LEZ-111 GIRL-CRAZY GIRL
by Dallas Mayo


CHAPTER ONE

Let's face it. I am -- to begin with -- a girl-crazy girl. Which just
naturally leads to the assumption that I love cunt, and all appurtenances
thereto. Which I do. Let's face it, cunt and tits and soft thighs and
satin-sleek ass-cheeks, oooh, the mere thought gives me leaky plumbing! I
like tongues, too, of course, daintily feminine or luridly female --
tongues are uniquely adapted to the needs and nuances of my kind of love,
all warm and moist and wondrously flexible in the curves and corners of
kinky eroticism. Anyway, what reasonably sensuous lover would dare
disagree?

Basically, then, I'm equipped with all the usual desires and sex-drives
ascribed to the gay sisterhood. I mention this only in passing, though --
it is not the main theme here. Oh no, I'm obsessed by a far more freaky
twist, one that casts me in a somewhat different light altogether, adding
another dimension to my lesbian life. Because of my name, no doubt, my
curiously conducive name! Or could that be just an excuse, a fiction of my
mind? Well, even so, I'd rather go on preserving it intact, a lovely
romantic fiction. Or maybe a lovely freaky truth...

My name is Loi Morlock. It's my real name, exactly as on the birth
certificate, no phony. My father used to read a lot of fantasy and science
fiction, a fan from way back. And with a name like Morlock, well, I guess
his lifetime ambition must have been to sire a daughter whom he could
legitimately call Eloi. Eloi Morlock, get it? -- out of that old H. G.
Wells classic, The Time Machine -- the names of those two separate races of
the future, the innocent Eloi and the wicked Morlock. (It's been done in
the movies, incidentally, with Rod Taylor and Yvette Mimieux, an okay
flick!) But my mother wouldn't stand for Eloi, seeing it as a half-baked
Eloise -- or so the story goes; wise woman! And somehow, by some obscure
logic, they compromised on Loi. Which was fine with me -- Loi Morlock, a
very nice name, very distinctive -- until I got a little older and began to
see myself freaking out over its meaning. Like a kind of split personality
-- the original meaning, Eloi in conflict with Morlock -- demure and
submissive in one guise, evil and domineering in the other. Only it was
already pretty well ingrained by then, rooted in unforgettable scenes from
my childhood. Pre-teen childhood. Long before I understood the association
with my own name. Long before I was even aware of it, oddly enough.

Childhood, then. Late childhood, a time of drowsy glands and awakening
curiosity. A time when my first fumbling attempts at such an understanding 
could only fail, obviously; at that tender age, who could cope with X-rated
transgressions? Actually, my first real experience did come by way of a
book, though, only it wasn't any science fiction classic, not that one! Not
with those pictures of nearly nude ladies, some even all bare, naked! --
and wasn't it clever of me to snoop around and stumble upon such a rare
grownup treasure? In the middle drawer of Bernadette's dresser, of all
places, tucked underneath a neatly folded stack of pink nylon things,
underwear and stuff. Snooping was always fun there, everything smelled of
sachet, as sweet as baby powder but a lot spicier, the kind of woman-smell
that could almost make me dizzy. Somehow, even in the farthest reaches of
my memory, I had always managed to find that warm scent -- or something
quite like it -- in the silky-stuff drawer of every maid who ever stayed
long enough to unpack. Even the skinny old prune-face, the one who
practically had a nervous breakdown the year before, keeping house for my
father and taking care of me and complaining about her backache as if all
three were symptoms of the same illness. Not that I did much sniffing of
her silkies. I was glad to see the old witch replaced, especially by
someone like Bernadette, so soft and plump and good-natured -- and much
younger, of course, almost too young for that motherly sachet smell.

Funny about that. The smell, I mean. Looking back at those childhood days,
it seems fairly evident that I must have been nosing around in search of my
dead mother, unconsciously associating the sweet sachet with the bygone
sweetness of maternal love. I wasn't two yet when she died, hardly out of
the infant stage but still old enough to be already conditioned to the
sweet-smelling shelter and security of her loving arms. As an only child
then, lovelorn and lonely -- brought up by a busy father and an endless
succession of maids and housekeepers -- was it any wonder that I pawed
through silk-soft dresser drawers for a sniff of that lost intimacy? There
was always just one grown-up lady living at our house, the maidservant of
the moment, the one and only possible source of that nice dreamy
woman-smell; was it any wonder that I usually adored her and curried favor
like a pet pussycat starved for affection?

I curried well, too. The door to the maid's quarters was seldom locked
against a poor little motherless waif, the room as familiar to me as my
own. A very cozy bedroom, small but attractively furnished and decorated --
and with a private adjoining bath, no less, all in back of the kitchen, as
comfortable as anything upstairs and a lot more convenient. Even a
telephone, an extension phone right at her elbow in case my father called
from the office or on one of his out-of-town business trips. And a good
color TV set, naturally, since that was his business, the biggest and best
television shop-in the county. We weren't exactly rich, but were still
unable to afford more than one sleep-in servant, so dear Bernadette had to
put in a full day's work to earn her keep. But it didn't seem to bother
her, except maybe when she fell behind in the housecleaning and had to 
scold me for getting under her feet. Nor did it bother me either,
considering how gentle her scoldings were, always with a mock frown and a
twinkle in her eye. Besides, whenever she got into that work-work-work
mood, the noise sounded throughout the house, an all but certain indicator
of her exact whereabouts. Which was just fine for me, the perfect time to
sneak in a little undisturbed secret investigation of any secrets important
enough to be hidden so carefully beneath a piled-up mess of pink underwear.
A more leisurely look at that untitled thing in the middle drawer; what a
thrill!

Oh yes, I saw it as a thrill somehow, even though the word itself had
never rung a sex-bell in my innocent and inexperienced young mind. I had
spent only a few minutes with the book so far, a hasty run-through followed
immediately by a prudent and ever-so-painstaking return to its nylon nest
-- exasperating but executed with a wisdom beyond my years. Even if the
pictures hadn't shocked me, the hiding-place alone was a dead giveaway, a
sign that I was meddling in some mysterious province forbidden to
inquisitive little girls. My snooping escapades required extra caution now,
the prize was too precious for any but the most calculated of risks. And as
I shivered and opened the fearful volume again -- with one ear cocked for
the comforting hum of the vacuum cleaner upstairs -- the sensation became
almost unbearable. The pages fell open to an illustration in color, three
women, all naked, a chaotic but strangely beautiful entanglement of bodies;
and in that single instant of insight I learned the difference between a
scary thrill and a sexy thrill. Only how could it be sexy if there weren't
any men, how could they fit together and make babies?

Fascinated but still somewhat dubious, I settled down to solve the
mystery. The book consisted of pictures mostly, reproductions of oil
paintings and watercolors. A scattering of photographs, too, real snapshots
of women in all kinds of crazy positions. And a few black-and-white ink
drawings, simpler than the rest and easier to understand. Easier for a kid
like me, anyway. I couldn't make much sense out of the accompanying text,
it was a mixture of English and French and some other foreign languages --
sometimes just the name of the artist and a gallery or museum. At first I
couldn't even tell if it was supposed to be an art collection or a book
about sexy women without men. My reading ability was pretty good then, and
I even knew some of the French words, drummed into my head at an early age
by another of the long line of maidservants, one who must have fancied
herself a high-class governess. And the French sure helped, I soon
discovered, adding just enough to explain some of the scientific English.
(Phony scientific, I found out later, but still loaded with goodies for a
beginner like myself!) So after a while I got the hang of the thing and
could look at it for pure enjoyment as much as for information. And that
was the extent of my progress by the time I realized the vacuum hum had
quit.

I didn't notice it right off, the sudden silence. It sounded eerie now,
eerie and ominous and crackling with suspense as my ears strained for some
telltale clue. Nothing reached me, though, and I leaped into action and got
the all-important book put away in a mad rush. In its proper place, I
hoped. With just the right tilt to the covering heap of silky panties and
such. Only I was pretty panicky by then, too much in a hurry to stop and
calm down and get everything perfect, especially with my hands shaking and
my tummy full of butterflies. Anyway, it looked okay when I slid the drawer
shut and finally strolled out into the kitchen, all smiles and coy
innocence, hiding the secret that I knew about her secret...

False alarm. Bernadette was nowhere in sight. I even considered going back
in there for one last check, wondering now if the spread on her bed had
been left noticeably wrinkled. And were the throw-rugs on the floor any
different than before? Then, with a nervous little giggle, I simply
shrugged the whole thing off and found myself almost wishing that she would
catch on. After all, the mystery was no longer quite so mysterious -- and
what kind of woman would even dare own such a naughty book?

Hmm. What was that word again? Lesbian?
CHAPTER TWO

It was routine almost, something we went through at least twice a week,
and I should have felt relaxed and comfortable in front of my junior-size
vanity table as the brush made a few preparatory glides. She looked relaxed
enough. Brushing my hair was a job that Bernadette must have really
enjoyed, always cheerful, always working with gentle patience, no matter
how many snarls and tangles I had. And she did it often too, her own idea
-- the full treatment, not just a quick once-over to get me ready for
school in the morning. As if I were a grown-up young lady. But that was how
she usually acted toward me anyway, never bossy or mean, never taking
advantage of her position. As if she knew I was advanced for my age. So
even though it could get pretty tiresome just sitting still like that, I
seldom raised any objections whenever Bernadette suggested it might be time
for my hundred strokes of the hairbrush. Like now. For that matter, only
moments ago I had even thought of suggesting it myself. Strictly routine.
So why couldn't I calm down and relax? Couldn't I even keep my mouth shut?

"Hey, you're not counting!"

"You noticed that, eh? Don't worry, Missy, I've got my eye on the clock.
I'm timing it. Unless you'd rather count the strokes yourself?"

"No, thanks. I think a hundred is too much, anyhow. Doesn't your arm get
tired? I mean, for ugly hair like mine..."

"Hush now, your hair is pretty."

"Bernadette, it's so red. Not even a nice red."

"It's a very nice red. And it'll be even nicer in a couple of years.
You'll see. Hair like yours gets a shade darker after a while, a real
auburn color, you know? Beautiful. It's enough to make me jealous. Mine is
like dirty old straw."

I wasn't so tense and jittery now, just that little bit of conversation
helped. The mirror still showed brassy red hair, though, and I wondered
what auburn would look like on me. Maybe it would go all right with my
brown eyes. I was pretty, sure enough, and I'd be getting even prettier in
time -- a dozen grown-ups had said so. But it was still nice to hear it
again -- beautiful -- especially from someone like Bernadette, someone who
really meant it.

The brush-strokes helped, too, so smooth and steady, a lovely familiar
feeling -- all the lovelier for what it signified, clearing up my last
remaining doubts. Nothing to fret about anymore! My secret was still safe,
apparently, everything was the same as before -- the naughty book and the
pink underwear and the secret within a secret. And meanwhile I had seen one
of life's mysteries unraveling, the kind that, other kids just didn't know
about. Only in pictures, of course, but a lot more interesting than those
dumb stories about the birds laying eggs and the bees buzzing around and
carrying pollen from flower to flower. Who cared about naked birds and
bees? Or even naked babies! But naked grown-up women...

Lesbians. A book about lesbians. A naughty one, too -- all that hugging
and kissing and sticking tongues into each other -- why would sweet
Bernadette even have such a book?

Out of curiosity, I took a sneaky look into the mirror, angling for a
different view this time. Her hair really was a mess, not as bad as dirty
old straw exactly, just a dingy darkish blonde with no shine at all. Then,
suddenly, something changed right then and there, her skin turned rosy, a
real deep blush, and I realized that our eyes had met in the glass for one
tiny instant. And it transferred itself to me, whatever it was -- now I
could only wonder if my own blush was as visible as hers. There was
something hot and quivery crawling around inside me, something just outside
the edge of my mind, a kind of secret excitement that seemed to grow bigger
with every stroke of the hairbrush, the long down stroke that I could have
sworn was getting longer each time. I got dizzy and had to close my eyes, 
letting my whole body sag and go limp, my head lolling out of balance, the
start of a sway that could tumble me right off the vanity bench. And it
sure would have, too, except for a little welcome support. Most welcome!
She must have moved up closer behind me -- I was leaning against her now,
the back of my head sinking into softness, the soft prop of her breasts.
Like a huge foam-rubber pillow, only warmer, much warmer. A cloud of
perfume surrounded me, all mixed up, the powder-sweet sachet smell along
with some of that deliciously tangy woman-smell...

Downstairs a door slammed -- the front door! -- snapping me out of my
feverish daze. My fattier was home. And for the first time in my life I
found myself almost resenting him; couldn't he have stayed away just a few
minutes longer? It affected Bernadette also, she became brisk and
businesslike and finished the job quickly. Only I couldn't help wondering
what might have happened if we hadn't been interrupted. Nothing, probably,
not even if she was like those naked grown-up ladies in the book. Or could
lesbians do all that naughty stuff with little girls too?

It was quite a while before the opportunity arose for another sneaky visit
to her room. There were numerous possibilities, of course, but none that
seemed safe for any length of time, no chance of an undisturbed hour or so
with the fascinating volume. And I knew dam well how easy it would be to
become engrossed and get caught in the act. So I waited somewhat
impatiently, unwilling to take the risk, until at last Bernadette went into
the city on one of her Saturday shopping trips, an all-afternoon affair
usually, with a slow bus ride both ways. We lived on Chelsea Hill, a quiet
suburb of Springfield -- where my father had his business -- and ordinarily
I might have gone along with her, glad to see the sights of the big city. I
begged off just this once though, making up an excuse about going to the
library with some friends from down the street. It wasn't far from the
truth, actually, since the kids were supposed to come by for me, but I got
on the phone and canceled out after she left. And then, proud of my shrewd
strategy but feeling a bit guilty too, I had the house to myself and wasted
no time getting back there and into that middle dresser drawer.

What a disappointment! The big beautiful book was missing; in its place
was a dog-eared old paperback with no illustrations at all, not even a
front cover picture. Both covers had been torn off, for that matter, and so
was the title page -- deliberately, it appeared -- leaving no clue to its
contents, no indication of what the thing was about. In any other place, I
would have passed it over without a second glance. But after waiting so
long for this moment, I had to stay and give it an honest try at least,
especially with the whole afternoon ahead of me. And I couldn't just thumb
through this one, my reading ability wasn't that developed yet. So I
stretched out on the bed and began resolutely, frustrated but still
hopeful, still conscious of the secret hiding-place.

Midway through the first chapter, my frustration started to fade slowly as
the story took shape and showed signs of life. And pretty soon -- what a
surprise! -- my disappointment turned to delight. In its own unimpressive
way, this well-worn paperback might prove to be a real help to my
education, an interesting supplement to the arty picture book, a kind of
sequel almost. Some of the words gave me trouble and I thought about
fetching a dictionary to work with, maybe even the fat one from my father's
study. But I had a feeling those particular expressions wouldn't be listed
anyway -- and besides, it was growing easier to figure them out just from
their repeated use. Even more important, I could feel myself getting all
warm and tingly inside, quite familiar now, hardly the mood for looking up
words in the dictionary.

I went on reading eagerly, stirred by the central idea and practically
squirming around on the bed as the tale unfolded -- all about a pleasure
resort for women only, all lesbians, wealthy old guests served by lovely
young girls. Or the other way around sometimes, whenever some beautiful
waitress or bellhop got cocky and demanded service herself, sex-service
from some worshipful old biddy who eventually wound up on her knees like a
slave. Oh, it was weird! And even though I had all afternoon to finish it,
the time rushed by so fast that Bernadette's clock seemed to be leaping
from hour to hour. I had to zip through the last few chapters in a hurry,
leaving a lot of blanks here and there -- too great a hurry to get the full
meaning and enjoyment out of those juicy end-scenes. And when the time
finally came to play safe and tuck the book away, I was already impatient
for my next chance to sneak back again, even more so than I'd been for the
big one with all the naughty pictures.

Until then, though, I had plenty to think about -- just as naughty and
twice as shocking, it seemed like. A lot more educational, too, since most
of the words had become pretty clear to me. I knew what a cuntlapper was.
And I had a pretty good notion about sadists and masochists and that sort
of thing. Like the rich bitch who couldn't be happy unless she was
walloping some beautiful young girl's ass. Or the maid who turned around
and began to dominate her mistress, getting her toenails polished and her
feet licked just for an extra thrill. And more, so many more, all in this
pleasure resort for women only, a luxury hotel that catered not just to
lesbians but to perverted lesbians...
CHAPTER THREE

The next opportunity came sooner than expected. Or so I thought, anyway,
having seen Bernadette go out to spend her night off with a relative who
lived some thirty miles away, down in the farmland area. And when my father
got tired of watching television and went to bed early, wel...

I waited awhile, making sure he was asleep, and then tiptoed downstairs in
my pajamas. As always, the hall lamp was on, throwing enough light through
the kitchen doorway so that I didn't have to click any switches. Not that
it made much difference, considering what a sound sleeper my father was,
nothing short of an earthquake would wake him up before morning. I felt
guilty, though, a guilt mixed with excitement -- after all, I was doing
something naughty. I even had an excuse ready, just in case, an excuse
about coming down for a glass of milk and then deciding to use the maid's
bathroom first -- not very farfetched really, just the sort of thing a kid
my age might do. That way I could read far into the night, keeping one ear
open in case of emergency. A perfectly logical excuse. I had to
congratulate myself on my cleverness, feeling guilty and excited and a
little bit smug too; oh yes, I had everything worked out just fine! Or so I
thought.

Breathlessly, nearing my goal now, I glided across the kitchen floor,
pausing only to check and make certain that no light peeped out from under
Bernadette's door. Again, just in case! There was always the possibility
that she had changed her mind and returned early, coming in quietly through
the back-porch entrance. Possible but doubtful, and I only stopped for a
quick glance -- just to catch my breath mainly -- before turning the knob
and pushing the door open, eager to begin my night of grown-up fun. My
night of grown-up naughtiness...

It was naughty, all right, only I sure hadn't figured on anything that
naughty. Even the light seemed sinful, a single red bulb that bathed
everything in a rosy glow, bright enough for vision but too dim to be seen
through the crack underneath the door. She was bare naked, standing in
front of the full-length mirror, angled so that I could see part of her for
real and the rest of her as a reflection. I stood there without a sound,
paralyzed, looking at those two rose-colored Bernadette's and wondering if
it was all just a crazy dream. Only it wasn't, of course, and I didn't have
to pinch myself to remember lying in bed and waiting for my father to fall
asleep and start snoring. Besides, what dream could present such a strange
sight, what kind of dream could make my eyes bulge like this?

I saw her big bare bottom and her big bare breasts, round and swollen and
sexier than any picture in a book. It turned me all warm and shaky inside,
that nice itchy-quivery feeling, and I had an urge to touch myself, to
scratch the itch, the deep-down-inside place where it itched the most. And
then her hands moved a little and I saw what she was doing with them --
just a little, not much, just enough to prod my mind wide-awake and bring
back memories of both books. It came in bits and pieces, the words, the
pictures, all that storybook stuff; could it really be real?

Even my schoolbooks weren't about real life. Geography books were full of
faraway names and places, never Springfield or Chelsea Hill or Oakwood
Street. Never anyplace deep down inside. The same went for history books,
all about things that happened long ago and far away. Like a lady named
Betsy Ross who sewed the American flag. Never about old Mrs. Yates, the
lady who sold dresses and did alterations in her shop next to the
supermarket. And as for storybooks, well, Dick and Jane and their dog Spot
weren't any more real than Hansel and Gretel and the wicked old witch
running a gingerbread bakery in the middle of the forest. And now all of a
sudden I was seeing storybook stuff come alive! I was even an important
part of it -- me, little Loi Morlock -- standing there and watching our
maid Bernadette frig herself...

Uh-huh. I had never seen Mount Everest or a lady flag maker or a
gingerbread oven, but this was for real, and right in front of my eyes.
Because that was what she was doing with her hands, frigging herself. I
knew the word. Oh shit, I knew all the words. I wanted to say them out
loud, to tell her how beautiful she looked with that big bare ass shining
and those big bare tits shaking and shimmering, all rosy-red in the
lamplight. Fingerfucking her own cunt, imagine! Was that how to scratch the
itch, the itchy-quivery feeling, the horny feeling? She had both hands down
there, down between her legs, working the fingers up and around inside her
slit, the hairy cunt-slit that refused to show itself for more than a quick
glimpse now and then, no matter how hard I squinted and strained for a
better view. Each hand had its own job to do, I noticed, each with its own
speed and style, the lower one always in motion, sliding in and out,
fucking -- while the hand above remained pretty steady, cupped and curved
to give the fingertips a chance, caressing her clit, no doubt, the little
love-button that was supposed to be hot stuff, at least according to most
of the experienced lesbians in that book about the pleasure resort. Anyway,
it was good to see a demonstration of something that I had read about with
great enjoyment but not much conviction. (Let's face it, there are times
when you gotta believe!) And it was even better to see how simple and
natural it was, much easier to understand than all that silly nonsense
about the birds and the bees and the flowers.

True, she was doing it alone, solo, and that was possible for any woman,
not just a lesbian; it said so in the book. But the way she panted and kept
her attention focused on the mirror, gazing as though it was more than just
an image of herself -- well, I was almost convinced that those two
rose-colored Bernadette's were lesbian lovers. I felt embarrassed watching
them in such intimacy, embarrassed even beyond my original mistake in
opening the door. And I started wondering if there was a chance of my
slipping out unnoticed. Only I couldn't tear myself away, not while the
show was still going on and getting better, hotter, as that fuck-hand 
seemed to grow stronger and penetrate deeper -- not hard, just long and
slow and sexy. By that time I was craning my neck for improved visibility,
hopeful of just one clear and conclusive glimpse of her cunt, a gleam of
red maybe, a glistening flash that meant cunt and not just another
reflection of the light bulb. It was something I was dying to see,
something I had never seen before, a cunt, a real grownup woman-cunt...

"Loi! Don't you knock any more?"

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't know you were home. I thought you went to visit
your..."

"Never mind that now. Come in and shut the door. You got yourself an
eyeful, huh?" Still panting, she grabbed for her robe and then tossed it
aside with a shrug. "Hmph! Maybe you like looking at naked females. How
long have you been watching me?"

"I-I don't remember. Not long."

"Shut it tight. Before your father hears us and wakes up. That's better.
Now stop fidgeting and come here. I guess you think I'm pretty naughty,
hmm?"

"N-naughty?"

"Naughty. I was only having some fun, really. But it's not the kind of fun
I'd care to have anyone know about. Especially your father. You wouldn't
want to make trouble for me, would you, Missy?"

"Trouble? Golly, no. Of course not."

"Good girl. When grownups are naughty, their punishment can be a lot worse
than just a scolding. Or even a spanking. If you told anybody about me --
about what you just saw me doing, you know? -- I might even lose my job
here. You don't want that to happen, do you? Then you'd have another maid
to keep house and take care of you, maybe someone like that old prune-face,
remember?"

"Ugh. I won't tell. Cross my heart, Bernadette, I won't say a word to my
father or anybody else. I like you, honest. You're the nicest maid we've
ever had. I'd cry if you left."

"You darling. And you're the nicest little girl. There now, that's
settled. Only you must learn to knock, my dear. I can't understand why you
didn't."

"Well, uh, I thought you were... uh..."

"You thought I was spending the night with my cousin, hmm? I changed my
mind. Good thing I did, too. Now I know who's been snooping in my room. So
you thought I was out, that's why you didn't bother to knock. But if that's
so, what did you come for? To poke around in my dresser drawers? To learn
some secrets that were never meant for children? Secrets that even a lot of
grownups would find shocking? Hmph! I won't be spied on, you hear?"

"I'm sorry. Please don't be mad. Don't scold me any more, I'll be a good
girl from now on, I promise."

"Of course you will, you always are, darling. Even when you're naughty
sometimes, you're still my good little girl."

"Oh. Then you're not mad? Bernadette?"

"Silly. How could I be mad at my little angel?"

"But-but the way you just scolded me..."

"Hmm. I was rather harsh. Well then, there's only one thing to do now, and
that's to even the score. It's your turn to be harsh to me, I guess. How
does that sound?"

"I-I don't understand."

"A bit complicated, is it? Listen. You were naughty and I scolded you,
that was your punishment. But I was naughty, too -- when you first came in,
remember? Playing with myself like that, standing in front of the mirror,
and with this red light on; don't you think that was naughty? Not terribly
naughty, but enough so that I ought to be punished. So it's only fair that
you punish me for my naughtiness, wouldn't you say so, Missy?"

"You-you mean I should scold you?"

"No, dear, I'm afraid that wouldn't work, you're a little too young to
give me a proper scolding. But if you think you're big enough to give me a
proper spanking..."

"Huh?"

"Right on my bare bottom, a good hard spanking, as hard as you can hit. I
deserve it, I deserve to be punished; will you do it for me, darling?"

"You must. Then I'll feel as if I've paid for my naughtiness. And that's 
all the more reason not to tell anybody about it, too -- a good spanking
will take away my guilty feelings. Once the punishment is over, my
conscience will be clear and I'll just forget all about it."

"Oh. But-but you're so much bigger than me..."

"Bigger but weaker. I'm a naughty girl, that's all. And since you're the
one who caught me, well, that gives you the right to use a little
discipline to straighten me out -- and what better discipline is there?"

"A spanking... golly..."
CHAPTER FOUR

I was pretty mixed up by then, confused by the way her attitude toward me
had switched back and forth, the way she kept changing from nasty to nice
and then back to nasty again. Then too, she had never put her robe on and
was still naked; her body seemed so big in that small room, much bigger
than with clothes on somehow. Or maybe that was because of the red light,
so weird! -- it made everything feel close, confined. Her tits bobbed and
swung with every gesture, every movement, the nipples practically poking
into my face. And with the door shut I could really smell her, the powder
and perfume and the sexy woman-smell. I was conscious of her cunt all the
time, conscious of it but afraid to look, too embarrassed to let her see me
yield to childish curiosity.

But she wasn't being nasty any more, only nice now, calling me her darling
little angel in a sugar-sweet voice. And I had to admit that the idea of
spanking her sounded kind of cute, almost like a new game she had just made
up for us to play together. Exciting, too, now that she was actually
begging for it, exciting enough to be more than just some kid game...

"Won't you, Missy, won't you punish your naughty girl? Give me what we
both know I deserve. Look..." She spun around. "See? See this naughty
bottom of mine? It won't feel better until you slap it with your dear
little hand. Good and hard, too. Or I'll never be able to sleep tonight,
not with my guilty conscience."

My excitement flared at the sight of her buttocks, big and bulgy, all that
grownup woman-flesh! Just touching it would be fun. And so would stroking
or patting or caressing. But slapping it -- spanking those plump cheeks --
wouldn't that be even more fun? A noise burbled up inside my clogged
throat, all but unintelligible, more like a grunt than a word of
willingness. She must have gotten the message though, waggling her hips and
twisting at the waist to glance back and utter one final plea.

"You'll do it then? Oh, you darling! How do you want me, over your lap? I
might be too heavy for you, maybe I'd better just lie down on the bed,
okay?"

