An Older Woman's Passion
by Tina Mesa
(MLP-154)


FOREWORD 

Politicians and evangelists constantly speak in favor of the nuclear family 
as the basic social unit of American life. But these government and 
religious leaders seem unaware that the society which they advocate with 
such ardor exists no longer. Recent studies have found that fewer than one 
fifth of this country's household units can be classified in the traditional 
grouping of father-mother-children. 

Life in today's America is wracked with complexity and uncertainty. Old 
values are constantly challenged by searching individuals and avante garde 
philosophies. 

But not everyone is in a position to initiate change. Most people find 
themselves in reaction situations. They are forced to grapple with ideas, 
opinions and emotions for which their upbringing may not have prepared them. 

The following treatise examines such a situation. An attractive woman and 
her beautiful daughter, formerly part of a model family unit, are now 
buffeted by forces from without, as well as emotional and sexual awakenings 
deep inside them. 

Fran Dickerson struggles to recover from a bitter divorce and to raise her 
adolescent child in the fast moving society of New York City. Ms. Dickerson 
suffers residual anger at the male sex and at the same time attempts to 
explore her own newfound yearnings for emotional and genital fulfillment. 
Concurrently her daughter experiences many of the same feelings, for what 
was considered taboo a generation ago is now openly looked upon as an 
integral part of the maturation process. 

What was once a simple education about the "birds and bees" has in many 
respects turned into a series of traumatic experiences involving 
homosexuality, heterosexuality, lesbianism, incest, autoeroticism, 
experimentation and bizarrely tangled sexual relationships. 

The story of Fran and Laura Dickerson illustrates. 

 CHAPTER ONE 

Fran watched herself in the mirror mounted on the back of the open closet 
door. She threw the vibrator aside and went to work with her fingers now. 
That machine just couldn't do enough to satisfy her starving pussy. And she 
had to have satisfaction! If only there were a real man's penis here to fuck 
her. But no. She was all alone, here on her bed in the middle of a hot early 
summer afternoon, jerking herself off. Her eager fingers fondled the 
sensitive little bud of her clitoris. The sensations shot out from between 
her legs. The wetness began to come, first welling up in the depths of her 
vagina, and then oozing out spreading over her crotch and dripping onto the 
bedclothes. She watched, transfixed by the sight of her pussy in the mirror, 
frustrated in the knowledge that she was lubricating herself for a dick that 
would never probe into her. 

Harder and harder she worked, probing with her fingers at every fold of her 
pussy, diddling that wonderful clitoris, probing far up into her hungry 
vagina. Her cunt seemed almost to swallow her whole hand. And still it ached 
for more. Fran's whole being cried out for more. She saw the reflection of 
her face now. It frightened her. The face in the mirror was the face of a 
madwoman. Her mouth was wide open. Her tongue lolled with desire. She looked 
like she was about to scream. She could feel the shouts forming now in the 
back of her throat. How she wanted a long hard penis down that throat! How 
she wanted a throbbing tongue eating and sucking away at her clitoris! But 
all she had were her fingers. They would have to do the job this afternoon. 

Fran shifted herself on the bed and opened her legs wide in front of the 
mirror. She could see her thick black snatch so much the better now. She 
really did have quite a good bush and right now it was glistening with pussy 
juice. Her cunt was running a river right now! She just knew it! She could 
feel her pussy taking control this minute and she knew it was going to carry 
her away in a torrent of ecstasy. She was becoming quite the expert in 
masturbation. She was achieving that distinction late in life, but she was 
achieving it nonetheless. With one hand now she parted the folds of tender 
pink flesh that sheathed her vagina. The other hand she inserted as far as 
possible into the open devouring cunt. For one brief second she had fooled 
the nerve endings of her cunt into thinking it was a big hard dick that was 
penetrating into her body. But they responded eagerly to the masturbatory 
thrust of her own carefully manicured fingers. There might not be a sudden 
blast of white hot sperm today, but Fran's cunt was not going to deny itself 
any opportunity for an orgasm. She was beginning to fade now. The reflection 
in the mirror didn't matter quite so much now. It was the feeling that 
radiated out from her cunt that was taking over. Her frantically working 
hands smacked against the wetness pouring from between her legs. She 
clutched at her clit. She drove into her vagina. There weren't enough hands! 
Her breasts ached in their erectness. They had to be fondled! She began to 
moan. She didn't care. She was alone in the privacy of her own bedroom. And 
she was stretched out now, naked, exposed to the warmth of the sun pouring 
in through the windows. She wallowed hedonistically in the puddle of her own 
pussy juice. Her two hands had developed their own obscene rhythm. Her whole 
body began to jerk to the time they set. The spasms began to fire from below 
her waist now. Her hands pressed with all their might. Her cunt lusted for 
more and more of the stimulation. Her fingers frantically strove to keep it 
up. She was beginning to get sore now. She was afraid she might even draw 
blood. But the animal desire was rampant, running unchecked through her 
every fiber. 

Then she felt the blasts coming. She was cumming! What no man was about to 
give her she was going to take for herself right now. Then it hit. The first 
spasm shot out from her clit and reverberated through every part of her 
body. More followed. Then more and more! She had given every bit of herself 
over to the control of her cunt. 

It had never been like this with Owen, that sissy of a husband she used to 
have. That cocksucker had fooled her for years into somehow thinking that it 
was a woman's lot to go unsatisfied in sex. When the truth was the bastard 
simply couldn't get it up. For her or any woman. The very thought of all the 
orgasms she had missed drove Fran on to new heights of self stimulation. Her 
fingers ached from the hour of intense masturbation. Her clitoris was sore 
like it had never been before. She thought she was going to scratch the 
flesh right out of her pussy the way she was working on herself. But still 
she kept on. And still the orgasms kept on cumming. One after the other, 
crazy involuntary spasms welling up between her legs, blasting out from her 
pussy and then starting all over again. She didn't want them ever to stop. 
All she wanted in life now was to lay on this bed and finger herself into 
oblivion. 

She drew one hand out of her cunt and picked up the vibrator again. She 
turned it on full balst and the little machine took up where her own 
strength had left off, keeping the pressure on her clitoris, keeping the 
orgasms running at full tilt. So she had finally discovered what female 
satisfaction was all about. And she thought it was the greatest thing in the 
world. Man or no man. 

Fran's pussy was blasting away, firing powerful lusty sensations into every 
part of her body. Her tits were up-thrust and sensitive, all on their own. 
She hadn't touched them with her fingers at all. Her lips and mouth were 
aching to kiss, to suck, to eat! How she wished she could bend over right 
now and eat her own pussy! Her pussy had never been eaten by a man. She had 
always thought it was such a disgusting, filthy, perverted habit. But now 
something deep within her cried out for more satisfaction, for more 
exploration into these sensations which excited her so much. First it had 
just been a little diddling her finger around her clitoris, then it had 
moved on to stuffing her hands into her vagina and playing with herself more 
and more each day. It had started out of desperation and grown into a 
passion, into the high point of her day. Fran Dickerson, age thirty-seven, 
divorced mother, starved for the satisfaction to which every woman is 
entitled, had become a compulsive crazed masturbator! When her fingers were 
no longer enough, when she knew that she had to have more erotic stimulation 
than her own strength could provide, she had gone out and purchased her very 
own vibrator. 

The silvery machine whirred away right now between her legs. Sharp 
sensations, never-ending electric stimulation, beat against the bud of her 
clitoris. The thousands of watts of power coming into the city were being 
channeled through miles of cable right into her pussy. And it was doing its 
job! She was writhing in a state of seemingly permanent orgasm. She had lost 
control of everything that was happening to her body. Had the electricity 
made her into some kind of sex slave? The vibrator seemed to have a life of 
its own and a hunger of its own. It was eating her out, beating its wild 
sensations into the throbbing bud of her clit, which was in turn relaying 
the mad firings of her pussy nerves throughout her whole being. She looked 
into the mirror once more, but she wasn't sure exactly what she was seeing. 
Was that Fran Dickerson on the bed? Did she have her legs splayed wide open 
to the humming little machine that pounded on and on and flayed away at her 
clitoris? How could she have ever come to such a state? Such a prim and 
proper girl from a good family, once married to a rich and handsome man? 
Look at her now, she thought. Was she a perverted bitch enslaved to her 
genitals, a lonesome compulsive masturbator whose only joy in life was to 
lay naked on her bed every afternoon and jerk herself into oblivion? But it 
wasn't oblivion. It was heaven! Fran had never been so happy in her life 
until she had discovered her true calling. Yes, she had to admit it now. 
After all these years. She was a human masturbation machine. Not a wife. Not 
a mother. But a permanent, self-contained, perpetual motion jerkoff pervert! 

No amount of education, no amount of experience had ever prepared Fran for 
the sheer joys that she was discovering right this moment, right within 
herself. To think that these secret and exotic pleasures had been so close 
to her all her life and that she had never known them until now. That 
realization made her angry. That bastard Owen. How he had seduced her into 
marrying him! He had promised her everything. Indeed, he had given her quite 
a lot, but not what she had really needed. And to think that he had been 
fooling her all during the years they had spent together. Those nights he 
had worked late at the office. Owen Dickerson never had to work late a day 
in his life. Money came naturally to him. He had been born to it and he had 
never lost the touch. No, Owen had been spending all those nights with his 
young boyfriends, while she sat at home waiting for fulfillment that never 
was to come. He was always too tired or had to do some extra work in his 
study. When the real reason was that he could never get it up for her. Nor 
could any other woman. Fran was convinced of that. Owen just wasn't 
interested in woman at all. It was a wonder he loved his daughter as much as 
he seemed to. The bastard. She could count the times they'd had sex during 
their marriage on one hand. And those times it was always the same. She'd 
have to paw and paw him and work his cock up to a hard-on. Probably the 
whole time he was imagining it was some pretty young boy jerking him up to a 
hard-on. She had all she could do to get him to spill his wad into her. She 
didn't even have a chance to think about pleasure. It was all duty. The 
obligations of marriage. The marriage act as it had been taught to her all 
through her girlhood. No one had mentioned a thing about how she could enjoy 
herself. The word "orgasm" had never been spoken to her. That was only for 
men. That was when they shot their loads of sperm into a woman's vagina. 
That was when Owen rolled over and dribbled his cum into her cunt. And what 
she had to do to get that! It wasn't worth the effort. And they had finally 
called it quits after one of his more bizzarre weeklong orgies at a famous 
bath club. She could never forgive him for that one. Bringing one of his 
boyfriends home while she and Laura were there. 

The vibrator kept doing its work. Fran had lost count of the times that she 
had cum this afternoon. She was jerking up and down to the tune of the 
humming and buzzing little stimulator. She sighed. She moaned. She groaned 
with delight. The best investment she had ever made. She was caught in a sex 
dance flat on her back. From her toes to the tips of her fingers. From her 
lolling lips to her squirming ass every bit of her was taking its cue from 
that little electric beast between her legs. It was running away with her 
now. Fran began to pant. It was like a race, a marathon. It was going to 
kill her. Her daughter was going to come home and find her dead on the bed, 
the mad vibrator still running on and on, having done its job too well, 
provided so much stimulation that she couldn't take it anymore. Well, if 
that was to be her fate, maybe it wasn't so bad. Fran was cumming like she 
had never cum before. She had become mistress of the orgasm only a month 
ago. Yes, that's right, she had had her first cum only the month before. She 
had never masturbated as a little girl and Owen had certainly never provided 
her with any kind of pleasure in the marriage bed. So she had been forced to 
give herself lessons. Every day she had studied. Breast stimulation. 
Clitoris fondling. Vagina exploration. First her fingers. Then the vibrator. 
And finally she had achieved her first orgasm. Finally after all these 
years. She had been too embarrassed to tell anyone. Laura, all of fifteen 
years old was probably jerking off like crazy every day. But Fran had a lot 
of catching up to do. And she was determined. She was going to make up for 
every last bit of pleasure that had been denied her for thirty-seven years. 
And last week she had finally experienced what it was all about. Her cunt 
had run away from her. She diddled herself all the way up there and then she 
had taken off. One glorious blast after another. She had wanted it to be 
never ending and for a time it seemed as though it never would. She had 
ignited some kind of fire below her waist. In a part of her body that she 
had always thought to be so cold and unresponsive she had found the fuel 
which was going to provide the energy for her to carry on, which would take 
over her life and become an end in itself. Passion! That's what she had to 
love for now. And as she lay now in the puddle of her own pussy juice, she 
knew that she was on her way to that goal. The vibrator wouldn't quit. She 
couldn't bring herself to turn off its switch. Her pussy kept up. Her hands 
were so tired she was afraid she wouldn't be able to hole the machine much 
longer. How could she hold the lips of her cunt apart any more? But she had 
to! She had to have this. For every orgasm that Owen had refused to give 
her, Fran had to cum twice, three, ten times! She had to spend the rest of 
her life on her back, blasting her cunt for all it was worth! She would 
neglect her daughter. She would forget her job at the gallery. She wouldn't 
eat. She could not spare the time for any of those things. There was only 
one thing in life! Her pussy! Her fantastic wonderful pussy. That was all. 
She was an explorer! A discoverer! She had found paradise and she wanted to 
spend the rest of her life right there. Paradise between her legs. It had 
been so close to her the whole time and she had only just realized it 

The scream that had poised in the back of Fran's throat could stay there no 
longer. It was blasted out by a rocketing sensation that had shot up from 
her lust dominated pussy. The shout startled her now. She almost couldn't 
believe that it had come from her own mouth. Was she so far gone that she 
had no control left anymore? Was her brain subservient now to her cunt? Was 
everything she thought and did being directed from between her legs? It was 
exciting. It was maddening! They were going to take her away now and lock 
her up for the rest of her life for being sexually insane. 

She was choking now. She couldn't breathe. The pleasure sensations were 
becoming too much to bear. She was going to wound her clitoris. She was 
flooding herself with too many electric impulses. She was going to overload 
her nervous system. Another moment and it was going to be too late. She was 
taking this too far. This masturbation was taking over her whole life. There 
was nothing left. Fran was just a pulsating, lusting, gyrating orgasm 
machine, writhing in mindless ecstasy on her own bed. She wasn't good for 
anything anymore except to cum and cum and cum! She had wiped out every 
other thought capability in her brain. She had destroyed her capacity to do 
anything other than wallow in her wonderful new found multiple orgasms. 

It finally let up. She heard a giant truck crash into a pothole in the 
street outside the apartment. Yes, there still must be other life on his 
planet besides her crazed all powerful pussy. The still-pulsating electric 
vibrator fell away from contact with her clit and went squirming its way 
across the sodden bedclothes. She could hold the bucking, fucking beast no 
longer. She could spread the lips of her pussy no more. There simply was no 
strength left. She had really done it to herself this time. She had come too 
far too fast. She had cum too many times for her own good. She would never 
be able to recover from this one. Everyone would know in a short time what 
incredible degeneracy she had experienced. She would be committed to an 
institution for the sexually dangerous. Her daughter would be taken away 
from her. She was too perverted to be any kind of mother. 

Fran was so exhausted she wanted to sleep for the rest of her life. The 
orgasms had overpowered her. The sensations still lingered in her clitoris, 
her vagina, her nipples. The blasts of sensation still seemed to remain 
somewhere within her, as if stored away in a memory bank, ready and waiting 
to be stimulated into the open again at some future time. Now that she had 
experienced such joy, Fran knew, it was going to be a part of her forever. 
She was making herself into a new woman, a female being who existed on a 
higher plane than before. She had achieved a new knowledge of her own being, 
of that wonderful part of her that was her sex. Her genitals were taking 
their place along with every other part of her that was exposed and 
accustomed to the human female experience. And Fran knew that it was only 
the beginning. She would have to have more of this. And more! And more! She 
would never be able to live for even a day without the joys of multiple 
orgasm. She would use her fingers, her hands, her vibrator. She would go out 
and buy an honest-to-goodness dildo (She needed a real dildo. She'd been too 
embarrassed to buy one in those early stages of her sexual selfeducation) 
with which to diddle and diddle and diddle some more. And who knows, in some 
future time she just might find a man; a real man who had a masculine cock 
and really knew how to use it! Wouldn't that be something else! 

Sounds of the street grew louder now. Late afternoon traffic was making its 
way toward Holland Tunnel. So many people always seemed in such a hurry to 
get home in the evening after the workers and the truckers had gone home. 
She and Laura lived in Lower Manhattan where the neighborhoods were mostly 
industrial but where a large number of artists had converted big factory 
lofts into living spaces. There were others living in the neighborhood too. 
Owen had brought her here when he had bought part interest in an art gallery 
and decided that he should live nearby. But he had moved back uptown to a 
posh highrise apartment house after the divorce. Fran had suspected that 
he'd only used the gallery for the purpose of meeting handsome young artists 
anyway and that he'd lost interest when he decided to go back to tending his 
motion picture production outfit full time. For a while she thought she 
might just move out of the city of New York altogether, but there was Laura 
and her friends and her schooling and Owen seemed far enough away at the 
other end of town. And what could she herself do anyway? That was the real 
problem. She had had one year of college before she had married the gorgeous 
young Owen Dickerson, the man who was going to take care of her for the rest 
of her life. Well, it hadn't quite worked out that way. Thank goodness she 
had studied a little art history. Her friend Eva had offered her a part time 
job in the art gallery she owned. It wasn't much, but it kept the grocery 
money coming in. That bastard Owen was always late with the alimony and the 
child support. And with all the money he had too. Why he probably spent more 
in one night entertaining his current boyfriend than he would give her and 
Laura to live on for a week. She had had to get a lawyer after the bastard 
more than once and he would only go to the bank pleading poverty. Once his 
check had even bounced. The fucker! It wasn't so easy for Fran to face the 
idea of a relationship with a man again. Though she had to admit that Owen 
was probably the bizarre exception. There had been Roger just after the 
divorce. He had helped her through that rough time. He was a little older 
than she. She was kind and gentle, but that one night they had tried to get 
it on together at his summer house in East Hampton, she found that he simply 
couldn't get it up. She had really tried to be patient and considerate with 
him, but he had been so embarrassed that it had only made things worse. And 
she felt almost like an adulteress. Not that she should have. After all, she 
really did have a divorce decree in her pocket. It was just that she had 
never done it with any man besides her husband and she just couldn't get 
past the feeling that something was wrong somewhere. It had been a miserable 
time for both of them. She had never seen Roger much after that weekend. And 
she had retreated into her shell of self imposed sexual isolation. It wasn't 
a moral thing. She wasn't saving herself for any one in particular. It was 
just that she was so confused. She didn't know her own strengths. She didn't 
know her own needs. 

And now, through her sessions of masturbation she was only beginning to 
explore the dimensions of her own sexuality. She had been utterly stunned. 
She had never expected such a response. Nothing in her previous life had 
even so much as given her a hint of the sensations of which she was capable, 
and even now something deep within her led her to suspect that very few men 
were experienced and aware enough to satisfy her to the limits of her 
potential. 

She managed to look in the mirror once more. She reached back to spread the 
lips of her pussy again. How she had grown to love her genitals over the 
past few weeks. It was going to be a wonderful and permanent relationship, 
she knew. She was so happy to be a woman. It made her glad just to lie here 
in the erotically scented puddle of her pussy lubricants. Goodness, the 
whole bedroom was permeated with the powerful odor. Laura would know the 
minute she got home. Or would she? Fran wondered just how much her daughter 
knew about sex. She would love to find out. Then it dawned on her that Laura 
could probably teach her a thing or two. 

