Renaissance Of The Heart - Part 3 free porn video

November had come and gone and December had slipped in unnoticed by the time I was due to go to Europe. It was an odd feeling. A huge task lay ahead when normally I was winding down, ready for the Christmas break. While I would usually be thinking of dusting down the sled, I was headed for one of Europe’s most beautiful cities in all its autumnal glory.

I sent a text to Elizabeth from the airport, a final call to keep her fingers crossed for the hurdles that were to follow. My only regret was that I couldn’t take her with me. I could only imagine the wonderful time we could have together, but we both knew it wasn’t a vacation. The ‘sale’ of the painting had got her out of the immediate threat of bankruptcy and a holiday now would only pile on a profligacy that we could ill afford. I needed to be focused on the task in hand. If I took in some culture along the way, then that would be my reward for a little dedication to my art.

It had occurred to me some time back that I might be challenged over my taking the painting on the plane. It wasn’t exactly big, but with the wrapping it was the size of a decent pizza. I made representations to the Chamber of Commerce and with a little smooth talking got them to issue a waiver. I was fearful of what might occur if it went in the hold, and I had visions of someone’s suitcase cutting it in two. This way, I had the necessary documentation, which said it was ‘valuable merchandise’ and needed to be hand luggage. If I didn’t have enough bridges to cross, stumbling over bureaucracy was something I could do without, but at least the painting would only have to make the journey twice.

I can’t say that I relish flying. It’s a necessity but I do get the jitters from time to time. I was just happy that it wasn’t a long-haul. The flight to southern Italy takes the scenic route, crossing the snow-capped mountains of the Alps and the lake district of Switzerland. I had taken first class for that little extra comfort and because I could afford it. After breaking through the clouds, I was up and away, relaxing in my reclining chair, a glass of wine on my tray and a tub of Pringles on my lap.

The wine and the gentle hum of the engines had a soporific effect. I hadn’t slept well the night before. I never can when something’s going to happen and I nodded off, occasionally experiencing momentary periods of wakefulness as a little turbulence rocked the plane.

I wasn’t entirely surprised to be the only passenger in first class but I was surprised by the Stewardess. As far as I knew Elizabeth was in telesales, so what was she doing working on a plane? I watched as she trundled the drinks trolley up to my seat, her uniform snugly accentuating her hourglass figure. Her skirt seemed to be a size too small, so that her panties bit into her bum cheeks.

“Would you like something else, Madam?” she asked.

“Eh? Elizabeth?”

“I’m your sexy stewardess for the flight. Would you like a little massage?”

“Won’t the Captain mind?” I asked.

“The Captain’s flying the plane, Cindy. What he doesn’t know, eh?” Elizabeth winked and licked her lips.

“I’ll have a glass of Champagne then please. And a punnet of strawberries, like in that film with Julia Roberts.”

“I’ll give you more than strawberries, Cindy. You can have my lips if you like.”

Elizabeth removed her stewardess’s cap and shook her hair, allowing it to flow naturally over her shoulders like a waterfall of silk. She stood in front of my seat and gave me one of her smouldering looks, her brown eyes giving me a little rash of goose bumps and a tingle down my spine. I dipped a strawberry into my Champagne and sucked the sparkling wine through the tender flesh of the fruit as she undid the buttons on her top. I lay back in my seat as she planted a knee between my legs and then she looked into my eyes, as if she was reading my thoughts. I pulled her towards me, my right hand caressing her breasts through her top as my other hand ran around the smooth outline of her sweet derriere

“Yes?” she said, sweetly.

“I…” Before I could speak she planted a kiss on my lips. It was a kiss like honey on my lips - her tongue making little darts into my mouth. I opened my legs and lifted a knee, my thin skirt riding along my thigh as I pressed my tongue into her mouth. I could feel her fingers popping open the buttons on my blouse. I began to draw down the zip on her skirt, easing the material over her hips until I could feel the smooth flesh of her bum under my fingers. I was so wet, so aching for her tongue and her fingers…

I woke up with a start. The seat belt sign was illuminated and the tone of the engines indicated our descent. I looked out of my porthole and the countryside was close enough to make out roads and individual fields in a patchwork of greens and browns. I was aching after the dream, my heart beating hard and in need of some love and affection.

