She pressed her fingers into the bare skin of Monique's back, running them up and down the white flesh in a firm, massaging caress. How smooth Monique's shoulders felt! Jean's hands glided upwards to them, spending long, languorous moments just touching the gentle curves.
The sensation of Jean's fingers on her shoulders seemed to fire Monique with an intense lust — as if the caress of the woman's fingers at that particular place triggered off an erotic response in the girl.
Realising that she had found an especially vulnerable spot, Jean increased the pressure of her hands there. She turned her fingers around and around, making Monique's shoulders move under them, the soft flesh rippling under her touch. Monique squirmed against her, the girl moaning into Jean's ear: “I was supposed to give you pleasure this time, darling!” she sighed. “Instead, you're getting me all excited again!”
Jean continued her fondling of the beautiful shoulders, now increasing the pressure of her fingers so that Monique's naked skin was gripped tightly under her constantly moving hands.
“It doesn't matter, Monique", she whispered. “As long as I can feel your wonderful flesh against me — nude and warm… That's all I want!”
She felt the girl's quick intake of breath as Monique gladly snuggled even closer to her; the points of her nipples meeting Jean's as their breasts pushed firmly together. Further down, Jean could also feel the soft heat of Monique's tummy as the girl thrust herself forward — making their voluptuous female flesh press closely and intimately.
Carefully, the girls arranged themselves so that every part of their bodies touched: their thighs strained against each other, their hips blended sweetly — and their respective cunt-crotches merged so tightly that Jean could feel the warm, wet lips of Monique's quim thrusting into her own.
They began to writhe gently together, rocking in a delirious, slow-motion ecstasy on the bed, bodies locked as closely as possible.
As Jean continued to massage the roundness of Monique's shoulders, the girl allowed her own hands to slip slowly down Jean's back — fingers caressing the delicate, sensitive spine; up and down, returning again and again to Jean's bottom but always roaming away from the cheeks again just before they descended fully on the woman's arse-crease.
Then, gathering up two large handfuls of Jean's luxuriant black hair, Monique began to rub the woman's back with it. She gently stroked the bunched-up hair all the way down Jean's naked skin — running her fingers slowly through the strands until they were drawn almost to the opening of the woman's bottom.
The tickling sensation of her hair being rubbed sexily up and down her back made Jean start to shiver uncontrollably. She felt beautifully at Monique's mercy: the girl could do anything she liked with her — anything at all! Her body was Monique's completely; and the French girl seemed to realise that this new caress had aroused Jean almost more than her previous attentions.
She gently nudged Jean backwards until the woman lay on the bed with Monique bending over her. And then Monique began to play with her hair again — this time using it as a replacement for her fingers, stroking the soft tufts over Jean's breasts, rubbing the woman's nipples with the fine black curls… even sweeping it as far down Jean's tummy as it would reach — just being able to tickle the ends deliciously into the woman's navel.
Monique's smaller breasts swung freely as the girl attended to Jean. The temptation to reach her hand up and steady the wobbling globes was too strong — and Jean cupped her fingers once more and let them close gently around the girl's right titty, the one nearest to her.
She clenched and unclenched the fingers, making Monique's nipples grow taut and strong by rubbing them silkily between her forefinger and thumb. Monique replied to this fondling by lowering her face steadily towards Jean's riper, more prominent breast. The girl's lips parted, then came together around Jean's already stiff nipple.
She sucked it into her mouth with a teasing, tantalising slowness. And Jean, looking down at her chest, gasped aloud as she saw her nipple disappearing completely between Monique's red lips. The next moment she felt a sharp dragging sensation on her teat — a gradually mounting pain which turned quickly to pleasure.
Monique was closing her sharp little teeth firmly around Jean's precious bud and giving the nipple a series of determined bites! The girl held the juicy-tasting protuberance as tightly as possible, beginning to dart her moist and quivering tongue quickly across the very tip of it.
Over and over it lapped, forcing the hard red nipple to wobble inside the heat of Monique's mouth. Jean tightened her hand on Monique's breast — squeezing furiously as her passion grew fiercer and fiercer. She felt almost as if she wanted to pull poor little Monique's titty right off: urgently, she clasped and drew on the imprisoned breast — hearing Monique making funny little cries which were muffled by the thickness of her own breast inside the girl's mouth.