Fran began to laugh. She'd thought there was some kind of insect in the 
room. But it was only the vibrator buzzing away on the bed. She looked at it 
for a moment and wondered whether she could slip it back into her pussy. 
That might just kill her. But still. No, she thought. She turned off the 
devilish little machine. She had grown over the past couple of weeks to 
regard her vibrator with a tender affection. And to think she had told the 
man in the store that she wanted to use it to help a chronic pain in her 
neck! How she had been ashamed of indulging in such a lewd lascivious form 
of autoeroticism. Not now! Not anymore! She was so proud of her vibrator. 
She loved it! The wonderful mysterious (she didn't know how it worked) 
machine gave her more pleasure in the first few moments she owned it than 
any man had shown her in her life. If there were a Vibrator's Lib, Fran 
would run out and become a charter member. 

She held the vibrator to her lips now and kissed it. The scent of spent 
electricity and warm pussy juice mingled on the machine and entranced her. 
She had grown to love her own body during these sessions of solitary 
lovemaking. She never had any inclination to pay attention to herself 
before, but now, in her explorations she was discovering what an 
extraordinary creation the female body really was. Every orifice, every 
curve, every angle held some delight and surprise that was new to her and 
became precious immediately. Now she took her hands, glistening as they were 
with the scented essences of her cunt and she kissed her fingertips and 
licked them and sucked on them. She wanted to complete the sensuous cycle of 
self gratification, all the way from stimulation through orgasm and finally 
the savoring of her very own body juices. She wanted everything when she 
made love these days. She had learned to want everything from the first 
moment she realized what she had been missing for so long. And as she lay 
now sucking on her scented fingers like a little baby girl she knew that she 
was finally achieving the essence of self love. Total masturbation was her 
goal. And total masturbation she had experienced! 

The digital clock on the nightstand flipped the hour. The little click 
awakened her from her delightful erotic reverie. Laura would be home soon! 
She was still a mother, no matter how many orgasms she might treat herself 
to this afternoon. She would have to get up, take a shower and get something 
for dinner. Goodness, was her bedroom a mess! Fran knew that her housework 
had gone downhill from the minute she started this self taught course in 
erotic studies. Clothes were strewn about the floor. The bureau was littered 
with open bottles of creams and moisturizers and perfume. The rest of the 
apartment was concealed under a thick layer of dust. What she really needed 
was some household help. But let her try to convince Owen of that! He'd ask 
her right away what she was doing with all the free time she had. She really 
did have just a part time job. She'd love to tell him to his face that she 
was learning what it meant to be a woman. Goodness, if anyone ever found out 
that she was nothing but a helpless compulsive masturbator, a no good 
jerkoff bitch! 

Fran got up and the vibrator fell to the floor. Poor darling vibrator! She 
picked up the silvery little devil and cradled it in her arms. She hoped 
that she didn't hurt it. She hoped that it still worked. She kissed it 
again. The smell of her pussy was still there. She knew that she couldn't 
get along without it now. She was totally enslaved to the sensations that 
this little appliance sent through her body. She was a hopeless vibrator 
addict. She would always have to have one from this moment forth in her 
life. She would have to take one with her wherever she went. And no matter 
how many she owned; no matter if a man's dick ever did penetrate her to the 
point of sublime pleasure, she would always love this wonderful companion 
for being the first to show her what wondrous delights she could achieve 
just by stimulating her own person. 

She had to put the vibrator away before Laura got home. Imagine! A mother 
concealing her sex devices from her very own daughter. Fran was almost 
ashamed. If only she could share these new experiences with someone whom she 
loved, with someone who could appreciate them along with her. If only there 
were some one in whom she could confide. Certainly none of her female 
friends met the qualifications. And her male friends? Well, she wasn't sure 
that "friends" was the right term. Her years with Owen had pretty well 
insulated her from contact with anyone in a real sense, except, that was, a 
certain intimacy she had achieved with Laura. But even that had seemed to 
lessen over the past year or so, probably as a result of all the legal 
hassles and the enmity that she had felt for Owen. Fran often wondered what 
Laura thought of her versus her father. She always seemed cheerful enough, 
and there was certainly nothing on the surface to give any indication that 
she thought less of her mother. But Fran wondered. Her daughter was quickly 
growing into a woman in her own right and she desperately wanted her to 
avoid the bad experiences in which she had become entangled. She wanted to 
make sure that Laura was every bit the complete sensuous female before there 
was ever a chance for anyone to cheat her of that most precious part of her 
own being. But still Fran hesitated. Something held her back from being so 
open about sex with her daughter. And at the same time something in Fran so 
urgently wanted to go right to Laura and use the girl's own feelings as a 
kind of foil for her own new found experiences. 

Fran finally put the beloved vibrator back in its box. She wondered if Laura 
had ever experienced anything like it. Maybe she should offer it to her 
daughter for a session? Wouldn't that be something. The two of them jerking 
themselves off together. A real mother and daughter act! Of course Laura 
might have all kinds of erotic devices of her own. Fran had never been able 
to bring herself to search the girl's room. 

Fran looked at the clock and gasped. Was it late! She had just finished her 
longest session yet. There was no time for a shower. And the whole place 
smelled like pussy! She was rampant with the juice of her own pussy. And she 
loved every sniff. She breathed as deeply as she could. Again and again! She 
couldn't get enough. She would never be able to get enough. She stuck her 
smelly fingers back into her mouth and sucked on them once again. How 
wonderful it would be, she thought, if she could only bend far enough to eat 
her own pussy! 

But now she to cover up. She put the vibrator back in the drawer beneath the 
nightstand. She splashed some cologne over her, she even sprayed some into 
her pubic bush. She gathered up the pile of clothes at the foot of her bed. 
She threw them into the hamper and pulled open her bureau drawers. They were 
filled to overflowing with her new frilly and lacy lingerie. She had been a 
very bad girl. She'd taken one of the paychecks from the gallery job and 
instead of using it for household money she'd gone off and splurged on the 
vibrator and on a whole wardrobe of sexy underwear. Lots of black lace 
bikinis and bras, things that were soft and felt so sensuous next to her 
nipples and her twat. Black panties, black as her snatch. She was going to 
get all wet between her legs just looking at herself. She would have to find 
some way to hold off from touching herself until after she slipped into bed 
tonight. Well, maybe not, maybe she could get away after dinner and diddle 
herself to orgasm while Laura did her homework. She wondered what would 
happen if Laura inadvertently burst in on her sometime while she was in the 
middle of one of these jerkoff sessions. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad 
after all. It might just be a way of breaking the ice between them. She 
remembered how funny the girl had been when she'd brought home that shopping 
bag filled with her new underwear. Fran had said that she was turning over a 
new leaf, transforming herself into a sensuous woman. They both joked, but 
Fran had been too ashamed to admit that she was indeed serious. She'd even 
been too embarrassed in the store to buy any of the really sexy lingerie 
that really got her excited, things like garter belts and stockings and 
corsets and waist cinches. Some of the garments looked like they'd come out 
of a stag movie. But Fran had a sudden fantasy that she wanted to act in a 
stag movie, to show millions of drooling men what she could do to them, how 
she could tease their cocks from a dead hang to a blast of cum in nothing 
flat. Would she ever love to be queen of the dirty pictures, to expose 
herself and her goodies for all the world to see. Her genitals, her nipples, 
her ass, her thick jet black snatch, all these things had been hidden far 
too long. She wanted to have a coming out party. And it would be the blast 
of the century! 

Enough diddling around. Enough standing in her black bikini in the middle of 
her bedroom ogling herself. It was time to get some clothes on. She took one 
last look at her body. Thirty-seven and she was still a piece of ass. She 
knew that she was good-looking, tall and strong and slender. How did she 
know? Well, for one thing she would never have become Owen's wife if she 
hadn't been beautiful enough. That bastard had standards. He couldn't stand 
to have anyone or anything around him that wasn't absolutely gorgeous. And 
though beauty of the physical kind wasn't something that people in her 
family talked about, she could tell as soon as she was old enough that she 
had something special there. All through grade school and boarding school 
and her year at college, the way people looked at her and talked about her 
she knew. She just knew. And whenever she looked in the mirror she liked 
what she saw. And she always wanted to like what she saw so she took care of 
herself. She ate right. She exercised and she had become a mistress of good 
dress and good grooming. She would sooner go hungry than have a hair out of 
place of have a single ragged toenail. And she knew that she always looked 
well put together. The looks and the whistles that she got from men along 
the street told her that. So she had no trouble convincing herself that she 
was indeed a real piece. But a piece of ass by nature is meant to fuck and 
be fucked and so far Fran had fallen short on that score. So far in this 
game after she had gotten rid of that queer husband of hers she had given 
herself only to herself. Maybe that would change. Maybe it wouldn't. She was 
experiencing so much that was new she would have to wait and see what 
happened in her relations with other people, especially men. For the time 
being, masturbation was her thing. 

She resisted the temptation to stick a finger into her exotic panties and 
pulled on a pair of blue jeans instead. She slipped a tee shirt over her 
head. She didn't need a bra. She was only going to be home with Laura this 
evening. A pair of high heeled sandals completed her outfit and she went out 
into the kitchen. On the way she passed Laura's room. It was neat as a pin, 
as usual. She didn't know how her daughter managed to keep it that way. She 
never saw her doing any kind of housework, and she hardly ever went in there 
herself. Fran had no desire to involve herself in certain things and 
housework was definitely one of them. When she and Owen were together they 
always had house hold help, but that had gone the way of alimony checks 
after the split. Fuck Owen again. The cocksucker himself was as anal 
compulsive as they come, and while Fran always turned herself out with the 
best of them, she really did wonder about her daughter. There was so much 
for her to be concerned about where Laura was involved, but how was she 
going to go about establishing any kind of really intimate relationship with 
her daughter? 

Fran smoothed back her hair. It was dark and short and done in the latest 
New York style but a quick glance in a mirror told her that something about 
her wasn't quite right. Nothing obvious, but she could tell somehow that she 
had just finished a marathon masturbation session, and she was afraid that 
Laura would pick it up as soon as she walked into the room. She had that 
"fucked out" look about her. Maybe Laura would think that she had spent the 
afternoon with a man instead of jerking off. Fran wondered what her girl 
would think of that. Would she be happy? She tried a couple of times to set 
her up with men who were the fathers of her friends. There were plenty of 
divorced men around to date. But except for a couple of purely social 
occasions, Fran hadn't really picked up on Laura's suggestions. And for her 
part Laura really hadn't been too insistent. Then if she suspected that Fran 
were really making it with some guy, maybe she would get incredibly jealous. 
Fran had heard of that happening as well. She was so confused where her 
daughter was concerned. But there would be time to think about those things 
later. Now she had to get some dinner on the table. Laura took a dance class 
every afternoon and she came home famished. The girl ate like there was no 
tomorrow. Fran admired her. A tall, slender woman, even if she did take 
after her bastard father in almost every way, this daughter of hers was 
turning into a real beauty. 

But that beauty had to be fed. Fran wondered what she had in the house in 
the way of food. Owen's check was late as usual and Eva didn't pay her until 
tomorrow. So much for that pair of sexy panties that she'd seen in a store 
window on the way home. Real silk and outrageously priced. How she would 
love the lush feeling of real silk against her snatch and her hips and her 
ass. Wouldn't she rather feel like a sex goddess than eat? Of course she 
would! But Laura might not appreciate it so much. 

Fran found a couple of lamb chops in the freezer and a few vegetables in the 
hopper at the bottom of the fridge. Not an elaborate dinner, but she could 
fix them up into something presentable, and tasty too. Not that she felt 
much like fooling around in the kitchen, but that was the way it had to be. 
And come to think of it, her cunt and clit were still a bit sore from the 
jerkoff session to resume that activity just yet. She didn't want to wear 
out her pussy so soon after she found out what a great thing it was. 

The battery of locks on the front door all clicked at the same time. Laura? 
A little earlier than she expected. Anyway, she was getting pretty good with 
the key. Three locks almost simultaneously! Maybe she could take up a life 
of crime if her dance career didn't work out. At least she wouldn't have to 
worry about late alimony checks. 

"Hi Mom!" 

The image of Owen, female variation, popped into the room. Was this girl 
ever a beauty. Or was Fran just a sucker for the type, the tall classy and 
classic looks. At least Laura looked like a million bucks even if Fran 
couldn't give her money. Of course, someday Owen just might come through, 
considering this was his own flesh and blood. Fran had to admit that she 
would do it all over again, if looks were the criteria. She gave her 
daughter the usual welcome home kiss. 

"Home a little early today, I see." 

"Who Mom, you or me?" 

"Eva gave me the afternoon off. Things were pretty slow at the gallery. 
What's your story? Did you skip out of your dance class or something?" 

"Miss Makoff was sick. She let us go early. Really, if you want to know the 
truth, I think she's in love." 

"That old witch! Who's the lucky guy?" 

"Surely you're joking, Mom. Miss Makoff is hardly the type to be interested 
in a man." 

Fran was disturbed by her own innocence. Now she knew for sure that she came 
from another generation. She would just have to keep quiet and learn, that's 
all. If only Laura could give her some kind of crash course, but she was 
always so afraid to broach the subject. Maybe Laura would tip her hand about 
something soon. 

"Lamb chops okay?" 

"Great! I'm starving." 

"Well go take your bath or whatever you want to do and I'll slip the food 
into the microwave. Dinner'll be ready by the time you get out." 

Laura smiled, gave her mother another kiss, and disappeared toward toward 
the bathroom. A second later Fran heard the sound of water running. She got 
the things ready, chopped a few vegetables, set them on the stove to steam, 
and sat down with a glass of red wine. 

She took a couple of sips and then her eyes wandered to Laura's bag, which 
was resting near the door. No, Fran thought, she could no more bring herself 
to search through her daughter's bag than she could go into her bedroom and 
root around. Even the thought was ridiculous. But the thought just wouldn't 
go away. What would Laura have in the bag she carried her dance clothes in 
anyway? A diaphragm? A dildo maybe? Some pornography? She'd heard that 
women's pornography was the coming thing these days. If only it had been 
around when she was a young girl. What the hell was women's pornography 
anyway? She'd love to know! Fran just took another sip of wine and tended to 
the lamb chops. 

In the bathroom Laura was luxuriating in a bubble bath. It had to be quick, 
she knew, her mother would have dinner on the table in no time. But Laura 
didn't want to take a quick shower. She wanted something more out of the 
water right now. She wanted the liquid to swirl around her young pussy. How 
good it felt to have the warm water seep into that most intimate orifice! 
How good it felt to explore with a finger far up into the soft recesses of 
her cunt. She had only become aware of what she could make herself feel over 
the past few months. She had started her explorations slowly, almost afraid 
at first to play with her body, afraid that somehow she might cause harm to 
herself. She remembered how she had first become so afraid when her snatch 
hair had started to grow in, how she thought she had contacted some kind of 
disease. And the time she had first menstruated. She had nearly been 
frightened to death until her mother explained it was all a proper part of 
becoming a woman. But no one had ever explained to her the wicked sensations 
she would feel when she touched her fingers to her clitoris, or when she 
inserted a finger or something into her vagina. Yes, something told her, the 
sensations were so good that they just had to be wicked somehow. She talked 
about these things with her girl friends in the locker room at school 
sometimes, or when they were over at each others' houses listening to 
records or smoking cigarettes. Each girl seemed to have her own idea, or 
would repeat what she'd heard from a big sister. But Laura knew that in many 
ways it would be altogether up to her to explore herself. It was she who 
would experience these private feelings all on her own and no matter how 
much others talked or explained it would come down to the same thing. And 
she loved these opportunities to diddle with herself in the bathtub or 
sometimes alone in bed after she had turned the lights out. 

She had a finger on her little clitoris bud now, and she was lolling it 
about under the warm water. Gently at first, then harder and harder. It was 
getting too good to even think about stopping right now. The sensations were 
there again, and they were beginning to shoot out from between her legs, all 
through her thighs and down to her toes and around deep inside her. She even 
began to feel something, a kind of sensitivity within her breasts. She 
touched a finger to her nipples and discovered that the little buds were 
hard now. And did it feel good to touch them! She couldn't take her hand 
away. She hoped fervently that her mother wasn't going to bust in right now. 
She didn't know what she'd do if her mother found her playing with herself 
like this. It was dangerous, but she couldn't stop. She just couldn't. She 
thought she was going to slide down now under the warm water and be 
swallowed up in her own passion. So this was the beginning of everything the 
girls talked about constantly! She kept fingering herself, moving her middle 
finger from around her clitoris into her vagina, all the way, deeper and 
deeper, inside her as far as it would go. There was still plenty of room, 
too much. She was really big down there. It was burning now. She was setting 
herself afire somehow. The water just wasn't that hot. It was her cunt that 
was doing it to her. It was so easy now that she had broken through her 
hymen. It had happened last week during stretches in dance class. There had 
been blood and she had asked to be excused and she had gone to the locker 
room and locked herself in a toilet stall and examined herself as well as 
she could with the little hand mirror that she carried in her purse. 
Imagine, she thought, she had popped her own cherry in Miss Makoff's class. 
In a way she had been kind of sad. She had always thought that some handsome 
young man would rid her of her maidenhead, but no, it had happened in the 
class run by the old bull dyke herself. She knew Miss Makoff would have been 
happy to pop her cherry herself. Just the way that lady looked at her made 
her aware that she was a prime candidate for seduction. There were plenty of 
stories, of course, from older sisters again, but Miss Makoff had never 
really said or done anything that Laura could view as a direct attempt to 
get her into bed. 

And as far as her cherry was concerned, well, the sadness had only lasted a 
day or so. After all, she was almost embarrassed to be a virgin at fifteen. 
From what her girlfriends told her, she just might be the only girl in this 
part of New York City who had never been fucked-or raped. And while she 
didn't exactly believe everything she heard along those lines, there was 
something inside her that desperately wanted to "catch up." Popping her 
cherry was sort of one way to do that. And there hadn't been any male 
candidate on the horizon. Warner Short seemed to be the only halfway 
interesting guy in her life right now, and she wasn't entirely sure about 
him. He'd invited her out to his parents' country house on Saturday and she 
had accepted, but as far as being sexually aroused by the boy, she didn't 
imagine being that intimate with any man that she knew. Of course, she had 
crushes on guys from time to time, but male-female sex wasn't the only thing 
going on these days, even among kids her age. She knew for a fact that some 
of the guys in her class had done it with some older men. And there was at 
least one girl she knew who had made it with some woman who had picked her 
up in a bar. 

She had to stop with the finger now. But it felt so good! Her middle finger 
was into her cunt all the way up as far as it would go and she just couldn't 
bear to pull it out. She didn't care about dinner. She didn't care if her 
mother ever found her in here doing this to herself. Her pussy ached for 
something, for some kind of satisfaction. Something! Whether it was a finger 
or a man's penis or another woman's tongue. She had to have something in 
there. 

Then she remembered the little vibrator she bought this afternoon. It was a 
little battery powered thing that she had picked up on her way to dance 
class and had stuffed into her bag. She couldn't wait to try it out. But 
where? After her mother went to bed? Maybe she'd better get it out of the 
apartment before her mother found it. Goodness! She'd left the bag in the 
kitchen. Right in front of her mother! What if she went through it and 
discovered the penis-shaped white plastic vibrator? 

