Bishop Palfry thoroughly enjoyed his midafternoon sauna and massage moments. Michael was a most accomplished masseur, a quality that had gone far in qualifying him for the prestigious position of paster in Winchester’s retinue. The boys taste in the garments he chose to wear in private was not exactly to the Renfrew’s liking, a little too tarty, all silk stocking and negligee, but the incredible productive happy endings that followed every rubdown fully forgave such a minor complaint.
Michael Sheehan was following Fergus’s instructions very exactly. The Colonel had been very precise about the recordings he wanted taken, even the preferred angles and focal points. There was not the slightest doubt that Lothly would destroy him without a second thought if needed, and the idea of his mother ever knowing the depth of the perversions her precious son indulged in on a daily basis was more than poor Michael could stand. He did quite like dear Renfrew, but when Fergus Lothly had given him the ultimatum, the choice was most predictable.
The mini camera was shaped to exactly match the other studs the the front to the brassiere top of the very stunning bikini set Michela was wearing that afternoon. Being a sensible sort of girl, she had taken the trouble to fully rehearse the process of taking shots over the previous day of two, Michela’s focusing had become quite proficient.
There was little to no chance that Renfrew would ruffle or block the lenses precision. Once Michela switched from masseuse to reliever Renfrew lost all interest in anything but his own selfish pleasure, such a typical male pig.
Michela found herself giggling quietly under her breath, she did so enjoy being secretly a real bitch on occasion.
“What’s so amusing, dearest?”
Michela continued stroking Renfrew’s abdomen with both her fragrantly oiled hands, and smiled her most empty-headed smile.
“Just thinking how much I love you, sweetie.”
The lie poured out so easily.