| Oyster Gulch, Chapter 4 Caitlin Logan's hips were so close to the edge of the couch that when she rotated toward her teacher she wound up on her knees in front of Abigail Vanderbrune. Abbey felt her heart swell looking down at the pretty smiling face and wide green eyes framed in the red-gold curls. She was nothing if not adorable. Kneeling in front or her, the little darling was reaching up to cup the cactus delivery driver's firm cones with their permanently rigid tips. Caitie was amazed at how hard the older woman's nipples felt in her palms. The modest breasts were just a handful even for her tiny hands. The direct contact with her sensitive buttons was sending an electric current to the seated woman's overheated mons. Abbey had expected to have to do some prompting to get the teen to reciprocate by pleasuring her, but the nymph seemed to have come up with the idea all on her own. Unsatisfied with the interference of the cotton T shirt the kneeling girl slid her hands under her host's top to squeeze her pert cones directly. The more intimate contact raised the volume on the hum that was vibrating the cactus farmer's vulva. Caitie gasped the pebbled knobs topping her host's cupcakes and, applying her recently acquired knowledge, squeezed really hard. Abbey felt the thunder bolt impact her clit and squealed. Encouraged by the vocal appreciation the teenager pushed the T shirt up and applied her mouth just as her tutor had done. The pubescent mouth was hot and the tonguing was wonderful. Abigail swooned and slid further down in her seat. After giving each of the cones and their pebbly hard caps a tongue lashing Caitie began trailing her tongue, with intermittent little sucking kisses, down the slender woman's muscular torso. At the same time she reached back up to resume her manual tittie play. When she reached the waistband of the drawstring shorts she gripped the end of the lace with her teeth and pulled out the neat bow. The inexperienced teen then tackled the shorts themselves. Gripping the elastic in her teeth she began to tug but lowering them like that would have been impossible without the older woman's assistance. The tender attention to her breasts and delicate oral stimulation of her belly had Abbey nearly beside herself with arousal. When the talented youngster gripped her shorts in her mouth the excited cactus farmer hooked her thumbs in the waistband over her hips and provided the necessary counterbalancing force to make the removal of the obstructive cloth possible. When the shorts reached the older woman's boney knees Caitlin abandoned her boob squeezing and pulled them completely off. Revealing only the third mature pussy she'd ever seen; only the second she'd seen up close enough to really examine in any detail. The teenager was fascinated at how different it looked than any she'd seen before including her own. Hers, her mom's and miz Baker's were all sorta like split peaches; round with a crease down the middle with a little bit of the inside stuff showing. Abbey's was almost triangular. Her outer lips were long and hid all of her inner treasures completely. In fact miz Vanderbrune's vulva could easily have been compared to an oyster shell on its side. The only hair in evidence was a closely cropped patch right above her crease. It was like a surprise package and Caitie couldn't wait to open it. The womanly fragrance beckoned her and she used all her fingers to pry the thick spongy labia apart. Her tutor groaned very loudly as her normally discrete vulva was opened. The girl was immediately rewarded with a view of the ultimate treasure. It even looked like a pearl; pinkish white, sitting like a jewel in a crown above the deep rose colored flesh that guarded the entrance to the cactus farmer's seeping love tunnel. Glistening threads of the thick secretions bridged across the gap created by the girl's prying fingers. "Oh my God ... oh God Caitie" Abbey was non-specifically pleading but the teen knew what she wanted and their wants were totally in concert. Her tongue rolled and stroked the older woman's pleasure center causing her to squirm and squeal. Abigail's hands were shaking when she reached down and managed to grasp her outer labia just a little lower than the girl's fingers. Pulling up and out more aggressively than the kneeling girl would have dared she displayed the width and depth of her crevice. "Put your thumb here" the splayed woman wiggled one of her fingers above the midline of the open vulva. Caitie applied her thumb where she thought her tutor wanted it. The older woman repositioned the inexperienced hand slightly and said "press hard..." as the youngster complied the older woman asked "can you feel it." Breathing was difficult, talking was nearly impossible now but she had accomplished her goal. The teenager's thumb was pressing firmly on the root of her clitoris. "I feel it!" Caitie said gleefully as though she'd just matriculated. She was massaging the narrow little spine that she felt between her thumb and the cactus farmer's pelvic bone. Abbey swallowed hard. She was trying to keep her head from exploding and to get the next, and the final words out. Grabbing the teen's other hand she pulled it toward her semi closed lips and managed to grunt haltingly through clenched teeth "put ... put your