*************

Italy was everything I had imagined. I wasn’t one for winter holidays, but the sunshine in Rome was like a cuddle for the soul.

After going through the formalities at the airport and checking in at my hotel, I made it a point of getting my bearings before I ventured farther. The immediate vicinity was a confusing criss-cross of streets, where everywhere looked the same. It wasn’t until I got onto the main thoroughfare that a meaningful landmark appeared. I was very close to both St. John’s Basilica and the Coliseum. It was as if the latter had been lowered randomly into the middle of an intersection and occupied a space, where every square metre was being competed for by a pillar or an archway. It was hard to believe that there could be so much archaeology in one place. Ancient, crumbling ruins competing for space among mediaeval buildings; museums on the corners of quaint little tree-lined avenues. It was beautiful and humbling.

My first mission was to check out the place on the letter, which had accompanied the painting. Try as I might I hadn’t manage to track it down, so I decided to head for the Tourist Information Centre, hoping someone there would know. I could see from my map that it was only a couple of blocks away but involved the traversing of a couple of arterial roads. Crossing main roads was a nightmare, there being no point to the zebra crossings as far as I could tell. At one place I actually took a longer route to avoid getting mown down by the traffic. The alternative involved my walking through a park, where there was a pond and a few quacking ducks and a forlorn-looking summer house. I could have lingered there, but I began to feel guilty having no bread and walked on, trampling the piles of leaves under foot.

After my detour, I reached the second main road but failed to see a way of navigating my way round. Crossing a busy road, with 200 motor cars bearing down on you in a foreign city was intimidating. Watching a couple of fellow pedestrians narrowly miss a serious accident wasn’t encouraging. I was about to summon up the courage to cross during a slightly less treacherous period when a couple of nuns breezed by and proceeded to cross, causing the traffic to halt. I followed them, in the wake of their holy protection, and arrived at the other side in one piece.

I reached a river and dropped down, taking some steps to the bank where the autumn leaves had been blown into little brown piles and were now being scattered randomly in the breeze. The Tourist Centre was set back, above the east bank of the river. After involving a couple of the members of staff, they were unable to locate my street. I retraced my steps and, in trying to avoid the main road, got hopelessly lost. I consulted my map and somehow oriented my way back to my hotel via a completely different route.

My first big appointment loomed and, taking no chances, I got the hotel to call me a taxi. The painting under my arm, I instructed the driver to take me to the National Institute of Art. It was a huge gothic affair, along a street with other important looking buildings, with the Italian flag waving above each entrance.

I entered through the heavy front door and entered the cool, stone entrance where a guy in a kind of uniform greeted me at the desk. He raised his cap, revealing his slick, black hair.

“Buongiorno, signorina! Come posso essere di aiuto?”

“Oh. Ummm do you speak English?”

“A little bit. How may I help you, please?”

“I’m looking for Elanora di Rosso.”

“Certamente! Second floor, is from the first door and is on the left.”

“On the left?”

“Si signorina. Her name is on the door.”

“Multo gratzie!” I said in what little Italian I had.

Inside, the institute was an odd mish mash of sterile rooms in a crusty edifice, with age worn paintings and old wedding cake ceilings. On the second floor I emerged in one such area, which had a modern appearance, with blank white walls and little stain glass windows at the top of the stair well. It was as if you were constantly reminded that you were in Rome. No matter how advanced the science was, you were nudged in the ribs by culture.

I picked my way along the corridor, noseying through the little, fire-proof windows where white-coated workers were looking through microscopes and using all sorts of cutting edge instruments. At last I arrived at the door marked Dr E di Rosso. I knocked once and entered cautiously. A slim, attractive dark-haired woman of thirty or so looked up from a book that she was reading.

“Cindy Lucina?”

“Yes. That’s me!”

“You’re younger than I had imagined,” she said, offering her hand.

Elanora had long auburn hair, tied in a ponytail. She had a light Mediterranean complexion with sharply defined features, which were relieved by a pair of rimless silver spectacles. They were perched on an aquiline nose that made her look alert and intelligent.

“You have something for me?” she said. She spoke perfect English through a thick Italian accent.

