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RP Estragon's Memories 1/7 Femdom





Estragon: Memories of Underdevelopment, I/4

(Copyright 1996, 1997 Estragon Productions
For adults only)

It was that summer of awakening girls have. I'd just turned fifteen. That
would be eight years ago, going on nine. I had this best friend, Leila -
she was a couple of months older - and we could say anything to each
another and try out any idea. So that was how we worked out the truth
about men together. Little by little, starting with what we knew about
boys just from instinct, and then imagining things together, out loud,
things we would only have let ourselves imagine in private before, and
then trying some of these things out for real, on real males, and then
building on that. 


Leila and I were always building one another up too. Never missed a
chance. If Leila told me I was beautiful, I told her SHE was gorgeous -
right away, and if she laughed it off, tears of sincerity would fill my
eyes. Maybe at the beginning we didn't really believe we were such
stupendous knock-outs, but we weren't just being up-beat either, because
we both understood how much of a woman's beauty the woman invents for
herself. We were fifteen - not all there yet. But we knew we had the stuff
to work with. I had hips and all, but I wore a bra that was one step up
from a trainer. (I'm fuller now, but not colossal.) Leila's chest was
bigger, but nobody would have called it huge. We weren't tall either -
medium height - but definitely thin enough to look nice and long in the
legs. Our bodies were similar, but our hair and skin made us look more
different than we were. Leila's hair was strawberry-blond (more blond than
strawberry) and she kept it cut short, but mine was Asian dark, and I
liked it to go half-way down my back. Leila's skin was light too, but not
sickly pale: very outdoorsy with healthy American freckles. Mine was
darker, and incredibly smooth, like glass, because I'm Korean.

So that's how we looked.

And we'd study impressive women we happened to see on the street or in
department stores, where we liked to hang out and watch the cosmeticians
make pretty women prettier. Then we would go to a park or coffee-shop and
analyze why we thought this or that particular woman was so awesome and
what we could do to be like her. Soon it came out that all these different
women were alike in one way anyhow: they had this independent look in
their eyes, and there was something a little conceited about their smile,
something confident and hard to please about them that we could see in
their lips. You could tell that men were just bric-a-brac to them. 

Leila and I started wearing lipstick, and I have to say that we knew a lot
more about it from all our watching than most girls do at fifteen. We
loved deep, vivid colors and sharp, smooth lines you could only make with
a brush. 

"You wear lipstick," Leila said, "and it makes the slickest boy feel like
a three-year-old." And this was true. Lipstick turned us into big sexual
mysteries. We would go downtown, where lots of teenagers hung out at a
music superstore, and stand around teasing the boys with our womanly ways.
Teasing was a girl's right, Leila always said. "No-penis gets to tease
penis," she'd say. "Nature's plan." 

That summer Leila and I were into being sullen with people - with boys
especially, but with other girls too where the need arose. We'd just
discovered the joy of bitchiness. Fifteen is the age for that. You're
being taught that you have to start being sweet and womanly, but you want
to hold on to that selfish snoopiness you have as a little girl. There are
things you want to know and you don't see why anything should keep you
from knowing them. But now it's more than old-fashoned curiosity. It's
brimming with sex and the power sex gives a girl. Bitchiness is nothing
but holding on to your little-girl innocent selfishness when you're not
that innocent any more - when you've started getting periods and wearing a
bra...and fantasizing about being a bitch to boys. It's wanting to keep on
being a princess when you really do have the power to be one. The people
it scares - males, naturally, and females who are trying not to think
about the power in their vadge - call it bitchiness, so Leila and I called
it that too, but it's nothing but wanting to go on being the girl you
always were now that you finally have the clout to fulfill the wishes you
always had.

Leila and I figured this out together. We helped each other so that we
didn't become insecure the way girls do at that age. None of that
insecurity is necessary, in my not-so-humble opinion. It's what happens
when you agree to be something you're not. When you say, "Okay, now that
I'm using tampons I'd better be nice and soft and unscarey and be every
guy's mom." Leila and I made sure neither one of us said this or thought
this. 