f ... fingers in ... inside..." Inexperience caused something of a communication breakdown, but it all worked out for the best. When Abbey said 'put your fingers inside' Caitlin interpreted the request to mean all her fingers. The slightly built youngster didn't have very big hands so all her fingers slipped easily inside the flooded channel. That was of course the culminating moment. The cactus farmer's high pitched shriek would have probably been heard on the main street of Oyster Gulch had anyone been listening for it. She was holding both of the girl's wrists so she wouldn't prematurely remove the stimulation. The semi reclined woman bucked and heaved, shuddered and shook for several seconds before she totally collapsed. Caitlin was starting to think there was something about cactus farming or maybe the desert in general that created monumental orgasms. She hadn't experienced one of her own until yesterday but she didn't think they could always be as violent and noisy as the one's she'd seen so far. She was right of course, but she hadn't allowed anything for the novelty of her fifteen year old talent. Some people were just good at it and she would discover soon enough that she was one of them. Her head was already getting fairly big and her confidence was growing with each encounter. She sat on the floor with her back up against the front of the couch sampling miz Vanderbrune's juices off her hands; in the case of her left, all the way up to her wrist. She resolved to keep her eye on the prize. If she could just manage to somehow get her mom out of the Oyster Gulch jail their life would get back on track; well sort of. There'd still be the problem back in Rawlins to resolve. Margaret was surprised at how little the Sheriff's butt sagged. Brenda Carlyle was walking away from her, still naked from the waist down, toward the three piece washroom that adjoined her office. 'I think mine sags more than that and I'm only half her age ... I work pretty hard ... cactus farming isn't light work." She didn't know that aside from her on-duty responsibilities Brenda Carlyle only really did two things and one of them was work-out. It went back to her college days when she'd taken her first martial arts class. It gave her a feeling of security crossing campus after a late lecture but she'd found herself buying into a lot of the philosophy and nutrition. Now forty years later it was so much a part of her that she couldn't have changed if she'd wanted to. Her eighth degree black belt in Tae Kwon-do was a little rusty but she could still give the average second or third degree a pretty good match. Martial arts were very far from her mind as she put the strap-on in the sink. Her only other true passion was bubbling in her recently spent loins. "Did you figure out why you're here?" the Chief said with a smirk from the bathroom doorway. "Ya ... actually I did" the cactus farmer in the uncomfortably wet panties assured the busy Sheriff. "Well hold that thought I'm just gonna have a quick shower ... then we can discuss your concern." Brenda stripped her silk top over her head, unfastened the black lace bra and shrugged it off. Even the 'B' cup tits didn't sag much as she disappeared into the frosted glass enclosure. 'I hope I look half that good when I'm her age' Peggy thought and took a seat in one of the visitor's chairs to wait. Ten minutes later Sheriff Carlyle emerged wearing a knee length black silk dressing gown and rubbing her short silver hair with a towel. The subtle beeping of the phone brought her to the desk. She hit the speaker button so she could go on drying her hair. "Yes." "There's a call from the troopers saying they want to pick the prisoner up from the arraignment tomorrow" Mary Ellen's voice sounded very strained and shaky. Brenda's relaxed expression hardened. "You tell those bastards that I'll release the prisoner when I fuckin' good and ready ... not before" she hit the release button very firmly and sighed. "It's not like it used to be Peggy. Ever since that limp dick Palmer took over in Carson it's been a steady stream of annoying interference. The town is changing ... we have to be creative if we're gonna survive." The Chief took her seat behind the desk and pulled a floppy black hood over her disheveled silver curls. It made her look a little like a monk or something... "Back in the day we had women flocking here from all over the country. We were growing at thirty or forty percent a year back in the seventies; even faster when Celeste originally started it all in sixty-two ... Did you know my mom and I were here when there were less than fifty of us?" Margaret Baker had heard the story many times but she knew how much Oyster Gulch's top cop enjoyed reminiscing and this was no time to piss her off. "I think you've told me that" Peggy responded, knowing it would do no good. "We started with just two buildings and the old lady's avant garde ideas. One of the buildings is still standing ... Irma's store. The other burnt down in the late eighties ... but you probably remember that. You and your mom came in what ... about eighty-two?" "Eighty-four, I was eight at the time" the cactus farmer corrected "but yeah I remember the big fire. It was really scary." "Sure got us to upgrade our firefighting capabilities in a hurry though. By