"N-no... wait..." I managed to speak at last, spurred by an almost
vehement need to object. Her backside was the target, sure, but there were
things in front I didn't want to lose track of, things too interesting to
bury in a bed sheet. "Not on the bed. Just stand there, right where you
are, Bernadette. Just stand still and stick your bottom out, that's all."

"Oh. You-you mean like this?"

"Uh-huh. Fine."

She peered back over one shoulder, looking a bit nervous now, and then
went into position again, bending even lower to make those dimpled cheeks
jut out. They remained like that, tense and expectant, the skin drawn
tight, certainly an inviting target. Even so, it was still too much of a
muddle for me, the whole business, too strange, too sudden, too much for my
inexperienced young mind to cope with; after all, how could a little girl
hit a big grown-up woman? And my swing was halfhearted, hardly more than a
tap.

"Missy? Is that the best you can do? Tsk, tsk. Afraid of hurting your hand
maybe? You're sure not hurting me."

It was like a challenge. Gritting my teeth, I took aim and swung again --
with better results this time, a resounding swat that must have caught her
unprepared and off balance; her body jerked and then swayed as one knee
weakened and bent deeper than the other. The sway changed direction an
instant later as she struggled to regain her poise, but I didn't give her
much chance after that, pounding away mightily with little regard for
rhythm or accuracy and doing it for my own sake now rather than hers. Doing
it because I liked the sensation, the heated contact, the fleshy softness,
the smarting in my palm that could only betoken a far worse sting wherever
it struck. I liked the way she was swaying back and forth, too, shifting
her weight from knee to knee with a jerk and a twitch and a ripple of
flesh, all spontaneous, out of control, responding only to the force of my
hand, my small but apparently powerful hand; oh shit, was there ever such a
sensation?

Her moans and groans finally bringing me to my senses, a kind of vague the
midst of chaos. This was my first taste of power; couldn't I do something
with it, something beyond its enjoyment alone? Surely there was some hidden
potential here, a gain, a profit, a longer lasting benefit; in my moment of
strength, couldn't I take advantage of her moment of weakness? But of
course! She had bared her body but left herself veiled in mystery, and now
it was time to bare a few hidden secrets.

"Bernadette?"

"Oooh... darling..."

"I spank good, huh? Listen, you naughty girl. As long as you're so worried
about your conscience bothering you..."

"Hmm? What?"

"About tonight. When you scolded me for spying on you. How did you know
that, how did you know I was poking around in your dresser drawers? You
been laying traps for me? What are you, a lady detective like on
television?"

"Uh... well... uh..."

"Never mind. It's not important any more. But if you knew I was doing it,
why did you leave those books there? Books that weren't meant for children.
Answer me that, huh? Or maybe I ought to answer it for you, since you're
not talking much. I'll bet you wanted me to find them. Darn right. What
other reason could there be? Oh, you really are naughty! -- isn't that the
truth?"

"It-it's true, it's true, darling."

"You're wicked, that's what you are."

"I know. I'm so ashamed. Punish me, punish me, I deserve all the
punishment you can hand out. Just don't tell anybody, don't even breathe a
word of it, please? Unless you don't like me any more. I mean, uh, if you'd
rather have some other we've already settled that. I'm no tattletale, but I
don't like being scolded, either. Not for a little thing like -- well, you
know."

"Uh-huh. I understand, Missy."

"You'd better. Or else..."

"Ouch!"

"S'matter? Too rough?"

"N-no, never. It just took me by surprise. I had something on my mind,
that's all. About what you found in my dresser. Honey, did you do any real
reading? The one without any pictures, did you try to get through it?"

"Well, sure, what did you expect? I read it. That's how come I know how to
spank so good."

"Oh! Those naughty words..."

"I figured most of them out okay. It would have helped if you'd been
around to explain the hard ones, though. As one naughty girl to another,
you know?"

"Little rascal. That's not what I meant. At your age, some of those words
are just too..." Bernadette sighed. "But what's done is done, I suppose.
And I've got nobody to blame but myself. It was just a stupid impulse. Oh,
I'm so ashamed! If we could only forget the whole stupid mess..."

"Hey, you're beginning to sound like a broken record. Anyway, one book
might have been just a dumb impulse, but two? -- come on now, you were
trying to arouse my curiosity. Pretty smart, I'd say. It worked, didn't
it?"

"That's just the trouble, it worked too well. Darling, if you only knew
how awful I feel about..."

"Shit! And I didn't learn that word from any book. Now quit whining, will
you? And get back into position, keep your ass stuck out, your big fat
lesbian ass, you hear me? If it's just words that bother you, I might as
well give you something to worry about." I was punctuating my speech with
sharp slaps, irritated by her gloom on what should have been a joyous
occasion. "And stop making faces! Here. Swing around a little, move this
way -- see how shitty that looks in the mirror? Your face, I mean, your
shitty face, it spoils the whole picture. Look at the rest of it, see how
pretty we are? A big naked lesbian with her tits out in front and her ass
out behind. And a cute little baby lesbian swatting away, blistering that
ass good, turning it redder than any old red light. Hmm. Remind me to take
my pajamas off next time, I haven't got a minute to spare now, I'm much too
busy slapping the shit out of you. Nice big soft ass..."

"Darling, please. Must you talk like that?"

I giggled. Peevish as she sounded, I recognized the expression on her
face, a forced frown with an animated twinkle underneath, a phony frown on
the brink of a genuine smile. About time, too. The shock of my naughty
language had really horrified her at first, but she was getting over it in 
a hurry now, almost ready to start giggling right along with me. It was
funny, the picture we made, a big naked woman wincing and shivering and
dancing like a puppet on a string, under the control of a little girl half
her size. Especially since I was trying so hard to make her laugh. But all
that no longer seemed necessary at this point, her mood was already
changing.

"Hey, you're smiling. Good. You're much prettier like that. Make it a sexy
smile, though, lick your lips till they shine. Come on, open your mouth,
don't be bashful, let's see what kind of tricks your tongue can do; isn't
every lesbian supposed to have a real tricky tongue? Oooh, you've got a big
one! But smile, too -- even with your tongue out -- like a cuntlapper
smiling into a nice juicy cunt, huh?"

Once again she showed signs of reluctance, evidently distressed by my
familiarity with such naughty shockers as cunts and cuntlappers. But I
didn't let her dwell on it, I just gave her an extra fierce whack across
the ass, low down and curving up into her concealed crotch, painful enough
to draw a loud yelp. And then at last, secure in my conquest, I felt
capable of pushing her toward the planned climax of our accidental
night-meeting, taking a certain perverse pleasure in matching the end to
the beginning. Only with a small personal touch of my own now, naturally,
giving me complete supremacy and benefiting both of us at once.

"Remember what you were doing when I opened the door? I want you to do it
again. Don't you hear me, Bernadette? I want to see you frig yourself. Like
you did before. Only I'll be helping you this time, smacking your ass and
punishing you -- to ease your conscience, right? -- so you won't have to
feel guilty. Come on. Finger fuck that hot lesbian cunt!"

I gave her one more undercut, a well-aimed whack that brought another yelp
and goaded her into action. She spread her legs and jammed her hands
between them. And then I settled down to a nice steady rhythm that didn't
interfere with her concentration or mine as she fucked her wide-open slit
with one hand and caressed her clit with the other. Just like before. Only
I was close now and didn't have to squint and crane my neck for a clear
view of it, a clear view of the thing I'd only gotten a glimpse of, a thing
I'd never really seen -- all wet and slimy and shiny under its bush of hair
-- her cunt, a real grownup woman-cunt...

"Ah! Oooh!"

It happened all too soon, much sooner than I figured on. She made a lot of
crazy noises, sobbing almost, and both hands stopped and seemed to go stiff
inside the wetness. Her ass remained in that same position though, still
bulging out, and I lengthened my swing and hit harder and harder. Until her
knees began to buckle and she went limp and slumped to the floor.

Now there was only hoarse breathing. A heap of flesh. It was something I
couldn't quite comprehend. In spite of what those books had taught me, I
simply hadn't expected such an abrupt finish. But I knew it was over, of
course, all over for tonight.

After a while she raised her head, "Loi..."

"Hmmm?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

It sounded pretty silly. Thank you. You're welcome. Like a lesson in good
manners, very polite. But now I was just a kid again and Bernadette was a
grownup. The fun had ended and everything was in its rightful place once
more.

"I think you'd better go up to your own room, dear." There was firmness in
her tone. "Go quietly, though. And remember, you mustn't tell anyone about
me, about the two of us. Promise?"

"I promise."

"That's a good girl. Now scoot. Off to bed with you. Sleep tight and have
happy dreams."

I scooted. But it was a long time before sleep came. The vision of that
naked body hung in front of my eyes. All red in the lamplight, her big body
reflected in the mirror. And even when my eyes got tired and let the vision
blur, the palm of my hand still smarted. I pressed it to my cheek, feeling
its warmth, a warmth that had cooled somewhat but was still reminiscent of
the heat from her beaten buttocks, those two big dimpled ass-cheeks. I
should have made her kiss it, I realized, that was how they usually ended a
spanking at the lesbian pleasure resort. Whoever got spanked knelt down
afterward and kissed the hand that had done it to her. It was like a
ritual. Only they seldom stopped there either, what with one thing leading
to another more often than not, and pretty soon the punished girl would be
burrowing between the thighs of her mistress and acting like a cuntlapper
who just couldn't get enough. Would she ever do that to me, would my
grown-up naughty girl ever go that far?

It was something to think about. A tongue in my cunt, that great big thick
tongue in my tiny little baby-pussy. I wondered how much better it would be
than my finger. More exciting, no doubt, and a lot more effective -- at
least I hoped so! Because I was already trying that, trying every which way
to soothe my tingly sensation, and it wasn't doing any good at all. I must
have fallen asleep like that eventually, drifting off to a hoped-for
dreamland with my fingers in my cunt.
CHAPTER FIVE

Ordinarily, it would have been a safe guess to say that we had started
something big together. As it turned out though, such a guess would have
missed the mark. Bernadette went moral on me and refused to participate.
Worse yet, I got a nasty scolding the next time she heard me use one of the
naughty words. What if your father heard you talk tike that? So maybe it
wasn't morality as much as fear of losing her job -- but whatever the
reason, I recognized that as a real stumbling block. If even the words were
taboo, how would I ever convince her of my readiness for sex, my readiness
to become a lesbian?

Alone, upstairs in my own room, I muttered a curse. It made me feel daring
and I did it again, a string of curses now, words that I knew were dirty
and forbidden. Over and over. And even though it was done in anger and
frustration, I became aware that just speaking aloud so boldly was having
an effect on me. Yes, it did make me feel bigger and older and grown-up and
daring...

Daring?

To hell with her then, I just wanted another crack at those books. And now
I saw no reason to hang around and wait for the perfect opportunity; after
all, what if she did walk in and catch me? For that matter, I even thought
about grabbing the stuff and carrying it upstairs to read at my leisure. Oh
yes, I felt daring, sure enough -- only that turned out to be a flop, too.
The books simply weren't there. I checked all the drawers and pawed through
her closet, only to come away empty-handed.

After mulling it over awhile, I decided to become her buddy again, a nice
little girl who obeyed the rules and gave her no trouble. As if our night
together had never happened. Still, on the pretense of offering a "little
girl" brand of affection, I rubbed up against her and tried to get cuddly
and did everything possible to soften her attitude toward me. But nothing
worked; she just wouldn't snap at the bait -- and I came to the conclusion
that my old friend didn't trust me any more.

Time was the only remedy for that, time and good behavior, wiping out the
bad memories. And so I really did become a nice little girl again, trying 
my best to pick up the threads of our earlier relationship. I did well,
too, except that the thing deep down inside -- the real me -- wouldn't give
up. At night, in the privacy of my own room, I tossed and twisted and could
have sworn my mattress was developing lumps. Only the bed wasn't at fault,
of course. My body was aroused, my poor little growing body had been
cheated out of its promised and long-overdue payment. That big red
lip-licking tongue, so near and yet so far; no wonder I couldn't sleep!

Even the weather turned against me, spring going into summer practically
overnight, a summer heat that made my pajamas sweaty and unbearable. I
switched to nightgowns, thinner and less binding, cooler and more
comfortable -- but that was only a minor relief, hardly a solution to the
basic problem. My tummy still felt all quivery inside. Well, not my tummy
exactly, but somewhere down there, a close enough estimate. (Anything
closer was too close; nice little girls weren't supposed to know such
words!) Anyway, even with thin sleep-wear and no school -- no homework to
worry about -- the prospect of the long hot summer still seemed pretty
dismal.

Until the night of the storm...

Who could forget such a night? It broke around two o'clock in the morning
following a heat wave, a freak hailstorm that was like, nothing I'd ever
been through before. My first impulse was to run to my father's room, until
I remembered that he had left that same afternoon for a TV dealers'
convention, a two-day affair. So I remained huddled in bed, shivering with
fright as the huge hailstones rattled the window panes. Great streaks of
lightning lit up the sky and brought enormous thunderclaps in their wake.
The noise and glare were horrible, too scary for anybody to be alone in,
much less a kid like me. And it didn't help much when I ducked down and
pulled the covers up over my head, a sheet and then the bedspread, not much
protection against all that violence outside.

The thunder kept rolling. On the verge of panic, I jumped out of bed and
scurried downstairs toward the maid's room. Surely I would be safe there.
Unloved, but safe from harm. Lightning wouldn't dare touch big strong
Bernadette. Her very presence would calm my fears. It might even calm the
storm a little, too.

Her door was ajar, the small room dark. I stood there in breathless
anxiety, too upset to go back upstairs and too timid to awaken her. And
then I heard it. The noise. What could it be? No, not the wind and the rain
and the hail beating upon the window. It sounded like somebody crying...

Bernadette? Crying?

It must have been my imagination. My ears were playing tricks on me. I
shuddered as a bolt of lightning blazed, so close one that struck with an
almost simultaneous crackle of thunder. It lasted for ages, filling the
room with electric daylight, a whole year of daylight crammed into one tiny
interval. A scream sounded, a shriek of terror. Ghastly pale in the
surrounding brightness, Bernadette sat upright in bed for an instant and
then -- just as I had done a few minutes ago -- she ducked low and yanked
the covers over herself. Right up over her head, a big woman like that!

I couldn't understand it. Only children were supposed to be afraid of
lightning and thunder. And this grownup was actually more frightened than I
had been. More frightened than I felt right now, certainly. Sympathy welled
up inside me. I had come to seek comfort; couldn't I offer it instead?

With that -- and only that -- in mind, I crawled beneath the mound of
bedclothes to soothe her. She clutched me desperately, pulling me into her
feverish embrace. Mumbled syllables oozed from her lips and I realized that
she was praying. But her body was warm and soft and fragrant, and there was
only the thinness of our two nightgowns to, separate us. I began to get
that tingly feeling again. Under the covers like that, the perfumed
woman-smell grew almost pungent, strong enough to make my nose twitch.

The storm abated at last -- and so did Bernadette's tears, except for a
choked sob every now and then. But she still held on to me and I started
wriggling restlessly, trying to snuggle even closer. My nightgown got
twisted and rucked up somehow, and at the same time hers seemed to gape
open at the top, sliding off one shoulder almost as if by magic. We didn't
speak. That was good, I knew instinctively; words would have been
embarrassing. I just turned slightly and buried my flushed face between her
breasts.

She uttered a throaty little noise, pushing the cover down to free both
our heads. I thought it might be some sort of protest, but instead -- as
though my touch on her bare flesh had set her on fire -- she went darn near
frantic. Her hand moved all over my body, the other one stroking my hair
and urging me deeper into the contact with her bosom. The sweet scent of
her skin was intoxicating; my mind reeled and lost track of her roving
hand, unable to cope with so many new sensations at once.

I poked my tongue out, licking one nipple tentatively until she gasped
aloud. The thing became big and stiff and pointy and I wrapped my lips
around it greedily, eager for an even bigger mouthful. A gasp sounded again
as the upper part of her body arched to help me, thrusting more of the
swollen flesh into my mouth. It was like an invitation, an offering of
herself, granting me the right to kiss and lick and suck the spicy-sweet
softness of her breasts, her womanly breasts -- oh, such big soft titties! 
-- even that hand down there continued its ever-narrowing circle of
caresses. I was conscious of its whereabouts now, the hand between my legs,
conscious of her fingertips grazing, tickling, probing...

She moaned and pushed me away, ending my suck-kiss. I couldn't figure out
why. And then, with her next hurried movement, the answer struck and turned
my frustrated bewilderment into a thrill of anticipation. She was back
under the covers again, but this time it wasn't in fear, oh no, it was for
me. And I reveled in the notion, more than willing to give up the joy of my
kiss for the hopefully greater joy of hers; wasn't that a far more intimate
kind of suck-kiss? Now that the ice had been so beautifully broken,
Bernadette seemed intent on making the most of it by going the limit with
her lips, her own lesbian lips. And although it was still safer to maintain
silence like a nice little girl, I was sorely tempted to speak up and let
her know how I felt about it, exactly how I felt, welcoming those lesbian
lips with my own little lesbian cunt.

I kept quiet though, except for a tiny whimper as her tongue-tip entered
me -- a whinny of pleasure, really -- but my hips twitched and rotated
wildly, rising and arching to meet the kiss more than halfway. The kiss,
the lesbian kiss, the ultimate lesbian kiss -- oh, there was no describing
it, the hot gush inside me, the hot liquid gush of response that raced
through my body to greet her mouth. I grabbed her hair with both hands and
yanked vigorously, almost violently, jamming her face into the upward heave
of my belly. It must have stunned her, this aggressive ardor of mine, a
frenzied haste to bypass any further preliminaries to show her that my
tight little baby-pussy was ready and waiting to be split wide open.
Anyway, she froze right there, still withholding the full thickness of her
tongue, still too cautious -- or too stupefied probably -- to shoot it into
me. And at last I gave way to impatience, shattering the chaste silence
with a brusque and deliberately lurid blast of exasperation.

"Suck it, suck it, sssuck my cunt! Come on, gimme some more tongue, gimme
all of it, can't you see how hot I am? Fuck me with your tongue, that big
fat lesbian tongue of yours, fuck me!"

She groaned and made a feeble attempt to pull away, but I was already
reinforcing my grip on her hair with a wraparound clutch of my legs, aware
of what her reaction might be. Again she struggled to escape -- a token
endeavor, at least -- until I snarled my displeasure and used one hand to
thump the back of her head. That did it, putting an immediate stop to the
rebellion, and an instant later she was busily obeying my command.

A tremendous thrill surged through me. I could no longer tell what was
going on down there under the covers. Lips and mouth and tongue besieged my
squirming flesh, but I couldn't manage to separate one from another in my 
half-delirious mind. Only it didn't matter by then, since they all added up
to a single feeling, my first such feeling, erotic beyond belief.

The bedcovers were somewhat constricting though, and I threw them aside
jerkily. A distant flash of lightning lit the room as I watched the bent
head trapped between my legs, wondering if the glare might frighten her
again. But she didn't see it. She couldn't have, I realized, I had her
locked in better than a pile of bedclothes, sealed inside my cunt where
vision was impossible. It was even doubtful if she could hear the low
rumble of thunder. My thighs were clamped over her ears -- and despite all
that nodding and burrowing as she strove to heighten my pleasure, the total
activity wasn't enough to slacken the taut tension of my encirclement.
There were no hailstones, no howling gales, no lightning and thunder where
Bernadette's face was so firmly lodged. Nothing to be afraid of. But we
were in a storm nonetheless, a storm all our own, a lovely storm where the
lightning flashed in rainbow colors and the thunder sounded like music and
the rain was a hot-drenching cascade of delight. For a while I felt as if
the liquid sensation might prove to be my undoing, though -- too much gush
and too little control -- as if I might embarrass myself and wet the bed.
Talk about scary sensations!

Luckily it didn't come to pass. Lucky for both of us! Although I doubted
if anything could have bothered her at that point, truly a crucial moment
in our lives, the kind of crisis that an experienced lesbian was bound to
recognize and understand. Surely there was something sacred about a young
girl's first orgasm; what lover-woman would dare interfere with such an
awesome miracle of nature? What lesbian wouldn't be proud to participate,
proud of her active role in its inception? Oh, she was one fine lesbian
lover, my Bernadette, and wasn't it even more miraculous to grow up
overnight like this, losing my fear of lightning and gaining an obedient
cuntlapper all in one deliriously climactic stormy night?
CHAPTER SIX

It was maddening. I rather expected it this time though, having been
through the same thing before. Then again, matters might have been
different if my father hadn't returned home on the following afternoon, a
day early from his supposedly two-day sales convention. But return he did,
casting a damper on my immediate hopes and plans; his presence in the house
was enough to remind Bernadette of her guilt. And I knew better than to put
any pressure on her, aware now that she had gone too far to quit cold and
would eventually come around to my way of thinking all by herself. If only
I could remain patient...

We didn't touch each other, nor did either of us mention our strange 
entanglement on the night of the storm. On the surface -- so silly! -- it
appeared to be a closed incident. And I began to wonder if it would take
another cloudburst to put her in that mood again, the mood to give me what
my precocious little body had developed such a craving for. It would be an
excuse, at least, something to resurrect the apparently dead memory. So
there I was, wishing for a minor typhoon or some such, even a nice little
midnight thunder-shower with some nice crackling electricity, imagine!

But the weather stayed clear, darn the luck, and I started getting a bit
irritated. I noticed that Bernadette was acting more nervous than usual,
too, still good-natured but not quite her old placid self any more. That
was encouraging somehow, bolstering my confidence enough to make me a
little less cautious. And then, one night as she was helping me get ready
for bed -- hurrying me along, really -- the moment seemed ripe and I
couldn't resist an impetuous remark, a casual allusion to a far-from-casual
subject. Despite the obviously clear weather, I figured it was the only
sure way to sound her out.

"Looks like rain, huh? Think we'll have a storm?"

"A storm?"

"Like the other night. You know." I was seated on the edge of my bed,
bending over and undoing my shoes, pausing to glance up at her with mock
innocence. "It was so scary, remember? Maybe it'll be like that again
tonight."

Her eyes narrowed. Then she dropped on her knees in front of me to help
take off my shoes and socks, an unnecessary and overly indulgent gesture.
But it was only to hide her embarrassment, of course. There was an odd
tremor in her voice when she finally spoke up, a telltale hint of
agitation.

"The other night, Loi darling. We mustn't talk about that. We mustn't say
a word to anybody."

"Never! Never, never. Then it wouldn't be a secret any more. And it is a
secret, isn't it? Our secret?"

"Yes, dear. And a secret is precious, especially ours. I'm very proud to
share it with such a smart little girl. Only you're not so smart about the
weather, are you? I doubt if well get any rain tonight, it doesn't look
stormy at all."

"Oh... too bad..."

She read the disappointment in my tone. With a small smile of resignation,
she shrugged and then lowered her head between my legs, nudging them apart
with gentle hands. And I felt her warmth penetrate me as she crouched and
placed a kiss just above the crotch of my panties. I caught my breath,
stifling a giggle, almost ruefully conscious of my own sudden excitement.
But it was only a token contact, no more, a fleeting touch of her lips, and
then she settled back on her haunches again.

"So? Missy? You like that, eh?"

The words lodged in my throat. Grateful for her understanding, I reached
out toward her with both arms, intent on showing my joyful appreciation of
our reunion. She stiffened, evidently under the impression that I was
trying to tug her back down again. But my hands held her with loving
tenderness, caressing her hair, her cheeks. I massaged her neck
lingeringly, luxuriating in the sensuously soft smoothness... But there was
something even softer to lavish my affection on my fingers trailed downward
to seek it out, eager to cup and caress those big womanly breasts.

"Please. Don't do that."

"Hmm?"

She pushed my hands away. "Please don't."

"You don't want me to touch you?"

"I-I'd rather you didn't. It just isn't right."

"Why not? What's wrong with it?"

"You know. Oh, darling, it's all so mixed up. I don't want to make a
perverted girl out of you. And that's what will happen if you touch me.
Pretty soon you'll be kissing me. And then you'll become one of those
women..."

"Bernadette, how about the other way around? How about if you touch me, is
that okay?"

"Well..."

"Yes? Tell me."

"I-I guess so. Only you might start to..."

"No. Wait. I won't, try to touch you. Or kiss you. So you needn't feel 
guilty about what I might become, how's that?"

"Umm, well, you promise?"

"I promise."

Her eyes sparkled. She grabbed at the waistband of my panties and stripped
them off quickly. Then she slumped down again, making a funny little noise
-- like a sad moan of happiness, somehow -- as her head ducked between my
thighs. And this time there was no teasing with the tongue-tip, no holding
off, she just mashed her face right up against me as if her need to do it
was as great as mine was to receive it. After a while I leaned back on my
elbows and tossed my legs up over her hunched shoulders, opening myself
wide to let her lick deeper. At last my body, my cunt -- my precocious
little cunt! -- was getting what it craved.

Once begun though, once the idea itself was no longer such a block, she
relaxed the pressure enough to show me her bag of tricks, performing with
style and technique rather than out of sheer desperation. That was the
feeling I got, anyhow, even if it was just an uneducated guess on my part.
She caressed me with her lips, her mouth, even with lapping motions of the
flat of her tongue, long upward sweeps like a doggie kiss, lapping the full
length of my wet slit. With a lovely delay every so often to dab at my
sex-button, my undeveloped but already sensitive clitoris. Showing off, no
doubt, putting her lesbian skill on display for me -- but I sure didn't
mind that at all. There were no covers over her, no darkness to conceal the
action, so I was the audience as well as the subject for this demonstration
of hers. I could look down and watch her bobbing head and see everything
she did. Well, almost everything. Even the sound effects added to my
enlightenment, lewd little slurping noises that echoed the rhythm of her
tongue -- and adding to my excitement, too, as I became less concerned with
the performance as a whole and more involved with its coming climax.

Involved -- oh shit, was I ever involved! All of a sudden I was shaking
and squirming around up off the bed, my hands in her hair, hauling her
closer, stuffing her face into the depths of my overheated cunt. My thighs
clenched and convulsed, crushing her cheeks, and then a gasping sob burst
from my lips as the hot pleasure gushed. I thought sure I was going to
faint.

It was over for me. Bernadette knew it, of course, but she stayed right
there. For a long time my lesbian lover went on caressing me softly, with a
soft tongue, softer than a tongue could possibly be. I liked that. It felt
so good! And I realized that this was another one of those grownup
mysteries to remember, the tenderly sustained letdown after the sharp
thrill at the top.

When she finally raised her head and looked up, it was with a half-smile,
a kind of crooked grin. She licked her lips, peering at me in silence. Her
chin and cheeks were all shiny, smeared with the liquid gush from my
insides, but she didn't seem to care. Her eyes devoured me, just as her
mouth had done. I had never thought of her as beautiful before, but that
was how she struck me now, a big beautiful toy doll, soft but strong and
durable, one of those permanent toys that would eventually outlast
childhood.

"Well, little Missy?"

"Oooh, wonderful!"