As if to retaliate for Jean's harsh treatment of her breast, the girl slid her hand further down the woman's tummy and fitted her fingers into the vulnerable slit of Jean's cunt. She slipped them easily into the wettened wound and began to push hard; her palm pressing rigidly into Jean's pubic mound and giving the hairy curve a thorough kneading.
Jean had to grit her teeth tightly together to stop herself crying out in pain. Remorselessly, Monique was frigging her sharp-nailed fingers into the tenderness of her cunt, opening the lips with inconsiderate roughness — a striking contrast to her earlier gentle treatment.
Without planning it, the two girls had fallen into a veritable contest of will-power: seeing which of them could withstand the most pain without pleading for the other to desist.
Grimly, Jean continued to pull on Monique's breast. Her fingers were now scoring fiercely into the soft and pliable flesh — raising long red weals on the delicate skin. She was twiddling the nipple, too, turning it around as if the hard and exciting knob of gristle was a screw and her fingers were the screwdriver… It seemed to be growing even bigger! That was the amazing thing! As she twisted and pinched the French girl's pointy titty it thickened and stiffened even more — and the thought came to Jean that it was begging her to continue with this cruel but exciting love-play — pleading with her not to stop!
Monique's fingers were being equally ruthless in their own way. Jean could feel the tears starting from her eyes as the inner lips were scratched and mauled by the au pair girl's deliberately raking fingernails.
“Ouch!” The cry was wrenched from Jean's lips unwillingly. Monique had just sliced the sharp curve of one nail across the very centre of her clitty, and the precious morsel felt afire with pain.
“Oh, my darling!” Monique murmured seductively. “I'm so terribly sorry — did I hurt you?” She raised her mouth from Jean's breasts and her lips were wet and glistening. As they left Jean's nipple the teat bobbled slightly, moist from the juices of the girl's saliva.
“Was I too rough with you, my precious?” Monique's eyes gleamed with a sexy mock-apology which Jean found overwhelmingly thrilling. “Here", the girl went on. “Let me kiss you better…”
And she immediately began to lower her mouth to Jean's sex, holding the woman's thighs open with both hands.
“Wait a minute!” Jean tightened her grip on Monique's breast, fingers digging into the supple orb, refusing to release it. “I'm not going to let go of your titty, Monique! You'll have to find some way to kiss me and let me still hold your breast!”
Monique smiled sweetly, meeting Jean's eyes with becoming frankness. “That's easily done", she replied. “But it means that you'll have to look closely at my dickie again, Jean!”
And she quickly swung herself around so that her bottom faced towards Jean's head. Her right thigh lifted and came over Jean's body — and the girl boldly squatted astride the woman's shoulders, leaning forward so that her bottom opened and the luscious valley between her arse-cheeks was blatantly displayed to Jean's eyes.
Monique bent further, supporting herself by placing her hands firmly on Jean's thighs. As the girl sank into a crouching position, the full beauty of her pink cunt came into full view. It looked, from this backward position, like a long, deep wound — the puffy lips on either side of the hole opening to expose in all its glory, Monique's mark of womanhood. The red and vulnerable slit of Eve… of Venus…
She showed not the slightest trace of embarrassment, though Monique must have realised that every single part of her most private region was openly, nakedly revealed to Jean's hot eyes. Her fingers played on the soft inside of Jean's thighs, urging them to open.
Jean heard the girl give a murmur of pleasure as her own eyes drank in the voluptuous sight of the hair protected bulge around her cunt. With cautious fingers, Monique parted the tangle of hair, uttering soft little exclamations of delight as Jean's mature and fleshy-lipped pussy peeped into sight.
Carefully, Monique put the fingers of her right hand on the revealed slit — letting them descend oh-so-gently upon Jean's highly sensitive quim. A tremor passed through Jean's entire body as the girl softly began to stroke the fingers up and down her sex. She squirmed, her legs drumming spastically on the bed; shivering with sheer pleasure as Monique started to pet her.
The French girl moved her bottom backwards a little, bringing the white cheeks closer to Jean's face. At the same time she tickled the tips of her fingers right into Jean's cunt — drawing the sleek, puffy lips out of the way so that she could dip them into the softer heat of the woman's vulva.