Laura got out of the bathtub. It was almost too good fingering herself to 
stop, but she really was afraid of her mother finding the vibrator. She 
wouldn't know how to explain. So her orgasm would have to wait for some 
other time. Orgasm! The very sound of the word made Laura all wet and juicy 
down there between her legs. That's what she had to have. She was playing 
with herself every day now, but she still didn't know whether she'd had an 
orgasm or not. The other girls had talked about orgasms often enough, or 
"cumming" as they called it, but none of them had been able to explain 
exactly what it felt like. Some said it was like a rush. Others called it a 
kind of ecstatic spasm. Some said it was both of those things, and still a 
few girls maintained that it wasn't anything like either one. Laura had 
heard all kinds of stories about women going through their whole lives 
without ever having an orgasm and she was determined not to be one of those. 
She wasn't really too worried. Women were entitled to enjoy sex these days. 
Not line in her grandmother's time, or even when her mother was growing up. 
But she still knew that she hadn't quite experienced everything that her 
cunt could do. She had only scratched the surface of her pleasure senses. 
She was a beginner, she knew, and she needed some guidance in the ways of 
female sexuality. But she was eager. And she knew that she would be 
conscientious with her studies. 

Laura hurried back into the kitchen in time to find her mother setting the 
table for dinner. 

"What took you so long, darling?" her mother asked. 

"I was just a little sore from some of the exercises Miss Makoff made us do 
in class today and I wanted to soak my muscles a bit." Laura wasn't sure 
that her explanation was so convincing. She shot a quick glance at her bag. 
It was still on the chair. She didn't think, for some reason, that her 
mother had looked into it. 

"Tell me, Laura," her mother asked. "Is this teacher of yours, Miss Makoff, 
really a lesbian?" 

Laura was startled by the question. But at least her mother wasn't holding 
up the vibrator that she had brought home. 

"Why, sure, I guess so." She hesitated. "Well, all the girls say so." 

"Has Miss Makoff ever made advances to you?" 

The question nearly knocked Laura off her feet. She thought of the way Miss 
Makoff had held her a couple of times as she did some stretching exercises. 
Was that a come-on? 

"Why no, Mom. She hasn't. I really don't think she's done that to anyone in 
the class." 

"I was just curious, that's all." She paused, as if she were about to make a 
statement of major importance. "I remember one physical education teacher I 
had in college. She was really something else. Even in an all women's school 
like Wellsley, she was really notorious. There were all kinds of dykes in 
that place, but they finally had to let this one go because she was letting 
the whole town know what she was up to." 

Fran told a couple of anecdotes about the adventures of this Miss So-and-So. 
Laura was really surprised that her mother would mention such a thing to 
her. And she had never heard her use a word like "dyke" before. Laura 
wondered. Did this mean that a change was going to take place in their 
relationship? Would they begin to look at each other as individual women now 
after so many years in the adult-child situation? Laura hoped so. She felt 
she needed someone that she could talk to, and none of the girls or boys 
that she knew really qualified on that score. Of course, there were a lot of 
things that she couldn't even think about revealing to even her mother right 
now. The vibrator was one of those things. But if they started to really 
talk to each other, maybe that hang-up would disappear in time. She hoped 
so. She wanted to confide in an experienced woman so badly. 

Fran poured herself another glass of wine and gave some to Laura as well. 
She had always believed in introducing her daughter to the finer things in 
life and she felt it was important for her to learn how to handle something 
like alcohol. 

The two of them sat together enjoying their dinner and talking over the 
events of the day. They didn't discuss anything important, and neither of 
them mentioned the things that were on their minds most of all: their 
questions about their sexuality. 

"Goodness!" Fran exclaimed. "I forgot to tell you. Your cousin is coming to 
spend the summer with us." 

"Which cousin?" Laura had so many cousins that she couldn't keep track of 
them. She didn't know whom her mother was talking about. And the idea of a 
semi-permanent house-guest didn't exactly grab her right off. 

"Peter. Peter Wilde. Aunt Cynthia's son." 

"The actor?" 

"Yes. That's the boy. He's probably a man now, though. I'm sure he's well 
into his twenties." 

"He's probably a faggot." 

Fran was taken aback at her daughter's remark. Why would Laura say such a 
thing? 

"Come on, Laura. Give the fellow a chance." Fran's experience with that 
husband of hers always made her very conscious when someone was accused of 
being homosexual. "You haven't seen Peter since he was a very young boy." 

"Well," Laura replied. "He's probably still a queer. Most actors are, you 
know." 

Fran said nothing. She just got up and began to clear the table. She was a 
little irritated with Laura for that remark, but at the same time it set 
something inside her to wondering. All she needed right now was another gay 
man around her. Just after eighteen years worth of Owen's running around. It 
wasn't that she thought she was prejudiced. She thought gay people were 
entitled to whatever lifestyle they wanted. She just thought she needed a 
little breathing space of her own. And she didn't want anyone like that 
having too much influence on Laura. She was at such an impressionable age. 
Fran was even a little worried about Miss Makoff. But she guessed that if 
she survived that gym teacher herself, she should at least give Laura the 
benefit of the doubt. 

The worry began to recede a bit when Laura went off to her room to do her 
homework and Fran began to clean the kitchen. She was sort of curious to see 
how her sister's son had turned out. She hadn't seen him in a long time 
either and she knew very little about him, except that he had become an 
actor and had been working in Los Angeles for a couple of years and now 
wanted to come to New York to try to break into theater here. So when he 
wrote and asked if he could stay with her until he managed to find a place 
of his own she had seen no reason not to grant his request. He was flying in 
tomorrow. She would leave her worrying until then, she decided. 

Fran sprayed the dishes. She watched the jet of water spurt out from the 
hose and wash away the soapsuds from the plates. Then she turned the 
jetspray on her hands. How warm and full of gentle force, she thought. Then 
she had an idea. Yes. Wouldn't it be nice if she could do something like 
this for her pussy. She could feel the hot spray between her legs now, and 
her crotch began to get all wet and excited. That's what she wanted. A 
little water spray for her pussy. She wondered how she could hook one up in 
the tub, and how she could explain it to Laura. 

In the other end of the big loft apartment, Laura was in her room with her 
door shut and her homework books open on her desk. She was seated at her 
desk, too. But her mind wasn't on math or history. She was indulging in a 
sex fantasy, and her hand had slipped down inside her robe and she was busy 
fingering her clitoris. She did so gently because the little bud became sore 
very quickly and she wanted to save something for the huge jerkoff session 
she had planned for after she got into bed for the night. Thank goodness her 
mother hadn't discovered the vibrator. And she had tested to see already if 
it made any discernible noise. Laura found that if she turned it on in bed 
with the covers drawn over her and the bedroom door closed it made no sound 
at all that anyone could hear. She was excited just thinking about how good 
it was going to feel. And it was shaped just like a man's penis! Wait a 
minute, she thought. What was this sex fantasy that was happening. She 
hadn't stopped to think what it was all about. Was she concentrating on what 
it would be like to experience the penetration of a man's rock-hard organ? 
No! She wasn't. And she almost couldn't believe it. She was actually playing 
with herself, stimulating her erotic drives with lewd thoughts of her best 
girlfriend's snatch. She'd seen Pamela's lovely blonde pubic triangle this 
afternoon and she just couldn't get the sight of it out of her mind's eye. 
So silky looking and wispy! She just wanted to kiss that little mound and 
bury her face in the soft bush. Laura worked at her clitoris even harder 
now. How she wished she had a lovely snatch like Pamela's! She felt her 
nipples hardening again, right under her robe. She was going to have to do 
something about this. She was going to have to bring herself off somehow. If 
only Pamela knew! If only Pamela were here with her right now and would let 
her get down on her knees and put her head between her legs and let her 
nuzzle and lick and suck. She would make her friend feel so good! She would 
do to Pamela with her mouth what she was doing to herself right now with her 
own fingers. The fire was burning hotter now. The flames were leaping, 
licking out from her clitoris and spreading throughout her whole lower body. 
The heat was leaping up into her breasts, hardening her nipple buds, making 
her lips long for the taste of Pamela's beautiful twat, making her own lips 
long so much for the taste of Pamela's tongue. How she wanted to drive her 
tongue deep into Pamela's mouth! To eat every bit of that beautiful 
classmate of hers! She was working even harder at her pussy with her fingers 
now and the scented juice was beginning to wet her own snatch. The wet was 
to lubricate the entry of a masculine cock into her cunt, she knew, but she 
wasn't thinking about cocks right now. There was only one person in the 
world that she wanted to make love to right now. The beautiful Pamela. The 
prettiest girl in her class. How she wished she were with her right this 
minute and they could go to bed and spend the whole night together and she 
would give her wonderful friend the gift of an orgasm. How she wanted so 
much to do that! 

Laura began to jerk in her chair. Her fingers were out of control, rampantly 
working against the little nut bud of her youthful clitoris. Every sensation 
was new now. She was bringing herself farther than she had ever come before. 
Was this going to be it? Was her love, Pamela, about to inspire the very 
first real orgasm of her life? 

She was bent over now. A book fell off the desk and onto the floor. Did it 
make enough noise to bring her mother rushing into the room? She didn't 
care. It was one involuntary jerk after another now. She was hot and she was 
getting hotter. The sweat was pouring off her brow. The juice was pouring 
out of her tender young pussy. She was making herself sore with crazed, 
lusting, insatiable desire. And the whole time beautiful young Pamela, her 
dearest lover, was standing next to her, naked as she was in the locker room 
this afternoon. 

Then it came. It was a blast that started in there, right up to her cunt. 
Laura didn't know exactly where, but it had to be the orgasm. She had to be 
cumming. She was panting, stifling a scream. She couldn't let her mother 
know what was going on inside her body, even though something desperately 
wanted to share this rare and precious experience with the woman who had 
given life to her. And with Pamela, whose beauty had inspired her to achieve 
this sought after goal. Now she knew why the other girls couldn't exactly 
describe what was happening when they had orgasms. Neither could she, Laura 
knew. But she knew that this was only the first of many times for her. She 
would be cumming and cumming and cumming again. She was going to crawl into 
bed after she finished her homework and she was going to start all over 
again with her new vibrator. 

She was leaning over her desk now, still panting as if she had just finished 
a marathon race. The fire, the incredible muscle spasms that had been 
totally beyond her control and yet had provided her with a transport to 
ecstasy, still had their drug-like effect on her. 

Then something else shot its way into her consciousness. Was she a dyke? Was 
she, Laura Dickerson, a lesbian, a female homosexual? The woman equivalent 
of those sissified men and tough looking studs that she saw on the streets 
every day? What was going on inside her that she would jerk off over the 
fantasy of her best girlfriend? Confusion began to well up inside her. She 
wanted to know. She was frantic to find out. And then the vision of naked 
Pamela, beautiful naked Pamela, returned. She exposed her lovely blonde 
pussy once more and she took Laura in her arms and caressed her and invited 
her to have another taste of the scented juices that spouted from the 
fountain of her vagina. And Laura gradually found a kind of peace, a 
sensuous reverie in the thought of her friend being there next to her. 

Fran Dickerson spent this evening much as she did any other while Laura 
stayed in her room doing "homework." Fran read a couple of magazine 
articles, talked on the phone for a while with one of her friends, and mixed 
herself a drink to sit in front of the television with and watch the news. 
When she decided it was time to go to bed, she made sure the front door was 
locked and went to the other end of the house. On the way she passed Laura's 
room. She knocked on the door as she always did. She believed it was 
important to respect her daughter's privacy. 

"How's about a goodnight kiss for your mother?" Fran asked. 

Laura looked up and smiled. She was stretched out on her bed and she was 
reading a book. Fran couldn't help but notice that the girl's robe had 
fallen open and exposed her pubic mound. She was struck by the growth of her 
daughter's pubic hair. It wasn't quite so full yet, but it had certainly 
made a good start. This daughter of hers was going to have quite a snatch 
before too long. She wondered who was going to be the first to taste that 
delicious little pussy. That is, if it hadn't been tasted already. 

Fran tried to keep from staring at the girl's twat as she bent over to kiss 
her. 

"Don't stay up all night doing your homework. After a while there's a limit 
on how much you can absorb." 

"Don't worry, Mom. This is just some background reading that doesn't require 
too much concentration. I'm going to put it down in a minute anyway." 

Fran kissed her daughter again and left the room. A few minutes later she 
was in her own bed and her hand had found its way down below her waist, to 
her aching clitoris. Her clitoris ached to be fulfilled with pleasure, and 
it didn't matter that she was still sore from that marathon vibrator session 
this afternoon. She was going to masturbate herself to sleep again tonight. 
It wasn't long before the now-practiced fingers did their magic on the clit 
bud and wormed their way into the mouth of her eager vagina. There was a 
blast of orgasm, then another, followed by still more before she lapsed into 
a deep sleep filled with erotic dreams. 

Meanwhile in the darkened bedroom down the hall a soft hum sounded from 
beneath the covers on Laura's bed, soft sighs emanated from her tender pink 
lips. Pamela was with her in her thoughts again as she experienced the 
second orgasm of her life. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

Fran was home early the next afternoon. She wanted to be in the apartment 
when Peter arrived. So she convinced Eva to let her off a little early. On 
the way home she passed that lingerie boutique and stopped to gaze in the 
window. Before she knew it something had drawn her inside and she had parted 
with a fair amount of her paycheck in return for that pair of fantastic silk 
panties that she wanted so much. She couldn't wait to get home and slip into 
them. In fact, she almost ran all the way home from the store, except she 
did take the time to stop at the liquor store and pick up a couple of 
bottles of wine. She thought she should do something a little special to 
welcome Peter to New York. After all, he was her sister's son. 

Fran bent over the sink to wash some vegetables. She almost couldn't believe 
it! Her pussy juice was oozing right through her new silk panties! They were 
doing more of a job on her than she had thought possible. Right here under a 
pair of old ragged blue jeans! She wondered what anyone would say if they 
saw them. Fran had never worn any panties like these before. There was 
nothing much to them. They were little more than a g-string, really. And 
everyone knew that only strippers, whores and perverts wore g-strings. A 
little black silk panel with embroidery covered her snatch-barely; and 
another, similar swatch of silk stretched from one cheek of her ass to the 
other, just barely hiding her ass-hole from view. And thin silk ribbons 
joined the two panels together. She had to tie them in bows at her hips. 
Maybe it was the act of tying herself up that had started to get her off. 
Now she was afraid she was going to soak the panties so badly that she'd 
have to take them off. It just wouldn't do for her nephew to walk in and 
find her reeking of lusting pussy! 

She heard a car door slam outside down on the street. She went to the window 
and craned her neck for a view. All she saw was a taxicab. Whomever had 
gotten out was already inside the building. She waited for the buzzer. A 
second later she heard it. It had to be her nephew. Fran's heart started to 
beat faster. She didn't know why. There was no reason on earth. Except it 
was going to be interesting to have a man in the house again, even just 
temporarily. And she guessed that she was just plain curious. She hadn't 
seen this fellow since he was a tiny boy. He had no doubt changed a lot. 

She opened the door in response to the knock. The man towered over her. 

"Aunt Frances?" 

Fran was nearly knocked off her feet. If this hunk of man was really an 
actor he had chosen exactly the right profession. And he was no character 
actor either, he was one handsome leading man. He had an angular face and 
tousled blonde hair and when he put an arm to her waist and kissed her she 
felt she was going to be crushed to death. Any bitterness she might have 
felt toward men in general was swept away for a brief moment as she 
fantasized a scene from some long ago romantic movie. 

Here was a man. Or was he? Fran came back to life, and to the realization 
that she would have to wait and see. Her interest in her nephew had been 
tempered .just a bit with the desire that she and Laura shouldn't have to 
put up with any kind of intrusion in their daily lives. 

But she put on a good face and tried to give him the warmest welcome that 
she possibly could. After all, coming to the Big Apple and starting fresh 
couldn't possibly be easy for anyone. Fran knew that if one wanted to be 
successful in New York City, one had to have one's act together. She was 
quite curious about this boy. 

"I thought you might like to put your things in my ex-husband's room." She 
tried to laugh. "We were kind of separated before we were separated, if you 
get what I mean. You reap the dividend of a rather comfortable 
masculine-style bedroom. Nothing pink in it at all." She resisted the urge 
to make a comment about Owen's sexual preferences. Peter might be the same 
way for all she knew at this point. She guided him to the room, which was 
next to her own, and invited him to freshen up after his flight. 

"I'll have a drink waiting for you when you come out of the shower." Fran 
almost couldn't believe she was offering a cocktail to someone she'd last 
seen when he was wearing a Little League uniform. It could have made her 
feel terribly old, that is, until she passed the hallway mirror and stopped 
to take stock of herself. Not bad, she thought. Not bad at all. She patted 
her tummy. Her pussy was still oozing out its love juices, and that kiss 
from her nephew the leading man, matinee idol or whomever, had done nothing 
to stem the flow between her legs. She sniffed the air in an attempt to pick 
up a whiff of her pussy scent. She didn't think she could smell it yet. But 
then she was never known for having such acute senses. She wondered what 
Peter's impression of her was. She hadn't wanted to come on to him as some 
kind of lonely old sex starved divorcee. But this living with a sex symbol 
was going to be even more interesting than she had thought. She hadn't 
counted on her nephew being such a piece of male ass. And what about Laura. 
What effect was this male animal going to have on the woman child of the 
house? 

All these things were going through Fran's mind as she waited for her nephew 
to rejoin her in the kitchen. In fact, Fran didn't wait for Peter to join 
her before mixing herself a cocktail. She was nearly finished with a tumbler 
full of vodka and ice before he stepped out into the kitchen. And the effect 
of the drink and thoughts of the image of that handsome man did nothing but 
stimulate the flow of the liquid between Fran's legs to an even greater 
extent. She kept up her sniffing, but she just couldn't bring herself to go 
into the bedroom and slip into another pair of panties. 

Then Peter came out. Fran did a double take. The boy-man was naked to the 
waist, toweling himself dry as he walked into the room. His longish blonde 
hair was slicked back from the shower and the little tufts of blonde hair on 
his chest glistened. His feet were bare and he was practically bursting out 
of his tight, faded blue-jeans. He seemed totally innocent of the effect 
that he had on Fran, though she knew that aunt-nephew sexual attraction was 
a taboo tantamount to incest. Of course, Fran thought, her sister's son was 
her own flesh and blood, and he had probably been raised in much the same 
strict tradition as she. Why he probably would never even think of coming on 
sexually to his own aunt. But then Fran took another long pull on the glass 
of vodka and another thought came into her head. This hunk of man standing 
in front of her was no infant, despite her memories of him as such. He was a 
grown man and no doubt had very natural desires and functions as every man 
should. And he was an actor. Fran had no real idea whether her nephew was 
successful or not, but the fact alone that he was in show business meant 
that he surely knew what it was like to be appreciated for his looks alone. 

Fran struggled to recover her sense of decorum. 

"Well, Peter, you certainly look like a Californian." She handed him a 
cocktail. "We'll have you used to the Big Apple in no time." 

He smiled. Goodness, Fran thought, were his teeth ever white. They couldn't 
possibly be real! 

"I'll need all the lessons in being sophisticated you can give me, Aunt 
Fran. I hear lifestyles are a lot different here in old New York." 

Fran made some comment about things being a little more formal, but that she 
didn't think Peter would have any trouble at all with the transition. 

"And for goodness sake, stop this 'Aunt Fran' business, won't you? It makes 
me sound so old." 

Peter raised his cocktail and promised. 

"You New York women certainly are different. I got off the plane just a 
couple of hours ago and immediately noticed the difference. I think it may 
have something to do with the fact that you women here are so independent 
and always on the go and everything. You're so much more business-like. In 
California a lot of the women I know can spend all their time on the beach 
or on their ranches, but you types are always out meeting people or doing 
things or whatever and you set such high standards of beauty for 
yourselves." 

He raised his glass again. 

"You meet those standards, too, you know." 

