Alone in the attic, Monique rubbed a duster over an antique mirror and examined herself critically. The gilt-framed glass showed her a striking reflection: a row of imitation pearls, the beads thick and large, hung around her neck — falling across her breasts just above the nipples. Two brass-coloured bangles were looped about her wrists, and, most eye-catching of all, the girl had tied a brilliant red scarf around her hips; arranging it so that the knot came slightly below her navel, with the rest of the silk falling down in front of her crotch.
It wasn't quite long enough to completely conceal Monique's sex: the fringe hung across her pubic mound, tickling the lips of her cunt every time she moved. The girl tugged her “loin-cloth” further down her hips until it more effectively hid her private parts from view, then turned around, looking over her shoulder to judge the appearance of her rear.
The scarf did nothing, of course, to hide her bottom; the cheeks were as naked as the day she was born. But the tightness of the silk across her waist certainly accentuated the curve of her hips — making them jut out more sexily than usual.
Monique faced the mirror again, well pleased with her improvised costume. She wondered why Jean was taking so long: it seemed as if she had been up in the attic for ages, and she was impatient for eyes other than her own to admire the rather bizarre picture she presented.
Somehow, it seemed perfectly natural to her that she was waiting for Michael's wife to join her and dress herself in a similar fashion — before they both went downstairs and allowed Michael to treat them (in sexy mock seriousness) as his slaves.
Such a very long time seemed to have elapsed since she had awakened that morning and, for the first time in her life, played so shamelessly with herself in the bath! Monique smiled, scarcely able to believe that she had felt so guilty and stricken with remorse over such a silly, perfectly natural incident.
And then, from that moment on, events had crowded one on top of the other. So much had happened to her today! She had changed completely in the space of those — what? twelve hours?
After Jean had made that shocking proposal to her that they permit Michael to share both their charms, the two girls had made love again. Throughout most of the sunny, warm spring afternoon their bodies had been in close, intimate contact; experimenting with ways of bringing each other to wilder and more voluptuous orgasms, or simply content to cuddle one another in sweet, almost ineffable bliss…
Then her growing nervousness as the time approached when Michael was expected home — and Jean's hurriedly whispered instructions to her when they heard his key turn in the lock.
Monique had felt terribly afraid as the man's footsteps came softly up the stairs. She knew that without Jean's support, without the woman's amazingly bold approach to her husband, she would have died on the spot! But things had gone so smoothly after that. Almost as if they were repeating their parts in a drama which had been enacted many times before…
She moved her shoulders, shuddering involuntarily as the curious deja vu phenomenon stole over her. For a moment, Monique felt sure that the three of them had lived this day again and again… and that they were doomed to spend eternity going over and over the events, never being quite sure that they were on an endless treadmill, but always having that awful, nagging suspicion…
“Oh, nonsense!” Monique exclaimed out loud. She moved away from the mirror, smoothing her hands over the sleekness of her thighs in an attempt to dispel the unsettling mood.
“It's this old attic that's filling your head with these ideas", she told herself. And it was true that the disused room, with its low ceiling and dusty trunks; its long-discarded toys and assortment of forgotten junk, possessed a rather dismal and faintly oppressive atmosphere. As if it resented being used as a repository for unwanted oddments and the long years' accumulation of worthless bric-a-brac.
Monique went to the door and was thankful that Jean had at last appeared on the stairs. The woman seemed lost in thought, not noticing Monique at the doorway until she was almost on top of the girl.
“Is everything all right, Jean?” Monique asked anxiously. The expression on Mrs. Cameron's face made her fear that Michael had undergone a change of attitude since she'd left the bedroom.
“What? Oh yes; everything's fine", Jean said absently. She walked past Monique and moved into the attic.
“You look worried, darling", Monique persisted, following her into the room. “Are you sure nothing's gone wrong?”
Jean's eyes blinked rapidly and she seemed to pull herself together. “I'm sorry", she smiled. “I was miles away!” Her manner changed; she became brisk and business-like. “You look charming, Monique — really charming! Now: I must try to make myself as sexy as you. Where shall we begin…?”