“Yes, it’s here. It’s hardly left my side for two weeks.”

“We will take care of it. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you, it means so much to me for you to do this.”

“You know the odds against it being a Michelangelo…”

“Are a million to one, yes. But when you see…”

“I’m not an expert in art, but I hope for you that is one.”

I unwrapped the painting and placed it on the heavy wooden table where she was working. She raised her glasses and looked at it closely.

“It is a remarkable painting. It is beautifully painted.”

“When will you begin the tests?” I asked inquisitively.

“The carbon dating will begin tomorrow. And then we will see.”

“What’s the accuracy of the test?”

“If it’s an uncompromised sample, then for the last half millenium, about one hundred years.”

“Uncompromised?”

“Yes, if there are more recent sources of cross contamination or much older elementals, it can give a false reading.”

“Oh!”

“But we will take a sample from behind the frame and it’s prepared specially The preparation is the hard part, the test is an hour. Don’t worry Cindy, we’ll get a good sample, I’m sure. If it’s something that’s been buried in the ground – well that’s tricky.”

“There’s a painting just like this one in the Sistine Chapel. That one is a Michelangelo.”

“Well, the subject was very popular during the Renaiassance.”

Elanora listened as I enthused over my confidence in the painting and then I remembered the letter. Maybe she would be able to throw a little light on the address.

“Elanora, I have something to ask you. About a street in Rome…”

“Go ahead.”

I pulled the letter out of my pocket and read the address.

“Via Azzo Gardino. Do you know where that is?”

Elanora looked blank and shook her head.

“I’ve never heard of it, but Rome is a big place.”

“I know. It’s not on my map.”

“Ah, that means nothing. I will check the directory. May I ask the relevance of Via Azzo Gardino?”

Elanora’s pronunciation of the name, her stress of the syllables made me smile. Her speaking voice was as near as one gets to singing as I had heard.

“Apparently it was in a sale there, in 1934,” I confirmed. “I thought if I could trace the records for that sale, it would add to the provenance. Maybe it had an attribution.”

Elanora ran her finger down the large green-covered A to Z. She looked up at me and held out her hand.

“Let me see the letter.”

“Hmmm… it’s odd there is no street with this name in Rome.”

“There must be!”

“Okay, let’s not give up, but some would say using Google is a last resort, but we will do it.”

Elanora tapped at the keyboard of her laptop as I waited impatiently.

“Ah!”

“What?!”

“Oh. No. I can only see one Via Azzo Gardino and it’s in Bologna. Maybe the sale was there?”

“No, Elizabeth’s great uncle was in Rome. The sale was in Rome, I’m certain of that.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say, it’s not in the directory, which is very unusual. Anyway, you can leave the painting with us.”

“Thank you, Elanora. I appreciate it.”

“That’s okay. Oh by the way, if you’re interested, I’m playing in a little recital tonight, if you want to come. A few friends and I are playing some Vivaldi and Scarlatti.”

“Domenico or Allesandro?” I asked.

“Oh! so you are a lover of the music? Allesandro, we are playing. I will give you the address, there is a bar and we have a little following. The atmosphere is good.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, thank you!”

I left Elanora to her work and headed back into the centre of Rome for a coffee, relieved that I had set the ball rolling but feeling more than a little trepidation. Drawing a blank on the earlier sale was a bit of a blow. A text to Elizabeth confirmed what I already knew, that the sale was in Rome, without doubt. Maybe this Vincenzo had written down the wrong street, though that didn’t seem particularly plausible.

I picked my way back to my hotel, now recognizing certain features, which enabled me to build a good mental map of the city. The opportunities to linger around places of interest and beauty were endless. Entrance fees to places were very reasonable. I passed an hour or three wandering around a huge museum that consisted of statues of various Roman Gods. There was Neptune and his trident, Mercury with his winged hat and the boss of them all – Jupiter, who posed reclining, with one finger pointing into the distance, no doubt summoning a bolt of lightning. I was struck by the fact that these and other notable characters like Hercules were sculpted with very small genitalia. Maybe some kind of antiquarian political correctness forbade a realistic anatomical likeness. Who knows?

