There was an open magazine spread across my lap, but I wasn't doing much reading. Or even looking at the pictures, the ads and such. Instead, somehow, I found myself sneaking sidelong glances at the muscular maidservant going about her duties. Zona. Such a big woman! Not a butchy type exactly, but with that build of hers she could have been a lady wrestler. She looked more like a professional masseuse than a maid, one of those aging Scandinavian athletes, the kind who seem to specialize in pounding the blubber off bare bottoms in high-class beauty salons. It made me wonder if her mistress-my old friend but still-absent hostess-had put on some weight since our last get-together. I sure hoped not. That beautiful body, fat? The very thought gave me a chill ...
"Something I can do for you, Miss Sue?"
"Huh?" My cheeks turned warm; she must have seen me peeking at her. "Umm ... a drink might be nice ... "
"Of course. Brandy? That's what Miz Lizabeth usually takes about this hour of the evening. There's some excellent stuff, real great cognac, supposed to be thirty years old. Okay?"
"Yes, thank, you. Sounds fine."
Nodding approval, Zona moved toward the liquor cabinet at the far end of the huge living room, a stately figure even in her drab uniform. I didn't feel like drinking, actually, having mentioned it only as a cover-up for my momentary confusion. Nor would I have chosen brandy, for that matter, had the choice been mine to make. And yet there I was, resigned to my old submissive role even in Lizabeth's absence." Or conforming to her pattern, at any rate, as suggested-or dictated?-by this deferential but oddly imposing servant of hers. Could my domineering ex-lover intimidate me even by proxy?
No. Impossible. Too much time had gone by; submission didn't come so easily these days. But why was I shaking like this? Was it because of Zona herself?
The truth struck then, and it had nothing to do with who was dominating whom. It was simply a matter of physical need. I had gone without sex too long. Worse yet, I had arrived here in a state of anticipation to begin with; wasn't it almost a week ago? No wonder I had a case of the jitters. A hot-blooded bitch like me, imagine, a week without an orgasm-except self-induced, of course, and that kind of temporary relief only added to the total frustration. No wonder I was beginning to look at Zona with sexy eyes, seeing her as a woman and not just a maid.
"Your cognac, Miss Sue."
"Thanks. Uh, just set it down, will you?"
I wanted that drink now. It was on the coffee table, right there before me. I needed it. And yet I was afraid to reach out, afraid to let Zona see my trembling hand. I could feel the motion, an unaccountable quiver that seemed to start in my fingers and spread throughout my body. Nerves, no doubt. I leaned back and nestled deeper in to the sofa cushions, trying to calm down. A primal scream would have worked better. The tension was awful; now I could sense a breaking point on the horizon. And when she left the room at last, I was quick to grab and gulp, practically swilling the precious but generously poured liquor. How much would it take to quell the craving in my flesh? How much alcohol to numb those jangling nerves?
Oh, if only Lizabeth would come back home! It was hardly fair that she had gone away in the first place; after all, her invitation to me had been quite definite. I had looked forward to the pleasure of this visit. What a shock to arrive with such high hopes and find no sign of my hostess. Nothing but a scrawled note:
Sweet Sue, please don't hate me. Got called away on business. The estate, you know. What else could be important enough to keep us apart even one more lousy minute? It does pay for all the goodies, though. Like this bedroom of mine, such a lovely playpen. A mirror on the ceiling, isn't it divinely decadent? Installed by my dear departed husband, now rolling over in his grave while I spend all that nice money. Believe me, pussycat, it's great to be rich. Even if nasty old business does get in the way. I'll be home soon-three days at most, I hope, I hope, I hope. The quicker the sooner. Sleep in my bed and enjoy the mirror meanwhile. Naked, snatch. You can see every hair! My faithful Zona will feed your pretty face and offer a sympathetic shoulder to cry on till I return. Don't hesitate to call on her for anything you need. And take lots of vitamins! For obvious reasons. Gotta go now, darling, keep your tongue hot for me. Also your you-know-what!
That was it, my welcome here. Optimistic enough, but not much of a substitute for what ailed me. Especially later, after the third day, with only a sad long-distance telephone call to cling to, scarcely a consolation. Just apologies and promises-another delay, damn the luck, and would I try to be patient a little while longer and just think of the fun we were going to have?
Apologies and promises, no substitute for love. Not the physical variety, anyhow. And that, in essence, was what I really needed most, down-to-earth physical love, otherwise known as sex-here and now, not in some promised tomorrow-the quicker the sooner, right? A little something to soothe the tingle in my tongue. And elsewhere! Strictly down to-earth, the kind of love my body craved. Hot hands an over me. Moist lips mumbling at my breasts, coaxing the nipple-buds to blossom. Eager fingers caressing my cunt ...
A charge of excitement went off in my gut. The goblet slipped and tumbled, spewing expensive cognac on the expensive carpet. And shards of shattered crystal? Luckily, no, judging, from the sound, a gurgling thud, no louder than my own gasp of dismay. I couldn't tell for sure, though, it might have been cracked and rolling around in ominous silence. Expensive crystal stem ware, part of a matched set, probably irreplaceable. Or was that just my own overwrought mind cracking up?
"I thought I heard ... " Zona materialized from out of nowhere, dutifully concerned. "Oh, you had an accident."
"I'm sorry. Is it broken? What a clumsy-"
"Hush. It could have happened to anyone, Miss Sue, don't go blaming yourself. Besides, it's not even scratched. See? Just empty. And don't worry about the mess, I'll have it soaked up and drying in a jiffy. Just like one of them there TV commercials."
Wry as it was, I found her attempted humor cheery at least, if not exactly exhilarating. I forced a smile that became almost genuine, somewhat grateful for the companionship and certainly relieved by the sight of that intact brandy glass. And once again, unavoidably this time but still feeling sneaky about it, I watched the big woman at work. She was big, all right, even down there on her hands and knees, massive, stretching the fabric of her uniform with every movement now. Adding some unexpectedly roguish ripples, too-a skin-tight strain around the hips and haunches-making it noticeably less drab from my smug viewpoint. No doubt about it, she was more sensuous than stately in that position. Earthy, that was the word for her. And a little coarse, perhaps.
The impression prevailed even after she stood up. Her face was flushed from the exertion, a bit sweaty now, drawing attention to the coarseness of her features-the puffy lips and slightly bulbous nose, the heavy lidded gray eyes with their telltale crow's-feet wrinkles. The face of a peasant. Far from ugly, though, if not quite a diamond-in-the-rough. She must have been attractive once, in her own proletarian way, a coarsely hewn beauty eroded by the tribulations of time and toil. And only a heartless critic would seek out such imperfections anyway; why look at her worn face when that seemingly ageless body of hers was on display?
Like now, for instance. She was moving across the floor again, more stately with every stride, head erect, legs scissoring. But there was a rolling motion of her backside too something I hadn't spotted before; was she different or was it me? After seeing that rear view so close a moment ago, it was easy to imagine the flared-out flesh under her uniform, asway inside the prim skirt. I could even visualize the deep dark crevice between those big slithery round buttocks. Some imagination! I snorted in disgust and tore my gaze away, aware now of where the difference lay, only too well aware of what was happening to me. How pathetic, letting myself get turned on by a housemaid's ass ...
"Miss Sue? You'll have another, won't you?"
"Hmm? Another?"
"Cognac."
"Oh. Oh, well ... "
"Of course you will. I've already poured one for you." and so she had, stopping at the liquor cabinet again instead of going out for more mop-up equipment or whatever. She was coming back now, delivering the booze with one hand and trying to ease my mind with a gesture of the other. "See how it's dried up? Just like I told you. No harm done."
"Thanks. It was still pretty clumsy of me."
Only because you're so tense, you poor dear. Best excuse in the world, all alone and lonesome. I feel kind of guilty myself, not taking care of you any better than-"
"Silly. You've been wonderful, Zona. You couldn't have done a better job, no matter what."
"It's sweet of you to say so. But you're still all tensed-up and I'd like to help. Maybe ... uh, if I might suggest ... "
"Hmm? I'll listen to any suggestion. Go ahead."
"A massage? To help you relax, Miss Sue.
"Massage. Is that one of your specialties?"
"I-I'm good at it, if that's what you mean. Anyway, the mistress seems to think so. Says she likes my touch, you know? We've got a real massage-table upstairs, too, a portable in the closet-no trouble at all to set up. So how about it? A massage and then a hot bath afterward and I guarantee you won't have to count sheep to fall asleep tonight."
"Well now. With a guarantee like that ... "
"Okay? Miss Sue?"
"You've made me an offer I can't refuse. A massage. And then a nice long hot bath. Okay."
"Good. I'll go up and get everything ready. You just sit and enjoy your drink and come upstairs when you're finished. Or whenever you feel like it. I'll be waiting."
It was a comforting thought. Waiting for me, first a massage and then a leisurely soak in the tub. Waiting for me. Such service! Lizabeth might leave something to be desired as a hostess, but I sure couldn't disagree with her philosophy. It's great to be rich. Especially if being rich meant that kind of luxury a maid to wait on me hand and foot, catering to my every whim. And right then and there, on the spur of the moment, I decided to make that my lifetime goal. A maid. Number one priority. Oh sure, a big luxurious house would be fine, too-with mirrors over the bed, why not?-but without a personal maid to pamper the mistress, no house could ever be a real home for me, not any more. Not after tonight. A pretty maid, preferably-prettier than that creature upstairs!-one who could give a massage and still not look like a masseuse. Even if the massage was less than professional. Or even if she was just a beginner, a cute young girl with a minimum of muscle. Just as long as she did it with a maximum of devotion for her beautiful mistress ...
Sue, you're drunk!
No, not yet, but I was sure trying. Or maybe I was developing a taste for upper-bracket cognac. Oh well, what the hell, wasn't this my night for self-indulgence? Tomorrow was the first day of the rest of my life, time to take stock and start carrying out my decision. Time to figure out how to get rich in a hurry. I had something else on tap for tonight, though. Upstairs. Waiting for me. More masseuse than maid now, almost a professional type, the kind who probably loved her work. Just as I had surmised! And wasn't it clever of me to have made that judgment beforehand, based on appearance alone?
Chapter 2.
The walls and closet doors of the dressing room were mirrored from top to bottom. I had managed to shuck off my dress without much fumbling around for the zipper catch, but a slight dizziness accompanied every movement. The alcohol had indeed begun to take effect. Even the sight of my own half-clad body sent a strange shiver of excitement through me, surely a drunken reaction; good thing I had resisted the temptation down there to pour myself yet another drink. But even in the chaotic whirl of my mind a sense of reason had prevailed, warning me that I was only looking for trouble. Still and all, I had devoured that second one right to the last drop, greedily desperate for anything that might offer some respite from my looming problem.
It sure as hell loomed, too. My breath sounded ragged as I worked on the brassiere and watched my shiny red fingertips reflected in the glass. And then the bra was gone, exposing my ripe young tits to view, boldly provocative somehow, alluring even to myself. I cast an almost furtive glance toward the closed door, my hands already rising to squeeze those fleshy mounds and perhaps soothe that itchy feeling. It was silly to be so cautious, though, why worry about a woman who would soon see me naked anyway? I was only going to scratch a little, that was all. Bare-breasted in panties ...
But scratching wasn't enough, as it turned out. An exquisitely familiar sensation came alive there; it seemed to intensify and pick up momentum as I flicked my thumbs over its apparent source, the two pointy peaks. I felt them throb, all swollen now, those suddenly overheated nipples, throbbing to the touch and issuing demands for more. As if the past week of deprivation had built up a reserve of barely dormant passion within me, a sensual hunger that lurked just beneath the surface and was already breaking through.
It was an effort to end the contact, accomplished only out of dire necessity, a rueful awareness that I'd better let my nipples alone and allow the stiffness to subside before climbing onto that massage-table. Even so, I couldn't finish undressing without at least a mild self-caress. The panties could wait. I flattened both palms upon the soft curvature of my belly, the tips of my fingers no more than grazing the waistband, the delicately shirred edge of that one final garment. My torso swayed, a slow undulation, all but involuntary, an exercise in subtle eroticism that caught my eye in the mirror and made me blushingly conscious of the lewd picture. I saw it on all sides now, my repetitious but gradually diminishing image, a soundless echo and re-echo in an infinity of mirrors; all those swaying, undulating hips! It looked like an X-rated ballet troupe in perfect precision, every dancer exactly alike.
I pushed the waistband down, watching the panties turn themselves inside out before they could pull free of my snug and somewhat sticky crotch. The cling was pretty persistent, a new and unexpected tactile enjoyment to go with the visual. But surrender was inevitable and at last I stood naked and unadorned, a revelation enhanced only by my own natural adornments. Of which there were plenty. Lustrously rich chestnut-brown hair, a tumbling mane, casual but never contrary, a kind of pseudo-wind-blown appearance, easy to manage. Brown eyes flecked with gold, large and wide-set, embellished by luxuriantly long and thick lashes. An impeccably molded mouth that needed only a touch of lipstick to bring out its beauty. Smoothly silken skin of a type that had never suffered from hickeys and such, not even in adolescence. And a body with all the curves in the right places, breasts, buttocks, thighs, calves-even my feet were well-formed and without any noticeable imperfections. Oh yes, I was proud of my beauty, justifiably so; after all, hadn't it been drummed into me ever since early childhood? Prettiest youngster in town-sweet little Sue Daventry-and that was the unchallenged consensus of opinion from way back, even among my peers. No other girl had ever been chosen to play Helen of Troy in the annual spring pageant for two successive years, an unheard-of honor. Although one I could have gladly done without. Little did they know ...
"Coming soon, Miss Sue?" The maid's voice interrupted my train of thought. "I'm all set up and ready for you."
"Uh-huh. In a minute."
It was now or never. I couldn't just stroll out there naked though, not this first time. Especially with my nipples still hot and sexy, even though the swelling had gone down some. I tossed a peignoir over my shoulders and wore it like a cape, ample coverage for the journey and easy to get rid of afterward. Which was exactly how Zona must have figured it, too, letting the thing slither off my back and billow away as soon as I got up on the table. I saw it out of the corner of my eye, shivering a little as a current of air cooled my fevered skin.
The thick pad was nice and comfortable, relaxing my body. I lay face-down upon the spotlessly clean sheet, snuggling my cheek into the small pillow, almost at ease. Almost but not quite. Not until I got used to the idea of showing my bare ass to a comparative stranger. Which might take some time. Then again, maybe not. I was already more tranquil, lulled by her gentle manner and apparently businesslike attitude.
Something wet tickled the small of my back, making me react with a shuddery wiggle. A moment later the moisture was like a spreading film-massage oil, scented and slippery as her fingers began to knead my flesh, working upward and outward along the ridge of my spine. The aroma made my nose twitch. I uttered a sigh and succumbed contentedly, finding the steady movements almost hypnotic as the strong hands persisted, sinking me into a coma of drugged pleasure, lazy and languorous. Soon my entire back was oily glistening, no doubt, but I couldn't bother to lift my head and look. I just purred drowsily and buried my face in the comfort of the pillow. Eyes shut, I could really feel myself begin to unwind under all that rhythmic persuasion.
Something else began to rewind, though. Or so it seemed. A coil of anticipation writhed snakelike through my flesh. There was a heat in my cheeks, a blush that simply didn't belong in this situation. Her deft hands were sliding up my sides, cupping the curve of each shoulder, intimately close to my breasts but still more practical than sexy. I trembled and gritted my teeth, trying to suppress the need that kept gathering urgency, the same old need returning with full force.
Fat chance! It burgeoned with every gesture. All wrong, I told myself, wrong and pointless and even a bit perilous. And yet there was no denying the new excitement new because of its unfamiliar source-the delicious awareness of that skilled touch as her hands started back downward slowly, stroking the sensitive skin at the outer base of my hidden but very vulnerable bosom. They lingered awhile and then continued on down, crossing the curve of my hips to stop and knead the swell of my ass. I wondered if those cheeks were blushing, too. And was a fingertip probing? Hot and slow and sweet ...
Sweet?
Oh shit, any more of this and I'd be an easy mark. A pushover for that big dyke whose intentions were becoming less dubious by the minute; could I let that happen? What would I say to Lizabeth? Wouldn't it be embarrassing if she came home and found out that I had been laid by her maidservant?
Then, suddenly, the finger was gone and I had to revise my thinking. It must have been my imagination. Or maybe Zona had just slipped a little spreading the oil; anyway, it wasn't anything to worry about now, not with those heavy hands already past that extra sensitive area and working in such a professional manner. Not that I didn't have some sensitivity in my legs, naturally, but her treatment of the muscles in my thighs and calves was beyond criticism, just something to enjoy. The same when she did my feet. Admittedly, though, there was still enough sexual sensation to keep my nerves on edge and the rest of my body aroused. I almost wished she might have gone on like that, giving me a prolonged thrill without much danger of involvement.
But it had to end, of course. Obeying her nudge, I rolled over onto my back and just hoped she hadn't noticed the tension in the atmosphere. Could she tell how I felt? I avoided looking at her directly, afraid to catch her eye and give myself away. And the ceiling mirror didn't extend far enough from the bed. So after a hasty glance that told me nothing at all, I just tried to relax and cope with it, whatever came next. At least she didn't pounce on my breasts, the one move that would have ended any possible pretense and forced an immediate showdown. Instead, carefully but with apparent self-confidence, she massaged the flesh across my belly, expanding outward once again to dig in around the pliant flare of my hipline.
So far so good. Intimate but not unbearable. Only there wasn't much she could do for me in that limited locale, not for very long anyhow. And pretty soon she switched to a new terrain, disrupting all contact temporarily as her hands rose an inch or two and then kind of floated downward at that level, following the contour of my body closely without actually touching it. Right over my cunt. Even hovering there an instant, a hint of hesitancy, just time enough to achieve some sort of extrasensory bond between her charged palms and my curly pubic hair. I could feel every strand prickle like static electricity on a winter day. And that in turn seemed to affect even my buried clitoris, an already smoldering torch now caught in a shower of illusory sparks.
She continued on down though, the palms coming to rest just above my knees. Only there wasn't anything restful about it, not for either of us, as her fingers now ascended my thighs with brisk and unswerving devotion to duty, unswerving except for a vaguely discernible tendency to veer toward the inner surfaces; was it in search of that special softness, the velvety skin texture high inside each limb? Didn't the woman know she was playing with fire? Had she lost her professional cool? And if so, was it deliberate, a sacrifice on the altar of lesbian love?
No way. It could only have been my imagination again, a case of wishful thinking. A truth I could no longer deny. I wanted it to happen! My body needed more than just a massage. And this sympathetic but stolid masseuse apparently had no idea of the havoc she was wreaking with those accomplished paws of hers, whipping my desire to a frenetic pitch, clouding my reason, my sense. of propriety, destroying my last shred of dignity. It didn't matter what she touched now-a handful of thigh, a swipe at my belly, an oily finger up my ass-the effect was cumulative as though it was all cunt anyway, all of me, just one big craving cunt."
Oh shit, what else is new? Sue baby, you silly cunt, were you ever anything but?
With my ego deflated, it became proportionately easier to scrounge for scraps. Slowly, almost Imperceptibly-to hide my shame and salvage my pride I inched my legs a little wider apart, hoping for a purely instinctive response, an automatic reaction that would come without any conscious recognition of my plight. Let the opening speak for itself, an enticement that only those venturesome fingers might understand, a come-on, an invitation to pry and probe and perhaps even plunder. Just let her get near enough, that was all I asked, and that pink-lipped vertical smile down there would do the rest; who could resist such a succulent temptation?
What a disappointment! Zona was already going the other way, back down toward my knees and then lower to manipulate the muscles of my calves. And to drive me out of my mind, whether she knew it or not. I had been teased before in my lifetime tantalized by experienced lesbians who could pile trick upon dirty trick, sometimes for laughs, sometimes out of sheer cruelty-but this was one of my worst moments. Had she planned it on purpose, the woman couldn't have frustrated me more.
After a while her touch turned lighter, almost feathery in nature, brushing the length of my legs from toe to upper thigh, more like a calculated caress now. I still couldn't tell for sure, though. Nor was I about to interrupt and ask-or lodge a complaint-in view of the possibilities of this recent development. Those long strokes were definitely sexy, with a distinct stress on the upward movement, an unbroken sweep that kept threatening delightfully to smash its final barrier. I waited with bated breath, certain now of something big about to break. Those hot pink lips of mine were drooling in anticipation. And then, without warning, her fingers slipped down past my feet and withdrew completely, seemingly casual but with the violent impact of a deathblow.
"There. That about does it, I'd say." Zona's voice sounded calm as ever, offering no clue, no crack in her candor, nothing to cast a shadow upon her alleged innocence. "Time for your bath now, hmm?"
It must have been my aching nerves that gave me courage. I reached out and took her hand in mine. "No! Please. Not yet, not like this. You can't stop now."
"But your bath ... "
"Later. Please?" There was a rasp in my throat. "You've got to help me, Zona. Don't you understand?"
"Oh. You-you want me to ... uh ... "
"You know. The whole world must know, that's how bad it is, bad you hear me?" I squeezed her hand harder. "What do I have to do, beg you? I've never been so horny in my life."
"Hush. I do understand, Miss Sue. You poor dear. I'll be glad to help. A pretty girl like you ... "
Chapter 3.
I searched her face for some hint, some telltale sign that might reveal her thoughts. And again I saw nothing. No eagerness, certainly, and that gave me a twinge of conscience; was I asking the maid-an employee, and not even my own!-to do something against her will? But if she felt the slightest distaste, the least hesitation, it was nowhere to be seen in her expression, bland to the point of inscrutability.
"And you needn't worry about my discretion, Miss Sue. I won't even mention it to the mistress."
It was as if she had read my mind. I wanted to thank her to offer some excuse for my I demand to save some small scrap of pride for tomorrow. But she moved her hand, carrying mine along with it, and the sudden pressure on my breast robbed me of breath and made speech impossible. My nipple stiffened into her palm. In a shuddering spasm of desire, I cupped my fingers over hers to tighten the contact. Then, aflame with anticipation, I loosened the clutch and guided her touch down my rib-cage. Across my oil-slick belly. And downward still ...
"First the bath, yes?" It sounded more like a command than a request. "We mustn't let it cool. I'm sure ifs just the right temperature now. So come along, dear, we'll wash all this gooey oil off, hmm? And than I'll take care of ... uh ... " She squeezed once and ended the enforced caress, pulling her hand away. "You'll see. I'll take good care of you."
With almost childlike obedience, I dropped my legs over the side of the massage-table and allowed myself to be led into the bathroom. She helped me as I stepped into the steaming tub. I sank down and felt the engulfing warmth soothe my flesh, already conscious of a draining of tension. Eyes shut, I leaned back and savored the spicy situation in all its aspects, resting assured now that my sexual needs would soon be attended to.
A zipper hissed, the noise snapping my eyelids open. I stared dumfounded as Zona's uniform slipped to the floor, giving me a view of her body in lingerie. Black bra and filmy black panties, almost shockingly erotic compared to that discarded drab outer garment. I saw her as a lover now, not a maid or a masseuse. Hot little tongues of excitement licked at my skin under the water. That statuesque figure of hers loomed even larger than life somehow magnificent beyond belief."
"No sense getting my clothes wet ... " She had her shoes off and was working on her stockings already, baring her legs. But that wasn't" all. A moment later she reached around behind her back to undo the brassiere. "You don't mind, Miss Sue?"
It didn't seem right that she should be so brazen about it almost insolent in a way-but no, I wasn't offended by either the action or her attitude. Quite the contrary. I felt a renewed rise of impatience now-along with some weird less lucid urges-as those twin globes tumbled into sight, heavy-nippled and alluringly fleshed. My bps tingled. And meanwhile with no inhibitions whatsoever, she skinned out of the panties and then gathered up all her clothes into a neat pile on the hamper, bending down and straightening up and putting her naked self on display from every angle-unwittingly, no doubt, and without any sign of shame. Such a simple creature! Or was she? Maybe there was more here than met the eye ...
