Once again her willowy self, Kitten minced around the room with her skirt held high, a leisurely paced tour that she appeared to be enjoying now. Her hot-eyed expression sent a tremor through my flesh. I had a hunch, though, that she was anxious to finish up and get to her next assignment. Adelaide had returned to her seat, quite relaxed now, but she too must have been impatient under that serene exterior. So was I, for that matter, practically breathless with anticipation, dying to find out how a slave-girl goes about thanking her mistress.
I soon learned. With that innate grace of hers, lissome as an old-fashioned curtsy to royalty, Kitten sank to her knees. Still peering upward, she licked her lips with the tip of a pink tongue. Then, slowly, she bowed her head and went deeper and deeper into a crouch. Until at last there was nowhere left to go, and she touched the toe of one boot. With that still visible tongue-tip. And then her lips. Humbly. But avidly, too, as the kiss began to slide over the shiny black surface, an open-mouthed kiss that seemed to interweave skilled ardor with sheer idolatry, making alternate use of the pink lips and pinker tongue.
Groveling now, she wrapped her arms around the booted legs, graceful as ever but obviously no longer concerned with putting on a show, no longer conscious of an audience. Nor did she appear even vaguely aware that the frock-skirt had crawled up her back by itself, baring her bottom again, even more lasciviously in such an abject position. From my conveniently advantageous angle of view I could see much of her face and most of her backside, all without undue strain, and the thrust of that cheeky rump left little to the imagination. Cheeky indeed, almost prodigious, surprisingly so for such a slip of a girl. I gazed enraptured, quite smitten by the creamy buttocks, the dark dividing crack; down below there was even a glisten of cunt-flesh and a hint of hairy fluff, in shadow now but still copper-bright with promise. It seemed to be throbbing – winking? – as if in invitation to an unseen lover. The lewdest of invitations…
But she was coming out of her crouch now, slowly, ever so slowly, gliding from insteps to ankles to calves. Such a weird spectacle, an all but unbelievable sight, the obsequious slave-girl licking the boots of her imperious mistress. Like a scene out of some bygone ancient era, a time when every patrician woman was served by a retinue of fawning slaves. Although I doubted if even an empress could have had the enviable good fortune to own such a paragon of beauty and humility. A paragon of erotic ingenuity, too, apparently, or so it appeared, as Adelaide's cool serenity melted away in a flurry of fleshy quivers and twitches, the flurried heat of desire, of sexual impatience. Uh-huh. She was making it quite plain now, interrupting the homage momentarily to lurch up and claw at her panties, sagging back down again only after the garment cleared the edge of her chair.
Kitten took it the rest of the way and then resumed her worshipful caress. But that was no more than a pretense now, a token effort, and she forged ahead with increasing fervor, hastily, skimming over the boots to nuzzle a higher and softer surface. I watched eagerly, fascinated but somewhat incredulous, stunned by the significance of this sudden development. Were they really going to do it? This next phase, the intimacy – the most sacred of lesbian intimacies! – in front of an audience? It simply hadn't occurred to me that they would go this far. Or – by any stretch of the imagination – that we would be allowed to sit here and witness it, the beautiful thing between women in love, an embrace intended and usually reserved for private moments behind discreetly drawn blinds.
But it was already happening. The upturned face had ended its glide, quite hidden now and without a sign of motion anywhere, but I could tell by the sound. It was faint at first, the soft sweep of flesh upon moist flesh. And as it became gradually more audible, my ear made an analysis became even more attuned, picking up all the slithery noises, the lapping, the sucking, the peculiar pulpy-wet sound of mouth mashing cunt. Pretty soon the half-buried head began bobbing gently. With a sigh of approval, Adelaide reached down and petted it affectionately, her glossy-tipped fingers splayed and entangled in the coppery hair. And then she slumped low in the chair to lift her long limbs and drape them over the hunched shoulders, letting those shiny black boots fall haphazardly upon the white frock, one dropping all the way down into that expanse of creamy ass.
A suffusion of exotic scent tickled my nose, a tinge of perfume and a lot of woman. And some young girl, no doubt. That could also include me, considering the shape I was in. Hot enough to sizzle! I crossed and uncrossed my legs nervously, wondering if that feeling of dampness down there could seethe and bubble into a show-through stain. But this wasn't the time for even a quick glance, oh no, I could scarcely blink for fear of missing something important.
With her head surrounded like that, practically ear-deep in obviously well-lubricated cunt, the poor kid's face must have been bedaubed from chin to forehead. A mess to clean up later; hadn't I experienced that myself? But at this particular moment she was probably glorying in it, loving the source and wallowing in its sexy essence. Maybe even wishing she could dive in naked and then race outside to parade jauntily down the avenue, love-drenched, proud of her costume as any flamboyant drum majorette. Hmm. Might be interesting some sultry summer night. Or how about a blistering day on the beach? A new and exclusive sunburn lotion?
