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Lily Robin, Chapter 5

  • Posted on February 28, 2017 at 2:51 pm

By Louisa May

Boy, I sure hadn’t changed much. I might be an Olympic Volleyball Hopeful (my title in the local press), and recipient of the Freshman Scholar-Athlete Award, but I was still living in Fantasyland. And now, weirdly, my fantasies were starting to seep into my reality!

I listened to the rollicking voices in the kitchen: Lily, with that delicious, tiny-alto laugh of hers. She had this sly growl in it that grew in intensity, a delightfully carnivorous laugh. And Lisa’s, that high whoop of hers, I’d forgotten. . . she did sound like some silly little bird, whooping away. I hadn’t heard that laugh much at all, from Lisa – I loved that it seemed so unlike her, so wacky, and foolish, whereas she herself was so self-contained. . .

Lily had, of course, been a fantasy of mine ever since our lusty one-night stand four years ago. And if I’d been self-sex-driven before meeting her, well, afterward. . . let’s just say I always had a tube of hydrocortisone cream with me. But after a couple of years, the Lily fantasy (reality) had become another page in my Rolodex of Dreams. A well-used page, yes, with stars and doodles on it, but still, one among many.

And then I entered the smorgasbord that is College, and found out it’s Okay to be Gay, at least among my crew (the Gym Dawgs). Heck, at college you could pretty much have any kind of sex with anything or anybody, as long as you kept your grades up. So I kind of didn’t really need fantasy there for awhile, at least for the time it took for the novelty of Coming Out to wear, if not off, then down.

And so coming home seemed the perfect time for a Break, in the truest sense: a time to separate from others, and find out what it was I really wanted. Or didn’t want. A personal retreat, if you will. It all sounds very admirable, doesn’t it? What I did, for the first week or so, was spend most of my time in my . . . Meditation Space. In bed.

Fortunately, Mom was busy most of the time, or it might have seemed a bit anti-social of me. I did luxuriate! My hands, mouth, ass, pussy – my beautifully taut, muscular body – hello, friend! It’s been a while! Now let’s get to know each other again. . .

And what’s funny is that, about three or four days into this marathon of self-pleasuring, I got the call from Mrs. Claire. I spoke to her while idly diddling myself. I must admit, her French accent drove me wild; it was such wonderful agony to repress the orgasm that kept trying to occur. And the fact that she was completely unaware, of course, that as we spoke I was naked as a jaybird with my hand busy in my bushy business – that made it all the more delicious.

I do recall that at one point during the conversation (well, more her talking and me responding with ‘OK’s’ and ‘uh-huh’s'), she did ask me if I’d been running. Woops. “Actually, yes. Gotta keep in shape! Sorry for the heavy breathing.”

“Oh, no, non non. You are an athlete, you must! How I envy you. The Olympics, mon dieu!”

Ooh, that French. “Maybe the Olympics. Don’t know yet.”

“Well, we all cross our fingers, yes? Oh, I must fly. Thank you, Louisa, thank you so much.”

“No problem. ‘Bye.” I hung up the phone and sank two fingers into my cunt, flexing my hips. At the same time, the thought of Lily burst onto my consciousness, and I came like gangbusters.

And – there was the issue of my sister. As proper and responsible as I’d like to believe myself to be, at least deep deep down – the sight of her at the door in her leotard. . . tanned, long smooth dancer muscles; pretty, fine-boned face, with big blue eyes and high cheekbones; soft, golden hair – well, it set my fantasy mind going, of course. Even if, when we stood around talking, I pretended it wasn’t. She’s my sister. There’s our mother. Of course she’s pretty, she’s a dancer.

No good.

I finally pushed myself away from the front door and headed in the direction of the kitchen. Look, I told myself. It’s one thing to fantasize – it’s quite another to be discovered molesting two preteen girls who happen to be your neighbor and your own sister! New local paper headlines: “Olympic Volleyball Hopeful Netted for Child Abuse!” “Lesbo Kiddie Kreep Spiked!” No thank you.

The laughter coming from the kitchen area seemed even more boisterous. Such whoops and hollers! Maybe I better do my job. . .

As I came in, something flew past me. “What the heck was that?!” It looked like dirt.

Immediately, the laughter stopped. A few repressed giggles ensued, and heavy breathing. I saw Lisa hiding behind the island. Lily seemed to be stalking her, pacing by the refrigerator with something in her hand. She had a dark ring around her mouth, and her look to me was of the innocent devil.

I tilted my head. “What is that?”

She held out her hand. “Brownie.” She looked at it. It seemed a bit. . . squashed. “With chocolate icing, but this one doesn’t have any icing anymore. . .”

I noticed that, besides her mouth, chocolate icing seemed to be on her clothes, too. And in her hair. Hm.

I gestured to her. “Turn around.” Yes, everywhere. “Looks like somebody pooped their pants.”

Lily guffawed, her hand to her mouth.

“I did that!” Lisa had stood up. Her headband now hund around her neck, and she now wore only her leotard – apparently her skirt had vanished. She too had a chocolate mouth-ring, and bore battle smudge wounds.

Lisa’s color was high. She seemed, not hysterical, but on the lesser verge of hysterical laughter. Her words tumbled out. “We were looking for Diet Coke –”

Lily provided footnotes. “I thought we had some in the pantry. . .”

“– and then Lily found these kind of chocolate-cake brownies in this,” referring to a half- empty, half-covered plate, “so we –”

“They’re really good, here, have one.” I absently accepted a brownie from Lily, listened to Lisa. I took a bite. To Lisa: “So you. . .”

She nodded. “So we ate some, and they were REALLY good, and then Lily was catching them in her mouth –”

“Not the whole thing, just. . . like this,” and she tossed the little formless lump of chocolate straight up – it fell into her mouth. She stuck up her fists and grinned triumphantly.

“But at first she was missing a lot, too.” Lily stuck a chocolate tongue out at Lisa, who giggled.

I cocked an eyebrow at Lily. “I can imagine.” Tongue out at me, too. “So how did you come to poop your pants?”

They both squealed with laughter. Wow, easy house. Lisa, breathlessly whooping: “You pooped your pants, you pooped your pants!” while Lily turned her butt to us and made poopy noises, which made Lisa laugh even harder.

“Oh! Oh! I’m laughing too hard!” Lisa stopped to get her breath, and in the sudden quiet, Lily made a small “plbbt!” sound. Which started Lisa right back up.

And as Lisa whooped, Lily touched my hand. One look. Then she said, “We were throwing it a little, and then I kinda smushed some on her dress, and so she smushed some on me, too. . .” She picked up Lisa’s skirt, which had been lying on the floor. On closer inspection, it, too, had been poopied.

Lisa was red in the face. She took a deep breath, then looked down at her leotard. She pulled a bit at the crotch. She looked up sheepishly. “I think I peed myself a little bit.”

“Peepee and poopie,” Lily murmured. Lisa giggled, a little wearily.

I popped the last bite of brownie in my mouth. It was, indeed, delicious. “ALRIGHT, girls: we have to clean up here. And I mean CLEAN.” Lily’s eyes were huge with hope. “Just. . . clean.” Her eyes dimmed a bit, a little pout just for me.

I scrabbled in a broom closet, found some supplies. “First, all pieces and crumbs in the trash. Then sweep. Then mop. Got it?”

“Got it!” In synch.

“Good! Then we’ll talk about showers and such.” The phone rang. “I’ll get this in the other room.” They looked at each other. “Get going, girls!” They did.

“Hello?”

“Louisa, hi. It’s Josette.”

“Hi. What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing, I’m just, I’m such a terrible mother, I forgot to give you a number to call me in case anything happened.”

“Oh, that’s – that’s fine, what is it?”

“Ready? It’s 348-2278.”

“348-2278. Got it.”

“And how are things going?”

“Oh, good, I guess.” Better tell her now. “I had to break up a little food fight.”

“No!” She laughed. “Oh, my dear, I am so sorry!”

“Oh my god, it was not your fault, absolutely. They’re just pretty wired, I guess, and the sugar just put ‘em over the edge.”

“Ohh, the coconut cream? Mon dieu, what a mess. . .”

“What? Oh, no, actually, it was the brownies.”

“The what?”

“The, you know, the little chocolate cakes. The brownies. On the plate?”

There was a silence.

“Hello? Josette? Did I lose you?”

“No, I’m . . . I’m here, Louisa.” Another silence, then: “Umm. . . the square, chocolate cakes that were in the pantry? Under the plastique?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m pretty sure. . . yes, Lily said she got it from the pantry, so, yes.”

“Ah. Well, Louisa, erm . . . how to say, how to say. . .”

“How to say what?”

“Erm. . . Louisa. . . I make these, these cakes special, for my husband–”

“Oh, I am so sorry, I –”

“Non, wait, wait. It is because, erm. . . you see, Jacques, my husband. . . he drinks, quite a lot, sometimes, and. . . oh, I am embarrassed to say –”

“It’s okay, really, I –”

“No, it’s not, I say he drinks too much, yes, but the essential, the main thing. . .do you know what are ‘hash brownies’?'”

I looked at the phone. “Hash brownies?”

“We say ‘gâteau haschisch’.”

“I know what they are. . .”

“Yes, well. . . for as long as we have been married, actually longer, when we were at Academie together, I make the. . . hash brownies for when I know Jacques will need them the next day because of . . . la gueule, the. . . sick after drinking. . .?”

“Hangover.”

“Yes, the hangover, bad, very bad. But, when he eats some of the gateaux. . .”

“All better. . .”

“Eh bien, not all, non non, but, yes, better. . . so. . .”

“So. . .” Wow. No wonder my girls were peeing their pants. I better go see how they are –

“How much did they have?”

I chuckled. “Actually, I don’t think very much, really. Most of it ended up on the floor. Or on their clothes. There’s still more than half the plate left, I think.”

“Okay. . .” I could hear her deliberate. “Should I come home, do you think?”

“Oh, no. No, really. They’re fine, believe me. It wasn’t, I mean, they weren’t very strong, were they? The brownies?”

“No, I always make it so there are a lot of cakes, and each one has just a little of the, the –”

“Special ingredient.” The phrase struck me as so absurd that I almost giggled. Hmm.

“Yes, the. . . special ingredient, yes. So. . .”

“Well, good. Definitely a new twist, but. . . should be fine.”

“Yes?”

“Oh yeah, really. I’m gonna go check on them now, I had them clean up their mess. Then it’s showers and to bed.”

“Yes, I’m sure they’ll be ready for bed quite soon.” She sighed, a little hiss over the phone. “Oh, and you can use the tub, too, there’s a big bathtub in our room. Whatever you want.”

“Thank you. Well! I have the number, and if you need to know anything, I’ll give you a call.”

“Thank you, Louisa. You are just an angel. I am so so sorry about all –”

“Oh stop. You’d do the same for me. And by the way, I had one, too. Brownie. They’re really good. I don’t think your husband deserves you.” I heard myself and wished I had instant replay.

But she took it in stride. “Well. . . you may be right. . .” almost as an afterthought. “Oh but now we’re off to another house!” She whispered, “will this evening never end?” Then she laughed briefly, her old social self. “High society. It’s so much work, Louisa! I must fly. Adieu, ma chere!” Click.

I looked at the phone again, and kissed it. Then I realized that my affection for it might have something to do with the brownies. Better go and check my girls.

The kitchen was clean, amazingly. Not the same could be said for the girls. They stood before me, as if on parade. Both wore expressions of solemn laugh-holders. And both were now topless, Lisa with her leotard rolled down to her waist.

Apparently they had now gotten into the coconut cream pie, too, because both girls wore a beard and mustache made of coconut cream. And both had pasties, too. I gazed, astonished, at the thick dabs of coconut cream pie icing that covered their nipples. Lisa was one big blush from belly to forehead, but her lips quivered with barely suppressed mirth. And one of her pasties had a little comma through it, revealing the middle of a newly risen breast lump.

I looked at Lily, who looked up, away, then at me. She opened her mouth slightly, and I saw the bit of coconut cream that may very well have been licked? off of Lisa quite recently. Hmm. . .

“Have either of you gentlemen seen Lisa or Lily around?”

They shook their heads solemnly.

“Hmm. Well, I just wanted to compliment them on a job well done.”

Lily cleared her throat. “We’ll tell them,” in a deep, mannish voice. Lisa nodded sagely.

“Well, ” I crossed to the doorway. “I did want to tell them that they could take a bath in the big bathtub, but I guess if they’re not here. . .”

They erupted. “Yaaay, a bath!” Lily grabbed Lisa’s hand and pulled her toward the stairs. “It’s huge, it’s like a big whirlpool, it is so cool. . .” and they were up.

Continue on to Chapter 6

Reading

  • Posted on February 27, 2017 at 4:11 pm

 

Perverse Pleasures, Part Two

  • Posted on February 26, 2017 at 3:10 pm

By Naughty Mommy

So, that’s who I am.

I’m a pervert. I love to masturbate in public.

And all of this has been leading up to the most amazing experience I have ever had.

I’m a senior in college now, 21 years old, a journalism major. In a few months I’ll get my degree, then next fall I’ll begin working on my masters. My schedule is fairly light this final semester, only a couple of classes a week. I’ve done very well in my studies — I’ll graduate near the top of my class, in fact, if you’ll pardon the bragging.

Along the way, happily, I’ve also been able to continue doing what I most love to do.

None of my professors, as far as I know, has a clue that quite often I’ve been getting myself off during their lectures. By now I’ve perfected my methods. I can make myself come almost at will merely by crossing my legs and squeezing them together, repeatedly clenching my thigh muscles to stimulate my clit. This works amazingly well. I’ve given myself countless orgasms that way, even while seated in a crowded classroom with students on either side.

Nothing can replace the feel of my fingers on my bare sex, however. So, if possible, I’ll try to slip a hand inside my clothing. It’s not as easy to get away with that, of course. Usually I’m not able to do so, but if I can, I will. I finger myself until I reach climax, then nonchalantly raise my hand to my face, pretending to scratch my nose while inhaling the fragrance of my juicy cunt.

I love to masturbate during my classes, but elsewhere too: in the cafeteria while eating lunch; in a store while shopping; at the park, sitting on a bench; riding on the bus, seated next to strangers; I’ve even done it while riding in an elevator. As long as I’m around others, around people who have no idea what I’m really doing, but who might discover it, that idea drives me wild. I’m such a pervert.

*       *       *

To earn some money, and because I like books, for the past year or so I’ve been working part-time in a used bookstore near the campus. It’s sort of a quiet, out-of-the-way place, called Legacy Books.

I enjoy working at Legacy because the owner, Mr. Tinworth, trusts me and pays me pretty well. He’s not around much, and doesn’t seem to mind that business is usually slow. I suppose he already must have however much money he needs or wants.

