Monique turned to go, backing out of the room in confusion, her hand at her open mouth. “Excuse me", she mumbled. “I didn't know — ”.
Jean never knew what exactly it was that compelled her to go to the girl and draw her back into the room. She acted on the spur of the moment, feeling she had to convince the au pair girl that she wasn't really ashamed of what she had been doing. But, much later, she would see a considerable ambiguity in her action — as if she decided at that precise moment to set in motion a plan which her unconscious mind had been formulating for many months…
“Please — don't go, Monique", she urged the girl. “Come in, I must talk to you”. Jean took her wrist and led Monique back into the room. She pushed the door shut and walked quickly to the chair where her dressing gown was draped. She got into it and fastened the cord around her waist.
“You mustn't go away like this, thinking all sorts of terrible things about me", she said. “I want to be frank with you, Monique. I couldn't bear you to feel embarrassed for the rest of your stay — so let's be sensible and grown-up about what you saw me doing”.
The French girl was staring down at the floor, unable to meet Jean's eyes. “I was playing with myself — there's nothing so very terrible about that, is there?” Monique was silent. “It's a perfectly normal, natural thing to do, you know”.
Jean smiled, surprised at the cool way she was dealing with the situation. “Why on earth should either of us be ashamed or disgusted? I'm sure every girl — and every boy, too, come to that — has done such things. And if someone walks in and sees them doing it: well, so what?”
Monique still didn't reply. She stood there, nervously twisting her fingers, looking uncomfortable and disconcerted. Her short, almost boyish, blonde hair was cropped in an urchin cut, her slim young figure lissome in a form-hugging grey sweater and pleated skirt. She wore no make-up but her pretty face with its high cheekbones and pale blue eyes looked rouged as her colour deepened at Jean's frank conversation.
“Why don't you sit down, Monique?” Jean suggested. “Mr. Cameron is away and Cathy's school holidays don't start till the end of the week, so there's no great rush to get the housework done. And, besides, I'd like to get to know you a little better. This seems like a good opportunity, don't you think?
Rather reluctantly, Jean thought, Monique moved to a chair and sat gingerly on the very edge of he cushion. “That's better”. Jean stepped a little nearer to the girl and helped herself to a cigarette from the box on the bedside table. “You don't use these, do you?
Monique shook her head. Jean smoked in silence for a moment, then: “What do you think of us, Monique? I mean, what do you really think of us?”
The girl looked up at her in surprise. “What do you mean, Mrs. Cameron? I'm very happy here, of course — ”.
Jean wagged a finger at her. “It's Jean", she insisted. “I told you when you first came — you're to call me by my Christian name. You're not a servant, you're one of the family.” She looked at her cigarette with distaste. “These are foul first thing in the morning!” she grimaced. And stubbed it out quickly in the ashtray.
“No,” she continued. “I can't really expect you to answer that question, can I? Besides, in three weeks you hardly ever get to know people really well. Not English people, anyway”. Jean regarded Monique thoughtfully. “But I would like to know you better, my dear", she said softly. “I hardly ever meet people, apart from the neighbours — and they're so stuffy, most of them! Retired colonels or businessmen commuting to London — like Michael”.
She was conscious that she had put a faint but distinct sneer into the words “like Michael”. Monique evidently noticed it, since the girl at last looked up and met her eyes.
“Aren't you happy here, Jean?” she asked. And Jean was gratified to hear concern in the girl's voice. “I thought you had everything you wanted: a beautiful house in the country. A husband, a child”.
Jean broke in impatiently. “Oh, yes!” she cried. “I've got all the trappings of a good life — I have the house, I eat well, I have quite a few clothes… And it's all as empty as hell!”
She reached out for another cigarette and as she put it between her lips realised that her fingers were trembling. “You must have seen for yourself that Michael is hardly ever at home! To keep us in all this — ” she waved her hand contemptuously around the room — “he has to work almost round the clock. And when he could be here with us he prefers to — ”.
Jean stopped, realising that her voice was growing hysterical. She waited a moment, controlling the panic which was welling up. Softly, she finished: “He prefers to sleep with other women! He treats me like a machine, an object!”
The tears were running down her cheeks before she was aware that she'd started to cry. Jean brushed them away angrily. “I'm sorry, Monique", she said. “I shouldn't burden you with my problems — it's not fair. But I've kept this bottled up for so long…”
“It's all right, Jean'.' Monique was at her side, her arm stealing around the woman's shoulder, drawing her face against her stomach and stroking Jean's hair tenderly. “Cry — it's the best thing to do!”