Fran laughed; but she was genuinely flattered that Peter was telling her 
these things. It was good to know that he regarded their relationship as a 
one-to-one adult affair and not in the childish aunt-nephew vein. Fran was 
becoming very taken with this articulate young fellow, and why not? For here 
was a man who told her nice things about herself and didn't seem to 
condescend to her or to ignore her. And despite all her efforts to keep this 
discussion on a philosophical plane, despite all her realization that any 
attraction she might evince for this man was strictly taboo, still the 
feeling never left her that 

Peter was doing something else to her, something very basic and biological. 
She was flowing like she had never flowed before, that is, unless she had 
spent an hour or so fingering herself. She couldn't believe it! She was 
worried about the smell, and Peter becoming aware of what was going on 
inside her body. She remembered when he was born, and she knew damn well 
that it wasn't yesterday. She talked about this and about that, all the 
while embarrassed that her cunt was running away with her. How much longer 
was she going to be able to keep this up, before some unseen, uncontrollable 
lust-power simply took over and ordered her to attack this man seated on the 
other side of her kitchen table? Fran crossed and recrossed her legs. She 
shifted in her chair, and she actually squirmed in an effort to stop the 
burning that spread into every area below her waist. 

"And of course I can't wait to meet Laura," Peter was saying. "I haven't 
seen her since she was still riding around in a baby carriage." 

And what was this guy going to do to Laura if he turned her own cunt into a 
Mississippi of pussy juice, Fran thought. If Laura was any kind of virgin at 
all, that stage of her life would have long since passed by the time Peter 
Wilde left their house. On the other hand, a crazed part of her mind was 
plotting even now how to keep Peter Wilde all to herself. And at the same 
time, all the while, this beautiful nephew was melting all the bitterness 
that she had built up toward that segment of the human species known as men. 

He was so kind, so considerate, so intelligent. Fran imagined what kind of 
lover he must be, powerful, of course, but tender and gentle at the same 
time. Then something shocked her ever so slightly. Nothing really, she 
struggled to convince herself, but nevertheless a couple of small nagging 
details intruded on her vodka-dimmed consciousness. Peter had pierced ears, 
Fran noticed, even though he wasn't wearing earrings at the moment. And 
something else, a single fingernail on his right hand was long, incredibly 
long, much longer even than a woman's manicured, polished nail. Fran wasn't 
born yesterday, either, and she had discovered quite a bit during that last 
tumultuous year of living with Owen. She had seen a number of her husband's 
young boyfriends, for example, and she knew that a great number of them 
affected things like pierced ears, and necklaces and bracelets. And that 
long fingernail? Fran knew that not everyone could afford a sterling silver 
spoon for his cocaine. 

Damn, she thought as she poured her third glass of vodka, did she have 
another faggot in her house? Was this member of her own family going to be 
bringing home and seducing young boys and was she going to be meeting all 
his lovers at the breakfast table? Not possible, she thought, he would never 
do anything like that. Peter would be a real conservative Wilde type about 
this whole thing. He would never let her catch on. At least he would try. He 
would do all his screwing in bath houses or bars or over in that notorious 
truck parking lot beneath the West Side Highway that he would discover soon 
enough. 

Fran glanced at the clock. This time yesterday she was writhing on her bed 
in vibrator ecstasy. Her pussy ached now. She knew damn will where she 
wanted to be. She had a definite idea of what she wanted to feel right now. 
The feelings of desire deep within her cunt were becoming too much to bear 
right now. 

She looked for a bulge in Peter's blue jeans. She kept her eyes on his 
crotch every second while at the same time trying not to give herself away. 
She wanted so much to believe that her first impressions were totally wrong, 
that this scion of the 

Wilde family was a real heterosexual man and not a person who lusted after 
members of his own sex. She wanted a sign, any sign. She wanted his hard 
penis inside her cunt right now, both because she was insane for the feeling 
of total penetration by an erect male organ, but also for the security of 
knowing that her own flesh and blood had nothing to do with the sexuality 
that had been exhibited by that rat of a man she had married so many years 
ago. But there was no evidence forthcoming from Peter right now. There was 
no telltale bulge of an erect penis behind the blue denim of his tattered 
jeans. There wasn't even any sign of any arousal of his tiny tender male 
nipples. 

So all Fran could do was sit there and try to control herself and her 
emotions while she listened to Peter bring her up to date on the family and 
on his career. She hoped fervently that that was the reason for the ears and 
the manicure. Peter was an actor and maybe he had to have had his ears 
pierced to play a certain role! But he didn't mention anything of the sort. 
It didn't seem from what he said that he had done any kind of pirate movies 
or drug culture movies. From what he seemed to be telling her, he had acted 
mainly in legitimate theater productions, plays performed on the stage. Fran 
was a bit surprised. She really didn't think there was much of that going on 
in California at all compared with New York. She thought it was mostly 
movies that provided actors with work in the West, but Peter explained that 
there was quite a bit of stage work as well, and that it was growing all the 
time. He had acted a few small parts in movies, though, and hoped to 
continue that in New York while at the same time achieving more success on 
the stage. 

He seemed like such a warm, wonderful boy. And yet there was that disturbing 
side to his character. Maybe she was wrong, Fran thought, hoped. But things 
were becoming blurry now. The vodka was doing its work. Her pussy just 
wouldn't calm down and yet there was still no sign on the front of Peter's 
pants. Enough of this foolishness, Fran decided. Be realistic, she told 
herself. This man, whether homosexual or not, was taboo to her. She should 
just treat him as the guest he was and not expect anything more, one way or 
the other. She should finish her drink, serve him something to eat, and if 
she wanted some sex, she should retire to her bedroom and diddle herself to 
orgasm with her vibrator. How come she hadn't wanted a man so badly before 
Peter walked into the house? Goodness knows, she had enough chances to go 
out and get one. She could do it tonight if she wanted to. She could go down 
to a heterosexual pickup bar and find a man in no time. From the way she was 
whistled at on the street she knew she would have no trouble at all if she 
wanted to do something like that. 

But that evening nothing out of the ordinary took place in the big loft 
apartment where Fran Dickerson lived with her daughter and the new 
houseguest, Peter Wilde. Laura had come home at the usual time and they had 
all had a fine dinner together with plenty of conversation. Laura was 
particularly interested in what Peter had to say because she had long wanted 
to be an actress and she was eager to learn anything she could from someone 
who was in show business. All through the meal and after, Fran had looked 
for some kind of electricity, of recognition between her daughter and her 
nephew, but again, there was none that she could discern. What an 
inscrutable guy this nephew was. He was so good-looking, and yet he didn't 
seem to flaunt his looks at all. Quite the contrary, one could tell nothing 
at all about him from just watching him, and when he said everything he had 
to say, Fran ran it all back in her mind and she decided she couldn't tell 
much about him from that either. So it was with a sense of relief that she 
crawled into bed, and shot her finger immediately to her pussy. She played 
with herself long and hard tonight. She worked away at her clitoris with one 
exquisitely manicured middle finger and stuck three fingers of her other 
hand as far as she could up into her vagina. She had a lot of making up to 
do for missing her afternoon jerkoff session. Tonight she lay on her back 
and frantically masturbated herself to multiple orgasms. All the while 
unable to escape the thought of how wonderful it would be if there were a 
real heterosexual dong behind the blue jeans of her seemingly virile young 
nephew. With horror, but in ecstasy at the same time, she realized that she 
was becoming fixated on this taboo young man. Was this the same thing as her 
ex-husband's constant infatuation with member's of his own sex? Was she, 
Fran Dickerson, existing on the same plane as the one person she had come to 
regard as the most perverted, callous beast she had ever known? Truthfully 
a.horror to contemplate, but at the same time Fran could not bring herself 
to take even one finger away from her firing pussy. How great it was. She 
was jerking and jerking, working and working, practically flooding the 
bedclothes with the female liquid pouring torrentially from the depths of 
her pussy. She was so well lubricated that if Peter came into the room this 
minute, he could probably slip his whole body right into her pussy. Peter! 
Peter! The vision of that man just wouldn't go away from her. She was being 
such a bad girl! She was lusting for a man that was one of her own flesh! 
She was straining to break the bonds of an age old taboo! Even as she sighed 
in orgasm with the face of Peter Wilde before her, Fran's strict puritan 
upbringing decreed that she would be punished for her lust. But she couldn't 
stop. Punishment she would submit to, but she would never cease with her 
desires. That was simply no longer possible. 

Laura had not taken her vibrator to bed with her this evening. Her cousin 
Peter was sleeping in the room across the hall from her and she was simply 
not sure that he wouldn't hear the humming of the little electric motor as 
the penis-shaped device stimulated her clitoris. But what she didn't dare do 
with automatic stimulation now, Laura was straining to accomplish manually. 
And she was succeeding beyond her own expectations. She even had to strain 
to keep quiet. The sensations shooting through her loins right now inspired 
her to scream, to shout to the world the ecstasy that she was experiencing. 
It was so good! like her mother in the room nearby, Laura played one finger 
back and forth across her young tender clit bud and squirmed and worked 
against the fingers of her other hand, which she had inserted far, far up 
into her cunt. Laura had studied music for many years, and she was quite 
proficient at the piano. Her knowledge and talent held her in good stead 
right now, as she played herself like a musical instrument. She moved to a 
rhythm, back and forth in a series of exotic, erotic movements. She had 
created a hypnotic, primitive dance for herself, and she did it now even as 
she lay on her back beneath the sheets. Her long, shapely fingers were 
perfect to stimulate the inside of her vagina. They reached farther inside 
her, far up toward her womb than all but the most incredibly long masculine 
genital possibly could reach. But now in the moment of her ecstasy, in her 
act of achieving once again the height of passion to which she had 
masturbated herself the previous day, Laura was not concerned with what a 
male organ might or might not do. For a penis was not her love object. Once 
again she was enthralled with a vision of her beautiful young friend Pamela. 
Pamela's face, her tits, her beautifully soft silky snatch hair. Her 
exquisitely formed buttocks and thighs and lower legs and those long arms in 
which Laura wanted so much to be held. She had seen Pamela naked twice today 
and now as she frantically masturbated, Laura relived those moments in her 
mind and looked forward to the excitement of the coming weekend. How she had 
almost jumped for joy when Warner Short had told her this afternoon that 
Pamela and another friend would be joining them in East Hampton on Saturday. 
Just the four of them would be in the house. His parents had a dinner 
invitation in a neighboring town, so they would be out for the evening. What 
a fitting sequel to the excitement of seeing Pamela naked in the locker room 
after gym class and then again slipping into her tights and leotard at dance 
class. Laura couldn't wait till Saturday. She was counting the days. If only 
Warner knew the real reason she was looking forward to the trip now. He'd 
seemed so pleasantly surprised at the enthusiasm she had exhibited. Poor 
Warner, if he only knew the truth. But then Warner was never much when it 
came to intelligence. The only thing that boy had in quantity was money, and 
of that he had a great deal. While the two women of the house slumbered in 
their orgiastic fantasies, Peter Wilde lay looking at the ceiling, wondering 
what the outcome was to be of his attempt at theater in New York City. It 
was going to be tough, he knew. But he had decided that to be a successful 
actor he simply had to become known and respected on the New York stage. 
There were so many things in California that he knew it was time to leave 
behind-friends, if he wanted to call them that, and certain jobs, of which 
he was not proud at all. Peter knew desperately that he had to make a fresh 
start in life, to make a clean breast of things. He was determined to try, 
and he was grateful to his aunt for assisting him. He really didn't have any 
money, so it had been really important to find a place to stay until he was 
on his feet. Already ideas and schemes were forming in his head to take care 
of that situation. 

Peter was restless. He wasn't so tired because of the time zone change 
between California and New York, so almost unconsciously, to ease the 
tension and to relax him, he did what came naturally, he slipped a hand to 
his penis and began to gently stroke the organ. He was a compulsive 
masturbator. He had been for years. Right now a kaleidoscope of sexual 
images passed through his mind and inspired him to a monstrous hard-on. He 
drew it out for a long time. He couldn't bear to shoot his wad right away 
when he had the time. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

Laura had been raised in the most comfortable circumstances. She knew that 
her father had plenty of money and she remembered the servants around the 
house when she was little and a lot of other amenities reserved for those of 
sufficient means, and since she went to one of the best private schools in 
New York City, she certainly came into contact with a large number of other 
young people who were quite rich. But Warner Short's family's summer house 
was something that impressed Laura despite all she had seen before. The 
place was situated in one of the most exclusive towns in the ritzy resort 
area of Eastern Long Island, where all sorts of famous people spent time 
secluded from all the hustle and bustle of New York City and other places 
like Washington, D.C. The Shorts' had a picture book style mansion that 
bordered a golf course on one side and on the other, a way off in the 
distance, there was another mansion that Laura was told belonged to a family 
from which a recent First Lady of the United States had come. 

Laura and Warner had driven out from New York in his own Mercedes sportscar 
on Friday evening. It had been pleasant enough, Laura considered, if 
anything she did with Warner could be considered pleasant. She had been sort 
of intrigued with him a few weeks ago when she first got to know him a bit 
better. That he was a bit overweight was not the real problem, but it did 
serve to accent the fact that he was horribly conceited. As she had found 
out, nothing ever met the standards that Warner set, except himself, of 
course. She felt that he was starting to take her for granted now that she 
had accepted his invitation and that she had spent a bit of her time with 
him. And she resented it a whole lot. Warner, she thought, was the kind of 
person who would just love to own clothes with their labels on the outside, 
so he could show everyone just how expensive his things were. At least this 
"country place" was big enough so that she could get away from him for a few 
moments now and then. She had pleaded a headache not too long after dinner 
on Friday evening and she had gone up to her room. She hadn't had a headache 
at all. She'd just wanted to get away from Warner and his horribly stuck-up 
mother and father. Even their family dog irritated Laura. And there was 
another reason she wanted to get upstairs and under the covers. She had 
brought her vibrator along on this trip. Not only had she decided she 
couldn't leave something like a vibrator lying around the apartment because 
her mother might discover it, but she wanted to fantasize, to prepare 
herself for Pamela's arrival the next morning. How she longed to tell that 
beautiful young girl of her love for her! How she wanted for her and Pamela 
to have this whole wonderful country mansion to themselves for the entire 
weekend and have Warner and that other guy who was bringing Pamela out from 
the city simply disappear into thin air! 

Laura closed the door of her spacious bedroom with its private bath and 
padded softly over to her bed. It was like something out of a movie. The bed 
had a huge canopy and a matching dressing table and armchair stood nearby. 
There was also a large mirror in the bedroom itself and Laura found that she 
could sit in the big comfortable easy chair and look at almost every bit of 
herself. She pushed it away just a bit farther and then an obscene idea 
swept through her head. Slowly she began to undress, first unbuttoning her 
blouse. She had worn her best clothes for this occasion. Not to show off to 
Warner, of course, but because she knew that Pamela was going to be here and 
she wanted to look her best. She let her only silk blouse fall to the floor, 
leaving her sheerest bra. Laura was developing rather prominent breasts for 
her age. She had once overheard some of the other girls in her class talking 
about her tits, and saying how much they envied her. She gazed at herself in 
the mirror, and fancied that underneath the restraint of the brassiere her 
tits were firm and erect. Laura reached around to undo the clasp that held 
the bra, but as she did so she listened carefully for any noise from 
downstairs. The last thing she wanted was for that rude, conceited Warner to 
burst in under the pretext of concern for her health and find her playing 
with herself. When she was satisfied that there was no noise on the stairs, 
Laura proceeded with the next step. She exposed her firm young breasts to 
the reflecting surface of the mirror. She liked what she saw. A few days ago 
she had bought a copy of one of those men's "girlie" magazines to check out 
the pictures of the women and she had taken to comparing her own body with 
some of the pictures inside. To her surprise, she thought her body measured 
up pretty well in comparison to the centerfold girl. Of course, she was a 
bit younger and still had a way to go in the development process, but she 
was proud of herself. She knew she had a face like her father, but she 
decided that her build and her bone structure more closely resembled that of 
her mother. A pity, Laura thought, that she had not seen her mother naked 
more often. She was sure her mom had quite a nice body, real nice in fact, 
and she couldn't quite understand why she didn't do a little more about 
showing it off. Come to think of it, her mother didn't seem to have much of 
a sex life at all. Laura didn't even have much of an idea about which way 
her mother swung, male partners or female. Mother never seemed to have any 
lovers around at all, actually. Which was too bad, Laura thought, her mother 
was such an attractive woman, and young too. She wondered now just how much 
like her mother's breasts her own up-thrust tits were. She examined them 
carefully, and ever so gently she tweaked her tender young nipples. The 
sensations shot from the firm young buds right through her breasts and on 
into the farthest reaches of her body. Laura knew that she was awakening to 
still another part of her female sensuality. She wondered if Pamela was 
aware of such delights and she longed so very much to introduce her friend 
to this pleasure and others that she had discovered over the past few weeks. 
She almost couldn't stop diddling with her nipples except that she knew far 
greater delights remained to be explored right this minute. She sat there 
looking at herself. She was totally naked from the waist up, except for a 
golden choker, a thin little strand of wire that encircled her neck. Now she 
knew there was no turning back on the session of self-love that she had 
planned for tonight. She had been looking forward to this moment since the 
ride in the car this afternoon, plotting how to get away from the Short 
family and exactly how she was going to make love to herself once she 
managed to get alone. But she didn't want to be alone. She wanted to be with 
her beloved friend. So now there was only one thing to do. If Pamela could 
not be with her in person tonight she would simply pretend that she was. She 
was going to make love to her friend even as she made love to herself. 

Slowly Laura unzipped the front of her slacks. She realized even as she did 
so that she was soaking wet between her legs. At first she thought that was 
perspiration from the heat and being so excited. Then she realized that this 
wasn't sweat at all, that her panties were already soaked with the liquid 
that she had stimulated from her vagina with her fingers a few days before. 
This was the scented liquid that made it possible for her vagina to be 
penetrated. And tonight she was indeed going to insert something inside 
herself. She got up and let her slacks fall to the floor. She walked over to 
where the butler had set down her overnight bag and she pulled out her 
precious vibrator. She turned it on and it sprang to life, the little 
electric motor humming in anticipation that it would soon be driving the 
ribbed, penis-shaped head against the walls of pink flesh that lined her 
cunt. Funny, Laura thought, most girls could say that they had been 
deflowered by some guy, but she had to admit that she had lost her virginity 
to this crazed, whirling dervish made of plastic and propelled by two "D" 
size batteries. She had heard somewhere that one's first love was always 
considered the most precious, and as she held her automatic friend up in 
front of the mirror she decided that she was ready to agree. She knew 
exactly what to expect from this little guy, and she knew also that whenever 
he disappointed her she could simply go out and change his batteries. Which 
was more than most girls could say for their precious lovers. She was back 
in the chair now; she was naked and her legs were raised up so that she 
could see her pussy plain as day in the mirror. She knew she was going to 
love this. She wasn't going to have to put hand cream or anything on the tip 
of the vibrator. She was so wet that it was going to slide right in up to 
the hilt. Laura thought for a second that she could even smell herself. Yes! 
She put a wet finger to her nose, then to her mouth and she sucked it. That 
was the scent that was filling up the whole room right now! 

She sighed as the vibrator penetrated. She pretended that it was Pamela's 
wriggling fingers that were piercing the tender lips of her pussy. The 
little vibrations, artificial though they were, felt so good. Laura was so 
sure that Pam's fingers would feel the same way. She had watched Pamela's 
hands all during art class yesterday and she had positively fallen in love 
with them. Long and slender, Pam's fingers were carefully manicured and 
neatly polished in a deep pink color that was featured in all the beauty 
magazines right now. Laura planned to do her own nails just like that soon, 
but it just wouldn't be the same. Nothing would be like Pam running her 
shapely hands over her nipples and thighs and inserting her fingertips into 
her pussy. 