As you might expect, I frequently masturbate at work, because why wouldn’t I? Since the store is often empty, I’m on my own and can do whatever I choose. Naturally it’s not as fun and exciting when I’m alone, though, doing it with no customers around, but if I feel the need to come, I’ll do it anyway. Sometimes, to spice things up, I’ve stood close to the front window, taking a chance that passersby on the street will see me. That makes me so hot.

In addition to selling used books, we also purchase them at Legacy for resale, or take them on trade. When I first started there, Mr. Tinworth didn’t allow me to do that. But after a time, when I’d shown some interest and aptitude, he turned the job over to me. Now I do almost all our buying.

In that capacity, I’ve made sure that our Erotica section is very well-stocked. We have an excellent selection of 19th century and early 20th century pornographic novels and short story collections, as well as items from more recent authors. It’s one of our most popular areas of the store, accounting for nearly a third of our total transactions.

And that brings me to the amazing experience I promised to tell you about.

It was a Thursday afternoon, a typically slow day at Legacy Books, perhaps even slower than usual. Mr. Tinworth had shown up in the morning but soon left, saying he’d see me on Friday. I had no classes to attend that day, and would close the shop at 7:00. We’d had a few customers and I’d made a couple of sales, but nothing special.

Then, about 1:30, they came in — two women, one mature, one younger, together with a little girl around 8 years old. It appeared the three were related, most likely mother, daughter, and granddaughter. I was somewhat surprised to see the child, considering it was a school day. Later I found out that they were traveling, on their way to attend a relative’s wedding the next day, and had stopped in our town for lunch and to do some shopping.

At any rate, I was very glad they were there. This gave me an opportunity to play with myself in an unusually provocative setting, with a young girl and two women. So naughty, and so nice!

I smiled at the group as they came in. The women nodded to me and said hello, then commenced browsing. There was no one else in the store.

The child was adorable, wearing a pink quilted jacket and a very short yellow dress that came less than halfway down her thighs. She had big round brown eyes, long eyelashes, and rosy cheeks. Her dark hair was shoulder length, curled under, with flirty bangs.

The darling girl headed straight for the children’s section, located at the front of our shop, picked out several items to look at, then sat down on a small wooden chair we keep there and began to page through the books. Both women, meanwhile, had disappeared toward the rear.

I perched on my stool behind the counter, looking at the child as I squeezed my thighs together, clenching the muscles to stimulate my clit. Soon I parted my legs, sliding a hand up under my short skirt, gently stroking my pussy through my satin panties. The sales counter was tall enough that no one could see what I was doing unless they were standing very close, and the women were out of sight. I felt safe, but not too safe.

How I love to touch myself. I’m quite an expert at it, of course, since I’ve been doing it pretty much all my life, masturbating many times a day, knowing exactly what to do to really get myself going. As you know, however, nothing turns me on more than doing it in public, where there’s a chance I might get caught. Just like this, in front of a little girl, with her mom and her grandmother not far away. So fucking hot.

Then I noticed something unusual, something surprising. While the child was examining the books, her legs had come open. And not just a little bit either, they were wide apart. She was facing toward me as she sat, and I had a clear, extremely arousing view of her white cotton undies.

Had she done this on purpose? Was the girl deliberately trying to turn me on? No, that couldn’t be, could it?

Well, whether it was deliberate or not, I was turned on, very turned on. After quickly glancing around to make sure no one would be able to see, I put my other hand between my legs and pulled my own panties aside so I could touch myself directly.

I was already very wet. My fingers slid up and down inside my slit, spreading the gooey moisture around. Should I make myself come? Sure, why not? I’d done it plenty of times with people inside the shop, more times than I could count. And my clitoris was so big and hard, throbbing, just begging for it.

Gazing at the lovely child, staring at those white panties between her wide-open legs, I fondled my clit, sliding my slippery fingers over the nub, playing with myself until I was right on the edge, almost there.

The little girl raised her head. She looked into my eyes and smiled. That alone just about put me over the top — except then her gaze shifted away from me, went behind me, and her smile grew even wider.

Startled, I turned my head to discover both women standing near the counter, only a few feet away. In my aroused, frenzied, distracted state, I somehow hadn’t noticed them returning from the back of the store. I quickly pulled my hands from between my legs, straightening my skirt, trying to act as if nothing had happened.

It was no use. They’d seen everything. They knew exactly what was going on.

But the amazing thing is, they didn’t mind! In fact, they approved!

“Please, don’t stop,” the younger woman said to me. “Keep going. She likes to watch.”

“Yes, she does. And so do we,” added the older woman.

“What — I — ?” I didn’t know what to say.

I knew I was blushing something furious, and sweating too. It was so rare for me to actually be caught masturbating, and never before had it been like this, while staring between the legs of a little girl!

“Don’t stop, keep going,” repeated the younger woman. “Please, we really want you to.”

As she said this, both women moved across to stand behind the child. The way our store is arranged the section they were in, though near the front door, cannot be seen from outside. There’s a brick wall and a shelf of children’s books that hid them from view. I mention this because the next thing that happened totally shocked me.

The mature woman, probably in her mid-50s, but still slim and quite pretty, immediately pulled her long loose dress up around her waist, holding it with one hand as she slid the other inside her panties. The younger woman, who was wearing jeans, opened them and pushed her hand down inside too, rubbing herself.

“We love to watch,” said the older woman. “We love watching each other, and we want to watch you, okay?”

“Um… okay…”  Who was I to say no?

I stepped out from behind the counter, facing toward them, but with the tall counter allowing only my upper body to be visible from the sidewalk. I yanked up my miniskirt, pushed my panties down around my knees, and resumed masturbating for them.

Of course, if another customer had come in, I don’t know what we would have done, but fortunately no one did.

We played with ourselves, three women masturbating in a public place, watching one another — and with a child watching too!

But the little girl did more than merely observe. After a minute or so, the younger woman, who I soon found out was indeed her mother, said to the child, “Why don’t you show her, okay? Let her see you.”

“Okay,” the girl nodded happily.

She’d been sitting in the small chair with her legs still spread wide, looking up at me and smiling. Now she briefly stood and tugged her panties down, stepping out of them, then sat down again. The girl used her fingers to open her smooth, hairless pussy lips, giving me a look inside.

Oh my god, so beautiful, so perfect, so inviting… lovely and pink and soft and… and wet… yes, wet! The child’s pussy was clearly, unmistakably wet!!

That’s when I came, when I saw that.

I’d wanted to hold off, trying to time it so we could all climax together, the two women and I — but this illicit, erotic view of a little girl’s juicy pussy suddenly shoved me over the top. I gasped and groaned, cupping my vulva in both hands, jiggling them a little to extend the orgasm, all while praying that no one would come in and find us.

When I finally finished and was able to open my eyes, I saw that they were all three looking at me, at my hands between my legs.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh,” grunted the older woman, fingers moving fast inside her panties. Then, “Ohh unhh UNHH!” she groaned, climaxing loudly.

The younger woman’s jeans were down around her knees now and her panties as well. She had two fingers inside her cunt, pumping rapidly in and out, making a wet, slapping sound.

“Yes, yes, yes!” the woman cried, and then she came too. It was so hot, so incredibly hot.

But the most exciting thing of all was the little girl, the child.

Sitting in the chair with her thin legs spread wide apart, fingers ticking her clit, she kept her big brown eyes locked on mine, smiling, licking her lips, playing with herself, until — a sudden shudder, a high-pitched squeal, her cute face turning red — I saw her come.

Oh my god, this was unbelievably exciting. So exciting, in fact, that it made me come a second time.

I’d kept my fingers moving as I watched the two women bringing themselves to orgasm, and then, when the young girl and I made eye contact, I’d taken a step closer to her, pulling my panties to the side, fully exposing myself, showing the child my wet pussy, rubbing myself for her. And when she came, I came too.

I have no idea how many orgasms I had that afternoon. They seemed to just keep coming, over and over, one on top of the other. I’m pretty sure both women came more than once as well, though it’s impossible to say for sure. It’s all such a blur of erotic excitement, fingers flying over pussies, the cries of ecstasy, the intoxicating aroma of feminine sex…

Some time later, perhaps twenty or thirty minutes, maybe it was longer, I don’t know, but at last we were spent. Gasping, panting, smiling at one another and giggling in our post-orgasmic high as we licked the goo from our fingers, we began getting ourselves back together again.

I was about to ask if they had any plans for dinner that night, hoping I might be able to spend more time with them, when the older woman said to the other, “I hate to say this, but we really need to get going. We’ve still got a long way.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” nodded the younger woman. Turning to me, she explained, “We’re driving to San Francisco. We need to be there tomorrow for a wedding.”

“It’s a lesbian wedding,” added the little girl with a grin.

“Yes,” said the older woman. “It will be my other daughter, the younger one, and her girlfriend.”

“All right, well, have fun,” I told them.

“Thank you,” said the mature woman. “Oh, I almost forgot. I did want to buy this. We found it in the back, in that very nice special section you have.”

She placed her selection on the counter. It was a three-volume paperback set, titled The Joy of Looking.

“Good choice,” I winked. “That’s one of our best sellers.”

I rang up the purchase, and then they were gone, waving at me through the window as they walked off down the street. And I was left to wonder… what might have happened if they had not just been passing through, but were in town for a longer visit? Or what if they lived near by?

I wondered about their home life too… what must that be like? I sat on my stool behind the counter, facing away from the window and masturbated again as I considered this, thinking about the possibilities.

Finally, just before I came, I came to a decision. From now on, I affirmed, I’m going to be a lot less cautious about playing with myself in public. Who knows what other fun experiences it could lead to?

THE END

A Young Desert Rose, Chapter 2

  • Posted on February 25, 2017 at 3:58 pm

By Sunnybunny

Angie’s reservations seemed to evaporate entirely once Heather was behind the wheel, gunning the engine and letting the custom-built engine roar to life. She let it hum like a predatory cat, glancing sidelong at Angie to gauge her reaction before revving her foot against the gas, making the beast under the hood roar. The girl’s eyes lit up like saucers, going from Heather to the hood of the car as if she could see through the sheet of metal of the hood to take in the engine underneath. Heather couldn’t stop herself from grinning, appreciating she had found a budding young gear-head out in the middle of nowhere.

They raced down the deserted street toward the busted intersection, kicking up great clouds of dust in their wake, slowing to a crawl beneath the traffic light and swinging left. Heather threw the shift about between them, flexing her feet expertly against the pedals, unable to stop herself from showing off a bit of her driving skills.

She couldn’t help but notice that as they rumbled past the filling station at the street corner, Angie hunkered down a little in her seat, until just the top of her sand-colored head could barely be seen over the door. Heather glanced back at the empty garage, flipping her sunglasses back down before asking, “I guess your dad wouldn’t approve of you getting into cars with strangers?”

Angie twisted around in her seat to stare back the way they had come, peeking over the top of the headrest. The dry wind was making her threadbare dress whip all around the car. “He told me to stay around the shop where he could see me until he finished up tonight.”

“Should I take you back then?” Heather felt a creeping feeling of doubt and the first real notion of fear. Had she technically kidnapped a kid? Suddenly she was feeling more than a bit like Chester the Child Molester and spied a good empty lot up ahead where they could turn around.

“I don’t think he’s even awake,” she said, turning back around to sit back heavily in the seat. “There really isn’t much work to do at the shop so mostly he just sits around, plays darts with Tommy Elder and drinks beer. That car, the one that’s hoisted up like that in the garage? It’s been there forever now, ain’t no parts for it around here so it’s on order. In the meantime, nothing to do but…” She shrugged, looking at Heather for the first time since they passed the place. “I really like your car. It’s a ’77, right?”

“You got a good eye,” she answered with a nod, impressed and not bothering to hide it.

“My dad taught me a lot about cars,” Angie answered without being asked. “I can even drive some.”

“You can drive?”

“You want me to show you?” A mischievous smile crossed her mouth, reached her eyes and lit them up. Heather was smiling now too.

“Not a chance.”

“How come? The only cop in town is back at my dad’s station, playing darts and drunk as a skunk.”

“There isn’t much here, eh?” Heather asked, changing the subject.

Angie didn’t press the matter and shook her head. “More’n you’d expect.”

“I saw a McDonald’s sign coming into town. Where is that?”

Angie chuckled at the question. “That place shut up before I was even born.”

Heather should have expected this but couldn’t help but feel a little crestfallen. “So much for that Big Mac Attack. Is the diner the only place to eat around here?”

Angie nodded her head, crossing her ankles over the low dash. The bottoms of her feet were stained a rich coffee-color. “Yeah, if you want anything else, it’s a pretty long drive to the next town over, ‘least two hours. Mostly though we get food from the grocery store. They have a freezer up front with tons of ice cream. It’s just up here.” She pointed lazily with one hand before tucking it behind her head, the picture of comfort.

“Make yourself at home, I guess,” Heather teased.

“Oh, I am.”

They pulled into the parking lot beside the rusted-out husk of an Impala. Heather reached into her front pocket and produced a crisp, new five-dollar bill and handed it over to Angie. “Grab me one too, huh?” Angie skipped up to the front door, her skirt lifting gently with each lift of her knee and threw the door open and vanished inside. The bell chime announcing her entry was a brass contraption tied to the inside handle. Through the wide glass windows of the front of the store, she spied Angie already leering over the top of the freezer near the register, raising up onto tip toe and grinning hungrily down at the pile of treats.

She laughed at something Heather couldn’t hear and slid the screen aside, fishing out two large pops wrapped in paper. A moment later, she reappeared at the door, jogged down the steps toward the car, and hopped in over the top without bothering to open the door. She handed one of the two pops in her hand over. It had a cartoon character on the front, Spongebob Squarepants. Heather wondered if the large, blue eyes were gumballs like the ones she got from the ice cream trucks when she was Angie’s age.

Angie unwrapped her ice cream (another cartoon character but from a show Heather didn’t recognize) and placed it between her lips unable to keep herself from humming in delight.

They were back on the road again a moment later, racing down the narrow streets of Oasis with no new destination in mind, just enjoying the sensation of the wind in their hair and the ice cream melting against their lips.

“The mountains are on fire,” Angie pointed up ahead and indeed, a trick of the light of the setting sun made it seem like the range of mountains before them was ablaze. “That’s what my dad says all the time. There’s a lake out there somewhere too, s’what keeps the Oasis from burning up like all the other towns out here. Something about the wind coming off the water and down the mountains…” she trailed off. “Anyway, that’s what keeps this place alive.”

“Just barely,” Heather said before she could stop herself.

Angie laughed at that, smearing a bit of the treat across her cheek. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It ain’t so bad though. It’s a friendly place with nice folks, don’t have to lock your doors at night like you do in the big city. Everyone knows everyone.”

“Is that something else your dad says?” Heather ribbed.