"You really liked it, hmm?"

"Uh-huh. Very much."

"Then you'll expect me to do it again, I suppose."

"Sure. A lot."

"And you won't try to do anything to me? Loi? You won't even try to touch
me?"

"If-if that's what you want."

"That's how it's got to be. Promise?"

"I already did. Okay, I'll say it again. I promise. And I promise to keep
our secret, too. No one will ever know. Just the two of us. There now, is
that good enough for you?"

"Ah, my little Missy Loi, so impatient to grow up. And so young, too. It
still makes me feel guilty."

"That again? I wish you'd just forget..."

"Never mind." She laughed dryly. "What's done can't be undone. Let's not
worry about it." Then, almost a whisper, "Tonight maybe, later on, even if
there's no storm..."

"Huh? Oh. You'll kiss me some more?"

"Naughty little devil. But how can I resist? Yes, dear, I'll kiss you and
lass you and kiss you. I'll eat you right up. You want your Bernadette to 
do that to you?"

"Uh-huh. You know. Every night!"
CHAPTER SEVEN

It didn't happen every night, of course -- after all, we had my father to
contend with. But sweet Bernadette was pretty much in agreement as to how
often we should dream up an imaginary storm and have ourselves some
un-imaginary fun. That night and many nights thereafter, we managed to find
some moments in bed together, moments of unforgettable joy for me.

I was disappointed about not having those naughty books around anymore,
but that was the way she wanted it. She had gotten rid of them (how or
where, I never found out) and still felt a little guilty about how much I
had learned from those few readings. The words, especially, the naughty
lesbian words that I used whenever we were alone in the house -- she was
both distressed and stimulated by my gutter language. Anyway, I soon got
over my disappointment; who needed books when the real thing was so
available? It was nice to have a cuntlapper practically at my beck and
call.

At my beck and call. That was the pattern we fell into. She seemed to
enjoy my bossing her around, obviously excited by the commands I muttered
under the influence of her sucking mouth. And it was always the same, that
pattern, Bernadette put her face between my thighs and tongued me to an
ecstatic climax. I never did it to her. I would have, but she didn't want
that, quite serious about the promise she had extracted from me.

I did touch her, though. At least she let me do that much to satisfy my
curiosity, even if only now and then. I caressed her big breasts; always an
attraction, and once in a while she actually lay still and allowed my hand
to sneak down over her belly and into the silky warmth of her cunt. It was
delightful and I often wished for more, but that was as much as she would
tolerate. I might act bossy, but my lesbian lover was still the real boss.

For that matter, sometimes my mind was a turmoil of strange urges that I
had to suppress. I thought of other things for that mouth of hers to do,
crazy things that I knew instinctively would have upset the smooth pattern
and caused trouble between us. And despite my dreams of going beyond those
vague but irksome limitations, I knew better than to risk anything that
might loom as an actual challenge to her authority. It was still the basic
authority of a grownup over a child, even when she was a "cuntlapper"
taking orders. So I tried to remain content with what I had. And it was
plenty! What other little girl was lucky enough to have such a maid? What 
other little girl had such a contented pussy?

Time flew by. The summer ended and I went back to school again, back to
the old grind. My body began to develop, giving me cause for pride as my
nipples became more than tiny bumps. Bernadette was pleased, too, and the
attention she paid to them probably aided their growth. But she was
happiest down between my legs, expressing her pleasure with nice long hot
suck-kisses that made my clit-button feel as big as another nipple. She
couldn't get enough of that part of me. And I was more than willing to
leave it in her very capable hands. Or her capable mouth rather, with its
talented and tireless tongue backed by years of experience.

So we had fun together. I played the saucy coquette when the mood came
over me, often getting her all steamed up during the day, aroused to the
point where she couldn't wait for nightfall. That was fine with me -- sex
in the afternoon -- why not? And yet, somehow, in spite of all the goodies,
there were times when I felt restless, times when I felt something lacking.
I didn't know what it was that bothered me -- except, perhaps, for those
uncrossable lines, the irksome boundaries that kept experimentation to a
minimum. I was ready for more. I wanted to learn. I yearned...

Then, early one evening the phone rang -- hardly any concern of mine,
since Bernadette usually answered all calls. But the ring continued awhile
and I figured she must have been in the tub or something, getting prepared
for her night off; even now my father was supposed to be home from work.
Anyway, I picked it up in the living room and it was my father, sure
enough, calling to say there had been a change in plans, and would I please
put the maid on so that he could explain to her?

That sounded pretty cheery to me, a good possibility that she might not
get away till late tonight, maybe even not at all. I scurried off to
deliver the message. She was in her bathroom -- in the tub, as expected --
and would I go and hang up the other telephone as soon as she got on the
extension here? I did that, waiting until her voice came over the wire,
then hanging up and trotting right back to her room to hear the news.

The sight that met my eyes was worth racing around for. She stood there
dripping wet, too wet to sit down even, clutching the phone in one hand and
dabbing at herself haphazardly with the other, the towel all but forgotten
as the call demanded her concentration. Her body looked terrific like that,
bare naked, just out of the hot tub, all rosy pink and shimmering with
rivulets of water. And I recognized it as a grand opportunity for me, of
course, a chance to get real close to her without breaking any rules.

I took the towel and started drying her off. She nodded and smiled
gratefully, inspiring me with self-confidence and a certain easy boldness, 
especially since the smile was meant only for me and not the apparently
unwelcome word from my father. He had to go out of town, it seemed, and
could she stay tonight and take time off later in the week? She was
protesting a bit, evidently unwilling to break what must have been an
important date. If only he had called sooner...

She had my sympathy, if not my wholehearted agreement. Besides, I could
tell by her tone that she was only hassling him for a better deal, an extra
half-day perhaps. And I had my own fish to fry anyway, toweling her dry but
becoming more and more intrigued by the vulnerable position she was in.
There they were, right in front of me, right there for the taking, those
two big bare breasts; and weren't the nipples already kind of puffy from
the touch of the towel? What was I waiting for, an engraved invitation?

Faint heart never won fair anything. I leaned forward and took the plunge,
sinking into the valley between them. They pillowed my head, surrounding my
hot-cheeked face with their softness. Her body shivered momentarily, a sign
of warning, but she was still tied up with the telephone, too occupied to
pay more than passing heed to me. I interpreted that as a go-ahead signal,
figuring the advantage was still all mine.

Stirred anew, I muffled a sigh of exultation in her flesh, aware now that
she wasn't fighting me at all. On the contrary, one arm had even looped
around me in a loose embrace, an almost mechanical gesture as she carried
on the battle with my father. As if she was trying to shield me from such
crass matters! And as she cradled my head close, I began to explore the big
pink hills fervently, soon finding what my lips were searching for. One
after the other, the pliant nipples grew taut under my open-mouthed caress.

"Oh, that's nice, darling. Your sweet lips..."

Shocked, it took me a moment to realize that she had blocked the
mouthpiece to speak to me. To spur me on as her nipple seemed to come alive
inside the ring of my kiss. Better yet, she was back in the phone
conversation again and now I could feel her free hand roving over my body
in approval and encouragement. Then, repeating the cut-off movement once
more, she bent her head and practically seared my ear with her heated
whisper.

"You really love my tits, hmm? And you're so good at it. Ah! That's my
darling girl. Uh-huh. Bite. It's okay. Bite my tits just a little. Go
ahead, go ahead, you piggy-wig. Oh, I must be out of my mind doing this.
But you got me so hot..."

That was all I needed. Only I was given even greater incentive a minute
later when the sexy scent reached my nostrils, the sexy woman-smell from 
down below -- an aroused cunt -- piercing through the flowery sweet bath
odor with its unmistakable power. It filled me with a combination of desire
and despair; should I risk everything by breaking my promise to her? Could
I even resist the pull? I could actually feel myself being drawn to it,
drawn into the rising cloud of scent, my body already crumpling
shamelessly. But it was too late to stop. Because I was there now,
hypnotized by the sight as well as the smell, the sight of that big hairy
woman-cunt -- and there was nothing left for me but total capitulation to a
force stronger than my own will. I could only hope that the telephone
wouldn't come crashing down on my skull in bitter retaliation.

It wasn't quite that drastic, of course, but her response did send me into
a stew of frustration. She locked her legs together, preventing my entry. I
slid my hands behind her knees hopefully, trying to pry them apart, and
then surrendered and accepted the next best thing, gliding upward in a slow
caress until my palms cupped her buttocks. They were big and soft in my
hands, those lovely round ass-cheeks, and meanwhile I kept nuzzling into
the seal of her thighs amorously, sniffing the musky sex-odor that all her
resistance couldn't possibly hold back. Better yet, I couldn't help but
detect the telltale tremors that had already begun to ripple through her
flesh, cause for a certain optimism at least, if not outright exhilaration.
Success was just around the corner, I figured, if only the phone call
continued to occupy her enough to create a major diversion.

Tilting my face, I placed a wet kiss on the silky edge of her cunt-hair,
thrilling to the taste and sliding my parted lips around to get more of it.
For a moment there I was doing it all for myself, purely for my own
enjoyment, simply carried away by this unprecedented degree of intimacy.
Until, gradually, I recognized a change in the stiffness of her stance and
knew that victory was mine. Her legs were opening, offering me the treasure
between them; it was right there for the taking...

Cunt!

Elated, sure of myself now, I suppressed my immediate instinct and made
her wait a little, enjoying the vision of those kissable pink lips just an
inch beyond the tip of my nose, the vaginal lips of a grownup lesbian
woman. I could even see tiny pearls of moisture glistening, the sex-dew,
the outcropping of a cunt already hotly awash with passion; how pretty it
looked!

But the delay soon became just as unbearable for me, if not more so.
Almost of its own volition, my tongue seemed to uncurl and slip out of my
mouth, touching the little droplets and savoring their deliciously erotic
taste -- and then at last doing what it had always been meant to do, what
it had been born to do, elongating voluptuously into the satiny wetness of 
all that intimate woman-flesh...

"Darling, oh yes, you darling girl!" The hang-up clatter of the telephone
announced the end of the call as Bernadette uttered her wail of rapture.
"Oh, it's too much, too much. Get undressed and let me love you."

Intriguing as the suggestion sounded, I chose to ignore it and go on with
my own activity, far more intrigued by this thing I was already doing, this
thing that was like a revelation to me. I'm sucking it, I'm sucking like a
lesbian, I'm sucking her cunt! And if the idea itself wasn't enough, I was
inescapably enthralled by all the physical sensations -- the touch, the
taste, the smell, the total immersion in this sex-perfumed pool of
excitement. So warm and wet, so soft and sweet and suckable...

"No? Okay then, well do it your way. Lick me good, honeybunch, and I'll
come for you, I'll cream a mouthful. Right on my clit, that's it, that's my
little lover-girl. Ah! Wait now, let me get comfortable."

"Hmm?"

"Don't quit, don't you dare stop! Just stay with it, Missy, finish what
you started. Next time maybe you won't be in such a hurry to bite off more
than you can chew."

"Ummmm..."

"Now. Uh-huh. Oooh, you little cuntlapper!"

It was like a badge of honor. Cuntlapper. A proud moment for me -- and I
stayed right with it until she finally got herself settled on the bed, both
of us clutching each other to keep my face tucked into its rightful place.
And after that, of course, everything was all comfy-cozy and I just
burrowed in deeper as she twitched and shuddered and clamped her big heavy
thighs around my head. Oh, it felt so right...
CHAPTER EIGHT

And so a new pattern was established between us, based on my unquenchable
need for her cunt. Even aside from her age and size and experience and rank
in the household, it gave her the upper hand over me -- and I soon became
her little slave, eager for any possible chance to prove my devotion. She
still felt guilty, true, speaking of it often -- all too often to suit me
-- but that no longer stopped her from taking advantage of my willingness.

During the day, whenever my father wasn't around, she didn't even wear 
panties any more, just a loose housedress with a wide skirt, wide enough
for me to get underneath it. All she had to do was put one foot up on the
rung of a chair and utter an order -- or even beckon me in silence -- and I
never hesitated to obey. Even her posture was exciting, the arrogance of
it, the way she towered so high my crouched body. And then when she he hem
of her skirt over me, it was like a sex-redolent tent compressing and
enhancing ail the various sensations as I turned my face up into her
crotch, the hairy nest between her plump thighs. Oh, how I loved being
Bernadette's darling little cuntlapper!

Sometimes, often, I would sit in school and think of her, almost feeling
those big soft legs around me, encircling my cheeks. It was always inside
my head, the memory of that hot woman-cunt, available whenever I cared to
bypass some dull class work and slip away into a delectable daydream. Now
and then, too, quite deliberately, I would recall the more trying moments
in our relationship, the times when she made me wait for my pleasure. Like
the nights when she might lie naked on her bed, all limp and lazy, letting
me just stand there and stew awhile. Watching her like that, it was all I
could do to keep from undressing and throwing myself down alongside her.
But I didn't dare, not without specific permission, and had learned to
control my impatience the hard way. Yes indeed, she had taught me to wait
and suffer until I was told what to do. It was always better to play safe
and just look hopeful -- and maybe lick my lips a little -- until the
invitation came. Or the command, more likely, direct and to the point,
since that lazily relaxed attitude of hers was seldom more than sham. For
someone who made her living as a servant, she was sure dictatorial, a bossy
bitch if ever there was one. But that too was part of the excitement and I
always seemed to wind up adoring her all the more for it. As if it was in
my nature to be dictated to.

(Wasn't that the submissive side, the "Eloi" side of my nature already
showing itself? Oh, but I was too young to understand, too young for such a
psychologically complex concept!)

Anyway, I was Bernadette's obedient little angel and loved every minute of
it. Whatever she wanted was fine with me. I worshipped at the shrine of her
cunt and was ever so pleased to give her access to mine -- anytime,
anywhere, just a happy little girl. Those years with my favorite maid were
good ones. The best, perhaps. Too bad they had to end so abruptly.

I never knew how or why it happened, not even whether she got fired by my
father or quit of her own free will. Nor did it matter, actually, not to a
heartbroken child -- and I didn't even dare show the degree of my
heartbreak! I just had to grin and bear it, the pain, the emptiness, truly
aware for the first time in my life of a lesbian's need for secrecy...

Eventually, of course, the wound healed over. A succession of maids came
and went, none more than mildly appealing, none clever enough to see my
overture of affection for what it really was. I gave up hoping in time,
turning almost, normal as past memories began to blur. Almost but not
quite. My interest in the opposite sex just wasn't as pronounced,
comparatively speaking, as it should have been. The girls at school talked
about boys incessantly; we were at the awkward-but-eager age now, out of
childhood and into adolescences too young to date but old enough for
parties and dances. And like any normal youngster, I too became one of the
flock. Only I couldn't quite feel comfortable playing that game, always
vaguely-conscious of something amiss -- like a black sheep trying to
disguise myself under a snow-white fleece. An off-color sheep, anyhow.

Not that it showed. Oh no, it was buried in my own mind, never rising to
the surface. I saw only admiration in people's eyes, even envy in some, a
genuine tribute to the beauty that was blossoming from within me. As
foretold long ago, my garish red hair had deepened to a rich and attractive
auburn. I was still a bit gawky, with coltish legs and a bosom that hadn't
yet filled out, but the old predictions weren't far wrong: little Loi
Morlock was developing into a beautiful young woman.

Nor was my popularity ever in doubt. At our parties and dances there were
innumerable would-be swains vying for my favor. I partied and danced with
them all -- small boys, big boys, polite boys who stayed within the bounds
of propriety, and politely sneaky boys whose notion of fun was to "cop a
feel" and then brag about it. All of whom I handled with finesse, if not
exactly a flair. And yet, deep down inside, I knew that the proverbial
knight on the white charger wasn't for me. Or at least I sensed it, puzzled
but not overly pained by this rather strange discrepancy in my character.

Funny thing. For some extra pocket-money, I had been doing a lot of
weekend and holiday baby-sitting -- and even in that, somehow, my instinct
was to avoid little boys whenever possible. With the exception of one
brother and sister pair, all my kids were little girls, all easy to take
care of. Easier for me, anyway, even though there wasn't much difference in
the actual work. I just naturally leaned in that direction, feeling more
relaxed and self-confident with girls. And there was no thought of anything
sexy, either, I had long since swept all that childish foolishness into a
dim and dusty corner of my mind. Oh no, baby-sitting was just a job to me,
pleasant but usually pretty dull. Or so I figured -- until little Jackie
Quigg upset my applecart...

The kid was no stranger to me. I had stayed with her before, although
never overnight. For that matter, overnight sitting was something new for
me, and Jackie's parents had even called my father to get his okay. It was
a gala occasion for them, an anniversary or some such, and they had made 
reservations at a classy country-style hotel. For the first time, then, I
was left in complete charge from Saturday evening until late Sunday
afternoon. Oh sure, I had a list of instructions about food and the like --
along with a phone number to ring in case of emergency -- but it was still
pretty exhilarating to be the boss of the house. And I rather enjoyed the
way the little girl fawned over me, practically catering to my every wish.

She had permission to stay up late and watch television, a change in
routine that a baby-sitter might find objectionable, but I really didn't
mind. After all, I was being paid for this night's work. Then too, Jackie
herself was good company, cute and cheerful and never one to complain, a
cute little elf with dark hair and big blue eyes and a shy but sincere
smile. Even the dimples in her cheeks seemed to light up when she laughed.
She was ready for bed, too, freshly bathed and wearing only her nightie, so
I would have no trouble tucking her in when sleep time came. Not that I
anticipated any trouble at all actually, not from a child who had
practically put me on a pedestal. The kid truly liked me. Although I didn't
expect her to say so with such girlish enthusiasm.

"You mean it, Loi? I can stay up for the late movie?"

"Uh-huh. It's a jungle picture."

"You're so nice to me. Oh, I love you!" She reached out and grabbed my
hand. "I'd rather have you than..."

Only her voice faded, not the gesture. She was lifting my hand to her
lips. Mildly embarrassed, I permitted the impulsive kiss but went on
looking at the TV screen. And then I was too flabbergasted to pull away
when the kiss turned into a prolonged caress. What the hell was the crazy
kid trying to do?

It wasn't just her lips now, that squirmy wet sensation could only have
come from a tongue. It was licking the hollow of my palm and dabbing
between my fingers every so often, moving slowly, daintily, sending hot and
cold chills through me. She did it like a finicky kitten testing a bowl of
cream for texture and freshness, hungry enough but still taking time for a
preliminary appraisal. And meanwhile I couldn't do a damn thing but sit
there and stare blankly at the television set, feeling almost feverish as
those shivery thrills raced up and down my spine.

Then the word sex popped into my mind. Followed closely by another word
that I refused to confront consciously, it was just too ugly. Certainly too
ugly for a baby-sitter entrusted with the care of a child. It jolted me out
of my daze, though, and I managed to end the weird moment without creating
a fuss, pulling away quite casually to stand up and go tinker with the TV 
knobs. At least I hoped it appeared casual, shaky knees and all.

The picture didn't need readjustment, but it was easy to make the
pretense, knocking the colors out of kilter and then starting from scratch
with the flesh-tones. Easy to stay there until I felt calm again, anyway.
And I returned to my seat with a sense of relief, glad to see that Jackie
had evidently gotten over her burst of affection. She had moved to the
corner of the sofa, all curled up in a ball now, with only her tiny bare
feet visible outside the nightie. All settled down to watch the jungle
flick, no doubt -- no more hand-kissing, no more childish declarations of
gratitude, no more problem for me.

Or was I being unduly optimistic? I couldn't tell. Maybe the kid was just
stretching her legs. Oh well, it wasn't as bad as that kiss -- only the
contact of her feet, one barely touching my thigh and the other behind me
in the sofa cushions, snuggled against the sunken curve of my hip. Just
keeping warm, perhaps. Only it wasn't exactly cold there in that cozy
living room. Far from it, in fact. I could almost feel myself breaking out
in a sweat, another attack of chills and fever coming on. And it got
immeasurably worse when the pressure on my thigh increased and the toes in
back of me began to wriggle around in a kittenish manner. Oh, she was some
kitty cat, my little friend Jackie Quigg. I just didn't know what to make
of this new development, this new and rather frightening facet of someone
so familiar to me, familiar as an old shoe and usually just as pliant. Nor
could I blame it on my imagination, either. One way or the other, I had to
call a halt here.

"S'matter, honey? Not enough room for you?"

She giggled. I rose and sidled over a step -- the sofa wasn't all that
long really, just soft and deep -- and then plunked myself down again. Only
to find a lump under me, a very lively little lump that seemed to cleave my
buttocks apart like a wiggly wedge. Its warmth penetrated my skirt and
panties, her toes jabbing, right up into me -- it could have been a hot
coal down there, that was how fast I scrambled back up out of the cushions.
While her giggle rang in my ear once again, rising almost to a shriek of
laughter...
CHAPTER NINE

Exasperated as I was, the humor of the situation didn't exactly escape me.
I must have looked pretty silly shooting up from the sofa like a rocket off
its launching pad. Goosed by a little bare foot, imagine! And it was only a
bit of mischief, no more, just a trick that the kid was playing on her
baby-sitter.

With a sheepish grin, I regained composure and sat down again, scooping
her leg up by the ankle. Then, still grinning, I kissed the offending
little foot and let it drop into my lap, making light of the entire matter.
And like a good-natured teacher chiding an inattentive pupil, I murmured
something about stopping all this nonsense and getting back to the TV film.
Which might have worked, except that a commercial break came on at that
very moment, just in time to undermine my authority. And all of a sudden I
found myself regretting that impetuous little kiss, a conspicuously looming
shadow now, picking up an unintended significance during the lull. Like the
last move made in an unfinished checker game...

"Oh, I do love you." It was the kid's turn to move now. She scuttled
across to my end of the sofa, practically clambering all over me before
settling down in my lap. Then, wistfully, pink lips pursed, "Kiss? Loi? A
kiss for Jackie?"

"Honey, didn't I just..."

"Not on my foot..."

"Oh? You don't think that's enough?"

"I mean a real kiss. Don't you love me at all? No. I guess not." Her lower
lip quivered and curled to a pout. "You -- you just don't care." She seemed
on the verge of tears, rejected, a pathetic little tyke pleading for
recognition. "You -- you..."

"Hush. Of course I care."

"Well then?"

There was no dodging the issue, I figured. And anyway, what could be the
harm in it? -- a token of affection, hardly more than a peek on the cheek.
Just a wee act of indulgence, a bit of warmth to dry the already glistening
teardrops from those big baby-doll blue eyes. I did it. I bent just far
enough to touch my lips to hers, deliberately ignoring the alarm bell that
went off inside my head. And then, as her mouth opened, I moaned and heard
the alarm rise to a discordant jangle, but it was too late now, too late to
rescale my priorities; didn't it all hark back to that ugly word, the
ugliness that really wasn't so ugly?

This was no ordinary child entrusted to my care. I knew that now. Ag I
knew that this was no ordinary kiss. Sex. Sex with the proper girl-child.
Lesbian sex. And wasn't it beautiful? How stupid of me to let the world and
its prejudice interfere with my own perfection. Lesbian! What was ugly 
about that? Lesbian, lesbian, lesbian. I could almost hear the lovely
liquid sounds purling around that tiny tongue in my mouth, the honey-hot
lesbian tongue. Honey-hot and fire-sweet, unmistakably a lesbian kiss. The
essence of beauty for a girl-woman like me. Truthful beauty, the beautiful
truth! Never again would I feel like an eavesdropper listening to my gushy
schoolmates giggle about boys. Hah! Anytime I cared to listen to some
giggling...

There were no giggles now though, only moans and mutters and kitten
noises, animal noises, little throat-catching noises of a fledgling
jungle-cat uncertain of its prey. Impatient, maybe. But more beastlike than
anything coming from that phony tropical soap-opera on television. The
commercials had ended, but it scarcely mattered now, the picture wasn't
that good. We had our own X-rated thing going right here on the sofa. Full
of mystery and suspense, too, since neither of us knew how it would come
out. Oh shit, I wasn't even sure how we had gotten into it. Was it with sly
cunning or out of childish curiosity that the kid had led me on? Was this
capacity for soul-kissing -- soul-sucking, it felt like -- a natural talent
or an acquired skill? How many other baby-sitters had this hot-mouthed
little lesbian seduced? Or was I the first? Could the sitter preceding me
have been even less concerned with morality and guilt and such? Where did
it come from, this girl-love-girl notion, a playmate? An evil old aunt? A
neighbor lady? An erotic book? A big grownup housemaid? Does every gay
little angel have her own bitchy Bernadette?

I would never ask, never know, never let her tell me. It was better that
way, a precautionary measure of my own: let every budding lesbian learn
that her secret has a right to secrecy. (A good policy for all concerned, a
lifetime lock on the closet! Funny about that, reaching such an eternally
wise decision in such uniquely bizarre circumstances. Me with my first
mouthful of baby-tongue -- in a state of shock, pretty near!)

It was slithering in and out between my lips, that short but busy tongue
of hers, and I remained quite passive, allowing her the active role awhile.
Except that I did keep my jaws stiff and the pressure tense most of the
time, tightening around her rubbery little stabber like a pair of virginal
pussy-lips and making her use force to get in. The kid was too young to
recognize it herself, of course, but I wallowed deliriously in the idea
that she was fucking me, raping me, fucking my cunt-mouth into submission
against my will. Raped by a precocious brat, a child small enough to cradle
on my lap; what a fantastic thrill!

Eventually, though, I got too hot to hold still for her and started to
reciprocate, following her retracted tongue with my own in a brief flurry
of give-and-take, and then at last plunging through the seal of our lips to
invade her mouth. Once inside, I cut the thrust down to a slow-motion 
minimum, letting the now-hesitant rapist familiarize herself with the
various possibilities of this new twist. She liked it apparently, yielding
in good grace and browsing around in a lip-and-tongue nibble that was soft
and gentle and almost leisurely, an inquisitive but unhurried caress. Until
we both closed in on each other with lax and gaping mouths, fusing together
with for greater intimacy than before, a depth of intimacy that opened all
manner of hidden territory to one another's investigation.

Guided by a sixth sense -- and a certain experience, no doubt -- I simply
relaxed and enjoyed the deep kiss and permitted my eager little lover to
satisfy her taste for travel. And just as I had surmised, she finally hit
pay dirt, licking the underside of my idle tongue to its base and all but
going out of her mind from the sensation. I knew what it was like, that
indescribable feeling down there, and could only gauge her reaction by my
own in the past. Although I truly couldn't recall ever having gone into a
complete and all-inclusive spasm.

That was what Jackie-girl did. Like one big muscle-cramp. Except maybe for
her tongue under mine -- I was just too shocked to take notice, shocked and
a bit scared by such a huge convulsion, no longer intrigued by its source,
our overlapping tongues. I ran my hands over her huddled body, kneading the
stiff flesh back to softness. And somehow, without destroying the kiss, I
managed to mumble a few intelligible words of concern.

"Kid? You all right?"

"Mmm..."

"Hey! Jackie?"

"I'm okay, I'm okay. Kiss me some more."

"No. Let's take a breather."