I never had a sister, and neither did Leila, so when we began to confide
in one another and talk about things like this it was like having another
self, another Erica, but blond so you knew it was another person and not
just your own secret self, to discuss everything with, without any more
fear or shame than if you WERE just talking to yourself. 

"It's amazing that we feel the same about these things," I said to Leila
one day. "You always know exactly what I'm talking about. Do you feel that
way about me?"

"Definitely," Leila said. "Absolutely. But you know what bothers me? I
mean, people - you know, the same sex - can get to be such close friends
as this and know everything in the world about each other, and still not
know certain things. People can be friends for their whole lives and SAY
anything, it doesn't matter how embarrassing, and still never think about
showing the basic things."

"It's strange," I said. "You're right. Girls let all kinds of guys they're
going to break up with in a week touch them and learn all about them, and
their best friend who they'll love forever has no idea what their nipples
or slot look like...."

"Not to mention their anus," Leila interjected. "Their ass-hole."

"Okay," I said. "That's right. I mean, wouldn't you think people, once
they became really friendly, would just say, ŒOkay, let's undress now and
look one another over,' and it would be a thing everybody did?"

"Then it would just be part of what they knew. Then, whenever we're
together or even just talking on the phone, I can think, or you can think,
'I know what SHE looks like. I've had a look at her slot, her ass-hole.'
That would be the right thing....I'd like to do that, Erica. You?"

So Leila and I headed for her parents' apartment. They both worked late
anyhow (and her brother was gone for the summer), and Leila had the run of
the place. It was hot as hell outside too. Leila threw on the
air-conditioner and then just threw off her clothes. Right in the
living-room. 

"I'm so hot," she said, "if you don't mind." 

I wanted this. I wanted to see this. But it was shocking too. The only
naked girl I'd ever seen live was me in the mirror - aside from little
glimpses of a tit or pubic patch in the locker-room. Leila unbuttoned her
shirt and shook it off. It was sleeveless and just fell from her. Then she
did the same kind of thing with her shorts. She was wearing genuine bikini
panties, skimpier than my own, and they had gotten tucked up her slot.
There was pubic hair, light and thin, not a lot of it, sprouting around
the fabric. Leila reached up and undid her bra and off it came. Her tits
were incredibly firm and high. They looked like perfect round springy
cushions and had rosy puckered nipples in the middle like paste-ons. You
couldn't see a trace of hair in her armpits. She put a finger into her
panties and extricated them from her slot, very slowly as though it was a
risky business, and then pulled them really fast down her thighs. 

"So that's me," Leila said.

"Now me?" I said, sounding a little stupid.

"Well, I guess," Leila said. "Or not, if you don't want." She sounded a
little sad saying this, but she said, "I mean, I'm glad I'm like this for
you anyway, Erica."

I don't think I loved anyone else in the world then. I wasn't crazy about
my parents, or about my little brother, and I couldn't imagine how you
could love any male and feel all romantic about a person with a stupid
penis hanging in front or, even worse, sticking up at you and begging. But
I loved Leila. I absolutely loved her. Standing there for me to see with
nothing but the hair on her head and the little triangle of it down under
to cover her. She was so thin and bony. You could count her ribs sticking
out under her cushiony boobs, and her hip-bones jutted out in front like
skate-blades just below her little waist. I loved her and felt over-joyed
that we were both women, and I stripped off my t-shirt and shorts and
undies as fast as I could, just to give my friend the same kind of
knowledge she was giving me.

We stood there staring at each other, up and down, with no pretending that
we weren't looking at what we were. It felt great, Leila's eyes going down
to my tight black triangle and opening up my shadowy slot, and I could
feel it and I could feel my legs separate a little for her. 

"Your pubic hair is so dark and straight," Leila said.

"Asian," I said.

"You look good," Leila said. 

"No, you, you do...," I said, "you're the one."

"Can you see?" she said.

"Oh, yes...."

"I mean my vadge and lips and everything?" Leila spread open her legs and
separated her labia with two fingers from each hand and kind of pushed her
pelvis out. "Can you see my vadge now?" That was her pet word for it, a
nice, friendly word which I started using from then on too.