When Jean's sobbing subsided, Monique gave her a handkerchief and helped her to dry her tear-stained face. “There, there", she soothed gently. “I'm sure things aren't really so bad. You're just upset, you'll see — in a moment you'll remember all the good things and the bad times will disappear…”
Jean managed a rueful smile. “I am a big baby, aren't I?” she said. “I'm sorry, Monique — I'm sorry about everything. Especially about your seeing what I was doing to myself!”
Monique shook her head. “No", she told her. “Let me tell you something that will make you smile!” Jean listened, fascinated as always by the liquid sound of Monique's French accent. “The reason I was so embarrassed was that I was doing the very same thing this morning! And I already felt so ashamed! Then I came in to wake you… It was the shock, Jean! To see you doing what I had been doing! It startled me so much!”
They both stared at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing. Jean clutched Monique around the girl's waist and giggled helplessly.
“How silly we are!” she gasped. “Oh, Monique, to think that we both had the same secret and we were both so stupidly ashamed of it!” Jean could feel the French girl's body shaking with laughter against her face. Through the thin sweater she could smell the sweetness of Monique's perfume — a subtle and fresh bouquet which blended wonderfully with the girl's feminine scent.
She drew Monique down until her ear was level with Jean's mouth. “Tell me", she whispered. “Did you enjoy touching yourself, Monique? Tell me what it was like…'
The girl stiffened slightly, then Jean felt her body relax again. “I was in the bath", she replied, lowering her voice to a husky, breathy whisper. “And suddenly I felt this desire to — to feel myself. Do you know what I mean?”
Jean nodded, keeping her lips close to Monique's ear, her face only scant inches from the French girl's.
“I pretended to myself that it was another girl who was touching me", Monique continued. Her voice was so low that Jean had to strain her ears to hear what she was saying. “I put my fingers between my thighs and…”
“Yes?” Jean felt breathless, a curious constriction in her throat as she waited for the girl to go on.
“I touched myself, very intimately", Monique whispered. “Right inside… I put my fingers right inside myself — just as you did, Jean. The hot water made me feel so sexy…
“Then, afterwards, I hated myself for being so weak and for having such awful thoughts — ”.
“Awful?” Jean murmured. “What was so awful about them?”
Monique's eyelashes fluttered nervously. “To imagine another girl touching me? Don't you think that is awful, Jean?”
“Why, no", Jean said slowly. “I don't really think so. Has it ever happened to you, Monique? Have you ever been caressed by a girl?”
“No…” Monique's voice trembled. She breathed the word out and managed to make it sound more like an invitation than a denial. “Have you, Jean?”
“Once", Jean told her. “A long time ago — at school. Why do you think it's so awful if you've never experienced it, darling?” The endearment was spoken before she realised what she was saying. And Jean knew that even if, at the start, she had only intended to tease the girl, from this moment on she was deadly serious in her flirtation. The hairs' breadth between playfulness and seduction had been crossed — perhaps without either of the girls realising it.
Before Monique could reply, Jean slipped both her hands down until they rested on the girl's buttocks. She began to rub them gently and softly, making no attempt o disguise what she was doing.
Slowly, Monique turned her face around until her breath mingled with Jeans and her eyes looked into the woman's. “What are you doing?” she whispered. “Jean — you mustn't! You mustn't!”
But Jean's hands were already lifting up the pleated skirt, twitching it steadily over the girl's thighs. Monique's legs were bare and as Jean's fingers finished their work of raising the short skirt over them she could feel the firm flesh tightening as the girl's muscles contracted in protest.
Monique put her hands on Jean's shoulders and tried to push her away. “Don't fight me, darling!” Jean begged. “Let me see if I can give you more pleasure than you gave yourself! Let me try!”
The French girl stared down into Jean's eyes, fear and desire battling for dominance within her. She began to shake her head wildly from side to side — thrusting herself backwards. But Jean kept her hands firmly on Monique's buttocks, fingers now resting on the girl's pantie-clad cheeks beneath her skirt. She pursed her lips, inclining them towards Monique's, at the same time drawing the girl downwards to her mouth.