So deliberately the girl caressed her! So very slowly did Monique press her fingers into Jean's quim! The latter woman was breathing heavily again, her senses fully aroused by the piquant situation: they were now both staring deep into the heart of each other's most erotic and mysterious parts. Both shamelessly keeping their thighs open so that their partner could gaze as long and as deep as she wished into the secrets of their sex.
Jean tingled with delight as she felt Monique beginning to blow sweetly into the revealed flower of her cunt. The girl's breath created an added heat around the already boiling quim — making it feel more liquid and more itchy than before.
Monique's fingers played leisurely around the inner lips, fondling her clitoris and rubbing at the plump red flesh inside her quim: but not yet actually penetrating her. They teased at the entrance to her vulva, but Monique tantalisingly refrained from squeezing her fingers into the hole itself.
Instead, the girl fondled with those maddening, delicious digits all around the fiery spot, bringing Jean almost to the point of orgasm with her slow, thorough manipulations.
When Jean thought she would be able to stand the suspense not a single moment longer, Monique intuitively relented. But instead of sliding her fingers lusciously into the heart of the fruit, she pursed her sweet young lips and kissed them firmly into the woman's cunt — holding Jean's pussy open so that she could suck at it without hindrance.
Jean lay there, gasping for breath, her hands twitching in passive impotence. The sensation of the French girl's mouth working busily at her quim was almost more than she could bear! Never had she experienced so intense an excitement: she began to throb violently, her mind starting to spin off into highly-coloured fantasies as Monique put her tongue out and slipped it firmly into the tight, pulsing orifice.
She could feel the girl's chin pressing into her pubic mound, rubbing up and down the erotic place as Monique warmed to her task of giving Jean the most exciting and stimulating cunt-sucking the woman had ever received.
Dimly, Jean realised that she had unwittingly released Monique's breast. Her fingers were still clenching and unclenching, however, as if she had the lolling young titty clasped between them. Unable to regain her grip on the breast, Jean raised her hands and contented herself with Monique's bottom.
She stroked the cheeks lovingly, using her thumbs to lift them wider apart so that she could view the tiny brown anus. It was pursed only a few scant inches from her mouth and Jean felt an overwhelming impulse to lick up and down the inviting crease of Monique's arse.
Every last scrap of inhibition gone, she immediately fitted the action to the thought. Raising her head, she closed the distance between Monique's arse and her lips. The softness of the girl's cheeks against her face was beautiful! Jean moved her head slowly from side to side, savouring the contact.
Then, her hands still spread out on Monique's bottom — holding the wonderful globes as far apart as was possible — Jean extended her tongue and licked from the base of the girl's cunt right up the center of her arsecrease. It ran lasciviously over the hard, taut bump of Monique's anus, then travelled on until it reached the end of the cheeks and the beginning of the girl's spine.
Down again… this time unable to resist stopping at Monique's rear hole and thoroughly tasting the wild odours of her shameless bottom. Jean pressed her lips firmly around the fleshy petals, breathing heavily against Monique's back orifice. She ran her tongue right over the precious nutmeg — lapping greedily until the perfume of the girl's bottom was as familiar to her as the scent she wore.
This would have been exciting enough in itself — to suck and tickle with her tongue at the hitherto forbidden passage of another girl's arse. But to feel at the same time Monique's tongue growing increasingly bolder and beginning to slip fully into her own cunt…!!
Jean felt transported to another world, lifted far beyond her normal capacity for sexual enjoyment by the sheer daring of what they were doing.
For the time being nothing mattered to her. Not Michael, not Cathy, not even herself. If guilt and shame followed upon this wild, abandoned lesbianism, Jean was more than willing to pay that price. What was happening to her NOW, right now, transcended everything. She deliberately drowned out her rational mind, refused to listen to the dictates of her conscience. For this wonderful, incredibly sexy moment she allowed herself to become a creature of pure instinct — revelling uninhibitedly in sheer animal lust…
She lifted her loins up so that Monique could penetrate her more deeply. Her hips writhed in a fierce sexual rhythm, surging and straining. Monique responded immediately, the woman's mounting passion communicating itself to her own feverish lust.