Angie blushed a little and smiled, nodding. “Yeah…pretty often, too. Especially when I tell him I’m bored and that there’s nothin’ to do!”

“Is that pretty often? Being bored with nothing to do?”

Angie made a face, taking another lick of her ice cream. Her tongue was long and pink, with a purple streak running down the middle from the treat. “Only sometimes. When Mary Rose isn’t tied up with her piano lessons at the church or Billy Ross can come out and…” she paused, hesitating on the word ‘Play’ before switching it to “…hang out. Missy Tat and Denny are usually around but they had chores to do, so I just been bored all day by myself.” She looked over, smiling through ice cream stained lips. “That’s when I noticed this car of yours and had to get a good look. I know everyone’s car in town, my dad’s fixed ‘em all for some thing or another over the years. No one in Oasis has a car like THIS. So I knew you were new.”

“At what point did you think about stealing change from my seats?” Heather teased but Angie looked hurt for a moment, looking away.

“I hope you don’t think too bad of me. I wouldn’t have done it, I don’t think. I feel awful sorry about it.”

Heather reached over to ruffle the girls head good-naturedly. Angie’s hair was thick, soft and flecked with coarse grains of sand. It was meant as a gesture of affection but it drew a frown across the child’s face.

“Why are grown-ups always trying to pat me on the damn head?”

Heather didn’t know if it was the huff in her voice or the liberal use of a swear, but it made her laugh all the same. It sounded strangely natural, and it was clear that Angie was no stranger to cussing and likely wasn’t reprimanded for it too often.

“Sorry, guess it’s because you’re so cute. We can’t help it.”

“People say that a lot, too,” Angie said in her wiser than her year’s voice.

They raced past the old, blown out husk of what was once the McDonald’s, and Heather looked longingly back at it through the rearview mirror. The arches had faded to a bone-white but were still standing.

Before she knew it, Heather was glimpsing another worn sign bidding them farewell as they were leaving Oasis, wishing them safe travels and a speedy return. “There really isn’t much more to see,” Angie commented. “This road goes all the way into California if you follow it long enough but there isn’t anything to look at between here and there but more sand.”

The fire on the mountains was spreading down into the valley, igniting the dunes into pyres and the scattered trees and cactus stalks to torches. She wondered if the town would look ablaze on their return trip?

She glanced over at her impromptu passenger, got a twinge of the anxiety from before, fretting if she had technically kidnapped this girl and perhaps now her father was scrambling about their tiny town with Oasis’ single police officer in a panic. Heather turned her head, opening her mouth to shout over the blowing wind and sound of the engine in order to be heard but paused at the sight of Angie’s slender legs.

The dress had snaked its way up her hips, revealing flesh sun-dyed the same dark tone as the rest of her. Heather’s breath hitched again and a heat spread out on her face that had nothing to do with the desert wind. She forced herself to look away but the glimpse had left her chest tight, as if her ribs were constricting around her heart. Heather tightened her grip on the wheel, hoping more to get a firmer grasp on the situation rather than the car rocketing more than sixty down a barren stretch of highway. She chanced another look, longer this time, unable to help herself. The tender area where the girls legs met her hips was visible, scarlet in the rapidly fading light, encircled by the leg-hole of her tiny panties, looking just as old and worn out as the dress blowing around them.

Heather took a shaky breath, willing her nerves to calm down while she searched her mind for an explanation for what was happening. Heather had always jokingly referred to herself as a sexual deviant but…no, there was no way there was any sort of real….she was lost in her reasoning for a time, lapsing into silence while she tried and failed to sort it out.

She slowed the car to a crawl and nosed it to the shoulder of the road. In the rearview mirror, the town was a speck of yellow light far, far in the distance. Heather looked over at Angie who was gazing over the passenger door, looking completely comfortable for someone so young to be literal miles from home with a complete stranger. All at once, Heather recalled long school assembly meetings from grade school, where a few local police officers would gather all the students together in the cafeteria or auditorium to warn them all about ‘stranger danger’.

Heather whipped the wheel around in a tight circle motion, preparing to head back the way they had come. They had probably already gone too far, been gone too long, and Angie was likely going to be in serious trouble but…

Instead of going back down the highway she rolled to the opposite shoulder and punched the car into neutral and set the parking brake, but didn’t cut the engine. They idled for a beat before Angie turned around to face Heather. “Why are we stopped?” The ice cream was long gone but she was still sucking idly on the stick. Her lips were lightly stained a dark purple, as if she was wearing lipstick. Her question did not show any sign of fear or concern, and that filled Heather with relief for some reason.

“Angie,” she began slowly, through a dry mouth. “I need to touch you.” She quieted almost at once, heart thundering like a jackhammer once the words were out. It hadn’t been a request, but a statement, as casual as if she had said she was getting a drink of water to quench her thirst. “You don’t have to do anything, just sit quiet and still while I do it.” Her heart was beating faster with each word until she was certain it would cause a heart attack. Heather unbuckled her own seatbelt with trembling fingers and shifted in her seat to face Angie beside her. The girl still did not appear anxious or frightened, but there was definitely something playing across her young features. Was it more curiosity? Or was that just Heather trying to ease her own conscience for what she was about to do…

She reached for Angie, sliding the palm of her hand across her middle to encircle her fingers around the girls ribs. The fabric wasn’t as soft as it looked and Heather tugged it higher, bunching it up around Angie’s middle to reveal her body. Her belly was smooth, warm beneath her hand, almost hot and slightly damp with a sheen of sweat. Heather drew in a shaky breath, scooting across the middle of the bench to sit closer to the girl, trembling so bad her fingers delayed in obeying her whims. They snaked drunkenly higher to caress Angie’s narrow chest, searching for a nipple but missing it. Her clumsy fingers became desperate, groping all around (for that was the only word that could best describe Heather’s lewd exploration) until they found the little dots of flesh and she gasped aloud. Never had she been so aroused, so wanton for someone, man or woman. Yet the simple sensation of the soft, tender flesh of this girl’s nipple rolling between her thumb and index finger had left her quivering. Heather buried her face in the nape of Angie’s neck, inhaling her scent. She smelled like sweat and open air and sand and cheap discount brand shampoo. Heather’s tongue darted out to taste her, coming away salty and sweet…

Angie made no move to stop her, simply sat quietly, allowing Heather to explore her without complaint or protest. She even shifted a little in her seat, moved her hands to make the path easier without being asked. Heather gripped the girls knobby knee, slid her palm flat up the smoothness of her inner thigh but could not bring herself to reach through her panties. Instead, she caressed Angie from the outside, her breath hitching again, smoothing her finger out against the little cleft of her slit before begging away. She fell heavily back into her side of the car, breathless and sweating coldly. “Th-thank you, Angie,” she murmured, her voice sounding strange and dazed even to her.

Angie made no reply, save from looking at her with a curious expression that knit her eyebrows together. The quiet grew longer, until it was palpable but Heather could not think of anything else to say, any sort of explanation for her behavior. It all had just been a surge of attraction, an animal magnetism that compelled her to act.

She buckled her seatbelt again and shifted the car back into gear, rolling along the gravel until they were on the highway again, racing toward town and pushing 90.

Continue on to Chapter 3

Pixie in Pink, Chapter 1

  • Posted on February 24, 2017 at 1:13 pm

By Sammy

Lizzie’s face was a soft foggy circle in my side window, still struggling to defrost in the morning air. The long drive up had been mostly silent, both of us knowing this moment was coming, yet neither able to prepare for it.

The way my daughter’s gold hair shone, even then, warmed me out of winter’s clutches, the hidden sun slipping from mind until I realized just how many mornings in the coming months I’d be clinging to it in her absence.

As she grew smaller in my rearview mirror, finally taking Brenda’s hand once we were just about out of sight of each other, it finally sunk in that I was going to be stuck for three hours in a car with no company and a radio I couldn’t afford to replace.

Oh, the things I do for her.

The things she does to me.

. . . . .

 

I’d guess it started with her stockings.

They were the first piece of skating gear I ever bought her. I can still see her stubby legs in Sears, scurrying over the minute she saw them. Pale, pink, with puffs on the heels. Probably not the best choice for squeezing into skates, but at least she had the good sense to head straight for the bargain rack.

She won her first competition in those stockings. And her second, third, and fourth. And every time, alone in the locker room or, in the arenas too small for them, a lone bathroom stall, I’d get the privilege of sliding them up her thin legs, Far too toned for five, I might think with silly jealousy, my hands cupping her thighs nearly all the way around and knowing even then that my pleasure was much less than motherly. (Or would that be more?) Which might have started to gnaw at me for a moment. Then Lizzie would peck me on the lips with an ecstatic “Thank you, Mommy!” and I’d smooth her short hair by the back of her neck, and everything would be okay again. Because I knew that whatever was inside me, whatever it was growing into, I would never, ever do anything to hurt her. She was my baby girl. My very life. And, well, just because she was that, it didn’t mean she couldn’t also be my own personal pixie in darling pink stockings.

And watching her, in them, in action… different pairs through the years, sure, but some things never changed. The pink crinkling slightly at the knees as she’d crouch for a jump.  Legs spreading at the top of the arc, skirt flitting up around her hips just enough for that round little bottom to peek out, hiding the briefest pooch in the centre. And her muscles tensing when she landed, and the smile she’d effortlessly flash without losing a smidgen of focus, picking me out of the crowd wherever I was.

And then them, in the laundry… I’d make sure to wash everything right when we got home, as then I could still feel the sublime blend of chill and sweat as I rubbed them on my face, my breasts, my stomach, further below… she, upstairs in the dead midst of her post-skate nap, and me, in the laundry room struggling with feelings it took me far too long to understand, as if there was much to understand about sliding my daughter’s various underthings across my mound, the tangled frills of little-girl-lace mingling with the wisps of my wheat-blonde pubic hair,  then deep inside, deep as I could go, till I was coming again and again.

And that was about how it went. Until the day when Lizzie was five, and I moved from the laundry room into her bedroom.

She had gone immediately from the rink to a birthday dinner for Felicia, the closest (and cutest) friend she had made of all her fellow skaters. I had the house to myself, and before I knew it I was crossing the house, from the veiled motherliness of laundry inspection to the abject perviness of basket-raiding, mining her big beige bucket for the freshest pair I could find, dried sweat and specks of whatever else — God, everything else — on the gusset I was soon sucking off, feeling out of my body as I was furiously cumming on her bed, my eyes drifting, at the very last moment, to the family of soft brown teddies staring at me from the corner they had claimed long ago. I was stilled by that in a way I still can’t describe. Every time thereafter, I made sure there was enough room for all of us.

And there were many thereafters — the dam had burst. My dreamland grew all the more intricate, imagining my daughter into all manner of scenarios. We toured the house in my head, me showing her the wonders of making love, taking her slowly and softly through her first time, relishing the moment I first touched my tongue to her virgin underneath. Eventually, the bathtub became my locale of choice. Soaking, soaping, my legs spread wide and just touching the sides of the tub in symmetry, Lizzie nestled in my center, my ankles crisscrossed behind her legs as I held her tight, filling her unsure mouth with my tongue as her smooth mound slid against my belly in the sudsy mess. Feeling every quiver as she came for the first time, her tiny body invaded by impossible pleasures she had no conception of… and that was only the beginning.

And the funny thing is, I don’t know whether I ever could have started out on this grandest of adventures if Lizzie hadn’t been so intent on her own.

She was a born explorer, whether through the thick evergreens surrounding our little backyard pond, or the endless nooks and crannies of our large, winding country home. She loved our crawlspace in particular, so much so I had to place a six-foot wardrobe in front of the entrance to it in my bedroom. That only seemed to enchant her more, though — the Narnia effect? — and one night while I was out with my friends, she “accidentally” tossed a sock behind it. When Brenda, her babysitter, had managed to budge it just enough, Lizzie scurried between her legs, right into the darkness, and refused to come out.

Poor Brenda was beside herself. And then Lizzie found the skates.

They were in the back, right behind the Christmas lights and boxes of ugly heirloom glassware, where they’d been sitting, untouched, since my mother’s death from Alzheimer’s ten years before.

I suppose what happened next would best for Brenda to explain. Not to mention that transcribing the voicemail, which I still have after all these years, means I get to listen to that faint sexy lisp for the millionth time.

Uh, hi, Ms. Masters. This is Brenda… Brenda the babysitter… of course. God, so stupid. I, um, just wanted to warn you that you might be coming home to a little situation here at the house. See, Lizzie tricked me and got into the crawlspace and absolutely would not come out, and then she found this really old pair of skates, and begged me to take her out to the pond. I know I shouldn’t have, but she said just for a few minutes, and now she won’t stop! …  But, um, Ms. M, I really gotta say, you wouldn’t believe how quickly she took to it. You know I trained with my Aunt Ellen up north and have been doing competitions for a few years, and I think I’ve never seen such a natural. And I’ve definitely never seen a four-year-old get a foot off the ground and actually stay on her feet, let alone in skates I had to stuff with extra socks. And I’m sorry if this seems nosey… but I really have to ask… there was a “Pat” sewn into the heel of the skates… Pat Masters… was she Lizzie’s grandmother?

I came home shortly after that, to a brilliant glow from the backyard, arching out to the limits of the driveway. As I made my way towards the back of the house, I saw that the Christmas lights on our inside ring of evergreens were on and heard Lizzie laughing louder than I ever had before. She was circling the pond, tracing primitive but confident figures, and Brenda was on the stone bench beside the pond, hot chocolate in hand, cheering as Lizzie zipped around the ice. And I mean zipped.

I noticed Brenda’s thighs subtly rubbing together. Her eyes were on Lizzie, intent, unblinking. But she turned towards me immediately when my foot crunched snow.

“Hi, Ms. M!”

“Please, Brenda, I told you. Abby is fine.”

She blushed. Lizzie, skating, still hadn’t seen me. “She’s really taken to it, huh?”

“Yup. We’ve been out here two hours now. She’s barely stopped for a breath.”

“But I mean… the figures. She’s actually doing figures.”

She shrugged and smiled shyly. “Once I realized she wasn’t getting off the ice, I thought I might as well pass the time somehow. So I showed her a few things. I hope you don’t mind… ”

I stopped and looked at my daughter on the ice. She was in her own world, completely, her body seemingly relishing its testing of these new boundaries in this new world, the cruelty of my hiding it from her making me flinch.

I glanced at Brenda, whose own eyes were set on Lizzie.

“No, Brenda, I don’t mind. And, to answer your earlier question… yes.”

“Yes, what… Abby?”

“Yes, my mother was Pat Masters.”

She seemed as if she hadn’t understood me.

Olympics Pat Masters?”

“Yes, Brenda… ” I smiled, unable to resist the urge to mimic her incredulity, if just a little. “Olympics Pat Masters.”

Right then, Lizzie spotted me.

