Here is another excerpt from my erotic version of Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility. My Austen variation takes place in modern-day Newport Beach, California.
Willoughby
came to visit the following day and found Marianne doing much better after her
fall. She could walk with a cane and was
dying to get out of the house. When he
asked if she’d like to go for a ride in his convertible, she jumped at the
chance.
“Once
again you come to my rescue,” she told him.
“I’ve had the worst case of cabin fever.
I long for freedom.”
He
took her hand and helped her rise out of the chair. As she stood before him, he once again
admired the swell of her full breasts that were peeking out of a light cotton
blouse. He hoped that she had forgotten
to wear her bra again today.
Once
inside his car, he said, “You are so very beautiful, Marianne.”
“Thank
you,” she answered, straightening her gypsy skirt.
“May
I kiss you?”
She
exhaled slowly and told him, “Yes. But
drive a few streets over so my Mom doesn’t see us.”
Obeying
her orders, he drove several blocks away and pulled over to a curb.
She
looked at him with barely contained anticipation and he reached over, drawing
her closer. He gazed into her eyes and asked,
“May I?”
“Please!”
she practically ordered him. She had
been dreaming of this moment for days.
He
gently kissed her lips, then getting more aroused, probed the insides of her
mouth with his tongue. She liked it as
much as he did. He felt himself getting
harder and told himself that he’d better stop lest he ravish her right out in
public. He tried to pull away, but she
wouldn’t let him.
His
cock was rock hard and he confessed, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you
since I saw how sexy your breasts looked when your blouse got all wet.”
Marianne
was shocked by his forwardness. “Excuse
me,” she protested. “I’m not used to
guys talking to me like that.”
“Like
what?” he asked, incredulously. “I can’t
say ‘breasts’ around you? Why not? Don’t you remember how excited you got when I
read from ‘I Sing the Body Electric’?” He quoted from Whitman’s poem, “Hair,
bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all diffused, mine too
diffused.”
“That
was different,” she passionately told him.
“How
so, Marianne?”
“It
was literature.”
With
building frustration, he argued, “Literature that’s based on real life and real
emotions!”
“Honestly,
Willoughby. What’s gotten into you
today?”
“You
went outside in a rain storm without a bra on.
Don’t blame me for noticing your ‘bosom’—is that what you want me to
call them?”
“That
word is more like it.”
“Jesus,
Marianne. Are you afraid of sex?”
“No,
I’m not.” Defensively, she told him, “My
father just died. I’ve been
forgetful. I didn’t realize that I’d
forgotten to wear a bra until it rained.”
“Your
father just died? I’m sorry to hear
that.”
“Yes. I’ve been having a horrible time trying to
cope.”
He
put his hand on her knee and said, “I’m so sorry.”
She
brushed his hand away and brusquely replied, “Let’s just enjoy the ride.” She
tried to ignore him and the feelings he awakened in her. Feeling her panties getting wetter, she put
her knees close together, trying to squeeze away the feeling. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the
way the wind felt blowing through her hair.
After a few miles of silence, she felt free of care, glad to get a break
from her familiar surroundings. She
reached over and took his hand. “Where
are we going anyway?”
“To
my house. Would you like to see it?”
###
Would you like to read what happens next? Sense and Sexuality: An Erotic Austen Variation is available at the following stores.
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