There seemed to be something to look at on every corner. There was a museum, which was full of every kind of musical instrument from primitive pianos and lutes to guitars and trombones. There were inviting little restaurants and cafes, which I made mental notes of, though I hardly could guarantee to pass the same way twice with the network of streets and alleyways.

As arresting and absorbing as it was, I was missing Elizabeth and couldn’t help think how much more I would have enjoyed it, in her company. It was all the more frustrating now that the painting was out of my hands. All I could do was wait.

The evening brought both entertainment and an encouraging development. I took a taxi to the address that Elanora gave me. It was in a kind of wine bar that was attached to an old hall that had polished floors and intricately carved wooden gargoyles around the interior. She was just tuning up as a few people were arranging chairs and others were mingling at the bar. Elanora came towards me with a look on her face that said she had something important to say.

“Cindy! I’m pleased you could make it. I’ll introduce you to the others in a second. Anyway I have some news!”

“What is it?”

“My friend Giuseppe is a cartographer at the La Comune di Roma and he did some digging. It turns out Via Azzo Gardino changed in 1960 when they did some restructuring of some crumbled buildings. For some reason it was renamed Via dei Greci and the auction house is still there!”

“Wow! Thank you so much. I’ll go there in the morning!”

“No worries. And they open at ten.”

I ordered a white wine and blackcurrant before taking a seat as Elanora and her cohorts struck up a series of Baroque numbers. The acoustics in the hall were amazing. The bouncy, vivacious cords of the harpsichord morphed into the dancing notes of the violins and cello. It was beautiful and relaxing. I was enchanted by the music and totally impressed by how talented Elanora was, having both scientific and artistic leanings.

Afterwards I was introduced to two of Elanora’s closest friends, including Mima. Mima was a petite and cute mousy-haired girl of 21 or so. She had a distinctly impish smile and sparkling blue-green eyes. She was lovely in every way and seemed to take an immediate fancy to me. She was dressed in a brown suede jacket and black leather skirt.

Mima was from Venice but attending university in Rome. She began by competing for my attention with some of Elanora’s circle, who were keen to practice their English but she succeeded in corralling me into the corner by the wooden struts of a staircase.

“You are very blonde,” she said. “You find much attention from the guys in Rome?”

“Nothing I can’t deal with, but I guess there aren’t many Italian girls like me?”

“You don’t look typically Italian,” said Mima. “But fair hair is not so rare.”

She twizzled her own sandy brown locks as she spoke and gave me a look, which was quite overtly flirtatious.

“Are you taking vacation?” she asked.

I explained the purpose of the trip, but gave a sketched run down of the sights I had seen. It was clear I had barely scratched the surface.

“I will give you a private tour if you like,” she said, becoming a little giggly.

She was one of those people who had a habit of tapping your wrist or elbows she spoke. She insisted on buying me another drink and as she drank she talked more and as she talked, she became more touchy feely, the taps turning into delicate strokes of my hand. I think I must have reacted in some way and Mima noticed.

“Ha don’t mind me, after a few drinks I am anybody’s!”

“I bet you are!”

We were both slightly tiddly and we had a giggly moment, just as someone bumped into my back, making me lose my balance. Before I knew it, I was leaning into Mima with a hand on her shoulder and found myself up close and personal. Mima took advantage of the moment, pulling me towards her and we snatched a kiss. She had lovely soft lips, and we extended the kiss but there was something missing. I backed away.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, this is wrong.”

I looked at her once more, leaving her a little dismayed and left my glass on the side. I went into the cool Roman night air and hailed a taxi.

Elizabeth and I had never talked about us being an item or even in a relationship. I guess there had been an unspoken understanding that we were single and free to see who we wished, but when it came to it I just couldn’t. Mima was cute and sexy and would have given me a memorable night I’m sure. But I would have regretted it in the morning. I sat back in the taxi and pondered. For the first time I was contemplating the notion of being unfaithful to Elizabeth. I would never have considered it might be an issue and maybe if Mima had been a guy it would be different. I had to much too cope with as it was and piling on an extra emotional strain was not what I needed.

I decided to take a day out and watch some movies in my room, with a box of chocolates, which I purchased from the local supermarket. Apart from a short walk in the afternoon, I vegetated, giving myself the first proper rest that I had had for well over a month. I was expecting a call from Elanora the following day and would feel better able to face it fully refreshed.