"Uh-huh. Oooh, that feels good. Your hands... nice..."

"I'm rubbing the circulation back in."

"Could you do it, uh, rub me under the nightie?"

"Rascal."

"Oooh!"

"Is that better?"

"Wunnerful."

"Yeah. It figures."

"Loi? Could I do you like that? Just touch your pretty titties maybe?"

I let that one sink in, thinking it over, aware of how crucial my answer
would be. But hadn't I already made up my mind? It was more a matter of
degree now; how far should we go? The lead was mine, the lead and the
responsibility, and I'd better set a limit for myself. Draw some
guidelines. Only I couldn't clear my head that much, it just wouldn't
function for something so abstract, not with the little rascal already
cuddling up to my tits. Squirming around on my lap. That bouncy ass of
hers...

"Aw, come on. Loi? Please?"

"Be still. I'm thinking."

"Oh..."

I was all thought out, though -- and kicking myself for wasting so much
time. Why take on unnecessary burdens? The kid had started the game, why
not play by her rules? Good thing we didn't have to begin all over again,
we were beyond the coy stage now. Not that I'd have minded really, it was
kind of fun sitting down on that little bare foot. All those tiny bare toes
wiggling up into the crack of my ass; oh, such a cutie-pie! Hmm, too bad my
ass couldn't have been bare, also. Bare as this little body under the
nightgown, so soft and smooth -- oh shit, yes, my frisky kitty cat had the
right idea about where to rub!

"It's okay, honey, you can touch me. But take your nightie off first, hmm?
Before it gets torn. Besides, I like my little girl better that way. All
nice and naked. If you feel like it, you can loosen some of my things, too.
Look at this blouse, did you ever see so many wrinkles?"

No sooner said than done. Off came the nightgown, and then a moment later
I was helping her undo the buttons of my blouse. I had a bra on underneath,
but that didn't last long either, not after she wormed one hand up inside
it and began squeezing. Pretty soon I was naked to the waist, naked and
shamelessly aroused, my nipples all swollen and throbbing as those tiny
childish fingers played adult games with them.

She became bold then, profiting by my obviously permissive attitude, and I
could only quiver in mounting enravishment as her lips emitted a gleeful
giggle and then smothered the sound in the bare flesh of my breasts. I 
wrapped my arms around her and just held on, sinking into a near-swoon,
quite dizzy with the pleasure of her kiss, the sucking lips, the fluttering
tongue, the moist little cavity of her mouth...

"Loi? Your skirt's getting all wrinkled, too."

As if we needed any more excuses! Oh shit, I mumbled something that
sounded like consent and then we were both clawing at it, panties along
with the skirt, trying to get rid of everything at once. Only it didn't
work like that, my body simply couldn't arch up out of the soft cushions
enough to let her pull the garments off; they got stuck on the way down and
just clung there, rumpling around the flare of my hips. Until at last,
incited by her grunts and mutters of frustration, I sloughed off my
sex-induced languor and managed to stand up resolutely if somewhat
precariously, dying to tumble back into the comfort of the sofa again.

Once there, though, my head cleared swiftly and my shaky stance firmed.
Besides, the kid was not sitting right behind me and I didn't dare risk
losing my balance for fear of crushing her. So I stood tall and straight,
waiting almost calmly for those busy little hands back there to finish
their self-assigned task. My skirt had gotten twisted somehow, still
clinging and resisting her tug, complicating matters with a certain
unexpected difficulty, no doubt -- but I refused to help this time, rather
intrigued by the idea of letting her earn the privilege of making love to
me. As long as she seemed so anxious, what the hell, why not? After all,
wasn't it my body, not hers, that had become the main attraction here?

It took her awhile to get the hang of it, smoothing out the crooked skirt
and finally forcing the waistband over my hips, down past that snug place.
Along with the panties, naturally. And in front now my belly was bare and
the curly fringe already visible, the fringe of curly cunt-hair, dark brown
with just a reddish hint of the auburn on my head. But the kid hadn't seen
it yet, of course, not from where she was sitting, and now I was less calm
and growing more impatient every instant; oh shit, I could hardly wait to
step out of these last rags and whirl around and confront her with it, my
cunt, my hot cunt, my hot lesbian cunt right in her giggly little lesbian
face!

Only it wasn't happening, it just wasn't like that at all, and I stood
there puzzled as the skirt and panties came to a dangling stop halfway down
my legs. As if she had lost interest in them. And so she had, I realized a
moment later, her hands had let go and were gliding back up my thighs, a
pleasant but still somewhat puzzling caress. I felt pretty silly then,
ruefully conscious of those two saggy-baggy garments, silly and a bit
frustrated myself now. Almost but not quite naked...

"Oooh, it's beautiful! You have a beautiful tush."

It was cute the way she said it. Tush. Cuter still the way she stroked me
there so respectfully, her palms skimming over my buttocks lightly yet
eagerly, sensuous but with a near-worshipful touch. Like a little girl who
didn't know any better, a child too undeveloped to grasp the beauty, the
glamour, the sheer magnitude of a clitorally stimulated cunt. My tush was
enough for her, apparently. Tush and titties, her own words, my beautiful
tush and pretty titties. Okay, if that was how she got her kicks, my cunt
could wait -- until I decided to teach her otherwise, anyway. Which would
only happen after exhausting all the possibilities of my inexperienced
young lover's hopes and fulfillments. Only that might be sooner than
anticipated, in view of how repetitious this latest caress of hers was
becoming. Over and over again, with that same sensuously lingering
devotion, a trifle wearisome now, too much lingering and not enough lust...

"Loi? Your tush. Is it all right what I'm doing? All right if I kind of
play around a little?"

"You like my butt, huh? Imagine that. Sure. Go ahead, it's all yours,
honey. Whatever turns you on."

"Oh. Thanks. Uhh, even if I kind of... uh..."

"Hmm?"

"You know. Kiss it a little maybe? Y'know?"
CHAPTER TEN

Sneaky-soft, a breathless murmur, just like that. Kiss it a little maybe?
Kiss my ass? Was that what she wanted to do? It staggered me just a wee
bit. Not noticeably, though, and I remained upright without any undue
swaying, almost grateful now for the droopy skirt and panties down around
my thighs. The outfit wasn't exactly chic but still a snug fit where it
counted -- right in the equilibrium, a steadying influence for sure. I was
steady enough to shrug and come up with an answer, anyway. Not that it
required much study. Or presence of mind. Just a little aplomb, nothing
more.

"Like I said, sweetie, whatever turns you on."

She giggled her pleasure, a silvery sound, and I braced myself for the
worst -- or the best? -- glad now of my earlier decision, my choice of the
passive role. It was paying off in suspense at least, if not in explosive 
sex-thrills. But I knew better than to leap at conclusions, of course, and
it would be foolish to expect this child's sexual prowess to equal her
enthusiasm. For that matter, I was pretty much figuring on just a lot of
feathery kisses, the same worshipful touch of her lips that she had offered
with her hands. My well-developed and evidently much-admired bottom could
hardly be any more kissable than it had been caressable, could it? And any
kid who still called it a tush well...

Uh-huh. Her palms were stroking again, skimming lightly, just like before.
Only there was an added contact now, one that I could hear as well as feel,
the smacking of primly pursed lips -- about as sexy as a society matron
exchanging greetings in the Little Theatre lobby and trying to preserve her
makeup. (I was an usherette one season, kind of a Junior Deb thing, no pay
but a real high honor!) Pigeon kisses, pretty much as expected, very
respectful -- a tribute to my judgment, only I didn't know whether to be
amused or annoyed. Oh shit, who needed respect and such, how about a hot
sexy tribute to my ass? Wasn't there some way to coax all those prim-lipped
caresses into one pulpy melting-pot?

Almost instinctively, I softened the lines of my straight-arrow pose with
a hippy curve here and there, flawed but more voluptuously fleshed-out,
more appealing, more apt to pick up and reflect the gleam of an inattentive
eye. Or so I surmised, based on past experience. Funny about that, very
recent past experience -- and with the wrong gender, too. Only since my
body truly began to develop was there any purpose in practicing new poses
and postures, trying out different struts and sways and swivel-hipped
shuffles; and who would I test them on but the boys at school? Anyway, even
just come to grips with my lesbian self -- now and forever! -- the practice
time in the school halls wasn't wasted. I had learned the tricks of the
trade, the technique of bodily flow and flux, the invaluable art of knowing
when and how to inject a tincture of scarlet slut into the coldly chiseled
white marble of virtue. And if it worked on boys, why shouldn't it do
equally well -- except for the jealousy factor, perhaps -- with girls and
women who leaned in that same direction? So I had a fairly good notion that
little Jackie would sniff out and react to the change, maybe even
unwittingly, aware only of the changes inside herself, a seductively
compensating change to put her in rapport with mine...

"Mmm, I love your beautiful tush."

"Of course, dear. Love it, love it. But stop a minute and look, just look
and see how beautiful it really is. See? Maybe now you'll love it even
more. Don't be afraid to show your true feelings, love is beautiful, too.
Now pet it, kiss it, love it, love my tush!"

I used the childish word deliberately, her word, calm enough to suppress 
any laughter evoked by a sense of the ridiculous. But somehow,
surprisingly, it had an opposite effect on me, matching my erotic level to
hers like the lock of a canal opening at exactly the right moment,
allotting us one and the same ebb-and-flow. And I couldn't help but
realize, although somewhat vaguely, that the capacity for compensating
change was probably a universal trait, a built-in mechanism in all mankind.
One to a customer. Something like that was sure as hell working inside me!

Once again my judgment was vindicated; the kid had returned to her kissing
exactly as predicted, landing unerringly on the nice smooth hip-curve that
I had jutted into prominence for her. Only it sounded much sexier now,
little half-throttled sobs of passion burbling audibly, and no more of that
dreary lip-smacking, thank heaven. Her open-mouthed kisses moved only in a
glide, never leaving my skin, the parted lips moist and warm around her
busily dabbing tongue-tip. And meanwhile, even in my freshly charged
excitement, I was putting my body through some slowly rippling contortions
designed to present a new and different kiss-surface for our mutual
pleasure, each motion tiny but nonetheless tangible, a feat to do a
belly-dancer proud. Except that my belly was just an also-ran in this
unhurried gyration, yielding to my buttocks in importance to both of us
now. Even the craving in my cunt had become secondary, all but overwhelmed
by the sensation of that feverishly obsessed young mouth practically
worshiping my ass.

Aroused to an unprecedented plateau of need, my body rebelled against the
gymnastics and began a spontaneous quiver of its own, on the brink of
collapse now. I held out though, no longer in control but still on my feet,
still determined to let my greedy little lover have her fill of me. Only
she couldn't seem to get close enough, nuzzling and burrowing fitfully, a
note of frustrated anguish sounding in her whimpers of desperation. And
then some flashbulb in my brain went off and lit up the whole picture for a
split-second, and I knew what was wrong. My fault. No wonder the poor kid
was having trouble back there!

I did what had to be done, bending down in a hurry and stripping off the
skirt and panties, unlocking the bond that had held my thighs together.
That solved her problem. Oh shit, I never even got to straighten up again,
not completely. Bent over like that, I had practically jammed my ass into
her face -- and with my legs suddenly free and spreading apart, everything
was wide open to her. She just wrapped her arms around me and dove right
in, tightening her embrace to keep my body at that same angle. Not that I
had any intentions of changing it myself, oh no, all things considered, the
discomfort was only a small sacrifice.

Her breath was hot on my flesh, intimate flesh, her head bobbing up
half-buried between the spread cheeks. I felt her tongue licking right 
along with that up-and-down movement, inside the crack of my ass, the
entire length, and it shook me to the core, a thrill I had never known
before. She seemed to be experimenting, exploring, searching for something
with that lapping tongue of hers. I knew what it was long before she did,
aware of the telltale shock every time that wet tongue slithered over it.
And when she finally got herself oriented, I was sure ready. It was almost
agony as those last few licks narrowed down, an agony of impatience until
she zeroed in on the place. And even then I had to wait while she
experimented some more, using her lips now, pursing them right there and
exerting a kind of suction. That was what it felt like, anyway, a
suck-kiss! -- or was such a tiling possible there, was she really doing it,
just using her lips?

Sucking my asshole?

I didn't mind waiting now. Even if she went no further than this, I would
have deemed myself lucky. But there was bound to be more, I figured --
after such freedom, that inquisitive little tongue wouldn't remain trapped
in her mouth forever. Wasn't it already showing signs of unrest? Uh-huh.
That fluttering sensation, what else could it be? Just the tip though, the
tip of her tongue touching me in the middle of the suck-kiss. A flutter,
almost a vibration, the tiny tongue-tip vibrating between those sucking
lips; what a deliciously lewd sensation!

But there was method in it, too, and pretty soon the pressure increased
and the suction faded -- and by that tune the well-lubricated pucker of my
asshole was prepared for entry. Or so it should have been, surely, but at
the crucial moment I behaved like a bashful blushing virgin and couldn't
prevent that part of my body from going tense and contracting nervously.
With good reason, perhaps -- what could be more virginal? But it happened
anyway, of course, there was no stopping her now, no stopping that small
but surprisingly strong tongue of hers; it came driving in, breaking
through the block with two sharp jabs and a final vigorous thrust that
penetrated the taut muscle-spasm and put an end to my shy virginity. And
once again, for the second time on this strange night, I felt myself
surrendering to a rapist.

How I loved it! That hot little tongue slithering in and out insatiably,
melting my insides with its ardor, I could only stand there in a
half-crouch and moan piteously fucked in the ass! Fucked in the ass by a
baby lesbian! Oh sure, I knew die was only striving to please me, paying
tribute to my beauty, the tribute I had hoped for a while back; wasn't this
a hot sexy tribute to my ass? A tongue-tribute. Lovely. But that didn't
matter now, except for the way she was doing it. Oh, it was some fucking
tribute, sure enough, some fucking tribute, and now my only hope was that
the kid wouldn't get sleepy and cop out on me. A weird thought for a 
baby-sitter, no doubt, but not without a certain self-indulgent altruism;
after all, we were still playing by her rules, weren't we? Come on, you
little lezzie, fuck me, fuck me, fuck my ass, my beautiful ass, fuck my
asshole with that hot little lesbian tongue...
CHAPTER ELEVEN

After that one wild night -- plus a dividend, an extra bit of fun before
her parents got home next day -- I had the kid practically eating out of my
hand. Literally, considering how we had gotten started, our first inkling
of sexual intimacy, the way she had licked my hand, the hollow of my palm;
who could forget the shock of that incredible moment?

Then again, who could forget what came afterward, shock upon shock upon
exquisitely prolonged shock. Talk about eating! Oddly enough, about the
only thing she didn't nibble on was my cunt; it just had no attraction for
her. Or -- more accurately -- no erotic significance, none at all. I
unearthed that by dint of a little discreetly casual probing, more out of
curiosity than desire. To her a cunt, any cunt, mine or hers, wasn't useful
except maybe in the bathroom. Nor did I attempt to suggest otherwise, glad
to subscribe to her "peehole" theory as long as she was such a glutton for
my toothsome tush. Especially since I had already caused some changes in
her tastes and eating habits and such. No sense letting my influence become
any more conspicuous than necessary! For safety's sake, if nothing else.

Not that such changes would be conspicuous to anybody but ourselves. I had
sworn my little suck-kiss gourmet to secrecy in a solemn rite, making sure
she understood the gravity of the situation. And we shared only our secret,
none out of the past, both of us content to let well enough alone. Although
I did spend time wondering, admittedly -- lying in bed alone, with the
memory of that tongue up my restless ass -- wondering how and when and from
whom such a babe-in-arms could have learned her uniquely aberrant lessons.
Or was it all just a natural-born talent? I wondered...

Did sweet Bernadette ever wonder about little Loi?

It was three long weeks before the Quiggs called me to baby-sit again. And
even then it came as an emergency, a Sunday night; could I come over and
sit for just a few hours?

That was unusual; Chelsea Hill folks didn't do much gallivanting around on
Sunday. And with school the next morning, I had to get my father's
permission again -- no problem, though, since my homework was finished and
I had been getting good grades lately, a proper and trustworthy young lady.
I hurried over there, anxious to see the kid but also a bit uneasy, worried
that something might have gone wrong. Even the "safest" secret could be a
burden...

A wasted worry, as it turned out. Mrs. Quigg was both apologetic and
grateful, even taking a moment to explain the emergency to me. They had
gotten a late call themselves, strictly social but with some bearing on her
husband's job. He worked in the Springfield branch of a big corporation, a
junior executive struggling toward the higher brackets, and tonight's
invitation involved one of the company big shots just in from the New York
main office. It was the kind of social evening that enhanced a young man's
chances for advancement, apparently, and the Quiggs were lucky to be
invited and even luckier to get a sitter on such short notice. Jackie was
already in bed, asleep probably, but would I be a dear and peek in on her
after they left? See if she was tucked in all right?

Asleep? And me in such a rush to get over here! I was a disappointed dear,
listening in vain for some note of cheer from upstairs as their car rolled
off into the night. But I tiptoed up anyway, waiting in her bedroom doorway
until my eyes got accustomed to the dim nightlight. No sound, no sign of
life. A disappointment, sure enough. Not that I had expected anything wild,
of course, not with school tomorrow and her parents due back so soon -- two
hours, scarcely time for an untroubled embrace, much less a comfortable
margin of safety. But still, to be right here and not even say hello and
good-night, well...

That was when it reached my ear, just as I was swinging around to leave.
Hardly a noise, more like a tickle in my eardrum. A soft breeze from the
window maybe? Rustling leaves in the trees outside? Oh shit, it might even
be a warning of danger, an attempted rip-off, not uncommon even in this
quiet middle-class suburb, I froze, straining all my senses for a clue. Or
was it coming from the bed?

Then, between giggles, "Loi? Are you going to stand there all night?
Aren't you supposed to tuck me in?"

"You devil! Still awake, eh?"

"Sure. I knew you'd be here. What did you expect?"

"Never mind. Tell you what I didn't expect -- and that's a mischievous
child playing tricks on her poor baby-sitter. For a minute there I thought
we had burglars in the house."

"Oh. I'm sorry. Please don't be mad. I guess that was pretty dumb, huh?
Are you mad at me?"

"Silly..." Drawn by the coyly plaintive voice, I sat down on the edge of
the bed and patted her dimpled cheek affectionately. "How could I be angry
with my little honeybunch?"

She put her fingers to mine, holding them there, rubbing the side of her
face into my palm. Then, demurely, eyes lowered, she tightened her grip and
turned her head until my hand was at her lips. I wasn't shocked this time,
just somewhat dubious about allowing anything intimate to develop; our one
long night of love had begun with just such a kiss! And yet I let it go on
awhile, finding the appeal irresistible, sensuously aroused by the softness
of those fresh young lips. Yielding to the sudden impulse, I touched them
with my fingertips to make a more thorough appraisal, still maintaining a
certain objectivity. But the movement was misunderstood somehow and she
giggled again, opening her mouth wide, a coquettish little giggle -- and I
gasped as the contact seemed to thicken and gain immediate depth and
intensity. Her lips had parted and then tightened to suck my fingers in,
all the way into her mouth, and now I could feel her tongue coiling around,
all moist and warm and impossibly soft, another degree of softness to
appraise; was there no limit to the burgeoning sensation of this ominously
enterprising kiss?

"Jackie, that's enough! You should be asleep already, isn't that what your
mother said?" I tugged my hand loose, taking advantage of her stunned
reaction to my sharp tone. "And if you want me to tuck you in..."

"No. Not yet. Can't we..."

"Hush. Don't even ask. What if we start something and don't hear the car
drive up? They could come home early, you know."

"You're right. We won't start anything. But how about just one kiss, huh?
We've got time for that, I'll bet. One nice goodnight kiss? Loi? Just one?"

"I-I suppose so. Hmph! Little monster. Must you keep tempting me like
that? All right then, tempt me some more, I haven't made up my mind yet.
One kiss, and no nonsense. What kind of kiss?"

"Well... uh..."

"I'm waiting. What's the matter, stuck for ideas? No more wheedling, no
temptations to throw in my path? Come on now, what kind of kiss? Better
come up with something quick or we won't even have time for that. One kiss.
Tempt me, tempt me."

"Okay. One kiss. Okay, okay. Listen, the only sure temptation I can think
of is to leave it up to you. I'll go along with whatever you say. That's 
fair, isn't it, Loi? Anyway, you can't refuse. Make the choice yourself."

"Hmm. Fair. Oh, you are a little monster! Throwing it all right back into
my lap..."

"You don't like it? I just figured... well, if you really think it ought
to be up to me..."

"Nope. I'm the one who's stuck now. Like it or not, you made me an offer I
can't refuse. I won't shirk my duty. Hmm, that was quite clever of you,
darling -- kind of put me on the spot, you know? Now I've got to tempt
myself. Oh well..."

Silence fell. I made a speedy overall observation first, and acceptance of
the problem as my own. It was a matter of pride now, I couldn't duck the
issue without losing face. Nor could I choose some easy out -- a kiss on
the forehead, for instance -- without looking like a spoilsport. And since
we were both pretty excited at this point, any real sexy kiss would be too
great a risk; it could end up with the folks walking in on us an hour from
now. Oh shit, it was quite a problem...

Or was it?

"Loi? What are you grinning about?"

"One kiss."

"Tell me, tell me."

"You'll soon find out."

"But..."

"Hush."

"Aw..."

I had my shoes off. The climb looked simple but turned out to be pretty
precarious, first to my knees and then up to my feet. That was the
difficult part, standing upright and trying to keep my balance on that soft
mattress. I got the hang of it, though, and finally managed to maneuver up
to where the headboard and the wall gave me some support. Not until then,
lazily erect alongside her head, did I glance down to see how the kid was
taking all my arduous acrobatic activity.

She stared up at me, her expression like an unfinished portrait, hopeful 
but with a touch of bewilderment, waiting for the blanks to be filled in.
Then, as I held on with one hand and worked my panties down with the other,
her big blue eyes shined with a luminous glow and it was as if the artist
had completed the painting with a few deft strokes. She looked beautiful
like that, ready for me, and I lifted one foot over to straddle her and
then let my knees bend and my weight sink slowly.

We were both too close to the headboard, but my wide-eyed little
lover-girl soon fixed that, wriggling toward the lower end a few inches,
still on her back, peering upward and coming to a halt directly underneath
me. Under my ass. With another tiny movement every now and then to keep
herself centered. I didn't have to take aim, she was doing it for me. But I
did, just the same, trying to match my descending buttocks to the dimples
in her cheeks as the distance gradually lessened. Her lips were drawn back
and I saw her white teeth flash, and the sight of that hungry little mouth
sent a shiver of anticipation through me. The big eyes were transfixed,
remaining open till the last possible instant, a kind of adoration gleaming
in their depths. And then we lost visual contact and gained the
long-awaited tactile as I settled upon her face, cleaving the crack of my
ass.

Her tongue stabbed into me, her lips leeching around it. One kiss. A
suck-kiss, a tongue-kiss, all one kiss. And after being apart so long, all
that waiting -- three weeks! -- I knew her tongue would fuck my asshole to
its turbulent climax only too soon, giving us plenty of time to put on our
"normal" masks and join the big phony world again before the Quiggs
returned. Oh, I felt marvelous! And so did my Jackie-baby, I could tell.
Wasn't it amazing how much love could be communicated in just one kiss?

They came home exhilarated; the evening had been a tonic for their hopes
-- Mr. Q's promotion was in the bag, all his overtime work had paid off,
and now they'd be going out more often. So would I be a dear and figure on
sitting regularly for them? At least once a week?

I was a dear, the dearest, offering congratulations and giving them first
call on my services, barely able to disguise a sudden exhilaration of my
own. Oh, I felt wicked! Getting paid, especially, that was when it hit me
-- I took the money and got a kind of "whory" feeling, shameful but hot and
sweet. And it was all the sinfully sweeter to be a "cheating" whore,
letting the kid knock herself out to please me; what a wicked bitch! I just
wished my asshole would stop squirming.
CHAPTER TWELVE

For a long and happy year thereafter, little Jackie Quigg was my eager and
adoring lover. We had luscious nights together, hour after hour of
girly-girl endearments. She liked licking me all over, my ears, my neck,
even under the arms. And my face, too, my eyelids and chin and nose --
getting a bit playful sometimes and actually prodding my nostrils with that
inquisitive little tongue of hers. But it was only inside the crack of my
ass that we achieved perfection, a thrill that I could prolong indefinitely
or build to a quick climax at will, depending on the time, our margin of
safety.

That too was a thrill, the sense of authority, of being in complete
control, a thrill in itself. Even aside from her worshipful attitude, I had
the added advantage of my age and experience, an edge that filled me with a
growing appreciation of the uses of power. (All it lacked was the label,
the "Morlock" thing in the making!) And what depravity I would wallow in
afterward, delicious, smiling angelically and holding out my corrupt paw to
collect payment, money for services rendered...

But alas, our beautiful idyll had to end. Mr. Q's step up the corporate
ladder was only to groom him for the next higher rung, it appeared, a
management position in another branch, grander but far away. Minneapolis.
It might as well have been Moscow! And so we said goodbye, my baby-love and
I -- a little tongue, a few tears -- and that sweet segment of my life drew
to a close, leaving me sad if not exactly grief-stricken. At least I had
gleaned something out of it, a certain wisdom to sustain me in my
loneliness; wasn't it nice to know what to look for?

What to look for. Oh sure, that was easy. But where to find it? Well, even
the experienced driller doesn't strike oil every time. And I wasn't that
experienced, truth to tell. Worse yet, I had lost most of my old contacts
and was starting from scratch, practically, a baby-sitter looking for work.
Once the word got around I was in demand again, of course, but that only
added to the complications. There were too many offers of a steady deal and
I had to keep making up excuses to avoid getting tied down, always on the
prowl for a new and better prospect. Only the view got less and less
prospective as I weeded out the possibilities one by one, overly critical
perhaps but determined to go on searching. Somewhere in this town there was
bound to be another little girl to suit my tastes, as cute as Jackie and
maybe even as docile. Although my hopes did begin to wane eventually,
bolstered only by my unflagging need.

That was when I ran across chubby little Trish Sawyer, no beauty, not even
pretty, but vaguely responsive to my teasing overtures. And by that time I
had become willing to accept whatever fate handed me, forgoing charm for
compatibility, having moved into one of the recently constructed apartment
houses, a status somewhat lower than the more solidly entrenched residents.
So the youngster had no real friends and seemed pathetically eager to form 
an alliance with a baby-sitter who didn't treat her like a dumb kid. And by
the same token, her parents were overjoyed to have such a reliable sitter
on tap, never questioning my judgment about the bedtime hour and such --
all in all, a rather promising situation.

I made the most of it. We played games of the roughhouse variety, with
much wrestling body-contact. Our own version of hide-and-seek, for
instance, when I'd end my search with a pounce and a tumble and a roll on
the carpet, all accompanied by much shrieking and childish laughter. Trish
was a dumpling of a child, soft and plump and cuddly, a pouty-lipped little
butterball who seemed to thrive on such treatment. And it wasn't long
before I decided she was ready for something more intimate.