the mid nineties we were pretty much self-sufficient. Unfortunately by then growth had dwindled down to a trickle. The women's movement's just not what it was. Most of the passion's gone out of it. We really thought we were gonna make a difference when we started. I mean it was just a commune ... and there were hundreds of 'em in the sixties but it was the concept; a society run by and exclusively populated by women. We were gonna show those macho assholes how it should be done; and for nearly twenty years like minded women flocked here to follow Celeste's vision. But like I said times have changed. If it weren't for the succession plan I think we'd be in serious jeopardy." Peggy nodded agreeably, anxious to get to her petition but something in Brenda's face told her that she'd better play along. She knew that the Sheriff was a key architect in the so called 'succession plan' and loved to talk about it. "How's that going?" she said, as if the old lady needed any encouragement. "Very well indeed. It's quite simple really." Miz Baker knew how it worked, but settled in for the unnecessary explanation. "If a citizen wants to have a child we send her to a fertility clinic in Reno. We're lucky the geneticists perfected gender selection before we stopped attracting converts at an acceptable pace. They claim ninety-eight percent success in producing the sex of your choice, but in the ten years we've been doing it we've never had a failure, so for us it's one hundred percent. The girl's will grow up and be encouraged into the professions and trades that suit their talents and interests and meet the needs of our little community." Brenda paused as if reflecting on the plan. "Some of 'em will move away ... like I did, to go to college and establish their careers, but I think a large percentage will come back to their roots in due time. At least that's the plan." She said with a certain finality. Shifting gears she said "I haven't seen much of you since miz Vanderbrune joined us. You two love birds seem content to keep to yourselves out there over the hill." "Well it's busy ya know ... tryin' to grow the business and produce a quality product." "So what brings ya down here ta-day?" the Sheriff enquired and Peggy suppressed a sigh of relief. "You've got a woman ... an outsider, in lock-up..." "That's what you're here about ... the car thief?" Brenda interrupted sounding surprised. "What's her case got to do with you? I think she's from Montana or something." "Wyoming actually" Peggy corrected. "Did you know her fifteen year old daughter is stayin' at my place?" the Chief's eyes lit up at the mention of a young girl. "I didn't know she had a daughter, but I haven't had a chance to read the report yet. All I got was a real quick summary over the phone from Sarah and that was after McGraw, the Chief 'dickhead' Trooper started at me during one of the breaks" Brenda excused being uninformed. "There's enough testosterone at those annual meetings down in Carson to float an aircraft carrier! Every local sheriff's tryin' to put out their own agenda and Frank McGraw's tryin' to get the upper hand on everybody. When he cornered me yesterday afternoon I called in to find out what he was talkin' about but I only had time for the basics. I found out enough to know that missus ... what's-her-name..." "Logan" Peggy filled in "Isn't goin' anywhere until I get all the facts" "That's why we love you Brenda... 'cause you don't take any shit from those macho assholes" the cactus farmer fluffed the Sheriff's ego. "So you're lookin' after her kid" the woman in the black silk hooded dressing gown said thoughtfully. "Yeah I picked 'em up hitch-hiking after they ran out of gas. When I bought 'em inta town to get some fuel Deputy Duggan arrested the mother ... she was gonna put poor Caitlin in the lock-up too and hold her for Social Services but I managed to convince her that the little darling would be better off with me for the time being." "And how's the youngster doing?" the Sheriff asked with a gleam in her eye. "Well obviously she's scared and wants to get her mom released from custody. She said she'd be willing to do anything to get her out." Peggy watched the powerful cop's face intently while the implications of what she'd said sunk in. "How old is she?" Brenda was starting to feel that predictive tingle between her legs. She'd always thought she had a sixth sense when it came to knowing a really good sexual encounter was looming. "She's fifteen" Margaret responded knowing Caitie was just slightly older than the cop's preference. "Well perhaps I should have a talk with the young miz ... uh ... Logan so we can ... uh, investigate ... explore her options" Peggy was quite sure there'd be exploring but she wasn't sure if options would have anything much to do with it. "Le' me read the file first and maybe have a more detailed chat with officer Duggan and I'll give you a call" Sheriff Carlyle was rising to her feet as she spoke signaling that the meeting was over. She offered Peggy her hand which the cactus farmer accepted. The head cop took Peggy's hand in both of hers and squeezed tenderly "Don't be a stranger ... we had some good times you and I. Stop by when things are a little less hectic so we can reminisce." "I will" Peggy said, making a promise she wasn't sure she'd keep. She glanced at the secretary on the way out and said "see ya." Mary Ellen looked about as frazzled as she'd ever seen anybody. The cactus farmer turned pimp didn't hear what the reamed out young woman replied. She had opened the police station door and been hit full force with the hammer of the afternoon desert heat. 