“Mommy!” She sped over to us, leaping over the snow at the edge of the pond and into my open arms. I held her tight and pressed my cheek to hers. “Did you see me?!”

“I sure did, baby.”

She pulled back and smiled at me with every last tooth. “Did you see what Brenny taught me? All of my… my fingers?”

I chuckled. “Figures, sweetie. They’re called figures.”

“Yeah, my figures! Did you see? I made an eight!”

“Wow, a four-year-old making a whole eight on her first try. That must be some kind of record.”

“Yeah! Do you know how to do any, Mommy?”

My eyes caught Brenda’s, peeking out from beneath her purple knit cap, boring deeply into mine. She grinned.

“Yeah, Abby… do you?”

. . . . .

 

From then on, Brenda was Lizzie’s trainer. Both of us tried convincing my daughter that if she was serious about skating, which, as she adamantly affirmed, she was, she should be in an actual class, or at least trained by a professional, not a girl who still had so much to learn herself. But Lizzie was adamant: It had to be Brenny. And I remembered enough from my brief stint (I guess you could say I did once know a handful of my own… fingers) to know that for Lizzie’s experience level, i.e. none, Brenda would do just fine.

And for her age and experience, Brenda certainly was accomplished. She had been on the ice herself since the age of three, and had even begun coaching skaters younger than herself when she turned thirteen. She was also persistent and curious, which, I think, are just about the two most important qualities for success in anything.

And did I forget to mention she was gorgeous? God, was she gorgeous. This was some time before I had come to accept my feelings for Lizzie, but upon meeting Brenda, I had indulged freely and fully. She was thin and wiry, in a way that seemed to be both from and naturally gifted for her sport, with nipples that were delectably erect more often than not, usually braless under her thin t-shirts and knit sweaters. I had been letting myself leer maybe a little too often lately, and I was pretty sure she’d noticed at least once or twice. I couldn’t help it, nor a snuck whiff of her fragrant brown hair just about every time we were close. And I simply enjoyed spending time with her: she made me laugh. She often came off as naive, even for her age, and yet… there was a more-than-occasional fierceness to her I found irresistible. She was a fighter, another symbiotic match to her skating. I could always tell there was more to her than I, or I bet anyone else in her life, her prudish parents included, knew there was.

In the weeks after my daughter’s home ice debut, Brenda repeatedly skirted around the question of my own mother. She was a fan, that much was clear, but she was also perceptive enough to see it was something of a sore issue.

One night, we were sitting in my car in her driveway after a night of babysitting.

“I kinda wanna ask you something, Ms. Masters — sorry, Abby… but it’s personal.”

“Please don’t be shy, Brenda. I trust you like a member of the family now. Really, I have to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lizzie thinks the world of you, and as far as she’s concerned, you’re her way to the championships.”

We both giggled. “Championships, huh? Did she mention… which?”

“She wasn’t able to narrow it down. But you know what? I believe her. As much as it makes me feel like some kind of filthy careerist, I believe her.  And more importantly, I believe you can help her there.”

She demurred. “Wow. That means a lot, Abby. Like I told you, Lizzie is incredibly talented.”

“Thank you, dear. I know she is.”

“What I wanted to ask you, though… it’s not about Lizzie.”

I smiled politely. “Just ask what you want to ask, Brenda.”

“Your mother.”

“That’s not a question, dear.”

She grimaced and pursed her forehead. I have to say I enjoyed it, if just a little bit.

“Okay. What was up with your skating? Or… your not skating… and, well, your mother? I mean… she’s a legend. Medalling at three Olympics in a row, the Order of Canada, frenching Maggie Trudeau… ” She blushed and looked away for a moment. “But you told me you don’t even skate.”

“That’s right. I don’t.”

Her eyes searched mine. “But why? What happened?”

I struggled to answer. My mother had been forgotten by most. She seemed to be one of the few cases where post-glory reclusiveness had actually seemed to work, instead of increasing the attention paid to her. I hadn’t had to answer anything like this for years. Reporters and documentarians had stopped scouring long ago.

“You see, Brenda… my mother was a difficult woman. Demanding. Exacting.”

“You mean… abusive?”

“No. Never. But there’s a thinner line than you may think between abuse and ritual.”

“I don’t understand.”

“My mother, and she was a good mother… well, I suppose she found it difficult to distinguish between a pupil and a daughter.”

“So… ”

“So… I stopped skating.”

“You mean altogether?”

“Yes, Brenda. Altogether.”

“Was that hard for her? I mean… ”

I bristled. “She managed.”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to imply that, well —”

“It’s okay, sweetie. I understand.”

“But I don’t. Understand, I mean. And I want to… ”

The yearning in her eyes was unmistakable. I had no chance to think before Brenda’s lips were on mine, firmly, right there in the driveway in front of her parents’ house. I let my pleasure overtake my reason and met the movements of her lips with my own. We went back and forth a few times, chewing, sucking. Her breathing got heavier. She made a sound from the back of her throat and muttered my name dreamily. I reached a hand out to hers and grasped it, intertwining our fingers. She was sweating, and anxious, determined. Everything I did with my lips, she seemed to match. We continued like that for some minutes until a light emerged from the second floor of her house, causing her hand to pause about an inch from my breast, half-uncovered in my blouse. Then, somehow, I managed to grab her shoulders and pull my mouth away.

“Brenda, we can’t do this.”

“But… why? I mean, I’ve seen the way you look at me… ”

“I’m attracted to you, okay? I can’t deny that. You’re a beautiful girl, Brenda.”

She looked out the window towards the front door, hiding her face. The mother in me sensed intimately the parents in there, waiting up for her.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“You’re fifteen. And Lizzie’s babysitter. And fifteen.”

“I know. Boy, don’t I know… ”

She still hadn’t met my eyes, and I was still racking my brain for an appropriate way to tell her I’d probably fuck her, no matter how old she was, if we weren’t in her parent’s driveway.

“Look, we’ll talk about this tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay, Ms. M… as long as I get to talk to you.”

I cupped her chin. “Hey. You’ll always get to talk to me. Okay?”

A smile. “Okay.”

Then I found myself treading the pervert’s well-trod path. “Just… make sure you don’t tell your parents about any of this, all right?”

“Are you kidding? I don’t tell my parents anything.”

I chuckled. “Well, that doesn’t exactly make me feel better.”

She shook her head. “Look. I feel close to you, Abby. Okay? In a way I can’t be to either of them. It might be messed up, but I just can’t. Whatever happens with us, or” — she took an almost imperceptible breath and looked away — “with Lizzie, they won’t know about.”

I felt overwhelmed, by everything. “Okay, dear. Just… Christ, tell me what you tell them, okay?”

“Okay, Ms. M.”

We shared some silence.

“Well, I gotta get back. That light’s been on for like five minutes.”

“Good night, dear.”

“Good night… Abby.”

She left the car, jogged up to her front door, and waved just a little too enthusiastically before ducking inside. I laid my head on the back of my car seat, reeling over what I told her. It was more, by far, than I’d ever told anyone, including every woman I’d ever fucked.

What I hadn’t told Brenda, however, was that, the night I came home to Lizzie’s skating, after I had driven her home… I showed my daughter my mother. By that, I mean, I sat Lizzie down and, for the first time, showed her the freestyle program that had won her grandmother the Olympic gold medal in women’s figure skating. The two of them never had a chance to meet, my mother having passed several years before Lizzie was born.

We snuggled into the couch, our eyes set on the television. We watched my mother psyching herself up, the camera catching scattered glimpses of her in the dimly lit hallway of the arena, offset by her bright blue skirt and brighter red hair. By the time Pat started her routine, Lizzie’s eyes were glued to the screen. I tried to see what she was seeing, divorced from my eyes, this woman my daughter knew only in old photos and scattered stories, reaching and exceeding the summit of what she now sensed was her birthright. But all of that trying to see what she could see was quickly supplanted by what I was seeing. Namely, the object of my most intense adolescent fantasies flexing every physical and emotional muscle while I cradled the impossibly beautiful creature I had given birth to. Who turned me on more than my mother ever did. No small task.

I soon realized my dancing fingers on my daughter’s skin, begun as innocent warming as our house heating geared up, were timing themselves to the rhythms of my mother’s intricate movements on the ice, to which I had masturbated more times than I could count. Not only this routine, but variations of it in competitions the months and years following, one jump exchanged for another, newer and sharper feats of physicality that only strengthened my desire to fuck my mother’s brains out. And holding Lizzie in my arms, her attention unbroken from the screen, I didn’t fight it — I embraced it. I fed off of her, my palms flat and open, feeling her tensing and flinching in excitement to what she was watching. Tiny belly clenching when Pat landed a jump, letting out a little half-giggle I could feel in her neck when the crowd cheered. I was both gladdened and disappointed that Lizzie didn’t seem to notice my encroachments, intent as she seemed to be to connect what my mother was doing on the ice to what Brenda had taught her. And once I made that connection, I was helpless: my daughter was joining me and Brenda, linked between our hands, trading kisses with each of us before we bent our lips to her breasts barely there, nibbling her ripe young nipples, the purpose and vast pleasures of which she was so ignorant of. I made her in my mind watch Brenda and I make love, letting her know what I was doing immediately after I did it, preparing her for a life of lesbian servitude to her insatiable mother.

Okay. So I lied. I guess it didn’t entirely start with her stockings.

As I carried Lizzie down the hall to her room, she made me promise to show her as much of “Gramma on the ice” as I could (and I could show her pretty much everything). I moved us across the hardwood to her bed, not bothering with the lamp, and as I lowered her from my arms into the waves of moonlight on her sheets, I let my lips touch hers, and kept them there, close and tight, as I fell with her to the bed. We lay there, unmoving for some moments, then more, my hand firm to the back of her neck. I finally pulled away, shame and doubt rising up till I found myself melting in the glow of my daughter’s brilliant smile.

“I… I liked that, Mommy.”

“I did too, Lizzie.”

“Why don’t we kiss always like that, when we kiss?”

“That’s a good question, sweetie.” A really good question, I thought to myself. Enough that I struggled to answer it. “That was more like a grown-up kiss than a kiss for mommies and daughters.”

“Grown-up? You mean like you and Daddy?”

“Yes, kind of like that.” I softly stroked her palm with my thumb. “You know, that’s the first time you’ve asked about Daddy since he went away.”

“I know… ”

“Have you been thinking about him?”

“Not really. But Felicia’s dad also got really sick went away, so we were talking about it.”

“I’m glad you have someone to talk to about that with, Lizzie.”

“Me too.”

“You like Felicia a lot, huh?”

“Yeah. I love her.”

I chuckled. “Love, huh? You’re growing up before my very eyes. But slow down a bit, hey? I’m not ready to have an adult daughter yet.”

“Why don’t you have a new grown-up friend since Daddy’s gone?”

“I guess I don’t need one right now, baby. It wouldn’t be fair to them. You’re all I have time for. All I need. And I love you more than I could ever love anyone.”

Her face took on a look of intense concentration. “Then maybe… maybe we can kiss like before, like grown-ups? Just sometimes?” She cast her eyes downward. “You’re so pr-etty… ”

It took everything in me not to ravage her right then. “Thank you, Lizzie. Mommy thinks you’re beautiful, too. But we’ll talk some other time about the kissing, okay?”

“Okay.” She seemed to have lost her shyness. “But, oh! I know a grown-up you can kiss.” She giggled. “Who really wants to kiss you, too!”

“And who would that be?”

“Felicia’s mommy.”

“Paulette… ” I murmured, half to myself as I pictured the fit, fetching woman with the short black hair.

“Yeah, we heard her on the phone in the other room. She was talking to Felicia’s Aunt Sarah. Felicia’s mom told her that I was staying for dinner, then she laughed, and said ‘yeah, the real cute one with the real hot mama.’” My face flushed. “That means she likes you, doesn’t it, Mommy?”

“Erm, well, sounds like she likes you too, darling.” And with the way cute sounded in that context, I couldn’t help but wonder just how much…

“Yeah, but you guys can be grown-up friends, like you said. Felly and I talked all about it.”

“Boy, you two sure have everything figured out, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I guess you’re more grown-up than I thought.” Again fighting off wild urges, my tongue worming between her perfect little lips, I pecked her on the cheek and tucked her in tight.

“Mommy, can I ask you one more question?”

“Of course, sweetie.”

“Can we watch more of Gramma tomorrow?”

That I can say yes to. Absolutely.”

Continue on to Chapter 2

I Was the Daughter of a Porn Star, Chapter 75

  • Posted on February 23, 2017 at 2:02 pm

Another Solution to Clare

By Cheryl Taggert 

If you need help keeping up with the characters, you may go here.

The next morning, I awoke feeling as though a double-trailer semi had run over my life, backed up, and run over it again just to be sure it was completely ruined. I was worthless for anything but moping, which I did in abundance. I must have picked up my phone a dozen times to call Lisa, but put it down again for fear I might fuck things up if I called.

I cried myself out until I didn’t have any tears left, just complete sadness. I had a paper due that Monday, but I didn’t work on it at all except to go over what I’d written so far, print it, and put it in my bag. I knew it wouldn’t be good, and expected a failing grade on it. It turned out I was right.

I had just picked up my phone again to call the girl I loved more than my life when my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, so I didn’t answer. It was a good thing I didn’t. A minute later, my message alert beeped. I hesitated, but curiosity got the better of me, so I pressed a button to listen.

It was Clare.

“Hey, just wanted to make sure you knew who won our war in the end, bitch! Go ahead and tell the world about my sister and me. I’ll just say you set me up to retaliate for my outing you and your mom, which I still might do anyway. I hope you fucking kill yourself.”

I was furious! I wanted to kill her, not myself. I actually wondered what I might do if she were standing in front of me at that moment. Tears of rage ran down my cheeks. I almost hurled my phone against the wall, but I realized that it was the only number Lisa had in case she wanted to call me.

I wasn’t exactly thinking straight, to say the least.

What I didn’t know was that I had started screaming “YOU BITCH! YOU BITCH!” over and over and wouldn’t stop. Yeah, I actually was screaming without realizing it. It’s a wonder I didn’t end up in the mental ward of a hospital.

Cindy heard me and rushed into my room.

“What is it, honey?” she asked. She took both my shoulders and shook them a little to get my attention.

When I noticed she was there, I burst into sobs and collapsed into her arms.

“Shhh,” she said, trying her best to soothe my pain. “It’s going to be okay. Shhh.” She held me until I regained coherent speech.

“It’ll never be okay,” I said. “I love Lisa so much. It’d actually be different if she broke up with me. At least then,” I took a breath. “At least then one of us would want this.”

“I know, baby,” Cindy said. She was naked, and I couldn’t help noticing the scars down her back. They were from whippings she received while in Colombia. My hands wandered to the blemishes and caressed them.