Monique felt as if she was being swept along by a powerful current of emotion which led towards fearful rapids and whirlpools. She knew that her control was growing weaker every moment and struggled to regain some measure of will-power. Her resistance (which, she perceived dimly, might after all have been merely token) at last broke completely — and Monique gave a final cry of despair, then allowed her lips to come into sweet contact with Jean's.
The girls kissed fiercely, crushing their mouths together with a suddenly unleashed passion which surprised them both. Violently, their soft lips pressed and merged, moving constantly — rubbing against each other as Jean and Monique sought in their separate ways for their taste of private pleasure.
Monique's hands now stole around Jean's neck. Her fingers met in the woman's hair and she seized twin handfuls of the jet black tresses, forcing Jean's head even more firmly forward whilst she thrust her live, wriggling tongue between the girl's lips.
It met Jean's — and the slippery, wet tongues joined in a lascivious meeting: darting eagerly together, tasting and lapping…
Slowly, Jean raised herself up from the chair and drew Monique sideways to the bed. Still kissing, the girls fell onto the unmade sheets, arms wound tightly around each other. They pushed their bodies quickly into one another, Monique's sharp-pointed breasts sticking through the thin material of her sweater into the larger, softer orbs of Jean's bosom.
Until she had made absolutely sure that Monique was hers completely — hers to do whatever she liked with — Jean didn't dare to release the girl's mouth. She kissed the precious lips fervently, exploring Monique's teeth and gums with the tip of her tongue, while her hands busied themselves at the voluptuous spread of the girl's bottom.
She fondled the cheeks with her roaming fingers, tracing a pattern along the tight nip of Monique's panties. The briefs were extremely close-fitting — and evidently several sizes too small for the girl. They left at least half of each buttock completely bare, and swathed the remainder of Monique's firm-cheeked arse so snugly that Jean had the greatest difficulty in slipping her fingertips beneath the hem.
At last she succeeded in wiggling her fingers under the taut elastic and onto the curvy cheeks themselves. She thought with a sharp thrill how lovely her own bottom had felt and how glorious it was to be able to fondle and caress this beautiful young girl's buttocks — without the slightest fear that Monique would object. She was absolutely certain of this, because the French girl was now busily adjusting her own dressing gown, pulling it up at the back to give her access to Jean's hidden charms.
Jean waited breathlessly for Monique's hands to descend on her waiting bottom. The girl's fingers were now, at this very moment, stealing slowly up the backs of her thighs… They stroked the flesh gently, kneading it with loving caresses, gradually slipping nearer and nearer to the exciting warmth of Jean's buttocks.
Moving as unobtrusively as possible, Jean let her thighs open a fraction — giving Monique the opportunity to fondle at the intimate inner flesh of her leg if the girl wished.
Monique panted deliciously into her mouth, emitting tiny little animal moans as she worked her fingers the rest of the way up Jean's thighs. Hoping to urge the girl to a faster exploration, Jean began to dig the sexy panties down Monique's hips, peeling them like a second skin over the French girl's shapely bottom.
She got them well off the cheeks, then left them in a screwed-up bundle stretching around the tops of the girl's thighs. Her hands moved up again, now able to move without restraint over the total bareness of Monique's darling arse. Jean patted the cheeks lovingly, hearing the faint slaps of her palms against the curved white orbs with a rising excitement.
Her fingers pressed once more into the yielding softness and she started to pull the globes apart. They yielded sweetly to her demands, the muscles slackening so that Jean could open the buttocks as fully as possible. She held them wide, one hand on each cheek, unable to see the glorious secrets which her fingers were revealing, but nevertheless relishing the blatant exposure of the girl's most private parts.
And at that moment Jean felt her own arse being seized by Monique's hands. She held her breath, then kissed Monique's mouth more passionately than ever as the responsive girl opened her bottom and immediately pushed an inquiring finger against the sensitive bud of her arse!
“Oh, Monique", Jean breathed. She pulled her mouth away at last and pressed her lips against the incredibly soft skin of the girl's neck. “Oh, my darling!” she sighed. “This is bliss! Here — let me do the same to you… There!”
Jean stole her forefinger from the base of the girl's spine down into the wide, heated crease of Monique's bottom. The tip of her finger touched the unflinching orifice of her darling's anus and sweetly, gently, Jean began to push it right into the so-tiny, so-tight rear hole.
