hear was silence, except for the sound of his own breath, and the beating of his heart. His single eye stared unblinkingly, wide and intent, taking in the scene. Jace was glad that the hall was dark. He didn't possess less than honorable intentions toward Portia (or anyone else), but imagined the terror she'd feel if she looked up, and could see his unblinking eye silently drinking her. She had nothing to fear. Jace was just an incurable admirer of feminine beauty. He felt a fleeting twinge of shame as he wondered how he'd ever explain this to Chastity if she caught him. Jace reassured himself that he was only looking, and had stumbled upon this opportunity totally by accident. This was true, but Jace still felt just a hint of guilt. If she really didn't want anyone else to see her, then Portia would’ve closed her bedroom door, Jace huffed indignantly to himself. Rationalization and justification are such useful tools. Jace was smug. He was feeling like a victim of this girl's obvious exhibitionist tendencies. He was incensed that she would dare to tease and lure him in like this. She knew what she was doing. She may even be trying to entice him to do other things. That devious little nymph. He'd show her, he'd watch her and leave quietly. She'd never even know if her ruse worked. Jace felt so clever. He had clearly outsmarted the fox at her own game. Nude at night, on her bed, with the light on and her door cracked, and she was innocent and oblivious? Right! How could he possibly be expected not to look? Her bedroom walls and ceiling were painted stark white, the way she had requested. All the linens and bedding were also white. The wood floors were the only dark element in her bedroom. Even her bed frame was white rod iron. The only adornment on any of the walls was a crucifix on the wall behind her bed. The simple whitewashed wooden nightstand beside her bed held a bible, a vase with a single red rosé, and a large white porcelain basin full of steaming hot water. Portia was seated on the edge of her bed facing him. She couldn't have been more than ten feet away.One foot was on the floor. The other leg was bent at the knee, and placed on the bed splaying her legs wide, and exposing her most intimate parts. Her twenty something body was pleasing and slightly plump with an exaggerated hourglass shape ending in a full, rounded bottom. Her breasts were small, but sensuous with large brown nipples. Her skin looked creamy and buttery soft. Her face was delicate with a slightly upturned nose and large, sensuous lips. Her gently opened flower was vivid pink, and shined like a ripe piece of cut fruit.. Her hair was dark, thick and wavy, cascading in front of her shoulders. Her eyes were the clearest, most piercing hue of hazel. Her face wore an expression of seriousness and absolute deliberateness . Her body language was formal and poised. Every movement was carefully calculated. She looked as though she were performing a ritual that had been practiced countless times before. Jace remembered where he'd seen similar images before. In the city, at the art institute, he'd viewed a Renoir exhibit of nude bathers. His bathers exuded the same quality as Portia. They were scenes of women totally alone, and unselfconsciously going about intimate personal rituals. There was something almost supernaturally glorious about Renoir's paintings. That same essence was emanating from Portia as he watched. Jace had an odd thought. What if Renoir's nudes seemed so totally natural, innocent and unselfconscious because Renoir was secretly viewing them? Painting them from a hidden vantage point. His eye narrowed as he focused back in on Portia. In her hand was an old fashioned<b> shaving </font></b>brush that she dipped into a mug of rich warm<b> shaving </font></b>cream. She applied the cream slowly and thickly to her privates with smooth up and down strokes, gradually obscuring even her ripe pink center from Jace's view. Portia picked up a glistening object from the table. It was an old fashioned straight razor, complete with ivory handle.She looked down, and concentrated intently on the task at hand. With careful, deft strokes she shaved one small area at a time, removing hair and cream with expertly applied control.She continued slowly and patiently until her sex was smooth and shiny. What an appetizing sight Jace thought as he gazed intently at Portia's glistening slit. She took a white towel and dipped it in the steaming bowl of water, carefully wringing out the excess moisture. She folded and placed the towel between her legs, against her womanhood. Closing her legs together, she lay back onto the bed, placing both her feet on the edge of the bed. Her full rear spread out, and lay open and invitingly across the bed. Now "that"was a midnight snack, he thought as he pulled away from the door, and snuck back down the hall, and into bed without being discovered. |
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