“What set you off so?” she asked.

“Here, listen to the bitch’s voice mail for yourself,” I said and handed her my phone as if she knew the pass code to open it.

“Sweetie, you’ll have to open your phone.”

“I changed it just yesterday morning. Four letters. I bet you can guess what they are,” I said.

She punched in L-i-s-a and my phone opened. She pressed the voicemail button and listened. Her eyes grew huge while she heard the ugliness Clare had sent me.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed. Then she looked at me, suspiciously. “You aren’t thinking of, well, granting her wish, are you?”

Looking back, I guess it was a natural question to ask. I must have looked and acted deranged. But at the time, it hurt me that she asked.

“Of course not! Why would I want to give that bitch any satisfaction? I want to kill her, not me!”

Cindy shushed me again and held me, saying, “Don’t talk that way. She’ll get what’s coming to her eventually, believe me.”

I finally grew quiet and lay back on my bed, where I’d been all day except to go to the bathroom, and even that took effort.

“We were so perfect together,” I said. “I’ve never been so in-tune with another person in my life.”

“I know, baby,” Cindy said. “All I can say is the pain eventually goes away.”

“Maybe by the time I’m seventy,” I said.

“This could still all work out, you know. Give it time.”

She got up and actually tucked me in, giving me a kiss before leaving my room, saying, “Don’t give up hope yet. This whole thing is less than a day old. A solution may appear.”

She closed my door and I lay there, praying she was right.

My phone rang again, and I nearly ignored it, thinking it was Clare again, hoping I would pick up this time, but I decided to look and see who it was and saw it was Lisa.

She was calling me.

Panicked that I might be too late to stop her call from going to voicemail, I pressed the answer button, and said, “Is this really you?”

She was crying too, and I heard a tearful “Yes,” followed by soft sobs.

“I still love you, you know,” I said.

“I know. I love you, too.”

“Not as much as I love you,” I said, remembering how we’d said those words to each other just yesterday, when the sun could still shine.

She paused, and I could hear her give a small gasp as she remembered them too. “Oh, yes. As much, or more.” It was the second time we had said these words in this way, and we both knew that if we were ever able to continue our relationship, that we would say it like this more often than not.

We managed to get control of ourselves so we could actually have a conversation instead of just sobbing to each other.

“So what happened after I left?” I asked.

“My mom came in to talk to me, but I wouldn’t say anything to her. I insisted she send my dad.”

“Did he come talk to you?”

“Mostly, he listened and kept saying he was sorry.”

“Of all the girls on campus, he fucked her!” I said, angry once again.

“He told me she threw herself at him after showing up to class three days straight not wearing any panties,” Lisa said, and I thought I was going to faint.

That had been exactly what she had forced me to do when I was in seventh grade.

“You’re shitting me!” I said.

“Nope. Three days straight and no panties.”

I had not mentioned what Clare had made me do in school to Lisa on the way back to her place yesterday, so I told her about it.

“That fucking bitch!” she said.

“So your dad admitted it to you?”

“Of course. I mean, what else would he do? He begged me not to tell Mom, and I promised I wouldn’t. I don’t need my parents to divorce on top of everything else. Now, he’s worried about Clare making their little fuck-fest public. He’s already upset you know.”

“Tell him he needs to worry. She has the goods on him now, and I can tell you from experience she won’t soon forget she has the upper hand,” I said.

“Do you really think she would ruin your life like that? That she’d tell the world about you and your mom?”

“For a nickel,” I said. “I’ve never met anyone as hateful as she is.”

“What’s wrong with her?!” Lisa asked. “It’s not as if she doesn’t have a lot of good things in her life. And it’s not like she thinks incest is dirty. You told me she does it with her sister.”

Jenna was still friends with Clare’s sister, Carmen, and I knew it was still true.

“What are we going to do, Lisa?”

“I don’t know, but I do know I don’t want to break up with you. I had thought of telling my mom about my dad’s classic fuck up and seeing if we could diffuse the situation like that. I mean, if nobody cares, then Clare won’t have any ammunition.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to see your parents divorce either. I don’t know your dad that well, really, except that he thinks with his dick, but I really like your mom. Also, couldn’t your dad lose his job?”

“I guess he could, but maybe there’s a way that he wouldn’t.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to think about it.”

“Maybe we could, you know, frame Clare for something really bad. Get her kicked out of UCLA or something?” I said.

“Like what? I doubt they’d get her for sleeping with a professor. Lots of girls do that. They just don’t threaten to cry rape when they do.”

“Maybe we could frame her for cheating. You know, like plagiarizing a paper or something,” I said.

“How would we do that?” Lisa asked, genuinely interested but not sure how to go about framing her.

“I bet I could ask Cindy or my Mom. They might have an idea how to go about it.”

“Do you think they’d help with that? I mean, it’s pretty underhanded.”

“Usually, no, they wouldn’t. But with Clare, maybe so,” I said, the idea starting to bloom in my mind. “After all, we blackmailed her once before. Maybe we could just bypass the blackmail and nail her?”

When Mom got home from her shoot for that day, I spoke to her about my idea, hoping for some suggestions.

“Honey, as much as I’d like to do something to make her life more difficult, I don’t think we should fake anything to do that,” Mom said. “If she does something and we can catch her at it, then that’s fine, but I won’t be a part of framing someone for something they didn’t do.”

Of course she was right, but that didn’t change how I felt.

“But we have to think of something! It’s wrong for Clare to fake a rape just to make Lisa and me be apart!”

“Two wrongs don’t make a right,” she said.

Sometimes I hate it when my mother’s right.

I’d just have to catch her doing something and nail her for it.

The following day I showed up for classes, but my heart wasn’t in it. I’d managed to finally get all the tears out over what was happening with Lisa and me. I was still devastated, but I was no longer crying at the thought of it.

The day was going along well enough until I saw Clare holding court with her entourage. That’s what I called it, anyway. It was mostly a group of girls who allowed Clare to be the dictator of their little clique.

I decided not to kill her, but I was determined to speak to her. She saw me staring at her, and she gave me this nasty little smirk. I so wanted to punch her in the face so hard that my fist would come out the back of her head. I felt certain there were plenty of people who would applaud me for doing that.

Something occurred to me and I strolled up to her group and said, “I heard you were raped, Clare.”

If her gaze could have killed, I would have died on the spot.

At first I thought she would deny it, but she ended up admitting it, at least sort of.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly rape. He just told me if I didn’t fuck him, he’d flunk me.”

“Really? Because the way I heard it, you showed up to class with no panties on for three straight days and flashed him with your skanky venereal diseased pussy,” I said.

“I don’t have a venereal disease,” she said.

“Fine. Then you admit you were flashing him.”

“I didn’t flash him at all. He used his position to get me in bed.”

“Why?” I said. “Everyone knows you’d fuck a snake if it promised not to bite.”

“You need to watch it, bitch,” she said. “Why don’t you go home and let your mom lick your pussy?”

I had noticed her girls were following our conversation like a tennis match, and one of them gasped at this statement. I glanced at the girl who had gasped and realized I knew her from somewhere, but I couldn’t place where in the heat of this exchange with Clare.

“You do know this professor you say you never flashed has pictures of you doing just that, don’t you?” I said. It was a total bluff, but I wanted to make her at least wonder if it might be true. “So your little claim of being forced won’t fly. What? You think professors are so ready to jump your bones they aren’t thinking clearly and would take a chance like that since it so obviously looked like a set-up? They’re not as stupid as you are, Clare.”

“You’re so full of shit, Cheryl,” she said, but I could tell my remark had hit a nerve. That’s when my idea hit me.

I could hardly wait to talk to Mom about it. I felt certain she would go for it.

That night, I sat down with Mom and told her my idea. It wasn’t blackmail, and it wouldn’t ruin Clare’s life, but it would prevent her from being able to say she was forced to have sex by Dr. Brown.

“That might work,” Mom said. I knew she’d be okay with it because while it was a little underhanded, it wouldn’t be telling a lie. It was totally accurate.

Another thing happened to bolster my confidence. As I lay in bed that night, I remembered who the girl was that had gasped at Clare’s comment. She was the granddaughter of my favorite makeup artist and hair stylist, Chandra Jackson. I couldn’t remember the girl’s name, but I recalled meeting her at a party my mother took me to that was honoring the “Behind the Scenes” people who worked for the production company. She had seemed like a sweet girl then, and I wondered what she was doing as part of Clare’s little “worship me” club.

This made me wonder if I could manage to get a spy from the group to help me. We had talked briefly at the party, and I thought she was beautiful. She was straight, however, so we hadn’t hooked up or anything. I decided I would be visiting the set after classes tomorrow.

I picked up my phone and called Deanna to tell her I wouldn’t need a ride the next day because I would be going to the set after classes, but this time she wouldn’t let me leave her out.

I agreed to let her join me, and we hung up.

Then I called Lisa.

“Are you ready for this?” I asked.

“What?” she asked.

“I think I have a way to get your dad out of trouble and save our relationship as well,” I said.

She was instantly excited. “Really?!”

After I’d told her what my plan was, she said, “How could we have missed that idea? It’s so simple!”

“Do you think your dad will go along with it?” I asked. That would be crucial. If he wouldn’t help, we were dead in the water.

“I’m sure of it. He’s so pissed at Clare, he would love to find a way to make her life less of a breeze, if not downright painful.”

“Well, talk to him about it before classes tomorrow, and let me know. I’ll be going to my mom’s work after classes and talk to Chandra whether or not your dad will do this. I need someone ‘on the inside’ regardless.”

We both sounded happy for the first time since Clare had phoned Lisa two nights ago. And it was also the first time I’d felt horny since then.

“So,” I said, suggestion dripping from my voice. “Have you done anything since the other night?”

“Done anything?” she asked.

“Yeah, you know. Done anything.”

“Oh,” she said. “You mean, like, sexually?”

“Well, give the lady a prize! Yes, sexually,” I said.

“No,” she said. “I haven’t felt like it. Been, well, devastated, you know?”

“Yeah, I know all too well. But, are you… devastated now?”

She giggled. “I can sure as hell tell you’re not.”

“Am I that obvious?” I said, joining her in her laughter, which felt so good it was nearly as good as an orgasm.

“Girl, you’re always obvious when it comes to sex. It’s like the first time I saw you. It took maybe two seconds to realize you wanted to fuck me silly.”

“That long?” I joked, and we both laughed.

“Okay,” she said after we regained what composure we could. “What if I’m not… devastated?”

“Well, it’s too late to meet somewhere.”

“True,” she said.

“Have you ever done phone sex?”

Lisa giggled. It was the world’s most delightful music. “Maybe once or twice.”

I was intrigued. “Really? Who with?”

“You don’t want to know who. You want to know what we did,” she said, accurately guessing my motive.

“Okay,” I said. “What did you do?”

“Silly, we masturbated together.”

“Certainly there was more to it than that,” I said.

“Well, yes. We talked about what we were doing to ourselves and what we’d like to do to each other.”

“Give me an example.”

“An example?” she said.

“Yeah. Like what are you doing now?”

“Besides grinning at my sister?”

“She’s in there with you?”

“Yeah. She’s watching me try to take off my PJ’s.”

“Then that’s what you’re doing? Getting naked?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m already naked,” I said.

“I know. You live naked, you lucky thing you,” she said.

“Has she ever watched you having phone sex before?”

“Maybe once or twice. Unless she was the one I was having phone sex with,” Lisa said.

“You’ve had phone sex with Rachel before?”

“Yeah. The first time she was only thirteen and I was fifteen.”

“You don’t mind her watching you do this?” I asked, wanting to make sure. I didn’t want Lisa to be uncomfortable about it.

“Are you kidding? She’ll end up masturbating with me, giving me an added bonus.”

“Are you naked yet?” I asked.

“Yeah. Rachel helped me with the sweats and panties.”

“You were wearing sweats to bed? How sexy,” I teased.

“I was feeling frumpy and totally not turned on until five minutes ago.”

“So you’re turned on now, then?”

“Well, I’m pinching my left nipple, if that means anything.”

“I’m pinching my right,” I said, and I was.

“Rachel’s getting naked too. Is that okay with you?” Lisa asked.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Just checking.”

“Tell me when she’s naked,” I said.

A few seconds passed and Lisa said, “She’s naked.”

“Can you risk putting me on speaker?” I asked.

“Sure. My parents zonked over an hour ago.”

I heard some rustling and Lisa said, “Okay, you’re on speaker.”

“I want you to kiss each other and play with each other’s boobs,” I said.

“Sounds like it will be better for us. You don’t have anyone there with you?” Lisa asked.

“Jenna’s with friends. I could get the twins over here, but they’re asleep.”

“What about your mom?”

“Too tired. She had a shoot today.”

“Can’t wait to see it,” Lisa said. “So I guess you’re on your own, huh?”

“Yeah, but it’s okay,” I said. “Hearing the two of you make love will get me off.”

“So what do you want us to do?” Lisa asked.

“Just make love and let me listen in.”

“We can do that,” Rachel said, and I heard lips kissing softly, small smacking sounds that may have been more pronounced for my enjoyment.

“Are you using tongues?” I asked.

“Of course,” Lisa said.

More kisses. Then Lisa said, “Suck my tit.” Then, “Oh, yes.”

She was spicing it up with talking for my benefit, I could tell.

After a while, Rachel said, “I want to eat your pussy.”

“Who’s stopping you?” Lisa asked.

In less than a minute, I could hear my lover moaning as her sister licked her pussy. Lisa must have held the phone down near her cunt because I could hear the wet sounds of Rachel’s tongue and mouth as she worked to bring her big sister to a climax while I listened.

Then I heard Lisa say, “Sixty-nine,” and soon I could hear both sisters as they licked each other’s pussy.

I concentrated on trying to come as they were coming. I could tell they were close, which was a good thing because I was too.

Then I could hear the muffled squeals and moans from Lisa and Rachel as they came, and I pushed myself over the top while fantasizing about being there to witness this soon.

We continued with this for at least thirty minutes before we stopped, lying back with a contented sigh, I heard them moving and catching their breath.

When all three of us had regained our composure, I said, “I probably should hang up and try to get some sleep. I’ve not slept well the past couple of nights.”

“I wonder why,” Lisa said. “Oh, maybe it’s the same reason I’ve not slept.”

“Probably is,” I said.

We told each other how much we loved the other and hung up.

Turning to my side, I snuggled down into my covers. I could smell the scent of myself and knew that anyone who came into the room would be able to smell my aromas and know what I’d been doing, but of course I didn’t care. Jenna was due in any minute, and the twins were asleep, although if they woke and realized what had just been happening, they would be jealous and probably end up in their own sixty-nine, mouths to bald pussies.

I drifted off knowing this situation that had caused so much heartache would indeed be okay. It was a valuable lesson for me to learn, that given time, every problem had a solution. All I needed to do was think about it until the solution presented itself.