"There now, I'm ready."
"Ready?"
"Uh-huh. Ready to go to work."
"Oh ... "
Soap and washcloth in hand, she sat down on the edge of the tub. She leaned over to wet and lather it thoroughly and then started at the curve of my shoulder, proceeding decorously but in a boldly workmanlike manner that appeared devoid of any pre-set limitations. I felt the underwater excitement flaring up again as a bit of the washcloth grazed my nipple. She was sitting close to me, so close that her perfume smelled stronger than the scented tub. Strong enough to fog my brain. I watched, fascinated, as those dangling breasts bobbed with every movement of her arms, scant inches away, temptingly within my reach.
The washcloth had ducked beneath the surface to rub back and forth across my belly and then down my thighs. A sound gurgled in my throat, bubbling up out of all that intimacy. And yet, despite my clearly audible reaction, she remained impassive as ever and just went on with her task. As if she hadn't heard anything out of the ordinary. But that could only have been feigned, of course, and I began to resent this game she was playing. Oh yes, a game, what else could it be? Was the bitch trying to ignore me? Poking around my body but ignoring me?
My resentment grew. What was she, some kind of robot? It rankled, forcing me to take action and see for myself. I reached out to fondle one of those big bare tits, mingling curiosity with an even more personal pleasure and finding the temptation irresistible at last. What a thrill! Her flesh responded instantly. I intensified the touch, concentrating on the nipple and putting on pressure, rolling the thick pebble-like protrusion between my thumb and forefinger. Suppressing a smile now I saw the color rise and darken along her neck just short of a genuine blush. And wasn't that a tremor of excitement? Play games with me, would she? Zona the robot. Hah! Some sexy robot; even those heavy lidded eyes had narrowed to slits, still gray but with a certain glitter now, a sign of participation in my game ...
Exhilarated, I struck anew, ending that caress only to begin another. My palm brushed an expanse of strong thigh, gliding up and around to test the firmness of a bare buttock. The sensation came as a surprise, an unforeseen tactile pleasure; all that solid power packed into one swivel-hipped body, amazingly firm for a figure of such generous proportions! Truly remarkable, especially for a woman of that age ...
"Now, now, let's have none of that, Miss Sue." With a show of determination, she eased my roving hand back down into the bathtub. "Aren't we forgetting ourselves? I'm supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around."
Protest rose to my lips but got no farther, emerging only as a moan of acquiescence. Her fingers had slipped low in the water to stroke my flesh and prod adroitly from behind the washcloth, turning me hot between the legs and limp all over. I just gave up and allowed myself to be washed and rinsed without uttering another sound or making any movement of my own. Reason had fled leaving only desire, a need for sexual release, already obsessive in nature and becoming more so with every attentive touch.
When the time came, I stepped out of the tub to stand silent as she wrapped me in a big fluffy towel. Tempering my impatience with a certain smug complacency, I let her dry me off and was reminded momentarily of a somewhat similar scene from my past, long ago and far away. Dear little Alix, so solicitous of my welfare, so eager to please me! But the comparison scarcely rang true, oh no this wasn't the same at all. My patience was running out, and still Zona's hands were patting and rubbing ceaselessly, stretching the simple chore into a complex production. Until my poor flesh could endure it no longer.
"Please ... no more ... don't tease me ... "
"All done. Come. Into the bedroom now."
And again she led and I followed-or was guided rather, out into the bedroom and onto the bed. Breathless with anticipation, I sank Into Its softness but was hardly conscious of the luxury, concentrating only on the fulfillment that was about to be mine at last. Even the overhead mirror failed to grab me, at least not until I caught a glimpse of my self-demeaning posture, lying there with my arms outstretched in a plea for haste. And then I shut my eyes and couldn't look any more unable to bear the vision of my own abasement. Arms up, begging ... ugh ...
"You just relax, Miss Sue. I'll attend to everything."
Relaxation was impossible, but I did manage to lower my arms and lie obediently pliant as she got on the bed and moved me this way and that, positioning my body to suit herself. It was an effort to remain still, though, and I whimpered and tossed my head at the first touch of her mouth, that open mouth upon my breast, hot and wet and almost painfully possessive. I felt her soft lips close and tighten around the nipple, leaving just room enough for her tongue to come into play and chafe the swollen tip to a rigid peak with maddeningly ingenious strokes. There was suction and pressure both at once, all in the same tenacious caress, and I could hear the loud smacking noises that seemed to break from the corners of her salivating mouth as she rolled her face around to strike and feast ravenously from every angle.
It was almost anticlimactic when she shifted to the other breast. My thighs started opening and closing of their own volition, obviously covetous of some of that excitement up there. I had waited too long now, my desire had been stoked to too high a pitch for me to have any control over such bodily responses; the inner heat was simply too intense.
As if she had gotten the message, Zona soon began a moist trail of slowly descending kisses that made my belly quiver and my volatile thighs strain even harder. I jammed the heels of both feet into the mattress and thrust my hips upward, urging her to hurry, demanding, imploring, beseeching, clamoring silently for deliverance from this terrible holocaust within me. And this time she understood exactly, ending the slow-motion charade to zoom in on the core of my accumulated need with that big thick tongue of hers. At last! So direct, so potent, so ravishingly thorough! It was as if my insides were being ripped apart, and yet each stroke was of such incomparably blissful magnitude that I prayed it would never stop. And then somehow even that degree of delight was surpassed as her powerful hands dug underneath to scoop my buttocks up high off the bed, scooping me up in handfuls and lifting my ass to feed that much more of my cunt into her insatiably munching mouth. While the deepest recesses of my body vibrated in rapturous rhythmic concert with the inspiring tip of that impossibly elongated tongue ...
Suck me, fuck me, kill me with lesbian love!
Chapter 4.
It was a whopper. I must have blacked out for a few minutes-or perhaps even longer that was how grand the orgasm got. All those convulsive tremors, my own private earthquake! And then the misty aftermath, a time of drifting and dreaming on an unearthly astral plane-the result of a very earthy climax, no doubt. As engendered by the earthiest of women ...
She was gone now, having thrown a bed sheet over me and vanished in the velvety mist. And once again, alone in this luxurious boudoir atmosphere, I began to feel like a poor little peasant girl mistaken for a princess. Lizabeth, where are you? Not that I was so anxious to see my royal-ass hostess now, not with this new burden of guilt weighing me down, another monkey on my back. As if I didn't have enough troubles! Even with that promise of discretion to tide me over, I had no illusions about secrecy and such. I'd never be able to keep it a secret from the bossy bitch goddess who had once dominated my life. Not when it happened here in her own house. Right here on her bed. Oh shit, what would I tell her, what could I say, what excuse could cover my shame? The mistress was out, so I settled for the maid?
I felt guilty, sure enough. Faithful in my fashion, kind of like a cheating wife. But at least I had found relief from that peculiar malaise of mine. A remedy of sorts, temporary at best. A lick and a promise, as it were. Sufficient for the nonce, though-except that I was strangely wide-awake now, not very sleepy at all. Doubtless the surroundings, I figured-so seductive to someone like me, so totally and relentlessly feminine. Almost sybaritic, all this voluptuous decor. Rather like Lizabeth herself. But sybaritic only with it lesbian orientation, of course. Hmm, yes indeed, rather like Lizabeth herself exclusively so, I assumed, now that friend husband had left her his wealth and passed on to a greater reward. (A dubious prospect, poor guy!) Lucky bitch. All this at her fingertips. A maid at her beck and call. Service. I was getting pretty envious just thinking about it.
The mirror grabbed me. I flipped the sheet off and struck a languorous pose, looking up at the glowing sensuality of my just-pampered body. Cooperative as ever, my hair had fallen into a naturally lovely pattern, spreading fanwise and spraying outward like the jets of a fountain. Beautiful. All around my beautiful face. But it was my body that had become the main attraction, my pampered body, and I thought about having a maid of my own to go on pampering it. A pretty one, though. Maybe even as pretty as that picture up there. A maid like myself? Hmm. If that didn't sound like the ultimate in vanity ...
I flushed. How silly to be so captivated by my own image! I'd just bet Lizabeth was laughing at me right this minute. Just like she used to always with a lilt of gentle cynicism. Too bad I didn't have her here alongside me. And up there overhead! I considered the possibilities, aware of a little shiver of excitement. But no, I didn't want to get on that endless one-way track again. Vanity was a safer subject to explore. And it went farther back too long before we ever met, right back to childhood practically. Something to ponder, even if only to put myself to sleep. Besides, wouldn't it help me cope with the future if I examined the past? All of it, as much as I could remember, whatever seemed pertinent, the whole crazy scenario; why not?
Okay. I'd have to go back though, all the way back to the time of my blossoming beauty. You're so vain. Not that I hadn't always been beautiful, even as a tiny tot. But it was from Alix that I learned about sex, along with the uses and consequences of such beauty: Or through Alix, rather, since she didn't know any more about it than I did.
So long ago! We were in junior high then and a lot .less grown-up than any modern-day crop of kids. We had been friends awhile the best of childhood friends-Alix Moreau and Sue Daventry-but that one afternoon-changed everything. The afternoon of the new dress. That was when it really began. An evening gown for Alix to wear to the party. It was a family-type party, all relatives kind of a gathering of the clan; anyway, I didn't mind not being invited. I just envied her that dress and wondered aloud how it would look on me. A real honest-to-goodness evening gown, imagine.
"Put it on and see, why don't you? Go ahead. It might be too tight, though. The way you've filled out ... "
Her judgment wasn't far wrong. I scowled disappointed. "I'd better not. Looks like a tough squeeze."
"How about if you strip to the skin? Your bra and panties could be the difference, huh? Sue? Don't be bashful. I just wish my body was half as nice as yours. Especially the boobs; mine just won't hurry up and grow. And yours keep getting bigger, you lucky girl. It's a good thing I'm your best friend otherwise I'd be real jealous, you know?"
I giggled, well aware of my more noteworthy assets. Even at that tender age, my bosom showed signs of developing into something pretty spectacular. "Who's bashful? It's worth a try. I'm dying to see how I'd look."
Stripping took only a moment. Alix handed me the gown, almost dropping it, strangely preoccupied all of a sudden. And then I noticed where her eyes were, how intently she seemed to be staring at my naked body. I wondered about that. A funny sensation stirred my insides, a feeling that left me slightly giddy. Curiosity, if nothing else, demanded further pursuit of this unspoken subject, this unseen wind of change. I addressed her quite sharply.
"What's the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"I-I'm not sure. I guess it's because you're so beautiful, you really are. You've got the smoothest white skin, not even a tiny hickey anywhere. And your figure is stunning; how can I help but look? You're like a work of art."
"Thanks a lot." I snorted in mock disdain, hiding my wildly elated reaction to such a compliment. "That makes me sound like a marble statue in a museum. Look but don't touch. You think I'm made of stone? Just try touching me sometime ..."
"Don't tempt me. Unless you're serious?"
"Sure. We're best friends, aren't we? So what's a little touch between friends? It's to prove a point, let's say. I mean, uh, if that's what you want ... "
"You-you wouldn't mind? Really? You won't get mad if I put my hand on your titties? Tits. They're so nice and big. I've never touched any real ones, just these dumb bumps of mine."
"Silly. That's all I've got myself, just dumb bumps, only a little bigger. And maybe a little softer. But you can make your own test, go ahead, feel me up, it might be fun. Unless maybe you're the bashful one."
"N-no, not me, not bashful."
"Well then?"
"Uh ... the dress ... "
"Yeah, you're right. Get rid of it. I'd probably bust the seams anyway. Me and my big tits. Here. Now! Here!"
Alix gasped, shaken by the challenge in my voice. And in my pose, an invitation she couldn't deny, a kind of postured thrust of my bare bosom. Tentatively, her hand reached up and made contact, becoming less and less tentative as she cupped my breasts and fingered my nipples with apparent enjoyment. Another gasp escaped her lips, an expression of astonishment this time; then, breathlessly, "Oh, they feel so good! I could just do this forever."
That sounded fine to me. Forever. And then some! I felt all nice and tingly. My nipples were swelling, coming alive, vibrant under those frisky fingertips. I just hoped she wouldn't change her mind and quit. And then I found myself hoping she might want to spread out a bit, maybe even examine me all over and discover the other secrets of my naked and vulnerable body.
And so she did, as it turned out-a hesitant but obviously determined little explorer. Looking for secrets that had remained secret too long. Everything got quiet than, quiet enough to hear our hearts going pitty-pat. And something happened to us in that eerie silence, both of us together, a mute but definitely mutual understanding. It was like the lure of some terribly wicked intrigue, awesome but irresistible. We were coconspirators now, practically panting with excitement.
"Sue! I've just got to kiss you. Please?"
"So who's stopping you? I'm kissable."
"Kissable, oooh ... "
I expected it on the lips, but she chickened out at the last minute and kissed my neck instead. Right under the chin. Her breath was wheezy-warm on my skin. And then on the eagerly awaiting flesh below. My knees went weak and I darn near swooned when her . caress slid down between my breasts and exploded in a flurry of kisses, a sampling, a nibbling of the nipples_,
"Hey, that's wild. I can feel it clear down to my toes. Do it, do it-don't you dare stop!"
"Nnngg. Not me. Forever ... "
"Yeah, forever. If we last that long. Only I'm getting limp just standing here like this. Weak in the knees, you know?"
"Uh, you'd be comfortable on the bed."
"Sure. But what if somebody barges in on us, any chance of that? One of the servants maybe?"
"Not a chance. I'll lock the door though, just to ease your mind. Just to make sure, okay?"
"Okay, okay. Hurry!"
Alix scurried to obey, leaving me alone and untouched for the moment. Brief as it was, the pause created a void, a sudden letdown. In a daze, I reeled across the floor and fell on her bed, drained of strength somehow, unable to function. A vague confusion of desires clouded my mind, keeping me awash in the spume and spindrift .of an ocean of illicit pleasure. Kind of a messy business, really. And yet I anticipated seeing it through to the very end, squeezing the opportunity dry. Right and wrong didn't matter any more; why not relax and enjoy the ride?
"It's locked. Hey, you think maybe I ought to take my clothes off, too-every thing-just like you? Huh? Sue?"
"Why don't you? Long as we're so safe here."
She undressed hurriedly, practical rather than coy, simply getting the job done. As expected, her body showed titty-bumps for tits, not much bigger than a boy's. But she was attractive otherwise in an almost exotic way, with lustrous black eyes and a light olive skin. And her slim-hipped torso had an exciting appeal of its own, a young tomboy appeal.
I was affected. There had been talk that year of Alix leaving after junior high to go to some classy private school, and right then I realized how much I'd miss her. Funny I hadn't noticed how pretty she was. A real brunette type. It almost made me wish I'd been blonde in contrast, just from an artistic viewpoint. But my chestnut-brown hair seemed to please her. And so did my skin color, pale white with random hints of pink-or so I could only assume, as she joined me on the bed and lost no time picking up the severed threads. Her kisses returned to my breasts. Pretty soon she had me thrashing around on the furry-textured bedspread, arching, pushing them up at her, the nipples all sultry and swollen and soaked from the suction of her mouth.
"Kiss me, kiss my tits good." I gripped her head, crushing those much-needed lips to the aching peaks. "My nipples feel like they're about to split open."
"Umm ... yes ... good ... "
Her tongue got busy, tormenting and then soothing alternately as the solace itself became torment in turn. It damn near drove me out of my gourd. I gathered her slender form closer, running my hands over her back, her flanks, her neatly curved ass. The buttocks quivered to my touch but remained firm and fully packed, each a solid handful. I gripped them tightly, my fingers instinctively digging into the resilient flesh.
It must have been effective. Alix uttered a choked sob, a sound of desperation. Then, moaning, "Oooh, you're something real special, all of you, every inch of you!"
"Every inch? Kiss me, show me."
Then it became my turn to moan as she twisted onto an entirely new tack, spreading her caresses wider, all over now, spewing a stream of wildly enravishing wet kisses up and down the length of my unprepared but not ungrateful body. I felt it in the pit of my belly, thrilling to this novel experience. My thighs and knees and calves tingled and twitched. Writhing almost unconsciously now, I opened myself up to the intimate invasion. Her breath was hot on my skin, panting. She maneuvered me onto my side, one leg bent and lifted another opening of sorts?-and I felt her kisses dampen my tremulous ass-cheeks.
A nudge sent me onto my back again, a source of sudden confusion-until I realized that she had rolled my buttocks right into her cupped palms. And now, somehow, it was Alix who seemed confused. Or hesitant, at least, hesitant to the point of immobility. As if she hadn't quite reconciled herself to the end purpose of all that maneuvering around. To me the position was perfect and the next step obvious, hardly any reason for this silent trancelike state, that transfixed stare of hers, the terrible suspense ...
"Sue? I-I feel so funny."
"So what? You'd better not back out, you hear? I'm too young to die of a heart attack."
She giggled wanly and licked her lips. I squirmed, arching my middle up off the furry spread a pelvic thrust with an unmistakably concentrated demand. And with a small cry of capitulation, she quit staring and began kissing again. Sucking! Turning the rest of our all-important afternoon together Into a rose-garden rendezvous, dewy with the tears of lost childhood. Or was that Just the sex-dew of our newly discovered love?
Chapter 5.
In a brief beltless housecoat, I lounged upon my bed expectantly, buoyant with bubbling suspense. One intrusive thought kept cropping up in my mind, self-indulgent but not exactly illogical. I now wielded a certain implicit power over my long time school chum. We were still best friends, but it was different somehow, a friendship based on rules that hadn't even been written yet. So wasn't there a practical side to explore, couldn't this new power of mine help me get my way? Now, more than ever, I didn't want Alix traipsing off to private school-some snooty one, no doubt, the kind that prized only pedigreed wealth. A school that would turn her into a snob and eventually destroy whatever remained of our mutual affection. She was ripe for such a place, coming from a family that always sounded a mite too modest and unassuming about the "guaranteed genuine" coat-of-arms which was embossed on their stationery and emblazoned on the front door. Not to mention the huge bronze plaque above the living room fireplace. Or the sporty ceramic replica set into the bar in their basement rumpus room, adding just the right touch of class. No mistake about it, the Moreau breed represented gentry in our neck-o'-the-woods.
My own family wasn't poor, just middleclass secure-and quite comfortable on their side of the vast social gulf. All except me! Which was reason enough to preserve that childhood friendship, my cherished link with the other side. Oh sure, I was a pretty popular kid regardless, always with more than my fair share of boys flocking around. Even most of the other girls liked me. But all of that was something I took for granted: just the unfailing popularity of a beautiful child-not nearly as rewarding as my relationship with Alix. Then again, well, nothing could have been that important to me now. I'd be desolate if she left town.
I pondered that dire possibility, momentarily fretful. But my mood wasn't for worry right then, not on this lovely day. This day that had scarcely begun, this springtime Saturday morning; oh, I felt so shamelessly keyed-up alone in the house and waiting for my lover. Keyed-up and ready! Even the downstairs door had been left unlocked for her. Any minute now. Uh-huh. Wasn't that a noise down there? Right on time. Now we'd have at least three hours before my folks were due home, precious hours of privacy ...
"Sue? Oh! You look so yummy like that."
"Yummy, is it? Wonder what that means. As if I didn't know. You look pretty nice yourself, you darling. I can't think of anybody I'd rather see right now."
Our exchange of compliments was truthful enough, except that it would have been hard to find any real grounds of comparison between us. Alix still had that tomboyish appearance, attractive only as a type. More appealing to me was her personality, her attitude, especially this recently revealed quirk of hers, an unflagging desire to cover my body with kisses. Even now I saw her from that viewpoint, seeing my own beauty mirrored in those wistfully eager eyes.
"I locked the door. Like you said."
"Well? Don't just stand there licking your lips. Come on over here and make yourself useful"
"Oooh ... yes ... "
The housecoat went wide. I giggled in appreciative glee as her open mouth slurped at my breasts. "You're sure about the door?" I stroked her bent head fondly, toying with its dark mane of hair, my fingers playful but peremptory. "You checked it afterward? Not that I'm expecting anybody. But it's nice to feel safe-alone together-with the rest of the world locked out. Alone in the house ... " Then, a whisper, hot upon her ear, "So that we can really relax up here, hmm? Darling? Our first time on my bed?"
She trembled against my tits, wringing the required answer out of her choked throat. "The door ... it's okay ... " It ended on a low moan, wet and wheezy, and then she was slurping again-but slower now, slower and rather serenely. Expertly. Almost daintily. Or with a certain restraint, anyhow, settling down to her immediate task in a mood of quietly intense devotion ...
"Do this one. The nipple. Feel how hot it is?" I encouraged her. "Oooh, that tongue of yours, I just love it, you know that?"
"My tongue loves your titties."
"Smart. Smart little tongue."
"Beautiful big tits."
"They're not so big."
"Plenty big. I love 'em. I love you!"
"Hush. Don't get so sentimental. Remember what I told you, what we decided? It's just a fun-thing, that's all. Nothing very serious. Neither one of us is a real lesbian."
"A fun-thing, what else? But just for fun, I still love you-and I'm not ashamed to say so. Is that wrong?"
"Oh, the hell with it, I give up, no more preaching. Go ahead and love me, if it means so much to you. Love me, love me! But just be sure you keep on loving me with that sexy tongue of yours. And in all the right places, you hear?"
Her eager nod became a caress in itself. Squirming in suddenly aroused anticipation, I cast out all doubts and a few dubious judgments, at last seeing my weak demurral for what it was-little more than a perverse preoccupation with labels and such the stigma of the dirty name. Lesbian. Immature, to say the least. And when Alix slid down to focus her attention between my thighs, I could only yield gracefully and offer a guiding hand for her head. I shivered then, aware of something going on inside, an awakening of all those unseen inner muscles, all trying to make contact with the lick-and-tease of that prurient tongue. Such a thrill such an indescribable thrill! How would I ever do without it when the time came? All alone and lonesome, what would happen to me? The prospect was just too depressing; didn't I have some viable alternative? And wasn't this the propitious moment to find out?
I tensed, summoning up nerve. Then, resolutely-oh, the desperation!-I twisted to dislodge the source of my pleasure and clapped one hand over my now-panting pussy. Only it couldn't have panted any louder than the protesting mouth of my rudely deprived lover-girl. Her breath blew hot on the back of my hand, a barricade right in front of her face, a hope-inspired and hopefully impregnable barrier to the reunion of those anxiously impassioned lips and my own equally anxious crotch. Kind of like an uptight virgin's last-ditch shield against impending rape. Only it wasn't some big old rapist bothering me, it was my dearly beloved best friend, and I was about to strike a blow agaJnst her impending loss. Also the loss of her unique services ...
"Sue? I--I don't understand."
"You will. Listen. I couldn't go on, not with this dumb thing on my mind. But maybe it isn't so dumb, you know? I'm just trying to figure out why you never talk about next year any more." About private school. You know. Whatever school you pick. What's the matter, haven't you even decided yet? Hmm. Maybe you have, maybe you're already registered and now you're wondering how to break the news to your best friend, huh?"
"Oh. That. Silly ... "
"Silly?"
"Of course I'm not registered. It's still no decision. And that's exactly how it might wind up. No decision. Until it's too late to register anywhere, get it? Come now, can't you give me credit for any brains at all?"
"You-you're not putting me on? Alix? I thought you were pretty much sold on, the idea, you and your parents."
"Well, sure, but that was before ... uh ... "
"Darling!"
"See you at Troy High next fall, okay?"
"Okay. Hey, we've got something to celebrate now."