The girl's lips mouthed more violently than ever around Jean's cunt, worrying the red meat; sucking large pieces of the flesh inwards and darting her tongue in faster and faster movements inside her partner's quim.
At the same time, her fingers slipped beneath the cheeks of Jean's buttocks and began to fondle them urgently. They dug into the heavy swells, lifting, turning them in every possible direction. Her nose burrowed itself into Jean's cunt, rubbing against the woman's stiff clitty — making the red morsel more inflamed and hard than ever.
Monique's arse, too, started to contract in wild, frantic spasms: making it difficult for Jean to keep her mouth in position.
Feeling the girl's desperate need, she worked her fingers under Monique's thighs until they were able to touch and penetrate her quim. Quickly, Jean fondled the exotic lips open and relieved the itching which she knew Monique must be suffering.
As if by instinct, Jean seemed to know exactly where the girl tickled most urgently. She pushed her fingers deep into Monique's cunt and stroked them firmly and quickly against the top wall of her slot: the place where the girl's network of nerve fibres was most sensitive.
Monique gave a muffled cry of ecstasy, but valiantly kept her lips glued to Jean's pussy — opening and closing them again and again so that the woman's cunt was subjected to a ceaseless petting.
Suddenly, the sheer deliciousness of what they were doing to each other completely overwhelmed Jean. She felt the spunk boiling up in her crotch, screaming silently to her for release. With a grinding, a furious threshing of her hips, she urged herself to her climax.
The love-cream came streaming out of her cunt, gushing into Monique's waiting mouth. Helplessly, unable to control herself, Jean let the hot fluid pump from her well-stimulated pussy. Knowing that Monique was gobbling it down and sucking frenziedly at her quim-lips to urge every last goblet out, she took a deep breath and then stuck her tongue as it would go into the girl's anus.
The exotic flavour of the French girl's arse juices mingled with her saliva to form a heady cocktail. Jean drank fully of Monique's rich, earthy treasures — savouring every joyous moment of her orgasm, which was still in full eruption.
And then Monique, too, began to surge her loins in a violent, thrusting action — and Jean knew that the girl was beginning to launch upon her own climax.
She swiftly placed her forefinger where her mouth had been: sticking it rudely into the tiny hole of Monique's arse and twisting it deeply inside the tight, protesting orifice. At the same moment, Jean transferred her mouth to the girl's already streaming quim — just in time to receive the abundant tribute of Monique's spunk.
Rolling slightly from side to side on the bed, the two girls sucked and chewed ecstatically upon their bare sexes; their warm, moist bodies rubbing and pressing in a totally, completely intimate merging.
For long minutes their highly stimulated cunts throbbed and shuddered out their soothing, blissful come. Monique's breasts stuck firmly into the flat of Jean's stomach, the small but shapely globes glistening with sweat. Jean cuddled the French girl's buttocks close to her face — keeping her forefinger stuck as far as it would thrust up Monique's backside.
When, finally, neither girl could strain another drop of milky love-juice from her quim, Monique rolled off Jean's body, flopping exhaustedly onto the bed by her lover's side. Jean's arm went around the girl's thighs, holding her close as they both fell into a sweetly contented sleep…
Monique awoke first. She turned over onto her back, gently disengaging her limbs from Jean's grasp. The girl stared for several long minutes at the woman's nudity, a soft mistiness in her eyes as she let them travel slowly over her lover's body.
For some time she felt only a sharp, aching tenderness towards Jean; a deep, romantic affection for the woman who had given her such exquisite pleasure. How wonderful it had felt to be caressed by those long, gentle fingers! Monique sighed. How considerate Jean had been, how thoughtful!
Was it really sinful to be loved by a member of your own sex? Monique began to feel the first pangs of self-reproach — a sudden remorse creeping through her body as she stared at Jean's fingers: relaxed in sleep, the beautifully shaped hands lying passively at the woman's side.
What intimate things they had done to her! The girl felt a deep blush stealing over her cheeks as she regarded Jean's hands and remembered how they had touched her in her most private and secret parts!
How could she ever look Jean in the eyes again after knowing the woman so completely? She began to feel terribly afraid that Jean would reject her — that when the woman awoke she would feel ashamed of her momentary weakness and hate the girl who had inspired it. Monique bit her lip tearfully.