This solution had been so simple it had taken two days to think of it, and without my encounter with Clare that day, I wasn’t sure I would have thought of it yet, or even at all.

I drifted off to sleep, wondering if we would be able to solve this dilemma in time for Lisa to stay the weekend with me.

And I was sure that the Brown household would be improved as well, with Lisa’s dad no longer worrying about being charged with raping a student.

Continue on to Chapter 76

Lily Robin, Chapter 4

  • Posted on February 22, 2017 at 2:59 pm

By Louisa May

“Guess we’ll have to wait for that, huh!” We had both jumped at the same time: I, to the vanity on her dresser, and she to scramble back into her shorts and blouse. I called down the stairs, “Coming!” and looked back at my girl.

Her face was still pretty flushed; her hair nice and frowzy. She stood before me, hands out. “See? Fresh and clean!”

I smiled. “Yep, fresh and clean.” I brushed a stray lock from her face. “Brush your hair, then come down. Okay?”

She nodded, and touched a finger to my lip. “You’re all wet and kissy.”

I looked in the mirror and, yes I was. I dabbed my mouth on my shoulder. Still rosy, but, oh well. “Here we go!” I jogged down the stairs to open the front door.

“LOU!” My little sister had her arms out. I grabbed her, and we hugged. My mom stood behind her, smiling, but in a rush, as always. She held Lisa’s overnight bag. Lisa’s valet, tapping her toe.

I broke the hug and held her at arm’s length. “Let me look at you.” Lisa made a little pirouette, expertly, of course. “Oh my gosh, girl. . . you have grown like, a foot or something.” Mom smiled, and nodded, and looked at her watch.

“And look at you, you’re still in dance clothes!”

Lisa made a face. “I didn’t even have time to change.”

She looked anything but. Her golden blonde hair was held back with a purple headband, her fit dancer body sleek in leotards and skirt. I noticed her legs were bare. Such supple legs!

She noticed my look. “Yeah, I got to take my tights off in the car. I’m a sweaty mess. Whew!”

I really was impressed. “You are so not. You are a very pretty girl, Lisa.”

She blushed at my candor. Mom said, “Don’t give her a bigger head than she already has.” She smiled at Lisa. “She’s been dancing all day, and she won first prize!”

Lisa blushed even harder, and looked down. “Yeah.”

“Wow, that is awesome!” I hugged her, then kissed her forehead. She smiled.

“Yay, Lisa!!” Lily proclaimed form the top of the stairs.

“Hey, Lily!” Lisa loped toward the stairs. She held her arms out and Lily jumped. They both almost fell over, but I was there to back them up. It was funny: Lisa, with her sylph-like dancer’s form, was just a wee bit taller than Lily, even though Lily was (almost) two years older. And whereas Lily still had her little-girl, doll-like quality, Lisa had grown and lengthened, so that she really did have that classic long-necked, dancer’s bod.

“Okay, girls, I have to go,” Mom broke in, handing me Lisa’s case. “Tell Josette how thankful we are, she is such a dear –”

“I know, I will. Is that silk?” She wore an evening dress, casual, but still, spaghetti-strap, black with a shiny pink top.

“Oh please. Polyester, I think.”

“It fits you so well.”

She smiled. “Spandex.”

“Oh. Well, it does, though.”

“Thank you, hon.” She gave me a kiss. “And YOU are a dear for watching these two.”

‘These two’ had already run into the kitchen.

“And you do get to be with your sister for at least a little bit, right?” Mom opened the door. “And she definitely needs a shower before bed.”

“Gotcha. Have fun.”

She made a face. “Council meeting. How much fun? But thanks.” And she left.

I closed the door, and leaned against it. Laughs and giggles came from the direction of the kitchen. Those two. I shook my head. Night and day, I thought. Or, coffee and milk. Lily and Lisa. What was I going to do with them? Lily – well, I knew what I wanted to do there. For days and days. . .

STOP. Lisa had come for ME and she was my sister, for God’s sake. I loved her. Really. But we didn’t see much of each other, and hadn’t for years. Since she was three years old, she’d wanted to be a dancer, and at six, had started going away to a special school just for Dance.

I used to make fun of her in my How-Incredibly-Annoying-Can-I-Be-To-Everybody years (roughly, 13 to 17, and I can still turn it on in a pinch!) “Little Miss Tutu Cute!” “You walk like a Duck!” But she was always pretty amazingly serene for her age, and bore it all like a, well, like a professional dancer, I guess.

I was also, in those roguish days, pretty sex-driven. Like, all the time. Not that I was in and out of bed with everybody – at that time, I was fuzzy on which sex I wanted to go to bed with! I leaned towards girls, but felt very weird and alien for feeling that way, and so did my best to lean the other way towards Boys. Very exhausting.

My fantasy life was chock-full, however. I’d sometimes skip school and spend the entire day in bed with my own sex toys: my hands, my cunt, my ass, my mouth – and my ever-expanding fantasy life. And during these sex binges, lasting sometimes days, if I happened to run into Little Miss. . . well, I became a lot more friendly than usual, you could say.

Not that I went as far as I eventually did with Lily. That happened after Lisa had started going away to school. But what happened with Lily had been warmed to, prepared, let’s say, by the preliminary intimacies I enjoyed with Lisa back when she was maybe 4 or 5 years old. I know, I’m such a perv. Yum.

And I’ll tell you, I was such a BITCH most of the time to her back then, that when I wasn’t a bitch, even if I might instead seem kind of weird and creepy, I think she much preferred that to Lou-lou the Bitch. (That’s what she called me, Lou-lou. Not The Bitch part. She could’ve, though.)

Mostly I’d pet her and hold her and stuff. And she liked it. One time, I remember I was in the middle of some powerfully good fingerpainting, and Lisa, probably five years old, walked right in. Fortunately, I’d been under the covers, which I didn’t always do, so I just froze. But God, I was a lusty mess. And Lisa just wandered aimlessly about the room, asking five-year-old questions.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Just. . . napping, kiddo.” I slowly started circling myself.

“Oh,” as she circled the bed. She wore what was to become her virtual uniform: a leotard. A little pink leotard, bunched at the butt. “What’s that?” Pointing at my Joan Jett poster.

“Joan Jett and The Blackhearts,” I breathed, an image of Joan staring at me and sticking her fingers in my twat flashed, and I had a mini-cum. Love having them.

I must have made a little noise. “What’s wrong?” Lisa was looking down at me. Her big blue eyes were concerned.

I touched my idle hand to her face. “Nothing, honey. I’m just a little hot.” Oh yes I am!

She put a cool palm to my sweaty forehead. “Maybe you have a fever.” She sniffed. “It smells like tunafish in here.”

I smiled. “Yeah, I just had a sandwich.” I picked her up and slung her onto me so that she lay full on my body, above the covers. She grinned. I never treated her nicely – this, apparently, was a pleasant surprise.

She lay, head on my breasts, and hummed. Her legs had splayed to surround my hips, and I rested my hands on her little bum. I patted. “You’re getting to have a big girl bottom, aren’t you?”

She pushed herself up on my breasts, and nodded seriously.”I have LOTS and LOTS of exercises, so all my muscles get strong and big.” She flexed her butt against my hand, and grinned. “See?”

I pressed both hands down on her butt, so that I felt her pelvic bone against my clit. Yes, I did. I ground her little body against my front. “Do that again,” I said. “Do it as many times as you can.” I arched my back slightly, increasing the contact. “How many times can you do that? Huh?”

Her little tongue stuck out with the effort. “I can do it a lot!” And she began, unknowingly, to meet my thrusts with her own.

“Whhoah, yes you can!” I breathed. “Let’s see if. . . if we can do it together! Okay??”

“‘Kay!” She really did have a wonderful flexibility, allowing her to really mold herself to my movements. “See??” Lisa was flushed. She liked this game!

Ohhhh, OH, my GOD, I’m coming, ohhhh. . . I’d been almost there when she came in, now. . . but I had to cover, somehow, didn’t want to scare her. Or have her tell Mom. . .

“Okay, okay, Lisa, Lisa. . . no, keep going, it’s okay, just. . . want to play, let’s pretend that. . . I’m the dragon, and you’re riding me. Yeah, I’m the monster, and you got me, you jumped on me, and now you’re riding me, OK?”

“Yeah!! Okay! I’m the hero!”

I was really holding back a flood – jets of creamy joy were shooting through me. . . “Yeah, you’re the. . . the hero, and, and, ohhhHH. . . and, now you pretend to kill me, okay? With your big sword!”

“But I’m a elf, I use bows and arrows –”

“YES, bowsnarrows, yes, kill me, Lees, kill me now!”

And she made a big deal of pulling at her big bow, and I kept up the ride, and I started dying already –

“I didn’t shoot you yet –”

“I know, shoot, god, shoot!”

“Okay, aaaaand. . . Fwwisssshhh! Shtnnng!!”

“Ohhhhh yessss, my GOD, OHHHhhhh, FUCK, omigodomigodomigod, aaaAAAAHHH!!”

And I pulled Lisa down to me and held her, and pressed against her and shook, and held. . .

“Now you’re dead?” She whispered in my ear.

“Yes. I am dead.”

She kissed my cheek and got off the bed. Solemnly, she patted my hand. “You were a good fighter, Dragon.” She went to the door, then turned. “But you said a bad word. . . and I am better!” And she was gone.

Wow.

Oh, I forgot to tell her not to tell Mom about The Dragon and. . . I yawned. Soon.

And fell asleep.

Continue on to Chapter 5

How My Niece Juli Came To Be My Vixen, Chapter 5

  • Posted on February 21, 2017 at 4:01 pm

By Openmindedwoman

Anita and I sat on the plush couch in her den happily sipping glasses of wine. Through the sliding glass doors to the backyard patio we could see her daughter Amy and my niece Juli laughing and kicking a soccer ball back and forth, full of the after-school kind of playful energy that seventh graders ought to have.

“Amy wants to be on the high school soccer team when she gets to that age,” her mother said in a wistful voice. “But we haven’t really done any special community or lower school teams like lots of the girls do to get their skills up.”

“She certainly is naturally athletic!” I proclaimed, watching her curls bounce and her strong young legs move quickly and with agile turns as she moved the ball. “And don’t tell me she doesn’t have any very special skills. You’ve been a wonderful teacher.” I let my hand rest casually on Anita’s thigh as we talked. She covered it with her own, our upper arms and shoulders in light, warm contact.

Anita laughed a low knowing laugh and turned to face me. “Yes, Leslie… it wasn’t THAT kind of special skill I was talking about. But she does have some talents that you don’t even know about.”

“Yet?” I countered.

“Yes… yet,” she whispered back. “And I imagine Juli might have some of those same talents.”

“Welllll,” I fluttered my eyes with an exaggerated look, and whispered, “She might have had a lesson or two that she would be anxious to share.”

Quiet surrounded us for a few moments as the girls ran and played, wearing tee shirts and loose gym style shorts in the spring sun. We each seemed lost in our thoughts, and if Anita’s were going where mine were, then perhaps she had the same butterflies I was having low in my naughty stomach.

Finally I asked the question that had been intriguing me since our amazingly erotic escapade there previous weekend. “Anita, tell me more about you and Amy. I mean, nursing her so long, sustaining your lactation? She’s just turned 13!”

“Oh, Leslie,” Anita blushed a bit and her hand went subconsciously to her full bosom, rubbing over one and then the other of her very full breasts.

“Please,” I said, “it’s okay, whatever it’s about. I hope you could tell that from the things that happened… how eager Juli was to watch her new friend nurse from you like that… how eager she was to do it herself… and how wonderfully excited it made ME to think… to wonder… especially watching those two young naked darlings under your spell.”

“It began so naturally, Leslie, when Amy was born, and she hungrily breastfed, it seemed to me.” Anita’s fingers never left her breasts, moving lightly from the tip of one to the tip of the other while she talked, almost as if in a trance. “My nipples have been wonderfully sensitive ever since I started jilling myself, or even before that. I don’t know why, but they seem to be like wired electric circuits straight to my… ummm… my…”

“To your pussy, Anita… it’s good to talk openly between us now. As you saw, I’ve taught Juli that certain words are for the doctor’s office, and some are meant to be savored on the tongue in ways that suggest the erotic woman… or girl… that we are.”

Anita smiled, “Well, yes, then, from my rather oversized… tits… right to my… pussy. And when she would suckle, I tried at first to remain calm, motherly, but it wasn’t long before I realized the mess I was making in my panties, and I started feeding her just in an open robe, sitting on the tail of it, but naked, and as she would move from one side to the other, I began to allow the hand that wasn’t cradling her to move to my wetness, and soon I was jilling every time she would feed. It was wonderful.”

“I can surely understand that,” I said with a smile, letting my forehead move to her temple in a warm, reassuring gesture. “My nipples have been a lot like that too, so sensitive, almost as long as I can remember, though I’ve not had the experience of motherhood. But then, years went by?”

“Actually,” she answered, “I continued until Amy was four, and I found myself wondering if it was just too much… whether she was actually aware of my heartbeat, or what I was doing.  She would crawl up into my lap after a bath, naked, and nudge, wanting to suckle, and for me it was like a siren call to an exciting and loving place far from the real world and filled with amazing pleasure. It got so I would caress her as she started… feeling her arms, armpits, tummy… chest.”

I nodded and grinned, fingers moving lightly on her thigh. “Sounds pretty familiar in a lot of ways, actually.”

Anita continued, “But I was also not really producing much in the way of milk by then. I’ve learned that it is different for every woman in that way. Some can go on for years as long as the feeding is continuous, some can’t. So I decided to let it stop, and soon I was normally dry.

“It must have been almost a year and a half later that my foxy little sweetheart surprised me with her awareness. There was a scene in some TV show we were watching that played on the subject, and she asked if that wasn’t what we used to do. I said that it was, and she asked right out why we stopped, because she liked it a lot, and she had the feeling that I did, too.”

I was beginning to get fidgety feelings as mental images of those moments went through my mind.

“Are you okay with this, Leslie?” Anita slid her hand from the top of mine up my arm a ways.

“Oh, wow, more than okay, Mommy Anita. Since we are being honest with each other, let me say that it gives me a very fluttery spot inside to hear you talk about it.”

She smiled broadly and continued, one hand on top of mine, one hand still sliding back and forth from one full breast to the other, her head tipped towards mine enough that they rested together. “Well, long story short, with the help of a few hormones I took, I was able to start lactating again, and some time later, with a nervous lump in my throat I asked her if she remembered asking me about us stopping her feeding sessions, and if she would ever like to do it again. Then she surprised me once more, not only firmly saying she would, but also saying that she thought maybe I was liking it, too.”