The next morning Laura sat silently through breakfast. Mrs. Short asked her 
if she felt all right. Laura said that she did, and physically she was 
telling the truth. What disturbed her was what had gone on in her room the 
night before. Laura was beginning to wonder if there wasn't something 
seriously wrong with her. She had masturbated for what seemed like hours, 
sitting there naked on the chair, fingering herself, plunging her vibrator 
in and out of her slathering pussy, totally consumed with lewd images of her 
best girlfriend dancing in front of her face. And now she was disturbed that 
she was lapsing into a lasting sleep of total, unmitigated lesbianism. 
Fifteen years old, she wailed, and already a confirmed bulldyke! Not that 
anyone could tell just by looking at her. She dressed and talked and ate the 
same foods and was concerned about many of the same things as any girl her 
age. But it was something inside of her that seemed almost to eat at her. It 
seemed that every time she thought of Pamela she could feel her pussy start 
to get wet. Every time she saw a picture of an attractive girl in some 
magazine, she felt the same way-how much she would like to hold that girl in 
her arms and feel her body, her genitals, and sleep curled up in her arms. 

What frustrated her was that she dared tell no one. Laura knew that all the 
girls at school were totally consumed with sex, but it was all hetero. Not 
one of them would admit to having that special tender loving feeling for a 
member of her own sex. and her mother? Why she wouldn't dare confide such a 
thing to her mother. She had enough trouble with homosexuality as it was. 
Laura knew, though it had never been told her, that her father's homosexual 
behavior had been a major reason for her parents' divorce. And Laura knew 
that it had been an especially unpleasant separation and that her mother had 
a whole lot of trouble collecting alimony and support payments from Owen. 
Laura never liked Owen much anyway. And she didn't very much like visiting 
her father at all. 

She drained her coffee cup and smiled at Mr. and Mrs. Short. She assured 
them that she felt absolutely perfect this morning and that the night's 
sleep with the salt air blowing in from the ocean had been one of the best 
that she had ever had. It had indeed been a good night's sleep. Laura had 
several erotic dreams in which Pamela had appeared and she had awakened with 
a dripping pussy and even before getting out of bed she had masturbated 
herself to orgasm. 

And she had awakened knowing that today was the day that she would get to 
see her beloved Pamela in person. Already she had plotted how to get to see 
her friend in the nude. Maybe they could change into their bathing suits 
together. Still another vision of Pam's naked body intruded on the confusion 
which swirled around in Laura's mind. And somehow the major question in her 
life posed itself right now at the Short's breakfast table; would she, could 
she, should she tell Pamela of the love that she felt for her? 

Warner, of course, wasn't to be seen during the whole time that Laura was at 
breakfast. He had decided that it would be nice to take a sail around the 
cove while they waited for Pam and her friend to arrive from New York. 
Naturally, he hadn't bothered to ask Laura what she wanted to do. He had 
just gone ahead to get the boat ready while she ate breakfast. Actually, 
Laura wasn't all that angry with the boy. She couldn't think of any better 
way to spend the time until they had to go down to the railroad station and 
she knew it would be impossible to masturbate any longer. For one thing it 
would be impossible to sequester herself in the room again. And she was so 
sore from the night's diddling with herself that she knew she would have to 
lay off for a little while if she didn't want to hurt herself. 

So shortly after breakfast she found herself sailing about the bay in front 
of the Short's house, alone with Warner in his little boat. He sat in the 
stern, his face was the picture of contentment as he held the tiller in one 
hand and worked the rope leads from the boom with his other hand. Laura felt 
it was her duty to compliment him on his sailing ability and to remark on 
what a beautiful day it was. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and the sharp 
breeze propelled them at a good clip over the little wavelets in this part 
of the bay. 

Finally Warner seemed to wake up. 

"I brought you out her, Laura baby, because I thought you might enjoy a 
little treat I have in store for you." 

Laura was shocked. No one had ever spoken to her in that way in her life and 
she had no idea what Warner was talking about. He had such a dreamy, faraway 
look in his eyes. She didn't know what he was planning to do with her. Did 
he want to have sex? She was beginning to wish that she wasn't out in the 
boat with him. There was no place to run. 

Warner reached under the stern seat and pulled out a waterproof bag. Out of 
that he fished a still smaller bag, and out of that he came up with a 
cigarette. It was hand-rolled and Laura knew immediately that it was 
marijuana. It just had to be. And it occurred to her right away that the 
grass accounted for Warren's sleepy look. So he had been smoking it the 
whole time while she had been eating breakfast! And now he wanted her to get 
high. Why? Warner usually wasn't so generous with his treats. It could only 
mean one thing, Laura knew, he wanted to get her in such a state that she 
would be easy to fuck. This little rich bastard wanted to have his own way, 
to be in total control of her body. He wanted to dictate the terms upon 
which she would be forced to have what passed for enjoyment. 

In no time Laura was filled with more disgust for Warner Short than she had 
ever known. Just let that cocksucker lay a hand on her and he would find 
himself over the side. 

Then Laura realized that she didn't have so many options in this situation. 
Far be it from her to dictate terms to this overweight lecherous young man 
in his own sailboat. She would have to find another means of handling the 
situation. But what could she possibly do? 

Warner had been having some trouble lighting the reefer in the breeze, but 
he finally got it going and took a long, deep toke of the smoke. He held his 
breath until it appeared he was going to burst and then he exhaled and 
handed Laura the lighted cigarette. 

Laura had tasted marijuana a couple of times at parties but she had never 
really gotten high. She just never had an opportunity to smoke so much 
before. But now she wasn't sure that she wanted to, because she was so 
convinced that Warner had something in mind for her body. A kind of panic 
swept through her now, more severe than anything she had experienced up to 
now. How could she refuse Warner without making him terribly angry. She had 
heard stories about how violent Warner got when something got him mad. And 
she was scared to death that his being stoned on grass and angry at the same 
time just might be enough to drive him to do something bizarrely insane. And 
there were other things; how could Warner know that she had never given 
herself to the penetration of a man's penis, and that she hadn't yet decided 
if she wanted to? How could Warner know about her special feeling for 
Pamela? Yes, Laura thought, she wanted very much in spite of herself, in 
spite of the constraints that she knew militated against the love of one 
woman for another, she desperately wanted to tell Pamela of the love that 
she felt for her, and even reserved for her friend the gift of that first 
sexual intimacy. 

Laura took the glowing marijuana cigarette in her hand now. How could she 
refuse? She took a long, deep pull of the stinging smoke and she held it in 
her lungs as long as she was able. She was that Warner was smiling now, and 
that he had moved a little closer to her. She knew that there could be only 
one thing on that boy's mind. She started to hand the smoking reefer back to 
him. 

"Go ahead," Warner said. "Have another toke. There's plenty more where that 
came from." 

Laura took another turn on the reefer. Still another. Suddenly she became 
aware of things that she hadn't noticed before. The waves lapping against 
the underside of the little boat sounded like crashing thunder and the 
breeze that propelled them across the bay sounded like a raging hurricane. 
The day was even more beautiful than when they had started out from the 
Short's dock, and that seemed like hours ago. Laura had felt something like 
this when she smoked marijuana before, but it had never affected her nearly 
so much. She knew that she was getting high now, and that there was no 
turning back from it. In fact, she knew that she didn't want to turn back. 
The dope effect was relaxing her. For the first time this weekend she was 
able to put Warner's distasteful personality out of her mind and just 
concentrate on the natural beauty which surrounded them. Warner sat next to 
her now, but in one way she didn't think he was in the boat at all. She just 
rocked back and forth with the motion of the little sailboat and she felt 
that everything was getting blurry, everything was fading into unimportance 
except for the joy of her own relaxation. 

Then a new sensation made its effect felt upon her consciousness. Laura 
realized in her doped up haze that her pussy was getting very wet. She could 
feel it running like it had never flowed before. Never it seemed, in all her 
masturbation sessions, had she stirred up this much liquid from her own cunt 
even with the most sustained fingering. She was convinced that she was going 
to leave a puddle of her pussy juice on the seat. And there was something 
more. She wasn't oozing all this lubrication for no reason at all. Laura 
knew now that her young tight cunt desperately desired the satisfaction of 
penetration. Not only desired! Her cunt screamed to be fucked. And the 
lustful craving was beginning to spread all through her, from between her 
legs all through her thighs and around to the cheeks of her ass and from 
there up along her back and around to the pit of her stomach and her 
breasts. She felt her nipples harden beneath her sailing parka. Her lips 
longed to kiss, to suck, to lick, to eat. For the first time in her life 
Laura's body had taken complete control, had imposed upon her the sensation 
of total desire. How she wanted to put her hand inside her pants right now! 
She wasn't sure that fingers would be nearly enough, so great was the desire 
she felt for sexual satisfaction. She had left her vibrator hidden in her 
suitcase, but Laura wasn't quite convinced that even that auto stimulator 
could really satisfy this hunger. 

Then she felt Warner's hand on her knee. She gasped, but she made no move to 
squirm away from him. She was in such a state that she just had to be 
touched, if not by herself then by someone else, by something. Warner's face 
was next to hers now, and she felt his tongue dart out to plant a soft kiss 
on her cheek. The next thing she knew his tongue was fighting its way into 
her mouth. She had no desire to resist. Her own lips made the decision for 
her. She sucked and bit at the tongue Warner had offered to her. And when 
his arms reached around to clasp her she submitted, rather her sexual 
appetites submitted for her. Laura was helpless. She saw this boy that she 
despised no longer as a brute, but as an object, a kind of machine who 
existed to answer to her cravings for sex. She nestled deeper into his 
embrace. Her own tongue answered the thrusts of his and fought to gain its 
own entry deep into his mouth. They were practically eating at one another. 

Involuntary jerks rose from Laura's loins, motions in her pelvis that she 
was helpless to control. One spasm after another and she knew she was 
signaling Warner that it was time for her female longings to be fulfilled. 
The brute of a boy must have known from experience. His hand was ready to 
spring to the zipper of her parka and in no time at all he had her jacket 
off and her blouse unbuttoned. Laura wasn't wearing a bra. Warner's eyes 
popped when he saw the unspoiled beauty of her up-thrust tits. He recognized 
right away that she was aroused to a great extent already, that the little 
buds of her nipples were erect. He took each between a thumb and forefinger 
and stimulated them even more. Laura sighed and offered herself to his 
touch. Her tits ached to be fondled and she just couldn't get enough. She 
squirmed on the seat. Her panties were soaked. She was afraid that wet 
stains might show on her blue jeans at any moment. 

Warner nipped at her tits with his tongue now, lolling the pink buds around 
and around, using them to transmit the intent of his own actions. Laura knew 
that he could mean only one thing. Warner wanted to penetrate her pussy with 
his erect penis. And she knew that in turn, in her marijuana inspired daze, 
that her pussy hungered for penetration. She watched for a telltale bulge in 
his pants. It was there, a mountain growing between his legs. 

He was whispering things to her now, telling her how beautiful she was and 
how much he had admired her and wanted her from the moment that they had 
met. And he even mentioned that he loved her. Laura thought tack to the 
centerfold girl again. She knew how that she was truly as beautiful as that 
woman, and that she deserved the same kinds of attentions. She wondered if 
Warner would masturbate in his room over her own picture. She wondered if 
Warner had sex fantasies about her. He was unzipping the fly of her jeans 
now. In one more second he would see how wet she was. He would see how well 
lubricated she was and he would ram his lust-hardened rod all the way up 
into her tight unfucked vagina. 

He was moaning now about how much he wanted to possess her. Then he began to 
pull down her pants. Her breasts were exposed to the breeze already. Laura 
now felt the salty air come in contact with her wet pussy as Warner slipped 
her jeans down to her knees. Then he tore off her panties, hardly noticing 
that they were soaked with love juices. Warner was panting now, and she knew 
that he was going to go through with his violation of her. Violation! The 
word somehow broke through the drug haze surrounding Laura's consciousness. 
That's what this uncouth brute was about to do to her! He was playing upon 
her uncontrollable female desires. There was no love in this! Warner was 
incapable of seeing beauty in anyone else. He only wanted to cum, to get off 
because his balls were probably filled to the bursting point with hot sperm, 
and he just wanted to be able to say that he had fucked the best looking 
girl in the class. 

Laura squirmed as she felt his hand spread aside her wispy pubic bush. This 
bastard's pudgy fingers were going to fondle her clitoris! This fool's penis 
was going to ram into her precious, private cunt! She was dazed, and she was 
unresisting, but she had to ask herself the question. Did she want to have 
sex with Warner Short? Did she want to become just another one of his 
possessions? To be regarded by him just like his car or his boat or his 
expensive clothes, for she knew that was the way it would be with Warner. He 
was totally incapable of treating her differently. 

What difference did it make? What was so bad about being fucked by this 
ass-hole as long as she got off too? Hadn't she masturbated enough to take 
orgasms just for the pleasure they gave her? Hadn't she practically worn out 
the batteries of her new vibrator finding that out? What was her body for, 
anyway? What good were her genitals if they didn't serve her at every 
opportunity? What did it matter where the exact source of pleasure was as 
long as she got off? 

Warner was rubbing his hands back and forth over her pubic mound. She 
watched him. She was barely able to focus her eyes, so clouded was her mind 
with lust and the confusion that swirled through her brain. Her clitoris 
demanded to be fondled. She wanted to put her own hand to it right now, to 
finger herself to orgasm. Damn, she knew where her clit was. Why didn't 
Warner seem to be able to find it? He was just sitting there like some kind 
of animal, sighing and moaning, and rubbing his hand back and forth. He 
wasn't even being gentle about it, the stupid goon. What was she supposed to 
do? Give the man some directions? 

What a fumbler this boy was. So typical that this selfish beast would have 
no idea how to give pleasure to anyone else. Laura thought she was going to 
burst into tears, both from her anger at the way she was being treated and 
from the fact that every bit of her excruciating desire was going 
unsatisfied. Here she was high with the anticipation that she was going to 
have enough orgasms to put her away for a week, and all she could look 
forward to was barrenness. She had more satisfaction from any time she had 
masturbated than this little interlude with Warner promised. That fool 
probably wouldn't know what to do with a vagina if it were staring his right 
in the face. He didn't seem to be able to figure out the slightest means of 
giving pleasure to her. He might as well be locked in his room right now 
jerking off over some pornographic pictures. She might well have better 
stayed in bed and spent the morning with her vibrator. 

Pamela would know. If only Pamela were here in the boat with her! Laura 
longed for her friend. She was a young woman and she would know her body and 
what had to be done to all the different parts in order to incite and excite 
pleasure. She would be able to return the pleasure. Her arrival seemed so 
far off. This encounter with Warner was such a hurdle for her to overcome 
before the excitement and gratification of being with her true love. If she 
could only somehow summon the courage to confess her love to Pamela this 
evening. And wouldn't it be the most wonderful thing in the world if her 
friend responded in kind! But would she be taken before she had that 
opportunity to give herself to Pamela? Was this incompetent, selfish 
ass-hole going to be the first person to penetrate her pussy? She wanted to 
scream. She wanted to hit 

Warner and order him to take her back to shore and all the way back to New 
York. If only she had thought to stuff a sanitary tampon into her cunt 
before they came out here to sail. She should have known what he would try 
to do. Maybe she wasn't so bright herself? Maybe she wasn't worthy of Pam's 
love? 

Warner was taking off his pants now and shifting his position on the seat. 
Laura couldn't push him away. She was paralyzed. Every muscle in her body 
clenched. Her pussy fought against the involuntary relaxation that the 
marijuana had provided. It would never fit! She had never seen a man's naked 
dong before and she just knew that this huge pole sticking straight out from 
Warner's red pubic bush was simply too big to fit into her clenched pussy. 
Fear ran rampant through her mind. This was rape that this boy was planning! 
He was planning! He was going to kill her with that rod-weapon of his. But 
where could she go? What could she do? She wanted to scream but the words 
wouldn't come. Her arms shot out to protect her. She cowered on the seat in 
front of the advancing Warner. 

"Don't worry, honey. I'm not going to hurt you. It's going to feel real 
good. Just wait and see. Don't fight it." 

Suddenly a wild look came over Warner's face. He seemed like a crazed 
animal. He seemed as though he were in some kind of terrible pain. His eyes 
no longer focused on anything. He stared off into space. Then he moaned. His 
pelvis jerked back and forth. Laura suddenly realized what was happening. 
The first blast of white-hot sperm shot from the tip of Warner's extended 
penis and hit the canvas sail. Another shot of cum hit the mahogany seat and 
still more landed on one of the lifejackets. Warner had lost all control. He 
sank moaning to the deck, sticky whie sperm dribbling down his hairy thighs, 
his penis rapidly deflating. 

Laura watched. Warner got what he deserved in this premature ejaculation, 
she decided. It was just like him not to be able to control himself once he 
had set his mind on attaining a certain pleasure. Well he had really blown 
it this time. He certainly was one sorry sight, panting and puffing in the 
puddle of his own cum. Laura wondered what he was going to do to save face 
on this one. She was almost sure that Warner Short would come up with 
something. But right now it was her turn to have a little satisfaction. She 
pulled up her pants and buttoned her blouse. The feeling in her pussy was 
still there, but she knew she would have to wait for satisfaction. She would 
have to masturbate when she got back to shore, maybe sneak up to the bedroom 
for a quickie with the vibrator. How she wished that this whole sorry mess 
had never occurred, that she had never been invited here to East Hampton in 
the first place. She had only been excited by the trip when she heard that 
Pam was coming. But her friend was coming with a boy too, and if that guy 
was a pal of Warner's he probably wasn't such a great shakes either. If only 
she and Pam would be able to spend the evening and the night alone together. 
If only the boys would just disappear into thin air. 

Warner finally got himself together after he had drifted for some minutes. 
If he was embarrassed at what had happened, he was doing a pretty fair job 
of hiding it. He pulled his pants up, hauled in the sail lines and turned 
the tiller for shore. He mentioned that it was time to go into town and meet 
the train. Thank goodness, Laura thought. She wanted nothing better than to 
get out of the boat. Warner hadn't even made a motion to clean up the 
puddles of sperm that glistened on the mahogany seats. 

The boy changed his tune just a little on the way into town. Laura didn't 
know exactly why he was being so kind all of a sudden, but she imagined it 
had something to do with his not wanting to let it get out that he was 
something of a failure in his at-tempts at cocksmanship and that he 
suspected she just might pass the word. So he was overly polite and 
considerate to Laura, doing all sorts of little things that would be thought 
natural with any other man, but seemed a little ridiculous where Warner was 
concerned. Laura could not believe that Warner had ever opened a door for 
anyone in his life before. Obviously he was trying to make amends for the 
incident in the boat. No doubt he felt it was a threat to his masculinity, 
but he just couldn't bring himself to say anything like an apology. Figuring 
that his money could bail him out of this situation like he'd probably 
bought himself out of every other tight spot he'd been caught in, he 
purchased a silk scarf in one of the downtown shops and presented it to 
Laura as a gift. She had mentioned in passing what nice things were 
displayed in the shop window and immediately Warner had stormed into the 
place and come out with the gift. She was too embarrassed not to accept it. 
She was beginning to realize that Warner was probably so insensitive to the 
world and people around him that he didn't know when he was being cruel or 
rude. That did a little to calm her anger at being taken advantage of out 
there in the boat. Laura was sobering up now from all that marijuana she'd 
smoked and things began to return to a more normal perspective. And she knew 
that she wasn't going to do anything like get on the next train to New York 
and leave Warner cold. She was going to make the best of the situation. 
Besides, she glanced at a cock in a jewelry shop they passed, in a few 
moments her beloved friends would be arriving. Maybe the two of them could 
at least have a few moments alone together this weekend. 