Monique moved to her side and picked up the second silk scarf. She tied it tightly around Jean's hips, then worked the down-hanging loops so that they fell in front of the woman's bushy cunt.
Jean turned so that she faced the mirror — and her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “My!” she exclaimed. “I do look rather peachy, don't I?”
“We haven't finished yet,” Monique told her. “Here — let me put the beads around your neck”. The girl took up a string of pearls and fitted them round Jean's neck, having to lift her beautifully long black hair out of the way so that she could fasten the clasp.
Jean kept her hands at her sides, letting Monique adjust the beads across her bosom; feeling the girl's sweet breath blowing softly on her bare shoulder as she bent forward.
“Turn round", Monique commanded. “I can't quite judge the effect from this angle”.
Jean allowed herself to be turned, Monique's hands exciting her as they grasped her shoulders. Pursing her lips, the girl carefully arranged the string of pearls so that they actually touched Jean's nipples: making the woman shiver as the cold stones brushed against her warm red teats.
Then she stepped back a pace, head cocked on one side, pleased with her artistic adjustment. “They set your breasts off beautifully, Jean", she cried. “Oh, I wish mine were as big as yours!” She put her hands beneath her own titties and lifted them ruefully.
“Don't be silly, darling!” Jean smiled, pleased with the compliment, knowing that her figure was more well-developed than Monique's and glad that the girl envied her the ripe, buxom breasts. “Yours are just as nice as mine… Maybe not quite so large, but those darling nips more than make up for that!”
Monique rubbed her fingers over her nipples, making them perk up almost immediately. “Mmm”. she sighed slowly. “All the same, I love to feel your titties so much, Jean! If they belonged to me, I could touch them whenever I liked, couldn't I?”
Jean paused a moment; then, in a quieter, more deliberate voice said: “They could belong to you, darling, if you wanted them to! You could treat them as your own… your very own, you know.
You only have to ask me — ”.
Despite the intimacy of their relationship, Monique felt herself beginning to blush at Jean's words. She brought her hands up, away from her breasts, and reached them out towards the woman.
“Wait”. Jean held her away, though Monique could see that she, too, longed to move into a warm, passionate embrace. “Don't forget that Michael is waiting for us. We'll have to go down now, darling. But soon we'll be able to hold each other and do everything we want… Come on.”
She took Monique's hand in hers, intertwining their fingers, and led the girl through the door. Their hands brushed constantly against their bare thighs as they walked downstairs — making a silent promise that in just a few more minutes they would roam freely all over the more intimate parts of their bodies…
As they re-entered the bedroom, hand in hand, Jean kicked the door softly shut with the flat of her foot. Demurely, eyes downcast, they presented themselves for Michael's approval: standing at the foot of the bed, looking like girls out of a thrilling but impossible dream.
Michael sat up slowly, his eyes wandering with an expression of mounting pleasure over their scantily-clad bodies. They were playing their parts to perfection, he thought. Monique, the shorter of the two, strongly resembled an Eastern slave girl, with her lightly tanned skin, her small but firm breasts and her slender, petite waist.
He stared at them for some time, feasting his eyes on the voluptuous spectacle of his wife and the French girl standing before him, meekly awaiting his commands. Finally, visual stimulation became insufficient: he desired the greater delight of actually touching these beautiful, submissive creatures.
Accordingly, he clapped his hands loudly and beckoned them to approach the bed. Slowly they drew nearer to him, moving with a cat-like grace, keeping their eyes on the carpet.
Michael waited until the girls were standing right next to him, then swung his feet off the bed — planting them on the floor between Monique and Jean, pushing between them and separating their bodies. He raised his hands, letting them glide softly on the girls' outer thighs. His fingers moved slowly upwards to caress their long, naked legs; his face only a few, exciting inches from their bellies.
Whilst they stood there in silent resignation, the man ran his hands possessively up and down their firm fleshed thighs. He stroked them insistently, revelling in the fact that they were so docile, so eager to please him.