"And here's me," I said, and did the same. What a sight if a man could see
it. Two fifteen-year-old girls looking like they're facing off with their
cunts. That's how males would take it. A contest. I have more cunt than
you, more crack, more clit, or something like that. But that wasn't what
it meant at all.

"I want you to touch me," Leila said. 

"Oh, yes," I said.

So we went into Leila's room and flopped across her bed, then sidled right
up against each other, our arms and hips and thighs pressing close, and us
staring up at the ceiling, with our legs dangling over the side of the
bed. The interruption of getting there was just long enough to let us get
nervous. We were taking turns breathing - I would hold my breath and hear
Leila breathing hard and think, Hey, I'd better breathe too, and I would
start again and then Leila would stop and she'd listen. We weren't really
daring to look at one other either, just staring up.

Then Leila took my hand and laid it right on her little hill, and she
pressed her own hand down on top of mine, and I felt a girl's soft hair
and hard round bone, just like mine, and I felt incredibly happy that we
were the same, two people with shy little mounds that were really harder
than any penis I could imagine would ever get . Leila put her hand on my
swelling too then, and soon we were slipping our fingers into each other,
exploring clits, then going in pretty deep, finding out we were both
virgins actually. Then we talked about smelling our fingers, about wanting
to and feeling bashful about it, and then we did smell them. It was
incredible how alike Leila and I smelled, sweet and tangy and definitely
female. 

After a while, Leila slipped off the bed and planted her face on my hill.
I spread my thighs for her and she stuck her nose into my vadge and tasted
my lips and slot with her tongue. Then she let me do the same things to
her. Then she asked me to turn over on my stomach. When I did, Leila held
my buttocks firmly apart, and I could feel the cool air of the room around
my hole. Leila blew on it and it twitched, but she wouldn't let it close.
She squeezed my cheeks wide apart and wouldn't let go.

"It's so tiny," she said, and pushed her finger in. "I didn't know how
tiny they were." She managed to slip her other hand under my mound, which
brought her thumb right up against my vadge, so she could slowly massage
it at the same time that she explored my bung-hole. 

It mattered to me that a girl was causing all this bliss. As usual, Leila
read my mind. 

"It would be a different thing if one of us was a boy," she said. "Then it
would be war. If I were the boy, I'd be getting even with you for teasing
me and being so superior and making my pants stick out. And if you were
the boy..., well, I'd be turning you into my slave."

"I like that one better," I said. "Especially since I'm safely NOT a boy."

"I like it better too," Leila said. She got thoughtful, and stopped
stimulating me for a few seconds.

"Oh, don't stop," I pleaded.

Leila resumed the exquisite movements on my vadge and ass-hole that would
be enslaving me if I were a male and my vadge was a penis instead. "I was
just thinking," she said, "how it would be if we really had a slave. Not a
boy either, maybe...."

"A man," I said firmly. "Definitely someone twice, maybe three times, our
age. A teacher or doctor or something."

"Who'd have to wait on us naked," Leila said, "just to humiliate him,
because...."

"Yes, because a man that old doesn't even believe he deserves to be naked
in front of girls. What does he have to show them?"

"Hair all over his paunchy stomach and flopping sex organs," Leila said.
"God, you're totally wet, Erica."

"The fun would be that he couldn't help himself," I said. "He just had to
obey and let himself be humiliated because we had such power over him." It
was hard for me to speak. I was in a daze thanks to Leila's fingers, and I
had to drink in the air in tremendous gulps.

"I mean, he'd know he didn't do a thing for us with his looks. He couldn't
take his eyes off US - and that's how we get him, teasing, the usual
thing, even if he wanted to resist he couldn't for long - we're girls,
Erica, and that's the whole reason - but we had to FORCE ourselves to look
at him because we knew it would make him so ashamed and humble to be seen
by us." 

"We could make him beg to let him be with us."

"ŒFive minutes, and that's all,' we could say."

"ŒTen, if you get down on your knees and beg politely.'"

"We could make him beg to be even ALLOWED to undress...."