'Air conditioning's a curse' she thought 'I can work outside in this all day and it doesn't bother me ... but let me sit in air conditioning for an hour and this feels like an oven and it's unusually humid.' As she got into the pick up she was satisfied with her efforts 'I set the table ... the rest'll be up to Caitie' she started the truck hoping the teenager was equal to the task. Brenda pushed the button on her phone to buzz her clerk and sometime sex slave. "Mary Ellen ... bring me in the Logan file ... and if you're doing anything out there that you're not supposed to ... I'll know." The Chief hit the release button with a snicker on her face. She knew she shouldn't be so hard on the slightly overweight and dreadfully under confident young woman but she just couldn't seem to help it. Overweight was an overstatement. The recently disciplined young woman was overweight the way Marilyn Monroe was. In fact there was even a passing resemblance. In a world where there were only two categories; anorexic and fat she had to fall into the latter. The clerk had been trying to work with one hand in her lap. She knew she wasn't supposed to, but it was aching so bad she had to. She got up and felt reasonably sure the thick knit material would hide the wet spot, but just for extra insurance she took a perfume atomizer out of her purse and squirted the affected area. Pulling the file from the cabinet she entered her boss's office and handed the file across the desk in order to keep as much space between them as possible. The Sheriff sniffed the air conspicuously and Mary Ellen held her breath. The woman in the hooded black robe frowned but said nothing so the clerk scurried gratefully back out the door. As soon as she opened the file Brenda knew that Heather Logan was a very beautiful woman. Her mug-shot did not make her look like something out of 'Night of the Living Dead'. In fact she looked fairly pretty. That meant in real life she must be drop dead gorgeous, 'cause mug-shots made driver's license photos look like royal portraits. She read the thin file through twice and thought 'this is such a trumped up piece of crap ... how did McGraw ever issue a warrant based on this bullshit.' She closed the file and put her clothes back on sans underwear altogether this time. The silk top was loose and flowing enough that her often erect nipples showed only momentarily when she move certain ways. Out in the open office area she tossed the file back on Mary Ellen's desk and turned toward the lock-up. She wanted a first hand look at missus Logan; only interested in the thirty-seven year old mother's appearance as a predictor of what her daughter looked like. Keying in her code she entered the holding cell area to find the prisoner pacing restlessly. "You're in a bit of a mess here" the Sheriff said as she approached the cell. "I'm Sheriff Carlyle missus Logan." Her first sight of the woman confirmed her speculation. Even with the medium red hair barely combed and her unmade-up face puffy from crying she was unquestionably a stunning woman. The top cop was equally impressed that even the ill fitting orange jumpsuit couldn't hide her spectacular figure. 'She's got some nice tits' Brenda began visualizing 'I bet Sarah had some fun with those when she booked her.' The Chief made a mental note to watch the booking video. "I don't know why I'm in here ... I haven't done anything wrong" Heather said in a sob. "Well even if I agreed with you the law says that you stole a car and..." "Did I steal the car every time I went to pick up groceries or..." "No, but I don't think you drove seven hundred miles from home and crossed state lines to pick up groceries" Heather made a frustrated growl this banter wasn't going to get her anywhere. The repartee was interrupted by the hum of the electronic door latch and the Sheriff's clerk holding the door open for a very business-like looking woman in a charcoal grey skirt and jacket. "Hello Susan" the Chief greeted the Public Defender. "Sheriff" the lawyer responded with a curt nod. Susan Connelly was a fairly plain looking woman with chin length blonde hair just beginning to show grey strands. Her face had more worry lines than was appropriate for her forty odd years and she looked tired. Sheriff Carlyle took the keys from her clerk and opened the cell door. With obvious familiarity the grey suited woman turned and entered the interview room, the prisoner followed. "I'd like to see you when you're done counselor" the Sheriff said as she began to close the door. "Sure" the lawyer agreed pulling out a chair; "leave the door open please." Susan was well aware that closing the door engaged the video surveillance. There was no one else in the secure area so their privacy was better served with the door open. It was illegal to record the privileged communication but the Public Defender knew that Sheriff Carlyle didn't let the law get in the way of law enforcement; Brenda smiled, "As you wish counselor" and she went back to her office. "My name is Connelly ... Susan Connelly. I have been assigned to represent you at your hearing tomorrow" the lawyer introduced herself, putting her lap top case on the table and extending her hand. "Heather Logan" the prisoner said accepting the offered hand and giving it a professional shake. 