Gently she began to wash my breasts, and like magic, the nipples reared to attention and the tips tingled. She wore no brassiere. I was glad for the churning water to camouflage my own wetness. The dress was far from new and she was almost grown out of it. She was La Princesa, shaped only for destruction. Soft clingy dresses that molded around the thighs when they walked and swished with the movement of their hips. Yet I felt no shards of guilt ripping at my conscience and no reluctance to spread my legs for her touch. A blast of humidity hit her in the face She rubbed her eye with the heel of her hand and walked the short pathway to the elevator. Gisele sat on the edge of the tub rubbing my neck with her talented fingers until I could feel the tension ease down my arms and dissipate into the hot swirling water. Thoughtlessly, her mouth opened, a simple surrender, and she felt the hot pillar of his most private flesh pass between her lips and stroke slowly against her tongue, moving into her accepting mouth, filling her there as well.