The next few nights were difficult for me. Lonely nights, the worst kind – and with something on my mind, too. No, it wasn't our impending date with that couple, oddly enough, although I did give some thought to certain prospects and possibilities there. I even found myself looking forward to it, in fact. Lesbian mistress, lesbian slave! Were they for real? True, my headstrong and admittedly unpredictable lover might have exaggerated a bit, distorting the picture for her own purpose, a ruse to get me interested. But even so, there was still bound to be some substantially valid basis to the story – sufficient inducement for any girl with normal curiosity and an abnormal taste for the bizarre. And if ever a little girl had that, well…
Anyway, that wasn't my problem, oh no, it was the party that had me in a stew, the far more remote beach-house party. Pretty silly, of course, considering my personal lack of involvement. Even if an invitation were offered, I still wouldn't be able to get away that long. It took a year of employment with Consolidated before any accumulation of sick-leave time could be put to use – no help for me, none at all. Nor could I see myself asking Simon for such a favor, not even in one of his weak moments after an extra special blow-job, thick lips and all. Ask the boss for time off to go play lesbian kiss-ass with his wife? Hah! Not a chance.
I didn't even want to go, actually. Except to be with Julia maybe – and that hardly seemed the place for it, a big beach-house practically crawling with butches and bitches and other predatory types. Also some cute young stuff, no doubt, the kind of competition I could do without. Something for everybody. After all, it was supposed to be a party; what if we went and she left me alone? I'd probably get raped and passed from hand to hand – the lesbian equivalent of a gang-bang, whatever that was. A novelty, sure, but too traumatic for this timid child, not the sort of experience I was seeking in my sojourn among the sophisticates.
So there it was, no invitation, no desire to go – and no more than a mildly inquisitive interest altogether. And yet it was keeping me awake nights. My own fault, too, no one to blame but myself. Me and my vivid imagination!
It must have started during that phone call, lying there naked and listening to ail those female names – a lesbian sex-party, what else? – and trying to visualize the scene, the women, the girls, the beautiful nude bodies. Alone afterward, late that same night, I felt restless and tried it again, even whispering the key word aloud once more just to bring on the mood. Lesbians. It sounded weird in the darkness like that, a hoarse whisper, as sexy a noise as I'd ever heard. And conjuring up a sexy vision, naturally. With a few surreptitious self-caresses to heighten the sexy atmosphere! And that was all it took to knock me out. More than enough, really, in view of my already exhausting evening and night, what with our last tongue-fuck ending in a terrific total orgasm scarcely more than an hour earlier.
On the ensuing nights, however, it didn't go so well. Or not so simply and swiftly, at any rate, since I was no longer on such a short fuse. And that was when my imagination ran wild, creating small but spectacular productions, tiny fragments of film projected on the screen of my mind. All bits and pieces, disorganized but exquisitely erotic. With sound effects yet, the chaotic chorus of a uniquely feminine madhouse – voices sighing and sobbing, muttering and moaning, whimpers rising to shrieks and fading to breathless gasps. A hot cacophony. Or sometimes an even hotter hot spell of silence, punctuated only by the rustle of black silk stockings, the hiss of an exotically scented atomizer, the purr of a well-licked pussy. And always, underneath it all, the subdued murmur of slowly blossoming female friendships…
Such steamy visions! Wall-to-wall beauty, a sculptural relief map of gently convoluted ravines and ridges and rondures. Flesh gliding against nubile flesh in milky-creamy-tawny-swarthy splendor, a blend too delicate for graphic reproduction, too ephemeral for more than a fleeting glimpse. Limbs entwining and interlocking with limbs in slyly serpentine maneuvers. Multicolored manes of hair a toss and a twirl. Bodies in motion, bodies quiescent, bodies adrift on a sea of naked bodies, all smooth skin and softly lyrical curves. And all attractive, with just the right ratio of saucy young girls to seductively sleek matrons. Isn't if a lovely party we're having?
The scene shifts, another fragment. A bedroom now. Lovers on the bed. But someone else catches my eye, a tall dark-haired woman, regally tall in high heels; she stands there with a certain smiling insolence, proud of her lazily postured nudity-cigarette and drink in one hand, the other resting on the provocatively careless angle-curve of a sweeping hip. A sybaritic creature, surely, exuding an almost tangible voluptuous appeal. And now her chosen prey approaches, a cute little blonde child, very young, perhaps even very innocent, but apparently eager to offer her services. On her knees, of course, all but tumbling in her rush to get there. An anxious cuntlapper, that one. A sweet supplicant. Already lost in adoration of that arrogant body, lost in the depths of that amorous cunt. A lovely party, indeed!
