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An Instruction in Sin
An Instruction in Sin
An Instruction in Sin
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An Instruction in Sin

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Millie, now married to James, is taking her delayed honeymoon on the Riviera, and her lover, Benita, has accompanied them. Millie’s attitude towards her has changed, and even though their affair is still as intense as ever, and now plumbs new depths of depravity—as she watches husband and wife together—Benita begins to wonder if Millie actually loves her as much as she thought, or if, as she feared, marriage has changed her. Her emotions in turmoil, Benita is plunged into a world of doubt as things prove harder for her to accept than she thought. In the midst of her anxiety though, she soon begins to wonder if the tales of James are true, and he is more of a womaniser than Millie knows.

As Benita fights for the love of her life, James is drawn further into the world of wealthy industrialist Lance Preslin and his beautiful damaged wife, Belle. Benita investigates his absences from the villa and soon fears that James is indeed having an affair. Events are poised as Benita finds herself in an impossible situation, should she or should she not air her fears, or will this push Millie further away. Then, the unthinkable occurs, and overnight, something happens changes her entire future.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateMay 15, 2017
ISBN9781370000821
An Instruction in Sin
Author

Amy Paine

Amy Paine writes fiction purely for women, with no topic taboo. She loves contemporary lesbian romance but also finds writing stories with an historical flavour and plenty of emotional drama, thrilling. Her goal is to deliver interesting lesbian fiction that makes the reader think. At the moment she is busy at work writing the Travelling Companions series – a project that took off when one of her friends who loved Downton Abbey, made her wonder about delivering a series of 1920s novellas from a purely female viewpoint. She is busy at work on lots of new projects, too, including short stories and a contemporary lesbian novel.

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    Book preview

    An Instruction in Sin - Amy Paine

    A NineStar Press Publication

    www.ninestarpress.com

    An Instruction in Sin

    Copyright © 2017 Amy Paine

    Cover Art by Natasha Snow ©Copyright 2017

    Edited by: Elizabeth Coldwell

    Published in 2017 by NineStar Press, New Mexico, USA.

    This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

    All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, NineStar Press, LLC.

    Warning

    This book contains sexually explicit content, which is only suitable for mature readers.

    An Instruction in Sin

    Travelling Companions, Book 3

    Amy Paine

    Table of Contents

    Chapter One

    Chapter Two

    Chapter Three

    Chapter Four

    Chapter Five

    Chapter Six

    Chapter Seven

    Chapter Eight

    Chapter Nine

    About the Author

    Chapter One

    Benita lay naked on a chaise longue by the narrow French hotel window, primed and waiting for her lover. She’d had so much sex she was satiated and floated in a post-coital afterglow, her limbs drugged, her mind softly intoxicated. It was like floating on a cloud.

    Suddenly, her eyes were covered by a pair of hands that were much smaller and shapelier than hers. Millie’s hands. Hands as white as snow, the skin covering them so thin Benita could see every blue vein beneath. She rubbed her thumb over them, experiencing a familiar surge of passion. She loved the sensation of them twining through her hair, caressing her naked body, and plunging into all her concealed places—the deeper ones—where they were capable of giving exquisite pleasure.

    She grabbed Millie’s fingers and held them. She was so much stronger, afraid she might break those delicate digits, yet the fragility made her feel fiercely protective.

    Millie had always been as skinny as a bird but, for some reason Benita could not identify, she seemed frailer these last few weeks.

    Oh, be careful, Millie chortled, her voice half laughter, half reprimand.

    "Take me again, en flagrante delicto? Benita murmured huskily. Do as I command. Pose for me."

    My dear, you can be so vulgar.

    She opened her eyes to see Millie standing in front of her. Millie had bathed and wore a fine negligée of sheer material that showed the dips and shadows of her body. Her hair fell around her shoulders, surrounding her face in a blonde cloud. She looked like an angel and not human at all.

    They were so diametrically opposed. Benita termed herself voluptuous, while Millie was this beautiful wraith, this pale moonbeam of a woman.

    We really must resist, Millie said, her voice barely above a whisper. Sometimes I think it’s so wrong to indulge like this. In fact, I know it is. We behave like a pair of heathens.

    She was often so naïve in her statements, so innocent, so seemingly perfect in her behaviour, yet Benita saw another side to her unleashed on the Midi, where she rubbed shoulders with her beloved film stars and ravenously consumed the newspaper articles and endless gossip about them, even persisting in talking to the point of obsession about the bawdy parties and partner-swapping that apparently went on profusely.

    What’s the matter? Benita asked.

    Millie seemed slightly crestfallen, as if she didn’t want to be entirely here when, an hour earlier, at the mercy of Benita’s instruction in sin, she had thrashed and entwined her limbs dramatically in the silk sheets.

    Benita experienced a flush of mixed emotions. This sexual greed, then despair—the vicissitudes of Millie’s emotions and needs—controlled her, making her life, at times, like hell. She had never anticipated being like this, allowing herself to feel so utterly directionless. But love had taken her over in such a short space of time, she feared she’d lost her sense of who she was.

    The control was subtle, Millie tirelessly giving the impression it was Benita who led the way, but not concealing her manipulations. She was as conniving as a rake and created an illusion of submission that allowed her to imprison her lover. In the beginning, she had seduced Benita remorselessly. After Millie married James, though, and their sinful liaison deepened, it was she who acquiesced willingly to Benita’s game of domination. Yet, even within that world of new sin—of dipping her toe into the waters of carnal need, embellished by Benita’s dirty role-play—she held yet more direction. Millie fascinated, and that was control. She fascinated Benita by being as dirty as dirty could be, and begging her for her toys—for whip, chain, and pain.

    The fact she thought she held power when she actually didn’t at all was alternately grim and pleasurable for Benita. Each day, she endured a ride of longing and excitement, swiftly followed by terror and a pain that, while excruciating, was also exquisitely masochistic. The only time she could ever be certain she led the game was during sex, and that made her violently demonstrative and her behaviour more imaginative and profound than she could ever have imagined.

    Her secret places moistened just thinking about it. Millie was insatiably thirsty when it came to sexual experimentation. She exhorted Benita to tie her with scarves and ropes as tightly as she could, the pain a seeming penance for something Benita did not understand. She would squeal and thrash as Benita bathed her in kisses and the administrations of imaginative tonguing. Then Benita would tantalise her with her forbidden toys, the ones she kept carefully hidden, only bringing them out when she wished to amaze and incite ecstasy. That Millie asked Benita to fuck her harder with these toys on each occasion only heightened her love and desire for her mercurial lover.

    Was this that most elusive of things, true love, she wondered? Was it possible for love not to be soft, but to be all about this obsessive need to control? The feeling was definitely more powerful than she had imagined it to be. This was not the gentle, deep thing the writers and poets spoke about. This was hot, trembling, and violent. A raw mixture of jealousy, rage, and a desire to give vent to her caged emotions that fed a fire without equal, deep inside. The highs of this passion were exquisite, how she imagined flying above the clouds would be. Soaring towards a searing, bright sun, warmed by it, wanting to

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