"So why all this talk? Let's start celebrating. Uh, if you'll just move your hand out of the way ... "
I was still gloating over the good news. By her own choice, no private school; wasn't it wonderful? The girl was mine, more so than even my elated mind could cope with at the moment. Suddenly impatient, I ended the obstruction to seize a handful of hair and force her back down into my hot flesh. Her mouth was already open, buried between my thighs, burrowing into all that sexy softness with a kind of special softness of its own. Soft but firm of purpose! Devouring me. Devouring my cunt. Setting everything afire down there with the licking flame of her tongue. Flashes of sensation kept the rest of my body aroused streaking inward from every extremity to converge and be gulped by the all encompassing vacuum of that gloriously greedy mouth. Churning in compulsive lust I scissored my legs wider apart to expose more of myself to, the suction. And soon I was arching upward at the source of my ecstasy, assisted by the scooping hands that cupped me from below and welcomed by that exquisitely stabbing tongue above ...
"Sue? Do you like that?"
"Love it!"
"Tell me, tell me."
"Hmm?"
"Talk to me. Tell me what you like most."
It s all good. Everything. You're doing fine."
"I'll do even better if ... uh ... " She peered up out of imploring eyes, still kissing, her words garbled but intelligible, a sound of beseechment. "If you kind of take charge, you know? Darling? Won't you talk to me, tell me what turns you on, what pleases you? It's my pleasure to give you pleasure ... "
"Suck! Don't make so much noise."
"Mmm ... "
"Like that. Yeah. Suck my cunt!"
Her response was almost frantic, apparently provoked by the sharpness of my lewd command. And once again I recognized something more significant than the moment called for, too big and important to cope with in my present state of sensuality. I had to pigeonhole it for future reference, already too immersed in my own immediate involvement, drunk on the wine of erotic intoxication. I could sense my coming climax, the thrill of thrills, coming ...
"Do it, darling, do it, do it!" Evidently so could Alix, sensing it in the depths of my flesh, my feverishly lurching body. "Do it to me, drown me, come in my mouth!'
Chapter 6.
In the same way perhaps Alix's house was grander than mine, so did sex in her room seem more perfect. At my place it was a once in-a-while thing, a novelty really, possible only when I was sure nobody else would be home. Privacy-safety-was of prime consideration in such aventure. And even aside from all that monied luxury, freedom from fear of discovery made the Moreau mansion an infinitely more practical locale for our secret fun. Her room was at the end of an upstairs corridor, a snug sanctuary with the door bolted. Safe almost any time of day or night ...
"There now, it's locked. Let's get comfy, hmm? Sue? Aren't you going to undress? Want me to help you?"
I lay angled across her bed, lazily asprawl but still in my clothes-except for the sandals already on the floor, discarded in deference to the clean bedspread. "I'm in no hurry. You first. Go ahead, get naked, give me some inspiration."
"Naked. Glad to." Alix complied readily, shedding her garments in helter-skelter haste. "But if you're just going to lie there and tease me ... "
"Is that what I'm doing? Teasing you? I had no idea. It's your own fault, you greedy girl, must you be so impatient? After all, we just got here." Then, as if the issue were too trivial to pursue, I lifted one bare foot and peered at it critically. "Hey, you haven't even noticed my nails, the job I did on them last night. I'm really getting the hang of it. See how shiny? I'm not too sure about this wild shade of red, though. What do you think?"
"Mmm, nice. Real sexy."
"Sexy? My toenails?"
"Well ... "
I swung my raised leg toward her, toes pointed and wriggling for attention. She bent slightly, taking a closer look. It was all quite casual-just something to giggle about-until I spotted the familiar expression on her face, a fascinated gaze usually reserved for my nude body. Kind of sluttish, the lip-licking if somewhat wistful leer of a dirty-minded little tomboy, hot enough to arouse me every time. Only it was more of a puzzle now; what could she be leering at? A free show maybe, a sneaky peek up my leg? But there wasn't that much leeway as yet, not inside the knee-length skirt I had on, a bit droopy but still almost demurely in place. No, she couldn't have been ogling my legs. So what was that horny look all about?
My feet?
A sudden surge of emotion went through me, flooding my mind with weird possibilities. I felt a sense of power. This lover of mine, this sex-crazy kid-so worshipful!-it was as though she wanted to put herself under my control. As though I could make her do anything that struck my fancy. Crawl or grovel or-well, anything. I could tell. The gleam in those transfixed eyes, rapturous, aflare with the urgency of lust. Hungry eyes, hungry but humble. As if they were begging me to command her. Or daring me? Umm, no, the horny gaze still glistened with apparent adoration. And yet I rather fancied the idea of taking it as a challenge ...
"Sue. I-I love you."
"Do you, darling?"
"Let me show you how much. Let me suck your-"
"Soon. But is that all you can think of?"
"Huh? Oh. You know ... whatever ... " Her voice faded.
"Whatever?"
But she refused to be drawn out on the subject, languishing in mute despair, an almost stubborn silence-except for a small moan of comprehension as I moved to answer my own query, pressing the upraised foot to her lips. I pressed hard, forcing, terribly aware of the risky audacity of my impetuous act. But force wasn't necessary, it appeared-not after that first meaningful nudge, anyway-her pliant lips were already obeying my unspoken but unmistakable command, hot upon my foot, kissing the sole, the arch, seemingly grateful for whatever I might deign to offer.
My skin twitched to the unfamiliar touch- was that her tongue now?-prickling with newly discovered sensitivity. So ticklish! Only it sure didn't make me laugh. Delightful as the moist caress might be, its deeper significance was like some fantastic new breakthrough, still too profound to grasp. I could only luxuriate in the lush splendor of each fleeting moment, astonished by the ease of my conquest and all but overwhelmed by its unprecedented excitement. Except for my now somewhat tiring position, I would have remained happily entranced there, under the spell of that devoted mouth of hers. Oooh, such a mouth! But I was getting a bit stiff by then. Couldn't all that concentrated devotion be spread around a little and perhaps shared by my other foot, the one that was beginning to feel so neglected?
Our minds must have been tuned in on the same channel. Alix was already reaching out, making a change of some sort. A slow-motion scramble. Looking for a way to get comfortable herself, no doubt, but with a minimum of intrusive confusion-or without a major upheaval, at any rate. Or so I figured. Anyhow, it was her maneuver, not mine, and I just played along and waited until she got ready to come to bed and do her thing. Which might take ages, considering all the clothes I still had on; oh shit, she hadn't even unzipped a zipper or unbuttoned a button for me-what kind of help was that? Why didn't she just grab hold and get it over with? What was she fussing around with my bare legs for? Wasn't it about time she started panting for her mouthful of cunt? Where was she going, what was she doing down there? What now?
Ask a foolish question...
Stupid me! I felt like a smart-ass moron. The know-it-all kid. I should have foreseen everything, of course. Better yet, the idea should have been mine to begin with. Of course! After all, I was already pretty well oriented to this kinky twist in our relationship, at least to the degree that orientation was possible without a guidebook. Now it was simply a matter of exercising my powers and privileges-and remaining alert to these strange new responsibilities that kept cropping up. I had sure missed out on this last one.
But that was the advantage of being boss; moron or not, I sure wasn't missing out on the fun. I had to give Alix credit, the way she had planned and executed that leisurely maneuver. Talk about being well-oriented!-indeed, solidly oriented at the moment, down there on her knees beside the bed, a girl who knew her place, kissing my feet. Both feet now. And how smoothly she had accomplished the switch, bringing one foot to the other, kind of gathering them together and gradually sinking to the floor. I didn't realize what was happening until it was over. Some know-it-all, lying there all that time and waiting for her to undress me and start doing her thing. She was doing her thing! I was just too darn dumb to understand. But then again, well, maybe it was because I hadn't seen her true nature demonstrated before, at least not with such complete candor.
I was sure seeing it now. How that kid worshiped me! She had both my feet in her hands and was covering them with kisses, a thousand moist-mouthed caresses. At times she almost swallowed a few toes, sexy red nail polish and all, while that squirmy little tongue of hers took some in-between licks that were hotter and wetter than any tub of bathwater. Probably more sanitary, too, judging from the effect on the soles of my feet. I had never felt so clean on the outside and so deliciously dirty inside, that was how her spit-swab tongue affected me.
After a while the feverish kisses began traveling up over my ankles. I rested upon my elbows, lifting my head to get a better view" She was moving faster now, reaching ahead with her hands to get a grip on my panties, making funny little noises in her throat, little whimpers of desire. The garment was slipped down and off with only token assistance from me. I felt my own desire mounting steadily.
I felt something else though, a kind of omnipotent power that had become too prevalent to ignore. Alix was breathing heavily, aroused, panting for that first mouthful of cunt but still paying homage on the way up. My thighs were quivering, seared by the heat of her lips, the hot breath from her lungs. And still I had that other feeling, the power thing, and it was becoming a special need all by itself, a need to demonstrate my control over this longtime friend who was now my slavish lover.
Another minute and it might be too late. She was nearly at the end of her journey. I could have rasped out an order, of course, just to take the initiative. Suck my cunt! Something like that, anyway. But it wouldn't have been enough, it wouldn't have satisfied this weird craving of mine. And it would have sounded raspy, all right, maybe even unintelligible; my tongue felt thick and unwieldy, the inside of my mouth dry with excitement. What if I tried to speak and just croaked like a frog? No, it was a possible embarrassment that I didn't care to risk. Wasn't there some other way, something that could be done in silence?
Some other way. Hmm. That way?
My mind pulled back, unable to cope with the notion. I was swept by a wave of emotion, part shock, part curiosity, all in a surging dizziness. It was something we had never tried. And yet, vaguely, I recalled how close she had come, close enough to make the bizarre idea seem less daring somehow. My body began the movement almost of its own accord, twisting in a slow spiral that rolled me over onto my stomach. As if it had already seized upon the impulse and was rushing ahead before my stupefied mind could say no ...
"Sue? You want me to kiss your ass?"
I shuddered, more stunned than ever, absolutely tongue-tied as her bold words echoed inside my skull. But my hand bestirred itself and managed to answer the question, moving around behind my back in a pointed gesture. And then, an instant later, her open mouth was trailing its damp and steamy caress up the backs of my thighs with apparently eager compliance.
Sound was welling up within me, about to break loose in a cry that might easily penetrate the locked door and strike some curious ear. I reached for a pillow and brought it under my face in time, muffling the noise. Just as the pillows of my flesh all but muffled Alix's moan back there, a moan that I felt as an inflamed breath and heard only as faint hum. My body reacted by itself, wriggling around to welcome and adjust to the smooth skinned wedge of pressure that was broadening the crevice between my buttocks. And then at last the tip of her tongue touched me intimately, warm and wet and slimy, probing for the ultimate intimacy back there-and when the final thrust came I was just alert enough to stave off a scream and bury the resultant sob in the pillow.
The sensation was as sexy as anything I'd ever known. Better yet, I was fulfilling that special need of mine, the power thing. It made me feel almost regal. And in some crazy way, it ended my fear of embarrassment and gave me the courage to speak up and say what had to be said.
"Darling? Alix?"
"Hmm?"
"I love that. Do you?"
"Mmm ... "
"Your tongue. You like what you're doing with your tongue, you sexy girl? You'd better. Because you're going to be doing it often from now on."
"Umm ... anytime ... "
"Anytime is right, anytime I tell you to. You'll kiss my ass, you'll rub your face in it, you'll lick my asshole. And you'll love it more each time. Uh-huh. You love it now. Because you're my slave, that's why, my sexy little slave-girl who loves my ass and my cunt and my feet, isn't that right?"
"Nnngg!" Her head bobbed frantically.
She was replying in her own way, obviously in complete accord with everything I said. Only I didn't have to say much any more. Still, even in the ensuing silence, punctuated only by a sigh or a moan once in a while, I went on demonstrating my power in an indolent fashion, jutting up and squirming around every now and then to emphasize the ever increasing depth of her slavery. Along with the ever-increasing urgency of my demand for her slavish tongue.
Chapter 7.
It was one of our favorite places, especially when the weather turned warm. The woodland glade-our glade-was only a short stroll out of town and yet almost like an uncharted wilderness that we had discovered. Kind of a little world all our own. So pretty! The thick foliage softened the rays of the sun, allowing only shadow-dappled light to filter through. The grass with its mossy patches spread like a luxurious green carpet under our bare bodies. Was there ever a spot more conducive to love?
We were in a giggly mood though, telling jokes and tussling around playfully, all in good fun, laughing it up before getting down to serious business. But then, as so often happened in such circumstances, Alix got impatient and couldn't wait any longer; she ducked her head between my thighs and ended the hilarity. Except for one last prolonged giggle that oozed from her lips and made direct contact with my flesh, muffled but still audible. Tangible too, actually, a tickling titillation that inspired me to further humor.
"Hey, wipe that smile off your face."
It was meant to be funny-humor of a sort, at least-but her immediate obedience was total and to the point, banishing laughter in favor of love. I started writhing responsively, arching upward in a pelvic thrust to offer easy access to that tongue of hers, the purveyor of my personal pleasure. And pretty soon I was going up and down like that, rubbing the length of my cunt against her face and getting all slippery there, both of us. Only it wasn't exactly necessary, I realized; my eager admirer had energy to spare, energy enough for two; why waste the effort? I slowed my share of the activity to an eventual halt and succumbed passively to my sex-drugged senses, concentrating on that one vital contact but drifting gradually into a state of infinite sensuality. There was a completeness now, a oneness with the environment.
Around us the silence became overwhelming. It was almost as if the birds had stopped warbling from their treetop perches. As if the gentle breeze had come to terms with the incessantly rustling leaves. Our private glade had never seemed so still. I uttered a sigh and sank into dreamy languor as my eyelids drooped and shut out everything but physical sensation. The cool earth-moss underneath my bare back. Warm sunshine filtering through the foliage. Shimmering heat of summer lulling me into sweet lassitude. While only that moist mouth, outdoing itself from time to time, appeared capable of penetrating the hazy veil of this midsummer day's dream. The mouth of my dearest friend and darlingest lover. All soft lips and slithery tongue, the mouth of my slave ...
Soaking in the huge tub, I could feel the warmth of the water caressing my skin, practically making love to me. Ah yes, this was the way to live! It was one of those moments when I couldn't help but envy my rich playmate. A first for me, my first time in this marvelous bathtub, oversized but not outof-place in this spacious .and extravagantly appointed bathroom. About the only thing missing was the family crest, the Moreau coat of-arms. I had half-expected to see it embroidered on the towels; after all, this was part of the master suite of the mansion.
Luxurious as it felt though, I was still a little nervous about being there. It was quite safe, of course, Alix's parents had gone away on a weekend trip and even the servants were off for the day. So the house was empty except for us, making it a fine opportunity to gratify this crazy whim of mine-a poor girl wallowing in the pleasures of wealth, imagine!-how could I resist such a once-in-a-lifetime temptation? Not that I was poor, really, at least not poverty-stricken. Oh no, I was just poor enough to be envious of the rich.. And even now it wasn't much of a strain on my emotional balance; how could I envy someone who was in love with me? I'd be rich myself some day in the not too distant future, a kid with a face and figure like mine couldn't miss. It was simply a matter of learning how to benefit from such physical endowments, putting my natural advantages to the best advantage, as it were.
I raised one leg above the surface, examining it with a critically objective eye and then smiling at the futility of looking for flaws where none existed. Could anything be more perfect? I had beautiful legs, an undeniable fact Beautiful breasts too, but that was an opinion I couldn't verify in this position. Except that I felt beautiful here in the bath, beautiful all over, more so than ever, inundated tits and all. They just weren't as sensitive as my legs though, somehow, especially the still visible length of leg above water, a sensitivity that seemed to begin at the very tips of my toes. Unless it was an isolated spark, a tingling reminder of how precious even my feet had become to that worshipful and doubtless impatient little slave out there in the big bedroom.
The thought got me a bit impatient myself. I hit the drain and clambered out, reaching blindly for a towel in the same motion. But one was already spread wide and waiting for me to step into, materializing as if by magic, right out of nowhere. Which was probably the intended impression, I realized, abruptly conscious of the coy expression on that cute impish face, the anxious but slightly amused crinkle of those exotic dark eyes. Alix must have been camped just outside the doorway all that time, ready to be of service.
"Thanks. I didn't even see you come in."
"I figured it was my duty."
"Your duty ... " I let her dangle momentarily, aware that a word of praise was expected. Even due, perhaps. But she seemed almost smug about it, enough to rub me the wrong way, and I refused to play her little game. "Yeah. You were right. Good thing, too, you know? Otherwise I would have been disappointed. Maybe even angry with you."
She looked dazed, apparently affected by my brusque tone as much as by the meaning I had conveyed. For a moment I felt almost contrite, hurting her feelings like that. Her slim body crumpled and she sank to her knees, obviously trying to avoid my gaze and still continue drying me off. Sulking maybe? So it would appear. But then she tilted her head back and glanced up tremulously, an open display of veneration with a touch of excitement. As if she was thanking me for this gift I had given her, this attitude of mine that must have satisfied the hunger of her perversely oriented nature. Alix had found joy in the depths of her humiliation!
Now it was my turn to be dazed. All the more so when her head went low again, even lower than before. I thought it was to dry my legs at first, but she left the towel behind. Her body had gone into a crouch, deep; what could it mean? Was she going to do it again? Here in the bathroom? Kiss my feet? Ah, such a thrill! She was using her tongue now, licking my toes as if nothing else mattered in all the world. I tossed the towel aside with a flourish, letting her know of my wholehearted concurrence; nothing else mattered but the increasingly sensuous ardor of that humid mouth. Its effect was spreading. Even the already dried parts of my body seemed damp again, the encroaching dampness of sex on the rise.
Uh-huh. On the rise, sure enough ... Her caress was starting to move upward hesitantly, reluctant to leave my feet but almost reconciled to that eventuality. Torn between the two, no doubt. And waiting for a cue from me? I looked down at her upturned face and saw only innocence, a kind of absolute adoration, more beguiled than beguiling, quite devoid of that earlier coy pretense. My eyes must have softened instinctively, a sympathetic response. And as she came out of her crouch with a trail of kisses, I bent over and patted the top of her head in affectionate approval.
She looked up again, smiling shyly, all aglow as my stroking hand relieved her of any responsibility, my fingers entwining in the black hair to become a gentle but persistent guide. I drew her head up high on my thigh but no farther, a bit uncertain myself now, weak in the knees and worried about maintaining balance for the both of us. Even now I could detect a sway-an ominous note, scarcely conducive to what we had in mind. I began thinking seriously about taking a break, a short pause for readjustment, just long enough to find a more suitable spot for our fun. We didn't dare mess up her parents bed, but wasn't there a couch of some sort in the master bedroom? Even an upholstered easy chair would be better than standing and swaying and teetering ...
Too late!
I couldn't tell how it happened, but some how my guiding hand seemed to lose its authority all of a sudden. Those final few inches of thigh were inviolate no longer. Like it or not, I had a tongue up my cunt. Arid I must have liked it, of course, because that was when the idea of even a brief interruption whatever the purpose!-became downright unthinkable. It generated an excitement all its own, this horny union of bath-warmed cunt and overheated cunt lapper; let it build to its own steamy climax!
Still, I had to spread my legs wider to open myself up and accommodate her burrowing face. Now my spraddle-legged stance was tiring as well as precarious. And at last, out of sheer necessity, I was forced into a decision almost against my better judgment. It was no upholstered easy chair, but the chenille-covered lid of the toilet looked mighty comfortable at that point. I only hoped Alix wouldn't object to such a demeaning position.
Holding her head tightly in place, I began inching in that direction with tiny steps. It was mostly a backward movement, quite awkward, but I managed to keep going. She followed me, glued to my body, shuffling along on her knees. And meanwhile her mouth went right on sucking avidly, that hot lapping tongue of hers never missing a stroke. Even when I reached my destination and sat down the kiss continued without letup; if anything, its intensity even seemed to increase a little. Or was that just my imagination? The product of my own excitement?
Oh no, we were both equally worked up. How silly of me to worry about putting her in a demeaning position; wasn't she my slave? I leaned back against the porcelain tank, heaving my buttocks to the forward edge of the seat and grinding my belly upward against that non-stop mouth. My feet rose from the floor, eliciting a muffled moan as I dangled them over her hunched shoulders. The moan sounded again, subdued but audible, as I locked my ankles together and exerted some thigh pressure on the sides of her head. My hands still retained a powerful grip on her hair, too. I was afraid of hurting her with all that violent force-but even more afraid to ease up and relinquish one iota of the ecstasy that flooded my flesh. And right there on the toilet I simply erupted in a babble of lewdly eloquent commands that grew louder and more lascivious with each lick of her tongue and every twitch of my furiously responsive body.
"You love it, you cuntlapping slave! I'll bet you'd love to crawl right up inside my cunt ... "
That was the way I talked to her, figuring she deserved some sort of reward for her cooperation-and what better reward could I give someone like that? I knew only too well that a pat Ion the head would no longer suffice, aware now of what it took to satisfy that perverted nature of hers. My language grew bolder and bawdier. She was moaning again, continuously now, but it didn't interfere in the slightest with her slavish worship. Nor did her obvious delirium interfere with the proficiency of her performance. Now she was sucking and tonguing simultaneously, concentrating on my clit with a kind of lapping suction, driving me over the brink. I got pretty delirious myself, turning limp momentarily as the throbbing sensation of orgasm came on, robbing me of the strength to keep that viselike clutch of my thighs around her head. The fierce pleasure was like a paralysis. I didn't disappoint her though, at last summoning up enough energy to start flailing my legs and banging my heels on her back, pounding away in an out-of-control erotic rhythm as my climax struck, Dh, no, neither of us was disappointed.
Chapter 8.
Those high school years were good ones. The boys still came flocking around, of course, more than ever now as my body approached its peak of development. Would-be swains eager for my attention, some just for the notoriety involved, the honor of being seen with the prettiest girl in town. I dated a lot, playing the field-no favorites for me!-small boys, big boys, smart scholars and stupid athletes. Polite lads who stayed within the bounds of propriety and less polite wise-guys whose only interest seemed to be the hope of getting into my pants. I enjoyed them all in one way or another, even the rascally types, the sneaky strategists who showed their true color only in darkness, coming alive in a parked car and suddenly sprouting more arms than an octopus. Not that they got anywhere with me, nothing beyond my own clearly drawn and well-defined limit for such adolescent explorations, some heavy necking and perhaps a little sly-fingered but comparatively controlled petting. I was a good girl without being goody-goody, enjoying my popularity but never at the expense of my virginity. It was easy for someone with my advantage, easy to say no and make it stick-even in the hottest session my body never betrayed me after all, didn't I already have a lover to take care of my needs?
Ah yes, my secret lover! Her body did some developing, too, but she still remained quite slender if not exactly boyish. I just wished she would go out on dates more often, for the sake of appearances at least. Aside from our own private little world, there was the larger one to contend with, the unimaginative normal world in which girls were meant for boys and boys were meant for girls and any other system of pairing-off was considered either ludicrous or vile-or just plain crazy! Despite my misgivings though, Alix dated only on special occasions-proms and such-and even then only because I became downright insistent. She was content to remain out of the mainstream, taking refuge in her friendship with me. That big normal world just wasn't for her.
I felt a bit guilty about it, her going overboard like that and losing touch with reality. And yet I couldn't take the blame for making a lesbian out of her. I had acted as a catalyst, admittedly, but hadn't she been a tomboy to begin with? Even without me, even if our intimate relationship had never blossomed, some other girl would have caught her eye in the same way. My best friend must have been born with those tendencies, I figured, hardly cause for self-reproach on my part. Nobody could be blamed for something that was so obviously a freak of nature.
Still, my conscience kept acting up, burdened by the constant vision of Alix getting so serious when it was only a fun thing for me. Especially since I could neither change her nor find it in my heart to end our serious fun. And eventually, just to ease my guilt, I took a leaf from her book and began paying less attention to boys myself. Then again, it might have been the timing that practically made such a decision for me. Because that was when I was chosen to play the lead in the annual spring pageant, and the scheduled nightly rehearsals didn't leave much opportunity for social life-at least not the kind of social life that consisted of movie dates and parked car smooching and such. At that point it became quite simple to start turning down all the young hopefuls, my would-be wooers. I had an excuse, ready-made and unimpeachable. Even on the nights when we didn't rehearse, I. still had my lines to memorize.