The opportunity came shortly. In the middle of a rough-type game I fell
and bumped my fanny hard, noticeably harder than usual, hard enough to make
me wince and quit playing. The kid was immediately sympathetic, worried
about being the cause of such harm. And with a shade of bravado, I forgot
my pain in quest of pleasure.

"Oh, it's not so bad. I've got a well-padded tush, remember? Nice and
soft..." It did feel pretty solid in my tight jeans and I rolled over to
show off a little. "See? Feel how soft, Trish. Yours will grow big and soft
too some day."

Her touch was fleeting, a disappointment; then, "I'll bet mine is softer,
you know? Feel it. Tell the truth now."

And all of a sudden there I was on my knees, doing it, running my hands
over her fat little ass -- and it seemed only natural that her pajama pants
should get loose and slide down. And even more natural that I should kiss
it, kiss those delectable dimples, and I just went ahead without thinking,
pressing my lips to one cheek and then the other.

"Oooh, that feels funny. Do it some more."

I didn't mind. She was real soft and smooth there, and I opened my mouth
and kind of nibbled on the flesh gently, a beginning suck-kiss that soon
had her trembling in response. It should have been the other way around, of
course, that squealing little pouty-mouth should have been worshipping my
own ass -- but I figured this was better than nothing, a step in the right
direction anyway, the first overt introduction of sex in our noisy
fun-games. And besides, her pajama bottom had already been taken care of,
slipping down with a lot less fuss than my shrunken denim jeans would have
needed. With so much going for us, why change now?

Then too, admittedly, I rather liked doing it. Seen from this particular 
angle, the kid was really quite cute, just a chubby pair of legs topped by
a dimpled young ass, softer and ever so much bigger in close-up. She was
jutting it back at me, all bent I over from the waist up. We could have
gone on like that, neither of us uttering an intelligible word -- just
little whimpery noises now -- but then I got greedy and began to edge my
suck-kisses inward, fascinated by the dark dividing line between those
dimples. I ducked low and ran my tongue up through her ass-crack, dipping
in and swabbing the length of it delicately. And that brought our little
scene to an abrupt end, triggering an immediate climax -- or at least a
reasonable facsimile! -- in that young but apparently not too young body.
She pulled away, staggering, and barely managed to reach the bed before
collapsing in a heap, all shaky and shuddery.

"Loi? Oooh! Something's happening. Nnngg. What is it, what's happening to
me?"

"Hush. It's a grownup thing, isn't it nice?"

"Mmm..."

Wisely, I chose not to pursue the issue, soothing her instead with
soft-spoken phrases about how good it felt and how sleepy she was getting
-- and best of all, how we could have more of this secret grownup fun as
long as it remained a secret. Oh yes, I was careful to put that across. And
by the time she dozed off, I had her purring contentedly and promising
complete and wholehearted cooperation in whatever lay ahead.

It was a week before we saw each other again. I wore a short skirt instead
of jeans, showing off my shapely legs -- sexy without being too obvious
about it. Her parents weren't going out until quite late, though, so Trish
was already in bed when I arrived on the job. Not asleep yet, her mother
said, just a sleepy little girl waiting to tell me good-night. And just
this once, would I please be firm and not let her get up? Not even to wave
goodbye from the window -- an old family custom -- it was too dark outside
and they were already behind schedule, some ten minutes tardy for their
appointment or reservation or some such.

I headed for her room as soon as they left, pausing only to put on some
heavier makeup and douse myself with perfume from my purse, purposely
brought along for the occasion. Again, as with the switch from faded denim
to a real girl-type outfit, it was to make the kid more conscious of me,
conscious of my feminine appeal. How could it miss? Even now, the scent had
picked up the heat of my body and was rising rapidly, enveloping me in a
fog of fragrance, strong, heady, intoxicating -- sexy, obvious or not. A
ripple of hot urgency skittered up my spine...

"Loi? Oh, there you are. They're gone, hmm?"

"Uh-huh. Just. You're not supposed to wave, though."

"I know. It's okay, I'm kind of sleepy anyhow. I only stayed awake to see
you. I mean, uh, after what happened last week..." A note of distraction
sounded in the small voice. Then, sniffing, "Hey, you smell nice. Perfume,
huh?"

"Imported. You like it?"

"I'll say. Mmm..."

"Want to try some? Here, let me give you a dab or two."

"Okay. But not just a dab. Unless you don't have enough to spare, of
course." She rolled face-down, slipping the loose pajama-top halfway off
her shoulders in the same movement. "Smear some on the back of my neck,
will you? I just love that."

"Uh-huh. Wait. There. Like this?"

"Oooh, yes. Rub it in, rub it in." Her muffled tone faded to a drowsy
murmur. "Hands... feel so good..."

"You falling asleep? Honey?"

"Ummm. Almost. But don't stop."

"Who's stopping? I might as well pamper you a little -- all part of my
job, you know? The customer is always right."

There was silence then, except for the sound of her breathing, regular and
rhythmic, far more so than my own. Even the throb of my heart seemed
suddenly erratic. Everything had gotten too still, though; was she dropping
off already? Just to check, I ceased my kneading motion temporarily and got
an immediate wriggle in reply, a peremptory and highly explicit wriggle of
her body, undeniably a request for more. If not an outright demand! But
regardless, well, I wasn't exactly averse to fulfilling it. Quite the
contrary, in fact, and after a while I dipped inside her pajama-top from
below, moving gently but eagerly, my palms and fingers spread wide to take
in the most territory.

"How's that feel, sweetie?"

"Mmm... nice..."

"Your skin is so soft." I leaned down with bated breath, nuzzling under
her hair and pressing a kiss upon the nape of her now-perfumed neck. She
allowed it without a sign of either protest or pleasure, and my hands
continued their caress, broadening the scope with every stroke. "Is it that
soft all over?"

"You ought to know."

"Oh. But that was just a touch. And so long ago. How can I even remember?
Ill just have to..."

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"Let me. Let me love you."

"Well..." Then, with a shiver, "Loi!"

"See? Ill be good to you. Darling, let me. You'll like it, you really
will. Let me make you happy."

"I-I'm not sure what you mean. I won't know how to..."

"Angel, you don't have to, you don't have to know anything. I'll do it
all. I know enough for both of us. I'll kiss you and kiss you and kiss
you." Desire turned my voice to a throaty whisper. "Please let me. I'll do
everything for you. You'll love it."

"That's all you want? Just to kiss me?"

I trembled, unable to say any more, painfully aware of how self-demeaning
my outburst had been. And she wasn't even pretty! How could I have vacated
my position of power so thoughtlessly, betrayed by my own emotional
instability, and for a fat-assed little mooncalf of a child who lacked even
the basic physical attractions? It seemed like a bad dream. Only it was
still going on, of course -- there were impassioned words on the tip of my
tongue, but I had already uttered similar ones. I had begged. On impulse, I
had laid bare my lecherous ardor, goaded out of control by the blind frenzy
of need. And now, limp and unnerved, I could only hang on and hope for some
sign of encouragement.

"Well, if you just want to kiss me..." She reached back, pushing at the
waistband of her pajama pants. "Come on, then do it. What are you waiting
for?"

Dazed by the unexpected gesture, I stared, gasping, almost unconscious of 
my already active hands, mechanical hands that raced deftly to make short
work of the clinging garment. Then, glowly, like some creature in a trance,
I lowered my head. The first touch of my lips on her flesh brought a swift
reaction, a lurch of her body that pretty much ended my trancelike state.
Her middle came up off the mattress, ramming those plump buttocks against
my face. And once again I dallied over the cute dimples, one ass-cheeks,
then the other, evidently an appreciative caress that she too appreciated.
At least she mentioned it, and that was appreciation of a sort, a
compliment for me as well as herself:

"Hey, you do that as if you really like it! I guess you know a good thing,
huh? Nice and soft..."

"Ummm. Soft. Kiss it all night." I managed to enunciate my grateful mumble
quite clearly, anxious to deliver the flattery intact. "Softest little tush
in the world."

"That sounds silly."

"Hmm? Silly?"

"Tush. That's for kids. Or maybe you think I'm still just a baby, huh?
Silly. If I'm old enough to get kissed..." Then, almost angrily, "Never
mind the kid stuff -- that's my ass you're kissing, not my tush. You hear
me? Loi? You're kissing my nice soft ass, right? Okay, so kiss it, kiss it,
kiss my ass!"

Jolted by her words, I forgot the dimples and licked feverishly, plunging
my tongue into the dark furrow and seeking to mire myself in its lewdness.
It was lewd, sure as hell, and I felt the same Goddamn way -- lewd as that
lewd little speech of hers, the lewder the better for both of us; oh shit,
what a rush of excitement! She was all humped up high now, knees bent and
tucked under her, opening the depths wide to my laving tongue, all but
putting the tiny puckered hole on display for me. Not that I needed to be
shown where it was, not with that versatile tongue of mine already tensing
at the tip and squirming in lewdly...

"Oooh!"

Her childish cry was like a commendation. I fluttered my hot tongue-tip
around and around inside the equally hot ring of muscle tissue, intent on
overcoming its instinctive shyness, its innate tendency to snap shut
against any invader, even a welcome one. And then at last, after another
minute or so of moistening and stretching, I squeezed through and took the
final plunge, gliding in like the oil-slick piston of an internal
combustion cylinder. Just like that, oil-snug now, a fitting climax.

Only it couldn't end there, naturally, that was only a kind of preliminary
heat. Talk about internal combustion! It was a wonder we both didn't go up
in flame. I had to encircle the kid's ass with my arms and hold on for dear
life, otherwise she would have waltzed us right off the bed. Luckily we did
more bouncing than waltzing though, all safely within the boundaries of our
cozy little playpen, while I licked and sucked and fucked, fuck-fuck-fuck,
ravaging that cherubic cherry asshole with my dirty old lesbian tongue...
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

This too soon blossomed and became an idyll of sorts, although there were
times when my role in the relationship seemed somewhat less than idyllic.
Still, I couldn't complain. Or rather, I just didn't complain, and that
amounted to the same thing -- tantamount to total surrender. Oddly enough,
I never quite understood my own reticence. Except that the idea of
complaining usually occurred to me afterward, not when we were together and
involved in our secret revels. And somehow -- even in the heat of a
possible "moment of truth" -- I always managed to think of a conveniently
logical reason to keep mum and just enjoy the inevitable. Bossy as she
might be, how could I criticize a novice like Trish Sawyer for an attitude
that derived from simply too much girlish enthusiasm? What if she took it
to heart? Wasn't there a precautionary old adage about throwing out the
baby with the bathwater?

And so, with only minor changes here and there, the impromptu early
development of our intimacy became its steady sex-format, as predictable as
a weekly half-hour TV show. Infinitely more exciting though, despite -- or
because of? -- its predictability. I might wonder about getting into a rut,
but once my tongue started its slurping swish through that sweet ass-crack,
well, there was only joy for me in the happy ending to come. Repetition
would erode a little something eventually, I figured -- next century maybe
-- but meanwhile my suck-kiss didn't seem to be losing its thrill.

Out of curiosity, I asked Trish the obvious question: did it always have
to be there? Never in front? Only the answer was just as obvious, almost --
so easy for her to say -- as if she hadn't given it a second thought
herself.

"I just knew you liked my ass, that's all. Why? You want to kiss my pussy?
I won't mind. I'll let you, it's the least I can do -- the way you're
always doing things for me, you know? So if you really feel like it
sometime..."

I didn't pursue the issue, hesitant to cope with the various complications
and uncertainties that apparently lurked just below the surface. I was used
to letting her make the decisions anyway; wasn't that the most fun?
Besides, there was another reason, a silly one, even a bit embarrassing --
the kid was too young, her pussy was too tiny, too bald, just a fuzzy
little slit, a peehole, almost devoid of sex. Not my cup of tea. I liked
her ass, sure, but in front my desire was for something big, something
grand, something only a real woman could offer. Cunt. Huge and hot and
hairy, that was the kind of cunt my mouth craved. A real suckable cunt for
a sucking mouth. And meanwhile, well, I wasn't exactly deprived of
pleasure, not with those cute dimples to kiss and the butt-cheeks to lick
and the alluring dark trench in between that seemed to have no other
purpose in life but to entice the tongue out of my mouth and turn all these
dainty suck-kisses of mine into one long slimy fuck-kiss...

Matters were going through a metamorphosis at home. After years of making
a comfortable living, my father had expanded his business and was on the
road to riches. I was glad to see him stepping out at night more often,
too, dating some floozie in Springfield till all hours of the morning. Or
maybe he had more than one, maybe there were three or four, a rotating
roster of bosomy consorts for bed and booze. Anyway, the old guy had it
coming after all that toil and sweat, and I only wished he would take
better care of himself and stay healthy enough to enjoy the fruits of his
labor.

They must have been pretty ripe, those fruits -- he always reeked of
perfume the next day, a different brand each time usually, so I knew he was
playing the field. I could tease him about it, sneaking in a mention of the
late hours and lack of sleep, but my father was still boss in his own
house, a generation older and supposedly that ranch wiser. And while we had
always gotten along okay, there was never any real close communication
between us. So I just kept my fingers crossed and prayed for his libido to
spring a leak -- as any dutiful daughter might do.

As far as I was concerned, the extra money didn't mean a great deal. There
was talk of sending me to some snooty snob-college after high school, but I
nipped that in the bud diplomatically, somewhat averse to higher education
in general and social pedigrees in particular. And since I wasn't exactly
hooked on elegant gowns and stuff, the new charge accounts were only
incidental. Actually, the money became a problem for a while, almost a
millstone around my neck, imagine! With a boost in allowance to keep me
affluent, there was no reason for my baby-sitting chores anymore,
disastrous, a bitter irony -- the same wealth that bought my father's
floozies might deprive me of mine! And I only had one...

My fat little floozy. Ah, but she was too precious to give up without a
struggle, and I finally convinced the old guy that it was good for my 
morale to earn a few bucks; it made me feel like a useful and independent
citizen. And wasn't that fine training for a young girl on the threshold of
womanhood, a red-blooded American girl? Oh shit, I really had him snowed.
Not that I found it anything to brag about, a daughter conning her father
like that -- but with so much at stake, what choice was there? If
necessary, I would have draped myself in Old Glory and picketed the place,
carrying an "Unfair to Loi" poster in one hand and twirling my flashiest
silver baton with the other. Guaranteed to melt the hardest conservative
heart. But it was already melted by then; virtue had triumphed, the
disaster was averted -- no shitty allowance boost was going to mess up my
sex-life!

Even when the kid's demands became a bit audacious, I found her
irresistible, succumbing to her every whim with often reluctant but always
increasing fervor. She was particularly fond of putting me through some
symbolic little ordeal right under her parents' noses practically, a kind
of secret humiliation just between the two of us. I hated it, of course,
but was too meek to protest, too eager for the shameful thrill that would
already be creeping up on me. And soon we would both tingle with suppressed
excitement, an impatience that drew us together in some fiercely erotic
embrace the instant they were out the door.

Then, almost a ritual now -- by order of Her Chubby Highness! -- we would
race to her bedroom window and wait for the departing parents to appear
down below and look up and wave goodbye. But they weren't waving at me,
obviously, so I'd just duck out of sight while she leaned over the
windowsill and waved back. Down on my knees I'd go, wildly aroused and yet
always a shade queasy at that moment, feeling perverted and terribly
depraved, my insides churning with the nausea of self-disgust. But that too
would only add to the enravishment as she giggled and went oh waving and at
the same time put on an act just for me, a sway of hips, a shake of
buttocks, the silent signals for a command performance. And how I
performed! It never failed. Crouching there like some obsequious slave, I
licked those dimples and heightened my own pleasure by thinking only of
hers, burrowing in deep and sending my tongue on its ordained fuck-mission
into her asshole. The kind of pleasure associated with my Eloi name, an
intoxicating brush with masochism, a headlong rush to marinate my senses in
the darkly mysterious ecstasies of sexual degradation...

All went well and good. Except that matters at home had taken a turn for
the worse. What a revolting development! My father had run out of floozies
and gotten himself married. So all of a sudden I had a stepmother, a tall
silver-blonde named Darlene. A high-class floozy, probably, although she
was supposed to have been a schoolteacher of some sort. Anyway, she must
have married him for his money; what else? I hated the slinky bitch.

At first, admittedly, I could find nothing very offensive in her behavior
toward me. Just a general attitude of smug superiority, perhaps. I was even
impressed by her beauty, indeed almost envious of it. But all that was mere
camouflage; underneath lurked a snake who could spit deadly venom without
flashing a fang. Even her eyes made me uncomfortable -- peering out of the
pallid-wax skin, they were like shiny black coals that never wavered.
Anyway, whether it was her doing or mine, we soon became enemies.

Somehow, luckily, both of us managed to cool it when the man of the house
was around. Any other time, though, we were at each other's throats, a kind
of running hostility that was always on the brink of violence but never
seemed to break out. Although she did reach the stage where she tried to
browbeat me, threatening to take a belt to my backside if I didn't shape
up.

Funny about that, the ire it aroused in me. My own motives and impulses
were too deep to understand. I only knew that I was being consumed by
unholy fires. Flames of jealousy, flames of hatred, flames of raw emotion.
And if I didn't extinguish them soon, there would be trouble. The brink
kept drawing closer. And yet, somehow, there was an inexplicable thrill in
the danger itself. It was like watching a horror film and feeling myself
drawn into the action. If she would just quit acting so bossy! I already
had one female boss; who needed another?

It had to happen in the end. The big hassle, the showdown between
stepmother and stepdaughter. Mostly my fault, in a way, but I just couldn't
keep my temper bottled up. That threat of hers still rankled, the crack
about beating my butt with a belt -- it must have been on my mind at the
time; why else would I have blown my cool like that? There we were,
bickering as usual, no worse than any of a dozen similar spats, when
suddenly everything just came to a boil inside me and I told her to shut
up. Whereupon she snorted in righteous indignation and launched into a
lofty tirade about rude young girls who ought to be taught some respect for
their elders. And that was when I spoke the magic words.

"Oh, kiss my ass!"

"What did you say? How dare you!" Darlene's face turned a shade of purple.
"You brat, you snotty little brat!"

I slapped her then. Hard. Right on the cheek, a full swing of my arm, hard
enough to make my hand sting. We were both deathly still for a moment,
stunned by the enormity of my deed. And then I whirled and strode away,
anxious to get out of range before she started swinging back. But she just
stood there, and I was almost up the stairs when her reaction finally came.
No return blow, no violence -- just the vitriol in her voice:

"I'll remember that. And so will you. Mark my words, young lady, I'll see
that you never forget it."

A cold chill gripped me, and I knew right then and there that this house
couldn't hold both of us. I packed a bag and dashed off a quick note to my
father, telling him not to worry, I'd keep in touch and stay out of trouble
and please not to report me to the police as a runaway child -- I just had
to get away and be by myself for a while. It gave me a pang of regret, but
my mind was already made up; it was now or never!

I didn't even slow down to change clothes. Besides, the pleated skirt I
was wearing would be less conspicuous than shorts or jeans, safer if not as
comfortable, especially this close to home. I'd be riding the local bus
into Springfield and then taking another one from the big bus station, far
enough to get out on the open road. That would cover my trail a bit, in
case my father decided to give chase anyway. And from there on, well, a
girl with my legs wouldn't find thumbing a lift difficult. Who looks at
thumbs?

Luckily, money was no immediate problem. I had some cash in my dresser
drawer, a pretty good nest-egg to carry me through the bus trips and ward
off starvation. If necessary, I could always telephone or send a wire and
get help from home. My father would never let me down. But I was determined
to make it on my own; after all, wasn't that part of running away? Oh, I
felt confident, almost brave really, young and strong and ready to face the
world. In fact, upon fleeing Chelsea Hill my only rueful thought was of
those secret games I'd no longer be playing, the eager little body I'd no
longer be caressing. Farewell, my bossy baby lesbian! What a shame to leave
that fat little ass languishing for my suck-kisses come Saturday night,
pining for my lesbian lips, my sexy lesbian mouth, my hot fucking lesbian
tongue; such a pity! But I just couldn't see myself hanging around to face
the wrath of a vengeful stepmother.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

My travel plans were okay, just about perfect, until I got out on the road
alone. The traffic wasn't as heavy as I'd hoped for. But with hitchhiking
illegal on the main highway, this one was my only choice, the only other
road going in the right direction. I was headed toward the coast, the sandy
beaches, the vacation resorts, an area vast enough to provide concealment.
But now, after a couple of short hops with local folks, I seemed to be
stalled temporarily, stranded alongside a rather barren stretch of
concrete. And was that a storm cloud darkening the sky overhead?

A few drops of rain fell, almost cause for panic as the clouds thickened.
I'd been pretty careful so far, shying away from cars that might mean
trouble, but the oncoming flood called for desperate measures -- and I was
about to risk my pink-and-white with whatever came along, even obvious
wolf-type salesman. Any old port in a storm, I figured. And then -- call it
luck, call it coincidence, call it a miracle! -- the car that swerved in
and squealed to a stop was like an answer to a prayer. Two women. And as
long as I was risking my pink-and-white body...

The blonde behind the wheel gave me a wave of welcome. "Need a lift,
honey? Climb aboard."

"Thanks. Going far?"

"All the way." The driver nudged her dark-haired somewhat younger
companion. "Let her sit in the middle, Fleur. We'll share her." Then, as I
slid onto the seat, "Like I said, honey, we're going all the way. Right to
the shore and then across the bay to the peninsula. That far enough?"

"Uh-huh. Sounds wonderful, ma'm."

"Ma'm?" The woman grinned. "Do I look that old to you? Call me Amanda. And
this is Fleur. And now, my little roadside waif, what's your name?"

"Loi." I spelled it out for her.

"That's an odd name. Loi. Cute, though. So tell me, just how far are you
going?"

"Depends."

"Oh? Depends on what?"

I drew a deep breath. "On a lot of things. Mostly, I guess, it depends on
how far you want to take me."

Amanda burst into laughter. Patting my knee, she leaned over to speak to
her friend in a mock confidential tone. "What do you think, Fleur? How far
shall we take our charming little hitchhiker?"

"Beats me. You're the boss."

"Ah yes, I'm the boss." In silence, the woman concentrated on tooling the
car past a small traffic snarl. Then, as the road cleared again, she
dropped her hand from the wheel in another caress, less casual this time.
"Well now. Loi? All the way?"

Up ahead, a ray of sunlight broke through the clouds. Seated between the
two exquisitely feminine creatures, I felt just fine. Was she really
serious about taking me out to the peninsula? So it appeared. I had never
been there, of course -- the peninsula was a kind of playground for the
idle rich, dotted with luxurious summer homes, all on a grander scale than
the mainland beaches. Was this offer of hers sincere? I sure hoped so.

"Well? All the way? How about it, honey?"

A genuine invitation, doubtless. I smiled and nodded my head, uttering my
acceptance in words that seemed to fit the situation perfectly. "Whatever
you say, Amanda. You're the boss."

That pleased her, evidently, and the subject was tabled. As if it had
already become a foregone conclusion. Ignoring me now, the two of them got
into a discussion on routes and such, trying to decide whether to switch to
the main highway. Until at last we pulled into a large one-step service
station, complete with bar and restaurant, to fill up on food and gasoline
and check the roadmap.

We sat in a booth and ordered sandwiches. Then, while they went over the
spread-out map together, I went to the restroom to pee and primp a little.
I felt upset now, slighted by their apparent lack of interest; had my
presence already lost its novelty? And finally, right there alone in front
of the mirror, everything welled up inside me and I shed a few tears.

Actually, the neglect of my new acquaintances had only triggered the
reaction; it must have been building up ever since leaving home in such a
hurry. I missed my father, I missed the security of my own bed in my own
room. And it was quite a jolt to realize that I had become a runaway child
once and for all, burning my bridges behind me, facing the world with only
myself to rely on. No wonder the tears multiplied and began to gush.

That was when Amanda came in, all sweetness and sympathy the instant she
spotted my woebegone expression. Her arms reached out to enfold me, tugging
my head into the warm slope of her bosom, a gesture more maternal than
sexual. Her hand stroked my hair gently, ever so tenderly, bringing on a
second emotional torrent -- tears of gratitude now. I buried my face in the
softness, ashamed of my tearful outburst but truly grateful for her
understanding. Delicate fingers caressed the nap of my neck, and I soon
became aware of a change in my benevolent new-found friend, an increasingly
rapid rise and fall of her breasts. It was no more than vaguely significant
though, and I continued to seek the security I had been missing, the lovely
sense of security that stemmed from her perfumed flesh pillowing my damp
cheeks, so soft, so sweet, so motherly...

Motherly?

Of course. Motherly, what else? She was still petting me, soothing me,
crooning faint sounds of compassion in my ear, obviously concerned only for
my welfare. The tenderness of a mother for her forlorn little girl. Any
other involvement here was all in my own mind, a corruption of this
intimate but sexless embrace. Only it didn't seem sexless any more,
somehow, and a wave of shame overwhelmed me in the wake of such a
staggering admission. I could feel the hot pulsations, the voluptuous
stirrings of excitement in my body; what else could that clammy moisture
between my legs have sprung from?

It was embarrassing, sure enough, but I couldn't resist the magnetic force
that held me there. I fastened my sucking lips to the skin and lost myself
in its scented magic. She seemed all tits and belly now, big flesh titties
spilling half-naked over the top of her bra -- and soft pouty belly
undulating against mine, arousing me to even greater fervor. Then,
unaccountably, I felt her caressing fingertips add a slight pressure, a
downward nudge -- as though a weight was on my shoulders, pushing me toward
the floor. Or was it pulling me down, that dragging sensation in my loins?

No matter. I couldn't stop to figure it out. Motherly or not, Amanda must
have been infected by the feverish outcroppings of my erotic desire. It all
happened so swiftly! One minute she was all sympathy and no sex, a moment
later my knees were bent and the musky odor of impassioned cunt was setting
my nostrils aflare from underneath her already partially rucked-up frock.
It was as if I had been hurtled into some deliciously lewd adventure -- in
a roadhouse restroom, imagine! -- an adventure that could only end with the
open declaration of our secret, silent but eloquent, a horny little
cuntlapper drenching and quenching herself in succulent cunt...

"Wait. Oh shit, somebody's coming! And it's neither one of us, damnit --
although I'm sure close, kid."

"Me too. Closer than you think." Giggling, I scrambled to my feet and
returned to the mirror. "Hey, is that a blush or is it just warm in here?"

"Hush..."

The door swung wide and three women trooped in, one carrying an apparently
wet baby in her arms. I was pretty wet myself -- and so was Amanda, no
doubt -- but that only emphasized the disadvantages of growing up. The baby
got freshly diapered, but even a careful swab-job in the privacy of a
toilet cubicle left me with my panties still clammy.