I let a sigh of… what… amazement, arousal, intrigue slide through my lips, almost a low whistle. “And so…?” I prompted her.

Anita licked her lips, took a deep breath, and admitted that she had told her daughter that indeed she loved doing it, and it made her feel good in a very special way, and very close to the daughter she loves so much.

“And so we started again, not as often as one would feed a newborn, but often enough to be a hugely satisfying way for us to bond. And yes, I continued to turn myself on while she suckled, and at least half the time I brought myself to orgasm. I don’t know just when I could tell that there was some unspoken communication about body arousal, but Amy would get warm as I got warm. Sometimes we weren’t naked when we did it. Sometimes it would be after school and we would just sit in our clothes, or part of them, and I would get ‘uumhum’  or ‘uhhh-uhhh’ yes and no answers to questions about her day, and I would tell her about mine, with long silent spaces as we just enjoyed each other.”

“When did the time come that she really understood what it was about for you, Anita?” I asked in a low whisper, urging her story on.

“It was after she turned 10, I guess,” Anita responded, and I noticed that she seemed as body restless as I was. “I noticed that while she lay with her head on my thigh and tugged on my nipple with her beautiful Cupid bow mouth, she would rub her fingers over her own nipples, which were beginning to puff out nicely. When I asked her if it felt good to her to do that, she nodded enthusiastically and said that she did it a lot, and she knew that it must feel really good to me, too, and she really REALLY loved making her mom feel ‘specially good’. I guess it just went from there.”

“So it did go from there…” I let my voice trail off. “We saw how much Amy loves doing it, and how she opens her very sweet young body to you. I don’t remember nursing from my mother,” I added wistfully. “I imagine I did so, but only as a baby… I did watch my older sister feed Juli, and I so remember the feeling it gave me, and I’ve often wondered…”

“Oh, Leslie, yessss. It did go on from there. I asked her if it felt good for her to touch any other part of her body, and she answered that she does it sometimes just like I do. How I ever thought I was hiding something from her, I’ll never know, but now my darling girl knows exactly what she is doing to her mother, and she knows how beautiful it is to be loved in return, loved and touched in every way.”

Anita smiled and turned her face towards mine, so that our foreheads rubbed, and then moved in enough for a lingering kiss. She took my far hand and lifted it to her chest, holding it beneath hers, and pressing it into the full soft flesh. “I saw how you watched them, Leslie… watched them both pulling on my nipples and tasting me. You want to taste it, don’t you, hon? I’ve not been on the hormones for some time now,” she added, “so I’m producing less and less. Now that Amy knows it is more about giving each other that very special woman pleasure, we don’t really need the by-product. But there is some for you, my wonderful new naughty friend, if you want.”

Anita was unbuttoning her blouse as she spoke, pulling it open, and deftly lifted her bra up and over her heavy, ready to be suckled tits. I nodded numbly, and scooted down onto the couch, on my back, thinking this must look just what Amy looked like to us only a week earlier. Anita leaned forward enough to dangle her large, well-used dark nipple above my face, and my tongue snaked out, tentatively, washing over the tip. She shivered, hissed, and lowered it more as I did it again, circling this time, intending to tease a little, but wanting her to know that my actions were not just for me to sample her, but for her to feel all I could give her as well.

“Please, Leslie… yes… go ahead,” she hesitated, then continued as I circled her slick wet nipple, thick as my little finger, again. “Just feel it first if you want, like that, lover. It feels so good for you to do it like that.”  Her hand wandered to my top and slid underneath, finding my front hook and releasing it, then cupping my warm flesh as I teased her.

“But not too long,” she urged with a giggle. “I’m very ready, Leslie.”

With the need apparent in her soft voice, I opened my lips and took her nipple into my mouth, pulling it lightly, then further in, until the whole tip of her hanging tit was in my warm mouth. I suckled, and I heard her sharp intake of breath. I suckled again, and soon was rewarded with the taste of Anita’s sweet milk. It came as a bit of a surprise to me how just the act of doing it would be like a lightning bolt from my mouth, through her caressing fingertips to my belly, to my pussy. It seemed as though I could virtually feel a surge of wetness start down my inner channel, warming me there like the slow warmth of a small light bulb turning on inside.

“Let’s do this right, dear girl,” Anita cooed, and I released her enough for her to shed her blouse and bra, and wiggle her skirt up to her waist. I stripped my pullover top, letting my bra cups fall to the side, and wiggled my bottom until my skirt was bunched up as well. My head rested on her warm bare thigh, and I felt her fingers reach again to caress my tits when I licked and tickled and again captured her firm thick nipple.

“You’ll have to work at it a little, Leslie, to get very much now, but don’t worry… I’ll love every little nibble.”

The taste was amazingly wonderful to me… I guess it came from being a woman who always did savor the scents and tastes of intimacy, and the thought of how I had taught that attitude to Juli had led her to try it without hesitation. Before long Anita urged me further over, to her other nipple, and there I could feel her arm beneath my head, her hand firmly between her legs, fingers moving in a steady circular rhythm, and I slid my own hand under my thin nylon panties, matching her growing heat. The wet flow there greeted my fingers and immediately soothed the way for them to slide inside, curling, finding the sensitive spots, and then back out, isolating themselves on the tip of my love bud, back and forth, around it in circles, and then back and forth.

It seemed like long minutes went by, with only little animal sounds of encouragement coming from both of us. I mimicked the motion of my fingers on my clit with my tongue on Anita’s nipples, and she returned the favor with her saliva-coated fingers on my firmly raised and ready nipples… my mouth and her fingers moved in circles, suckles, flicks, circles, tugs, and scissors, growing more and more urgent until I felt her thighs quiver and her stomach clench with the inner spasms of her orgasm.

“Ohhhh god girl, harder… just a little… godddddddddddd.” Her voice was ragged, needy, her hips rolled, and her body shivered. Then she slumped, and I hurried my own touches until I felt the same beautiful explosion inside myself, hips bucking against my fingers, head pressed firmly against my full-bosomed lover.

We stayed motionless as our bodies came down, and long deep breaths escaped our lungs.

“Good?” she asked needlessly.

“Better than good,” I replied needlessly… it was all so clear to both of us. I twisted myself around to lie more flat on my back again, looking up into her eyes for confirmation. They glistened, and her face flushed with both the afterglow of our climax, and with a sparkle of something else…

“Look,” she said, nodding towards the sliding glass doors. “I think we have company.”

And there we were, me on my back, topless, with my hand under my panties, Anita with her bare breasts exposed to the world, her legs spread wide with her hand cupping her equally wet vulva. Peering in through the glass were two delightfully grinning faces.

Who knows how long Juli and Amy had been watching, but they stood whispering and giggling, an arm wrapped around each other’s bare waists, their tee shirts off, firm young girl tits rubbing back and forth against the glass.

“I guess it has been more of a playtime than we might have intended for them, hmmm?”

Or was it?

Continue on to Chapter 6

Perverse Pleasures, Part One

  • Posted on February 20, 2017 at 1:04 pm

By Naughty Mommy

I’m a pervert.

It’s true, I admit it. Well, I don’t actually admit it to anyone except myself, but there you go.

The reason I call myself a pervert is because the one thing that gets me off more than anything else is masturbating in public. Yes, in public. That gets me so hot I can barely stand it. Not where anyone can actually see me — not quite, anyway — but where someone might be able to see me. God, it makes me so wet, I can come over and over again.

I’ve been doing this since… you know, as I think about it, I realize now that I’ve been doing this ever since I was just a little girl.

I didn’t really know it was masturbation at the beginning, or even anything sexual, I guess, but I can remember in grade school how my teachers used to take me aside and tell me to quit playing with myself. Most of my teachers, anyway.

There was this one, Ms. Lessing, in third grade, who never tried to stop me. I think she enjoyed it. Ms. Lessing moved me up to the first row of desks, right in front of where she sat, and every day I would catch her watching as my fingers crept down between my legs while I was doing my schoolwork. She gave me really good grades.

I liked having Ms. Lessing look at me. I remember wishing that some of the other female teachers I had would enjoy looking at me when I played with myself instead of scolding me about it. But the others weren’t as nice as her.

As I got older, I became better at hiding what I was doing. I used to practice a lot at home, in front of the mirror in my bedroom. I would try on different sets of clothes and see which ones allowed me to get the most satisfying touch with the least chance of being discovered.

By the time I was in sixth grade, I was so clever at it that I could play with myself pretty much all day long at school and no one ever noticed. I’d realized by then, of course, that what I was doing was certainly something sexual. I knew what masturbation was, or at least the idea of it, and I knew how good it made me feel to touch myself that way.

I realized too about that time that it was not only my physical actions that got me so excited, but also the things I thought about while I was doing it. When I imagined some of my prettiest teachers naked, or if I pretended I was touching one of the girls I had a secret crush on, that would make the pleasurable feelings even stronger.

It was during that year, when I was 11, that I finally had my first orgasm.

My last class in the afternoon was music, in the auditorium. I played clarinet. I’d been rubbing myself almost constantly throughout the day and my panties were very wet.

By then I’d also discovered that I didn’t always have to use my fingers to please myself. If I sat just right, I could squeeze my thighs together and get this incredibly nice sensation. This was the perfect method to use in music class, because as we were playing a tune, I could sort of move my body in time with the rhythm, and nobody would know what I was up to.

That’s what I’d been doing that afternoon, and by the time the class ended, I was getting really hot and sweaty with excitement and I knew my panties were soaked. I remember being worried that someone might notice how I looked and maybe ask if I was sick or something, but luckily no one did.

While the other students were putting away their instruments after class, I sort of hung back, moving into the shadows, waiting until everyone else had left. And when the auditorium was empty, I took a chair to the center of the stage where we practiced and sat down, facing toward a phantom audience.

My heart was pounding. I wanted someone to see me, to watch me, but at the same time I was terrified of being discovered and getting punished. It’s that sense of danger, of course, that heightens the thrill for me and gets me so hot.

As I sat in the chair and looked out, I slowly spread my legs. I was wearing a loose cotton dress that day. I drew it up my thighs and reached down to touch my panties. As I’d expected, they were very wet.

I put a hand inside. It felt steamy and moist in there, like a jungle. I used my other hand to pull the panties aside, uncovering my naked crotch, and began rubbing myself.

I kept looking at the auditorium doors, wondering what I would do if someone came in, a janitor or another student. Could I get away in time? Could I make some excuse? Or would it be completely obvious what I was doing?

Part of me knew I should stop. But another part of me knew I couldn’t. I had to do this.

That was definitely the biggest risk I had taken up to that point in my life. And as I sat there on the stage, totally exposed to anyone who wanted to look, and vigorously rubbed my hairless pussy, I began to feel something new happening inside me… a swirling warmth, a surging pressure, building, pulsing, growing… I was trembling all over… I kept rubbing myself, kept trying to look at the doors just in case, as I felt that pressure inside getting stronger and hotter… hotter and stronger… and then it happened. The surge boiled over. My first real climax.

*       *       *

No one came in and saw me that day. I was very lucky.

As soon as I got home from school, I went into the bathroom and locked the door. I was alone in the house, but for some reason I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t get caught. Maybe it was because the ordeal on stage had really frightened me.

I took off all my clothes and stood in front of the mirror.

I looked at my body. My breasts were still just little swellings with puffy nipples. I had no pubic hair. I didn’t look like a woman yet. I looked like a young girl.

Using my fingers, I spread my labia. I could see something sticky and whitish inside.

I started warm water running in the bathtub and got in to wash myself off. I held my vulva under the faucet and tried to clean the sticky stuff away. Of course, you can guess what happened. Pretty soon I had my second orgasm.

After that, I began to masturbate all the time. Well, I suppose you could say I already had been masturbating all the time, but not all the way to climax. But now that I had discovered what it was really all about, I simply couldn’t get enough.

I masturbated in the bathroom, in my bedroom, and also in other rooms of the house. I liked trying it in different places to see where it would get me the most excited.

Doing it on my mom’s bed was nice, and I especially liked doing it in her bathroom, looking at my reflection in the mirror. I sometimes did it in the kitchen, in the family room, or in the backyard.

I did it at school, too, of course, as often as I could.

A few weeks after my experience in the auditorium, I managed to have my first orgasm while sitting inside a classroom full of students.

We were taking a history test. I was in the last row, on the side, so only one person really had a good view of me, and she didn’t seem to be paying much attention. The test was easy. I finished quickly, ahead of everyone else.

As I’d been working, I had one hand pressed between my thighs, and I’d been squeezing my legs together. I would do this regularly throughout the day, as much as I could without being seen. It felt great.

But on this day I needed more.

Very quietly, I slid my hand up under my big sweater and then down inside the stretchy waistband of my skirt and into my panties. When I felt my middle finger pressing between my labia, into my hot center, I had to suppress a gasp.

I was good at doing that. I knew from lots of practice how excited I would get and how I could best control my reactions. Glancing over at Pamela, the girl sitting nearest to me, I saw that she was focused on her work and wasn’t at all concerned with what I was doing.

While I pretended to be checking my answers on the test, slowly running my pencil up and down the page, I gently teased my clit with my other hand. I wasn’t sure I could actually make myself come that way, using a minimum of motion and permitting myself no outward sign of arousal.

But I did.

I felt the pressure slowly building inside me that day until, about thirty seconds before the class ended, I reached climax. I remember feeling not only intensely aroused and sexually fulfilled, but also very proud. It was gratifying to know that I could give myself so much wonderful pleasure whenever and wherever I wanted.

And, of course, having successfully done it one time, I continued to do it as often as I could manage. From middle school all the way through high school, I masturbated to orgasm in the classroom at least twice a week on average while I fantasized about looking at a naked woman or kissing a cute girl. As far as I know, no one ever realized what I was doing.

I enjoyed doing it at other places too, like at the city library, at the shopping mall, and in the park. I love to masturbate, and most of all I love to masturbate in locations where someone might possibly see me.

*       *       *

A few times people have seen me.

The first time was in a bookstore at the mall. I was 14. I was rubbing myself while I browsed the shelves, but apparently I wasn’t being quite careful enough. I discovered that a middle-aged man was staring at me. That grossed me out. I left right away and didn’t go back to that store for a long time.

The next time it happened was at the beach, when I was 15. I caught a woman watching me while I played with myself. I didn’t stop, and when she saw that I knew she watching, she didn’t look away either. I continued until I finished. Then she quickly picked up all her things and rushed off. Heading home to masturbate, probably.

Two years later, when I was 17, someone saw me again. It was at the mall. I was in the lingerie section of a department store, looking at some sexy nighties, and I got really turned on. I decided to masturbate right there. I went between two racks of bras and panties and stuck my hand down inside my jeans. I was about halfway to climax when I noticed a couple of girls, both around 12 years old, standing nearby and looking at me. They were clutching at each other and blushing and giggling, but doing it quietly. I think they didn’t want to call attention either to themselves or to me. They wanted me to keep going, and so I did. I rubbed myself until I came.