Monique held Jean's hand tightly. More and more, the French girl was falling under the spell of her “role”: she allowed herself to half-believe that she really was enslaved to Michael, and that Jean was her sister in bondage. A curious fairy-tale atmosphere seemed to have been kindled in the bedroom. As the man pressed their thighs, making them tremble with a mounting excitement, Monique recollected the stories of the Arabian Nights. To her fevered imagination they were now remembered as being full of incidents where girls had been held captive- completely at the mercy of a ruthless, highly-sexed Sultan, who did exactly as he pleased with them…
When she had first read them as a young girl, Monique had felt a strange, rather discomforting sensation in the pit of her stomach. It had spread to her loins, firing them with an unfamiliar and disturbing heat.
Without being consciously aware of the fact, she had closely identified herself with those sorely-tried young maidens, whose destiny it was to be nothing more than objects of pleasure to the insatiable rulers of harems, palaces and mosques.
Whenever she imagined herself dressed in their scanty, revealing garments Monique felt a thrill of sheer ecstasy shoot through her body. To be forced into doing all sorts of terrible things… and in the presence of other, similarly dressed girls…
She had never been able to bring herself to go further and act out in her imagination what exactly would happen in such a situation. And when Michael had suggested to her that the three of them should play the very game she had secretly yearned for since her childhood, Monique had known an intensely powerful excitement: it was almost as if he had psychoanalysed her and understood the deep, subconscious sex-fantasies which she scarcely admitted even to herself.
Monique gave a little shiver of foreboding. It was both thrilling and frightening that someone knew so much about her. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Michael's hand stroked her thigh. The man's fingers were sinking firmly into the flesh, now moving around to the back of her leg; now caressing around the circumference and fondling down the inside of her thigh.
The silk scarf which hung over her loins, not quite wide enough to conceal the deep crease on either side of her crotch, felt sexy against her mound. It brushed with an acute tickling sensation on her naked quim as Michael made her thighs wobble gently…
At last, he tired of this pleasing but innocuous fondling. Running his hands higher up, Michael gave the girls a brief arse-feeling — cupping their buttocks firmly and squeezing the relaxed globes between his fingers.
Then he released them, lifted himself back onto the bed, and once again stretched at full length in front of them.
“Show me how you please each other when there are no males around", he commanded. “Let me see what games you females get up to when you are alone together!” He propped a pillow behind his head so that he could watch them more comfortably. “Do anything you wish — only make sure that I am well pleased!”
Monique bowed her head. “As you wish, oh master", she murmured. “We shall do all we can to carry out your desires!”
She knew that the colour had risen to her cheeks, staining them a blushing crimson. But though her heart pounded furiously against her ribs, Monique felt herself gradually escaping into her character of slave-girl with ease. And it was as a captive, obediently resigned servant that she now turned to Jean, her arms extended to the woman in a welcoming embrace.
But Jean haughtily swung around, presenting Monique with her back; crossing her hands proudly over her breasts.
The girl realised that Jean had taken on the role of a rebel, that she was inviting Monique to force her into submission. “Jean, we must do as we are told!” she whispered urgently. “We dare not disobey!”
She put her hands tentatively on the woman's hips, at the same time moving close to Jean and letting her “loin-cloth” press against her companion's bare arse. Monique could feel the delicious heat coming from Jean's ripely-fleshed curves — and pressed her fingers more firmly into the woman's hips.
“No!” Jean cried. “I won't do such things! If you want me to… then you'll have to make me!” Her eyes glinted with a provocative challenge. “If you can, that is! Go on — I dare you! Show our master which one of us is the stronger! I dare you!”
Michael leaned forward intently, hardly daring to let his eyes blink for fear that he would miss a single second of the girls' “performance”.
Monique ran her hands slowly up Jean's back until they gripped the woman's shoulders. “You must do what he commands!' she hissed. “We could be flogged or put to death for such disobedience! Please, Jean — I don't want to suffer even if you don't mind!”