'Stupid!' the pretty redhead in the atrocious orange prison suit thought as she took her seat 'she knows who I am ... but what was I supposed to say?' The inmate wasn't wrong about the head to toe scan she got from her legal counsel. The attorney was appraising her client's figure. Heather had come to the reasonably accurate conclusion that every woman in Oyster Gulch was a lesbian [and so far as she'd seen there were no men]. What she didn't know was that miz Connelly wasn't from Oyster Gulch. She'd driven in from Wells, which was the closest place with a Public Defender's office. Her lawyer was in fact married with two kids. Her infrequent visits to the uniquely feminine community always made her feel ... funny. The lawyer knew what the place was about; it was no secret going back to the founding of the commune over twenty-five years ago. Hell, they used to advertise in the paper. They didn't promote themselves as a lesbian society but ya didn't need to be a Rhodes Scholar to read between the lines. The tucked away little town had held a peculiar fascination for the legal representative since her high school days. As a matter of fact she went to school with girls from the town. They were always clique-y and stand-offish, not to mention the brunt of puerile humor. Still she found their life-style ... exciting in a disturbing sort of way. She was always ... uncomfortable and really didn't like coming here. She opened a thin folder and said, "I think the State's case is rather weak" which caused the redhead's hopes to soar. Susan pulled a yellow legal pad out of her briefcase and clicked her pen into action. "I should warn you that if this matter is bound over for trial I will have to arrange for other counsel." "Other counsel?" "Yes ... I have another felony trial to prepare for and wouldn't be able to spend the time on your case, because if we're not successful in getting it thrown out tomorrow it will go to trial quite quickly" Susan explained. "Then who would be my lawyer?" Heather was upset at the idea of doing this all again with someone new. "There are two other highly qualified attorneys in the office; it would either be Rod Thompson or Jon McNamara." "But ... but ... they're men" the way missus Logan said it, made being male sound like an indictment. 'I need a woman attorney ... only a woman's going to understand why I had to do what I did' Heather thought as panic began to set in. Susan saw the distress in her pretty client's face 'She's sure come to the right place with that attitude' the counselor concluded. Her eyes drifted down the front of the orange prison garb. The zipper was low enough that Susan could see a little cleavage and the minor tingling she got 'down there' shocked her. She wrote her client's name, the place, date and time of the interview at the top of the page 'you're letting the atmosphere of this place get to you... ' The fact was that atmosphere of this community had gotten to her back in high school. It held a fascination for her like the forbidden fruit. Whenever she thought about Oyster Gulch she got these feelings, physical sensations really, that she couldn't quite understand or isolate. It was disturbing so she put the town out of her mind, until of course her job made her come here. Always pushing the thoughts and feelings away she was never able to come to grips with them. The fact was that she was bi-curious but unwilling to admit it; even to herself. "So you're from Rawlins Wyoming..." Miz Connelly raised her head, looked her client in the eye and asked her to explain what happened. Heather had noticed her attorney's apparent interest in her bust. It wasn't anything new but her reaction to it was changed by her experiences of the last day and a half. 'Maybe she's just like Deputy Duggan and Mary Ellen' she pondered 'maybe there's a way to persuade her to stay on my case.' As she began her story the inmate toyed with the zipper tab of the jumpsuit. It could have been construed as nervous fidgeting but tooth by tooth the slider was moving lower as she spoke. Susan was taking notes but each time she looked up there was more of her client's flesh visible. The satisfactorily married lawyer told herself it wasn't happening. She made concerted efforts to focus on the facts the stunning little redhead across the metal table was relating but the slow tantalizing revelation of the plump pink inner slopes of her client's breasts was having a disturbing affect. It was no longer possible to dismiss or ignore the tingling she was feeling between her legs. 'This is crazy' she thought 'just coming into this town doesn't make you a lesbian ... why is the sight of another woman's breasts getting me worked-up?' the rationalization and logic unfortunately had no affect on the physiological reality. By the time Heather had recounted the events leading up to her flight and subsequent misfortunes she had lowered the zipper nearly to the bottom of her ribs. Deliberately shifting in her chair, as though she was stretching her back from sitting too long, she was able to get the loose polyester to separate. When significant portions of the white nylon bra came into view Susan felt a surge and the heat from her pelvis began radiating all over her body. 