Me and my imagination. Once begun, I just couldn't dispel the coyly insistent illusion, at least not until I'd frigged my clit to a point of no return. And even then, as sleep ended its boycott, I had hot-and-cold clairvoyant flashes of a miracle in the making, some miraculous turn of events that would become my magic carpet down to the beach-house. Even if only to compare my immediate illusion with far-off reality. That was how much the idea had gotten under my skin. I was stuck with it, an obsession practically. Like shiny fingernails picking at a fat scab…
Funny. Even here in Adelaide's apartment I kept thinking about it. But with good reason now, since she was the one who owned the beach-house. And probably most of the beach, judging from the luxury of this place. A wealthy woman, apparently. Impressive in other ways, too, although she was far from beautiful. Or maybe it was just the boots that impressed me, knee-length black vinyl boots with high heels. Narrow heels, not the stubby short, quite thin and at least four inches in height. She was thin herself, almost skinny, with only a hint of feminine breasts and hips showing through her short but rather severe gray dress. Even her lips were thin, although heavily crimsoned, turning her mouth into a luridly contrasting red slit against the powdered white of her face. Dark hair, dark glittering eyes, the faint suggestion of a hook to her nose; even when smiling, she looked cruel.
Anyway, that was the impression I got – and it was certainly reinforced by the haughty and rather dictatorial manner in which she treated her youthful companion. Even the simple act of fixing and serving the drinks took on a kind of sex-oriented significance under the woman's command. All the more so, in view of the demurely constrained grace with which her orders were carried out. Kitten was so utterly gorgeous in face and figure that she couldn't make a move without appearing sexy. Her hair was long and naturally red – or coppery, rather, like a newly minted penny. Soft and doe-like, her eyes were a deep shade of brown, becomingly integrated with her creamy complexion. And her slender but curvaceous body – alluringly displayed by her tight little white frock – had a willowy quality, a limp flexibility that I found quite appealing.
We drank stingers, all of us, a combination of cognac and creme de menthe, deliciously icy – as though it had been chipped from a peppermint-flavored glacier. But the stuff sure lost its chill after it hit my stomach. And it didn't take long for the conversation to warm up, either; actually, there was an undercurrent of sex right from the beginning. I couldn't help but wonder if there wouldn't be some attempt to turn this friendly social visit into a sexy swap-fest. I hoped not. But it was easy to see how Julia might get horny for a crack at that tempting young redhead. After a while, though, I quit worrying about it, engrossed now as Adelaide began loosening up and telling secrets that were obviously sacred. About the bizarre relationship. Was this the "liberal education" I had been promised?
"Oh yes, that's how it is with us. Kitten pretty much belongs to me – like a piece of property, you know? I own her. Can you grasp that concept, my dear?"
I shook my head. "You-you own her?"
"Yes. Pretty much. That's what I said."
"But isn't that really impossible? One person owning another, isn't that, uh, well…"
"Umm, so maybe it's not quite like that. I do boss her around, though, and my orders are never disobeyed. Never. Even when it's something ridiculous, even when it's evident that I'm being bossy just for the hell of it. Wouldn't you call that a kind of ownership? My slightest wish is her command, you might say, and she's been taught to behave with all due respect."
"She must love you very much."
"Of course. But she's a slave-girl at heart, and that makes love and obedience one and the same to her. You see, my dear young lady, obedience is the proof of her love."
Some concept. And how strange it felt to be talking about the kid like that, almost as if she wasn't here with us. I sneaked a glance at her, embarrassed but too curious to quell the urge. She was sitting there, still gracefully demure despite the tension, her eyes downcast. Two bright pink spots had popped out on the creamy smoothness of her cheeks. And now, with a nervous gesture, she tugged at the hem of her skirt primly, trying to stretch the scanty material to cover her stockinged thighs, apparently aware of being the center of attraction. It was an exercise in futility, as much so as the self-conscious tight pose of her legs, chaste but not without a certain coquettish charm.
Adelaide snorted derisively. "What's the matter, little girl, afraid our company will see what you've got? Don't be so bashful, stand up and show them."
The blush deepened, but there was no sign of protest. Kitten rose to her feet and tugged at the skirt again, upward this time, obedient in spite of her obvious humiliation. Her cheeks were scarlet now, a sight to stir me to pity, but with it came a tremor of sensual excitement as I watched those delicate hands slowly carry the hem higher. Her limbs were lovely in the long beige hose – and lovelier yet where the sheer nylon verged upon bare flesh, a line accentuated by the two little round garters, cute and frilly but a decorous white in color. White frock, white garters; would her panties be white, too? I could hardly wait to find out.
"Such a hammy little actress! All the way now." Adelaide's voice had an intrusive rasp, startling somehow, even a bit jarring, incongruously incompatible with this dainty peep-show, this shyly rising curtain. "And since you're so fond of the spotlight, you can hold it up and walk around awhile. Like a model. Let our guests have a good look at you."