But Jean thrust her away with a violent backward heave of her body. Monique staggered, the silk scarf flaring up momentarily and giving Michael a teasing flash of the girl's sex.
Then — crouching her body in a wrestling stance — Monique threw herself at Jean, clutching the woman around her waist and toppling them both to the floor.
They fell in a disorderly tangle of writhing legs and arms: rolling over on the soft carpet, their respective bottoms now hidden, now fully revealed, as first Monique and then Jean gained the uppermost position.
Michael moved quickly to the edge of the bed, eyes darting, following the girls' every movement. They were breathing heavily, Jean's gorgeous black hair foaming over their breasts as she fought for dominance. He could see Monique's hands scrabbling for a hold on the smooth surface of his wife's back — finally slipping to Jean's bottom and grasping the cheeks tightly; pinching up large folds of the bum-flesh and causing the valley to widen and expose the secrets of her anus…
But only momentarily. For Jean dragged the girl off her body and plumped herself ruthlessly on Monique's stomach… her legs open, her feet planted astride on the girl's wrists; trapping Monique inescapably.
Vainly, the French girl kicked her legs up, trying to dislodge Jean's position. She merely succeeded in giving Michael a breathtaking view of her parted thighs — the narrow silk scarf riding up over her crotch and baring the red line of her sex.
Jean wriggled her buttocks tormentingly on Monique's bare belly, making the girl pant for breath, her thighs squirming helplessly…
“Now then", Jean gasped. '“That's what you get for trying to get the better of me!” She put both her hands roughly on Monique's breasts. “Is this what you wanted me to do? Feel your titties?” She squeezed them cruelly, her fingers kneading the girl's unprotected globes furiously. “How do you like that, then?” she asked grimly.
Monique rolled her head from side to side, unable to do anything to stop Jean's punishing treatment of her breasts.
“Please!” she managed to implore the woman finally. “You're hurting me! Jean — don't hold them so tightly!”
“Oh?” Jean surveyed her sardonically. “So that's not what you wanted, after all! Well, perhaps this will give you more pleasure…”
And she brought her fingers and thumbs together around the red stalks of Monique's nipples, slowly pulling the stiff teats upwards. When they were lifted as far as she could possibly stretch them. Jean swung her hands from side to side, making the girl's tits jiggle like twin mounds of plasticine.
“Ouch! Oh, Jean, you're squeezing them too hard! Please let them go!”
“Really?” Jean looked down into Monique's pain-contorted face and smiled. “All right, then I'll try something else…”
Moving so quickly that the girl had no chance to seize the opportunity to free herself, Jean turned swiftly around on Monique's body; positioning her knees on her captive's wrists and bending right forward so that her face was in line with Monique's crotch.
Her own sex stuck rudely above the French girl's eyes, Jean now commenced to study Monique's loins. She rested her hands on the inside of the girl's thighs, holding them firmly apart.
Monique forced herself to relax, to allow Jean to take the initiative once more. She stopped her legs from trying to press together and let the woman do as she wished with her body.
Jean sensed the girl's capitulation and eased the pressure of her knees on Monique's trapped wrists. Her fingers slowly plucked the red scarf from its resting place on Monique's crotch; gradually revealing to both her eyes and Michael's the sexy-lipped wound of the girl's cunt.
When the silk covering was completely lifted away from Monique's quim, Jean laid it daintily across her right thigh. But instead of petting and fondling the vulnerable slit, she began to spank it lightly with the flat of her hand!
Her fingers patted steadily on the girl's cunt, raining a rapid succession of slaps — some of which landed on Monique's mons veneris, some on the puffy lips themselves… and some on the base of her sex, on that tender portion of skin between her vagina and anus.
At first the blows were no more than rather gentle pats, stimulating and exciting to the girl who was receiving them. But, gradually, Jean increased the ardour of her spanking: until her hand was descending on poor Monique's quim with considerable power!
She tried to lift her knees to protect her sex from this stinging treatment, but Jean responded quickly by grasping with her other hand the half-raised leg and thrusting it firmly back to the floor.