It wasn't really her fault, the girl tried to insist. What they had done together had been as much on Jean's initiative as her own. She couldn't be held entirely to blame for their immoral and unnatural intimacy.
But then Monique realised that she longed for a repetition of it! Jean had stirred previously unknown desires within her and Monique could no longer pretend that they didn't exist. Perhaps these feelings had always been waiting for a woman like Mrs. Cameron to nudge them and bring them out into the open. Perhaps she was a lesbian — through and through!
The idea startled her and she tried to suppress it. Surely all girls went through some such phase in their sexual development? It wasn't all that unusual for a girl to seek out a member of her own sex when she was growing aware of her beauty and her desires?
But somehow Monique knew that her feelings for Jean Cameron went much deeper than a mere girlish infatuation. Gingerly, she put her hand on Jean's calf and let her fingers press the shapely flesh.
Again, the familiar breathlessness overcame her: she could feel, stirring from her very soul, a growing awareness that her emotions towards Jean belonged to a very different category. It the love of which the poets spoke really existed, Monique was certain that she felt it for this wonderful, beautiful woman.
Helplessly, her mind and body yearned for Jean. She couldn't imagine that the caresses of a man could even equal, let alone surpass, those which she had enjoyed with Mrs. Cameron. Monique gazed soulfully on the relaxed, sleeping body — white and naked, the legs apart and revealing Jean's sex: the smooth triangle of dark hairs into which she'd so recently been burying her mouth.
The girl knew that the morning which had begun so normally (no different from the many others she'd spent with the Camerons) had completely changed her life. There was no turning back for her. Never again could she be the innocent, inexperienced girl of her childhood. Without warning, her submerged lust had risen to the surface of her being — and she was to be subjugated to her desires for the rest of her life…
Her thoughts saddened her; Monique felt a sweet melancholy pervade her as she fully realised that she had at last crossed the threshold into womanhood. It was a momentous occasion, this irrevocable step towards maturity. And, her eyes never leaving Jean's body, the girl began to cry silent tears; weeping for the loss of her innocence.
The sound of her crying woke Jean up. Faintly, through her sleep of exhaustion, the woman heard gentle, rhythmic sobs as Monique was unable to keep her weeping to herself.
“Oh, what's the matter, darling?” she asked anxiously, sitting up in the bed and quickly putting her arm around Monique's bare shoulders. “Why are you crying? What's wrong?”
Monique buried her head in Jean's hair, clinging to the woman, her body shaking helplessly. Between sobs, she blurted out: “You must despise me for what I've done, Jean! You must hate me! I've been so wicked, so terrible…”
Firmly, Jean took the girl by her shoulders and lifted her up so that their eyes met. “Oh, Monique!” she whispered. “How can you even think such a thing? I love you, darling! I love you! Do you think I didn't know what I was doing — that I was actually being seduced by you?
“It's been so long since I've made love the way we made love, Monique! So very long…” Her eyes took on a faraway look and her voice faltered. “If anything, it's me who ought to be ashamed", she continued, searching Monique's eyes intensely. “You are only a child — and I've behaved as if you were in full control of your emotions. It was very wrong of me — ”
Monique shook her head urgently. “Oh, you must not think that, Jean!” she exclaimed. “I knew exactly what I was doing, believe me!” She smiled wistfully. “We do seem to be at cross-purposes, don't we?” Monique said with a rueful twist of her lips. “First, we didn't want to be truthful about what we were doing to each other this morning.
“Or at least — ” she corrected herself quickly. “I didn't want to admit it! And now, we both think we've persuaded the other to do something which she didn't really want to do! I suppose it's quite funny really, isn't it?”
Jean hugged her tightly. “Never mind, darling", she told the girl. “I think we both understand each other now. Don't we?”
Monique nodded happily, moving her cheek softly against Jean's. “Oh yes!” she cried. “We do — I know we do!”
Jean kissed her gently on her chin. “Good", she said briskly. “Now — let's have no more talk about doing 'terrible things'! What we have together isn't terrible: it's beautiful and wonderful, understand?”
Monique nodded again, gazing into Jean's face with a trustful, child-like faith.