For that matter, at first I almost wished I could have turned down the role, painfully aware of its demands on me. But it would have caused a scandal, of course, the honor was too great. This wasn't just a high school show or anything like that, oh no, it was the pageant, produced annually by the town fathers and attended by everybody within a hundred-mile radius, farmers and factory workers alike-to say nothing of mealy-mouthed politicians. It had become a tradition over the years, an outdoor spectacle with a huge cast milling around in costume, clashing swords and matching chariots in ancient heroic style. All based on the Trojan War, naturally; what better subject for a town named Troy? And so I became the youngest girl ever to play the female lead, fair Helen-"the face that launched a thousand ships"-second in importance only to the big wooden horse itself.
Anyway, despite the demands on my time, things worked out rather nicely as far as our secret romance was concerned. Alix volunteered for the job of helping me learn my lines, and that gave us a chance to be together often. With only a minor part in the show, there was no need for her to stay to the end of every rehearsal; she did, though, just for my sake, knowing that her presence in the wings had a steadying influence on me. But her parents consented to the late-hour homecoming only if she didn't have to go through the dark streets alone, so I got into the habit of walking her home afterward. It was out of the way for me, but I didn't mind at all. I liked that section of town. Better yet, in the comparative calm of night it was easy to think of ourselves as unseen and certainly unspied-upon, sheltered by the darkness that seemed almost as safe as a locked bedroom door. A world of our own once again, surrounded by tall trees and trimmed hedges and lovely old houses, all blurred and shadowy in the low-key illumination of the comer streetlamps. We made use of it, turning each other on with giggly whispers and then pausing in some hidden nook for a hasty kiss or caress, getting homier with every passing minute. How we loved those late-night walks!
But with that kind of opportunity, even aside from the romantic setting, we simply couldn't settle for a few kisses and caresses on the way. The first such night set the pattern. All those hidden-nook stops had been fun, but the Moreau estate was dotted with a profusion of better hiding places. Alix led me to-one of them-darker and infinitely more secluded in a clump of trees out beyond the summerhouse. It was supposed to be for just a goodnight kiss, but somehow both of us had similar expectations of something more, something too precious to giggle about.
Nobody felt like giggling as she fell on her knees and ducked under the hem of my skirt, rocking it up with her slowly rising motion. There were vague little noises though, tiny fragments of sound, detached and incoherent. Her head was still moving upward, skirt and all, nuzzling into the quivery flesh of my thighs with moistly parted lips. The soft sounds stretched and strung together to become a continuous moan that hinted of some strange ecstasy and then resolved into recognizable meaning.
"Mmm ... you smell so good ... "
"Yeah? I'm glad you approve."
I spoke the truth, sure enough, aware of how much perspiration my overworked body must have shed during the rehearsal. It was even noticeable in the contrast of the cool night air on my exposed skin. And yet Alix seemed to be sniffing and enjoying it, reveling in her own apparent intoxication. I caught a whiff myself, the hot sex wafting from between my legs, the hot cunt smell, all hot and sweaty and strong, picking up extra power from the thoroughly impregnated crotch of my damp panties. Maybe the stench wasn't really that bad, but I just couldn't see how anyone could go into raptures over it. Still, who was I to judge? It was all a matter of taste, even a stinky twat. Whatever turns you on ...
Alix was getting kind of frustrated now, though. I could tell. Turned on but frustrated, unhappy about those panties of mine. For which I couldn't exactly blame her. The fit was snug and the fabric stout, a garment more serviceable than sexy, fine for the hard labor of a rehearsal but incongruous in this present situation. Like blue jeans at a formal dance. She was gnawing at the crotch now, trying to get it bunched over to one side. I could hear her panting and snorting down there, having a tough time of it, afraid to go too far without specific permission. A good slave, I had to admit, and deserving of a reward. Simple enough. All she wanted was my bare cunt to suck. But somehow that seemed rather ordinary to me, out of keeping with these extraordinary circumstances. Hmm. Whatever turns you on?
No! Whatever turns me on!
I did it all in one swift maneuver, shoving the panties down and whirling around to stick my ass in her face. She gasped and burrowed right into the crack, struggling to hold my leaning body upright and at the same time please me with her tongue. I wriggled a little and got comfortable like that, my buttocks parting to engulf her nose and cheeks and mouth, the wedge of her upturned face, soft but already quite steady. While that servile tongue of hers plugged my asshole to perfection and strived in its own squirmy way to heighten the pleasure all around. Just the thing to help me unwind after a rough rehearsal; wasn't I lucky to have such a slave? I doubted if the real Helen of Troy ever had it so good.
It was nice to see the party going so well. Alix's parents had practically forced her into it, a big party for the youngsters in honor of her cousin from California. They were only remotely related, actually-second or third cousins, something like that-but the guy bore the Moreau name and that made his visit important to this branch of the family. In their strata of society, sharing the same coat of-arms was reason enough fu make a fuss, no matter how much space separated them on the genealogy chart.
As for myself, the only objection I had to Boyd Moreau was the length of his visit. Alix had to entertain him, of course. a chore that just about precluded our locked-door bedroom romps and woodland glade back-to-nature outings. Even a week of that kind of enforced celibacy was more than my petted and pampered libido could tolerate. I just hoped we'd have a chance to get together in some private little corner while this dumb party was still lively enough to cover out" absence.
The prospect for that looked pretty good. Somebody had dumped booze into the punch bowl-vodka, no doubt, tasteless but potent-an accepted if seldom mentioned custom among members of our dear old Troy High senior class. No one would be walking out while the stuff lasted. So it was up to me to create my own opportunity. I had to convince Alix that her hostess-type duties also included being sweet to her forlorn best friend.
I bided my time awhile and then managed to edge in during a slack moment, whispering into her ear. "Well, darling? Are you having fun at your own party?"
"Fun ... " She shivered, reacting to the heat of my breathy whisper. "I-I guess so. It's a pretty good bunch, wouldn't you say? Boyd keeps wishing they would all go home, though. He wants to be alone with me."
"Does he? Me too."
"Huh? Oh. Silly ... "
"Silly but lonesome. It's been so long. Let's sneak away for a few minutes, hmm? I'd say it's time you took a break."
"Sue, how can we? There's nowhere to sneak tu."
"The downstairs powder room is empty, I just checked. Doesn't your nose need powdering? Mine does. Come on, let's go. Just act casual and no one will even notice."
Without giving her a chance to protest, I got us both moving in the right direction. Once inside the little half-bath, I locked the door and chuckled, all but bursting with triumph. She was mine now, mine alone, at least for the next few minutes. I had stolen the hostess away from her own party; what fun!
"We shouldn't. This is-"
"Hush. Nobody saw us. And if they did, so what? We're just powdering our pretty noses and catching up on all the gossip. Like, for instance, this cousin of yours, how come he's so anxious to get you alone? Is he trying to lay you?"
"Of course not. No, nothing like that. He's nice really, a gentleman, you know? My folks think he's the greatest thing since color television. They keep pushing-"
"Okay, okay. Alix, how much longer is he going to stay?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe another week."
"A week? Shit! Oh well, I suppose you're stuck with him. But if that's so, every minute we're together is precious. If it's going to be a whole week, we ought to use what little time we have to say good-bye to each other."
"Oh, it's not such a long-"
"Shhh. I'm going to say good-bye to you. With a kiss. Like this ... " I touched my mouth to her lips, exerting a slow pressure and a gentle thrust of my tongue into the opening. Her response was immediate, an explosion of breath that almost bowled me over with its intensity.
"There now ... " Smiling, I stepped away. "Now it's your turn to say good-bye to me."
"You-you mean the same as-"
"Come on, darling, you know how."
"In here? We shouldn't even be-"
"You know how." My smile faded. "A goodbye kiss that will have to last us for a week. You know the kind that pleases me most, I'm sure. And it better be good."
Alix dropped her gaze. "But-but my dress. It will get all wrinkled and messy if I-"
"So you'll get it wrinkled. Mine too. Messy. And we'll be no different than the rest. Half the dresses out there are already stained with purple punch." I shrugged and then turned abruptly fierce. "What the hell are you waiting for? Get down there and suck my cunt!"
There was no reply. The dark eyes remained downcast. And then-like a sapling in the teeth of a gale-her slim figure bowed and sank. She looked up, her expression a mask of mingled anguish and adoration. A moment later I could no longer see her face. I sure felt it though, aided by her hands and mine as we collaborated on the problem of my panties. It began rubbing up and down then, nuzzling between the lips of my denuded cunt as if she had suddenly decided that the joy of a sexsmeared face far outweighed any possible embarrassment that might come afterward, out there among her guests. We both knew from experience that even a soap-and-water scrubbing sometimes failed to erase all the evidence. Especially the scent the often tenacious scent that could wreak all manner of mischief by setting a few nearby nostrils atwitch with its uniquely identifiable message. Good thing that raucous bunch out there was still dulling its collective senses with vodka-spiked punch.
They were raucous, sure enough. All those shrieks and howls and screeches, loud enough to compete with a barrage of amplified guitars. The mating call of the heterosexual adolescent. But we didn't pay much attention here inside the powder room. This was a private party, just me and my slave-girl. Hmm. There was something depraved about that, something deliciously unspeakable ...
Graduation was over and it should have been a lovely summer, a lazy vacation before buckling down at college. Only it wasn't much fun without my best friend. Goaded by her parents, Alix had accepted an invitation to visit her cousin's family in California. Without her, a walk to our woodland glade was as frustrating as a whodunit with the last Chapter missing. I could hardly wait for her to come home. And when she finally did, I didn't waste much time getting over there to welcome her.
"Sue, I didn't expect you so soon. I'm not even unpacked yet. But I'm glad you're here, there's something I have to tell you. I was going to put it in a letter, but this way is better.'"
"Hey, you sound serious. What's up?"
"I'm serious, all right. Boyd and I are engaged. It hasn't been announced yet, so I'm not wearing his-"
"You-you're going to marry him?"
"Uh-huh. Some time next year."
"But what about college? We were all set to room together."
"You'll have to find another roommate. I'll be busy producing a brand-new line of Moreau babies."
"Old-time aristocracy, huh? Big deal."
"It's big to me."
"Okay. I won't tease you about it, darling. But never mind next year, let's just relax right now and-"
"No! Not now. Not ever, don't you understand? It was fun for a while, I'll admit, but that's over now. I love Boyd Moreau and we're going to be married."
"You're sure of that, huh? Sure you love him, I mean. You're sure the idea didn't come from your mother and father? If you get married, you'll have to go to bed with him, you know. And he's a man, he won't be nice and soft like me, he'll be-"
"Sue, you're raving. You think I don't know what a man is like? Guess again. I've been to bed with him. And it was great, you hear? My man fucked me, he fucked me good and proper, he shoved his big stiff cock into my soft little cunt and me feel happier than I've ever been in all my young life. Better than you ever did, that's for sure. There's just no comparison. You ought to try it yourself and see, then maybe it won't make any difference what kind of girl you room with at-college next year. Maybe you'll be interested in the same things I am."
"Yeah. Love and marriage. And babies."
"Don't knock it."
"Who's knocking? I'm happy for you, Alix. Don't you think I want the same thing for myself some day?"
"Do you? I wonder. But that's your business, not mine. And I'd rather you kept your business to yourself from now on. We've been good friends, Sue, but that's water under the bridge now. I don't think we should see each other again."
"You-you mean it?"
"Uh-huh. Let's just call it quits. Oh, don't worry, you won't have to cross any streets to avoid me, I'll be living in California anyway. And getting fucked every night, how about that? Like I said, you ought to try it yourself, Believe me, there's nothing like a good hot fuck to make a girl feel like a real woman."
That did it. I got out of there before she could start giving me advice again, all that fuckfuck-fuck talk. It left me pretty depressed, naturally, but I soon cheered up. The roommate problem was only minor; I'd get along by myself just fine, even at a big university like State. Mter all, wasn't I the only girl chosen to play Helen of Troy twice?
Chapter 9.
Ambling along the corridor, I could sense the warmth of countless eyes caressing my body. It was happening again. I couldn't seem to contain the swing, the exaggerated sway of my hips; it had the fabric of my skirt pulled just taut enough to be molded to the well rounded contour of my butt-cheeks. Just like a born tease! I wondered how many guys were watching ...
Girls too?
Uh-huh. Girls too, making me almost self-conscious. But that was only natural, dictated by the weight of sheer numbers, the preponderance of females in this branch of the university. At least that was what I kept telling myself. But then why had I become so sensitive to it lately? My goose-bumps broke out in a different pattern when a feminine eye gleamed. I was even getting bored with college men altogether, finding them more and more like bigger and brasher-and often just as callow-high school boys.
But it wasn't exactly new, this recent feeling of mine for the flutter of a mascaraed eyelash, the lick of a lipsticked lip. So I must have been ripe for someone like Florinda Brokaw. Funny thing. I knew who she was long before we got together; maybe it was fate or predestination or something like that. Then again, maybe it would have been impossible not to. In this sequestered segment of the great couldn't-care-less university, our Department of Education-also known as Teachers' College-was like a closed shop where everybody knew everybody else sooner or later. And the woman had long since been pointed out to me as someone important. Florinda Brokaw. Graduate assistant. Master's in Education. Studying outside the department for a Master's in Dramatic Arts. Wears swanky clothes and drives a sporty car. Is in good with the dean. Also in good with the students, according to the latest grapevine consensus-not even the trivia escaped the notice of us freshman-her own apartment in town, the lucky bitch? How we marveled over that!
Anyway, it was with more astonishment than difficulty that I recognized whose eye had caught mine from across the cafeteria. It seemed unreal, a fantasy; why should that gorgeous personage condescend to come to my rescue? I needed help, sure enough. And there was something mystical in our exchange of glances, some bit of magic that told me the situation was understood and help was being dispatched forthwith. Only it didn't say why. Why would Florinda Brokaw involve herself in the deliverance of one insignificant freshman girl from the clutches of an upper class bully?
The guy was a pretty playful bully-not the violent type-just another third-rate jock flexing his muscles and making a sexy pass. He had latched onto me the minute I came through the cafeteria entrance off the corridor. Now he. was being more discreet, his clutching hand out of sight under the table, but I was already telling him off before that big predatory paw tore my panties to shreds. Then it was dear Florinda holding my shoulder like an old friend and saying she hated to interrupt our wrestling match-and that was all it took to send the horny jock slinking out sheepishly.
Despite her curiously assertive voice, there was a feminine softness about her that I found quite appealing. She was svelte and willowy, attractive enough to set up a responsive vibration inside me. Her dark hair was styled in an upsweep, spectacular but too sophisticated for this place. Even her jewelry had a tinge of the bizarre. Whatever it was, something about her excited me-a wisp of exotic perfume, that same look in her eye, the unflagging vivacity, the casual assurance of her fingers, such a tender touch!
We didn't talk much, just long enough to break the ice and make a definite date for the future; wouldn't I like to forsake the ulcer-paced academic life for the restful quiet of her apartment one night this weekend? She could even come by for me in her car-no, don't say no-saving a poor inexperienced freshman from the likes of corrupt cabdrivers and chaotic bus schedules. I accepted and that was about it, just a surface skim, no mention of why our eyes and met and what she really wanted of me.
I knew, of course. What she wanted. There just wasn't much doubt in my mind, the woman was a lesbian with designs on my fair young body. True, my first-hand knowledge of the subject was extremely limited; maybe I couldn't recognize a real lezzie if one jumped out from under my bed and frightened my straight roommates, those two simpering dullards. Unless such an intruder was the obvious butch type, too masculine to be anything but an imitation man, easy to identify. But when it came to womanly women and what their sinful secrets might be, my judgment could only be based on guesswork. And yet I had no doubt about Florinda Brokaw ...
Had the car been even a few minutes late, I might have used it as an excuse to renege. That was how shaky I felt about this weekend date. Maybe my opinion of the woman was completely wrong, maybe I'd be on edge throughout a quiet social evening and end up bewildered and embarrassed. And what if I was right? Wouldn't it still be just a nervous escapade followed by remorse? So why go looking for trouble?
Somehow my dim view brightened when I heard the saucy horn honk and whirled around to see her behind the wheel of a shiny little roadster. Right on time. My hostess, the elegant Florinda. I slid onto the seat alongside her. She stepped on the gas and headed away from the campus, threading through traffic toward her home on the other side of the city.
I was almost exhilarated now, glad to be on the move into a new adventure. Besides, after dressing so carefully for the great occasion my sexy black sheath with minimal lingerie underneath-wouldn't it have been disappointing to back out? I must have looked good to her right then; even in traffic she kept peeking over at me. Emboldened by curiosity, I intercepted one of those sidelong glances and returned her gaze. Again there was some mysterious, spark of communication between us, only this time it had a kind of horny effect, familiar shock waves in the pit of my gut and I knew for sure that she was a lesbian. I didn't guess. I knew. And now something else became immediately clear, too, and I knew why it was all happening. Why I was there. At last I understood the reason, the one and only valid reason for this apparent moral lapse of mine, this sudden willingness to set aside normal pleasures and dabble in perversion once more.
There was a leftover memory to blur, to erase, to exorcise, a painfully poignant memory that needed only the proper purgative to be consigned to oblivion. Like brainwashing, in a way. Dilute the old memory with a lot of little new ones, all in that same vein, just as precious on a smaller scale. Enough lesbian silver bullets to lay a haunting lesbian ghost, enough lesbian laughs to drown out the lamentation of a lesbian tragedy ...
Alix, you snooty slut, get lost! Get rejected! Get the fuck out of my life!
The apartment was as advertised, a pleasantly quiet contrast to the hustle and bustle outside. More than that, it was pure paradise compared to my ugly dormitory room. With well-justified pride, Florinda showed it off to me-the complete guided tour-and was pleased by my quick recognition and appreciation of her talent as a decorator.
Back in the living room, we relaxed and had a drink. There were student rules about that, especially for senior girls, but neither of us mentioned it aloud. So we sat and sipped sweet lemony rum drinks, making small talk and covertly continuing to size each other up. I noticed the color of her eyes for the first time, a kind of nondescript blue, indistinct and perhaps even variable in shifting light. Before that I had only felt their impact as eyes, all knowing and endowed with certain magic capabilities indescribable in terms of ordinary color. The effect was prismatic, a shattering of the spectrum, radiating power rather than reflecting light. But the current was switched off now, allowing the eclipsed blue to make a comeback and almost match the blue trim on her chic pantsuit, no doubt purchased with that in mind.
I asked a neatly calculated question and managed to narrow the conversational range down to where it would mean something and might even do me some good. Our one safe topic of mutual interest seemed to be the stage. Florinda was the expert, of course, doing graduate work in the field, and I was content to shut up and listen, aware now of her expertise. And aware also of how our ripening friendship might be used to promote a good part in a good play for me, furthering my theatrical career even in my freshman year. That was only a vague notion though, something to squirrel away and crack open at some later date-if and when I could figure out how to work it into the conversation. It wasn't the sort of thing I'd dare to bring up on my own behalf, except maybe as a desperate measure. And even then, well ...
My ears pricked up. She had strayed back into that same historical era again-was it the second or third time?-evidently one that appealed to her in dramatic form. It was Tiger at the Gate now, a more modern treatment of the theme. A different play about that same old war. My war. What a coincidence! I could hardly sit still, waiting for the opportunity to get a word in and score some points. And that was when she saw me fidgeting and found it funny enough to burst into laughter and end the suspense.
"Oh, if you could just see yourself! The way you're wiggling around, Sue darling; what is it, a brainstorm? Poor baby. I've been teasing you. As a matter of fact, I intended to look you up much sooner. I've known about it since registration, the little freshman who played lead in the Troy pageant two years running."
"You-you-"
"Hush. You're sputtering. Calm down. And then you can get up and perform for me, hmm? I'm dying to find out if you're any good or not. Here, I'll even arrange the lighting for you, almost like a spotlight ... "
"P-perform? You mean like in the pageant?"
"Not necessarily. Just show me what you've got, the real you. Sing, dance, recite, turn a cartwheel; anything, whatever comes natural to you. Even if you just walk around and pose like a model. But it has to feel natural, you hear? Show me the real Sue Daventry. Lay yourself bare, peel off the false front. Strip your soul naked-and your body too, if that's what it takes. I want to see the girl before I see the actress."
So now it was an audition of sorts. I rose slowly, somewhat dubious but still confident enough, aware of how much my beauty would compensate for any noticeable lack of talent. The lights were nice and bright, mostly from a three-way bulb turned up high and backed by a tilted lampshade. I moved around with a kind of studied indolence, endeavoring to remain cool and yet project a certain sensuality. It wasn't easy to strike a balance, though. Posing and posturing, I couldn't quite block out the hotly insistent sensations that seemed to filter through my guard and give rise to an uneasy tension inside me. Turning my movements almost awkward ...
"Don't act, just be natural. But that's impossible, isn't it? You're acting because you know my eyes are on you. So, you're trying to act natural, isn't that true? And there you have it-act natural, a contradiction in terms-the hardest task an actress can ever set for herself. Because no one can help you, not even the best director in the world."
"You just helped me."
"I helped you understand, that's all."
It was enough, that bit of understanding. More than I had learned from any drama coach back home. A revelation, practically! All of a sudden I felt relaxed-and terribly respectful too, almost obsessed with the need to gain the approval of this wise woman. What else could I do to please her?
The question had already been answered, it was just a matter of letting myself do what came naturally. I was still conscious of those insistent flashes of sensation, intensifying now and triggering wave upon wave of something akin to desire, something that seethed outward from its root in the pit of my stomach. Then too, there was that other thing on my mind, the stigma, the ugly memory to wipe clean. Alix Moreau had all but slung mud in my face with that self-righteous rejection to end our affair; hadn't I brooded over it long enough? The way to forget was to laugh, to love, to live! And here was someone who could teach me how, surely.
All that bright glare was bothersome now admittedly, but I went right ahead with it anyway, I started tossing my clothes off. The sound from the sidelines eased the situation, an unwitting but clearly audible gasp that drove out every last vestige of embarrassment and made everything feel quite natural, even the blazing light. Natural for me, at least naked but oh-so-natural!-and I realized almost irrelevantly that my potential for sex was far greater than what appeared on the surface. I found it puzzling but also cause for pride. Would she help me plumb that potential, this clever creature, this intriguing lesbian, my lover-to-be?
I felt pretty clever myself, using my "natural" inclinations as an excuse to strip. With my bare body on display like that, I figured it wouldn't take long for something to happen. And then, after more posturing under the hot lights-lights that seemed scarcely hotter than that ardent gaze now-at last I heard the switch click and saw the lampshade tilted back to normal. I held my final pose awhile, my nudity an invitation in the contrasting and now somewhat romantic dim glow.
She just sat there, though. "Charming ... "
"Is that all you're going to say? Or do?"
"Huh?"
"And I tried so hard to inspire you. Too bad."
Mute appeal glistened in her eyes, combining immediate comprehension with wary disbelief. But they were still that same wishy washy blue, with no trace of mystery, no hypnotic influence, nothing like that. On the contrary, I got the distinct and vaguely disappointing impression that my lesbian seducer was almost afraid of me, afraid to take the plunge and declare herself.
"Well? Florinda? Want me to get dressed again? Not that I feel much like it-such a bother, you know?-but if that's what you want ... "
"Darling! You're serious?"
"Umm, serious but smiling, you might say. Better yet, why don't you come here and find out for sure?"
That brought results, swift and breathtaking. I trembled in delight as her tender hands touched me, followed gently by an even more tender mouth. My own hands assisted, sliding up and cupping my breasts from underneath, lifting them into the caress. Like an unsteady dance team, we took measured but shaky steps toward the sofa together in a loosely stylized tango. Somehow, miraculously, she managed to maintain contact and still shed some clothing in transit, first the pantsuit tunic and then her brassiere. Just those two pieces was all she had time for, but that left her naked from the waist up, a new intimacy for both of us-and we landed on the sofa in a frenzy of desire, too hot for any more tenderness.