Monique imitated the action, but moved her face so that their eyes met. Staring wondrously at each other, the girls insinuated their fingers with the slowest possible of movements into their respective arses, pushing with just the right amount of pressure so that not the slightest pain or discomfort was caused to either girl.
Meeting Monique's eyes, Jean felt a sudden rush of blood to her head. The pale blue eyes seemed to commune silently with her very soul. They stared frankly and without the slightest trace of embarrassment into hers, speaking of a feminine mystery that seemed far older than the girl's extreme youth; telling of the delights of shared female flesh… reminding her of the joys she had been missing for so long…
Jean wondered if the same expression was in her own eyes. She could feel them misting over, the outlines of Monique's features blurring as she seemed to stare beyond the girl's pupils into the innermost corners of her mind.
And still their fingers pursued their passage into their most secret and forbidden regions: now curling slightly so that their nails didn't scratch too sharply against the tender raw meat…
Unable to speak, Jean mouthed the words silently: “I love you, Monique”. She saw that the girl understood, realised that the love was shining brilliantly out of her eyes and that there was not the slightest need for her to voice her emotions. They were naked and unmistakable.
Jean kissed her again, softly this time — with only the gentlest of pressure. She felt Monique's hand leave her bottom (the girl's other hand remaining on the cheeks, splayed out with her forefinger embedded tightly in her arse) and slip between their bodies to unfasten her gown.
Easily, Monique parted the garment and opened it at the centre, sliding her hand up onto Jean's right breast. The fingers closed lovingly over the heavy swell, fondling the smooth flesh in a delicate and gentle caress — holding the breast as if it were the most fragile thing in the whole world.
When they next broke their kiss, Jean saw that Monique was staring down between their bodies, watching her hand as it rubbed and turned the nestling titty.
“Let's undress completely", Monique whispered suddenly. “I want to feel your body naked against mine — pushing into me! Please, Jean — take my clothes off!”
Gingerly withdrawing her finger from Monique's anus, Jean felt the girl pulling her own finger from its snug, tight place inside her own arse. Monique lay back on the bed, stretching full-length with her arms passively at her side. Jean stared at the girl for a brief moment, drinking in the sexy disarray of Monique's clothing: the skirt hoisted up to her waist, brief white panties pulled daringly down to expose her blonde-bushed sex.
Then she knelt beside her, leaning forward so that she could reach the hook and eye which held the girl's skirt in position. She unfastened it and slid the zipper down. Monique lay with her eyes half-closed, helping Jean by raising her legs slightly so that the woman could tug the skirt off more easily; but otherwise remaining quite motionless.
Jean turned her attention to Monique's panties. She peeled them slowly down the girl's thighs, slipped the skimpy briefs over the knees and lifted them carefully off Monique's ankles — raising them and catching a glimpse of the girl's pink-lipped quim which set her heart racing.
Her hands felt moist with excitement as she moved them to the hem of Monique's sweater. She maneouvred it upwards, exposing the white flesh of the girl's midriff. Jean lifted the clinging material over the brassiere cups, and Monique raised her arms indolently to allow her to tug the garment off.
When she was naked expect for her bra, the French girl rolled lazily over onto her tummy and Jean quickly unhooked the webbed harness. With Monique still lying face down, she worked the straps over the shapely shoulders and drew the brassiere from beneath the recumbent girl.
Before Monique could turn over again, however, Jean slipped both her hands under her chest and cupped the warm young breasts between her fingers. The nipples pressed hotly into her palms, burning lustfully and stiffly. Jean's dressing gown was completely open now and as she lowered her body down onto Monique's, fitting herself firmly with her thighs pressing into the backs of the girl's legs, she made her naked breasts sink voluptuously into Monique's bare back.
She began to kiss the nape of the French girl's neck, her lips brushing wetly and insinuatingly across the downy skin. Monique began to wriggle seductively beneath her, reaching her hands around so that she could again feel Jean's buttocks.
At length, they abandoned this rather awkward, though sexy position. Monique turned to face Jean and they crushed their now naked bodies together, bare tummies rubbing, breasts squashing. Their pubic mounds met in a violent thrusting of their loins, Jean's dark hair twining with Monique's blonde and wispier strands.
The upper lips of their cunts also touched — kissing almost as passionately as the girls' other mouths, which were once more engaged in an abandoned tongueing. They started to writhe their hips against one another, their hands stealing down to each other's buttocks and relishing the unclothed nakedness of the round firm cheeks.