So Laura found herself thanking Warner for the scarf as they drove on to the 
railroad station and neither of them said a word more about the morning's 
episode. 

The train was a little late, but it wasn't too long before Laura heard the 
locomotive whistle far off in the west. Her heart began to beat quickly in 
anticipation. If Pamela only knew how much she looked forward to her 
arrival! She was practically exploding as the long line of gray cars clanked 
into the station behind the noisy locomotive. The earth seemed to shake and 
Laura suddenly realized that she was once more moist between her legs. So it 
had started all over again! Was it Pamela who was doing this to her even 
before she saw her in person? She had gone up to her room for a short time 
after coming back from sailing and she had fingered herself to orgasm and 
washed her pussy as well as she could. For some reason she had wanted to be 
fresh and lovely below her waist especially for Pam's arrival. 

A great number of people were getting off the train, and Laura watched 
eagerly for the sight of her friend. For a second she thought Pam might have 
missed the train, but just as the anxiety was about to get the better of 
her, the most beautiful girl in the world stepped out of the train. Laura 
jumped up and shouted. Pamela looked around, saw her and waved. There was a 
boy with her carrying her bag, but Laura paid no attention to him. Her eyes 
were enthralled by the sight of her girl friend. 

Then Laura experienced a special treat. Pam put her arms around her and gave 
her a kiss on the cheek. Most people wouldn't have thought anything of the 
gesture, but Laura was in heaven! The taste, however brief, of her friend's 
lips, the sensation of strength radiating from her arms, the sweet scent of 
the perfume she was wearing, all this nearly knocked Laura off her feet. Her 
pussy was running wild with juice. Yes, Laura knew, the sight of her friend 
was inspiring this physical reaction in her genitals. There was no denying 
now, she was in love with this woman. If only she could tell her! She had to 
tell her! Even if Laura was never to know the physical charms of the girl 
that was her love object. Even if Pam had no sexual attraction for an 
adoring member of her own sex, Laura would have to make known her love for 
her. 

The four of them got into Warner's Mercedes for the ride back to the Short's 
house and lunch. The leather upholstery of the car's interior had been 
exposed to the sun and it had become extremely warm. When Laura sat down and 
the hot leather reacted against her impassioned pussy she thought she was 
going to cum without even touching herself. And there was Pam sitting right 
next to her in the back seat. She used the ride for one purpose, to check 
out every inch of the girl with her, to feast her eyes on everyone of 
Pamela's many physical attractions. Laura was enthralled, and she was 
convinced that she would leave a puddle of pussy juice on the seat when she 
got up. If only that girl would reach her hand over to Laura, unzip her 
pants, and relieve the unbearable pressure that was building between her 
legs! Just the thought of that made the pain all the more excruciating. 

Pamela came from a very upper class background and good taste had been 
instilled in her at a very early age. What Laura saw now was the result of 
Pam's breeding and her constant attention to her grooming and dress. If 
anything, Pam was a little too sophisticated for her own age and that was 
one of the facets of her appearance that excited Laura so much. Laura could 
simply do nothing else now but stare at this girl, and she tried just not to 
be too obvious about it. She started with the tips of Pam's toes, which had 
been carefully pedicured and polished in pale pink. And she was wearing such 
high heeled sandals that Laura almost couldn't believe. Of course, she had 
seen such sexy shoes in beauty magazines, but it was hard to imagine that 
one of her own friends would actually wear them, along with a pair of 
peg-leg, ultra close fitting French blue jeans. Those pants looked more like 
tights than anything else, Laura thought, and she tried to picture the 
contour of Pam's pussy beneath the tightly stretched blue denim. But that 
wasn't all! Above her incredibly narrow waist, Pam was clad in the softest 
silk shirt that Laura had ever seen, a kind of peach color that seemed so 
innocently sensual and let the outlines of her breasts be known at the same 
time. How Laura wanted to reach inside that shirt and feel for the nipples 
of her friend's tits. In no time she would have them erect and sensations of 
pleasure would be shooting out to every part of Pam's body. Yes, she would 
introduce this girl to pleasures that she had recently discovered herself. 
There would be no fumbling or bungling. Laura knew what felt good, she had 
experienced the utter bliss of the female orgasm. She knew where the 
clitoris was and what to do with a vagina. If Pam would only let her, she 
would share with her these wondrous discoveries. 

"Do you like my hair?" Pam asked. "I had it done yesterday just for the 
weekend." 

Laura was ashamed that she hadn't complimented Pam on the coiffure already. 
It was so flattering to her friend's face and so stylish at the same time. 
She took this opportunity to run her fingers through the blonde curls of 
Pam's hair. A chill followed the act, a chill which spread from the small of 
Laura's back down to her over-stimulated genitals and at the same time up 
through her breasts to her nipples. She felt the tips of her tits leap to 
erectness, and strain against her blouse. The kiss, the embrace, the touch 
of her girl friend had all contributed to the strange way that Laura felt at 
this moment. It seemed almost as if the marijuana haze was returning. She 
was feeling lightheaded and aroused, and everything was beginning to blur in 
front of her eyes except for the image of her beloved. 

And Pam certainly seemed glad to see her. They talked and laughed and joked 
and seemed to develop even more of a rapport than they usually had at school 
and in dance class. Laura was particularly gratified that her lover enjoyed 
her company so much. When the boy that had come out from New York had 
carried her bag up to Pam's room and had not come out right away, Laura had 
experienced a pang of jealousy. Pam might not know of her love for her, but 
she was still somehow hurt inside to think that Pam could possibly be 
interested in anyone else. The lunch was served outside on the veranda by 
the Short's maid and consisted of cold lobster and different kinds of 
salads. The food was utterly delicious and the midday sun shone brilliantly 
on the lawn and bay in front of them. With Pam by her side, Laura's attitude 
toward the whole visit had taken a turn for the better. Even the jealousy 
subsided when she heard that the two boys were planning some sort of 
escapade with the Short's speedboat and she and Pam didn't seem to be 
invited. 

"We can sun ourselves on the beach, while you two go off and get yourselves 
killed," Pam announced. 

Laura perked up at her friend's words. Now she really had something to look 
forward to this afternoon, Pam in a bathing suit and the chance to spend 
some time alone with her. She knew now it had been worth putting up with 
Warner and his half-assed behavior because she was going to come into her 
reward this afternoon. And what about tonight? Would she find some time, 
would she possibly dare confide in Pamela of her love for her, that same-sex 
love that did not dare speak its name. That was the burning question on 
Laura's mind as they finished lunch and went upstairs to change into their 
bathing suits for the afternoon. The two girls had fun running around the 
palatial upstairs of the Short's house teasing each other, calling to each 
other from opposite ends of the house, pretending they were the mistresses 
of such an establishment with a myriad of servants. They ran and laughed and 
giggled and only when Warner shouted from a floor below did they realize 
that they had been dawdling. 

"Quick, Laura, help me with my bathing suit," Pamela implored. 

She rushed into the hall, into Laura's line of sight. She was in a hurry, 
and she was naked from the waist up. Her snatch was hidden by her bathing 
suit bikini panties, but her bikini top needed to be tied in a bow at the 
back of the neck and since she was in a hurry she needed assistance. Laura 
nearly gasped at the sight of her friend's naked nipples, but through sheer 
willpower she managed to maintain her sense of decorum. No, she told 
herself, she would not fly off the handle and stroke Pam's breasts or even 
worse, bend down and begin to suck on them. Instead, in a friendly, 
considerate, loving way, she assisted Pam with the dangling ends of ribbon 
that reached from the titcups of her top and had to be laced up to safeguard 
her modesty. She did so deliberately and with great regard for the results, 
for she wanted Pam to look luscious, and she wanted to keep her hands on her 
for as long as possible. Her pussy was intruding again, she knew. The juice 
was seeping once more, filling the crotch of her own bikini panties, and 
Laura knew that there would be absolutely no stemming it this time, not with 
Pam in her presence. It was too much now. She would just have to cum before 
the hour was out. By her own fingers, by sneaking away to the company of her 
vibrator, if only by Pam's tongue or fingers, Laura might even be persuaded 
to settle for crude stimulation by Warner, so great was the hunger, the 
pounding deep within her. 

She had been a wicked girl, she knew. She had flaunted herself now in front 
of her friend. She had lurked in her own room just waiting for Pam's call to 
assist her and though she had plenty of time to slip into her own two-piece 
bathing suit, she had pulled on only the bikini panties, and even then she 
had not pulled them up all the way, so that a bit of her pubic bush showed, 
overflowed at the top. She had calculated this move, she wanted to show off 
her own charms to the woman she so desperately wanted to be her real true 
lover. And she had watched as closely as she could for Pamela's reaction. 
And Laura knew that her friend had noticed. She knew that however briefly, 
however furtively, her love-object had checked out her own physical 
attributes. And she knew that she was offering Pamela some prime female 
meat. Yes, along with the most tender passionate love that grew in her 
heart, there were also unstoppable, driving physical needs that just had to 
be met. She had discovered them so recently but already she knew that they 
were universal and that Pam possessed them as well and that she, Laura, was 
the one in the world best equipped to satisfy Pam's intense sexual desires. 
How she knew they existed deep within her friend's female psyche, and even 
if they had not actually surfaced as yet, she was in a position to plumb 
them and fulfill them to an extent that Laura had probably not even dreamed 
possible. 

So it was with the satisfaction of having made a beginning, however slight, 
of having shown herself naked in her state of desire, that Laura now joined 
her beloved Pam in running down to where the two boys waited for them. Laura 
suffered some group activities gladly, for her love-object was never more 
than a few feet from her own body, and she could anticipate what would 
happen later. She even managed to hold in check her feelings of hostility 
toward Bob, the boy that accompanied Pam out from the city. She really 
didn't know the guy at all and she couldn't even remember Pam mentioning him 
once. Anyway, this Bob seemed to be more interested in talking about boats 
and cars with Warner than he was in paying attention to Pam. Laura waited 
for what she knew would be her turn. Her only concern during this period was 
her pussy. She knew that her bikini panties were flimsy, and she worried 
again that her love-liquid would simply start to run and glisten along her 
freshly shaved legs. She had shaved them the day before, ill because she 
wanted them to be so smooth when Pam arrived, and since she knew that Pam 
paid such close attention to her own personal grooming, she sort of wanted 
to keep up with her. If, and how she longed for this, if by chance Pam took 
a liking to her and wanted to touch her, Laura wanted so very much to be as 
wonderfully soft as she could be. 

The boys decided in their own way that they were going to take the boat, rev 
it up to full speed and shoot the reef over near the breakwater. They also 
decreed that the expedition was too dangerous to allow the girls along. 
Laura was angered by the thought, but she had already planned what was to 
transpire while the two fools were away. 

But even Laura wasn't prepared for the delight which Pam offered to her. As 
soon as the two of them had been put ashore, Pam asked her to rub her down 
with sun-tan oil and offered to do the same for her. 

For the next hour Laura was in heaven. They found a secluded spot on the 
Short's beachfront and they began to work on each other. To Laura, Pam 
seemed so unaware and innocent during the whole session. She so readily and 
eagerly shed her bikini top, exposing her firm untanned and shapely young 
tits. Laura resolved to make those enticing pink nipples stand up and take 
notice before this session was finished. She wanted to incite a burning, a 
craving in her breasts that would spread throughout her, down to her loins 
and up to her perfectly formed mouth which Laura wanted so much to take in 
her own, to bury her tongue and eat and suck and lick. Every gentle rub, 
every soothing stroke of the sun oil on Pam's perfect skin brought Laura 
closer to orgasm, to crying out for all the world to hear of her lust and 
love for the woman who lay beside her this minute. And she kept it up. Did 
she ever keep it up. Ministering to Pam's needs and desires was a labor of 
total love. She was a slave to this girl, Laura knew, but she was willing, 
craving to serve, to do the slightest thing that would give pleasure to her 
friend. 

Pamela finally insisted that she stop, that it was her turn to give Laura a 
rubdown. Laura consented, barely able to conceal the joy she felt at the 
impending touch of Pam's perfectly manicured fingertips. She lay on her 
stomach and Pam undid the ribbon that held her bikini top. Laura could feel 
the sensations shooting through her as her erect nipples touched the surface 
of the ground below. There was a blanket between her and the sand, so there 
was some give, some reaction on the part of Mother Earth as it responded to 
the touch of her erogenous zone. She knew that if she could ever possibly 
cum without touching herself, this would be the moment. 

Pam's fingertips began their magic upon Laura's naked back. She sighed and 
cried to the touch and when she told her friend how good it felt she was 
speaking of her most intimate sensual feelings. If there was only something 
she would dare do to let Pam know about that! Laura thought she was going to 
cry. She never wanted this moment to end. She wanted Pam to keep up her 
stroking, to turn her over and fondle, massage and suck her nipples, to 
unlace her string-tied bikini panties and to insert her fingertip in search 
of that most intimate of pleasure-sources, the almighty clitoris. If only 
Pam would do that! She knew she was going to leave a stain of pussy juice 
upon the beach blanket. She knew that Pam was going to pick up the scent of 
her rampant pussy at any moment. What would her reaction be? 

The two of them lay there next to each other on the sand, talking about all 
kinds of things. Throughout the conversation Laura kept her eyes on Pam's 
crotch. She was convinced that as she talked her friend did not notice her 
fixation, but it was plain as day that Pam's silky pubic bush overflowed the 
skimpy covering of her bikini panties. Laura was indeed fixated, enthralled 
with the certainty of the clitoris that lurked behind that tiny triangle of 
pink material. She knew that it existed only to be pleasured, and she so 
much wanted to be the one to inflict pleasure upon it. She so much wanted to 
find out what Pam had experienced in the way of delight so far, because she 
was certain that she could introduce her to still more. 

"What about this friend of yours Robert?" Laura asked. She tried to sound as 
innocent as possible. In fact she was ashamed at using any subterfuge with 
her beloved. 

"He's kind of a dildo," Pam replied. 

Dildo! The magic word resounded in her ears. Laura couldn't believe that her 
friend had uttered the name of that weapon of pleasure with which females 
wounded themselves. 

Pamela seemed kind of surprised at her own choice of words as well. She felt 
constrained to add something. 

"I don't really like him all that much. He's really kind of stuck-up and he 
hardly pays attention to me at all. He'd sooner be with a boat or with a car 
than spend time with me. He's really tight with Warner. 

Sometimes I think they're queer for each other." Pam exuded a little laugh. 
"But when he invited me out here and I heard you were going to be here as 
well, I kind of jumped at the chance. I figured you and I could have a nice 
time together in a beautiful house in the Hamptons and those two fools could 
go off and play by themselves." Pam laughed again. "Or maybe play with 
themselves would be more like it. Anyway, Laura darling, you have to admit 
it's nice to see how the other half lives once in a while." 

Laura nearly leapt with joy. So her very own precious Pamela did care 
especially for her after all. She had known it all along. She had been 
convinced. And now her confidence had been ratified. She was the happiest 
woman on earth right now. But there was still something else. Another plane 
of love and affection remained to be explored. Thoughts of the sexual 
returned as Laura once again focused her gaze upon Pam's bare breasts and 
upon the wisps of pubic hair that stretched away from her tantalizing pussy. 

The heavenly afternoon couldn't last forever, as even Laura realized. The 
boys returned alive from their adventure over near the rocks, and the sun 
took a noticeable tilt toward the western horizon. It was time to go inside 
the mansion and get ready for dinner. Warner had promised an intimate 
barbeque for just the four of them. Laura looked forward to the evening, but 
as far as she was concerned it involved two too many people. 

Laura took a long warm shower. She soaped every part of her body slowly and 
carefully and she massaged herself as well as she could. At times like these 
she wanted to be especially good to herself, so that she would be worthy of 
Pam's adoration. Just like she had shaved her legs well in advance of Pam's 
visit so that she wouldn't have any cuts or nicks to mar her smooth skin. 

There were lots of bathrooms on the upper floors of the Short's mansion, too 
many as far as Laura was concerned, because she couldn't arrange it so that 
she and Pam would have to share. She wouldn't be able to see the exquisite 
nude body of her friend before dinner, and if she didn't plot somehow, she 
might not see it naked again before the end of this visit. So right now all 
she could do was content herself with fingering her pussy and imagining that 
it was Pam doing the work down there between her legs. This masturbation 
session had to be quick, and it was much in the nature of simply relieving 
herself of the incredible desires and tension that she had felt in Pam's 
company through the entire afternoon. She worked back and forth over her 
clit bud with a thumb and forefinger even as she stood in the shower. It was 
just too good. The warm water played an oddly cooling stream across her 
burning pussy, and she spread the lips of her cunt as far apart as possible, 
in an effort to direct the stream of water right up into her thirsty cunt. 
Over the background of running water she softly cried the name of her 
beloved. And then the spasms came. She was cumming like she had never cum 
before. Multiple orgasms! Nonstop firings, involuntary jerks! Her cunt was 
running away from her! She was going to collapse and drown right here in an 
inch of water. She was being forced to commit suicide by her own mad lust. 
She wanted to scream Pamela's name, to have her love rush in and rescue her 
from the jaws of death at her own hand, but the shout was stifled by her own 
voice box. She was helpless in the grip of her own raging animalism. She was 
a woman in heat, Laura knew, and if there was no one around to mount and 
satisfy her, then she was going to have to achieve that satiation on her 
own. She was a young woman in the prime of her sexual development and she 
was sick, insane with lust. She couldn't stand it anymore. She just couldn't 
bear this affliction alone anymore. By hook or by crook, Laura knew that 
Pamela would have to be made to suffer, to enjoy, to wallow, to want the 
passion that was flaming inside her. 

Laura spent as long as she could getting ready for dinner. She wanted to 
look her very best so that Pamela would find it impossible to keep her eyes 
from her. When she finally got downstairs onto the porch, she noticed that 
Warner and Bob had already made quite an inroad on the bottle of gin that 
stood on the side table. 

Both boys turned to her as she walked in, and she knew damn well that they 
were checking her out, sizing her up for some possible action they had in 
mind for later in the evening. Laura remembered Warner's performance earlier 
in the day and wondered what he would possibly dare tonight. 

"Mother and father left for their party already, so I thought it was time to 
break out the liquor," Warner announced. He offered her a tall glass filled 
with gin and tonic. 

Laura accepted. She didn't want to do anything to antagonize these two. And 
she took a few sips from the glass even though she hated gin. She noticed 
immediately that Warner had made the drink incredibly strong, no doubt in 
order to get her drunk. What a selfish fucker, she thought! 

But her antagonism vanished when Pamela joined them on the porch. To Laura, 
her friend looked more stunning than before. She seemed to have tanned 
immediately from the afternoon sun. And the new white silk blouse that she 
had put on made her dark features radiate with beauty. She had left a couple 
of buttons undone and Laura could just make out the curves of her breasts. A 
gold necklace dangled brightly against the tantalizing expanse of bare skin. 
With her French jeans and high heeled sandals, Pam looked like a vision from 
a beauty magazine. Laura melted before her, and her pussy juice began to 
soak through her panties. Counting her bathing suit, this was the third pair 
today that Pam had caused her to mess. 