Nor did I expect any from then on, not after that violent but strangely voluptuous assault on my flesh. It happened as she tumbled me into the cushions in a crushing bare-breasted embrace. And it was still going on, she was kissing me passionately, hungrily, her lips wide and her tongue elongated, probing the inner privacies of my mouth with deliberately stiffened swipes and pokes and battering-ram propulsions. One slam-bang thrust touched base somewhere deep in my throat, deep enough to dredge up a queasy reaction down there, and yet even that only added to the excitement. In its own-ulp!-suspenseful way, naturally. And meanwhile, of course, her breasts were sensuously interlocked with mine, all four nipples aroused but caught in the crunch, a jam-up of erectile tissue swollen to the point of exquisitely unbearable discomfort. At least that was how my own felt. All the more so in conjunction with the continued onslaught of her apparently insatiable mouth-oh, that throat-swabbing tongue!-a combined increment of gigantic geometric proportion; was there ever a discomfort so unique, so impossibly delicious?
When she ended the kiss, we both panted for breath. But that wasn't her reason for cutting it short, oh no, my hot-lipped friend Florinda had something else on her mind, a message to get across, an aptly phrased pronouncement from those hot lips of hers.
"Hey, you know what? I'm going to tuck you, baby, I mean fuck you like you've never been fucked before!"
Aptly phrased but ambiguous. Fuck? What with, her finger? Her tongue? Was there some special significance to the word? Hmm, maybe she had a fake penis, one of those things with the silly name, a dildo, could that be it? I hoped not. If real boys bored me, wouldn't an imitation be even worse? Still, it wasn't my place to criticize, at least not yet-compliance was called for, even if I understood her only vaguely. I was content to remain passive.
A wise choice, as it turned out. Everything became less vague in a matter of moments. Wriggling her hips, she squirmed toward a closer contact down below in an obvious effort to insinuate herself between my limply dormant thighs. Another invasion of sorts, almost remote in comparison with the more immediate impact of her tits and the lingering residue of her tongue; how could she achieve intimacy in those darn pants? I was still amiably indulgent though, spreading my legs to accommodate her. And that was when I recognized a certain method in her madness, the pushy maneuver culminating with a gathered momentum that plastered her rigid belly to my own appreciably softer one. It wasn't vague at all now, this pressure of mound upon pubic mound, the rush, the thrill, the sudden convergence of sensitivity; the start of a fantastic fuck? Somehow the offending half-pantsuit took on the aspect of a rather bizarre distraction, erotic in its own right and distracting only to somebody with a warped sense of humor. Some smart-ass kid like me, natch, who else? Oh shit, the giggles were already bubbling up ...
"Sue? What the hell! Okay, what's so funny?"
"I'm sorry. I just couldn't help it. This may sound kind of dumb, but I think I'm wetting your pants. Me-wetting your pants-get it?"
"Oh. Be my guest. I'll wet my own little panties though, if you don't mind. Feels like they're already drenched. Something more to laugh about, I guess. No? All finished? Good. Now if you'll just shut up and let the fucking show go on ... "
I almost giggled again. But the impulse simply faded of its own accord, already overcome by the more pressing business at hand. Her body was grinding down hard, enveloping both of us in the flames of lust that radiated from our point of contact. And at last I heard and heeded a call from within, the plaintive but truly irresistible call of my fevered flesh, an uncompromising need to tear down the barriers to this still imperfect union. Even if I had to do just that-literally!-tear them down. But violence and destruction were invented for television, not the tender transports of love, and I pursued a more ladylike course. An experimental survey turned up the right approach. One hook, one zipper, one small step for womankind-and the moon was practically in my grasp. I had my arms around her, my hands under the pants and then the wispy panties underneath, and it took only a minimum of prudent dexterity to husk both garments down in a single movement. Down from the narrow waist, down over the Coke-bottle curves of her elegantly sleek haunches, all the way down to where my likeminded lesbian lover could kick them off with her feet.
There was a fascinating flash of fuzzy black pubic hair during our momentary separation, as dark and straggly as her now somewhat disheveled coiffure. That came as a shock; somehow I had expected it to be neatly parted and combed, as decorative as her artistically done eyelashes. Not that I minded really, every defect helped dispel my gradually diminishing awe of this perfect creature who wasn't so perfect after all. Show me the real Florinda Brokaw. It was her turn to audition now ...
"You feel it, darling? Feel my cunt fucking yours?"
"Fuck me, fuck me. Fuck me good!"
"Mmm ... "
She was invading my mouth again, another one of those long-drawn-out kisses designed to display the prowess of her acrobatic tongue. Her undone hair cascaded over my face, tickling me, assailing my senses with its scent, taking the edge off the more pungent odor that drifted up from down below. Down where the denuded bulk of her body seemed to center itself on the needful place in mine. I began to writhe a little, rhythmically attuned to the hot sucking squish of her busy vulva, wallowing in the sticky goo of its lewdly draining secretions. She was doing a job on me, sure enough, working me over good with her hot-lipped mouth at one end and that hot lipped cunt of hers at the other. My climax was already taking shape, but I wondered if it wouldn't be more fun to try for a near permanent postponement and just go on like this, fucking, fucking, fucking ...
Chapter 10.
Somehow it irritated me to see her on the bed like that when I came out of the bathroom. It seemed so cut-and-dried. After all, this was only our second date, too soon for her to start taking me for granted. Even though we both knew I'd signed out from the dorm and would be staying overnight here, did she have to be so smugly self-complacent about it?
Last weekend's "fuck" session must have instilled her with an overweening sense confidence. Or maybe it was the way I hat acted at dinner tonight, accepting her solicitous but nonetheless firm guidance without protest, even letting her order for me. I really hadn't minded at the time; on the contrary, it was nice to be wined and dined at a fine restaurant, nice to put myself in those capable hands to be fussed over and not have to worry about paying the check. I had even dressed for the part, wearing a frilly blouse and skirt in deliberately demure contrast to the anticipated sleek sophistication of my lady escort. And just now, after freshening up in the bathroom upon our return, I had come out barefoot to preserve the illusion-an innocent young girl about to lose her sweet innocence in a smoothly planned seduction-thus continuing the evening in the same vein that it had begun.
Hah! Not a chance. The dance was over, now it was time to pay the piper; what did she expect me to do, sing for my supper? No wonder I felt annoyed! She was lying there almost naked, a cigarette between her lips, impatient no doubt but still very much at ease, the image of an attentive but lazily expectant lover. Like a college boy with a sure-thing date, waiting to get his money's worth. Except that there was nothing boyish about Florinda Brokaw, not with only that pair of diaphanous black panties to protect her from my fretful but nevertheless fascinated gaze. The elegantly tailored look was gone, discarded with her dress. Now there was an elegance of a different sort in that willowy body of hers, classical but authentically feminine. With breasts that rose defiantly even in repose, the darkish nipples pert and provocative ...
"Honey? Aren't you going to undress?"
"I'm thinking about it."
"Well, come on! Get naked and come to bed."
"Don't rush me. You're not naked yourself yet."
"Damn near, wouldn't you say? I just thought you'd like to work on my panties with your own hot little hands. Like last time after I started to fuck you-remember?"
"Is that all you care about, just fucking me? Aren't there any other ways to make love? I mean, uh, if we keep doing the same thing over and over ... " My tone was petulant, purposely so, mostly out of spite, not because of any objection to her style of lovemaking. I just wanted to shake her up a little, signifying a certain displeasure without offering any reasonably valid explanation for it.
She matched me with a petulance of her own. "Hmph! Getting bored already, darling?"
"Silly. On our second date? Of course not. I just don't think we ought to take one another for granted, that's all. Like some old married couple, you know?"
"Oh. Maybe you're right. I-I almost wish we were, though."
"Hmm? How's that again? You wish we ... uh ... "
But she had already lapsed into silence, disposing of the issue with a spuriously casual shrug, an awkward gesture that belied itself in a woman of such natural grace. As if she had already said too much and just realized it. I remained silent for pretty much the same reason then, perversely aware of having come too close to the underlying truth of my resentment. Oh shit, let her figure it out for herself! It didn't even seem important any more, not after that bombshell she had just dropped, a bomb that had been only a dud until her obvious cover-up backfired and brought it to life. So my lover wished we could be a married couple, did she? A lesbian-type marriage, imagine, wasn't that practically a declaration of love?
Uh-huh. How nice! Love. Nice to know, too. It was like a big jigsaw puzzle, with the important central pieces just beginning to fall into place. Everything appeared clearer now, even her dubious but unforgettable behavior in the restaurant, the pride and apparent pleasure with which she had dominated our secluded booth and yet managed to cater to my every desire. Or to convey that impression, at least, testing every new dish herself but always with me in mind. Mixing the salad dressing and spicing up the shrimp cocktail sauce, things like that, doing it for both of us and allowing me to sample the finished product only after she smacked her lips and rolled her eyes in approval. As if mine was the only opinion that mattered, even though it had been foisted upon me in a manner that precluded protest. As if I was her pampered angel-child-hmm, angel-wife?-too naive and ingenuous to be trusted to make such earth-shaking decisions by myself.
Nor could I forget her unconcealed contempt for the males within visual range, especially those who kept craning their necks and straining their eyeballs for an unobstructed but hopefully surreptitious glimpse of us. For which I couldn't exactly blame then, not even the ones with wives or mistresses or dinner-and-bed dates of their own. We were by far the most spectacular women on the premises, a duo of gorgeous beauties dining unescorted and unconcerned, haughtily ignoring the quizzically sneaky glances of our bedazzled male audience; what a blow to the masculine ego! Only they weren't really ignored, those squint-eyed satyrs-but that would have been the lesser of the two evils, what with scornful Florinda leaning across the table to croon her gleefully perverse refrain in my ear. If they only knew, she kept saying, if the poor stupid slobs only knew! Or words to that effect. Lecherous old bastards, for instance, a phrase that wavered between a chortle and a curse, depending on her intonation.
Dubious indeed, such behavior in a grown woman. Unforgettable, perhaps even unforgivable. And yet, juvenile as her attitude had seemed at that juncture, I understood it now. She was maneuvering me toward a total commitment to her way of life, of course, but that was only the first step. Down with men! College boys were clods. Indigent bums. Selfish beasts. While my lesbian lover was sweet candy. An indulgent beauty. A sophisticated belle, the soul of benevolence. Wouldn't you rather be taken care of than taken advantage or? Is your honeydew ripe enough, dear? A little more sugar in your coffee, sweetheart? Won't you try the delicious cherry liqueur, darling? I was getting the royal-treatment no doubt, but there was more to it than met the eye. Winning me was too easy, It was possession that represented the challenge. And the real Florinda Brokaw was a very possessive person! Our barely begun romance had already given her a sense of ownership; why risk the embarrassment of an "I love you" speech, why not just let nature take its course? It was all so simple from her viewpoint sitting there in the driver's seat, in the restaurant, in the car-in bed?-all she had to do was follow her nose to the foregone conclusion: the happy couple joining hands in illegal matrimony, a permanent lesbian marriage. Simple, oh sure-not if I could help it! And now that I had finally figured out the rules of the silly game ...
"Sue? Are you going to stand there all night?"
The buttons of my blouse almost undid themselves. I could see her interest mount as new areas of my flesh were exposed. It took only a shrug and shake then, and the unbuttoned garment slipped off my shoulders and fell away. She uttered an unintelligible sound almost like a laugh but kind of raspy-as though something had caught in her throat. My sexy nylon net bra had served its purpose, presenting a striking contrast to the demure blouse that had just come off. My breasts seemed to he struggling to break through and out into the open. Why did they feel so hot? Not sexually so much as physically, hot in temperature, the kind of neat that would have cracked a thermometer. But why?
I saw her eyes then, focused on my bosom and in the midst of that colorless light diffraction, the phenomenon that had struck me as magical all those other times. But my own gaze was free and unrestricted now, not locked into hers, allowing me to remain more of a spectator than a participant. I could examine the change without that earlier emotional reaction. Not that I learned much, just enough to gain a certain familiarity and balance that with an equal loss of fear. There was no magic in the phenomenon, nothing that I cared to exalt to such an esoteric level, just an interesting prismatic effect in the pupils of her eyes.
No, that wasn't quite true. Unless maybe I could blame it all on my imagination. Anyway, whatever the reason, my breasts were still hot and the concentration of heat was most noticeable at the points of impact from that intense gaze. As if those eyes could actually send burning beams across the room to penetrate my bra and strike at the flesh underneath, at the agitated peaks, the stirred up and swollen nipples that were now a throb with the need for freedom.
Slowly but casually, avoiding any exaggerated movement that might appear overly seductive, I put both hands behind my back and turned them up to fiddle around with the bra-strap fasteners. It was an easy job that I made deliberately difficult, drawing it out endlessly. As if my fingers were too nervous for the intricacies of such a troublesome task. It was just to shake my lounging lover out of her lethargy, that was all, letting her stew in the secreted juices of her own anticipation while I held that pose as if it was simply awful to stand there like a screwed-up statue with my shoulders scrunched back and my tits stuck out and straining to split the bulgy nylon net before the liberation ceremony could be properly performed. And it didn't hurt a bit, really-even my throbbing nipples were glad to delay the unveiling and wait for further developments, glad to participate in the shaking-up of this lazy lesbian bitch who was hot paprika in a restaurant but cold pizza in bed.
"You know something, dear? This could become a real war of nerves if we don't end it right now." She took a final drag and crushed out the cigarette butt. Then, still lying there, the smoke curling from her nostrils, "So come here, won't you? Darling? I'll help you unhook it, otherwise you'll be all night. Come on, before you tie yourself up in knots."
"Uh-huh. Oooh, my shoulders ache." Swinging my arms to get the kinks out, I started toward her, setting one bare foot in front of the other with each step, an artifice that induced a rolling sway of the hips. I halted at the edge of the mattress and looked down at her. "Care to give a girl a hand?"
She slithered across the bed, a serpentine motion that made her bonelessly fluid form look like two separate segments twisted together and held by a makeshift loop of tape, the narrow black panties stark against her skin. Reaching me, she hoisted herself up into a kneeling position and then hesitated, spreading her knees slightly to build a broader base of support on the springy surface. I should have spun around then, turning my back to make her job easier. And by the same token, she should have groped for the back-strap wherever it happened to be. Wasn't that the purpose of the entire maneuver, to unfasten my bra?
Somehow, as if by tacit agreement, neither one of us followed the script. I just stood there and waited for her to begin groping. And she just knelt there and waited. Then, cautiously, almost timorously, she slid her arms around my waist until her hands touched and clasped in the middle, centered on the ridge of my spine. And now, having dared that much, she was apparently hyped-up enough to cast caution to the winds and act on impulse. The embrace tightened suddenly and she pressed her face into my belly, gliding around there to lavish a flurry of suck-kisses on the surface and then dig into my navel with her tongue.
It was totally unexpected, an exquisite shock that turned a comparatively small thrill into something grand. I uttered an appreciative moan and tangled my fingers in her hair, getting an ego boost from the random recollection of how this welcome change had come about. Was it only minutes ago that I padded out of the bathroom and had myself a private little tantrum? I must have shaken her up right then and there, sure enough, with my spiteful remark about her lovemaking. Not very nice of me, but look at the way it was paying off! She was trying to redeem herself, trying to erase the stigma of possible boredom. Hmm. Trying to lick it off with her tongue?
But it was too soon to let her get carried away like that. I gave her hair a little tug, just sharp enough to interfere with her concentration. It worked fine. She recognized it as a signal of some sort, a call for her attention at least, and tilted her head back to peer up and question me with her eyes.
"My bra, remember? You were supposed to ... "
"Oh!"
End of communication; message received and acknowledged. And obeyed already, just like that, her hands racing up my back to undo the strap and then continue on up to make short work of the shoulder loops and at last peel the whole thing away. Pleasing as her haste was, though, I couldn't attribute it to obedience, oh no, she must have been motivated by personal gain. How that woman went for my bare tits! It was chaotic for a while sheer confusion as she buried her face between them and simply lost her head in the surrounding softness of my flesh, cooing and whimpering alternately in rapturous gratitude for what she could suck and excited frustration over what she couldn't swallow. But then she calmed down somewhat and seemed to summon up all her skill evidently putting mind over matter long enough to recall her status as an experienced lesbian who had something to prove to the untutored little tyro whose breasts she was chewing on. Not that I had minded the chaos, actually, it was flattening Indeed to be loved with such frenzied enthusiasm by so generally poised a personage.
But her more restrained technique was good too. Those knowing lips of hers had a knack for generating a kind of inexorable suction which was felt only in waves, an ebb and flow that imparted a certain rhythmic empathy to whatever fell under its spell. And so each nipple m turn suffered the excruciating delight of a slowly pulsating vacuum an accumulative effect that was like the tension and released of a diminutive climax repeating itself ad infinitum, an almost scary approximation of the impossible plateau of sensuality: unbearable pleasure infinitely prolonged. Oh, that bubble-mouthed bitch had a way with tits, no doubt about it. She could make mine sit up and beg, practically. I was almost tempted to go on like that and forget about the rest of my body.
It turned out to be one of the few temptations I was able to resist, though. With a little help from my lover. As a matter of fact, it was easy as she began pushing my skirt down. Easier still when I realized that she had hooked onto my panties in the same swipe, husking both off at once. With your own hot little hands! Wasn't that what she said to me after we got back from dinner? Hmm. So much had changed since then. She was still wearing those controversial panties; odd how the one unchanged thing could symbolize all those changes! I was the naked one now. Naked and ready ...
There was a moment of panic when I slumped onto the bed and felt her coming down on top of me. More fucking? But no, she had learned her lesson and was already kissing her way across my belly, moving at an unhurried pace but with a resolute sense of direction, right toward the hair. As if she could hear it bristling in readiness and was being guided by the sound. She stopped there, though, just inches away from where I needed her, my pubic lips all pursed and puckered for that first romantic kiss. I figured it was only a pause at the brink, a little time-out to psych herself up for the big one. Maybe a pep-talk from me would help.
"You're great with tits, you know? Florinda? If you're even half that good with my cunt ... "
"Oh darling, I will be! I swear it."
"Yeah? Glad to hear it, lover. I'll bet you're an old-timer in the game. A cuntlapper from way back, huh?"
"Mmm ... "
"What are you mumbling about? You haven't even started yet. Come on, tell me, don't be bashful, it's just between us. What kind of cuntlapper are you?"
"What-what can I say? I'm a good one. I've had plenty of experience. But a lot depends on who I'm doing. I'll be the best for you. The best in the world."
"You'd better be. I'll hold you to that. After all, it isn't every cuntlapper who gets to go down on Helen of Troy."
"Wait. You'll see. I'll make you feel wonderful. Just wait and see. I'll love your cunt and make you feel more beautiful than the real Helen ever was."
"Could be. I'm beginning to believe you." I jiggled my hips peremptorily. "Just don't make me wait too long, hmm? I'd say we were both in the right mood now."
A wheezy moan sounded. It struck me as amusing, for some unaccountable reason, and I had to seal off an incipient giggle. Maybe it was just the exhilaration I felt, a lingering reaction to the weird dialogue I had just conceived and carried out-like a well rehearsed interview, practically-and wasn't it lovely to bask in such an inspirational glow? She was there now, there, and I looked down at the top of her head and was further inspired by its aesthetic appearance, the way we had cleaved together in seamless unity, as artistic as a carefully wrought piece of marble in some museum. Sculptural, every detail perfect. And yet somehow-all the more impressive from my objective viewpoint-we had managed to preserve and perpetuate the urgency, a sense of the impromptu, the essence of spontaneity. It was as if we had hit upon a miraculous new formula, an amalgam of abandon and restraint.
My lover might take a different view, naturally, finding it less aesthetic but surely no less appealing or appetizing, not with her buried face still borrowing and her pointed tongue probing and her gluttonous mouth gorging on the goodies down there. An amalgam of cuntlapper and cunt; talk about miracles! There was beauty in the old formula too, a formula as ancient as time itself. Only I couldn't look any more as the top of my own head became a source of wonderment, about to blow like a geyser or burst into a thousand souvenir fragments to commemorate the occasion of my transcendence. But it was only an orgasm, of course, a bit premature but already predominant, and I lurched up and locked my legs hard around her head, squeezing out and gulping back all the goodies-and then some!-just as gluttonous in my own slippery way. Never underestimate the power of a cunt!
It was delightful. Even the unexpectedly short fuse of my climax was merely a minor disappointment; after all, I wasn't going anywhere tonight, this was only the beginning. Nothing so trivial could upset me now not while I looked forward to spending the night In such charming company. And in such auspicious circumstances. So obliging, this cunt-mired lover of mine! We might even got drunk and have ourselves a party. Or a trial honeymoon, perhaps. And then again well, we might just lie here like this and maintain our sculptural seamless unity to the point of sheer exhaustion-if I so desired. I probably wouldn't even have to ask. My indulgent hostess wasn't shy, just self-effacing.
Something penetrated my consciousness. I stirred languidly, no longer asleep and yet not quite awake. My nostrils twitched, affected by the scent that seemed to be drifting up, emanating from my own body. But that wasn't what had disturbed my slumber I was sure. My eyelids came unstuck and flickered open, but there was no sign of anything in the darkness. Nor did I feel anything down below down where everything had become almost painfully sensitized before we finally dropped off sometime during the night. What could it be then, the aftermath of a dream?
No. My mind was more alert now, less disoriented anyway, and the position of my body gave me a positive clue. I was lying on my side. There was something going on behind me, sure enough, my skin was reacting to it, breaking out in goose-bumps, no doubt; what was she doing, breathing down my neck? Well, no, not exactly, not if I was still naked, the angle was too direct, the impact of her breath too clearly defined ...
Oooh, what now, a kiss?
Uh-huh. Midway between my shoulder blades, faint at first but apparently losing diffidence in its subsequent movement, an unhurried down sweep. She was trailing her lips along my spine, punctuating the prolonged caress with tiny darting dabs of the tip of her tongue. Ardor arose hot and thick within me, forcing an involuntary sob from my throat; at the same time I rolled forward instinctively to go face-down and smother the sound in my pillow, a course of conduct that seemed pretty stupid an instant later as the contact was inadvertently broken. It was a mistake to pull away like that and leave my lover in doubt, a mistake I had to rectify in a hurry.
"Florinda ... sweet ... "
"Hmm?"
"Are you for real?"
"Huh?"
"Don't stop. Or else I'll think it's just a dream."
"Oh. You darling ... "
Her response was immediate, a renewal of the contact even as her voice continued its delighted murmur. She was still at it, still saying something, mumbling into my flesh now, but I couldn't decipher the flow of words. Nor was she trying to make me understand, really. It didn't matter, not to either of us; wasn't it an obvious case of actions speaking louder than words?
Anyway, I was sure glad to have that pillow handy. I buried my face in it, muffling a moan that might have risen to an ecstatic wail as she lavished a trail of kisses down the middle of my back and all but devastated me with the gliding caress of her bosom in that same slow sweep. It got so I couldn't tell which was affecting me more, her mouth or her mammaries, the trailing tongue or those advance guard tits. Or-intangible but just as exciting!-the direction of her movement and the thought of where it might lead, the noticeable if not quite believable goal.
My buttocks yielded and flattened .beneath the gradually encroaching pressure of her breasts. Softness mingled with softness and somehow became even softer, except for the stiff thrust of her still stiffening nipples, now almost abrasively harsh by contrast. Which only added to the thrill, of course, an unforeseen enhancement. I was almost disappointed when she continued on downward, sliding those big-nippled bazooms down the backs of my thighs and at last fitting them into the highly sensitive hollows behind each knee. Cause for a brand-new progression of thrills, it seemed-only there wasn't time for that now, not when the switch in position had already stunned me in to believing the unbelievable. My priorities were no longer in doubt, it was her tongue I needed, not her tits. It was her tongue that started my legs spreading and my ass squirming and my asshole sucking, squish-squish-squish, and I shuddered in a long spasmodic convulsion and practically saturated the pillow that no amount of biting could stanch the shrill wet squeals that squirted from my insides.