And now Jean had crooked her fingers slightly, thus allowing them to sink fractionally into Monique's slit each time they landed. She would slap her hand down into the red wound… hold it there for a moment or two while her fingers tickled into the gash… then again raise it ready for the next blow.
Monique began to make shrill cries of protest. With every descent of Jean's hand, she uttered a louder and more painful yelp — and the girl's “ows” and “ohs” increased Michael's excitement immensely!
He was lying on his side, his prick rubbing into the turned-back sheets. The girls were positioned directly below his vision and he had a grandstand view of their thrilling, erotic display of lesbian spanking…
The stinging of Jean's hand at last forced Monique to make a superhuman effort to free herself. She clenched her teeth and, gathering all her strength, butted her face sharply into the woman's fanny.
So sudden and unexpected was this retaliation that Jean was sent careening forward. Her hands lunged out to save herself and her knees lifted from Monique's wrists.
Instantly, the French girl transferred the palms of her hands to Jean's buttocks and gave a lusty heave, helping her on her sprawling way!
Jean fell helplessly, ending up full-length on the floor, her breasts and tummy hitting the carpet with an impact that knocked all the breath out of her…
Monique threw herself on top of the stunned woman and quickly pinioned Jean's hands behind her back. She held the wrists in one hand, lifting them up high — nearly making them reach to Jean's shoulders. Jean squealed with pain.
Setting her mouth in a grim, determined pout, Monique knelt by the woman's body — on Michael's far side so that he was still able to see all that went on — and started to spank Jean's wonderfully thrustful bottom.
Her hand fell resoundingly on the snowy white hemispheres, each meeting of hand and bum sending a sharp “thwack” through the room.
Having received no mercy, Monique showed none. She sent her open-fingered hand again and again onto Jean's arse-cheeks; making sure that each slap landed on a new portion of the woman's buttocks. Before very long, Jean's wobbling globes were stained an angry pink. They glowed, each lovely round cheek covered with the red aftermath of Monique's spanking…
“Oooh! That's enough, Monique!” Jean cried. “I'm so sore, darling! My bum feels as if it's on fire! Ouch!! Monique! Please, darling… please!!!”
But the girl refused to let up. Her arm ached with the rhythm of her slaps, but she spanked on and on: determined to make every inch of Jean's bottom feel the wrath of her hand.
When there wasn't a single place on the woman's arse that hadn't been severely whacked, Monique made her hand fall on the backs of Jean's thighs The firm flesh was as smooth and supple there as it had felt on Jean's buttocks — wonderfully creamy, superbly textured…
At last, though, Monique had to let her hand drop limply to her side. It tingled, and felt as sore as Jean's arse looked. She simply couldn't give the woman another slap! Besides, during the past few minutes, Monique had felt a growing desire to caress Jean's body and kiss away the hurt which her spanking had caused.
She loosened her hold on Jean's wrists and let them go. Then she bent her face quickly to the woman's bottom and let her lips brush gently on the angrily-red cheeks.
Sweetly, Monique kissed all over Jean's sore arse, soothing away the sharp stinging and caressing the sore, tender globes with her fingertips.
Jean remained quite still. She submitted to the girl's kissing of her bottom without moving at all. Her hands stayed twisted behind her, the backs of her fingers resting on her spine.
Only when Monique softly parted the cheeks of her buttocks and licked her tongue sexily into the cleft did Jean stir.
She raised her hips slowly, helping the girl to reach her tongue more easily into the crease and push the wet tip against her anus-hole. Monique held the globes apart, one hand resting on each fulsome orb, while her lips pressed tightly into the gorgeous furrow and her tongue worked deliciously into Jean's back passage.
For several horny minutes the French girl ran her tongue tastily over Jean's arse orifice, curling the tip and pushing it sexily into the hard, tight nutmeg.