*****************************

I woke up with the sun bursting into my room. Flying out to Rome and being in different surroundings had almost made me lose track of time, but I was fairly sure that it was a Thursday. I wandered out after breakfast and the neon sign above the nearby café confirmed that it was already 14 degrees and it was only ten o’clock. Elizabeth had texted, asking for a progress report, but I just told her that it was all in hand. It was a chilly two degrees Celsius back in England. I spent the morning writing a few post cards and it was noon before I knew where I was. I was mulling over what to do when I received a call from Elanora.

“Hi!”

“Hi Cindy! A good night on Tuesday?”

“Yes, very enjoyable, thank you.”

“Okay, well I have the results.”

“Oh. Okay…”

“Can you come round?”

“Can’t you just tell me!”

“It’s better if you are in person, I think.”

I could have used the exercise but I couldn’t bear the wait, so I took a taxi to the Art Institute, acknowledging the guy on the desk, before flying up the stairs to Elanora’s laboratory.

I knocked on the door and she let me in, her face a picture of inscrutability.

“Good morning!”

“Yes. It’s warm out. Tell me, Elanora, is it good news?”

“We took three samples. All from different parts of the canvas under the frame.”

“Yes!”

“I have the date ranges for each sample, but I suppose you want to know the bottom line?”

“Yes.”

“From our tests, we are 99 percent certain that this painting was made between 1495 and 1595.”

I paused, absorbing the data.

I looked at Elanora, with my mouth open and a broad smile spread across her face.

“Cindy, there is no doubt that this is a Renaissance painting!”

“Oh thank you so much! Definitely?”

“Definitely!”

This was amazing. The dates were spot on for Michelangelo. It could hardly have been a clearer result. I gave Elanora a huge hug and ran out into the sunshine and phoned Elizabeth. I sent an SMS ahead, so that she knew to make an excuse to leave the office.

“Elizabeth! Guess what?!”

“Please have good news, Cindy, I need it.”

“The carbon dating came through. It’s a Renaissance painting!”

“No way!”

“Yes, the dates are perfect. It’s totally right for Michelangelo.”

“That’s fantastic, Cindy!”

“I know. Also, I’ve traced the auction that sold it, before Vincenzo gave it your great uncle.”

“Really?”

“Yes, long story though. I’m going there on Saturday. I’ve made an appointment.”

“Wow! This is so good!”

“I know. Elizabeth?”

“Yes?”

“Come to Rome.”

“Ha ha I wish.”

“No, seriously. Fly out for the weekend!”

“You’re serious. Why?”

“Cos I need you.”

“Oh Cindy! I’d love to. I’ve never been to Rome. Is it good?”

“Better. It’s amazing, but it would be more amazing if you were here to share it.”

“Well, I could just throw some clothes in a suit case and I guess I can afford it now – sort of!”

“There you go! Did you pay off your cards?”

“Mostly. There’s a bit left on one, and the loan, but my repayments have gone down massively!”

“Good. Anyway, whatever the flight costs, I’ll take it from my budget.”

“Cindy! Are you sure?”

“Yes of course. You’re coming for me as much as you.”

“Okay, well I better get back. I told my boss it was a family emergency. I’ll book the flight as soon as I get in.”

“Okey dokey! See you soon!”

Suddenly I felt that everything was coming together. I was able to relax and enjoy life. I had the sun in my hair and a spring in my step. I’m sure Elizabeth never doubted my judgement for a minute, but no matter how confident I was, I was always haunted with that glimmer of doubt. Terrified that I’d messed up. I think it was because I couldn’t face the prospect of breaking bad news - the tone that I wouldn’t be able to hide, somehow trying to soften the blow. How happy I was that it didn’t have to make that call. Now with the pressure off, I could let go and it felt so good.

Confirmation that Elizabeth’s painting was from the Renaissance was a game changer. It wasn’t just opinion now and that was crucial to its value. Even if we didn’t get anywhere else we now could be looking at a substantial five figure sum in any resale. At the very least it justified all my hard work and the trust Elizabeth had put in me. From hereon in, it was just a matter of how high it would go.