Monique was the first to suggest a more intimate mode of love-play. Drawing her lips slightly away from Jean's, she murmured: “Shall I show you exactly what I was doing to myself in the bath, Jean?”
“Oh, yes, Monique — please do!”
The slim French girl wriggled slightly away from Jean's body, though the latter woman could still feel the animal warmth emanating from Monique's naked skin. She again assumed a position on her back, drawing her legs tightly together so that the raised curve of her cunt mound was almost hidden from view between her thighs.
Then, while Jean watched intently, hardly daring to blink for fear of missing a single intimate movement, Monique laid her right hand gently on her belly and began to caress the flat whiteness. She petted the skin lovingly, passing her fingers right across the gently rising and falling belly and caressing herself as if she were completely alone in the room.
Jean propped herself up on an elbow and stared down at the arousing spectacle; only a few brief inches from the slowly moving fingers. Monique very gradually stroked her hand downwards until the tips of her fingers began to pluck softly at the triangle of her hair which ineffectively concealed her cunt.
Her red painted nails were crooked slightly, making them appear more and more like the sharp talons of a beast of prey. The girl started to dig them inwards at the hard muscle which formed the topmost region of her quim. At the same time, she let her thighs slide open a little, enabling her fingers to move further down and begin to coax the very tip of her cuntcrease apart.
Jean could now see quite plainly the intricate folds of inner lips. Like a speeded-up film of a precious flower bursting into full bloom, Monique's quim opened beautifully. The long, deep divide sighed into view under the gentle petting of the girl's fingers and Jean swallowed, her mouth suddenly very dry, as Monique revealed to her the sweet fruit of her girlhood.
With exquisite, tantalising slowness, she peeled the lips completely open, holding them apart with the fingers of both hands for Jean's greedy inspection. Then, as the woman stared with increasing pleasure at the innocent but somehow maddening sex (feeling a growing desire to plunge her mouth against the pink softness and bite and tear at the sweetly perfumed inner flesh), Monique boldly started to jiggle the lips up and down…
She pulled them with alternate movements of her fingers, making the plump folds rub provocatively together — then stretch elastically away from each other in a thrilling and violently arousing exposure.
Jean half-unconsciously put her own hand out and moved it over Monique's breast. Not taking her eyes away from the girl's self-fondling, she rubbed Monique's nipple, quickly bringing the teat to an enormously ripe swelling. Her thumb and forefinger met around the base of the cherry, squeezing quite punishingly — drawing the tightly held nipple upwards away from Monique's bosom.
Under her fingers the girl's breast swayed softly, a plump young melon which wobbled in whichever direction she chose. Jean could feel her thighs sticking together and realised that she had already lost some warm juices…
Monique, meanwhile, was beginning to dip both her forefingers into the tight orifice of her sex. She had to twist them around in a series of circular movements in order not to damage her still intact hymen; the fingers would sink inwards to the second joint, then slowly emerge again — each time covered with a liquid film of young spunk.
At last the girl succeeded in penetrating herself completely. Her forefingers disappeared to their hilt between the slick lips of her quim and she began to drive them rhythmically in and out… slowly, easily, without the slightest haste — giving Jean all the time in the world to savour every movement.
“Oh, that looks so beautiful!” Jean exclaimed. She ran her tongue quickly over her parched lips. “I've never seen a girl doing that to herself before… you touch yourself so cleverly, my darling!” $ Monique wriggled one finger out of her quim. She put it up to Jean's face deliberately — offering the woman the fruits of her sex without saying a word.
Jean bent her mouth forward and sucked the long, slim finger between her lips. She licked her tongue slowly around it, tasting the pungent, slightly bitter juices which adhered to Monique's finger. She drew hard on it, feeling the nail sharp against the roof of her mouth. Her eyes closed in sheer bliss…
Firmly and insistently, Monique started to pull her finger free. And when Jean looked at her, dismay spreading over her face, the French girl whispered: “You must get some more for yourself, Jean!” Despite her boldness, Jean saw that Monique's cheeks were pink and blushing. Her full, lipstick-free mouth was parted and the lips were well-moistened — the light from the window catching them and giving them the appearance of being wetter than they actually were.