When she finally withdrew her mouth, Jean turned over, her breasts shaking voluptuously — the beads swinging delightfully against her nipples. The silk scarf had fallen back into place across her honeypot, modestly shielding the thick-lipped jungle from view.
“I'm sorry", she whispered. “I was very naughty and I deserved to be spanked! Of course we must do as we're told: it was very wrong of me to disobey! Come, let's do as our Master bids us…”
And she pulled Monique gently down beside her, one hand stealing about the girl's waist, the other going up to clasp Monique's shoulder. The girls cuddled warmly together, lying side by side on the carpet just below Michael's eyes, shamelessly kissing and caressing each other — knowing that he could see every movement they made.
Monique's right hand stole down until her fingers rested over Jean's silk-covered crotch. She massaged the place lovingly, moving her hand in a beautifully slow up-and-down rhythm so that the scarf was pressed tightly against the woman's sex.
The thin silk rubbed excitingly on Jean's cunt, and as Monique experimentally pushed her finger into the yielding hole, the underside was gradually forced inwards: penetrating Jean's hot, moist quim.
“Mmmm”. Monique sighed prettily as she slowly tucked her finger (the material of the scarf acting as an improvised sheath) into her lover's tight slit.
Firmly, the digit was thrust fully into Jean's ticklish sex, Monique working it around and around — taking care to push the silk in before her finger and make it touch every inch of the woman's throbbing vulva.
Soon, Michael could see that his wife's cunt was crammed with the scarf. Monique had cleverly stuck it so far into the slit that, when she pulled her finger out again, only the fringe was left to dangle sexily outside the ripe wound.
Jean herself, meanwhile, had not been idle. While her hands had been caressing Monique's bottom (unfortunately out of Michael's line of vision), she had drawn Monique's scarf tightly between the girl's thighs. It could now be seen — as Jean's body moved slightly away from Monique's and again lay in repose on the carpet — that her fingers were holding the very end of the scarf tautly under Monique's bottom.
This naturally caused the silken neckwear to be pulled as constrictingly as possible against the girl's crotch; and for it to twist into a very narrow strip — thereby cutting firmly into Monique's cunt, leaving the lips themselves to protrude nakedly on either side of the swathe.
While Michael's eyes were glued on this erotic spectacle, Jean gave him a brief look — then began to jerk the taut length of silk scarf backwards and forwards between Monique's thighs.
The effect was startling. Michael felt his prick rising to a frenzied erectness. It moved of its own volition against the sheets and for a moment he feared that he would shoot his spunk onto them prematurely, so urgent was the prickling sensation at his scrotum.
Monique's quim was drawn widely open by Jean's manipulations: the scarf had become no more than a strip of silk about an inch in diameter and it sank deeply into the long gash of the girl's sex, forcing the lips to stretch open.
As he stared, the girls climbed slowly to their feet. Jean retained her grip on the scarf and, standing by Monique's side, facing towards the bed, she continued her steady tugging…
Monique's crotch was level with his eyes now, and Michael could see even more clearly the unnatural pout of the girl's cunt-lips. They seemed thicker than he remembered them… and he suddenly realised that this was due to fact that the tight cut of the scarf was forcing them to protrude; curving them out of Monique's pussy and squashing them severely!
For Monique herself the sensation was unbearably sensual. She could feel Jean's hand under her bottom, could feel the constant drag of the material into her inflamed cunt…
Her knees wobbled unsteadily. For a moment she was sure that she was going to faint. And then she knew that her quim was spurting its love-juices down her thighs; staining the silk and flowing abundantly onto Jean's quickly placed fingers.
The woman's hand lifted into her crotch, and Monique felt the sensitive, fondling fingers slip into her cunt. They took their place beside the cruel silk and tickled her on to the completion of her climax.
She managed to keep her eyes open during the prolonged orgasm, staring down at her thighs as they quivered and shook with a life of their own.
Then, her legs unable to support her for a moment longer, Monique fell half-swooning into Jean's arms. She dimly realised that she was being lowered gently onto the bed… then gave herself up to the blissful warm blanket that was slowly enveloping her…