'This isn't happening!' she tried to deny the undeniable; and then concluded 'she's doing this on purpose!' It was not lost on the accused that her attorney hadn't written anything for a while, nor that she no longer made eye contact. The grey suited woman's gaze was fixed exactly where the manipulative prisoner intended. It never did occur to her that she'd gone from being the victim of lesbian sexual assault and coercion to attempting to initiate a lesbian liaison in two easy lessons. For a woman who, up until two days ago, abhorred gay sex at least on a rational level, the transformation was astounding. The thought that recurred in her mind as she progressively exposed herself to the woman across the table was 'desperate measures for desperate times... ' Still she couldn't deny that the combination of showing this woman her breasts and the affect it apparently was having made her own womanhood tingle and hum. Susan didn't notice that her client had stopped speaking. Her arousal had pretty much taken charge. Heather sat just watching the flushed woman. If she had known that her lawyer had never engaged in this kind of thing before it might have been different. Her erroneous assumption that miz Connelly was from Oyster Gulch and that, by extension was a devotee of same sex loving emboldened her to make the attempt. Had she known that she was actually trying to awaken the woman's latent Sapphic sexuality she mightn't have had the courage. The public defender, at the same time, considered everyone in the secluded little community to be of the same orientation. The idea that the presumed lesbian across the table was 'coming on to her' was not a hard concept to accept. Both women were operating on a faulty premise about the other's sexual orientation and it was producing fascinating results. "Do you like my breasts" the prisoner asked, acknowledging the elephant in the room, as she toyed with the lapels of her jumpsuit. Susan did not verbally respond. Her only reaction to the question was to briefly meet her client's eyes and then return her focus to the gap in the upper half of the orange uniform. For the novice seductress the look in her attorney's eyes was enough. She'd seen it plenty of times before, brought on by inadvertent exposure of her assets. Although she hadn't been consciously looking for the lusty stare from women before, she had now come to the conclusion that it had been there from time to time. "Would you like to see more?" she asked tugging the collar of her uniform outward. The offer and the subsequent action caused both confused pussies to twitch. Susan cleared her throat because she couldn't clear her head which was beginning to spin. The tingling had turned to waves of heat and now to a steady hum. The lawyer wanted to end the meeting and leave but she seemed to have lost all strength in her legs. She made a half hearted attempt to get up and, determining that her legs wouldn't hold her, she sat back down. Heather took her attorney's silence as a 'yes' and tugged the jumpsuit off her shoulders by alternately pulling each of her arms out of the sleeves. She let the orange polyester fall behind her which left her wearing only the nearly transparent nylon bra above the waist. This escalation of the erotic sight drew a groan from the public defender. Susan could see the large pink circles that topped the melon sized orbs. To the woman with 'B' cup breasts and relatively small areolas they looked positively huge. The counselor was trying to remember the last time she'd seen another woman's breasts and she couldn't. 'That doesn't matter it still shouldn't turn me on ... not like this ... not like I can't stand up ... I can't sit still ... I'm trembling ... my panties feel wet ... I'm a mess!' Heather got all the information and reinforcement she needed from her lawyer's expression. She reached behind her for the multiple hooks that secured the 'D' cups in place. "Oh God, oh no" the attorney uttered the first words she had spoken since the interview had turned into a strip tease. Miz Connelly had lost the battle, maybe even the war. Not only could she not maintain her stubborn denial that she was as horny as she'd been in years, looking at the presumed lesbian across the table; but she actually was salivating waiting for the thin veil of the bra cups to get out of the way. Heather's intuition was uncanny, diagnosing the exact moment of surrender she paused in the removal of the last of her upper body clothing and said "but you have to promise to be my lawyer ... I mean right through ... no matter what..." Susan swallowed hard trying to reactivate her vocal chords, "O ... OK" she managed to croak. Missus Logan smiled at her triumph and pulled the clingy cups away from her magnificent tits. The attorney's first reaction was 'they can't be real ... they're too perfect ... it must be implants'. Her client's hands palmed the oversized boobs and began to toy with the rising rubbery peg at the center of each of the coffee cup sized pink circles. The inmate felt the gushing feeling