Vaguely, in my swirling sensuality, I knew that she was still being possessive. Wooing me, even worshiping me-and yet showing a kind of ownership. Staking a claim, as it. were, staking her claim to all of me, even in the midst of this admittedly novel demonstration of her ability to carry a lesbian wife across the golden thresh hold of eternity and bypass boredom on the way. But it wasn't anything I cared to dispute at the moment. If this was her proof of possession, I'd be happy to let her go on proving it all night. Just as long as she didn't change her tune, squish-squish-squish ...
Chapter 11.
A little coo rose from deep in her throat, a sound of fervor, of hopeful anticipation-but with a hint of something even better, an unmistakable touch of gratitude. I liked that, even though it didn't do much for my jittery nerves. But neither would anything else at this point; why let my inner tension spoil our evening of fun? Once again I offered my waiting lover some encouragement, a casual gesture of acceptance, a kind of delayed acquiescence to the entreaty in her eyes.
That was all it took this time. She started kissing my bare legs and seemed overjoyed as I lay limply permissive. My negligee slipped open, the reddish-brown one shot with gold thread, a favorite of mine that I now kept here in the apartment. It was getting a bit frayed around the edges, but the color still came through in a vivid match for my chestnut hair and gold-flecked eyes. On me it looked fine, but the old rag sure had a woebegone droop alongside all the elegant things in Florinda's closet. Still, she liked it there herself! a constant reminder of our ripening relationship-that was her version although I couldn't help wondering if there wasn't a deeper significance involved, another step toward her idea of the perfect marriage. Then again it might even be sexual, maybe it had something to do with the lingering scent of my body, maybe there was something cunty about it ...
"Sue, let me-"
"Watch it, you'll tear my negligee."
"I'll buy you another."
"No. I like this one. Thanks just the same, but don't buy me any gifts. I'm not a whore."
"Of course not. Hmm. What do you know about whores? Are you familiar with the species?"
"Well, no, not really. Are you?"
"Some of my best friends are whores, darling." With a chuckle, she resumed her lovemaking eagerly.
"The negligee. Wait. Help me. Let's take it off." I lifted my hips, arching as she lent a hand. The garment slid away and was pushed aside in a frothy heap. "Umm, yes, .that s better. Nothing to worry about, nothing to tear."
Naked now my body was hers to take. Had she suddenly become aggressive then, I probably wouldn't have objected. That sort of treatment might have made demands on my mind enough to help me forget the reason for my jumpy nerves. I had auditioned for a part in a play yesterday afternoon and was still awaiting the results to be posted. It wasn't a very good role or a very good show, just a minor production, nothing more, comparatively unimportant in the general scheme of things around the university. But it had been my first such tryout, no wonder I was nervous! Anyway, at that point I almost wished Florinda would put on the pressure, perhaps even take me by force. But her kisses were like the fluttering wings of a butterfly on my legs, drifting upward tentatively in quest of greater intimacy. My thighs quivered at the moist touch. Her softly seeking lips were close now, but my response was still only-lukewarm. And at last, impetuously, I moved one hand down in front of her face, impeding the progress of that long journey of caresses. It became an obstacle, a barrier between her searching mouth and my waiting flesh.
"Sue? What's the matter?"
"You know."
"Oh "
"Sorry. I'm just not with it. Hey, how about picking up the telephone and finding out for me could you do that? You're friends with the director, aren't you? A phone call would-"
"No! Please don't ask. It just isn't done. You'll have to wait till Monday, just like everyone else who tried out. The parts will be posted on the bulletin board."
"Thanks a lot. I'll die of curiosity by then. Aw, come on, what harm would there be if you just-"
"I said no! What does it take to get through to you? I'd be embarrassed to make such a call, it would be a complete break with custom in the department. Darling, please? You mustn't ask me to do that."
She was adamant, no doubt about it. I shrugged and let her stew awhile, feeling only slightly better as she began to woo me again, kissing the back of my obstructing hand. Her teeth rasped against my skin, biting into the knuckles-but she was doing it gently, not painfully, and I recognized the action as an indication of her inner torment.
"Oh ... please ... "
"You want it, eh? You want my cunt?"
"Your cunt, your cunt, I want your cunt."
"You'll get it. Plenty. It's early yet and you'll have all you can handle, don't worry. But right now, well, there's something else you can do for me. Roll over."
"Huh?"
"Roll over. On your back. Hurry!"
I nudged her over and stood up on the bed. The mattress springs sagged and creaked under my feet as I straddled her body. Her eyes widened in shock, but that only added to my excitement. Oh yes, I was excited now. It had started out of revenge, a desire to degrade her, to show my displeasure, but that in turn had led to a new thrill, a new and intense enjoyment to be gained from what had just been a rather exasperating situation.
"Don't look so grim, this is supposed to be a treat. It was your own idea last time, remember? The position might be different, but it's still the same ass. And the same tongue, that hot lesbian tongue of yours ... "
My knees bent. I let my weight settle slowly, taking aim on the way down. And then I just dropped and squashed myself squarely and accurately on her upturned face. For just an instant, I sensed some resistance down below. But it faded as I sat there perched like that and rocked back and forth to seal the contact, reveling in the sensation of the wet warmth of her tongue. I wondered if she could breathe. Wedged between my buttocks so solidly, she might have been smothering. But as long as that thrusting and retracting tongue-tip remained in motion, I figured everything was fine. My lover was in no danger. On the contrary, she seemed to relishing this somewhat bizarre method of fucking me. At least that was the impression I got. Relishing the taste of my asshole?
I felt pretty grateful to her for picking me up on Monday afternoon. The tryout results were posted and she must have known I'd be needing a sympathetic shoulder to cry on. Or better yet, a nice hot sex session to help me forget my failure. Oh, the agony of it, seeing that neatly typed list on the bulletin board and searching in vain for my name! If ever a girl needed a friend, that was the time. And there she was, Florinda-on-the-spot, right there in my moment of need, offering sympathy and suggesting sex and making herself generally indispensable. I thought seriously about falling in love with her.
When we got to her apartment, though, the picture changed all of a sudden. It was an inadvertent slip on her part-that was how it started, anyway-what a shock to find out that she hadn't even expected to see my name on the list! I quizzed her about it. Why, because I was just a senior? Well, yes, that was one reason, of course-but more important, she knew for a fact that I hadn't done particularly well at the tryouts. And that was when I got the second shock. She had been there herself that day, watching me from the rear of the auditorium.
"You were there-and you knew I wouldn't make it? Florinda, was I really that bad?"
"No, silly. Besides, who am I to judge? Let's just say you weren't quite good enough, that's all."
"I trust your judgment. Tell me the truth now, did I show any talent at all? Even just a little?"
"You looked beautiful up there. But if it's the truth you're after, well ... " She hesitated, her expression solemn. "What can I say? Don't get your hopes up for a career in the theater. Earn your degree, you'll be a good grade-school teacher."
"Thanks for the advice. I can do without the sarcasm."
"Darling, don't be so sensitive. Or were you just being nasty, hmm? After all, you did ask for the truth. So stop acting like a spoiled brat will you? Don't expect the world on a silver platter, no matter how beautiful you are. Too beautiful for your own good maybe, much as it hurts me to-"
"Okay, okay. I've already gotten the message. A spoiled brat, is that what you think I am?"
"Well ... uh ... "
"Is it?"
"I-I didn't mean it to sound like that. Don't be angry. I was just trying to help you understand why-"
"Shit! I've heard enough. It must be difficult for you, entertaining a spoiled brat. I won't conflict myself on you any longer, if that's the case. As far as I'm concerned, we're all washed up, it's all over between us."
"Darling, no! I love you." A hint of anguish seeped into her tone. "You can't mean that not after all we've been to each other, you just can't-"
"Hmph! What have we been to each other? So what if I let you take me to bed a couple of times, is that such a big deal? Does it give you some kind of ownership over me? The hell with it, why argue over a big fat nothing? I'm getting out of here."
She stared at me, her face a mask of pain. "Darling, you can't leave. Not like this. Please stay. At least give me a chance to talk to you.
"To talk to me? Is that all you want?
"Well ... "
"I thought not. You see, I know what you want. What's more, I know you're not going to get it. Not tonight, that's for sure. Maybe never the way I feel right now."
"Sue what are you saying? It's just not-"
"This is what you want. Thisss ... " I yanked at a catch, a zipper, loosening my dress and then peeling it off hastily. Two more quick movements did away with my bra and panties. I stood there imperiously, my thighs quivering, my naked breasts heaving in suppressed rage. "See it? Nice, huh? See what you're going to be missing from now on?"
She licked her lips nervously, her eyes pathetically eager, watching in tortured fascination. Her hands clenched and unclenched as if she was working up courage to seize me. But her feet remained rooted to the floor. And we both knew there wasn't that much courage in all the world.
With a triumphant laugh, I raised my arms in a seductive pose and performed a languorously revolving dance-step, a kind of half-exaggerated pirouette. "For the 1'st time, look! Because you'll never see it again. You'll never see it or touch it or taste it, you hear?"
My arms dropped, gliding sinuously downward as my voice turned soft and throaty and thick with charged emotion. "These pretty tits, never again. And here ... " I cupped my crotch in a deliberately lewd gesture. It became a caress as my fingers took over and began toying with the silken warmth. And then one finger dipped into my vulva and slipped out of sight momentarily. "There now, am I giving you something to think about, something to remember when you're all alone tonight?"
"Sexy. Sexy little cunt!"
It hit me then, the predicament I had gotten myself into. I had stripped naked on impulse, seeking revenge for the aggravation she had caused me. But in so doing I had also taken the sting out of my threat to leave; wouldn't it look ridiculous to pick up my clothes and get dressed now? I'd have to find some excuse to stay then, some way to back down without losing face. She must have realized it ages ago herself, aware that my indignation just wasn't compatible with the sexy striptease. As if I had been putting on a show calculated to revamp itself into a happy ending, a show to get us both hot enough to kiss and make up. If it could only be done without embarrassment ...
That was when her telephone rang. She tried to ignore it at first but soon gave up, turning away with a wry grimace and a murmur of apology. I was glad to see her go, hoping only that it would keep her occupied awhile and give me time to think. Not that I had gotten over my anger, actually. Her criticism still rankled: a spoiled brat, all beauty and no talent. Even worse was the fact that she hadn't told me about attending the auditions until now; no wonder she refused to call and get the results the other night! She must have figured the bad news would destroy any chance for sex. Greedy bitch! How could I let her go unpunished?
She was still on the phone, talking to some out-of-town friend who was apparently coming in for a visit. I listened vaguely, interested only in how much longer the call would run. But I had already reached my decision, of course, an honorable decision that would mean total victory. Revenge was sweet indeed, even at the risk of a little personal frustration. And by the time she hung up, I was dressed and ready to go out the door. To find my own way back to the campus, by bus or taxi or whatever.
"Darling ... " She cast herself at my feet, uttering a wail of despair. "You can't, you can't, you can't do this to me."
I had to slam the door in her face, practically. And even then the sound of her voice persisted, begging me to return. Wailing for divine forgiveness. Wailing, wailing, wailing. Discordant, perhaps, but music to my ears ...
Chapter 12.
For the next few days I didn't see Florinda at all, not even around the campus. Then surprisingly, she caught my attention and waved from a table across the cafeteria, almost a repetition of our first meeting. Almost but not quite. I just waved back and wondered why she didn't come scurrying over.
The reason soon became evident. There was someone with her, not just a casual coffee companion but an unfamiliar older woman a, sleek and flamboyantly stacked blonde who didn't have to wave to be noticed. Most of the cafeteria was watching her, the guys in heat and the girls in half-envious curiosity. I was pretty curious myself, naturally, almost positive that she was the out-of-town friend who had telephoned that night. Which meant that I wouldn't be hearing from my lovelorn lover for a while, not if she had such a spectacular houseguest and/or bed-partner to keep her busy these not-so-lonely nights.
As it turned out, my conjecture was quite accurate. It was almost a week later before she rang me. I took the call on one of the dormitory phones, safe enough unless there were eavesdroppers within earshot. And judging by the whine in her voice, it seemed apparent that she was all alone and lonesome again.
"Darling, please don't hang up on me. If you do, I'll have a nervous breakdown. I simply must talk to you."
"Talk? Is that all? Just like last time, hmm?"
"Please. Must you be so cynical? You know how I feel about you, how I need-"
"Sure, sure. Your friend is gone, huh?"
"Friend?"
"Friend. Houseguest. Whatever. The big blonde I saw you with in the cafeteria."
"Oh. Lizabeth, you mean. She's gone. Left town a couple of days ago. She never stays very long anyway."
"Is that so? I'll bet she wore you out, though."
"Hush! Are you deliberately trying to upset me? What is it, a streak of cruelty in your nature? I think you secretly enjoy making me miserable. "
"That's silly."
"Well, you do like to see me grovel. Admit it now, isn't that the honest truth about how you feel?"
"Hmm. Hard to say offhand. It does sound interesting, I'll admit." I grinned, quivering in erotic delight. "Now if you'd only grovel more often ... "
"Oh, you are a bitch, a cruel bitch! Wait. Don't hang up, I didn't mean that. I'm groveling, I'm groveling, see how you make me grovel? When can we get together? Soon?"
"Don't rush me. I haven't even decided if we should get together yet. After all, we can't just start all over again, can we? Oh well, let's not worry about it now. I'll let you know, okay?"
"I-I wish you-"
"There you go again. Haven't we talked enough? It's time to say good-bye. Better yet, just throw me a kiss over the wire. A nice loud smacker. Come on, I'm waiting. Good! Once more now, but stick a little tongue into it. A slurpy smack. Oooh! If you only knew where I caught that one ... "
"Darling!"
She was sure persistent, that lesbian lover of mine. I received an enormous bouquet from one of the local florists. There was a card with an almost illegible message, deliberately cryptic, but it didn't take much detective work to make the identification and decode the scrawl. I felt itchy afterward, conscious of a strange desire to scratch myself between the legs whenever I smelled those damned flowers. And yet I had to admit that it was mighty pleasant to be wooed so avidly; even my dumb roommates were impressed. The next phone call found me in a pretty good mood. Amiable at least, if not exactly a pushover. I actually welcomed the note of wistful desperation in her voice.
"Just for a ride, darling? A little spin in my car and we can relax and chat and kind of catch up, you know? And I won't make any passes at you. No sex, I promise."
"Well, if you're sure ... "
"I won't even mention it, how's that? Okay?"
"Okay. It's a deal"
That was the gist of it, an anxious invitation and a reluctant acceptance, quite a fuss over a little automobile ride. I had to chuckle after we hung up, somewhat amused by the promise she had made and couldn't possibly keep. Not mention sex? Hah! Fifteen minutes with me and she'd have sex flowing from her lips-by word if not deed, depending on my own attitude. Ah yes, I was looking forward to an entertaining afternoon ...
As always, she looked elegant. And so did the car, elegant without being obtrusive. Our talk was a bit strained at first, both of us steering clear of the forbidden topic. Then, cagily, I asked about her friend.
Her reply was equally cagey. "Lizabeth? Sorry, darling, I can't answer that. Not without breaking the rules. It's just impossible to talk about her without mentioning sex, that's the kind of woman she is."
"Well ... maybe you could rules ... "
"You're really curious, hmm? I can't blame you. She's quite a woman. But you ought to form your own opinion; getting it second-hand won't help much. Tell you what, maybe I'll arrange for the two of you to meet sometime. On her next visit. Which might or might not be soon, I never can tell."
"Uh, is she gay? Or is that a foolish question. "
"Not so foolish-you can't put Lizabeth in anyone category, she just lives for excitement, that's all. I guess she's a little like you that way. Changeable. But let's not talk about her any more, darling. I'll get jealous."
"Good. That's how I like you. Jealous."
A traffic light turned red up ahead. Florinda jammed on the brakes and then faced me with a pained expression. "Must you be like that? So cold, so selfish. Even sadistic. Sometimes I just wish I could hate you. Oh, in only had the will power!"
"But you don't do you?" With an amused chuckle, I raised my hand and patted her cheek, rather enjoying the sensation of her suddenly warming skin. "Do you?"
"No ... " She shuddered visibly. "You already know that. So it's even sadistic of you to ask. I love you too much, that's my problem. I worship you."
"Then stop criticizing." My fingertips perfumed, of course-played over her inflamed face, brushing against her lips every now and then. "Unless you want me to get angry again."
"Oh. No. I'm sorry." She crushed the palm of my hand to her mouth, kissing it in abject confusion.
"The light. It's green. We're holding up traffic."
My cool tone had her near tears, but she recovered enough to get the car rolling again. There was silence for a while as she concentrated on her driving and regained composure. Even so, I was deliciously aware of her eyes on me every so often, a sneaky sidelong glance at my legs. I gave her something to look at, crossing and uncrossing them with no apparent concern for the display of bare thigh-flesh as my short skirt kept working upward.
"Sue, listen, I just thought of something. I'm going to be out of town next weekend."
"So?"
"Well, uh, it's just an idea. Would you like to use my apartment while I'm gone? Seems a shame to leave it empty. And I know how you detest living in the dormitory."
"Hmm, it's an idea, sure enough. No strings attached?"
"You'll have the place all to yourself. A big bed to sleep in, a leisurely bath every night ... "
"It's too tempting, how can I resist? Thanks, dear, I'd just love to take you up on that offer. It was sweet of you to think of it. Especially after I was so mean to you just now. What are you doing, killing me with kindness?"
She shrugged and touched my knee just a fleeting pat, and then returned her hand to the wheel ... I knew she was testing me, making a hopeful but unobtrusive pass, an initial tentative overture by way of experiment. I chose to ignore it, though, no longer so inflexible on the issue of sex. She had sure known how to soften my resistance with that offer of hers. Anyway, I didn't expect to get something for nothing, despite the "no strings attached" tag on her proposition.
The second pass wasn't long in coming. This time her hand landed on my thigh and remained there, stroking and gripping in a light but meaningful caress. It felt fine a reminder of how much I had missed her lovemaking these past weeks. Still, even if only to reassert my power over her, I had to murmur a word of caution at least if not down right disapproval.
"Better not. That's how accidents happen."
"Huh? Oh, don't worry. I'm the best one handed driver in the world. Ambidextrous. Never let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, that's what I always say." She smiled. "Unless you need both hands."
"I agree. Completely. But isn't this one of those times when it takes two hands?"
My voice didn't carry much conviction, sounding more like an invitation than a brush-off. Apparently she thought so, too. After a final squeeze of my thigh, her hand moved back to the steering wheel with definite purpose. In masterly fashion, she maneuvered across the flowing lanes of traffic and swung off the one-way avenue into a side street.
"Hey, where are you going?"
"You'll see."
"Not to your apartment, I hope. Florinda, if you figure on getting me into bed Just because-"
"Hush. You'll see in a minute. Uh-huh."
Halfway down the block, a car was pulling away from the curb and opening up precious parking-space. Without hesitation, she swerved in behind it, a fairly simple job for a good driver and a small enough vehicle. Its compact size made the usual back-and-forth actions unnecessary as we rolled into place and parked, all in a single neatly timed operation.
"There ... " She cut the engine off. "Isn't this nice? I can use both hands now."
"Are you serious? Oh, it's ridiculous. Parking like this in broad daylight. Like a couple of high-school kids. Somebody is bound to pass by and see us."
"Not us. Only you."
"I-I don't understand what ... " My words faded. And so did my momentary bewilderment-it was suddenly quite obvious what she planned to do. What she was already doing ...
Her lithe body had come out from behind the wheel, one knee sinking to the floorboard. Her fingers, all ten of them, were under my skirt and inching upward, creeping up my thighs. The shock of it froze me numb. All I could think of was the terrible vulnerability of our position, parked here on this quiet street that might teem with goggle-eyed passing pedestrians before we were even aware of it.
I swung my head in an arc, checking. A youngster, doubtless some sort of delivery boy, was, emerging from one of the houses across the street. He glanced at me for a tense moment and then, whistling a tune, went on his way. My lover was out of sight, if not out of mind.
There was a little tearing noise. My panties! What the hell was she doing down there?
"Never let your left hand know ... " The sound continued, but only as an indistinguishable mumble.
And I knew exactly what she was doing. It was like a jolt of electricity, stunning and stupefying, rendering my muscles utterly helpless by its sheer temerity. Until, of their own volition, my legs quivered and slid wide to adjust to her intrusively mounting pressure. Short as it was, my skirt formed a curtain of concealment over her eager but prudently positioned head.
Twitching, jerking, lifting my bottom and grinding my already convulsive cunt against her mouth I succumbed to the inevitable and let wave after wave of pleasure surge within me. As always, I couldn't help but marvel at her expertise, her unfailing ability to stir an ever more intense and protracted response from my erotically stimulated body. I loved her for it, this technique of hers, the total concentration with which my lesbian lover worked her hot lapping tongue into the secret flesh she so adored. My only regret was that I had to be careful and bite my lips to keep from alerting the entire neighborhood with a shriek of ecstasy as she licked and sucked and at last gulped down the seemingly endless gush of my fierce and almost frightening orgasm.
Chapter 13.
It was Friday night and the weekend had scarcely begun, but having the apartment to myself already seemed like the quintessence of luxury. Only it didn't quite work out like that. I had just gotten out of the tub-a long and lazy bubble-bath-when the door-chime banged its melodic but nonetheless annoying signal. Wearing a robe and slippers, I scurried to answer it and get rid of the unwelcome intruder in a hurry, figuring it could only be someone who had nothing to do with me.
And so it was, in a way. Except that I wasn't in such a rush to throw her out now. Lizabeth. Nor could I have done so without feeling guilty about it, since she was carrying a small suitcase and had obviously come to stay. We introduced ourselves, and she listened with a rueful expression as I explained Florinda's absence and my own presence. Then, smiling, she popped the question that immediately put me in a quandary.
"Would you mind very much if I took a shower here?" She saw my hesitation and her smile underwent a subtle change, becoming more intimate than friendly. "I feel so grimy after that long trip. Grimy and stupid. I should have telephoned first, but it just didn't occur to me that she'd be away. Incidentally, about my using the shower, I'm sure it would be okay with her-if that's why you're doubtful. I stay with Florinda often, we've been good friends for a long time."
"I know. She told me. Of course you can use the shower-or anything else around the place, whatever you need. It's yours as much as mine."
"Thanks. You're a doll. I might have known. She told me about you, too. Pointed you out to me, in fact. So I guess that makes us friends also, huh? Now I don't feel so bad, barging in on you like this. But don't worry, it won't be for long, I'll just grab a quick shower and make a few phone calls; there's bound to be a hotel room available somewhere in town. Unless ... uh ... "
"Hmm?"
"No, it's too much to ask. Spending the night, I mean-right here on the sofa, you know? Forget it, Sue, I'll find a hotel, it's not that late. Beside, you've probably got a date coming and I'd be in the way."
"A date? N-no ... not really ... "
"Aw, sure, you must have. Why else would you even want the apartment for a weekend? Who is she, some cute little freshman? I know how tough it is to get any privacy around the dorm. And a gorgeous kid like yourself, well, I'll bet you've got half-a-dozen sweet young things on the string, panting for you. But don't fret, I'll keep your secret, I'm no tattletale. Not that I think Florinda would care, she's not the jealous type."
We stood there facing each other in silence while I groped for words that wouldn't come. To assume I had a date was reasonable enough. But the assumption that it was with some girl, a lesbian date, wasn't that pretty bold of her? Could it be a sneaky but deliberate declaration of her own interest in me?
I peered into her eyes, fascinated, almost giddy. I couldn't even tell what color they were. Amber? Something like that. A big beautiful blonde with amber eyes. There was a strength in her that seemed to reach out and grip me. An ominous light flickered inside my skull, a glimmer of something in the shadows, portentous but already part of my destiny. I trembled like a trapped animal on the brink of some unknown terror. And then it was gone, leaving me scared and shaky and still in a semi-coma. But she must have known it, recognizing my state of helplessness somehow-and even that was hardly an excuse for her brazen behavior.