“I've waited so long to be loved", Jean went on, her voice huskier and filling with emotion. “When you came to stay with us I never imagined that you'd be the one, darling. How could I? I always thought it would be another man…
“But now I know how wrong I was! Men are selfish, greedy animals! They think only of themselves. I should have known that you could never have the same relationship with them that two women can have. It's impossible — the two sexes are so different, they each want completely opposite things from their partners.
“Women want to be adored… caressed slowly and gently. Men want to dominate cruelly and with only a token display of tenderness. How can they ever be truly happy together?”
Monique listened, allowing herself to be persuaded by Jean's words, refusing to question the dubious logic which the woman was propounding.
“I loved a girl once — a long time ago", Jean continued. “We were at school together and used to spend our holidays at each other's houses. One year I'd stay with her, the next year she'd come out to my parent's house in the country — not very far from here, as a matter of fact…
“We used to play games together: act out charades in which we'd pretend that we were famous people — actors and actresses, kings and queens… the usual games which children indulge in. I forget which one of us first suggested it, but we started to imagine what these people were like when they made love — how they behaved…
“We began to experiment; getting so carried away with enthusiasm for the new twist to our game that we actually undressed each other and kissed and fondled…
“Both of us enjoyed doing this so much that we played it nearly every time we were alone together. We tried out different techniques, guessing how certain movie stars would make love when they didn't have an audience watching them. Neither of us ever admitted it, but very soon it became far more than just a game. We always disguised what we were doing; we never admitted that we were really Jean and Anne who were making love to each other.
“But, obviously, we both knew secretly that we loved each other much more passionately than two girl friends ought to. And that we were far more intimate than was considered 'proper'.
“Inevitably we were caught at our game one day. I say it was inevitable because we were so innocent that we scarcely bothered to hide our activity and frequently touched each other when our parents were in the room. Then, one summer afternoon, we were lying together under a tree deep in the woods. It was quite hot and we'd stripped down to our underclothes.
“I suggested that we play 'our game'. That was all that one of us had to say: 'our game'. The other knew immediately what was meant by it. We had just begun to pet and caress each other — stretched out on the warm grass, the birds singing, the sun shining brightly through the gaps in the branches. Jean paused, a nostalgic and rather sad smile on her lips.
“Our panties were bunched around our ankles and our fingers were gently exploring between our thighs… our lips were kissing in a long, timeless kiss; scarcely touching, but moving and brushing together — so sweetly!
“Then I felt a hand on my shoulder, dragging me off Anne's body. It was my father — he hit me, called me some horrible names…”
Jean's body trembled as she relived the traumatic experience of so long ago.
“For several years I was afraid to even speak to another girl — in case it led to a repetition: in case it brought back the feelings I'd had for Anne. When I was 18 I met Michael. He was an attractive, well-educated young man — he belonged to 'my class' as they say here in England.
“Scarcely knowing what I was doing, I accepted him when he proposed a few months after we were introduced. And here I am! A respectable, middle-class English housewife; living in the most sober, stuffy, middle-class environment you could imagine! And just waking up to the fact that I made a terrible mistake!”
Monique stared at the faint lines of cynicism which were beginning to etch around Jean's mouth. The woman looked bitter, her eyes overcast as she dwelt upon her past. After a moment, Jean continued:
“I suppose we've been fairly happy together — up to about three years ago, that is. We never got really close; our sort of background didn't encourage people to be too intimate, not emotionally at any rate. I think I tried to get to know Michael, I think I did…
“It must be hard for someone like you to understand us, Monique. How can two people live together for nearly sixteen years and still be relative strangers? It seems incredible to me, at least it does now! But apart from exchanging banal pleasantries and going out to village fetes, church, the local repertory company — things like that — apart from the most mundane sharing of experiences, we scarcely allowed ourselves to share anything. Not the important things, anyway.
“As I told you before, Michael started to go out with other women. Slyly, secretly — pretending that I didn't have the slightest suspicion of what was going on. It was sordid, really sordid!
“And that's the state we were in when Michael got in touch with an agency and arranged for you to spend six weeks with us as an au pair girl. He could see that I was growing more and more miserable and the fool thought that all I needed was companionship! Since he wasn't prepared to give it to me himself, he thought an au pair girl would solve the problem of poor little Jean very nicely!”