Back in the booth, Amanda hit the booze rather heavily, but I needn't have
worried over her driving. She simply pushed a pile of clothes aside and
curled up on the rear seat and passed out, an enigmatic smile on her face.
Fleur inherited the wheel and handled it well, surprisingly capable for
such a dainty doll. We took the highway route that led toward the ferry,
the big ferryboat, big enough to carry cars across the bay; it was supposed
to be easier and more restful than continuing on by motor and entering the
peninsula at the mainland neck. Anyway, I was looking forward to the boat
ride -- among other things! -- and could have pinched myself black-and-blue
and still wondered when this fantastic dream would end.

Not that there was anything dreamlike about the way I felt at the moment.
Even though all conversation had long since waned, I remained upright and
alert, nothing like Sleeping Beauty back there. I enjoyed watching Fleur
drive, hunched over the wheel like an integral part of the mechanism. Or so
I thought. Only her driving didn't mean so much after awhile, it was her
body that had become the main attraction. I hadn't really noticed it
before.

Funny. With only her handling of the car on my mind, I had watched openly
and without the slightest embarrassment. And now, all of a sudden, I became
self-conscious and could only cast sidelong glances in her direction. It
was quite a body, I realized, small but perfectly proportioned, almost a
pixie look. Although that impression might have come more from her hair and
eyes, jet-black hair cropped short and huge green eyes that dominated her
cute little face. And despite her apparent daintiness, there was a certain
air of poise about her, an inner firmness, not quite as flowerlike as her
very pretty French name. Fleur. I whispered the word in silence and could
almost feel my lips tingle.

I glanced back at the other one, so comfortably asprawl on the rear seat,
also a lovely sight. Irritating as the thought was, she reminded me of my
stepmother. The same slinky blonde type. And just as bossy probably,
although I couldn't see myself objecting in this instance. On the contrary.
You're the boss, Amanda; hadn't I already established that fact? In a
sense, I had even gone down on my knees to her. Hmm. If only that baby had
stayed dry just a few minutes longer!

Facing front again, I licked my tingling lips and felt a faint twinge
between my thighs, a soft spasm of desire. As if my cunt had developed a
memory of its own. And once again, rapturously, it all seemed like a
fantastic dream. How lucky could a girl get? I was sitting in a car with
two beautiful women. Away from home less than a day and already my new life
was taking shape -- childhood's end! -- no more puerile games, no more kid
stuff. I was in the big leagues now. Two beautiful women. Three, counting
me; wasn't I one of them now? Three beautiful lesbians...
CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Dusk was falling as we swung off the highway and onto the ferry road. I
could smell the salty tang in the air, familiar but always fresh. Peering
ahead eagerly, I waited for my first view of the bay and wondered if the
peninsula would be visible across in the distance. Wouldn't it look
different to someone who was actually going there?

Fleur's eyes must have been sharper than mine. Or else she knew better
where to look -- off at an angle, evidently. Anyway, I was still pretty
disoriented when she caught a glimpse and uttered an unmistakable snort of
displeasure. Then she pointed it out to me through a cluster of trees and
small bungalows, the ferryboat looming dark in the water.

"Over there. See? We just missed it."

"How can you tell? Maybe it's just coming in."

"Nope. No such luck. Or there'd be a line of cars, silly."

"Oh. Of course. I'm stupid, not silly. How long will we have to wait?" I
was disappointed by the delay. "Maybe we ought to go back to the highway
and take the other route, huh?"

"I'm thinking about it, sweetie." Then, "Oh, the hell with it, I'm tired
of driving." Her hand fell on my thigh casually. "It's only a half-hour or
so. We might as well relax. Kind of gives us a chance to get better
acquainted..."

Her voice drifted off, somewhat speculative in tone, but the meaning
wasn't exactly ambiguous to me, not with that hand of hers still retaining
contact as the car rolled in toward the entrance to the ferry slip. More
than just contact now, stroking and gripping lightly, an obvious caress
that continued while the other hand attended to the mechanical details, the
wheel, the brake, the ignition. And then at last we were parked and in
place, motionless except for those mercurial fingers on my leg.

I remained noncommittal, avoiding even an acknowledgment of the situation.
Or at least that was the impression I tried to convey. But I couldn't
control the rippling surge of excitement that raced through my body,
surfacing here and there, a telltale signal that practically shrieked
aloud. My nipples ached, sensitive now even to the fabric of their
confining cover. Down below, the squirming sensation in my cunt came as a
renewed reminder of how and when and where it had first gotten so clammy. 
Every ripple, every tremor, every unseen palpitation seemed to reach its
own spiteful climax there, lacerating my clitoris with almost caustic
precision. So wet how! Not just clammy any more, inflamed. As though each
squiggle of body turbulence could end only by shooting its own hot little
load, each wringing out a final drop of acid...

"Like I said, honey, a chance to get better acquainted."

"Oh?"

"You know. After all, you're going to be one of the family, aren't you? No
more roadside waif."

Even with her sexual advances turning me giddy with anticipation, I
couldn't help but notice how she seemed to identify with Amanda somehow --
the same "casual" caress, the same slightly condescending attitude, even
the same speech patters. Did that portend the same style of lovemaking? Did
she expect me to go down on my knees to her? I sure hoped not. Two bosses
was one too many.

So far so good, though. As yet there were no overt indications of any such
desire on her part. She was still fondling my legs with a certain
restraint, taking only partial advantage of their limpness, parting my
thighs gradually but making no attempt to paw around under the skirt. Her
hand almost seemed to be pleading. So far so good! Except that I figured it
was time to find out what she was pleading for. Even in the descending
darkness, the front seat of an auto wasn't exactly suitable for a gay
get-acquainted party.

"Fleur? Are you going to fingerfuck me? If so, you needn't be so dam
sneaky about it. I'm willing. I mean, uh, as long as it's kind of an
initiation into the family..."

"Fingerfuck? That's for beginners, baby. Wouldn't you rather have a little
touch of tongue?"

"Sure. Who wouldn't? But not out here where everybody can see what we're
doing. No, thanks."

"They won't see us. Only you."

"Huh? I don't understand what..." My puzzled voice broke off on a note of
panic; it was suddenly quite obvious what she meant by that cryptic remark.
Nobody was going to see her, certainly. And why would anyone even bother to
look at me? Unless some busy-body got curious about a car with a
disappearing driver.

She was already out from behind the wheel, one knee sinking to the
floorboards. Her fingers, all ten of them now, were creeping up my thighs
-- under the skirt this time, a preliminary survey. Or was it just to put
me in the proper mood? I sure needed a little more petting to calm my
frazzled nerves. Think of the danger!

And yet, despite my well-warranted misgivings, I sat there without a
squeak of protest, enumerating the various and sundry reasons to keep my
legs open and my mouth shut. For one thing, I had brought it on myself with
that deliberately vulgar "fingerfuck" talk; wouldn't it brand me a poor
sport to back out now? Then too, only a few minutes ago I had worried about
winding up with too many bosses -- oh shit, that could have been me
kneeling down there! -- what a relief to breathe easy and hold my head
high.

I squinted and swung my gaze in an arc, first one side and then the other.
Out back, too. Checking for possible snoopers. There were cars lined up
behind us now, dark and lifeless, just like ours. Hmm. Maybe they were all
asleep. Just like the blonde boss-lady back there, missing all the fun.
Wasn't anybody even interested? -- One more reason to stay loose and just
let it happen. If nobody else owed, why guilty? Only I did, of course, I
felt the guilt and the shame and the prickling excitement of danger --
enough to give another thought to ending this foolish exploit before it got
out of hand. There was still time. Still a final decision to make. Those
clammy panties of mine; should I close my legs and arch up and let the last
barricade tumble? Yes or no?

Hah! Some barricade. Too sheer and too sleazy. Fleur made the decision for
me -- a tug, a tear, a twist of the wrist -- leaving my panties still on,
but with the crotch in shreds. Oh well, at least they didn't feel so clammy
any more. I couldn't scold her for it. It was quite comforting to do away
with decisions and such -- not to mention clammy underwear! -- and besides,
who could be angry at a moment like this? I was lucky just to survive. When
that sucking mouth locked onto the lips of my cunt, I moaned and lurched
and struggled to remain lucid enough to savor every tiny spark of sensation
before it flashed to peak brilliance and faded into oblivion. Only the
flashes came too hot and heavy to separate as the maddening suction aroused
my flesh to thrill-swollen tumescence, and my bid for lucidity simply
couldn't keep pace.

Not that it mattered. Survival seemed more important at this point.
Something new had been added, a fluttering tongue-tip with the force of a
jackhammer. Incredible! That was a small woman down there, a small young
woman with a comparatively small tongue; where did all the power come from?
I could almost hear it rattling inside my skull. Even the stiffest of 
tongues is soft by nature, but this one was chipping away at my cunt like a
pneumatic drill let loose on an asphalt pavement. Fiendish! First the
shredded panty-crotch, now a pulverized pussy; what was she trying to do,
sabotage my personal body ecology?

Ah, but what a way to go! Kill me, you cuntlapper!

It was coming on now, the big blast, the beautiful orgasm achieved only
among beautiful lesbians -- the one I had waited all my life for. The first
of many to come! Only I couldn't look that far ahead at the moment, not
with that uniquely indomitable tongue-tip crowning its day's labor of love
with an all-out assault on my poor defenseless clit-button. It was all I
could do to seal my lips against a scream, choking it back down to vent
itself as a visceral rumble. I didn't even know what to do with my hands,
clutching that half-buried hidden head one minute and squeezing my
hot-nippled itchy tits the next -- all to the sexy rhythm of my
high-spirited ass bouncing around on the car seat. My legs were no problem,
though -- she had long since draped them over her hunched shoulders, giving
her added concealment under the canopy of my spread skirt.

And then for a little while I had no problems at all, blasting off from
the released coil-spring of sexual tension, off on a magic carpet of
clitoral excitation to float free and carefree in the gorgeous pink mist of
my climax. A time of unwound clocks and unturned calendars. A time of
unadulterated ecstasy...

"Honey?" Her murmur dispelled the haze.

"Mmm. Huh?"

"Now your one of the family. Almost, anyway."

"Thanks."

"Remind me. I owe you a pair of panties."

I sighed blissfully. "My pleasure. Forget it."

"My pleasure. I insist. Panties, one pair. Not that you'll need 'em out on
the peninsula."

"Oh?"

"You practically live in a bikini. Especially with a figure like yours.
Anyhow, dress is pretty casual -- except maybe for panties and such, just
to show off, you know? And even then, well, if it's a swinging party, just 
among us girls..."

"Sounds wild, I think I'm going to like it out there."

"You should. Oh, you'll be a big hit, kid, you'll have the old biddies hot
on your trail. With their tongues hanging out. Prime young stuff, just
hatched. Cute little cunt. How can you miss?"

"Thanks a lot." I couldn't help scowling. "First you say I'm almost one of
the family, whatever that means. And now you call me a cunt. Or even a cute
little cunt -- it's still not very flattering, is it?"

"No offense, honey. I didn't call you a cunt. Is that what it sounded
like?" Fleur sat back on her haunches, still making no effort to rise. The
touch of her hand was intimate but quick, hardly more than a fleeting
gesture. "This was what I meant. You've got a cute little cunt. And I ought
to know."

I suffered a small qualm, mildly embarrassed by my display of petulance.
An apology was in order, probably, but it stuck in my throat. Her smile was
faintly visible in the murky gloom, accentuated by a surface glimmer of
moisture on her upturned face. On her lips and chin and cheeks, smeared
with the sex-juices of my body. Wasn't that smile just a bit smug? Maybe I
hadn't misunderstood in the first place, maybe she was weaseling out of it;
maybe only the smugness was sincere, putting her one-up on me. No apologies
then, no sheepish self-reproach. Better to smile right back and even the
score.

"Uh -- huh. I'll take your word for it. You ought to know, you cute little
cuntlapper."

"Hmph! Just cute? My dear, I'm supposed to be an expert."

"You are, you are. Cutest little expert..." We were grinning now, both of
us, both aware of budding camaraderie, a rapport about to blossom. Only it
got stomped on by the boss-lady, back among the living after her nap; what
a shock!

"Well? Are you two going to fight or fuck? Although judging by what I've
seen, you must be all fucked out by now."

I swung around, startled. "Oh! Amanda, you're awake?"

"Foolish question. Just take a sniff, darling, the inside of the car
smells like sex under a blanket. I've been awake since your panties got
popped. Either that or I'm in the middle of a wonderful wet dream. I am one
horny bitch right now, with one big old horny cunt in need of exercise.
Fleur baby, seeing as how you're such a cute little expert cuntlapper..."

"Gladly. I'd rather fuck than fight anytime." Scrambling up eagerly, Fleur
was already smacking her pretty lips -- reactivating her taste buds, no
doubt -- but then she groaned and came to an abrupt halt in mid-journey.
"Of all the bad timing! Look out there on the bay, the lights coming in;
that's our Goddamn ferryboat, wouldn't you just know? And there's no way
out, we're at the head of the line. You want to come up front and drive?
Then maybe I can duck down under the wheel and..."

"Shit! Never mind. It's too complicated. I'll just sit here and become a
nun. What's a little agony, right?"

It must have been instinct that spurred me to action. I sure didn't stop
to think about it, anyway. All of a sudden there I was, clambering over the
back of the seat and tumbling into the darkness below, a brave young
lesbian with a mission. Funny. Even then my motive wasn't exactly clear to
me. Was it a duty to perform, a means of showing my gratitude? Or could it
have been a deeper feeling, a drive, a basic urge, the very essence of my
earthly existence; let's face it, Loi baby, cunt is cunt...

"Oh, you darling girl! You were really serious about going all the way,
hmm? Such a sweet little mouth. Does it do tricks, that little mouth of
yours?"

"Ummm. I'm no expert. Just roadside waif, remember?"

"Not any more. You're one of the family."

"Mmm?"

"You belong to rue now. Suck, suck. No hurry, though. We've got plenty of
time. I'll bet you've been thinking about this for hours. I know I have.
Let's make it last, shall we?"

That was fine with me. I had forgotten how utterly captivating a mature
lesbian cunt could be. Crouching low and nuzzling deep, I immersed myself
in the rapture of its scented wet warmth, glad to sacrifice lucidity for
this indescribably beautiful intoxication. It was like a happy dream, aglow
with the myriad shades and nuances of erotic fire. Somehow, despite my lack
of experience, I seemed to be almost intuitively attuned to the intricacies
of the female body, the hot convolutions of flesh, the tortuous network of
nerves, all the component parts of the miraculous lesbian love machine. It
just seemed to come naturally. And it was encouraging, of course, to
recognize a certain physical vindication of my judgment now and then -- a 
twitch, a quiver, a voluptuously responsive purr of excitement...

"Right there, darling. Oh, that's just lovely. You're very good for a
beginner. Ah! Slowly, though. Slow and easy, my sweet impetuous honeybee,
it's a long night and the honeycomb is heavy with honey. Just for you, all
that cunt-honey; don't you just love the taste of me?"

Amanda had one leg up on the seat now, extended to the side; she was
wriggling her hips languorously, moving like a lazy serpent with nowhere to
go. Entwined in my hair, the caress of her fingers was vigorous enough to
betoken possession. I didn't mind. In this intoxicating dream of mine, we
belonged to each other. And as long as her sweet cunt-honey kept dripping
into my mouth...

Loud noises penetrated my shell intrusively, filtering through the thick
perfume, the soft insulation of my dream-mood. Disturbed by the change, I
raised my head to look around, almost panicky. But the hands in my hair
drew me back down again, down to the honey-laden flesh that sucked my face
in with a lewd gurgle of welcome. And then I heard her whispering from
above, coaxing, wheedling, crooning a message of tranquility and amorous
tidings: the ferry had docked and we were going aboard, but why bother with
the grimy details of travel when I could remain right there and make the
crossing perfect for both of us?

Why indeed? I felt comfy-cozy in the shelter of those silken thighs,
shielded from the mechanical furor outside. Inspired, eager to show my
approval. I diverged momentarily and got playful, ducking down lower to
tongue-wash the slick little ridge of skin between her cunt and her ass,
the taut stretch that separated one intimate orifice from the other. Only
for an instant, though, and then I slid back up again to part the slippery
vulva-lips with a bob-and-wiggle of my head, squirming deep to smear my
face around inside the steamy slit.

"Darling, how nice! I had no idea. So it does do tricks, that clever
little mouth of yours..."

After awhile I became vaguely conscious of the car wheels turning and then
the unsteady motion of buoyancy on water. But my shell had already closed
around me, a scented thatch work of thrills that stood guard against
further intrusion, shutting out the clamor, the gasoline fumes, the lights,
the creak and shudder of the ferryboat breasting the waves. A good thing,
too. How else could I be sure of carrying out the boss-lady's command to
suck her cunt all the way across the bay?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

No matter how often I went to the big bedroom, it impressed me anew each
time. The entire beach-house had a kind of baroque splendor, but here the
sheer luxury was unbelievable. Inches-deep carpeting on the floor. A bed
the size of a tennis court, practically. Full-length mirrors on every wall,
every sliding closet door. Even a small bar, compact but well stocked,
including a supply of the milder drinks, fruit cordials and sweet wines and
the like.

It was more of a suite, actually, with an alcove for dressing and a
private bathroom. Here again everything was luxurious to the ultimate
degree, with a huge sunken tub and fixtures that looked like golden
gargoyles. Gold-plated, no doubt, but I wouldn't have been surprised if the
things were 14-karat genuine. But then, well, if it was merely a matter of
money, nothing my hostess could do would surprise me very much. Not after
checking the fur decoration on the toilet -- real mink, imagine! -- on the
seat too, not just the lid; wasn't that the height of something-or-other?
If ever a wealthy woman knew how to enjoy her wealth, it was Amanda
Whitcomb. Had her sexual tastes leaned toward the normal, she probably
would have kept a gigolo and a stable of studs.

As it was, of course, she had no need for that sort of business deal to
enhance her sex-life. The peninsula had its own secret social register. Or
so I gathered, by dint of some snooping around and a lot of guesswork,
hoping to satisfy my curiosity about this fantastic place and its freaky
people. And it wasn't easy to snoop here, either, especially without the
cooperation I had expected but didn't get. After that first fun-frolic in
the car -- the front-seat session, torn panties, jackhammer tongue-tip and
all -- I sure hadn't figured on such a budding relationship going sour so
soon. Almost without reason, too! But that was exactly the way it happened,
a rapport that budded with great promise and then got sidetracked somehow
and refused to blossom.

Well, maybe there was a reason, but it didn't seem logical to me. I hadn't
intended anything like that. I wanted to be Fleur Halevy's chum, not her
competitor. But that was how we wound up a week later, rivals vying for the
boss-lady's favor -- jealousy, pure and simple. What a silly predicament!
Couldn't she see that I wasn't trying to steal her job? Wasn't it obvious
that my one overriding interest here was a free summer vacation?

I couldn't voice that thought aloud, naturally, not without risking a few
repercussions. But it was true nonetheless, and really rather ingenuous --
innocent of guile, certainly -- even though I did give the appearance of
something new that gave me an advantage; the novelty was bound to wear off
soon. Or had it worn off already? Standing there in the open doorway of the
big bedroom, I felt a fleeting twinge of uneasiness. The change had 
apparently taken place without my knowledge; why else would they both be
together like that? Only I couldn't understand what they needed me for.
Maybe if I just ducked away unseen...

"Oh, there you are. We've been waiting for you." Asprawl on the bed,
Amanda was wriggling out of her nglige. "Do come in and join the party,
darling."

"Hmm. Is it a party?"

"It is now. Or it will be, just as soon as you smile and accept my
invitation. Then there'll be three of us."

Rolling this way and that, she had managed to doff the nglige and toss
it aside deftly, even maintaining a certain dignity. Now she stretched
indolently, putting her nude body on display in an almost dramatic sequence
of seductive gestures. Fleur was undressing hastily, her hot-eyed leer
focused on the posturing flesh even as she manipulated the fasteners of her
garments. I averted my gaze queasily, unable to look without a sense of
strain. Especially since the afternoon sun was pouring in, flooding the
room with bright glare.

"Kid? Come on." Amanda's tone had a touch of authoritative arrogance,
familiar and not to be flouted, "Aren't you going to join us? Come now,
take off your clothes."

I closed the window blinds and drew the heavy drapes shut, throwing the
scene with shadow. "That's better, isn't it? I like a little atmosphere.
Long as it's a party..."

No one paid any attention. I caught a quick glimpse of Fleur before she
sank down upon the bed, just enough to feel a bit awed by the revealed
perfection of her body. A moment later she was trailing her uniquely
incomparable lips over receptive skin, one hand exploring in an artful
guide. But they were both too impatient to drag out the preliminaries,
obviously, and the dark head followed the gliding hand and bent to its
task. I heard Amanda moan. But even as she made the soft sound, her slender
arm rose and beckoned in a sensuously serpentine motion. And the moan
crested on a shrill note, becoming a tone of command:

Loi?

Heat boiled my insides, melting my will, destroying the last vestige of
self-determination. Resistance was impossible; there was a magnetic charm
to this woman, something in her voice and manner that turned me curiously
docile. I felt myself slipping into the Eloi mood -- and loving it, of 
course, loving the emotional depth of this overwhelming sensation. Shedding
my clothes on the way, I scurried to obey and plunged into the
entanglement, accepting her body as the centerpiece.

Fleur made room for me, but not much. Hardly any, after a while, chewing
on her precious mouthful of cunt and all but ignoring my presence. Left
out, I moved up toward Amanda's breasts. But she muttered a word of dissent
and pushed me back down again, turning on her side slowly, guiding me and
letting that dark head between her legs go on undisturbed. So now there was
room for me. New and as yet untouched territory, opening up for my
delectation.

"There, honey. Do my ass. You know how."

My delectation, her pleasure. I kissed the quivering buttocks and then
could procrastinate no longer as her impatience communicated itself.
Wedging into the furrowed flesh, I licked up and down the entire length of
it in preparation, pausing briefly to probe the tiny eyelet with a
stiffened tongue-tip in the midst of each sweep. It seemed to please her
immensely, pleasing me even more perhaps, since the line of communication
remained open and simply added her pleasure to mine. Oh, if only I could
have given her all of what she was feeling, in front as well as in back.
Too bad I hadn't been born twins. Wouldn't it be grand to have two mouths,
one here and one there? Two tongues, an ass-licker and a cuntlapper, both
pleasuring her at the same time. So that I could take my rival's place and
still keep my own.

The weird notion persisted, evoking a pang of guilt. It wasn't fair to be
thinking of poor Fleur like that. After all, her job was at stake. It made
me wonder if maybe I really did want to usurp her position -- take her
place in every way, not just in sex. Social secretary to a rich lady, not a
bad idea! Especially since the rich lady was like a Goddess to me. A
lesbian Goddess. Only I couldn't help but feel guilty about it, shocked by
my own selfish greed.

Amanda's anxious murmur put all that out of my mind. I quit fooling around
and jammed my face in hard, making the furrow wider and deeper. Deep enough
to welcome me in as I glued the tip of my tongue to her asshole. Until at
last my caress grew in intensity and became a thrust, an audaciously
forceful thrust that broke through the ring like barrier and performed the
ultimate penetration of her flesh. A sob of joy reached my ears at the
crucial instant of entry, giving me cause for pride. Once there, force was
no longer necessary; everything was soft and moist and warm, strangely
succulent, almost brimming with the fruity-ripe taste of debauchery, this
lewdest of lewd perversions. The noise was noticeable now, too, all sorts
of squelchy noises, faint but audible -- the sound of a tongue slithering 
through mucous ass-flesh, the sound of a tongue slurping cunt. Oh yes, I
was still conscious of my competitor! More than ever now, I felt a need to
outdo her, to bestow a greater pleasure, perhaps even to make this part of
my beloved's body as sensitive as her clitoris.

I started experimenting, changing the pattern, adding the suck-kiss of my
pursed lips to the cycle of my fuck-motion, a bubbly little vacuum to
enhance every withdrawal. Now and then I switched to a circular movement
inside her asshole, turning the thrust of my tongue into a kind of spiral
and marveling at how the fleshy tube could stretch and shrink with such
elasticity. It was working, too, I could actually feel the heat of her
convulsive response, voluptuously synchronized to each succeeding
variation.

Then, almost with a sense of shock, I became vaguely aware of another
change, not of my own making. Was that a hand reaching for me, touching me?
Uh-huh. And down here at the foot of the bed, it could only come from
Fleur. Uh-huh. Pawing blindly but not without aim or effect, one small
hand. How nice! It was an overture, sure enough, a renewal of friendship.
True, I could still recall the rift, the rivalry, but wouldn't it be
foolish of me to rebuff her? Basically, her desire was the same as my own
-- to make our Goddess happy, what else? So we were partners, not rivals,
and didn't that call for complete cooperation?

I helped her hand find the way and then extended mine to seek her out in
return. We helped each other. I shuddered in delight at the touch of those
wriggling fingers in my cunt. I got an extra jolt of excitement from the
straining reaction of her moist flesh as it struggled to swallow my prying
hand. The reaction of an unmistakably aroused cunt. Her cunt, my cunt. Her
hand, my hand. And meanwhile we both shared the rapture of pleasing our
beloved Goddess, such a deliciously perverted rapture! Buried in the crack
of that sensuously twitching ass, I was sure that my partner was sucking
like mad. Sucking cunt, sucking Amanda's hot luscious cunt, while I tongued
Amanda's equally hot and luscious asshole. But even though our mouths
belonged to Amanda in the middle, we were giving our hands to each other.
Nobody was jealous any more. Nobody was trying to outdo anybody. The spirit
of cooperation was like a beautiful bond between us. And when the mistress
of the manor began writhing in the grip of incipient orgasm, we joined
forces and carried her over the top with our hot fucking tongues. All in
that same beautiful spirit. Helping one another. Lending a hand, as it
were.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Late that same night, Fleur came to my room, cautioning me to silence 
until she was inside with the door shut behind her. The gesture she made
was a common one, a finger to her lips, but I couldn't look at it without
seeing a sexy connotation. That finger had been in my cunt today. Those
lovely lips had nibbled my clit-button to a climax once -- with the aid of
an unseen but incredibly dynamic tongue -- would it ever happen again? I
hoped so. Maybe that was why she had come tonight...

"It's okay to talk." She parked herself on the side of my bed, smiling
now. "Amanda's probably asleep, anyway. Not that she'd mind our being
together like this."

I shrugged and remained silent, peering intently through the fringe of my
half-lowered lashes, watching the movement of her pink lips, pink and shiny
in the dim lamplight. The sense of intimacy was overpowering. She wore only
a partially unbuttoned pajama-top nothing else. I had even less on,
sleeping raw as usual, but at least there was a bedsheet over me. Only it
had gotten all twisted somehow, leaving just one corner to shield my body.
And I couldn't very well pull up more of it without appearing either
bashful or coy, especially since my visitor was so obviously casual about
her own droopy garment.

"As a matter of fact, honey, you might even say I'm here on the
boss-lady's behalf. It's like I'm delivering a message."

"Oh? Do tell. Sounds serious."

"Well, it's only a feeler. About a job here. How would you like to work
for Amanda?"

"You -- you mean it?"