"Honey, for you I could be the jealous type myself. This babe you've got coming, is she important? Someone you can't stand up? You could phone her while I'm in the shower-and then it'll be you and me tonight, just the two of us. Think about that, huh? What's she like her body, I mean-is it anything special? How are her legs, as good as mine? If you say better ... "
As I watched in helpless fascination, the woman hiked her skirt high, up around her waist showing a lot of creamy white thigh above the shimmer of black nylon stockings. It was only too obvious why she had offered her legs first to compare with those of the sweet young thing due tonight. My nonexistent date had beautiful nonexistent legs, naturally, but there was just no comparison. I had never seen legs like these before. The view from my cafeteria table hadn't told the whole story. No, I couldn't say better of my cute little freshman invisible but perfect. Her perfection still fell short of this impossibly beautiful pair of real live flesh-and-blood limbs, imperfect perhaps but invincible in any contest judged by the erotically oriented naked-eye.
"Well? Not bad, eh? Might be a shade heavy for some tastes, too thick in the thigh maybe, but I'll match 'em against anything your young college girl can show. Anyway, I'll bet she doesn't wear underthings as pretty as mine. Does she go in for shiny black hose, Sue? With ruffled garters, see? And take a look at these panties, black lace and designed for me personally-some fit, huh?-there's craftsmanship for you. Let me just slip them off, that ought to convince you how much better a mature woman can be. Better than a little dormitory mouse. Or have you already decided to stand her up tonight?"
I could only stare at the lush-contoured thighs, trying to crack out of my shell and get a word in edgewise. It became worse even, more imperative, as she began to squirm out of the wispy lace panties and expose the creamy smoothness underneath, a voluptuously unpredictable vision with every tug. Was that her cunt about to come out of hiding? I couldn't bear to look. Or to turn away. Which meant only that it behooved me to find some way to switch off this monstrous TV spectacular until I could cope with its unprecedented significance. I finally managed, couching my message in a groan that rose to a squeak.
"You're my date. It'll be just the two of us."
"Great. You appreciate my body, hmm? Just like our mutual friend Florinda. You never saw such appreciation." The panties were writhing back up again. "Damn! If only I hadn't missed her, if only I'd been smart enough to get in touch by phone. Just when I need the money! Desperate, practically. It never fails, the bad breaks come when they're least expected. Shit! I sure could use that money."
"M-money? What money?"
"Oh. I guess she didn't tell you. Prissy bitch. Ashamed to let people know I'm a whore. Not me. It's how I make my living, what's to be ashamed of?"
"Lizabeth ... you ... you're ... "
"Kind of a shock, I guess. Poor kid. She really should have told you. But you'll get over it, no harm done. Hey, you might even give me a whirl yourself-just for a lark, you know? I mean, uh, if you'd care to buy my services ... " I shuddered. "No! I-I'm sorry, the shock hasn't worn off yet. I must be pretty dumb. Anyway, even if that wasn't it, I still couldn't afford you. Money is a problem with me, too, I'm on a tight budget."
"Too bad. But like I said, no harm done. We've still got a date tonight, just the two of us, right? No money, no business deals, just a couple of horny broads looking for some fun. Nice girly-girly fun. Only we're wasting time, aren't we? Let me unload that suitcase of mine and jump into the shower. Relax, kid, I won't be long. Think of me while I'm gone."
Hah! What else could I possibly think of? Long after she vanished from view, my pulse was still racing. My nostrils still acknowledged the faint tickle of her vaguely familiar musk-tinged perfume. The visually oriented segment of my brain refused to blur the memory of those black lace panties on the verge of total downfall-as if that vivid TV spectacular was just waiting for a rerun. Hmm. How about the part I preferred to forget, the shock, what was that, a. commercial? Some of my best friends are whores. Maybe it shouldn't have come as such a shock, maybe Florinda was trying to tell me something. If only she could have been a bit less bashful and a bit more specific. No, I was stuck with some unsavory memories along with the sweet ones.
At the moment, though, I had something more Immediate to dwell on. Tense with anticipation, I strained my ears to pick up every nuance of that noise from the bathroom. It was quite steady, actually, nothing to stir the imagination, just a steady cascade of water in the shower. And yet I could shut my eyes and conjure up a vision of naked flesh spattered by the freshet that split into a hundred rivulets and then a thousand droplets, all sparkling silver on the descent down those creamy contours.
Talk about imagination! Lizabeth naked was a sight I had never seen. And here I was decorating her nude body with silver. The body of a whore. Ugh. Why bother? It was my body, not hers, that would soon become the focal point; wasn't it always thus? But she seemed pretty self-centered so far-maybe it was an occupational quirk, a characteristic of whores in general. I almost regretted getting involved with her now. And unless I was courting disappointment, perhaps it would be wise to view this night with cautious trepidation rather than wild excitement ...
Improbable as it seemed a while ago, I was having a dam good time. Lizabeth had a hidden talent, uncovered and even unsuspected till now: she could make me laugh. I was almost over the dejection that started earlier and then turned to downright resentment when she came flouncing out of the bathroom with a meticulous makeup overhaul and draped in an expensive negligee that put my casual robe to shame. How could I sulk and listen to funny jokes at the same time?
Maybe they weren't so funny, maybe it was just the booze we were guzzling from Florinda's well-stocked supply; anyway, I progressed from giggles to chuckles to gales of laughter. And the jokes went from cute to naughty to dirty. Some were about lesbians and a lot more about faggots, but most of them fit into the category of real bawdy male jokes, with a stress on macho masculinity and the size of the penis. I got curious about that and finally had to ask why.
The answer surprised me. Lizabeth got along fine with men, it seemed, not as clients but as friends and bed-partners and prospective husbands. She was a whore for women only and loved her work, apparently, but her ambition was to marry and outlive a wealthy old man. And because of that, she kept her reputation unblemished among males and was always on the prowl for that one big fish to book and land. A clever woman, I realized, more than just a showpiece.
But she was a showpiece, sure enough, always conscious of her appearance. The gorgeous black negligee was sheer to the point of translucence, revealing much of the equally gorgeous figure inside it. I could see the dull glow of her nipples, the shadowed curve of her abdomen; every dip and swell seemed to gain prominence under its film like cloak. A well endowed bitch, no doubt about it. Her creamy skin Was smooth, flawless, and I got the impression that it would be overly warm to the touch-even hot, perhaps, a bit incongruous in view of the color, no red, no pink, no hint of any hue normally associated with heat. And still I had the feeling that my fingertips would sizzle at the contact, a possibility that was both stirring and scary. All those sensuously ripe curves turned that big body into a wellspring of desire, exuding an unadulterated sex appeal so potent that I was besieged by all manner of shamelessly wanton impulses. What was happening to me?
Whatever the reason, I began to get restless and looked for an excuse to move around a little. That was easy. I felt pretty tacky in my robe; why not go and change into that reddish-brown negligee, the one in the closet? I mentioned it in passing, a mere formality, but Lizabeth shook her head emphatically.
"What for? An old broad like me needs a negligee to hide the defects; you don't need a goddam thing. You've got a great little body there, kid, what negligee could be that beautiful? Just ditch the robe if you don't like it, go ahead, get naked."
At last! Some interest in my body. The opportunity was too good to miss. Only there wasn't much I could do to make a pretty production out of it, not with just that one garment to take off. Still, I managed to do it with a flair, as much for myself as for my audience, outwardly frigid and inwardly aflame. And all of a sudden there was sex appeal shooting both ways, an interchange of hot lust, and I basked in the warmth of those amber eyes ...
"Terrific! You're turning me on, baby."
What was she doing, licking her chops? I shimmied my tits and wiggled my ass and moved this way and that, wondering how much rare meat it would take to fill that ripe red-lipped mouth. How would it feel to be eaten alive?
"That's a body, all right. You know something? I'm drooling for you, that's how good it is. And believe me, kid, I don't do that often, it's usually the other way around. I'm a real soft feminine type-or haven't you noticed?" Her self-caress turned lewdly demonstrative. "I just lie back and let them suck my cunt, that's what the rich bitches pay for. But what the hell, for a doll-baby like you ... " She licked her lips with a pointed tongue, another deliberately lewd gesture. "Let's just call it amateur night, huh? Yeah. Amateur night! Except that you're getting the benefit of my professional experience. You ought to be grateful, I just hope you appreciate it."
"Oh, I do. I will. Only I'm not getting anything yet; how can I tell? I'm still waiting for our first kiss."
That shortened the wait considerably; she was already rising from the sofa, her amber eyes aglow, almost hypnotic. And when the kiss came at last, I could only yield mutely and try to understand the weird thrill that seemed to mingle fear with fascination. Her open mouth began to suck at mine with a passionate and almost terrifying fury, the squirming tongue strong and aggressive. A fire blazed in the pit of my belly. I moaned in my throat and writhed against her in an instinctive motion, a spontaneous bump-and-grind. It helped some but not enough, not nearly enough-my naked flesh craved naked flesh!-and I clawed the folds of her negligee apart and wormed my way inside to scratch myself on the hairy tuft down there, trying to assuage my need.
Her hands fluttered over my body, fondling me with tantalizing fingertips, my breasts, my back, my buttocks. Our lips separated, hers remaining parted to slide over and nibble at my earlobe. She was uttering breathy syllables of sound, words that didn't come through, words I could feel rather than hear, hot noises of urgency. I became aware that we were moving, inching across the floor as she kept on stepping backward and pulling me along inside her embrace. Until, quite unexpectedly, we both toppled to the sofa.
Was it accidental? I couldn't tell. I knew only that she had fallen underneath me, and now somehow my face had come to rest just below her breasts. I was tempted to nuzzle up into them, but there was a downward force being exerted on my shoulders, a kind of lazy but stubborn guidance. Then too, I was being lured by a force of another sort, a whiff of something from below, a perfumed something that took hold and gave me no chance to resist. Watching her slow but sure transformation from active to passive, I could only feel a thrilling sense of purpose in my new role. It no longer mattered that she had probably forced me into it. My body had grown too hot now, unaccountably, and was actually taking pleasure in this oddly intriguing twist. It was dominating my mind, pushing me to the point where I simply had to see and taste and know the essence of this woman's flesh-as if that knowledge would in turn reveal some long sought truth about my own. And down I went, the darkish gold tuft drawing closer, the aroma getting headier-until the sight blurred to a misty focus and the curiously alluring musk-scent made irresistible demands ...
Then, abruptly-like a last-ditch protest my mind snapped back to total clarity and for one painfully lucid interval I emerged from my trance. The momentary horror if it chilled me. Conscience came alive to flash its alarm with stunning effect. What am I doing here have I become a lesbian? This body, this woman s body-so womanly!-is this what I want? This? The cunt of a whore?
But the interval passed and I didn't stop to answer my own questions. Nor could I even make myself care. Besides, it was obvious, all too obvious, even to my lust-befuddled brain. Damn night I wanted it! What other answer could there be?
Maybe it was the smell that had the final say, the seductive cunt-smell that already seemed as thick as any flesh. They engulfed me, one after the other, first the smell and then the flesh-as her fingers curled around the back of my neck and pressured gently but firmly, leaving no avenue of escape. I found my own excitement rising up and practically boiling over as her slippery vulva opened wide to welcome my face. In a frenzy of desire I shot out my tongue and plunged to the ultimate depth, almost grateful when she wrapped her legs around my head to keep me m place. Those thighs, so big and soft and cushiony ...
"Mmm, all that enthusiasm! Not bad, kid, not bad at all. Damn good, in fact." Her message sounded important and I strained to hear every word. "And it'll be good for you too, believe, me. Just a little more, you'll see. Suck, suck! I'll give you something to make you happy, I promise-right there inside my cunt!-happier than you've ever been in all your life."
I complied urgently, anxious for the unknown something that was to be mine. And then her body shook and her thighs tightened, and I recognized the pleasure m my own untouched cunt as an extension of the pleasure that filled my mouth. It was as if I had achieved a great victory even in defeat--and with the advent of this incredible happiness, right there inside her cunt, a new era was beginning for me, a new era with a new set of values.
Chapter 14.
It was a strange position. A wakening slowly, I tried to get myself oriented and then had to stifle a gasp as consciousness came in a burst of light. A strange position, sure enough-between her thighs, curled up like a kitten, a household pet. Or was it more like some sort of slave?
Almost instinctively, I stuck out my tongue and probed through the pubic hair to find the lips beneath, the soft and velvety lips of Lizabeth's cunt. I licked it-again almost by instinct, simply the natural thing to do!-and found the taste deliciously musky, uniquely satisfying as always. Ah yes, it was a familiar taste to me now, familiar indeed. How many times had I sucked this enticing and often demanding cunt during the night? How many times had it climaxed into my mouth while those two strong hands of hers gripped tight and held me in place?
For that matter, how often had it happened over the entire long weekend? That and so many other things. I couldn't remember. It was something to think about, though. Only I'd better stop licking before she woke up and had me doing it again. It wouldn't take much to get her started; such a sensual creature!
I turned sideways and rested my cheek upon the fragrant dampness, conscious of the rise and fall of her breathing above. It was still slow and even, a sure sign of sleep. Let me conserve my energy, let me just lie here and think. So many bits and pieces to recall, so many fragments of memory to relive. I too was a sensual creature now, these past few days and nights had made me so. Let me enjoy it once again, my introduction to sensuality ...
The bathroom door was open. I passed it and then turned back to watch as the movement caught my eye, a flapping of her robe, an old terry-cloth thing she had dug out of one of the closets. It was too small for her and fell open at the slightest provocation; the back dangled and flapped now as she bent over the washbasin to scrub her face. And even through the thick fabric her body was visible enough to become a temptation, the heavy haunches swaying and jiggling suggestively in rhythm with her arm. I stood there with bated breath, too fascinated to continue on my way. And soon, somehow, I even found myself moving toward her, crossing the thresh hold for a closer view. I figured it would be easy to duck out and disappear as soon as she shut the water off.
I missed my cue, though. She must have reached for a towel while the tap was still running. Anyway, it was too late to make an exit; she had already swung around and spotted me, a quizzical smile on her lips. She turned back momentarily to swish out the basin and cut off the water before facing me again, evidently sure that I just wasn't going to run. Nor could I by then not after that one quick glimpse of how far her robe had opened in front.
It was wide open now. Her eyes twinkled, just barely visible above the towel as she dried her face. The urge to reach out and touch her to kiss that creamy flesh, all but overpowered me. I got a whiff of her body scent, subtle but seductive, and that too was overpowering. A shiver raced the length of my spine.
"Impatient, pussycat?" She spoke through the towel. "That's my sweet Sue-baby, always hot to trot." Then, jutting her hips, "Is this what you want? Yeah, it sure is. Come on then, why deny yourself a little pleasure? Here, come and get it."
I hadn't expected that, not here in the bathroom. But there was an arrogance in her pose, even in the demand itself, that raised my desire to a feverish pitch. Waiting might have destroyed this mutually shared mood of ours it just didn't seem right to ask her to hold off until we could get to the bed. My hesitation lasted no longer than a few fleeting seconds, and then I sank into a crouch and nuzzled up between her thighs, my parched lips parted and tingling for that first taste. The taste of cunt! I wallowed in the sheer sensuality of our kiss, the merger of lips with pubic lips-the erotic impact of Lizabeth's alluring flesh and my own subservient worship of it. On my knees in front of a whore; oh, it was low and degrading and yet suffused with an undeniable excitement, so thrilling, so terribly thrilling!
My heart pounded erratically, asking strange questions and coming up with stranger answers and making no rational sense out of the startling realization that I felt good kneeling in front of her like this. But who could be sensible in this moment of unparalleled sensuality? I sucked frantically, deliriously, and felt only a sweet thickening of the thrill when she grabbed my hair, a great clutching handful of it, and hauled me into an even deeper intimacy, jamming herself into my frenzied sucking at the same time. It was as if she had to match my voracious effort with a fierce hunger of her own-and I grew increasingly giddy with the sensation of being gobbled up and gulped down, devoured by her omnivorous cunt.
It triggered something inside me. Incredible but already beyond doubt, marvelous, it was happening again. As much as I could make it happen to this wildly sensual woman, it was happening within myself. Kneeling there on the bathroom floor and nuzzling upward into the hot hair-fringed furrow between those provocatively quivering thighs, I couldn't help but recognize the heat beginning to seethe in my own flesh. Down there at the pit of my belly, the heat that would soon become a holocaust ...
"Hey! You want me to come? I'll cream you a mouthful. Just show me how much you love it, my hairy old cunt! Rub your face in it, don't be prissy, smear it around inside me. In my cunt, my sexy cunt; don't you just love my big hot sexy cunt? Show me how much and I'll come for you, I'll come and come and come-and so will you, my hot little cunt lapper, we'll come together, both of us, we'll come and come and come ... "
"Mmm ... nnngg ... "
"Now! With me! Together! Now!"
When she called me into the bedroom, I went hurriedly and hoped it was for sex. But she was standing by the dresser with her black negligee closed almost primly, waving her just-painted fingernails in the air. Not that there was anything prim about her, dressed or undressed or in that slinky garment, but it seemed apparent that sex wasn't on her mind at the moment.
"I could use some help, kid. Of all the stupid stunts! I just did my nails and forgot about the negligee, it'll have to stay on till they're completely dry. Only I feel awful without any perfume on, you know? Do my ears and the back of my neck. And then my tits, a dab on each nipple, will you?"
The negligee clung caressingly to every curve and contour. Sex appeal oozed from her creamy body, making it difficult for me to hold my desire in check. But there was a job to do; what choice did a poor frustrated girl have? Worse yet, it was bound to get harder as I went along. Even the very first whiff from the uncapped bottle sent me into a daze of misty intoxication. I persevered bravely, though, dabbing the musk-tinged stuff on her neck and ears with an accurate if somewhat shaky fingertip. It was only when I opened the negligee to get at her breasts that the task suddenly became impossible. But again I made the effort, rushing to get it over with now, touching her nipples fleetingly one after the other.
"What's your hurry, kid? You don't like my tits? Come on, pay a little attention to them, do it right, put some more on as if you meant it."
My apology became a mumble as I realized the significance of her drily voiced request. Maybe sex-of a sort, at least-wasn't exactly taboo. I slowed down this time, adding another generous dab and then rubbing it in with all five fingers bunched around the nipple. It stiffened to my touch, a breathtaking reaction, and now I simply couldn't resist the urge to cup the entire mound in my hand and put my lips to the swollen peak. I sucked instinctively and circled it with a pointed tongue-tip, moaning as the mingled taste and scent seemed to coalesce into one inseparable unit that in turn made my mouth and nose a single sensory organ. And soon my tongue flattened and began lapping of its own volition, an inherently designed caress that drew a tremor of obvious delight in response. I was on the right track, sure enough. Inspired now, I moved back and forth from one nipple to the other and at last plunged between them like a snorting and snuffling little animal, helpless in the grip of my own wild excitement: Her big breasts cushioned my head, cradling my flushed face in their incomparably receptive softness and cajoling me into a frenzy of amorous gratitude.
"Baby, you get better all the time. Oooh, the way you go for my tits! Like you went for my cunt. And like you'll probably go for my ass one of these days, huh?"
I shuddered. How sure of herself this woman was, how completely oblivious to the possibility of an objection; oh, if only she had sounded speculative, if only her voice had wavered just a little! But this implacable attitude of hers sapped my strength, my will, my self-confidence, leaving only a submissive young pseudo-lesbian who would probably do it right on cue. Go for her ass ...
When the command finally came, I had conditioned my mind and was ready for it. Even a trifle eager, perhaps-to get it over with and end the suspense, I told myself. And yet, all to often, I had noticed and paid special heed to that nicely defined but still veiled backside through her skirt or negligee or whatever she happened to be wearing. The heavy but well-proportioned haunches, swaying with every step. The big buttocks jutting out behind, identical twins, perfectly matched. And always a hint of that dark vertical trench down the middle, an illusion of mystery. Never naked, though, since she seemed averse to running around without something on, and I only got to see the front side undraped, never the rear. That made me curious, naturally-another reason for my eagerness, quite logical-but I could also recall licking my lips unconsciously during those moments of intense observation. Wasn't there some unexplored significance in that?
No matter. The suspense was about to end. In the lamplight, right here on the bed we shared each night-the unveiling had already occurred, now it was up to me. The domed buttocks lacked nipples and had a deeper cleavage, but I couldn't help making a comparison with her bosom. An unfortunate comparison, as it turned out, now that I had buried my face between her breasts and found nothing mysterious, no sign of anything sinister. How could I reconcile that with this? A tongue is such a personal thing; did she really expect me to risk mine in that unknown darkness? Wasn't it a case of carrying a soul kiss too far? Shit! All that self-conditioning and I still wasn't ready.
"Little one? Isn't this what you've been waiting for?"
A real loud gutsy command might have done more good. Without it, I made just a tentative pass, a couple of browsing kisses that weren't unpleasant at all. But by the same token, neither were they going to satisfy anybody.
"Come on, kid, live dangerously. You loved my cunt. You loved my tits. What makes you think you won't love my ass?"
"Ummm ... "
"You trying to tease me? Lick it, lick it, get right down into the crack and give it a good lick. Yeah. You're waking up, huh? It isn't so bad, is it? Get in deep-no, not all soft and mushy!-it's got to be stiff, a real stiff tongue so you can fuck me, you hear? Fuck me in the ass! Shoot that tongue right up my asshole and fuck me good!"
Much as I hated to admit it, Lizabeth was right again. I loved her cunt. I loved her tits. And now, how I loved her ass! It was as if I had wallowed in the shameful trough of my submission and rooted out a cluster of long lost priceless jewels. All I had to do now was lick them clean ...
Was she still asleep? So it appeared. But there were signs of restlessness now; our last night together was ending. The wild weekend was over-except for right now, of course, and what better way to end it than this?
A familiar taste, sure enough. Familiar hair familiar vulva, familiar clitoris. I might not over suck this cunt again, but it would never fade from my memory. Would my sucking mouth ever fade from hers? I hoped not. But this last embrace, this last sweet plunge between these creamy thighs, well, I was doing it for myself alone-oh, you cunt lapper!-a secret to treasure forever ...
From somewhere in the distance, a sigh sounded. Lizabeth was awake. Her quivery legs were getting tense. A hand was stroking the back of my neck. And I was lost. Lost in the feeling of moistness and the fragrance of musk. Lost in adoration of this woman who had shown me the beauty of a lost weekend. I barely heard the sob of fulfillment that she uttered.
Then-for a long time-there was no sound. No motion. Until a throaty whisper penetrated the silence and broke the spell and brought us back to the world of reality.
"Kid? That was the last one."
"Uh-huh."
"I'll miss you. Will you miss me?"
"Of course. You know I'll miss you."
"Good. I like that. And what will you miss most?"
"Uh, well ... you know ... "
"Tell me."
"Your cunt."
"That's all? Just my cunt?"
"I'll miss your tits."
"That's better. And what else?"
"Your ass."
"Glad to hear it. But how about the little hole that just loves your pretty pink tongue? Won't you miss that?"
"Oh, I will, I'll miss your ass hole, I'll miss your-"
"Okay, okay. Kid, we'll have to stay in touch, you know? I'll let you know where I am from time to time. And you do the same for me, will you? The way the two of us got along, maybe we ought to be lifelong buddies, right?"
"Uh-huh. Lifelong buddies ... "
Chapter 15.
Funny. I hadn't bothered to ask Florinda anything about the reason for her trip out of town, assuming that it was some sort of family deal. Nor had she bothered to tell me for what turned out to be an obvious reason.. She came back two days late and bubbling over with news, good news for herself, not so good for me. Her trip had been to the big city for an interview with one of the corporate foundations, the kind that shell out money for scholarships and research grants and such. A successful interview, as it turned out, she had won a grant to go and study the dramatic arts in Europe.