Jean disengaged herself from Monique and lit a cigarette. She lay back with her head on the pillow, smoking in silence for a few moments.
Monique said: “Did you ever think about getting a divorce?”
“On what grounds? Coldness isn't recognised in English law as an adequate excuse for divorce, you know. And Michael would never leave me — his standing with the company would drop immediately any hint of scandal about his private life got out. A separation would kill his career. You've simply got no idea how Victorian some of these British stockbrokers are! A man in an important position like Michael has to have a character as blameless and pure as Snow White!”
Jean tapped the ash off her cigarette and blew gently on the tip, making it flare redly for a moment. “Both of us are trapped in a dead end,” she said. And there was a crushing, defeated finality in her voice now.
“We're stuck with each other whether we like it or not. He won't leave me — and I love Cathy too much to break up her home life”. She shrugged hopelessly. “It's a bastard of a situation, isn't it?”
Monique took Jean's hand in hers and squeezed it. “Is it still so bad — now that you've got me?” she murmured.
Jean turned and looked at her. “It's wonderful to have you, Monique", she replied sadly. “But you know as well as I do that it can't be permanent, don't you? In three more weeks you'll be going home. And that's when we'll have to say goodbye to each other — forever!”
Monique's lips quivered. “Don't say that, Jean", she begged. “Surely there's some way I could be near you. I could get a job here, work in the town. I'd do anything — ”.
Before the girl broke down completely, Jean interrupted her. “There might be a way", she admitted. “But it's a solution I hardly dare mention to you…”
“Anything!” Monique implored. “Oh, Jean, believe me — whatever it is, if I can only be with you — ”.
“It would mean your doing things which you might find to be completely against your nature", Jean told her. “If we could somehow persuade Michael to let you stay on as my companion…”
Monique almost clapped her hands together with delight. “Could you, Jean! Oh, that would be wonderful!” All thoughts of her homeland, of her relatives and friends in France had disappeared from Monique's mind. The girl's only concern was to find some way of being close to Jean.
“The snag is", Jean went on, holding up a finger in front of Monique's face. “I can't see Michael agreeing to it unless we convince him that we're more than just companions — more than just friends!”
“I don't understand, Jean. Why wouldn't he let me live here? You said yourself he let me come in the first place to be company for you. And I'd work hard and pay for my keep…”
Jean shook her head. “It's obvious that you don't know my husband very well", she replied. “Michael would never let you stay on permanently — for one thing, he'd be afraid of the gossip. He has quite a few business people visiting the house from time to time. And word would soon get around that our temporary an pair girl had become a permanent resident.
“That might seem perfectly innocuous to you, but out here where there's little to do except look for juicy bits of scandal; well, let's just say that people would talk and Michael wouldn't like it”.
Jean finished her cigarette and stubbed it out carefully. Then she said: “Besides, Michael would hate me to have someone I could confide in: someone who was around all the time and who would listen to my criticism of him. Temporarily — yes: but a permanent companion, no!”
Monique looked bewildered. “I can't understand what you're trying to say, Jean", she protested. “First you tell me we should be more than just friends — then you contradict yourself and say Michael wouldn't like you to have a close friend! Please — can't you be plain: tell me exactly what you have in mind”.
“All right, I will”. Jean looked down at Monique's hand and began to caress the girl's fingers as she spoke. “I've been vague about this because I don't know exactly how to put it, darling. But I might as well be frank and run the risk of upsetting you. There's no other way we can be certain that we won't be parted.
“Supposing we let Michael know how intimate we are! Supposing we show him that we're much more than just friends — that we're lovers!”
Monique looked horrified. “But — but that would spoil everything, Jean. Surely it would! We — ”.
“Not necessarily", Jean told her. The woman's voice was very quiet now, her words spaced deliberately. “Not if we allowed him to share us occasionally!”
She glanced up quickly, seeing Monique's face paling with disbelief. “Wait — let me finish, darling", she went on hurriedly. “It needn't be too often, we could just let him sleep with us say once a week! And the rest of the time we'd be together. Just the two of us!”