"ŒPlease, girls,' he'd say. ŒI'm just a poor, helpless man. Let me just
show you what you do to me. That's all I want. I promise. Then I'll go
quietly. Oh, please, girls. Just let me.'"

"ŒThat's a privilege you have to earn,' we'd say."

"ŒWell, it's all up to Leila,' I'd say."

"And I'd say, ŒIf it's okay with Erica....'"

"We could make him work like a dog first...."

"We could make him crawl like a dog...."

"Then sit on him...."

"Step on him...."

"Pee on him...."

"Pee on him! Fabulous."

"Leila, we have to...."

Leila tucked her face deep between my thighs. I could just make out her
muffled words.  "And he'd be looking right up at us when we did it," she
said. "He'd see us, Erica. He'd be lying there and he'd see it coming. And
he'd be thinking, 'It's worth it to have that view.'"

"Or he'd be knocked out," I said. "He wouldn't see a thing. We wouldn't
even give him that. Fast asleep and then he'd wake up and it would have
happenedŠ."

"Wet and girl-smelling...," Leila burbled to my cunt. "Fabulous."

"Can it really happen, Leila?" I said.



end of part one

Estragon: Memories of Underdevelopment, II/7

(Copyright 1996, 1997 Estragon Productions
For adults only)



Memories of Underdevelopment, II/4

The thing about Leila was that, even though she was as much of a virgin as
I was, she let herself do things in her mind without ever stopping to
wonder if they were normal. She took it for granted that anything she
thought about doing, other girls thought about too, even if they were too
timid to say so. She was way ahead of me in the things she imagined, but I
was definitely down the same road, so I had no reason not to agree with
her about this. Maybe I'd never let myself think about peeing on a guy
before, especially a guy older than my dad, but it was pretty clear that
Leila only had to mention it to get me up to speed. Once she painted the
picture, it was as if it had always been in my head. I would imagine it in
all its details when I was alone, when I touched my vadge, and eventually
I knew that it was only a matter of a little time before Leila and I would
make it happen. 

But sometimes I'd express worry that we were just two fifteen-year-old
virgins with no experience except giving fifteen-year-old boys erections
and making them act silly because of them. How were we going to make these
wild fantasies come true? And Leila would say something incredibly deep
and smart, which didn't even make sense to me at the time, but which I
chose to believe because I loved that girl so much. She'd say, "Erica,
what I think is, the wilder the fantasy, the easier to make it come true.
Males aren't like us." 

Leila really believed that males of all ages exist for girls to play with.
There was no doubt about it. Everything proved she was right: the fact
that males have penises and get erections they can't do anything about,
not to mention the fact that they have these testicles a girl can hurt
practically by breathing on them.

"Did you know all males wake up in the morning with their penises sticking
up?" Leila asked me one day. I didn't know that and I was pretty
impressed. 

"Where did you get that?" I asked her.

"I mean," she said, "they're not out of bed yet and they're already
pre-teased."

Leila laughed at this word she'd made up, "pre-teased." Then she showed me
this magazine article called, "The Joy of Teasing." It's point was that
now that women are feeling independent and "assertive" (everybody used
that word at that time), the old idea of the nasty "cock-tease" was dying
out and women were realizing that it was a stupid idea, made up by men to
keep women down, and that teasing was okay - that it was pleasurable and
natural and gave women and girls a sense of their rightful power in a
so-called man's world. Women teased because men were teaseable. Neither
sex could help it. And it did say that all men wake up with erections and
that proved something. 

Leila cut out part of the magazine article and Xeroxed it so I could keep
it too. We spent a long time trying to understand its ins and outs, but it
also really turned us on. I still have the old Xerox and this is it:

"ŒTeasing is a natural and unavoidable fact of sex. It is brought into
being, not by the wiles of women, but by the constitution of men.' Those
are the words of Olivia Guzman, Ph.D., Professor of Psychology and Women's
Studies at the University of California at Berkeley. And Dr. Guzman's
words are being echoed by plenty of other authorities across the country.
    ŒThe very existence of women teases men,' states Spokane University
Professor of Physical Anthropology Miranda Morgan, author of last year's
surprise best-sellerThe Feminine Phenotype,  Œand unless a woman goes to
great lengths to conceal her femininity, she is going to produce the
sensation of being teased - that is, of being simultaneously aroused and
hopelessly puzzled - in most of the men whose paths she crosses. She
really has little choice. So she might as well enjoy it, and benefit from
it.' 
    Boston-based psychiatrist and psychoanalyst Hal Limerick, M.D.,
concurs. Dr. Limerick, who teaches a popular course on the psychology of
sex at the Harvard School of Medicine, has a simple explanation for the
phenomenon which Dr. Morgan makes sound like a biological law. ŒOn the
unconscious level, men can't believe that there are really people without
penises,' he explains, Œpeople just like themselves but lacking those
erectile, unruly penises and those fragile testicles suspended beneath. No
matter how many female bodies they've observed, they remain basically
incredulous.'
   Hearing Dr. Limerick quoted, Dr. Guzman says, ŒHe's right on the money,
in my opinion. Men never get over us. That's why they can't stop staring.
And why staring only increases their misery. Deep down they don't accept
the fact that there are human beings untrammeled by such rebellious,
conspicuous, humiliating appendages as a penis and testicles. Every female
pelvis they see throws their whole world into confusion. With its smooth,
undisturbed contours and elegant lines, it becomes in some unguarded,
baffled region of their mind an exception to reality, a misunderstanding,
a mirage they need to deny and need to believe in at the same time. Logic
and experience tell them otherwise, but the mental conflict only deepens
their alarm.' Dr. Guzman looks thoughtful for a moment, then she adds in
an uncharacteristic whisper, ŒPoor things!'" 

Leila read it to me aloud, standing there like an orator with the piece of
paper in front of her face. She had no trouble pronouncing even the
strange words. She was that into it. It was making her feel glorious,
proving absolutely everything she believed in, even the fact that she
could know so much about sex just from looking inside herself.

"See?" she said when she was done. "According to these doctors, I'm
totally right."

I didn't know what some of the words meant, like "phenotype," and I still
don't, even looking it up. And I had to ask Leila to read the sentence
about "untrammeled by such rebellious, etcetera appendages" a couple of
times - it sounded beautiful, but.... But the fact was, there they were:
all of Leila's ideas about men and boys in print in a glossy magazine for
modern women. It was as if we'd gotten the official go-ahead.
 
>From then on, when Leila and I undressed and stimulated one another, we'd
always be adding to our fantasy of domination, especially of grown men,
and always be thinking about how we were going to make it real. Often
Leila would just be rubbing my clitoris in a rhythmic, absent-minded way
that still felt wonderful, and she'd be letting her mind wander out loud
at the same time. You never knew what was going to come out of her brain,
but it was always sexy and important. One day she started pressing my
mound with her fingers, the upper part, the lower, right and left, as if
she was looking for something and not finding it. 

"What are you doing?" I said. "What's there is there."

Leila said, "You know a word I love, Erica? ŒPussy-whip.' I love it. It's
like music to my ears. I mean, I'm searching all around your pussy and I'm
thinking, What do girls have down there to whip with? A vadge doesn't look
too much like a whip. Not the way a penis does. But we whip with it
anyway. We whip with nothing to whip with. That's the beauty of it. Do you
know what I mean?"

I always knew what Leila meant, even if at the very first it sounded
strange to me. How I knew was a mystery to me sometimes, but I knew. "I
do," I said. "That's the joke. No-penis is more like a whip than penis."
Leila liked it that I was putting it that way, sounding like her. And I
liked that too. 

"It's BECAUSE we're smooth we drive them crazy," Leila said. "Penis is so
pathetic." 

Then we couldn't stop talking about pussy-whipping. To our way of
thinking, a guy couldn't have an erection without feeling humiliated. We
imagined that if we were males we would find such a thing very
humiliating, especially if a girl teased us into it. We knew guys tried to
make as if they had control of their penises, their big "tools," their
"weapons" and "joy-sticks," but it was so obvious to any girl who went in
for teasing boys up - we called it that, "to tease someone up" - that
those dicks were girl-toys pure and simple and the boys they were stuck
onto couldn't do anything to help it. Really, all you had to do with a
fourteen or fifteen-year-old was give him a big smile while you let your
hand just glide quickly over his pants and you gave him a sizeable problem
down there. And Leila kept saying that it would be even easier with an
older guy, not harder. 