And so, except for what little remained of the school year, I saw no more of Florinda Brokaw. Nor did I have her apartment to look forward to in my second year, no longer subject to the rule that prohibited freshmen girls from living off-campus. And I had pretty much taken it for granted too, figuring on moving in. with her and paying for the privilege with generous donations of my body thus making us both happy. Instead, her good news was my bad news, depriving me of a steady hot-lipped lover and a bunk in a lovely apartment. Alas!
I managed to survive, though, carrying on a few gay flirtations but no big affairs. My sophomore year was interesting but comparatively uneventful. As agreed upon, Lizabeth and I stayed in touch, but neither of us wrote long letters and our correspondence was perfunctory at best. And then even that faded when she found her rich old man-a guy named Greer-and got married. Although she did send me a gift once, an ornately wrapped package that contained a pair of her soiled panties. They smelled ripe. She must have come in them, the crotch was that stiff. I took a sniff and started to chew on it-and then realized that she must have peed in them too oh, such a wicked bitch! But I went right on chewing ...
At home that summer, I ran into my old friend Alix, in town on a visit to show off her twin babies, almost a year old. She seemed glad to see me, but we didn't have much in common any more; worse yet, she was already pregnant again, well on the way toward becoming a dumpy little housewife preoccupied with diapers and such-and apparently proud of her part in contributing to the anstocratic Moreau line. The twins had little family crests embroidered on their outfits, imagine! I found it somewhat pathetic, and even felt a certain contempt afterward.
During the next two years at college, I played around quite a lot, always with girls, hoping to get the need out of my system before getting my degree and settling down as a teacher. I became a lesbian flirt and seductress, gaining a bit of a reputation among the underground gay set. In my senior year, Lizabeth wrote and told me about the death of her husband; the guy had died peacefully and left her well provided for, with a big house and plenty of money and some business interests that would bring in even more. Shortly after that, I heard from her again, an invitation to come and visit as soon as possible-some long holiday weekend, perhaps-now that her mourning period was officially over.
The way she put it made me laugh; wouldn't I like to come and console a poor bereaved widow? Reading between the lines, I got the impression that she had probably fucked the old boy right into his grave and was now about to kick up her heels in a different direction-making up for lost time, as it were. My first impulse was to pack a bag and jump on the next Greyhound bus, but I had grown older and wiser over the years, too sensible to go off half-cocked like that. For one thing, I was simply too busy at school then. And for another, well, did I really want to get that involved with her again? I still remembered my submission. Serving her had seemed only right and natural, admittedly, a facet of my character that she had awakened and nurtured to an undreamed-of degree, quite beyond my control; did I dare run that risk again?
Common sense prevailed. I turned down the invitation. Actually, it was the schoolwork that influenced me most; that was my senior year and I was preparing to do my practice teaching, the one important step left toward my degree. Still, it was a tough decision to make, saying no to that remarkable woman. Even after all that intervening time, my memory of her hadn't faded much. The vision of her creamy body, the fragrance, the taste of her flesh-it was all almost as vivid as on that wild weekend. I could even recall the moments, few as they were, when she had seen fit to caress me in obvious appreciation of my youthful beauty. I would probably never forget that, the warmth of her body nestling close to mine, the softness of her stroking hands upon my breasts, my belly, the fingers gentle and yet charged with excitement as they dipped into me with such knowledgeable intimacy, such accomplished ease ...
Anyway, even though I refused her invitation, the renewal of those memories had a clearly perceivable effect on me. That was okay around the campus, where I could usually find an outlet for my aroused desires without much trouble. But it became a problem in the town where I was assigned to do my month of practice teaching. The little town of Hagersville, tucked away in the hills; how would I ever assuage my lesbian longings in such a place?
It wasn't that small really, and there were some available women around, more than likely, just going by the law of averages. Even among the other teachers, no doubt. Or perhaps a disgruntled housewife or two, wives grown bored with their husbands enough to give vent to certain long-suppressed lesbian tendencies. Maybe there were affairs going on right under my nose, practically. But in my position, I couldn't afford to take chances. A college girl on a practice teaching assignment had to be on her best behavior, the slightest breath of scandal could mean disaster. Then too, there simply wasn't time to go scouting around, not when there was so much work to do-lessons to prepare, homework to correct, the kind of on-trial work that had to be done perfectly in order to win that precious teaching certificate. So instead of consoling the bereaved widow, I had to try to console myself, lying in my lonely bed in my lonely boardinghouse room. At least that was how the difficult month started.
My job was in the so-called Middle School, rather like a high school setup but even more departmentalized. I taught history and English and had been asked to fill in for the ailing dramatics teacher, mostly an after-school project, a kind of workshop for one-act plays and such to be put on during the weekly assembly period. I liked it, the school, the town, everything-except for the awful frustration of those nights alone in bed. And almost as a form of amusement-for want of something better I began seeing the kids in my classes with an imaginative eye. Only the pretty girls, of course, although I tried to be impartial in my dealings with the entire group, boys included.
All those budding tittles and coltish legs-so near and yet so far; what delicious torture!
That was when I noticed Noelle Chisholm. Or-more accurately-when I first realized that she was noticing me. There were prettier kids to look at, even a few spectacular beauties, so I didn't pay much attention to this one, a kind of run-of-the-mill type. Noelle was on the chubby side, a blue-eyed blonde with somewhat irregular features and a sprinkling of freckles, hardly a standout in any classroom. Just an ordinary youngster, rather shy, as far as I could tell. And yet, despite her shyness, it wasn't long before she started offering her help wherever possible, running errands for me, passing out books, collecting papers, volunteering her services for anything and everything, obviously trying to gain my approval and put herself in the "teacher's pet" role. She even showed enthusiasm in my after-school dramatics workshop, apparently a new venture for her; how could I help but notice?
And still, rather obtusely, I just didn't visualize the kid in a sexual capacity-not until she forced me into it, anyhow. It happened late one afternoon, after workshop was over and the other kids had left the auditorium. I had stayed to block in a skit for the next assembly program, making chalk marks on the stage floor while my little volunteer assistant followed me around and took notes on my clipboard. All very professional. Even after I finished and went into the wings to kill the lights, there was no hint of anything otherwise. Not until I took the clipboard and sat down to check her notes and see what changes might have to be made at that point. I suggested that she go home then, since it would take a while before my mind was made up.
"Oh, please, won't you let me stay? Miss Daventry? My mother doesn't expect me till late; she knows I'm helping you."
"But there's nothing here for you to do, it's all done."
"Uh, couldn't I just keep you company?"
"All right, dear. If you like."
She caught my hand and brought it to her lips. Embarrassed by the unexpected contact, I acted casual and pretended to ignore it, turning away and focusing on the clipboard in my lap. Only the kiss went on and on, and I knew that it wasn't just her lips but her tongue too that was caressing me, exploring the spaces between my fingers, the hollow of my palm, and the sensation was like a charge of electricity coursing through my body. I made a noise in my throat, an expression of disapproval. She let go and stepped back, swinging around and moving off toward a pile of dusty old props in the comer evidently seeking to hide her shame.
"Noelle? Why did you do that?"
"I-I'm sorry. I just felt like it. You know why. It's because I love you. Because you're so beautiful."
"Oh? Tell me more. I might as well hear all of it. But don't stand in the corner, come back here where I can see you."
"Yes'm. Are you mad at me?"
"No. Not really. Come closer, don't be afraid. Here!" My gesture was peremptory. "Right here."
She nodded and sank to the floor at my feet. For a fleeting instant her eyes probed mine questioning, and then she sighed happily and leaned back to rest her head against me. Against my knee, like a pet hoping for affection.
I stroked her hair. "Now tell me."
"Hmm? Oh. I-I'll try." She trembled as my hand moved down to caress the nape of her neck. "Oooh! When you touch me like that, I can hardly talk. But-but I have to, I have to tell you everything, Miss Daventry. I love you. I want to kiss you. I want to do things for you. Like women do when they're in love, you know?"
"Huh? What do you know about women in love?"
"I-I saw it once. When my aunt came to visit. She had a friend with her, a girl friend, and I watched them one night when my folks were out. I was too young to understand then, but I've never forgotten it."
"And you think you understand now? No, never mind, don't answer that. Noelle, please go home, I'd like to be alone awhile, I've got some understanding to do myself. I'm not angry, I just want you to get up and go home now, my dear. All right?"
"Yes, ma'm. Whatever you say ... "
That ended it, giving me a chance to get over the shock. A gay proposition, imagine, and from a mere child! And it wasn't just a schoolgirl crush as I had suspected, oh no, this kid had seen lesbians in action and knew what she wanted. Better yet, she practically worshiped me already and would knock herself out to follow every safety rule-I laid down for her, making it easy to keep my sinful little fling a secret. So meek. So submissive. Such a cute toy for me to play with. And best of all, so safe! I'd be finished with my stint and leaving town long before either of us could get cocky enough to take any unnecessary risks, the kind that might lead to scandal. The temptation was irresistible. Now it was only a matter of figuring out when ...
No problem. I did some research around my rooming-house, just enough to learn what the safest nights were. Not that we had to meet in secret, actually, a teacher asking her pupil over to work on an upcoming assembly program; what harm would anybody see in that? And if any unforeseen danger did popup, we could play it cool and sit downstairs in the living room and look busy. But my research paid off-Friday was the best night, everybody went to the local movie palace, leaving the coast clear for me and my eager young guest. And there we were the two of us in my room with the door locked-and the rest of the house empty.
I didn't waste much time getting down to business, delaying it just a few minutes to stress the need for secrecy. Then, quite boldly, "Well? Do you want to make love to me?"
You-you mean it? You'll let me?"
"Uh-huh. Give me a hand with my clothes."
She caught her breath and let her eyelashes droop, suddenly shy again now that the chips were down. The freckles on her nose were delightfully appealing. Her hesitation was brief though, and soon I was naked on the bed touched only by the cool sheet and the adoring warmth of her eyes ...
"Oh, you're so beautiful!"
"Don't tell me, show me. Show me with a kiss."
"Uh, can I kiss you ... uh ... "
"Whatever you like, darling. I'm all yours."
I saw her shiver, standing there and looking down at me, at my naked and inviting body. And then, as if her limbs had gone limp, she simply sank down upon me with just enough control to stay on target-a headlong dive between my thighs. I moaned rapturously, feeling my cunt, my long-neglected cunt, become a mouthful for that untutored but enthusiastic mouth.
Her moan sounded in response to mine. But even as I heard the noise, her tongue seemed to graze something extra sensitive down there, prodding me into a convulsive reaction, a spasmodic series of twists and jerks and twitches. I arched up to smear myself all over her face, all wet and squishy, the two of us, giving a special intimacy to the juncture of that burrowing face and my wedged-open cunt, the intimacy of sharing ...
That was quite a night, our first but by no means last. We met often after that, every time my preparatory safety check allowed us to. I taught her how to lick my ass with that small but highly maneuverable tongue of hers, an accomplishment that she took to with great pride, aware of doing something that her visiting aunt hadn't done, She did it well, too, somehow always managing to go beyond my expectations in any new trick. I knew what it was to have every nerve singing, vibrating in concert while my torso squirmed slowly on the tip of her tongue. And I knew we would miss each other sorely when my sojourn in Hagersville ran its course, a day neither of us looked forward to.
Oddly enough, it wasn't until fairly late in the month that I learned something about her that everybody else already knew: the kid's father was a big wheel on the School Board. I had a queasy fit of giggles over that, but it was nothing to get panicky about, of course-just a whimsical twist, good for a laugh, something to remember in my old age. And then another twist!-it became something to pay attention to right then and there. As a practice teacher, it seemed that I had won the wholehearted approval of the local gentry, especially for my dramatics workshop and assembly programs, and was being considered for a permanent position next year after I got my degree. It was quite an honor and the money would be good, a cut above most beginning teachers in the state. Better yet, I would be in charge of all the plays and productions, a job to satisfy my craving for theatrical work; what a terrific deal!
But now, all of a sudden, it wasn't so funny to be fooling around with the daughter of a Board bigwig. For that matter, I was jeopardizing a good thing by fooling around at all. The time had come to break it off, but quick, and I did exactly that, trying to let Noelle down easy but still hurting her feelings in the procedure. It had to be a clean break, naturally, so that I wouldn't be stuck with the same problem next year. But the kid couldn't see it from my viewpoint and got so sulky that I wondered if her parents wouldn't notice it and start worrying about her. Which was why I decided to humor her when she telephoned that Saturday afternoon and told me to come over; her folks were out for the day and she had the house to herself, a perfect opportunity for the two of us to get together again, just this once.
I went, hoping to talk some sense into her. Only it wasn't exactly a peaceful occasion, much to my regret. She was pretty upset, on the brink of hysteria practically, raving and ranting about my falling in love with somebody else, one of the beautiful girls in the big assembly show I was rehearsing. I got angry and called her a brat. She retaliated, calling me a bitch and slapping my face. I slapped her back and then all hell broke loose as we traded strangle holds and tumbled to the floor. Someone's foot raked across an electric cord, yanking a big lamp from its table; it toppled and smashed, scattering bits of broken bulb all over the place.
But the fight had gone out of Noelle by then and she seemed to melt all of a sudden. My grip slackened. Triumph surged through me as I felt her, age turn to affection. Or was it lust? Even now, those feverish little hands were fucking my skirt up and clawing at my panties. And that resourceful mouth of hers was kissing up my thighs even as she gasped for breath-yes, this was where it belonged, that mouth, this was its true purpose in life; hadn't I taught her that? No complaining or sulking or whining or shouting or shrieking. No hysterics. Only this ...
The sound of our heavy breathing was already too loud. We didn't hear the key scratching m the lock. Nor did we see the front door swing open. Only when an unfamiliar voice became suddenly audible did I realize that we were no longer alone in the house. I froze. They were standing there, a middle aged couple, aghast at the sight of their beloved daughter sucking a cunt. My stomach turned over and I retched. Vomited. All over the floor. All over the rug, All over the glass fragments from the broken lamp. And all over my teaching career, or-course, all over my college degree ...
It was a degree I never got. There was no scandal, oddly enough, it was all kept hushed up. I was asked to resign from the university and to seek my means of livelihood elsewhere preferably in some other state. I didn't ever dare go home; besides, what excuse could I make for the best Helen the town of Troy ever had? I felt alone. Alone and helpless. No one to turn to, not a friend left in all the world.
But that wasn't really true oh no I did have a friend, someone who would be glad to see me. Someone who would put me up and tide me over the rough spots until I got myself straightened out. A phone call would cadge an invitation, even If the bereaved widow didn't need consolation any more.
Chapter 16.
The lamp must have still been on when I dozed off. The last thing I could recall" was looking up at the ceiling mirror again and renewing my optimistic view of life. With my youth and beauty still intact, I just wasn't going to let that one bad break get me down. A college degree wasn't so important these days. And who wanted to be a teacher anyway, what kind of life was that for a beautiful girl? And I was beautiful, sure enough, that mirror up there told me so. You're so vain ...
When my eyes flickered open, it was as if only a couple of minutes had passed. As if I hadn't fallen asleep at all. But she was coming out of the bathroom in a black negligee, so some time must have elapsed since my eyelids got droopy. Or was I still fast asleep and in the middle of a dream?
No. Only the color was the same, this was a different negligee. And the body inside it showed a difference, too, very slight but noticeable to someone on the watch for it. She had gained a few pounds, marriage must have agreed with her. Or maybe it was the result of wealthy widowhood. She wasn't fat though, thank heaven, far from it-that extra bit of poundage was beautifully distributed and made her more voluptuous, more attractive than ever. Hardly the kind of weight gain that would cause a woman to hire a full-time masseuse, oh no, I was glad to see that my darling Lizabeth was no less shapely as a widow than she had been as a whore-for which I uttered a long-pent-up sigh of relief.
"Sue? You're awake?"
"I'm awake. When did you get in?"
"A while ago. Does it matter?"
"Well, you must have been pretty sneaky to-"
"Hush, dear. This is no time for trivia." She sat down on the edge of the bed and gave me a quick kiss, just an affectionate greeting, nothing more. "First tell me about your troubles. What you said on the telephone, is it all true?"
"I'm afraid so. Sad but true. I got caught with my pants down and they busted me out of school. No publicity, though-it was all done quietly, so I guess I'm lucky in my own unlucky way, considering the gravity of the crime. But let's not talk about that now, I'm trying to forget it."
"Poor baby. I understand. Aren't you glad you've got a rich friend to take care of you? Aren't you glad one of us was smart enough to plan ahead and make it work? It happened just like I said it would, remember? I married an old fart with money and hung around till he petered out-if you'll excuse the expression. And now I'm loaded, isn't that nice?"
"Uh-huh. I know. I read your note."
"Were you comfortable here? How do you like the mirror, isn't it wild? You got along with Zona okay, didn't you? She didn't get into one of her bitchy moods, I hope."
"The answer is yes to all three questions. And no, Zona wasn't in a bitchy mood at all, she was very sweet to me."
"Oh? How sweet?"
"Well ... "
"Honey, are you blushing? I'll turn up the light and-"
"Don't bother. Oh shit, I might as well come clean, confession is good for the soul, they say. Besides, you're bound to find out sooner or later. I made it with Zona-and you've only yourself to blame, keeping me waiting so-"
"You made it how? What happened?"
"Nothing much. She figured out the condition I was in and suggested a massage. One thing led to another-she's got good hands, you know?-and the way I was feeling, horny to begin with, well, I let her suck me off. It only happened once, just-"
"You let her? It was her idea?"
"Uh, if you're going to get technical about it ... "
"It was your idea, right? And knowing Zona as I do, you probably had to convince her. I'll bet. What did you do, pussycat, plead with her? Beg?"
"Okay, so now you know. I begged her, that's how hot I was, but only because you weren't here."
"You begged my servant. I guess that makes you pretty low, wouldn't you say? Still, it does simplify matters; at least I know where to fit you in around here. I've always wanted a beautiful little slave-girl, this must be my lucky day. Wouldn't you like to be my slave girl, darling?"
"Silly ... "
"Come. Get up. A slave-girl shouldn't be lying in bed while her mistress is standing." Lizabeth rose to her feet. "You can't see from where you are. And I do want you to watch."
"I don't mind getting up. But not because I'm your slave-girl, so please don't call me that. There now, I'm up. What am I supposed to be watching?"
She smiled and started to sway, humming a little tune under her breath, indistinguishable except for the rhythmic beat. The negligee billowed and then appeared to float away with a shake of her shoulders. It was like an optical illusion, but no more startling than her sudden nudity; since when did she run around naked? Maybe she got used to it to please her husband, maybe it made him peter out that much sooner.
It was a sight to see, though. Her hands moved in a balanced pattern, almost hypnotic to my gaze, slipping sensuously over the lush curves, the hills and hollows of creamy flesh. The swaying went through a strange metamorphosis, its energy flow taking on the characteristics of a coiled spring in a series of softly squirming undulations. The overall transfer was always downward, compelling as a barber pole in rotation, sucking the surrounding environment in to become a kind of cyclorama to show off those impossibly perfect legs of hers, earthy and erotic and almost unbearably beautiful.
Only when her body itself began to rotate did the spell begin to weaken, restoring a certain freedom back to my eyes and allowing me to appreciate all the sleekly contoured parts in the configuration of this new view. I licked my lips with a tingling tongue, tasting old memories and sniffing out their lewdly organic origins, the mysterious but no longer untapped mysteries of the furrowed darkness where the heat bubbled and the sun had never shone.
Completing the slow pirouette, she beckoned me close with her hands and leered with almost infuriating complacency as the ripe nippled thrust of her breasts became my undoing. We made contact, bosom to bare bosom, and I moaned in complete and unqualified surrender and knew once again the ecstatically excruciating sensation of sexual submission ...
"You see, pussycat? It's all so simple, so much better when you don't fight it, when you accept the inevitable. It's just a matter of hearing the question and speaking the answer; let's do it, shall we? Like this. Whose little slave-girl are you?"
"Yours. I'm your slave-girl. All yours."
"Then suck my cunt!"
The shock of the harsh command sent a shudder through me, but I reacted spontaneously and took pride in the immediate thud of my knees upon the carpet and the intangible split-second delay between authority and obedience. I burrowed into the hot core of her cunt, the uniquely enticing cunt of my mistress, soft and wet and slithery with seductive pleasure. And like a good slave-girl, I tried to give pleasure rather than receive it, but her generosity won out as she began rocking back and forth over my uptilted face, increasing the thrill far beyond my own meager means of compensation ...
It was neither the time nor the place for an emotional outburst; after all, we were supposed to be having a calm discussion about my future. But since it was my future, I couldn't just nod my head and make sage statements and act like a rational human being. The gut reaction was more important. I had already discovered that introspection and self-analysis only led to fits of despondency. At this point in my life, I found no enjoyment in my own personal and private thoughts; it was far more pleasant to think in terms of serving my mistress ...
"Well, pussycat? You look like you're about to explode."
"I'm sorry. It's true, though." I sank to the floor and wrapped my arms around her legs, those gorgeous legs that never failed to thrill me. "I'd rather stay here with you. I want to be with you forever."
"Forever is a long time."
"Lizabeth, don't you understand? I love you. "
"Uh-huh. From my own sheltered viewpoint, I'd be glad to have you. But you'd be another mouth to feed, another bed to make, another room to keep clean, another problem for the service staff to handle. You get the picture?"
"Sure. But I'll be no trouble. And anyway, isn't that what servants are for?"
"That's the problem, kid. Servants are at a premium. You know the kind of life I lead, it's too hectic to have snoopy servants around. So I just don't have any. I've got a housekeeper and that's all"
"A housekeeper?"
"Zona. Did you think she was an ordinary servant? Hell, no, she's in charge of servants, she trains them-and right now she keeps this place running all by herself. So if you want to stay, you'll have to get her okay. Or better yet-yeah-that's an idea for you. You could earn your keep that way."
"Earn my keep? Oh ... "
"Sexy little slave-girl and part-time maid. How does that strike you, baby-doll?"
"Well, uh, couldn't I be a sexy maid, too? You know, high heels and a real short skirt and a tiny lace apron and-"
"You're a girl after my own heart. Sounds great to me. But like I said, Zona is in charge of servants. You'd have to take your training from her. And that means you'll have to convince her, right off the bat. You think you're up to it? She can be pretty demanding. But if it's really what you want, well, she's in her room right now, resting, probably naked, so don't be shocked. Go ahead, kid, go convince her, I hope you do. Oh, the sexy little uniforms I'll buy for you ... "
I would have preferred to stay right there at the feet of my beloved mistress. But the conversation was over and I had a job to do. A job interview, as it were. My steps dragged on the way. I passed a full-length mirror and stopped to primp a bit, wishing I had one of those cute uniforms on right now. Vaguely, I recalled thinking about getting a maid for myself some day, a pretty maid who looked like me. Well, who filled the bill better than I did myself? If only I didn't have this ordeal to go through!
A cold chill crept up my spine. The door was ajar, but I just stood there awhile, gathering courage. My underwear seemed tight all of a sudden, clinging uncomfortably, and there was a film of clammy perspiration on my skin. I knew only too well what was going to happen inside that bedroom. It wouldn't have surprised me to find out that Zona already knew I was coming. I'd be shocked if she wasn't naked. The two of them probably planned it like this, getting themselves a willing maidservant. I had no doubts about landing the job, it was the interview that bothered me. That big bushy cunt, what would it taste like? And how about that ass of hers, all those powerful muscles, an ass like that might pull my poor tongue out by the roots. Or maybe she would just sit on my face and smother me to death-then I'd never get to wear the high heels and long black hose and flippy little satin skirt; wouldn't that be a shame?
Oh well, time to beard the lioness in her den. Hmm. I'd probably be wearing that beard in a few minutes, wearing it all over my face. A fine Helen of Troy that would be! But what was I waiting for, there was the door-and Zona was naked, sure enough, naked and ready for the new cunt lapping slave-girl around the house. One more step and I'd be committed to my future. Ugh. Journey into depravity. And wasn't it weird to feel that tingle of breathless excitement racing through me?