And that’s it. I have masturbated hundreds of time in public places, but as far as I know, I have been seen doing it by only those four people. Chances are, I suppose, that there have been others that I wasn’t aware of. If there were, I hope they enjoyed it. Especially if they were pretty girls.

That’s one of my favorite fantasies: that I’ll be touching myself somewhere and a hot looking girl, maybe a teenager, will see me, and then she’ll start touching herself too while I watch.

That hasn’t happened yet, but who knows, maybe someday it will.

Continue on to Part Two

A Young Desert Rose, Chapter 1

  • Posted on February 19, 2017 at 1:55 pm

By Sunnybunny

The road wound in and around the dunes, little more than a black ribbon threading through white wrapping, utterly devoid of organic life, just miles and miles of rock and sand and sediment. In the distance a range of mountains danced in the lines of heat rising from the pavement.

The wind had transformed her thick head of long, dark hair into streamers, billowing out the back of the convertible. She depressed the accelerator, revving the engine and climbing the needle back into the upper seventies. The car lurched forward, bellowing out through the exhaust and racing through the sand canyons that flanked her on either side. The noise echoed endlessly all around but nothing stirred. There was nothing TO stir for miles still. In the barren wastes of the Nevada desert, it was easy to imagine she was the last woman on earth, totally free with nothing between herself and eternity but a stretch of highway.

She saw a battered road sign up ahead, spiked into the side of the road and long abandoned. It was eaten through with rusty holes but the intent was clear. There were no words left but this sign spoke in an international tongue. Two golden arches and a distance counter detailing how far away you were from the only fast food chain for days. After a few days’ drive and sleeping in the back, even the greasy concoctions that only barely passed as food in her book sounded pretty choice.

“A pit stop it is, then!” she thought out loud.

She lowered the visor at her brow and scrutinized the wrist watch wound over the mirror, calculating she would be there before the afternoon was gone. With any luck, she’d be able to find a good motel with basic Wi-Fi access but she would settle for a clean bed. She loved her Mustang, with its worn canvas drop top and seat belts that barely worked, but the bench seats were a pain to sleep across. That is, ‘sleep’ in its loosest sense. Mostly she just tossed and turned beneath her leather bomber, trying to get comfortable enough to snatch a few minutes before the sun rose and it became unbearably hot.

She flipped her shades down over her eyes. The occasional tree came next, little more than twigs at first and clusters of cacti before swelling to bolder and more prominent breeds.

The town itself was small but larger than she would have guessed. It seemed to spring up out of the sand as if dug out of the earth, making her think of King Solomon’s mines but she couldn’t say why.

She paused at a traffic light (the only one in town as it would turn out) and idled for a beat to take in her surroundings. Most of the buildings had long been shuttered and were little more than brick husks. The glass in most was smashed out, no doubt from bored kids with too much time and too many rocks to throw. The elements had done the rest, weathering the signs and advertising away until blank white triangles remained suspended along their sides and store fronts. What remained was a quiet diner tucked into a corner with a handful of late model cars parked out front. A gas station was across the street from that, shutters wide open with an old sedan cranked up high, all four wheels missing. There was nobody in sight.

More distressing, there was no sign of those telltale golden arches anywhere around. Not even a sign to point her in the right direction. She drummed her fingers over the wheel, weighing her directional options. It wasn’t like she was pressed for time. There were no other cars on the road and besides that, the traffic light wasn’t working. The diner seemed like the most immediate place to gather information and sate the gnawing hunger but through the haze she spied something that changed her mind mid-turn. She cut the wheel harder, staying on the road and nosing past the diner and crept up toward the large, grey MOTEL sign leaning precariously over the street. On a windier day, it might have been lost in the haze of sand.

She yanked the emergency brake up and climbed out, blinking in the sunlight, surprised to find the heat nowhere near as oppressive as she anticipated. It was still hot but not unbearably so. The double doors of the motel hung open, stopped by a couple of heavy chairs with a healthy pile of desert sand out like a doormat.

She stepped over it and into the gloom of the reception area, following the static-laced tune of some golden oldies to the front desk. a heavy-set man with thinning hair leaned back in a rocking chair, feet up on the counter and crossed at the ankle. They were hairy and bare, sun-tanned as the rest of him. He glanced up just then, meeting her gaze and it was hard to say whose expression bore more bewilderment. A heartbeat passed then another before either reacted.

He sat up so suddenly, as if the chair had suddenly goaded him with a Taser, that the back of the chair banged against the wall with a crash. She couldn’t help but jump in surprise. “Hi-hi!” he bellowed, too loudly. “Welcome! Please, come in!” he gestured with his hand as though he was offering a seat, but there was nowhere to be seated.

“Did you need a room?” He asked before shaking his head. She spied grey wisps trailing through his dark mat of hair and she upgraded his age calculations to the upper fifties. “Of course, you do! Why else would you come knocking!” He paused again, screwing his face up in afterthought. “’Less you need directions…? Do you need directions or a room? We get both in here but…not too often.” He blushed sheepishly, realizing he was talking too much but unable to help himself. She doubted he got many visitors one way or the other.

She smiled automatically, slipping right into her flirtatious role as if it were a favorite t-shirt. “It’s okay, really. I need a room, yea, for a couple of days maybe. Is that alright?”

He was nodding his head before her question was even asked. “Course it is! We got plenty of rooms with all the ane….enema…enamines!” He paused again, unsure of the word before clarifying, “We got your basic satellite TV, hot n cold running water, internet access.”

She waited a beat for him to continue before she realized that those were about it and more than she should have expected from the place. “That sounds great, thank you so much Mister….?”

“Walter,” he bowed. “Walter Gates.” He set his things down onto the desk (a dog-eared crossword dated sometime during the Reagan administration and pencil) and came around to shake her hand. “Can I get you to just sign in here?” He fished out a worn, laminated guest book and flipped open to the first page…the only page in the book. Inside were a handful of dates and signatures, the most recent being six or seven months back. “The rates are listed here,” he pointed out helpfully to the opposite page taped to the inside of the book. “Is it…just you?” He sounded hopeful.

“Just me,” she clarified with a nod, scribbling a few zigzagging designs that would pass for a signature. He spun the book around to study it, looking hesitant. “And you are…?”

“Freemantle,” she replied coolly. “Heather Freemantle.” Not her real name but it would do for now.

He fished a pair of keys from the wall and handed them over. They were worn, marked with a heavy brass ring bearing the numbers 01. “Need help with your bags?”

Something must have shown on her face because Walter faltered, offered a bemused smile. “I really don’t mind.”

Heather shook her head, offering a fresh smile that flashed her dazzling white teeth. “Thanks but I travel light, I can manage. You can help me one way though…”

She let the question hang in the air, baiting him to ask. “Anything!”

“Just where the heck AM I?”

He roared with laughter, slapping his beefy, spotted hand down onto the counter top. “Girlie, drove all this way, into the middle of nowhere and…” he waved the thought off. “Shouldn’t be surprised. Nobody comes here on purpose anymore. But this town here is Oasis. Oasis, Nevada. Allow me to be the first to say welcome! We don’t have much here, the world largely ignores us but we have hospitality. We have hospitality in spades!”

“I sure hope so…” She was referring more to the outside being oblivious to their existence rather than the latter but no need to tell HIM that…

“Just down the road there is the diner if you wanna bite to eat.” Just the diner, she thought. No name, just like the motel because it didn’t need one. “There is a filling station just down yonder ‘s well. General store down the way a-piece. Don’t reckon you’ll get lost here. You gotta try pretty hard to get lost here.” He roared with another fit of laughter.

“I plan to get very lost here,” she chuckled and left him, twirling the key around her index finger.

Outside the air felt a touch cooler, as if she had been inside for hours rather than minutes. She shrugged out of her jacket and slung it over one shoulder, winding her way back through the barren parking lot toward her convertible. the sun was beginning to nestle down amongst the water-color mountains for the evening and would be winking out in a while longer. Probably by the time she polished off her dinner it would be full dark and she could mosey back to her room in the cover of night without risking another encounter with Walter. The last thing she wanted was him to nose around her room while she was away, so instead of taking her bags inside right away, she left them latched inside her trunk, safe and sound. She doubted his intent would be malicious or perverse, but simple curiosity could make her stay here a whole lot more bothersome.

She was partway back to her car before Heather noticed she wasn’t alone. She had been so distracted ruminating on her situation that it took her aback to see someone, ANYone about. Already she was finding that it was easy to forget there were perhaps other people living here besides Walter in the eerie silence of Oasis.

The girl was pedaling her bicycle lazily around her car in a wide circle, standing on the pedals as she went, eyes fixated on the cherry-red body of the Mustang in a mix of admiration and curiosity. Her hair was shoulder length, the same color as the sand dunes piling haphazardly in the lot, lifting gently in the light breeze. She wore a checkered sundress that looked a half-size too large for her skinny frame, clinging to her body and shoulders. The hem was too short too, hitting her at mid-thigh rather than the more conservative knee-length the dress might have reached when it was new. Now it was just as worn and frayed as the town itself.

Heather watched her turn those circles around her car like a predatory shark with one hand shading her eyes for another moment before she called out. “If you’re thinking about rooting around in the seats for loose change, spare yourself the trouble. There isn’t any.”

The brakes on the bike wheezed, throttling to a stop so suddenly she nearly pitched over the handlebars. Her hair wiped around to face Heather, her hair tussling around her reddening cheeks. “I wasn’t gonna steal nothin’!” she cried. “I just like the car is all!”

“Uh huh…” Heather let the patronizing words of disbelief hang in the air between them. She folded her arms across her belly, smirking across the tarmac at the girl. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

The girl stepped off her bike in an almost defiant gesture, standing beside it with hands locked across the handlebars and bare feet planted. Her nose was wrinkled up in a hard frown that Heather couldn’t help but smile at. True, the little urchin was likely out to rob her, if she hadn’t already but she was sure making a fun show of playing the outraged victim at the wrong place at the wrong time.

“It’s true, look!” She plucked at her dress, tenting it out with her fingertips. “I don’t have no pockets anyhow! Where would I put it if I stole something?”

Heather shrugged noncommittally, strolling a few paces closer, wondering if the girl would back away. When she didn’t, Heather gave her a few brownie points. She was either brave or stupid and the woman couldn’t help but try and find out.

“You could have stuffed it down the front, into the band of your underwear maybe or just ridden off carrying it, one-handed.”

She came into the shadow of the road sign, at least shielded from the dazzling afternoon sun and got her first good look at the child. Her skin was bronzed the same dark shade as Walters, no doubt a mark of living in Oasis all their lives rather than being any relation, that would no doubt be shared by the entire small population. A dust of freckles played across her small, slightly upturned nose, above a full pair of bright red lips. For such a young thing, she was strikingly beautiful. Yes, that was the word that came to mind when looking at her. Not cute or lovely but beautiful, the kind of face that should be selling cereal or drinks to kids in television commercials, not ripping off peoples’ loose change.

“What’s…your name?” Heather asked, flustered by the girl and not quite understanding why. Her voice came out in a dry rush of air.

The girl seemed to be studying her in the same intense manner but her expression had softened somewhat. “Angie. Angie Lawrence. My daddy runs the service station up the road, there.” She pointed vaguely over her shoulder, eyes never leaving Heather’s. She spoke very matter-of-factly, not showing the slightest reservation at all about speaking with a total stranger. It occurred to Heather suddenly that the girl had likely never even MET an outsider before, likely knew everyone in town from the day she was born.

“What about you? You got a name?”

Heather faltered, frantically searching her mind for the name she had used at the motel. “Heather,” she replied perhaps too quickly. She had very nearly revealed her real name. “My name is Heather Freemantle.”

The girl squinted up at her suspiciously. “You don’t sound too sure,” she replied warily.

“You calling me a liar?” Heather arched a daring eyebrow.

Angie shrugged her thin shoulders, clearly not believing Heather but decided not to press the matter. At last she looked away, trailing her gaze casually back up the road toward the diner. “What’re you doin’ here Heather Freemantle?”

“It’s a free country, isn’t it?” Heather asked but didn’t like how harshly it came out and decided to try again. “I’m just passing through, might be around for a bit.”

Angie didn’t seem to notice, didn’t even seem to be paying attention. Heather appraised the girl anew, pegging her age somewhere in the preteen range by the way the dress hung about her. Her hips and bust were yet to fill out, the dress looking more like a circus tent around her body than any clothing. When she turned back around to face Heather, she noticed the neck line plunging dangerously low to show off a flat swatch of bare chest, barely covering the tops of the child’s nipples. The sight made Heather’s breath hitch.

If Angie noticed, she did not give any indication. She screwed her face up again at Angie, fixing her in a fresh gaze that was older than her years. “Guess I’ll be seeing you around, Heather Freemantle.” She climbed back about, swinging a slender leg over the seat, the color of polished bronze, and began to pedal away. She paused half way down the road and turned, craning her long, swan-like neck around to call back to Heather. In the stillness, she didn’t have to shout to be heard. “Maybe I thought about takin’ some.” It took Heather a moment to figure out the girl was talking about the car, loose change. “But I couldn’t. I ain’t no thief and it’s a really pretty car. I’m sorry for even thinkin’ about it.” She was speaking in the same matter of fact tone of a much older girl.

It took guts to admit that, Heather reasoned and couldn’t help but be a little taken with her right then and there. Plus, her accent was the cutest thing she had ever heard. “What would you have done with it, had you found any cash?”

Angie gave the question a quiet mulling over, casting her gaze to her foot, perched up on one of the pedals. “I would buy an ice cream at the shop,” she confessed at last.

Heather had no idea what she had expected as an answer but ice cream hadn’t been it. It doubled her over in a fit of laughter until she was wiping tears away from her eyes. “You got priorities, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” Angie retorted without any of the anger befitting a child of her age after being referred to as ‘kid’. “I’m almost eleven years old!”

“How about I treat you to that ice cream?” Heather asked before she could talk herself out of it.

“You mean it?” Angie asked, a look of surprise breaking the carefully constructed mask of an older child she worked so hard to maintain.

Heather raised a hand as if in surrender, tracing an X over her chest. “Cross my heart.”

For the first time, Angie seemed to show a bit of hesitation, gazing up and down the empty road around them, as if she were searching for something or, more likely, if anyone was watching them. “What about my bike?”

“We’ll toss it in back or leave it parked here. Won’t be gone long, right?”

“I guess not,” she reasoned aloud, sounding like she was trying to convince herself more than Heather. “It’s just right up the road there.”

Heather fished the set of car keys free from the back pocket of her jeans. “Climb on board, Kid. I think we’ve both earned ourselves a little treat.”

Continue on to Chapter 2