The enormity of Jean's proposal was a long time registering on Monique's mind. She couldn't even feel shocked by it, so outrageous was the woman's scheme. All she could say, finally, was: “He'd never agree to a thing like that! Jean — he's simply not the type of man to do such things as sharing his wife with another girl. The whole idea's impossible.”
“Is it?” Jean set her mouth primly. “I don't think it is — and I know Michael better than you, Monique. Oh yes, on the surface he's as dull and stodgy as the rest of his class. But don't forget that he has a mistress: or, more probably, several mistresses.
“Beneath that pin-striped suit and that ridiculous bowler hat is a highly-sexed, very lecherous male! When we were first married we enjoyed ourselves in bed quite a lot. Michael can be an inventive, imaginative lover, believe me.
“Perhaps it's both our faults that we've grown so stale, so remote from each other: both in and out of bed. I'd gamble that faced with the titillating situation of having two girls eager to please him, Michael would quickly regain his old zest. He simply wouldn't be able to resist the opportunity, Monique. And I don't believe that there are many men who could!
“Then, once we've seduced him he can hardly turn around and tell you to leave, can he? And even if he tried, I could always threaten to drop a few hints in the neighbourhood about what we've been up to…!”
Jean pulled Monique closer to her, holding the girl's hands tightly. “It all depends on you, my darling', she whispered. “If you feel you can't go through with such a plan… I'll understand — of course, I'll understand. But think how marvellous it could be: together all day long, every day”.
She pressed her face against Monique's, murmuring huskily: “And every night, too, my precious…”
While she waited for the girl's response, Jean deliberately snuggled her breasts against Monique's; she made their nipples brush silkily together, the red teats touching in dainty little movements. Would Monique swallow the bait, she wondered. And even more pertinently, was it in reality a “bait” at all?
The story she had told the girl was completely true. The only lie (or was it a lie? How could Jean be sure?) being that its ending was not quite as she saw the climax in reality. Monique was expendable… wasn't she? Or was it, after all, Michael who could be dispensed with once she and Monique had their relationship properly established.
For a brief, giddy moment, Jean had the sensation that all this was nothing but a day-dream — a sheer fantasy. It couldn't be real! She couldn't be propositioning this sweet young girl as if she were a completely amoral libertine! In a moment she would sit up in bed and the day would begin again… It must be a dream, it must be!
And then Monique asked if this really was the only way they could be sure of continuing together, and Jean heard herself saying: “Yes, it is, darling” and she knew that it really was happening. It really was! She wanted suddenly to pull back from the machinations she'd set in motion, terribly afraid of their ultimate consequences. It wasn't too late — she could easily tell Monique that she'd just been teasing, that the whole thing was nothing but a silly joke…
“All right, then", Monique's voice came clear and decisively to her ear. “You're not really asking so very much of me, Jean, are you? And I told you before that I'd do anything for you, didn't I? It's a small price to pay for your love, my darling — to have to share you and give myself to Michael… I'll do it!”
Jean could scarcely believe her ears. Monique was actually saying that she'd go through with her plan! Then it was all real, after all — not a dream, not a fantastic wish conjured from her imagination.
She hugged the girl more tightly to her body. “Oh, my darling; my precious!” she cried. “You won't regret it — I promise you, you won't regret it. I'll do everything I can to make you happy, I swear I will!”
To her surprise, Jean realised that she was crying again. Tears of relief and gladness were streaming from her eyes, making Monique's cheek wet and salty. The girl must care so very deeply for her, Jean thought with wonderment. She must love her with a greater intensity at this moment than Jean herself had felt in her entire life to agree such an outlandish proposal.
They fell back onto the bed together, Monique's body covering Jean's. Jean smoothed the girl's short hair tenderly, still overwhelmed by the strength of Monique's love for her.
If only Michael felt so passionately towards her. If only he cared a tenth as much for her as this precious, beautiful young girl!
Jean sighed with self-pity, then realised that in a relatively short time — once she had succeeded in re-opening his eyes to her sexual attraction — her husband might be as demonstrative to her as Monique. She closed her eyes, savouring the blissful thought. That would be worth everything, she mused. All the anxiety, all the unhappiness of the past years.
She let her eyes close, content for the time being merely to hold Monique's warm flesh against her own. There would be plenty of time for them to continue their love-making. All the time in the world…