Beaches and Cream Read Free Page B

everywhere, you know. That’s why we must put cream everywhere.”
    Her hands were both gentle and assured, and I realised I was nestling down into the beach blanket so that she might continue her ministrations. Her slippery hands eased under my arms to make sure I was protected there too. But I’m extremely ticklish, and I gasped as Veronica’s nimble fingers traced over the sensitive flesh.
    Veronica laughed, low and soft. “Sorry, Mand...”
    But even as she said it, her agile fingers swept down the side of my body, over my ribs, playfully and prominently tickling me. I bucked with surprise as my tummy tightened and released. And now I was laughing too.
    â€œVeronica!” I exclaimed. “You’re just tickling me!”
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said again, still laughing.
    She anointed the backs of my legs with cool dollops of cream and began her caring, careful massage there as well. Her strong hands roamed over my thighs, slipping and sliding up and down. She kneaded the soft flesh, her hands slipping almost accidentally inward and between my legs, and then back out again, to make sure I was completely protected.
    â€œOh, Mand, Mand,” she scolded again. “Whatever would your mother say? Can you imagine? If we sent you back to Margaret burned to a crisp, she would never let you come back here again!”
    It was strange to hear Veronica say my mother’s name. My mother never spoke Veronica’s name, and only referred to her as “Tia’s mother”. The two women had never been close and, even in passing, they kept conversation to a minimum. Although I always imagined that this was due largely to my mother’s inherent suspicion and mistrust of the world at large.
    Veronica’s assured hands ran again up the backs of my legs, her thumbs just briefly slipping beneath the elastic of my bikini to spread the parasolic fluid over the curves of my bum.
    â€œJust in case your bikini rides up,” she explained. “We can never be too careful. Margaret would never forgive me.”
    Veronica leant over me to get more cream, and I could smell the soft, apple blossom scent of her hair and the delicate fragrance of her perfume. She concluded her protection of me by working her way down my calves, softening and relaxing the muscles as she went, gliding down to my feet.
    â€œJust bend your knees for me, Mand,” she requested, and I responded obligingly.
    Gently, she blew the stray grains of sand off my feet and toes. She took one, and then the other of my feet in her oily hands. My feet felt small and delicate in her grasp. She made sure that the anterior was covered, before turning her attention to the arches. She ran her thumbs along the arch of my foot, making a light pressure from the heel to the ball and then back. The sensation was electrifying, and I tried not to jump as my eyes popped wide and sparks shot from my feet up into the pit of my stomach and out to a dozen completely unrelated parts of my body.
    But Veronica didn’t stop. Her fingers and thumbs continued planing over the soles of my feet before her unctuous fingers slithered between my toes. As they did so, my mouth opened in surprise and I had to stop myself from crying out. If her skilled manipulation of my little feet had been intimate, the feeling of her fingers oozing and squirming between my toes felt positively rude. It was such an arousing sensation. And yet so far removed from anywhere rude on my body. I couldn’t understand why I’d never felt anything like this before. And there was something else I couldn’t understand. I couldn’t understand why I liked it so much.
    Sparks of delight shot through me, from the tips of my toes right to the top of my head. I want to say that these glorious and unpredictable flashes sent shafts of pleasure right to the pit of my stomach. But I would be euphemising. These little relentless sparks of pleasure were shooting