Although Monique's intention was not absolutely clear from her choice of words, Jean had not the smallest doubt that she was being invited to kiss and mouth the French girl — her lips taking the place of Monique's fingers., She slid her hand off the plump young breast, giving the nipple a final tweak. Her fingers passed right down the curve of Monique's waist, caressed briefly but excitingly at the sleek, fleshy hip… then came to rest on the satin-soft inside of he girl's right thigh.
Jean was more aroused than she could ever remember, every part of her afire with wild, passionate longing. Her body was trembling so much that? she had difficulty in working herself into position between Monique's thighs. She lifted the girl's legs up and placed them over her shoulders, deliberately keeping her eyes averted from Monique's. It was all she could do to move herself into such an outrageous and blatant attitude, and her resolve was growing weaker despite the fierce desire which was driving her on.
For one terrifying moment, Jean felt that she couldn't continue: what she was doing was completely against her nature, it was obscene… unnatural… She wasn't a lesbian! She wasn't! She -
And then the warm feel of Monique's soft under-thighs against her fingers checked her panic. Jean forced herself to look down at the totally exposed cunt which Monique was presenting to her.
It really was so pretty, she thought. So sweet, so very tempting! Her face moved as if by its own volition nearer and nearer to the rawly open quim its lips stretched wide apart and its complex of vulnerable flesh defencelessly yielding up its deepest secrets.
She kissed the very centre of Monique's cunt, pursing her lips and pressing them closely into the heart of the girl's precious treasure. The intimate musk came strongly to her nostrils, bringing back vivid memories of her first sexual experience with another girl…
Jean closed her eyes and let herself drift away into a state of beautiful physical pleasure; concentrating entirely on the sensations of touch and smell — ignoring all speculation on whether what she was doing was right or wrong. She applied herself to the kissing of Monique's cunt, slowly becoming oblivious to everything else.
Her tongue peeped out and its tip, curled over to form a long tube-like phallus, inched slowly into the heat of Monique's vulva. It pushed its way steadily inwards — moving from side to side, stretching as far as it could possibly reach into the girl's warm moist hole. Jean's pursed lips also worked: they moved continually on Monique's inner cunt-lips, savouring the rubbery wet flesh and pushing fiercely into the softness of the marvellous sex.
She felt the French girl beginning to gyrate her hips. Monique tensed and untensed her loins, thrusting her crotch more and more urgently against Jean's mouth. Jean slipped her hands beneath the girl's thighs until they cupped the soft balls of Monique's arse, fingers sinking deeply into the pillowlike cheeks and fondling them firmly.
Glueing her lips as passionately as she could to the French girl's cunt, Jean sucked with a relentless ardour. She began to shake her head violently from side to side, making her beautifully long hair fall across Monique's thighs and crotch — hiding their lesbian activity like a blanket.
Monique's ankles suddenly locked together around the small of her back and Jean felt the girl's hands grip her head, pushing her strongly against the well-sucked sex.
She began to rock and shiver so uncontrollably that it was all Jean could do to keep her mouth in position. Monique babbled incoherently in French, threshing her body in a furious tantrum. Jean put her fingers into the crease of the girl's arse — running her nails quickly up and down the warm divide and finding at last the entrance to Monique's anus.
Scrabbling wildly, she thrust her forefinger into the tender meat, ignoring Monique's shrill cry of protest. Firmly embedded inside, Jean's finger wiggled around and around; she could feel, through the wafer-thin membrane separating Monique's two orifices, her tongue as it continually darted and lapped at the innermost depths of the girl's cunt. It was beginning to ache, tiring from the strenuous and unaccustomed exercise. But Jean knew that she couldn't withdraw it until Monique had been given every possible satisfaction…
And so frantically was the French girl thrusting herself up and down on the bed that Jean knew her climax couldn't be too distant. Monique was gasping for breath, her mouth opening and closing like a stranded fish: she flailed desperately, pulling Jean's hair and bringing tears to the woman's eyes.
Then — as Jean's tongue lapped suddenly upwards to rub insistently on the stiff red clitoris — Monique went completely stiff. Her entire body tensed as the girl summoned her last ounce of strength… and the next moment Jean's mouth was filled with the runny love-spunk. It jetted hotly and thickly down her throat, forcing her to swallow again and again…
When Monique's orgasm finally abated, Jean kept her mouth pressed tightly against the girl's cunt. Her own quim itched to have the same treatment, but she wasn't sure if Monique would perform the service for her. Perhaps, she thought, now that the girl had fully spent her own lust, Monique would feel ashamed and guilty. She would realise that she had given in to a weak and shameful impulse and want nothing more to do with her. And so Jean fearfully stayed in the same position, afraid to move even slightly in case she broke the spell…
As she ought to have guessed, her fears were completely groundless. Monique, after regaining her breath, lifted Jean's face gently away from her crotch.