I dawdled around the streets of Rome, treating myself to an ice cream and seeing the great city with renewed vision. I marvelled at the temple of Castor and Pollux and the Basilica of Maxentius. I wandered from place to place until the sun glowed through the peepholes of the great amphitheatre and it was time for tea. I had not long to wait before I could enjoy it with my lover.

********************

I had always wanted to wait at an airport arrivals lounge with one of those hand-written cards that said ‘Jones’ or some other name, which only meant something to their unknown passenger. I knew my Elizabeth, but I still wanted to be that person. I waited by the barrier, all smiles with ‘Miss Sexy Pants’ written on my card. Then there was that period of anticipation as I waited for her to appear. The increased heart rate, the excitement and expectation.

Elizabeth had brought a little suitcase, breezed through customs and before I knew it, we were standing in the sunshine. I wanted to whisk her back to the hotel, but to do that without first pausing to imbue the romantic ambience of Rome would have been to miss a little of life’s intoxication. We skipped off the tube by the Castel D’Angelo, from where one can see over the city. For a few moments Saturn’s clock ceased to tick and we stood hand in hand, just watching the world go by. I took her through a little park, where we fed the Collared Doves and Italian Sparrows with a few crumbs left over from my lunch. We got lost, found our route again and kissed under the canopy of a huge evergreen tree.

We meandered through the streets, doing a little window shopping, fantasizing over ridiculously expensive shoes and dresses. Elizabeth was fascinated by the Coliseum. We leant against one of the the old stone barriers and I imagined all the events that had taken place within its walls. The blood-thirsty voyeuristic spectacles, mock battles and racing chariots. So much history had unfolded there and it was impossible not to be moved by the sheer grandeur of the place.

After a coffee and a shared tiramisu we walked back to the hotel. The sun was setting and Venus was burning, high above the eastern horizon.

I opened the door to our room. I looked at Elizabeth, waiting for her reaction as she was met by the sight of a loose blanket of rose petals on the bed. She squeezed my hand and kissed me again as we moved to the bed, tumbling on to the duvet. Her kisses were all at once sprinkled over my face and neck. We tore at each other’s clothes as the passion between us began to erupt. I couldn’t get her top off quick enough and Elizabeth pulled at the hem of my top. I wriggled out of my skirt as she drew the zip down on hers, and then we rolled together on the bed, dressed only in our bra and panties.

I gathered her hair between my fingers as she kissed my neck, nibbling the soft recess between my collar bone and shoulder. Our fingers were stroking and gliding over each other’s bodies, working up to the random moment when bras were unclipped and panties gently slid over hips and bottom. The feel of her totally bare skin against mine was such a turn on. I rubbed the mound of my pussy against hers as we exchanged ever more passionate kisses. I rolled Elizabeth over and continued to rub against her, the swollen lips of my pussy stroking hers as we moaned with pleasure.

Our lips were locked together, our tongues in a wet embrace and our pussys melting into one sweet union of blissful sex. I had never wanted someone so badly as I wanted Elizabeth. I had a whole multitude of pent up frustrations and desires and I was letting them go. Amid all the uncertainties, trials and temptations, it was Elizabeth who had kept me going. She was my one constant.

I slithered down the bed, kissing her wherever the fancy took me, choosing the softer, most inviting places to plant my lips, which was nearly everywhere. She trembled as my mouth smooched over her tight tummy, each kiss half an inch nearer to her moist little slit. My hair trailed over her skin leaving tributaries of blonde, which covered my eyes leaving me to focus on her perfect body. Elizabeth was reduced to soft whimpers as my lips crossed the sexy stubble of her pubes, a triangular field of womanhood that led to her well of Venus. My tongue tickled and probed, lifting the hood of her clitty and then delving into the sweetness of her girly secrets. I nuzzled her there, lapping and tonguing, until she was writhing among the petals.

Teasing, I worked my way back up her front, rolling my bottom lip along the ridge of her ribs and then up to her breasts. I kissed her breasts and lingered around her areolae, rolling my tongue over the puffy surrounds of her nipples. She cooed with pleasure as her nipples became stiff and wet from my saliva.