Dinner was nothing special. Warner had lit a fire in the outdoor fireplace, 
and he slipped some steaks on the grill, but the girls wound up tending to 
them because Warner and Bob claimed to know nothing about food. The two 
women also found themselves saddled with preparing corn on the cob for the 
same reason. Thank goodness, they thought, that the maid had left a big 
salad in the refrigerator and a pie on the countertop. Neither of them had 
come to East Hampton to spend Saturday night preparing dinner for the two 
guys. But at least they could commiserate with each other and continue the 
conversation they had begun while sunning on the beach. Laura was convinced 
that this weekend would cement a new and very close relationship with the 
stunning Pamela. 

Warner and Bob, meanwhile, had practically finished off the bottle of gin 
and now the sweet-smelling smoke of marijuana cigarettes filled the cool 
night air. Pam looked at Laura and she frowned back. Without words they both 
agreed that the two boys were getting very high and making fools of 
themselves. In fact the two of them were laughing and giggling and making 
jokes as if the two girls weren't even there. They did, however, offer Pam 
and Laura a few tokes on their reefers, and the girls accepted little puffs, 
just to keep the social situation on an even keel. 

By the end of dinner though the two young men were totally out of control, 
running around the yard, jumping up and down, screaming out across the bay 
obscenities that they thought were hilariously funny. The girls were 
disgusted. 

"I thought this was the time when they were both supposed to be putting the 
moves on us." Pam said. "Bob told me that Warner's parents were probably 
going to be out all night." 

Laura smirked. "Warner tried to fuck me in his sailboat this morning, but he 
shot his wad all over before he could get his dong out of his pants. He 
probably couldn't find my vagina anyway." 

Pam smiled knowingly, then burst into laughter. 

"Bob tried the same thing only last night. But he was drunk then too, and he 
passed right out at my feet before he could even unbutton my blouse. What a 
boor. He has no idea of what consideration means. God knows how much I've 
wanted to feel what an orgasm is like. I even tried to help him get up, but 
it was no use." She spoke softly now. "You know, Laura, I'm embarrassed to 
even say it, but I wanted to feel the joys of sex so badly that I was 
willing to let Bob show them to me." 

Laura perked up at her friend's words. 

"I doubt either of those two are capable of showing anyone else the joys of 
anything. They probably don't even know how to masturbate very well." 

Pam laughed. Laura joined her. She found that she was staring at Pam's 
breasts now, even more than she had stared before, only this time she wasn't 
trying to cover up. There was a kind of electricity filling the air between 
the two girls. 

Then Pam uttered just the words that Laura wanted to hear. 

"Sometimes I wonder if only a woman can really introduce another woman to 
the real pleasures of sex, at least from the totally female perspective. I 
mean, we seem to be so much more complicated where our feelings are 
concerned, and so many boys just don't seem to realize that." 

Without saying anything, Laura reached out her hand and touched the soft 
silk of Pam's blouse. Then she gently parted the covering from her friend's 
breasts and exposed them to her sight. The pink nipples shown in the half 
light of the porch. The boys weren't even to be heard. Laura saw nothing but 
the radiance of her friend, who seemed to grasp eagerly at her hand and 
caress herself with Laura's fingers. 

No more words were spoken. The two girls had total communication with each 
other now. They clasped and caressed, they unbuttoned and untied. They 
exposed themselves to each other and offered each other intimate parts of 
their bodies to touch. 

The magic did not disappear even after they managed to get away from the 
boys and slip off to their bedrooms under some pretext. The boys didn't seem 
to mind at all. Pam and Laura agreed that the two were probably much too 
embarrassed to attempt any moves tonight. 

Right away the girls sneaked into one bedroom and resumed the explorations 
that they had begun downstairs. They stood in front of each other now, 
totally naked in the moonlight that streamed through the bedroom window. 
They gazed at each other for the longest time, and then they slowly reached 
out to touch, to explore, to make each other aware of feelings that each had 
discovered independently. Laura's pussy was a torrent of love-lubrication, 
for her lover was with her at the moment and she was readying herself for 
penetration. She guided Pam's fingers to her clitoris and instinctively her 
friend began to titillate, to caress, to work her toward a monumental 
climax. She knew that tonight it was going to be the best ever, and Laura 
was going to give as good as she got. She lolled the nipple buds of Pam's 
beautiful breasts between her thumb and forefinger. She made the titties as 
hard and erect as her own had ever been under hours of self-stimulation and 
Pam began to coo and sigh and beg for more and more and more. She implored 
to be licked and sucked and fingered in new places, her tits, her mouth, her 
cunt and clit, and around her ass-hole. Laura couldn't believe the 
overwhelming sensuality that her friend exhibited. Pam seemed to go out of 
control, to be totally absorbed in the giving and receiving of pleasure. The 
two girls became a giant, nonstop self contained sex machine, jerking and 
crying and thumping and humping. Laura squirmed and worked and ground her 
pelvis down and around on the searching thrusting fingers of her friend. 
Masturbation was never like this! And when Pam violated the privacy of her 
ass-hole with a rigid pole-like index finger, Laura felt that the sheer 
pleasure was going to split her right in half. She, in turn, fingered Pam 
with the most powerful hand-job she could muster. She was determined to 
outdo the sheer vibratory energy of the most technologically advanced erotic 
devices. 

The girls kept it up for what seemed like hours, secure in the knowledge 
that as lusting females they had an incredible advantage over men. They 
simply did not get up, get off, and get tired. They could cum again and 
again. 

"I'm cumming!" Laura panted. 

"I'm cumming!" Pam gasped. 

And so it went. Jerk after jerk. Spasm after spasm. Discovery of one erotic 
gratification after another. A whole new world opened up even as Pam and 
Laura opened up their legs to each other, opened up their mouths to eat and 
suck and lick every last part of each other's sensual body. 

And after they had each cum more times than they could remember, they 
cradled each other in their arms and drifted off to sleep secure in the 
knowledge that they had achieved secret pleasures which they would share 
again and again in the future. 

"I love you, Pam," Laura whispered, as she kissed her lover goodnight on the 
lips. 

"You're the best fuck a girl could ever have," Pam replied. She giggled at 
her own choice of words. They both had taken newfound pleasure in using 
vulgar bathroom language to describe what they had been doing to each other. 

So this trip to East Hampton had turned out beyond her wildest expectations, 
Laura thought. She was content now. Warner Short and anxiety were far from 
her consciousness. She slept with the taste of Pam's delicious pussy on her 
lips and the memory of Pam's fingers driving deep into her cunt. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Fran stood on the corner. She laughed so hard she almost couldn't stand up. 
Eva was next to her. She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. Her laughter 
had induced a fit of crying. 

"I couldn't believe that movie," Fran gasped. "My first honest-to-goodness 
'adult' film and it drives me to utter hysteria." 

"It was pretty ridiculous," Eva admitted. "But I kind of think the audience 
was even funnier than the picture. All those tired old businessmen and 
derelicts masturbating into brown paper bags." 

"Is that what they were doing?" Fran thought she was going to have another 
spasm when Eva told her that. She knew she was so naive about some things. 
That's why she had just gone to the film with her friend in the first place. 
She just wanted to have the experience. There were so many things that she 
had never done, some of them seemingly small and unimportant, but 
nevertheless she was determined to give them a try. 

"The way that couple went on and on and on. I wonder if it was as boring for 
them as it was for us to watch?" Eva asked. 

"It certainly looked like that pair could sell anybody on the idea of not 
having sex," Fran observed. 

"I might not go quite that far," Eva replied. "We ought to try one of those 
gay films the next time just to see what they're like. I wonder if the 
audience would be dressed to kill?" 

"No thanks, Eva. I just might run into my ex-husband there." She paused. "On 
second thought, he probably has a film projector installed in his new 
apartment so he can watch a faggot movie at the touch of a button." 

"How about a coffee before you go home," Eva suggested. "Laura's out in East 
Hampton so you don't have to cook dinner for her." 

"I'd like to join you. But my nephew still really isn't settled in yet and I 
sort of promised to do something special in the way of dinner for him 
tonight. It's not really so bad. He's utterly gorgeous and charming and 
reminds me of the fact that my side of the family has something on the ball 
too. I really need that kind of support right now." 

Fran said good-bye to Eva and began to walk toward her apartment. As she 
walked along, thoughts about that movie found their way into her head. Sure 
it was ridiculous and silly and had driven her to distraction. She and Eva 
had even walked out before the end. But she wasn't laughing anymore. She was 
thinking about the wild male-female passion that the young actors were 
attempting to show on the screen. That they hadn't succeeded was beside the 
point now. Fran began to dwell once again on all of what she had missed 
during her married life. She couldn't help feeling that she had been robbed 
of something that was very valuable to any young normal heterosexual woman: 
the right to be passionately balled by a virile young stud, and the right of 
them both to have a good time doing it. Even now she was thinking how nice 
it would be if she had been introduced to the delights of sex by a man 
instead of having to instruct herself in those long, lonely hours of 
masturbation. 

But what could she do? She certainly wasn't going to ask some young brute on 
the street corner to help her make up for lost time. She wasn't going to 
quit working at Eva's gallery and hire out as an afternoon prostitute. There 
was such an accumulation of hang-ups that she had to deal with and at times 
like these she felt that the load was just too much to bear and that she 
would never be able to change. What was past was past, she thought, and the 
very idea of that drove her nearly to tears. Lesbianism? How could she? Not 
after all those years with her dreadful faggot husband. More masturbation? 
She dreaded as well the thought of being condemned to that. Was she never to 
feel the huge rigid organ of a real man ramming in and out of her dripping 
cunt ever again? But she was still so bitter toward men in general. She 
didn't see how she could recover from that bitterness so very soon. She was 
beginning to slide into a very lonely depressed state as she walked toward 
her home. Even Laura wouldn't be around to talk to tonight. She and Laura 
didn't have to talk. Sometimes just knowing that her daughter was in close 
proximity was enough to give her peace of mind. In desperation she looked 
forward to some possibility of an interesting evening with her nephew Peter. 
So he was a man, she thought, at least he seemed unspoiled and considerate. 

Just then a shop she was passing caught her eye. It was a very special kind 
of retail establishment, not one usually found on the streets of most 
cities. But New York had quite a few like it. The place was called the 
"Freak Bouteak" and in the window hung every sort of erotic device 
imaginable. Yes, things hung on leather straps and chains and different 
kinds of thongs. And more devices were displayed all through the place. Fran 
could see inside. She couldn't believe what she saw. Some things she 
recognized because they were based on lingerie that was familiar to her? 
corsets and brassieres and panties and girdles and garter belts and waist 
cinches. But there was a big difference, the material. All of these were 
done in leather or plastic or even rubber and embellished with metal studs 
or pocked with holes to give views of or access to private places. Now Fran 
looked closer, and she began to imagine herself dressed in some of this very 
special lingerie, and before she knew it her pussy began to water. She 
became oblivious to what was happening on the street. She lost all her 
inhibitions, all embarrassment at standing alone in front of this erotic 
boutique fixated on its exotic wares: on lengths of chain and wire and ropes 
that were specially geared for episodes of bondage and discipline, on 
handcuffs and manacles and trusses designed to shackle one's body in 
unnatural positions of pleasure-pain. And there were whips and riding crops 
and cat-o-nine tails, helmets, masks and studded jockstraps. And spread 
right out in front of her was a large assortment of vibrators, dildos, and 
some other things that Fran didn't even know the names of, but which the 
salesperson could have told her were french ticklers, penis rings and a 
"seven gates of hell." It was the dildo that enthralled Fran, a rigid 
pole-penis that she could call her own, that she could swallow with her 
hungry cunt, that would provide her with the orgasms that she so desperately 
needed every day now, upon which she had grown so dependent. She knew she 
was falling in love with this devilish instrument of female masturbation and 
self-love even as she stood in front of the store window. She had been too 
embarrassed to buy one of these devices before, but her life was changing, 
her needs were changing, and an irresistible power drew her into the shop. 
The young ambi-sexual salesperson was very considerate and discreet and 
helped Fran select a model which she was convinced would give her the most 
obscene, extreme pleasures. She was so turned on by the wares in the store 
that she also selected a pair of black leather panties, with their crotch 
cut out to reveal pussy, of course, as well as to provide access. 

She'd parted with a bit of money, but she didn't care. She needed this 
gratification, Fran thought, as she skipped home. She felt like a young girl 
with new toys and already she was making plans. Her previous jerkoff 
sessions would pale before what she had in mind now: she was going to give 
her clit and her cunt a real workout with her new dildo, and she was going 
to slip into her new leather panties and sit in her rocking chair right in 
front of the full length mirror in her bedroom and she was going to rock and 
diddle and rock and diddle and watch herself cum as she had never cum 
before! Her pussy was soaking even now in anticipation of the delights she 
promised herself. 

Fran got to her apartment building and took the elevator upstairs. It was an 
old converted industrial building in which she lived, so the elevators were 
very large and they moved very slowly. She had even more time to concentrate 
on the masturbation that she was planning. She wouldn't be disturbed for at 
least an hour, she thought. Peter had mentioned that he was going to visit 
an actress this afternoon. He told her that he had once worked with this 
woman in California and that she had just moved to New York also. Fran 
sniffed as the old elevator clanked upwards. Its ventilator wasn't working 
as usual and she became positively convinced that she could smell the scent 
of her own pussy. It was enough to make her fall in love with herself all 
over again, she thought. 

Fran fumbled for her house key and swung open the heavy front door. She 
wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted her. She gasped. She thought she 
was going to pass out. She wanted to scream but the shock was too great. 

Right in front of her on the kitchen table, on her very own custom made 
heavy duty butcher block kitchen table her young cousin was engaged in 
balling a woman. From where she stood, Fran thought it looked like a 
wrestling match! The two copulators were going at it so hard that they 
didn't even realize she was standing there! Every muscle in Peter's 
athletic-looking back glistened with sweat as he moved up and down, in and 
out of the woman who lay spread eagled where Fran was accustomed to eating 
dinner. Had she stumbled into some kind of parallel universe of sheer 
sexuality, Fran asked herself. Had going into that erotic boutique somehow 
changed her whole vision of the way things were supposed to be? Was this 
really happening in her own kitchen? 

The young woman screamed, but in pleasure, not in pain. Peter moaned and 
began to work even harder. Fran didn't see how he could keep it up. He 
looked like he'd just run a marathon and was going back for more. She had no 
idea how many times he'd cum, but his penis was as rigid as if it had just 
sprung into lusty life, it looked like a huge lead pipe or a telephone pole 
or something, Fran thought. Her new dildo seemed genuinely puny in 
comparison. And what a cunt that spread-eagled bitch must have, Fran 
marveled. To be able to swallow the monstrous thrusts of a member like her 
nephew's! And the bitch was still begging, pleading for more! How long had 
the two of them been doing this? How long had she been standing there, just 
watching them? And they still hadn't acknowledged her presence. Maybe they 
just didn't know she was there. Maybe they belonged to some bizarre fucking 
cult and they were having some kind of religious experience! Who knows what 
strange sects they might have out in California, Fran thought. 

Then she heard the ritual words, here uttered with more conviction, with 
even more insistent vulgarity: "Fuck me! Suck me! Splay me! Play me!" they 
screamed. Fran couldn't tell who was saying what. But it didn't really 
matter. This was fantasy sex that she was witnessing. 

Then the woman yelled. "Turn me over, you Wilde man! Turn me over and ram 
your champion rod up my ass-hole and fill my bowels with your cum. Mix your 
sperm with my shit!" 

And Peter obeyed. He slowly extricated his dong from the woman's cunt and 
got up. He seemed bent over with the weight of the monster dangling between 
his legs, but Fran knew that he was young and strong and that if anyone was 
a master of his own cock it was the boy-man standing in the room in front of 
her. 

Then he saw her. 

Fran's jaw dropped. 

Peter's didn't. 

"I'm so glad you're home, Fran. You can join me and my friend Jeri here for 
some fun." 

Fran was unable to speak, or even to move. 

"I'm sorry I didn't invite you earlier, Fran." He spoke in such a calm 
voice. "Jeri and I didn't actually plan on this session to take place in 
your kitchen, but we couldn't fuck the afternoon away at Jeri's house 
because her husband was there, and well, I kind of thought you wouldn't 
mind." 

Fran still was paralyzed. 

The girl waved and smiled at her from her prone position on the table. 

"Peter told me what a beautiful woman you were and he certainly was right. 
As a matter-of-fact the two of us were just talking about how nice it would 
be if you came home and made love with us. It doesn't matter which way you 
swing, you know, there's plenty of dick and pussy to go around. And if you 
like ass-holes, well, there's three in the room right now." She paused and 
smiled again. "I sure would like to eat your pussy, Fran, and I think you'd 
get a real kick out of it." 

Fran told herself that this wasn't happening to her. She desperately tried 
to convince herself that this scene wasn't being played in her very own 
kitchen. This wasn't even a sex fantasy. It was a scene from some bizarre, 
utterly depraved sex movie, a film so gross as to be beyond belief. She was 
hallucinating. 

Jeri was really trying to see her on the three-way ball. 

"Peter's still loaded with cum," she said. "Even though he's shot two loads 
into me already. One into my cunt and one up my ass. Your nephew is a real 
champion fucker. I feel like I'm just going to float away." 

So that was Peter's secret, Fran decided. She had known there was something 
weird about her nephew the first moment she met him. She looked at him now. 
The naked bastard was still as beautiful as ever. If she'd been really 
depraved, she should have sneaked a peak at him in the shower or something 
before now. That body of his was something else! Every muscle was tensed, 
every bit of his energy seemed to be focused toward his genitals. His balls 
hung like huge sacks from his crotch. He must be able to hold oceans of 
sperm in there, Fran thought. And a monstrous, cannon size dong shot out 
rigid as a pole from his scrotum. To think that he had shot his wad twice 
already and wanted to come back for more required that Fran suspend her 
belief. But her powers of perception and reasoning must have disintegrated 
already since she was part of this event. Suddenly she realized that her 
eyes, her mind, every fiber of her being, her whole energy was directed and 
fixated toward her nephew's shining penis and the glistening pussy of his 
sexual partner. What was happening to her. Was she sliding into this abyss 
of gross carnality? 

"If you don't want to take a part in the swing, you might just want to watch 
the two of us go at it," Peter said. "We could put on a pretty good show. In 
fact we made a couple of movies. But I sort of doubt you . saw 'Take Me Out 
to the Ball Game.' Stick around and find out what you missed." 

Fran gasped. She thought she was going to pass out. That was the movie she 
and Eva had just seen! She had seen her own nephew and this whore-partner in 
living color on the screen and now she was seeing them again in her own 
home! 

"Why don't you just take your clothes off and relax," Jeri suggested. "You 
just might feel like joining in on the spur of the moment." 

She watched transfixed as Jeri lay back on the kitchen table and Peter 
spread lubricating jelly all over his gleaming penis. Then he climbed back 
atop her and inserted his ramrod right up into her rectum. Jeri screamed, 
but Fran could tell that there was a kind of orgiastic sigh mixed in with 
the shock that the woman was experiencing. And a torrent of obscene bathroom 
nonsense words spewed from Jeri's lips. She screamed that she was going to 
make Peter eat what she excreted from her bowels, the mixture of his cum and 
her shit! Fran wasn't surprised at anything now, not even the incredibly 
gross "love" words that this pair was shouting to each other. Obviously, for 
them love was something quite unlike Fran had ever been taught to believe. 