“That was so wonderful!” the girl murmured. “So very wonderful, Jean! Please — let me do the same for you. I'd like to kiss you so much!”
Jean raised her eyes to Monique's, gratitude and desire naked on her face. “Oh, Monique!” she sighed. “Would you? Would you really? It means so much to me, you know — so very much!”
The girl, flushed and still breathing heavily, helped Jean to slide up the bed on top of her again by putting her hands under the woman's armpits. “I want to make you happy, Jean", she told the girl softly. “The way you've made me happy! I would do anything for you now, darling — you know that, don't you? Anything in the world! No one has ever given me so much love and pleasure — no one! You're the first person I have ever felt this way about, Jean. The very first!”
As Jean's arms went around Monique again and she joined her lips to the girl's, a strange feeling of power seemed to light up in her mind. “I would do anything in the world for you…” Monique's words echoed again and again, resounding with a meaning — or the possibility of a meaning — which Jean could not yet grasp.
If it were true, if Monique really felt so strongly towards her and the girl's words weren't merely the result of a momentary passion, could it be barely possible that… That Monique might help her to make Michael her lover again?
The scarcely tangible notion seemed fantastic, the product of an over-heated and long frustrated imagination. In any case, how could Monique help her? What could she possibly do that Jean herself hadn't tried? Intrigues such as she was beginning to entertain simply didn't happen in the rarefied stockbroker belt of Surrey! They couldn't! The vague and ethereal hope was too impossibly romantic, too novelettish. She had been reading too many magazine stories.
And yet… Jean opened her eyes a little and looked into Monique's gentle face. Even if the scheme she worked out was a total failure, what possible harm could it do to attempt something which might make Michael her husband in more than just name?
Monique, she knew perfectly well, meant very little to her. If the girl was hurt — that was too bad! She was a sweet and passionate child who had given her a great deal of pleasure: but there was nothing more to it than that. There were far more important things to consider than the emotions of an au pair girl.
She would turn the matter over carefully in her mind, Jean decided. Meantime, just in case she did put some sort of intrigue into operation, it was clearly important that Monique felt as close to her and as dependent on her as possible. And Jean knew of only one sure way in which this could be achieved…
As she returned her full attention back to the girl, Jean realised with a guilty stab of shame that she was being completely ruthless in manipulating Monique's emotions. No better than Michael, in fact.
Yet, she quickly assured herself, Monique was very young — she would soon get over any heartache which their association might cause her. Whereas she, Jean, had to grab at anything which promised to bring her happiness. Her time was rapidly running out… She was well over thirty and had relatively few years left of sexual attraction. She owed it to herself to make the most of them.
And in any case, the words “I love you” which she'd breathed to Monique during their intimate moments weren't entirely a lie. Perhaps she had murmured them in a fit of blind passion — at a time when she felt an overwhelming gratitude towards the girl for helping her to recapture the joys of sex — but nevertheless there must be at least an element of truth in them.
Jean realised at this point in her rapid assessment of her feelings that her mind was a frightening network of disconnected and clashing impulses. Her motives in initiating the affair with Monique seemed terrifyingly ambiguous; she could no longer distinguish between her genuine desires and the ones which she was supposedly acting-out.
For a moment or two Jean felt utterly, totally unsure of herself. What did she want? Was it really Michael? Monique?
Or perhaps neither of them… She forced her thoughts away from the horrible white pit which yawned in front of her. It threatened to engulf her completely, to swallow her up in a horrifying maze of indecision.
She gripped Monique's body tightly, clinging almost desperately to the girl as she fought her way back to sanity. “I must hold on to reality", she repeated over and over to herself. “And reality means Michael… it does, it does! It means having Michael close to me again! And the only way I can win him back is through Monique!”
Jean gradually drew away from the chasm of ambivalence. She sought refuge in the soft warmth of Monique's body, pushing herself against the girl until she could almost feel her flesh merging into Monique's. Slowly, the throbbing in her mind subsided, leaving Jean with a sharp, insatiable desire to make love — passionate, urgent, demanding love…