"They get some extra kick being humiliated by girls young enough to be
their daughters," Leila said.

We started calling everything we did that was sexy "whipping." Sex was
"whipping," that's all. Whenever you aroused a guy, you were whipping him,
according to Leila and me. If your lipstick made him notice you, then you
were "lip-whipping" him. If it was your figure, you were "hip-whipping" or
"tit-whipping." We also were fascinated with the way males went crazy over
girls' and women's legs. Males had legs too, after all, but they treated
OUR legs as though they were totally different kinds of thing. This made
heavy "leg-whipping" possible, and it was a very easy and satisfying way
to play with guys, requiring no more effort than strolling down the
street. But all of these kinds of whipping were also forms of
pussy-whipping, because unless you had a pussy none of them worked. But
there was a special kind of pussy-whipping that really involved showing a
male your naked hill and vadge, and this was a tremendous privilege for
the male which he had to earn over a long period of time by letting you
humiliate him in a hundred different ways. And then he paid dearly anyway
for what you let him see. Leila and I had it all worked out before we ever
laid eyes on a single naked penis. 

And that was how we wanted it. When we finally graduated from
teasing-school and started really exercising our vadge-power, we didn't
want to be giggling girls about it. We wanted to be cool, moody, lounging
bitches, yawning over the erections we teased up, making the guys who had
them feel ridiculous and pathetic. Even when Leila and I undressed for one
another and lay down together, all we talked about while we massaged each
other was what we planned to do in the near future to males.

We started playing the "If you had a penis" game. Leila started it one day
when she had her finger in me. She just suddenly said, "If you had a
penis, Erica, I'd tease it up with this finger and then I'd slap it down
again with my hand." So I said, "And if YOU had a penis, Leila, I'd rub it
all over with Melinda's Hot Pepper Penis Sauce...."

"That's what I'd do to YOU, if you had a penis, Erica. Rub it with
Melinda's Hot Sauce, and your balls too, which you'd have if you had a
penis, and then brush them with my bristly stiff hair-brush...."  

"I'd take my emery-board to yours, if you...."

"I'd have yours totally shaved, Erica, and then have ŒLeila' tatooed on
it...."

And on and on like that, laughing and feeling mean toward males and making
each other's vadge sticky-wet. And then one day...we just HAD a penis, and
after that lots. It happened because we'd spent a lot of time and thought
getting ready for it. Admittedly, our first penis was only thirteen years
old, a kid, Josh, we knew from the music store who was, besides being
younger than us, goofy in love with Leila. So one day, when we're teasing
him and another kid up - not that it matters, but we're in tight sleevless
shirts and really tight jean-shorts, and our arm-pits are beautifully
shaved and we're wearing lipstick of course - when we're teasing up the
place and Josh is squirming and giggling as usual, Leila says, "First boy
to unzip his fly right here on the street gets to go home with Erica and
me."

I was surprised, but I put on this patronizing grin, as if I was in on
Leila's plan all along. The other boy says, "Are you kidding? You gonna do
it, Josh?" And Josh does it. Unzips his fly right there, and, since he's
erect, a round white swelling appears in the opening, Josh's penis pushing
his underpants. That was it. Not such a reckless act, but to us a definite
symbol of something. As was Josh's broken voice when he squeaked, "Can I
really come home with you girls, Leila?" 

Leila had turned half away from the kid and that's how she stood. Hands on
her hips, tilting her head, looking Josh up and down almost sideways. The
boy stood there for Leila to look over. The little lump of white cotton
poked through his fly, but he kept his hands at his side and kept lowering
his eyes too, and then lifting them trying to read Leila's thoughts. If
she had said that she'd changed her mind, I don't think he would even have
been that upset. He'd have been glad he got to unzip his fly for her. That
would have meant a lot to him by itself.


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