But Fran did not leave the room. She did not run away in disgust. She wasn't 
even sure that she felt anything like disgust, or even surprise anymore. She 
wanted to know how these two did it, what drove them to it, and how they 
could set such incredible endurance tests for themselves. And then, in spite 
of herself, she remembered that there was something she had had her heart 
set on when she walked in here not so long ago. She glanced down at the bag 
that held her new dildo and her obscene crotchless leather panties. She was 
supposed to be masturbating right now. She had looked forward to playing 
with herself all day and then she had arrived home to find her porn star 
nephew and his film partner balling on the kitchen table. What right did 
they have to interfere with her pleasure, to frustrate her drooling, 
dripping, hungry pussy? Fran felt that she was beginning to get angry, that 
her body was beginning to fill with a kind of tension. 

Then her eyes fell on to the loving, fucking, couple once more. Peter's 
prick was rigid as ever, ramming in and out of Jeri's rectum. And that bitch 
was in ecstasy! This porn-whore was getting balled up the ass and she was 
screaming for more! She just couldn't get enough, but, by golly, Peter was 
really trying. He was working in and out, thumping and humping, his bare ass 
gyrating in the air like some obscene machine. Her nephew was automatic. 
There was no letting up as far as Fran could tell. He was a marathon bailer. 
How did he do it? Did he have some sort of pacemaker in his penis? And all 
this ass-fucking! Fran thought of her own tiny hole of a rectum. How could 
such a big dangling dong ever slide into her anus? She could rub a rod like 
that with all the lubricating jelly in the world and it still wouldn't fit. 
It couldn't even be forced without killing her! 

But what was she doing? Fran awakened in surprise. What was going on with 
her own body? She looked down at herself, and what did she see but her very 
own hand inside her pants. She'd unbuttoned her slacks and she was playing 
with herself, fingering her wet pussy, lolling her sensitive clit bud around 
between her thumb and forefinger! She was giving herself a hand job while 
these two sexual athletes cavorted obscenely in front of her! Her 
masturbation session had gone on in spite of attempts to the contrary! She 
was being caught up in a sexual hurricane. And she couldn't help herself. In 
fact, she loved it. She had to have more and she had to have it right now. 
This constriction was too much to bear. 

Fran dropped her shopping bag and her purse and unbuttoned her slacks all 
the way. The rich material fell to her ankles and she stepped forward, 
leaving her pants in a pile on the floor. Then she stripped off her 
pantystockings, and kicked off her shoes. Naked from the waist down, she was 
working away at her cunt for all she was worth. Her fingers drove faster and 
faster, deeper and deeper into her lusting vagina. She was shedding her 
inhibitions as fast as she shed clothes. In no time at all her blouse had 
been unbuttoned by an automatic hand, her brassiere had been discreetly 
unclasped and had fallen to the floor. Fran was outside herself now, viewing 
the scene as one attends an obscene peep show. And the show in her kitchen 
had no socially redeeming value whatsoever! The three people existed in time 
and space only for one thing: sexual fulfillment. 

Fran was going to make herself cum, she was determined to incite her pussy 
to the most incredible sequence of multiple orgasms it had ever experienced. 
She was going to take everything she had taught herself over the past few 
weeks and use it tonight! This fascinating tableau of lust, this exhibition 
of prurience was going to be her final examination in autoeroticism. She was 
going to get off watching these two professionals get themselves off, and 
she just might lose her amateur status in the process. She was beginning to 
jerk now, the muscles between her legs were beginning to take off on their 
own now, and she knew what that meant. There was one twitch, then another, 
and the spasms started, the fire started, her involuntary moans, familiar to 
her now from those long hours of self love, welled up in her throat. She 
couldn't believe that she was now uttering them in the presence of others. 

Then she remembered the presents she had bought herself in the erotic 
boutique. She had hurried him just to indulge herself in the pleasures which 
the dildo might afford her, in the exotic, sexy feeling of leather next to 
her soft skin and the ability to masturbate herself right through a hole in 
the panties. Why should this be denied to her just because a couple of 
reprobates were balling themselves silly next to the salt and pepper 
shakers? Fran decided that there was no reason why she should be left out of 
the dirty movie that was unreeling itself in the room. It just wasn't fair. 
She hadn't spent all those years locked in a barren marriage to be doomed to 
suffer the rest of her life as a lonely masturbator. 

Fran was squatting on the kitchen floor now, supporting herself on one hand 
and madly fingering herself with the other. 

She heard herself yelling now. "You bastard Peter! You bitch Jeri! Cut out 
your mad balling and let's make this a real three way swing." 

At first they didn't seem to hear her. For Fran it was like a bad dream. 
Shout as loud as she could, there was just no way to get attention. Be that 
as it may, her fingers just kept oft keeping on. She was diddling her clit 
on the edge of orgasm. Right here in the same room with what surely must be 
one of the greatest cocks of all time and what was she doing? She was 
playing with herself. Poor Fran. She was suffering an utter embarrassment of 
riches. She had been offered cock this evening and she hadn't known what to 
do with it. If she inclined to love for a member of her own sex, well, she 
had been offered that too. And what had she done? She'd acted like an 
inhibited prepubescent prude. Fran desperately tried to rationalize. She 
just wasn't used to having porn film stars do it on her kitchen table. 
Couldn't she be forgiven for that? Who was being so hard on her anyway? 
Hadn't she tried hard enough today? Hadn't she bought herself a dildo and a 
pair of crotchless leather panties? Wasn't she standing stark naked jerking 
herself off while these two mad fuckers' bodies pumped up and down in front 
of her? And now that she'd rid herself of all her foolish inhibitions why 
weren't they responding to her plea for three way satisfaction? 

Then another worldly shout forced its way from Peter's lips. Jeri screamed 
that her bowels were being destroyed, that she would have to adhere to a 
liquid diet for the rest of her life because she would never be able to 
eliminate from her anus again! Peter screamed back that that was exactly 
what she deserved. 

"You're so right, Peter, you master fucker! That's my punishment for being 
such a bad girl and telling my husband about you." 

"Did he beat you, bitch?" Peter snarled. 

"No Peter," she answered. "The sissy wouldn't punish me like I deserved. He 
tied me up and forced me to tell him the details of our balling while he 
jerked off right there in front of me." 

Fran heard that bizarre exchange. And it excited her. It inspired her. She 
ripped open the bag she'd brought from the erotic boutique and pulled out 
her new leather panties. She pressed the virgin black leather to her nose 
and her lips. She wanted to smell, to taste the scent and the texture of the 
soft smooth skin before she smeared the jism of her spewing snatch all over 
it. She put the panties on. Her jet black pubic bush burst out through the 
slit in the leather and she continued her frantic masturbation. Only with a 
new twist. Now she twisted her new dildo back and forth inside her clenching 
cunt lips. She spread the tender pink flesh apart and thrust the weapon of 
pleasure in and out, a surrogate for the hard cock that she pleaded for but 
which would pay her no attention. Just like a selfish man, she thought, to 
think only of himself and let her seek her own gratification elsewhere. 

Fran found herself screaming now. She shouted obscenities, oaths, anything 
that came into her head just to get the attention of the entwined bodies on 
the table. She didn't know what they were doing up there. After fucking like 
that her nephew and that partner of his should be dead. As it was things 
were beginning to blur for Fran. The spasms engendered at the bud of her 
clit were coming hot and heavy now, and she knew the dildo was about to 
achieve for her the climax of its devilish duty. 

Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. And another hand on her other 
shoulder. She looked up, but without removing the device from her vagina. 
She was a mistress of masturbation now, and she could indeed pay attention 
to other things while jerking herself off. What she saw now was a dazed and 
smiling Jeri to one side of her and a beaming nephew at her other side. His 
penis dangled only inches from her face, and that organ was as prominent as 
ever, a monstrous pole spouting dribbling fluid, fueled by giant sacs of cum 
at the base of his crotch. Didn't this guy ever quit? What was the next 
pleasure-torture on his mind for tonight? 

"You're pretty handy with the dildo there, Fran," he announced. "I'd star 
you in one of my films any day of the week." 

That's just what she wanted. She'd thought about that before. Fran wanted to 
be the dildo queen of the skin flicks! 

"Why don't you take a breather and let me suck your pussy?" Jeri asked. "It 
looks like you have a mighty fine snatch there, and my tongue would be a lot 
easier on your clit than that hunk of plastic you're diddling it with now." 

"I want to swing with you," Fran shouted. She repeated the plea over and 
over, louder and louder. She didn't care who heard her screaming for 
satisfaction. She didn't care if they heard her all the way down on the 
street. She kept working away at her cunt with the dildo, diddling and 
diddling. She didn't care about her residual bitterness toward the male sex 
anymore. She didn't care about the shock she'd experienced when she arrived 
home. Only sensations, orgasms, spasms and jerks mattered to her now. After 
all these years her pussy had finally demanded and won its claim for 
attention. Her nephew and this whore of his could deliver her once and for 
all from sexual desolation. 

Peter and Jeri smiled at each other. They had imagined that this was the way 
it was going to be. They knew that they were one of the world's great 
fucking couples and that a few minutes of watching their act would turn 
anyone into a confirmed voyeur. In fact they often watched themselves on 
videotape just for the fun of it, and usually found themselves jerking off 
together and swinging into another fucking session. They were such masters 
that often the sexual path they blazed took them far beyond mere 
genital-genital contact, or even mere partner-partner intimacy. They were 
constantly on the lookout for new forms of stimulation, gratification, and 
copulation. And now they saw their chance to liven up this afternoon fucking 
session. What a pity there had only been the two of them until now. They 
would have to make up for some of the lost time. 

"You have any cum left in those balls of yours?" Jeri asked. 

"Don't be foolish, darling," Peter snapped. "You know I can take care of you 
and her both. I haven't even begun to fuck." 

He went over to the counter and fiddled with a little bag. Fran watched even 
as she continued to play with herself. The beats were coming hot and heavy 
now. She was jerking and cumming just like her usual self-love marathons, 
but with an important difference. She was masturbating in front of others 
and now that she had lost her inhibitions she found that she was enjoying it 
immensely. In fact, she was putting on a show for the other two. And Jeri 
was very interested, to say the least. Fran spread her legs wider, to give 
Jeri an even better view of her pubic bush and the splayed open lips of her 
vagina. Jeri watched as the lubricated head of the dildo lolled about the 
elusive clit bud and poked itself at Fran's command up into the vaginal 
orifice itself. Unconsciously Jeri moved her own hand down to her cunt and 
began to work herself over too, slowly at first, but picking up speed and 
passion as she got into it, as she got farther and farther into herself. In 
no time at all, practically her whole hand had disappeared up into her cunt 
and she was almost falling over in the throes of ecstatic self-love. 

Peter was back now, and he stood over the two masturbating women like a 
proctor at some final exam. 

"That's right, you two," he said. "Get yourselves good and wet. You're going 
to need all the lubrication you can get. The world's greatest cock is about 
to fuck into both your cunts." 

"Oh, Peter," Jeri implored. "Can't you just let us womenfolk have some fun 
on our own once in a while?" 

Peter smiled. "I sure can. I just love to sit back and watch you put on a 
show. Why don't you go over and eat Fran's pussy? Would you like that, 
Fran?" 

The hard dildo tore into Fran's cunt. She used all her strength to pound it 
back and forth, to keep up the fantastic pressure that was bringing her such 
incredible pleasure. How she so wished that it were alive, that it would 
develop passions and drives of its own, the better to satisfy the lusting 
perverted emotions that she had been powerless to stop from taking over her 
mind and body. But what was this that she was hearing through the veil of 
lust that surrounded her? Was the other woman in the room offering to drive 
her living, sucking, vibrating tongue into the nether reaches of her very 
cunt? Was Fran about to cap her adventures in sexual discovery with a 
blatant lesbian act? She looked at Jeri, at the girl's full red lips, at the 
thick pink tongue that was licking them in anticipation of driving past 
Fran's snatch hair and making oral contact with her genitals. And to think 
Jeri had told her that she had mighty fine pussy! No one had ever said 
anything like that to her in her life! 

Suddenly the dildo fell from Fran's hand to the floor. Her wet pussy made a 
sucking noise as it suffered the shock of stimulation violently withdrawn. 
Fran watched now, transfixed as Jeri moved from her squatting position 
toward her, slowly, hungrily, continuing to finger herself all the while. 
The girl's wet lips glistened in the light of the room. Her pubic hair 
gleamed with saliva and sperm and pussy juice. She was a living, breathing 
sex machine and she was coming, together with Peter to take charge of Fran's 
sexual life and in one fell swoop redeem her from years of backwardness. It 
was going to be a great leap forward, a small step for female sexuality, 
perhaps, but the turning point of Fran's life. 

"Here's something for you, honey," Peter whispered in Jeri's ear. He bent 
over to her and she grasped his hand and took a long, deep sniff at whatever 
it was he held. A second later her face blossomed with an incredible look of 
freshness and stimulation. 

Fran sat still as Peter walked slowly toward her. She watched as he reached 
out to her also. So that was it! That was the reason for the bizarrely long 
fingernail on one hand! There was a tiny bit of white powder in the 
underside of the nail. 

Peter flashed a smile of recognition. "Crazy manicure I have, but I never 
was able to afford a silver coke spoon." 

Cocaine! Fran should have been stunned, but she was beyond that now, far 
beyond that. She clasped Peter's finger to her nostrils and snorted as hard 
as she could, breathed as if her life depended upon it, as if the fine white 
powder was all that remained between her and suffocation. Then the rush 
came. Fran felt that her head was going to explode. The blast shot up 
through her sinuses, down her throat, into her lungs. She was propelled into 
orbit by the rocket that had launched itself inside her. She was streaking 
far into space, leaving everything that was familiar to her far behind, 
rushing headlong into the unknown. 

But she was not afraid. There was a strange sense of peace mixed with 
violent yearning that coursed through her now. She floated, and she looked 
down at the head of Jeri as the girl's mouth rendezvoused with her pubic 
regions. A second later the sensations of lusty licking and flicking reached 
her brain as Jeri's tongue went about its business of eating her pussy. 
Orgasms! Those were orgasms that she was having now! She was cumming and 
cumming! It had-never been this good when she had done it all by herself. 
Her fingers, her vibrator, her dildo! None of them measured up to the 
sensations she was receiving from the automatic manic tongue of the porn 
film queen who was eating her out! If only someone were filming this 
fantastic lesbian scene right now! 

But wait! That wasn't all! Two long, masculine arms intruded on Fran's hazed 
field of vision now. Two strong arms reached around her from behind and 
clenched themselves to her breasts. Peter's fingers began to diddle her 
nipples. As if she could possibly submit to any more stimulation! Was there 
any part of her, any stray molecule of her being that had not been awakened 
to lust? 

And what was this? Her ass-hole was being assaulted. She'd never dreamed of 
such a thing. That orifice was meant only for excretion, she had been 
taught. How could anything ever enter back there? It was such a tiny little 
constricted hole. But something was trying. Something fought its way in 
through the puckered little anus that was set between her lovely smooth ass 
cheeks. Was it a greased finger? Was it a toe? Did it belong to Peter? Or to 
Jeri? Fran couldn't tell. She had no senses left for anything like that. All 
her powers of feeling and perception were directed to one place: her pussy, 
and to one thing: the experience of more orgasms. Every other bodily 
function, every other input to her brain had been suspended by the effect of 
the cocaine and the prurient actions of her sexual partners. She climbed 
outside her body now, and she watched the most incredibly salacious blue 
movie ever made, a film with her, Fran Dickerson in the starring role. 

There was even a dialogue. 

"That husband of yours was a faggot, wasn't he?" Peter asked the question 
and Fran knew that she'd better tell the truth, or else. 

"Owen could never get it up with a woman," Fran confessed. "The only way I 
managed to get pregnant was to dress up as a boy and get him to jerk off 
into my cunt." 

Fran heard Peter panting now, and he promised her that things would be 
different from now on, he threatened her in fact. 

"All right, Jeri," he shouted. "It's my turn with her cunt now." 

Fran had thought that nothing could ever surpass the insane pleasure that 
Jeri's tongue had been inflicting upon her. But she was mistaken. 

Peter picked her up and carried her over to the kitchen table. She floated 
above the table for a while, high on the cocaine and overdosing on the 
orgasms of cunnilingus. Then she glided in for a gentle landing on her back. 
She could hardly feel what she knew was a hard surface beneath her because 
all of her senses were concentrated on feeling hardness in one place: 
Peter's monstrous outstretched dong! Slowly it moved toward her dripping, 
drooling pussy. It was like an extraterrestrial body in the inevitability of 
its progress. There was no stopping it, Fran knew, nor should she try. This 
event was the culmination of all the natural processes that she had 
initiated that first day she had moved a finger to her pussy and began a 
search for her elusive clitoris and the pleasure she had heard could be 
found there. Deep inside her, in her heart and in her cunt she knew that she 
desperately wanted to be fucked, to be fondled and to be filled. 

And filled she was. Her cunt muscles, muscles that had never before been 
used for their natural purpose violently clenched at the huge rod that drove 
into her now. She cried as it pierced the outer ring of her vagina, but the 
tears she shed were joyous tears. Farther and farther she watched it go, 
until the whole length of Peter's monstrous member had disappeared deep 
within her. And was it deep! Fran could feel the penile head in the back of 
her throat. She thrilled at the idea that her breasts were being stimulated 
from the inside out! She shouted for joy as the first blast of hot male cum 
crashed inside her with the force of a tidal wave, and she marveled that her 
own body's reacting to the male offensive was none other than a new wave of 
orgasms. 

Then a shadow cast is pall over Fran's face. A dark spot blotted the light 
from her eyes. Fran gasped! It was Jeri's pelvis on top of her now! The spot 
was Jeri's snatch! She was going to get a chance to eat pussy! Fran licked 
her lips in anticipation. She could smell Jeri's goodies already. The girl's 
twat reeked of love juice and Fran was going to be able to lick off every 
bit of the flow from that beautiful glistening twat. Fran attempted to cry 
out but her scream was stifled as the descending snatch enveloped her wildly 
vibrating tongue. Fran began to give as good as she got! 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

Fran looked at her daughter across the dinner table. Laura had hardly 
touched her food. 

"What's the matter?" she asked. "Do you feel all right?" 

"Im just not hungry tonight, Mom," Laura replied. 

"Well, you still have to eat to keep up your strength," Fran insisted. "Go 
ahead and eat your dinner." 

Laura knew that she had to submit and eat a little more anyway. Her mother 
was still the dominant authority figure in her life. But there had been some 
tumultuous changes in their relationship lately, changes which did away with 
many of the barriers that divide mothers and daughters. 

"Do you still want to borrow my leather panties for the weekend?" Fran 
asked. 

"I'd love to try them, Mom, that is, if you don't need them. I told Pam 
about them and she's really excited. She said that something about leather 
has always held a certain fascination for her." 

"Well then, by all means take them." Fran sipped her glass of wine. 
"Darling, I'm so happy that you and Pam are getting along so well together. 
Have you both experienced multiple orgasms yet?" 

"Sure, Mom. We both fingered each other to multiple orgasms just last 
night." 

Fran smiled. 

Laura asked what she was planning to do for the upcoming weekend. 

"I'm going up to the mountains with Peter and Jeri. They promised to 
introduce me to some serious ass-fucking." 

"Sounds great, Mom. You'll have to give me a full report." 

"I promise, Laura." 

"Mom?" 

"Yes, Laura. What is it?" 

"Mom, I was wondering if we could make love in the bathtub again tonight. 
Without a dildo or anything. Just using our fingers on each other." 

"Of course," Fran answered. "You know I'd love that." 

Laura walked over and kissed her mother full on the lips. Then they just 
smiled at each other for a while. They really had their mother and daughter 
act together! 


THE END