"Uh-huh. It wouldn't be till the end of summer, so you've got time to
decide. Then if you wanted to, you could become my assistant, kind of.
You'd get paid, naturally. And there wouldn't be a hell of a lot of work to
do."

"Your assistant. Fleur, would that make you my boss?"

"Umm. Only in a manner of speaking. Oh shit, don't worry about that.
There's just one boss in this house -- and she isn't so hard to please, is
she?"

"Not hard at all. But whose idea was it, hers or yours?"

"Who remembers? It just came up, that's all. Because of this afternoon, I
guess. The three of us together, even the way we look, you know? A blonde, 
a brunette and a redhead."

"Auburn."

"Huh? Yeah, sure. Auburn. We still go great together. And it's still a
good job for you, so think it over, doll-baby. Not now, though, you don't
have to make any decision for a while. So if you'll just forget it and give
me a pretty smile..."

"I-I wish you hadn't told me. It's on my mind now. I mean the idea of
having two bosses..."

"You figure I'm the bossy type? Relax, darling, just relax and let me pet
you and soothe you. Ill whisper sweet nothings in your ear and blow all the
bad thoughts away, humm?"

A hush fell. Except that she actually did lean over and start whispering.
As much as the words, her warm breath in my ear sent a shiver through me.
But the words were nice, too, what I could understand of them -- all about
how beautiful I was and how much fun we could have together and how easy it
would be to fit myself into the household and just enjoy life. Our kind of
life. Wasn't it almost like a dream come true?

I nodded my head, agreeing with anything and everything, even the breathy
murmurs and monosyllables that didn't quite register. She was cuddling me
close, massaging my back with soft fingers as her other arm formed an
embrace that ended with the stroke of a soft palm on my belly. I was
beginning to feel relaxed, sure enough, accepting her as a friend, a
protector, almost an older sister. But there was something else too, the
caress on my back had traveled slowly downward and I became acutely
conscious of a churning excitement in my body. Now she was manipulating the
separate curves of my belly and buttocks to the same rhythm, applying a
gradually increased pressure with both hands.

The whisper faded, but her lips remained to nibble at my earlobe, bringing
memories of a far more intimate bit of nibbling. And that was where those
lips had just nibbled. Then, somehow, even as the tip of her hot tongue
darted into my ear, she managed to get rid of the pajama-top without losing
her hold on me. Not that I tried to escape, of course; why upset this
lovely applecart? But even with a struggle, it wouldn't have mattered --
the in-between moment was simply too brief. Maybe she kept control with
just her tongue in my ear, an exquisitely maddening sensation that didn't
allow much rational thought. Regardless, now we were both naked and
unencumbered, a major step in any seduction. If that was what this
purported to be, a lesbian seduction...

Well? Come on! Seduce me, lover, seduce the shit out of me with those hot
lesbian lips!

I needn't have worried. She had a fresh grip now, and I found myself
enveloped in her arms, my heart throbbing wildly as our overheated bodies
cleaved together. Her breasts crushed me. Or were mine crushing hers? Who
was dominating whom? She tightened her embrace to still my nervous
squirming, and then I felt the silky length of her leg capture mine,
entwining it to immobility and reinforcing the contact of our bellies. Some
contact! Almost gratifying as a tongue-fuck. Her hair was crisp and bushy
down there, thick enough to get tangled with my own. Only it seemed to go
beyond that, threading its way through to agitate the lips of my cunt, the
strands poking around to take advantage of every opening, pushing aside the
pulpy flesh to scratch and scrape my clitoris with dogged determination.
Fucked by a growth of hair, imagine; was such a thing possible?

She kissed me then, adjusting to the angle and ramming her tongue into my
mouth roughly, brusque but understandable, necessary to seal and preserve
the juncture lake a dovetail joint. Except that flesh is more flexible than
wood, thank heaven -- ah, the flexibility of the female tongue! -- and the
core of our kiss didn't have to remain static. Far from it. The core, the
molten core, a marriage of tongues. Cunt to cunt, tits to tits, lips to
lips -- and I licked the inside of Fleur Halevy's beautiful mouth and
sucked on her soft tongue and mashed my clitoris against the relentless
rasp of her pubic pelt, still wondering if such a mixed-up fuck could lead
to a climax.

I never did get to find out. Still kissing, she unlocked her leg from mine
and ended the tight embrace. All of a sudden there was space between our
bodies; now the kiss seemed abnormal, the only thing we had in common, a
meeting of mouths. I uttered a stifled groan, feeling terribly deprived and
a bit bewildered by this apparently capricious letdown. She chuckled and
touched me with her hand, just a touch, dabbing at my forlorn but still
fervid cunt with one outstretched finger. My back arched as I jerked in
spasmodic reaction, my torso flying up off the bed in a desperate effort to
latch onto that hand, to fuse my craving flesh with that obscenely cruel
finger. I sucked on her tongue, whimpering in my throat and finally coming
to the conclusion that this woman was making a fool of me.

Only it wasn't so final. Once again there was a swift change, a momentary
disappointment that culminated in sheer ecstasy, an end to one kiss and I
the beginning of another. Her hot mouth moved with impetuous haste,
breaking our last bond and swooping down upon my cunt to start afresh. Only
it would have to be a short one, considering the state I was in. Somehow,
important as it was, I couldn't even attempt an appraisal of her action. It
was happening, the thing I wanted most to happen -- she's sucking my cunt! 
-- but that was about as much as my bemused brain could cope with.

Lips clung in soft suction. The tip of her tongue grazed my inflamed clit,
sending me into an arch again, pitching and tossing so frantically this
time that her head was dislodged. But she was back an instant later, and I
managed to maintain a semblance of decorum even in the face of my onrushing
orgasm. Oh sure, I wailed a little and spewed out a few elegantly dirty
words, but no cuntlapper was ever made more welcome. I just loved that
tongue of hers, the way it hit the high spots with a kind of practiced
ease, an expertise recognizable even to an amateur like me. And after a
while I sank into a semi-swoon and just let the erotic bliss billow over my
body, deliciously unbearable...

That night was like a revelation. To both of us, as it turned out -- and
our embrace was repeated often during the ensuing weeks. Despite a certain
allegiance to the boss-lady, Fleur was ingenious at finding the time and
the place. She seemed to get a peculiar kick out of being furtive about it,
sneaking me off to the side for a feverishly quick session almost on
impulse. It wasn't so very difficult really, since she was familiar with
every nook and cranny of the house and surrounding grounds. As she soon
became familiar with every nook and cranny of me. Even when there were
guests around, she seldom failed to think of a likely spot where we might
indulge in our little pastime.

Now and then it was impossible to go all the way. But her fingers were
nearly as clever as her mouth, and even with other people close by she
could bring me to a peak. Sometimes such daring actually heightened the
sensation. It did for her, I was sure, and she took advantage of every
opportunity. Once, in the haze of twilight, she backed me against a tree --
just outside the screened porch where Amanda was entertaining; what a lark!
-- and I had to bite my lips to keep from betraying our presence. That
small but slyly prodigious hand of hers had a magic touch.

But it was her tongue that I craved most, not her fingers, and we were
both happiest in those moments of utmost intimacy when she could crouch and
nuzzle into my cunt. Oh, there was no end to her ingenuity! And no end to
my willingness to go along with her schemes, even the most rash and
impulsive ones. Especially since they always led to satisfaction for me.
That was important. Regardless of the circumstances, the pattern of our
lovemaking didn't vary much. Fleur thirsted for my flesh and I gave it to
her. And although I was aware that her body must have yearned for a
reciprocal caress, she made no such demands on me. I liked that. It helped
balance the other thing, my humility, the almost servile submissiveness
that I manifested toward Amanda when my Eloi mood took over. I could even
feel something akin to a Morlock frame of mind now; after all, it was
pretty exhilarating to be the object of such zealous attention. And from 
such a beautiful little creature, too -- what a thrill! -- there were times
when I actually felt loved...

Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration. But certainly there was more than
just friendliness in this intense and apparently inviolate relationship.
The secrecy, the subterfuge, the clandestine nature of our liaison made it
more than mere dalliance. Between us an invisible current had sprung up, a
current charged with sex; we could sense it in a wink, a gesture, a signal
across a crowded room, even an all but innocent glance. No matter how
innocent on the surface though, it was always an illicit kind of sex, dark
and mysterious and rife with unknown possibilities.

Sex, then, not love. Fleur was a sophisticated lesbian sexpot, making me
feel wanted but also wanton -- so shamelessly wanton, what fun! -- and that
was inducement enough to sanction her advances under any label. To accept
her, to welcome her with open arms. Or spread legs. Or whatever. And why
not? Wasn't it in the cards for us, a cute little cunt and a cute little
cuntlapper? Besides, the sheer physical sensation was breathtaking. Even
when she had my bare ass backed up against a tree! And in the aftermath of
each explosive episode came a soothing contentment that made life among the
idle rich even more luxurious. Truly, I had fallen into the lap of luxury
-- not bad for a runaway roadside waif who had reached the peninsula like
an illegal alien, smuggled in under a cunty skirt.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Maybe it happened because she was so good to me. Fleur. Tipping me off
about the old biddies, for instance, telling me which ones to avoid. Not
that I cared to get chummy with any of them, not even the younger set --
admittedly some interesting types, still able to wear a bikini without
looking ludicrous. Oh no, I had enough to keep me busy right here in the
house, enough to satisfy my sex urges. For that matter, my one girlfriend
would have been plenty, my little lover with the green eyes and short dark
hair. And the pretty lips, the ever-moist mouth, red as a ripening
pomegranate...

Damn! I hadn't figured on anything like this. How could I let myself get
serious about someone like Fleur Halevy? Well, not serious exactly, but
still an emotional problem to be reckoned with. And not even a problem
really, except that it kept growing bigger, this feeling I had for her. The
glow of her electric personality made my day brighter. I looked forward to
seeing her, counting the hours from one rendezvous to the next. And when
she wasn't around I began to experience a kind of emptiness, all hollow
inside. No, nothing serious, just a grist for a psychoanalyst's mill. A
shrink with a nice soft couch, preferably.

Oh shit, it wasn't all that bad. Just puzzling. Even my near-worshipful
regard for Amanda had faded somewhat, shunted aside at least temporarily. I
felt attracted only to Fleur. And having already discounted love as a
possibility, I didn't even know what to call it. A schoolgirl crush,
perhaps? Surely I had outgrown such adolescent nonsense. And anyway,
despite an obvious difference in worldly experience, the gap between our
ages wasn't wide enough to simulate the pupil-teacher relationship.

Gap or not, though, such a relationship did come about, quite apart from
any possible romantic attachment. Quite apart from our own doing, in fact
-- a painfully touchy innovation, considering how close we were. It was
thrust upon us. Just like that, out of the blue, a suggestion from the
boss-lady: with time on our hands, why not broaden my education? Good
lovers are made, not born; wouldn't I like to take a few lessons from an
expert? Not that I was a dumb bunny in bed, mind you, but with a little
training, well...

In view of the source, any such suggestion was heard as a request and
remembered as a command. I found it pretty humiliating, almost an insult --
a stain on my escutcheon! -- having seen myself as a natural born lesbian
with an innate talent for lesbian love. Luckily the shock went to my
stomach instead of my head, and I tasted bile but managed to keep my trap
shut, swallowing my pride along with everything else. Which was a smart
move, using a little discretion and preserving a lot of dignity -- and
saving further embarrassment, no doubt -- or so I found out later from my
teacher. And what a shock that was! Had I been wrong all this time? Was
performance in bed really dependent on technique rather than talent? How
would a good violinist, say, react to such a statement?

"Who cares? Fuck the violin! Now, if you want to learn how to fiddle
around with a cunt..." Fleur was obviously amused by the analogy; then, a
bit wistful, "Forget it, honey. The whole deal, I mean -- you didn't come
here to go to school. Just fake it next time, she won't know the
difference."

"No. Wait. It's not for Amanda, it's for me. I'd really like to learn.
Won't you help me?"

"Well, sure. Since you put it that way. Okay, let's have a crack at it.
What do you want to know?"

"Everything. But that's up to you, isn't it? You're the teacher, you're
the one to decide what comes first."

"You've got a point there. You're really serious, huh? Yeah, I guess you 
are. Okay. Never mind what comes first, it's what comes last that counts.
What the boss-lady was griping about, you know? Cunt. That's what you've
got to learn. How to suck a cunt. Once you know that, the rest is easy.
Understand, kid?"

"I-I understand, cunt. Will you teach me?"

"It's a big job. How do you feel? You'll be doing all the work, I mean
you'll be doing it to me, baby; how do you feel about that? Something new."

"Oh. I'm all right. I feel fine."

"Is that so? You look a little sick. Just nervous, I guess. Always happens
on the first day of school, huh?" With a grim smile, Fleur rose and fumbled
with the buttons of her housecoat. Then, almost fiercely, "Listen. There's
no other way. I could talk all night, but you still wouldn't learn. You've
got to go down on me, it's the only way. So how about it, you want to
suck?"

The housecoat fell away, puddling around her feet. I had never seen her so
beautiful. Or maybe I had never looked before, seeing her naked like that,
a naked body taking on new meaning in my eyes. The jutting breasts,
rosy-nippled. The taper of waist and flare of hips, surprisingly opulent
for such a pixie type. Even the haunch, the one domed buttock half-visible
from this angle -- awry now, swaying slightly, a pelvic tilt -- was there
ever anything so alluring, so seductively contoured?

As often as we had been together, it was the body of a stranger, a
beautiful stranger. For the life of me, I couldn't even remember if she had
dimples back there. Only I wouldn't have noticed any way, not now, not any
more -- my wandering eye could wander no longer, it had succumbed to the
lure at last, focused and fixed on the thick black tuft, the cunt-tuft. And
look there -- the shine, the glisten -- was that a flash of pink peeping
through? Oh, the sweet thing, the darling thing...

"Kid? You got trouble making up your mind?"

"No trouble. Just enjoying the view. I never saw anything so beautiful.
Will it taste as good as it looks? Oh, I do want to suck it, I want to, I
want to suck your cunt!"

"Yeah. Get naked first, peel out of that nightie. Nice and naked, just
like me." Fleur sank to the bed, lying back and sliding a pillow beneath
her hips, lifting the luridly displayed hairy mound to even greater
prominence. "Here 'tis. Pussy. The thing that makes every woman a whore.
Cunt. Every woman a whore and every man a John. Pussy, pussy. Every home a 
cathouse -- wedding ring and all, fuck, fuck, fuck. Aren't you glad you're
a cuntlapping lezzie, kid? Come on down here. Look at it. Sniff it. Make
friends with it. And you can just kiss the rest of the world good-bye. This
is your world now, you lucky girl. My cunt. You getting acquainted down
there?"

"Ooooh, I'm so hot! When you talk lib that..." Crouched between her
thighs, I gazed into my world and saw my future. "Let me suck it now, let
me suck your pretty cunt."

"You're anxious, huh? Good. Suck!"

"Ummm..."

"Hey, take it easy! Gently, gently."

I tried to calm down steeped in excitement, finding unforeseen difficulty
even in simple mental concentration. All I could think of was the sadness,
the waste -- all that lost time! -- I should have been doing this for my
beautiful friend ages ago. Her cunt was hot and wet and tart-sweet to the
taste, already writhing and quivering in sensuous response.

"That's better, baby. But move around a little more. Your tongue, that's
it, your tongue..."

"Mmm?"

"Lovely, much better."

"Teach me."

"You're doing fine. Just enjoy it now. I'll tell you if you're doing
anything wrong."

I lapped with skill for her and enjoyment for myself, reveling in the
noises that soon oozed from her lips, little sighs and moans of
commendation. She wasn't teaching me now, but that was all right; after
all, we had to get used to each other this way, learning to know one
another all over again. I should have been concentrating solely on her
cunt, of course, but the position of her body led me astray. With that
pillow beneath her hips, it was just too inviting, to much to resist, and I
ducked down lower momentarily, running my tongue out of the cunt-slit and
into the furrow of her ass. Flicking at the tiny hole...

"Ooh! So you like to play kiss-ass, humm?"

"Ummm... love it... love it..."

"Do it, then. Let's save the lessons for later. Wait, let me roll over and
get comfortable."

Her body wriggled lithely, spiraling over. With the pillow underneath her
belly now, I was treated to an unobstructed view of her backside. The
vision all but stunned me; such a gorgeous pair of buttocks! The satiny
skin was flawless, her soft rounded flesh without a blemish. Just two cute
dimples, one on each dome, exactly symmetrical -- and the crack midway
between, the dark ass-crack that already seemed to be opening up for me.

Sudden desire scorched my insides like flame. I pulled the soft hillocks
apart with my hands, giving myself an eyeful of what lay in the depths, the
tiny pucker, a rosebud, an exotic little bud in the most sheltered of
gardens. For a moment, I could only rest on my haunches and stare, licking
my lips and savoring the utterly fantastic beauty.

"Kid? Do it. Kiss my ass!"

My shoulders hunched as I plunged forward and down, sinking my face into
the secret place. No exploration was needed; my tongue was already on
target, precise to the point of perfection, a paragon of unswerving
devotion in its agile and enthusiastic effort to bestow pleasure. Right on
target! I tapped at the daintily puckered little orifice, feeling it squirm
and practically plead for more, all tense with expectancy. Kind of
clenched, almost. As if the spirit consented but the flesh remained coy.
Hardly an insurmountable impediment, of course, a single stab of my tongue
was all it took to break through the apparently instinctive defense.

I heard her voice, a gleeful squeal. And then, miraculously, she managed
to confer a wealth of pleasure back upon me, a greater degree of pleasure
than I had anticipated. Who could have figured on such a phenomenon? The
clenched muscle had developed a motion of its own somehow, clenching and
unclenching around my tongue in a definitely patterned rhythm, alternately
tightening and loosening its clasp. It squeezed and relaxed; was it
actually sucking me? Like a pair of lips, a pair of hot sucking lips! She
was kissing me back that way, sucking my tongue with her asshole...

"Oh, that's grand. Honey? Listen. I'll teach you how to suck cunt, just to
keep the boss-lady happy. But for me, well, you already know what to do.
This turns me on. Well play the kiss-ass game often huh?"
CHAPTER NINETEEN

Dressed in a skimpy bikini, I wandered around the big bedroom doing my
self-assigned chores, glancing almost compulsively in the direction of the
massage table every now and then. Brief as my garb was, I still had more on
than the two women over there. Both of them were stark naked.

Just a peek once in a while was enough to keep me aroused; all that
ravishing female flesh! Stretched out on the table, Amanda's mature body
rippled voluptuously under the massaging hands. But it was the other one,
of course, that drew, my attention. Fleur was so beautiful! And just as
voluptuous in her own way, a charming pixie dedicated to the joys of sex.
Every time those bright green eyes of hers sought me out -- even casually
-- I shivered and almost came unglued in rapturous response. It was because
of her that I stayed here in the bedroom on the pretense of performing
chores, swishing a feather duster around. I just wanted to be near her. And
anyway, now that the idea of working as her assistant had lost its
oppressive aspect, I was anxious to demonstrate my compliance in advance,
already looking forward to the eventual transition. So a bit of voluntary
maid-service had its points.

But it wasn't her pixie charm or emerald eyes that kept me all stirred up;
nor was even that sexy little figure really -- except for one specific
part. Not that I wouldn't have been glad to kiss those lovely tits or suck
that dark-thatched dewy cunt. Anytime! But nothing could compare to the
thing I adored most, the part of her body that had made me its enthralled
captive. I had fallen in love with Fleur's ass...

A flush burned my face. In love with her ass, imagine! Awash in my own
embarrassment, I turned away and refused to look anymore, crawling into a
shell. I even stopped listening to their conversation, interesting as it
had been -- all about the party they were planning, a lesbian orgy, no
doubt, interesting indeed! But the more sultry details had already been
disposed of and now they were discussing the tail end of the guest list,
just names mostly, names which meant comparatively little to me. So it was
no hardship to duck into my own private shell for a while, no loss other
than the lost vision of that soft and shapely bare bottom.

Even so, I was still helpless against intrusive memories, a messy litter
of bits and pieces bouncing around in my mind, all sharp thorns and jagged
edges. Painful to contemplate. And yet exquisitely pleasurable even in
retrospect! I let the recollection carry me away, succumbing all over again
to each and every enticement, watching myself wallow grotesquely in the
steamy quagmire of my love. Such a unique and precedented kind of love, so
lewd, so luridly submissive...

Somehow it never seemed very lurid at the time, though. Just beautiful,
mostly. Like the night she dozed off on my bed. Amanda was out, attending a
small snob-type soiree that didn't include the hired help. Which was just
fine for Fleur and me, giving us hours of uninterrupted privacy together.
But we both got drowsy at last, quieting down for a little catnap.

I awoke first, checking the clock and realizing sadly that our tryst was
nearing its end. With the boss-lady due home soon, my beloved little sexpot
would have to be up and around to greet her, to serve her, to help her
undress -- and perhaps to lull her to sleep in sweet lesbian fashion. All
part of the job. So anymore catnapping was now a luxury we could no longer
afford. Time to rise and shine. But nobody likes to be jolted awake; why
not do it with tender loving care?

Resting on one elbow, I nuzzled into the nape of Fleur's neck, a kiss of
reconnaissance, probing the depth of her slumber. She lay motionless, face
down, her head half-buried in the pillow. Slowly, almost at a leisurely
pace, I turned the kiss into a trail of soft-lipped caresses down her
spinal column. Her body stirred in somnolent response, evidently about to
come alive; one leg twitched and inched away from the other, broadening the
gap between them. The movement was like an unconscious invitation, boosting
my ardor to a breathless peak. Excitement churned thick and hot within me,
becoming a problem as I struggled to hold myself in check.

Until that, moment I wasn't sure how I'd go about waking her tip. Or how
I'd finish, rather. But now I knew only too well, cued in by this inviting
position of hers. Or was it just my own desire that led me on? No matter. I
lavished a flurry of open-mouthed kisses upon each dimpled buttock. And
then, unable to stem my rising impatience, I burrowed tongue-first into the
dark gully -- and into the deepening darkness beyond...

"Mmm. Darling! More kiss-ass?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do I really have to wake up?"

"Afraid so. I did it as gently as..."

"You're an angel. Thanks."

"I-I don't feel very angelic."

"Don't you? No, I suppose not. Angels don't go around sticking their,
tongue up assholes, do they? Oh shit, I'm awake now, wide awake and hot to
trot. Let's try something new, baby. I mean if we're going to play
kiss-ass..."

She moved abruptly -- out from under my kiss and then up on her knees,
tossing a leg over and nudging me onto my back beneath her. I obeyed her
prodding without protest, too dazed to resist. And then she sank down upon
my head, the flexuous ass-cheeks spreading and settling in a thickly fluid
motion, her flesh molding itself snugly to every dip and rise of my facial
features. I suffered in a kind of delirious ecstasy, straining desperately
to bear her weight without smothering to death.

It wasn't easy. But I had sufficient motivation to see me through, her
body claiming and clutching my tongue in a series of convulsive muscular
contractions, a sensation that eclipsed discomfort and transcended danger.
The tight channel was sucking again, kissing me back like a pouty little
mouth -- and wasn't it a joy, an unadulterated joy to feel my elongated
tongue sucked up into the hot fleshy vacuum of her divinely precious
asshole?

Bits and pieces! Like the time I went down on Amanda and ran into trouble.
It wasn't my fault. She must have been tired that night, too tired for a
quick orgasm. I didn't know that though, assuming only that a slow one was
best; anyway, I luxuriated in the musky essence of her cunt, seeking to
lose myself in its spell. She lay back and held on to me with both hands,
practically stuffing my face into the humid flesh. It seemed like hours.
And at last I realized that a crisis of sorts was in the making, a crisis
without a climax. I redoubled my efforts then, using all of my resources,
all the energy and enthusiasm and technical skill at my command, determined
to drive her over the brink.

That did it. The boss-lady loosed a loud groan and her body lurched into a
climactic spasm, grinding up against the pressure of my strenuously bobbing
head. After a while her hands relented and returned me to freedom, an act
of emancipation that didn't come a moment too soon. I gulped a breath of
fresh air, gingerly conscious of my aching jaws and raw tongue. And yet I
couldn't help feeling a touch of pride, aware that only my newly acquired
technique -- coupled with, the vitality of youth -- could have turned the
trick. I rated a gold medal for this one. Or at least an appreciative word
of praise, a well-merited commendation.

"Amanda?"

"Ummm..."

"Was it good?"

"We'll talk about it tomorrow. G'night, kid."

"Please tell me. How did I do?"

"You've got to know right now, eh? Oh hell, what can I tell you? As a
matter of fact, you were pretty lousy. But you're young yet. You'll learn.
Now haul your little fanny out of here and let me sleep, will you?"

Shocked, dejected, discouraged, utterly crestfallen, I picked up my
shortie nightgown and slunk out. Once away from her, I was stricken by a
numbing sense of outrage. Fleur's room was just down the hall, the door
slightly ajar; I knocked and entered and suddenly found myself teetering on
the verge of hysteria.

"Honey, what's wrong?" Clad in a pajama-top, Fleur was seated upon her
bed. "Hey, you're shaking! You're all upset. What happened to you?"

I tried to speak but couldn't clear my clogged throat. Then the cork blew
and my bottled-up emotions burst free, a sob of rage, a wail of shame --
even a few tears, all but blinding me. Only I wasn't too blind to see the
concern on my friend's sweet face, all sympathy and tenderness. Nor could I
miss the provocatively costumed beauty of her body, an awesome sight,
demanding unblurred vision and more specifically focused attention. And
somehow, blessedly, the entire sum and substance of my displeasure seemed
almost trivial, hardly more than a childish tantrum.

"Darling?" She smiled, opening her arms.

It was a picture worth a thousand words. I tumbled headlong into her
embrace. We kissed. And then -- as if the thought had struck us both
simultaneously -- she rolled over on her belly and I slid down lower in
bed. Again we kissed, a rather different kiss now, but that lewdly intimate
nook of her body was no less luscious than her lips -- and I drifted into a
transport of love, offering lingual homage to her adorable little asshole
in a silent eloquence.

Well, no, not quite silent. I could hear my own noises, just barely
audible but exciting beyond belief, the vaguely remote whisper of flesh
upon wet flesh, a coy lisp of a sound, loaded with seductive innuendo. It
was steeped in hot succulence, the aphrodisiac slither of a lesbian tongue
in action, a sound drenched in scent and dripping with sex. But it still
had only one meaning, of course, crude but unmistakable -- like the
subtitles on a foreign film -- one simple meaning to cover a multitude of
sins: I had fallen in hue with her ass...

There were more bits and pieces, but my reverie had just been cut short. I
was being summoned. Dropping the feather duster, I scurried over to the
massage table, almost giving in to the impulse to perform a little curtsy
for the boss-lady. But I was still a guest in the house, not a servant. Not
yet, anyway.

"You want me, Amanda?"

"Yes, dear. Just to fill you in. This party we're having -- there'll be a
neighbor of yours invited. Someone from your neck of the woods, the
Springfield area."

"Oh? I-I'd rather not get involved..."