Elizabeth had become so worked up, her fingers were quietly seeking out her little nub, but I had a better idea. I lay beside her and she turned towards me, kissing me on the lips as we crossed arms and allowed our fingers to stray between each other’s legs. We were both really turned on and I’m sure I was at least as wet as Elizabeth, just from her gasps as her fingers entered my velvet. It was almost an effort not to slip my fingers deeply into her vagina, she was so silky smooth – her juices coating my curling digits. It was such a beautiful moment, sharing tender kisses as we made each other tingle. I was close to coming from our mutual masturbation, but Elizabeth thought it was her turn to tease as she eased back and kissed me deeply, half climbing on top of me.

Aroused and in a playful mood, I pushed her back on to the bed and straddled her waist, pinning her to the bed, so that she was at the mercy of my whim. She cupped my breasts, weighing them in her palms, and tweaking my nipples between her fingers. As if I needed any encouragement I lay my hands flat by her sides and pushed my breasts into her face, swaying my body gently, so that her nose and mouth were smothered by my boobs. She wriggled beneath me, play biting my boobs, while her hands stroked my bum.

I sat up and shuffled towards her until I was almost hovering over her face. Elizabeth looked up at me with her twinkly brown eyes and licked her lips as her tongue lapped against my labia. I made a circular movement in the air with my finger, and she nodded, interpreting my naughty idea as I had intended.

She lay face down on the bed and her lovely, cheeky bottom rose like two lovely soft hills from the valley of her spine. I traced my finger tips down her back, following each stroke with a kiss until I reached the little dimples above her buttocks. I parted her legs and lay between them so I had completely free access to her sex and her lovely ass. I kissed her, with my tongue parting the sticky crease of her vulva and slid upwards until I was licking her tight little hole. Elizabeth loved it. Her moans were mixed with little notes of anguish, wanting me to continue. Her gorgeous sexy bum was just too good to deny her wish and I rolled my tongue around her most private area as my fingers pleasured myself at the same time.

She turned over and we kissed some more, her body moving against the bed so that our bodies squished together, driving me wild in the process. I swung one leg round, pivoting on the other until I faced the other way and nestled my face between her legs while Elizabeth lapped at my pussy. Having already licked her sweet pot of love, she was lovely and moist and warm. It was sheer joy to continue where I had left off, while receiving oral pleasure at the same time. It was almost impossible to concentrate on the job in hand, and I guess we each became lost to the intimacy of licking and being licked. My body was building once more to a wondrous release as we pushed our tongues deeper, licking and kissing and loving. I was beginning to tremble as my most erogenous zone was stimulated and little spasms of erotic pleasure swept over me. Building to a climax, I was shivering and moaning as I stroked over Elizabeth’s clit drawing muffled cries from her lips as we came together; her body suddenly wracked with her orgasm.

I turned around and kissed her lips, which were damp with my own juices. We snuggled together, my right leg crossed over her left and we kissed and cuddled among the pinks and mauves.

“The best yet?” I whispered.

“Hmmm… maybe," she said with a mischievous giggle.

“I’m hungry, it must be time for tea,” I said, nibbling her ear lobe.

“I fancy some ravioli.”

“Good call. Me too!”

As we dressed, Elizabeth brought the conversation round to the painting.

“So what now? What’s with this sale? You said it was a long story.”

“We’ll go round there together in the morning. The guy there today hardly speaks any English.”

I explained the situation, with the change of the name and how amazing Elanora had been.

“What’s got to happen with the painting now?”

“Right. Well I have an appointment with this guy on Monday. The next test is really expensive. I think they will analyse the paint.”

“Analyse the paint?”

“Yes, it’s to narrow it down further. Certain colours came in and out at certain times, so it will be another way of proving that it could be by Michelangelo.”

“Whoo it’s all so exciting!”

“I know. I’m getting a good feeling about all this.”

“Me too, Cindy.”

I looked out of the window and noticed it had begun to rain. Nothing major, but I hadn’t thought about rain and didn’t have an umbrella. Elizabeth and I wandered out into the street and headed for the nearest restaurant, with our jackets raised over heads. We were hungry, thirsty and happy. I had never been happier and was ready to discover what other surprises the weekend had in store.