in he crotch and knew she was saturating her only underpants. She so longed to put her hands down there and attend to the needy urgent signals that kept getting stronger. When she stood up the orange prison uniform simply dropped on her feet. Standing just as she had yesterday beside the metal table wearing only the thin nylon panties the feeling was vastly different. In the presence of the deputy she'd been extremely aroused but also very apprehensive and scared, not to mention more than a little embarrassed; this time all she felt was the arousal. Yesterday she'd been the nail; today she was the hammer. The prisoner supported herself by putting her hand on the table and stepped out of her uniform leaving the crumpled orange polyester heap in front of her chair. She rounded the table and stood not much more than a foot from the mentally tormented woman in the grey suit. "It's OK you can touch" the inmate offered. When her victim didn't move she took each of the older woman's hands and placed them squarely on her full breasts. Susan made a guttural sound, feeling the velvet soft warm flesh under her hands. The size and stiffness of the protruding nipples against her palms amazed her and some reflex caused her to squeeze. Her fingers melted into the pliable flesh. It felt so wonderful that she began what could best be characterized as a massage. The speculation about implants was immediately resolved. The twin beauties were all flesh and blood and they were even more arousing to feel than they were to look at. Heather decided she'd earned the right and slipped her hand under the waistband of her soggy and unabsorbent panties and began to address the need that her lawyer was making worse by the second. Sorting through the labial folds she put her fingers to work where they'd do the most good; directly on the firm nubbin at the top of her saturated crease. It came as no surprise to the woman with the hair trigger that within seconds a thunderbolt caused her to hunch her hips and clamp her thighs tight on her diddling hand. All the air rushed out of her in a primal grunt. She grabbed the edge of the table with her free hand to avoid collapsing on the hard tile floor. When her vision cleared a little, the fugitive wife saw a look on her lawyer's face that was like nothing she'd seen before. The seated woman looked almost intoxicated her eyes were wide and unfocused her jaw was slack and she was virtually panting. On impulse Heather put her pussy juice and cum soaked hand to her counselor's mouth and nose. The woman inhaled deeply as if she were taking smelling salts, and then began to avaricely lap at the inmate's hand. The wife and mother of two could not believe what she was doing; couldn't think about what she was doing. Twenty-five years of suppressed desires were running rampant. If she'd thought she could manage it she'd have thrown the cute busty redhead on the floor and sucked her pussy until she was inside out. When her incarcerated friend sank to her knees and slid her hands under the counselor's skirt the out of control lawyer was reminded how much her coochie was pounding. Sliding up the outsides of the counselor's bare thighs Heather curled her fingers around the waistband of the woman's bikinis. She looked up at her attorney with those adorable green eyes. The seated woman was suddenly stunned by what she was about to do but it was too late. With a pathetic whimper she raised her hips enough to free the cotton blend panties from under her butt. The kneeling woman pulled them to her knees in one smooth motion. As the underwear slid down her calves and was threaded over her sensible wedge heel pumps she allowed the long suppressed fantasies to tumble in her mind. Head back and eyes closed Susan compliantly lifted her hips once again as the skirt of her grey suit was pushed up and bunched around her waist. When the little redhead slid her hands up the insides of the lawyer's thighs it took very little outward pressure to spread them. Heather looked at the engorged mons and appreciated the significance of what she was about to do. She'd been used and abused ever since her arrest yesterday. She had discovered sexual gratification that she barely knew existed and to her shock and awe, at the hands and mouth of another woman. Those events had been in large measure beyond her control. She could excuse and absolve herself of responsibility and return to her life as before; a heterosexual wife, or ex-wife and mother in her so called normal world. But once she applied her mouth to this woman's vulva in a carnal act that she had instigated there was no turning back or denying her dual sexuality. She paused as the magnitude of the moment sunk in. Sheriff Carlyle had the exclusive ability to by-pass the door switch on the interview room. That's how she was able to sit at her desk and watch on the computer monitor, the sexy little redhead on her knees poised to provide oral gratification to the public defender. She'd long suspected that the counselor was curious but forty year olds held next to no interest for Oyster Gulch's top cop. Still she wondered when somebody in town would satisfy the woman's curiosity. She hadn't expected it to be an outsider. Watching the erotic scene she could only hope that the prisoner's daughter was as pliable. |