A faint whimper sounded and was choked off; resigned to her shame, the youngster lifted the skirt quickly. I gasped. So did Julia. No panties? No. Nothing at all. Nothing but that sexy cunt-bulge in its downy copper-red nest, plump and provocatively rounded and neatly bisected by a single vertical dark stroke, barely visible but utterly bewitching. Frilly white garters, rucked-up white frock – and that mind-blowing thing in between. In all my life, I had never seen anything so lewd…
"There now. Obedient, isn't she? So submissive. Like a slave, a humble slave-girl who can't help herself and is only happy under my domination. She gets hot when I'm cruel to her. Sexy-hot, you know? That's why I'm so bitchy all the time. Not that it doesn't have its advantages, of course."
Was that supposed to be love? I blushed at my own irrational erotic thoughts. What of my feelings for my lover; wasn't that supposed to be love? Weird sensations were coursing through me, tying knots in my belly. Maybe love and lust were identical. Among lesbians, anyway. My mind was becoming a maze of desires and inhibitions, a turmoil, a battlefield, a breeding-ground for guilt. It was wrong to get so wrought-up over a girl, a comparative stranger, a young body, a young cunt. What was I, some kind of lesbian nymphomaniac or something?
"Put a little life into it. Oh shit, what kind of performance is that? You trying to insult our guests? Look sexy now, you're on the runway. If you've got it, flaunt it, right? Come on. No, that just won't do. I guess you'll need help." Scowling in exasperation – spurious, more than likely – the woman stood up. Three measured strides, remarkably steady in those high-heeled boots, landed her directly behind the culprit. "All right, my pretty slave, I'll just have to help you along, liven you up a bit, hmm?"
Kitten's body froze and went noticeably tense, doubtless in anticipation of something painful. A slap on the ass maybe, that was the position they were in. Even her posture had adjusted to it, swaybacked now but still with an inherent grace, a hollowing of the spine that made her bare buttocks jut and billow out behind, more vulnerable than ever. Just like a real slave! As though consideration for her mistress was more important than her own welfare. Truly a display of subservient devotion.
The blow never fell, though. Instead the authoritative woman moved her arm down between the slightly spread thighs and then up into the crotch softness. Her thumb pried and probed for the tiny aperture, at last penetrating with a sudden push that brought a moan of dismay in response. Another moan – or was it a sigh now? – became audible when those long bony fingers curved upward and then inward in front.
"Okay, now march!"
The unexpected sight stunned me. I uttered a little moan myself, a sound of sympathy, goggling, aghast but unable to tear my fascinated gaze away. That all-powerful hand had a strategic grip certainly, clutching from behind, the thumb jammed up the poor kid's asshole and the fingers hooked into her cunt. Like a bowling ball. Only she looked more like a puppet, a dummy, a limp doll under the control of some unscrupulously obscene operator.
"Wiggle your ass! Yeah, that's better. Now around the room we go. I'll steer you. Some fancy maneuvers maybe, huh?"
They were fancy, sure enough. But a on the already bedraggled puppet. Kitten was I struggling to keep her skirt up, all bent over and walking spraddle-legged, awkward now for the first time, her body scrunched down and her ass pooched out in back, I had an intuitive notion that this, the fact of her awkwardness, was an outrage to her vanity, more agonizing than any slap on the ass might have been. Were those tears in her eyes, real girl-tears in those velvety brown doll-eyes?
I tried to watch her face, beautiful even in the throes of desperation. Our separate glances met and locked, almost a deliberately covert attempt at communication, and I realized that our similarity in age gave us a sense of kinship. I refused to feel guilty about that, seeing it as the start of a friendly pact, nothing more. Although I did wonder if this last rushing sensation of heat could have been the result of an all-over blush.
But there was something else in those eyes, quite puzzling, in this time of anguish. Then I saw her flawlessly molded pink lips quiver, a vaguely familiar sign; could it be true? Uh-huh. Impossible as it seemed, my young victimized young friend was sexually excited. I was sure of it. And now I felt less confused about their relationship, the mistress-and-slave setup. Oh, the benefits of a liberal education! Lesbian mistress, lesbian slave-girl. Never again would I be so dubious about such farfetched ideas. Freaky, freaky…
"There. That should do it. Now go around once more by yourself, show us what an elegant little lady you really are. And then you can come and thank me for being so nice to you. Would you like that, sweetheart?"
"I-I yes, ma'am, of course."
"You sound doubtful. Don't know how, hmm? But you'll figure something out, I'm sure. With a little help from me."
"Oooh!"
"You do understand, eh?" The hand pulled out with a squishy noise. "Good. And you'll just love doing it in front of company, won't you? Sexy little slave bitch…"