"Don't worry, you're safe. Besides, this one isn't the sort of person who
would harm anybody. Just the opposite, in fact. She likes getting pushed
around, the meek type, you know? Her name is Estelle Kincaid, in case
you're interested. And while you're under no obligation, I do think you
might enjoy a bit of fun with her -- even if it's only a little teasing."

"Okay. I'll try."

"Good girl. Hmm. Now that I've interrupted your work..."

"Yes? Something I can do for you?"

"Uh-huh. A few kisses maybe, hmm? Nothing too intimate though, don't get
in Fleur's way. I'm sure you understand."

I nodded enthusiastically, glad to join in. Especially since it brought me
right up close to my beloved friend. Just being near her like this was a
kind of crazy thrill, frustrating but certainly not dull. So near and yet
so far!

But thrill or not, there was a duty to be done. I bent my head and began
kissing Amanda's body, brushing the smooth skin with parted lips, making
moist trails here and there. Nothing very intimate. And always out of the
path of those kneading hands. I kissed the boss-lady's shoulders until the
hands showed signs of approaching, then my attention shifted to her ankles.
It was a rather pleasant task. But in moving around, I found an even
greater pleasure. Passing behind Fleur, my face had come within scant
inches of those beautiful bare buttocks. And now I could only lavish
affection on Amanda's lower limbs and think of moving around on that same
path again. It was bound to happen. Maybe this time I would come even
closer.

When it happened again, I was almost delirious. Perhaps it was accidental,
but now those two firm-fleshed domes made a tiny jutting motion that
practically demanded a caress. I gave it eagerly. Just for an instant, I
let my tongue slip out to one gliding sweep up the furrow between those 
attractive ass-cheeks. Just once, that was all, and then I was back up to
Amanda's shoulders again, far from that thing of exquisite beauty.

"Fleur, dear?" The boss-lady's tone was languid.

"Hmm?"

"That's enough for today."

Glistening with oils and unguents, the well-massaged body went into a lazy
spiral, supine on the padded table now. "I guess all that talk about the
party must have affected me. And as long as Loi is so willing..."

"Of course." Fleur stepped aside. "Go ahead, kid. It's ripe and ready for
you. Do a good job."

My insides went tense momentarily, and I recognized a certain resentment
at having two bosses. But there was no time for such self-indulgent
notions, time only to scramble to the foot of the table and begin. Lowering
my face into the hair-fringed slit between those languorously spread
thighs, I felt a hand patting my head gently, an affectionate gesture.
Fleur's hand? Yes, it had to be. And my inner tensions melted to nothing.

Oh sure, given the choice, I'd rather have made love to my darling
friend's delectable ass. But it was still nice to leech my lips to this
well-primed crevice and poke my tongue into the sensuously moist flesh of
the mistress. Our mistress. I really did enjoy serving her, serving this
maturely developed blonde lesbian with lips and tongue that were already
eliciting a noticeable response from her blossoming clitoris. Despite our
differences at times, the act itself hadn't diminished in enjoyment and I
had no objections whatsoever to munching on this voluptuous meat. Enjoyment
indeed! And yet, somehow, just that simple pat on the head had aroused a
greater pleasure in me, unmatched by anything the boss-lady had to offer.
Besides, the biggest thrill had already been achieved. Only for a fleeting
instant, true, but the memory of that sneaky kiss -- my tongue delving into
the crack of Fleur's adorable ass -- would sustain me infinitely longer
than all the juices to be obtained from this ripe and ready cunt.
CHAPTER TWENTY

Some night for a party! Clouds had threatened all day. Then, only minutes
after the festivities began, the sky opened up and a summer storm broke.
The wind howled, driving buckshot charges of rain against the picture
window in the living room. There might have been hailstones, that was how
noisy it sounded.

But inside, insulated by the drawn draperies, all was snug and cozy.
Except that the weather was obviously affecting everybody. It was going to
be a wild night, both outdoors and in. The torrent hitting the glass pane
seemed no thicker or heavier than the liquor flowing within the house.

Amanda's taste in party guests wasn't bad. Not an ugly woman among them,
not even the older ones -- and quite a few were young and lovely. Estelle
Kincaid, as it turned out, went for me in a big way and stuck pretty close
to my side. I found her appealing but somewhat less than spectacular --
brown hair, brown eyes, a bit hefty in the breasts and buttocks. Just shy
of fat. But she was someone to know, just the same, a still-youngish widow
whose late husband had left her scads of money; she had a summer place hare
on the peninsula and an ancestral mansion back in Springfield. Her home was
on the outskirts of the city, miles from Chelsea Hill, so I didn't have to
worry about our having mutual acquaintances, luckily. But I was still
careful not to tell her too much about myself, glad to let her do most of
the talking.

Quite early in the proceedings, she tried to coax me into one of the
bedrooms. I held out though, intrigued by the idea of such a gathering and
anxious to see it all. From beginning to end, I wanted to sit in on a wild
lesbian party -- the wilder the better! -- and was in no mood to succumb to
Estelle's wheedling.

It got wild, all right. But not right away. First there was a period of
drinking and chatting and whispering, all geared to what might or might not
happen later on. A time for suggestive propositions and tentative
acceptances. And I managed to get loose and circulate by myself awhile,
meeting some interesting females and actually making a few speculative
dates. I was the object of much attention, of course -- the youngest girl
there -- and each woman had her own method of wooing me, all quite novel.
Just listening to them was a liberal education in itself.

There was Nancy, for instance, rosy-cheeked and pleasingly plump in
dimensions, always yakking about clothes. Intimate garments, lacy panties,
all sorts of provocative lingerie, apparently an obsession with her. And
with each description, she kept raising her skirt or dipping into her
bodice to demonstrate. I saw the length of her curvy legs from every
possible angle.

Then there was Ramona, dark-eyed and sultry, with slim fluttery fingers
that made graphic gestures to accompany her heavily accented speech. Her
hands dominated her approach. She breathed unintelligible Spanish in my ear
while her fingertips danced all over me, I found the motions a lot more
understandable than the words, although both probably added up to the same 
thing.

Imogene, a baby-faced blonde with an incessant pout, stimulated me with
tales of her naughty childhood. With many references to the stern governess
who used to spank her. A governess with hair like mine, she said, the same
rich shade of auburn; and wasn't it odd how just looking at me could bring
back so many memories?

I got the message, somewhat embarrassed, and drifted away to cool my
blushing cheeks with champagne. The atmosphere was growing more openly sexy
and what had been on everybody's mind was now becoming manifest,
increasingly so. The rate of booze consumption had picked up noticeably.
Faces were flushed, eyes bright with hopeful hunger -- beseeching,
imploring, promising, insinuating, hinting at all manner of exotic lesbian
delights and depravities. Evidently the real action was about to start.
Here and there, I saw kisses take the place of conversation. Caresses began
to augment mere handclasps; little giggles and squeals echoed from the
dinner recesses of the huge living room. It hadn't reached the orgy stage
yet, but this crowd didn't have far to go.

Nancy of the rosy face and plump figure cornered me again, intent on
examining my lingerie. Having flaunted hers all over the place, she was
carrying on with her peculiar kick by looking at everyone else's. And now
she showed only a polite minimum of hesitation about coming directly to the
point. I even got the impression that she wanted to trade with me. Right
then and there. But I laughed and cut her short before she could blurt it
out. I really wasn't shocked though; it might have been fun. Especially
since our sizes were so different.

But it was too late for such childish nonsense. Throughout the room,
zippers and fasteners were already coming undone, some boldly, some
surreptitiously, doubtless depending on how well the halves of such a
couple knew one another. And on how successful their earlier overtures had
been. In a few minutes a lot of bare flesh would be showing. Even now, the
sultry Spanish girl had peeled her stockings down and was hanging them on a
lampshade with great glee. And with help from all sides, too.

I wondered if there was going to be some pre-planned system of order and
organization. Would we select partners and disappear into one of the
bedrooms? Would we stay here in the living room and become a clustered
group? Wasn't there some rule?

It didn't take long to find out the answer. We did both. It was
unorganized. And the rules, such as they were, applied only to me; this was
a night to spread myself around, I had been told -- no sneaking off with
Fleur somewhere. But I was reconciled to that by now, of course, and felt 
like a free agent. Well, comparatively free. Anyway, it seemed only fair --
and prudent surely -- that I should allow Estelle Kincaid to lead me away.

We didn't go far, ending up in one of the small downstairs guest rooms,
unused except for parties like this. Not until we got inside did I realize
how much of that nice pink champagne had trickled down my throat. It was
sloshing around in my tummy now -- not sick or even queasy, thank heaven,
just mildly smashed. And in a good mood, too, just giddy enough to make me
tolerant of my overweight neighbor from Springfield. Which was easy,
considering how hard she was trying to make me happy.

Comfortable first, happy later, I sighed contentedly as she worked on my
clothes with soft and gentle hands. Her body was soft and gentle also, once
we were both undressed and cuddling together. But the cuddle was brief,
giving way to an even nicer feeling as her impatient mouth began nibbling
downward, setting my skin atingle everywhere it touched. My tits. My belly.
My thighs. So warm and wet and soothing with every touch. Umm, no, not
exactly soothing, not there...

There?

Oh shit, she had reached her goal awfully fast. Now there were fingers
high on the insides of my thighs, fingers pressed outward against the
flesh, opening me up, spreading my legs apart, and I had the sensation of
being split and entered and practically invaded. As if my entire body had
become a cunt, one big hot cunt -- all cunt! -- just the right size for
that invader. Wasn't it a blessing that a fat woman should have an equally
fat tongue, a great big fat monster of a tongue?

My back arched and I gasped ecstatically, pitching and turning with the
caress, rolling from side to side on the bed. My limbs twitched and jerked
and at last flailed up in search of something to anchor them on. Something
to grip and hold. Like that hard round thing down there, the bobbing head.
Uh-huh. It felt good crushed between my thighs like that. Even with my legs
wrapped around the anchor, she went on doing things to me with her tongue.
Her big thick tongue in my hot little cunt; fuck me, fuck me! Until I
sobbed in uncontrollable joy and simply lost track...

After that, well, time stood still and everything became a prolonged blur.
Somehow -- who could tell when? -- I was no longer with Estelle. It was the
same bed in the same room, but the woman along side me had changed. She
murmured strings of Spanish and tickled my flesh with her fingertips until
I nearly went crazy.

Then there was somebody else with me. I didn't have to open my eyes to
know who it was. Only plump Nancy would keep her bra and panties on at such
a moment. I didn't mind, though. The flimsy garments weren't at all in the
way. Imogene would be next, I was sure, the pouty one who liked my auburn
hair. Wouldn't she try to cast me in the role of her governess? No, thanks,
not tonight; anyway, I had no intention of waiting around to find out. And
when Nancy and I ground to a halt, we went back to the living room
together.

A frenzied scene met my eyes. It was just a wee bit revolting, the mass
action, the careless-type couplings and triplings and dumb daisy-chains.
All the more so when Nancy plunged right in and became a part of it,
lingerie and all. There were too many bodies. Too many arms. Too many legs.
And the noises! Sighs, shrieks, moans, curses, muttered oaths that made my
hair prickle.

I turned away, anxious to avoid the messy pile-up. All of a sudden I
wasn't alone though; Estelle Kincaid was right behind me, following my
lead. I climbed the stairs, waggling my bare ass to give her a little extra
incentive, figuring how nice it would be to have such amiable company far
from that lesbian inferno. On an impulse, I headed for the big bedroom
suite and could have cheered aloud upon finding it unoccupied -- my
favorite of all the rooms, the most modem, the most luxurious.

Once inside, I locked the door but brushed off any immediate ideas about
sex between us. Quite docile in manner, Estelle nodded and scurried over to
the small bar to find cigarettes and something refreshing to drink. We
chatted then -- and again I let her do most of the talking. About her home
in Springfield mainly, an old-fashioned mansion that was due to be
redecorated shortly -- all of which sounded like mere chitchat until she
got around to making her point. She was closing her peninsula place and
driving home sometime next week to meet with the decorator people and begin
work. And wouldn't I like to come with her?

Flattered by the offer, I shook my head nevertheless, not exactly
enthusiastic about getting that close to Chelsea Hill. Whereupon she coaxed
and cajoled and practically begged me to come. I liked that, naturally, but
then the stupid woman spoiled it all by injecting a commercial note into
the conversation. Could she buy me a few gifts to soften my heart, some new
clothes maybe? Or even give me the money instead, so that I might shop for
myself? After all, a beautiful young girl never had enough dresses...

Horror froze me. And when she mentioned the possibility of a fur coat, the
horror turned to hot rage. My temper flared and I couldn't control myself.
Nor did I even try, not after hearing the old bitch put me in the category
of a whore. I let go with a stream of blistering profanity and began
slapping her. Across that smug face, back and forth, slapping furiously and
not caring about anything else but venting my terrible wrath.

And she just took it!

She just stood there and let me hit her. At first I was too angry to
understand; there was no thought or reason or attempt at making sense. I
just went on cracking my palm across her cheek. Until my arm got tired and
I had to pant for breath. But even then, after my burst of violence ended,
I was still too enraged to fully grasp the situation.

"Fuck you, Estelle. I won't be treated like a whore. Stay the hell away
from me, you hear? I don't ever want to see you again."

"Loi... darling..."

There was a glazed look in her eyes. Then the tears welled up and started
flowing down her cheeks. Her body went limp; she crumpled to the floor and
wrapped her arms around my legs, wailing words of apology and entreating my
forgiveness. I felt the heat of her face against my ankles. And then --
almost like some weird nightmare! -- she began kissing. Actually licking my
feet! It made me feel like some kind of royal princess, a proud princess
with absolute power over my fawning subject.

But I couldn't just stand there and do nothing; nor was I quite ready to
forgive her, either. Instead, I whirled and strode away, moving into the
bathroom. Mink. The sight of it gave me a silent chuckle, clearing my mind.
If I lived to be a hundred I'd never grow accustomed to such luxury. Mink
on the toilet seat. And it felt so good, so soft, so soothing to my ass...

"Darling?"

"Huh?"

"Won't you let me talk to you? May I come in? Is there anything I can do
for you? Help you? Some way to make up..."

"I'm thinking about it. But come on in anyway, I'll figure out something
for you to do." Then, harshly, "No, not like that, you bitch! Get back down
on your knees." Relaxed, indolent, I watched the woman crawl clumsily
toward me. "Yeah. That's exactly where you belong, wouldn't you say? On
your knees."

I looked down at her, a wry smile on my lips, an expression meant to
convey my acceptance of this change between us. Telling her that ours was a
relationship of mistress and slave, not of lovers. She glanced up and
returned my gaze momentarily, then dropped her eyes in meek humility,
resigning herself with a piteous little whimper:

"Yes. It's where I belong. If only you'll tell me you're not angry, tell
me I'm forgiven. Please?"

That was a foregone conclusion by now, but I still wasn't ready to turn
sweet and go into a loving mood. Not yet. Although -- in view of my
position at the moment -- there wasn't much I could order her to do by way
of penance. In such an immodest situation, just groveling before me like
that should have been humiliation enough.

Well, no, not quite enough. "Like I said, Estelle, I'm thinking about it.
And meanwhile, uh, you can lick my feet some more."

She bent her head low. I felt her moist tongue on my toes, kissing,
stroking, swabbing. Then -- was it coyly? -- she tilted her head and peered
up at me. "Darling? Just your feet?" Again her gaze sank, pausing
hesitantly halfway down this time, turning my exposed flesh hot with
embarrassment. And now it was her face, not mine, that wore a wry smile...

Drained but far from depleted, I unlocked the bedroom door and descended
the staircase, a naked young girl on the prowl. Back there on the huge bed,
Estelle Kincaid lay dead to the world, obviously in a state of exhaustion.
My official duties for the night were finished now; who could object if I
sought my own kind of fun? I had been separated from my darling Fleur long
enough, painfully aware of her presence in the house. Couldn't we sneak a
quickie?

Alas, she was nowhere to be seen. Squinting and scanning the dimly lit
living room, I saw no trace of her familiar form in the writhing
entanglement of flesh. That only increased the pressure building up in my
loins though, forcing me to keep on with the search, still scrutinizing the
orgiastic clusters. For what? Oh shit, I was truly a girl on the prowl now.
The weather had died down, but a storm still raged within me.

Hungrily, my eyes darted around the great room, seeking an opening rather
than any particular person. Couples and trios were still knotted together
in a variety of lascivious postures, woven like an unfinished tapestry but
without a single dangling thread. Then, off in a comer, I caught a glimpse
of an interesting possibility, a woman with her head buried in cunt and her
ass jutting high, a crouch that left her open and vulnerable to any passing
stranger. I glided over there, vaguely pleased to find the prominent curves
of her body still unfamiliar even in close-up. Somehow that made it more
exciting. Strangers in the night. Hmm. Would this constitute a formal
introduction?

Ha-ha. Very funny. It's only because I can't have Fleur. Isn't that why 
I'm so Goddam hot? A pang of remorse lanced through me, a thing of shame,
puncturing my excuses like computer print-outs on a spindle. I hated
myself, hated my wildly beating heart, hated the dragging sensation in my
loins that tugged me down behind the obliviously occupied cuntlapper. But
even in my near-universal hatred, the temptation was too big a burden. I
touched her, cupping the soft ass-cheeks in my palms. Her flesh stiffened
in apparent shock, and then a moment later I felt the big round white
buttocks go lax and wiggle in an obscene come-on. It was too late to
resist, of course, and I dove inside her ass-crack like a starving pig at a
trough, shooting my tongue into her asshole to scoop out the more valuable
hidden delicacies; where else would a pig search for pleasure? I tried to
tell myself that the ass I had searched for was the ass I was sucking, but
even that was denied me. Because of the shame, the thrill, the excitement
of being a stranger in the night...
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

In a way, it was delightfully distracting. Something new for me -- two
cunts to suck at the same time. I hadn't even expected it actually, I just
happened to be there. They were squirming around on the big bed, hissing
and rubbing together, when Fleur raised an arm and beckoned me close. I
leaped to obey, getting in between them and licking her cunt. The flesh was
wet and warm from all that friction...

"Me too."

"Hmm?"

Fleur tapped my head. "Both of us."

No further command was needed, and I switched over to Amanda and dug into
her equally wet and warm slit. Evidently I was supposed to divide my
attention, share and share alike. Distracting, to say the least -- two
cunts to suck! -- but delightful nonetheless, and I tried to prove myself
worthy of the task. With my cheek nestled against Fleur's thigh, I lapped
Amanda. Then, whenever the mood struck me, I simply swung my head and
dipped my tongue anew, finding a hot and steamy cunt wherever I turned,
sinking into the intoxication of their mixed odors and essences. Above me I
could see them kissing mouth to mouth, still rubbing and squirming even
with my head buried between their bodies.

True, I would have preferred to be doing Fleur's beautiful ass instead.
But then again, all of her had a special beauty for me, and I sucked that
dark-tufted pussy with intense ardor, tonguing it feverishly and feeling my
own untouched flesh grow swollen and humid with erotic excitement. It 
became increasingly difficult to tear myself away each time, but orders
were orders -- anyway, both would have been displeased had I shirked my
duty.

Two lesbian cunts to suck! The idea spurred me on, inciting me to further
boldness. It pricked me, jabbed me, pierced my brain, inflaming my body and
provoking me to greater efforts. My mouth took on a personality of its own,
endeavoring to bestow the most pleasure upon each one, almost like a game
in which I played both sides. And there was no end to the treasure-prize of
soft flesh that opened to my lips. It writhed and twisted and demanded
attention, engulfing my face, squashing the back of my head. It became a
silk-fringed gully in which I couldn't catch my breath. And then another
overheated hairy nest that allowed me no more than an instant's hesitation.
Until that uniquely contrived little sex-world split apart like an
earthquake fault and spewed hot lava as it came to a cataclysmic final.

Even then I remained right there and continued licking in a soothing
manner, kind of swabbing with my tongue in the aftermath of orgasm. I
lapped up the dewy moisture solicitously and slowly, a body-attendant now,
a girl trained to go on pleasing her mistress -- or mistresses -- even
after the lovemaking was over. Oh yes, I had been well taught!

Amanda evidently agreed. "Hey, she's getting good. Notice the way she
ducks down low and swabs out the ass-crack too? Yeah, this kid sure has
learned a lot. You're a good teacher."

"I can't take all the credit. Loi was a good pupil; she's the type of
slave who takes pride in her work. Just wait till you get your ass done, I
mean really tongue-fucked, you know? Even though it's not your kick..."

"Don't worry, I'll give her a try. Gladly. Isn't it nice to have such a
terrific little slave-girl?"

I suppressed a groan of anguish and went on with my obsequious
performance. Right to the bitter end. But I couldn't suppress the emotional
turmoil within me. Was I really supposed to be a slave-girl? Oddly enough,
I hadn't minded that so much, not until Fleur had bragged about my ability
as an ass-licker. That should have been a secret between us, the secret
core of our love. And now there was nothing left, nothing but a poor hired
servant with two bosses. A slave with two mistresses. At least that was the
future I saw for myself here in this madhouse. Fleur must have been insane
to think I'd succumb so easily, Amanda sounded insane talking about me like
that -- a terrific little slave-girl -- almost as if I couldn't hear her.
Some compliment! Insane...

And me? Am I going insane, too? Will I spend the next party looking for 
more assholes to try my slavish tongue on?

That was when I made up my mind to leave. Only the decision wasn't enough,
I figured -- I had to make a commitment too, a firm and irrevocable
commitment. And shortly after the three-in-bed session ended, I got to a
telephone and called my father, person-to-person, collect, and told him to
expect me home soon.

On the following afternoon I paid a social call on my new friend Estelle
Kincaid. We kissed upon greeting and she led me to her bedroom, plucking at
my clothes and discarding hers at the same time. Her lips were damp and
quivery. There was a glazed look in her eyes, a familiar look now, and I
was in no hurry to say anything about riding to Springfield with her. Why
not let her beg me some more; wasn't it fun last time?

Slowly, quite gracefully for such a plump woman, she sank to the floor and
pressed her mouth to my bare feet. Twice. One long and meaningful kiss upon
each. Then, almost like a huge house pet seeking approval, she came out of
the low crouch and peered up at me with big brown eyes that practically
oozed devotion.

"So?" I patted the top of her head. "So we're together again and nothing
is changed?"

"Nothing. I'm still your slave."

I stroked her cheek, inching backward toward the bed. She caught my hand
and kissed it; then, shuffling along on her knees, she licked my fingers
and took them into her mouth. I reached the bed and sat down, excitement
bubbling inside me. She was breathing heavily now, a ragged rhythm, and I
saw her tits swelling and stiffening, the nipples all but crying out for
some kind of martyrdom. Or so it appeared to me. And I was right, of course
-- she gasped in sudden pleasure as my hand reached out and squeezed the
massive mounds of flesh. I pinched cruelly, testing my own strange
tendency, my need to hurt and humiliate, a need that could only have been
aroused by her obvious masochism.

She flinched. But it was no more than an instinctive reaction, and she
made no real effort to back away. Even with my fingers mauling her breasts
fiercely, there was only resigned submissiveness in her expression. Which
only excited me all the more, naturally, and at last I sagged backward on
the bed and muttered a sharp command to stir my slave to action.

I got action, all right. Even as she moaned her gratitude, my cunt became
a mouthful and her tongue managed to rasp across something sensitive down
there. Her face wedged into me, into my cunt-lips, nudging my thighs apart 
with the pressure of her cheeks, such a soft and gentle pressure! As if I
had become an object of worship and she didn't dare profane my flesh with
her hands. And meanwhile that tongue of hers, that big fat tongue, was
busily sending me into a hot spasm of twitching and throbbing.

Wide open now, I arched up to meet her halfway, smearing my cunt into her
face, up and down and all around, bringing us together in a nice cunty
intimacy. And still that remarkable tongue went on, fucking me now, fucking
the sweet shit out of me, and I grabbed a handful of hair and stuffed her
head in deeper and had myself one grand and glorious climax as she stayed
there, buried and still worshipful, even after my grip slackened...

We talked after a while, lying there naked. Estelle was happy to learn
that I'd be riding home with her. But she was disappointed when I refused
to become her permanent guest. She even wanted the redecoration of her
house to suit me.

"Especially the bathroom, darling." She had that coyly lewd look again.
"Mink for your royal bottom?"

I grinned. "In that case, I'll be visiting you often. But please don't ask
me to live with you, hmm? I've got to go home, my own home -- some
unfinished business to take care of..." Then, as though speaking the hated
name aloud would give me courage for the coming ordeal, "Some unfinished
business named Darlene."

"Who?"

"Darlene. My new stepmother."

"Oh. I wonder..." Estelle shook her head. "Still, it really isn't that
impossible a coincidence. Tell me something dear, is your father in the
television business?"

"Uh-huh."

"And your stepmother -- is she tall and slim and blonde?"

"You -- you know her? That slinky bitch?"

"I know her. I know her well. She's one of us -- a good friend of mine,
actually, although she prefers young girls. A bitch, sure enough -- likes
to use a whip, you know? As a matter of fact, she used to teach in a school
for wayward girls. Handy with the whip. Or a hairbrush over a bare ass. If
it's the same Darlene..."

"Did she -- did she ever whip you?"

"I shouldn't answer that. But I did say we were pretty close; I guess
that's answer enough. Ooooh, I remember..."

"No! Don't tell me anymore. No more talk, you hear? I'll give that mouth
of yours something better to do."

"Darling. Your cunt."

"Not there. My ass!"

"Darling!"

She didn't have to move. I just raised up a little and plunked my butt
down on her face. The response of her tongue was immediate and unstinting,
right up my asshole. I slapped her cunt, feeling the wet flesh squish under
my palm. I clutched the patch of hair and twisted. A groan of pain sounded
from underneath my body and the big fat tongue increased its thrust
noticeably.

I was only working off my anger, of course, trying to compensate for the
ugly trick that fate had played upon me. Then again, maybe it wasn't so
ugly; after all, finding out that my stepmother was a lesbian had given me
a certain advantage. Or had it? Oh, if only I hadn't spoken those bitter
words to her! Kiss my ass. How soon would it be before the sadistic bitch
had me kissing hers?

Perched on my slave's face, I went to work on the cunt that was so open
and vulnerable to my attack. I pinched and slapped it and pulled the hair,
still struggling to vent that harrowed feeling, the pent-up rage. And now I
was rocking my body hard upon the upturned face, jamming my cleft buttocks
down around it, making her a prisoner of pain. It didn't help much. Except
that I knew it would be nice to have Estelle available like this while
going through my ordeal with Darlene. Some of the wicked Morlock mood to
sustain me through my Eloi tribulations. Oh yes, I was a girl-crazy girl,
sure enough, but my perversion went a lot deeper. Even now I was conscious
of a special tingle of anticipation, an awareness of my own vulnerability.
Would that slinky blonde bitch really make me kiss her ass? Would she beat
me? Oh shit, I'd probably wind up kissing her ass and loving it!

I shuddered exquisitely. Even the idea of a whipping...


THE END