No, I hadn't missed anything, not a sigh or a moan. Not even the jiggle of those cute creamy ass-cheeks under the dig-and-scrape of that dangling boot. And the performance was just about over, judging by the sudden furor, the gasps and groans and flailing of limbs, an intensity of sexual convergence that could only end in a crunching climax. The mistress was on the brink, her teardrop earrings in a mad dance, flashing and glittering a thousand times with every toss of her head. While the crouching young slave-girl accelerated the madness with every convulsive fuck of her face. I was glad, too, hopeful now of persuading my Julia to leave these lovely but blissfully exhausted people and take me home for a mad convulsion of our own. After this, we needed it! I could almost feel that sweet asshole squirming for a suck of my swollen tongue…
Only it didn't work out like that, not at all. Kitten stood up gingerly, her face drooly, the makeup smeared beyond repair. She excused herself, casting a final glance in my direction, and ambled off toward the hall leading to the bedrooms. I heard water running a minute or two later – the shower, most likely – and figured she was finished for the night. Or quite a while, at least. So I just sat there waiting for a chance to speak to Julia, anxious to be on our way.
Getting a word in wasn't easy, though. Adelaide had come alive, and the two of them were now talking business, two old buddies with much in common. Worse yet, the business talk was utterly meaningless to me, nothing I cared to listen to. Until, after a while, I heard a mention of the beach-house party. My ears perked up. Somehow, that too was in the context of business, although I couldn't quite understand how. Then, just as I was getting interested, Julia swung around as if she had suddenly remembered my presence.
"Honey, this must be pretty dull for you. Why I don't you go and keep Kitten company?"
"Oh? She's probably asleep by now."
Adelaide shook her head, smiling. "Not if I know the little devil. Go back and see. The end bedroom. I'm sure you two will find something to do together, my dear. Girl-talk, you know? And take your time about it. We'll be discussing business here for at least a half hour."
"No, thanks, I'd rather just…"
"Rory!" Julia cut me off sharply. "You'd rather just pick your ass up out of that chair and go, that's what you'd rather do. That's what you'd better do. Because I'm telling you to!"
My face flamed. But after seeing that mistress-and-slave demonstration, any further disobedience would have been an even more painful embarrassment for both of us, I realized. Anyway, didn't I always do what she told me to? I was already up and out of the chair, stung by the reprimand, humiliated, but still obeying orders. Almost like a slave-girl…
The door at the end of the hall Kitten seemed pleased to see me. She had a negligee on now, and her face had been scrubbed clean; even in the dim lamplight her skin actually shined from the effort. Without makeup she looked even younger than before, a bit incongruous in that grown-up negligee. It was brown, almost the color of her eyes, a filmy thing that revealed only too clearly what lay underneath. Nothing but bare flesh. Her willowy body was lovely, and that long shock of copper-red hair tumbled in careless disarray. The total impact was stunning. And from the way she moved about, I got the impression that she was deliberately showing off for me. Flaunting herself. For me alone this time and not because of any command.
I went into the bathroom and tried to get my thoughts organized, still feeling the effect of that wildly exciting scene. And of the liquor too, those wicked stingers, tasty but pretty powerful for someone who didn't drink much. The shock of Julia's curt dismissal no longer bothered me, now that I was here and feeling myself unwind and begin to relax. Especially after that nice greeting, effusive and apparently sincere. With a little friendliness on my part I figured it would be easy to ask questions and get some specific and hopefully informative answers. About that party, mainly. And perhaps even about the performance I had just witnessed out there in the big living room. Lesbian mistress, lesbian slave. What an absolutely fantastic relationship!
Out of the bathroom again, it took me a moment to get used to the dim light. Kitten had a glass in her hand, another stinger, and she held it to my lips. I sipped gratefully and didn't mind when she lounged on the bed and motioned me to sit alongside her on the edge. That way we could speak softly. The bedroom door was shut now, I noticed, a kind of hush in the atmosphere. Almost conspiratorial, really. Nothing to get nervous about, though, and I welcomed another sip of her stinger.
"The booze. Where did it come from?"
She giggled. "Don't ask. An old alcoholic never gets caught short. Only one glass between us, sorry about that. We might as well kill it, huh?"
We passed it back and forth, and I took the opportunity to bring up the subject that lay so heavily on my mind. "Tell me something, Kitten. What do you know about that beach-house party?"
"Oh, it'll be wild. They always are. You'll see."
"I-I'm not invited."
"Silly, you'll be going with Julia, won't you? Unless there's some reason, uh…" She paused for a sip of the drink; then, "I guess you're kind of new at this sort of thing, huh?"
"New is right. I'm learning fast, though."
"Try to make it. The party, I mean. We'll have fun together, the two of us. I like you."
"I like you, too."
"Do you? Really? You're not just saying it?"
"Now who's being silly? What are you looking for, flattery? I like you very much. Funny. You're prettier than me and I'm not even jealous. That should prove something, I imagine. Although I'm not sure what."
"Come on, you know you're pretty, Rory. I noticed that right away tonight." She sat up to pass the drink but didn't lower her arm then, reaching out to touch me instead. "Real pretty. Especially here…"
Her hand grazed my breasts and I backed off a little, almost instinctively. But the wet glass started to slip from my shaky grip, adding to my momentary panic, and I came to a quick stop. That averted the catastrophe of spilled liquor, but she made contact again, giggling, playfully inquisitive, more of an inspection than a caress. I solved the problem by draining the rest of the stinger and then rising to get rid of the glass. When I turned to sit back down, though, she caught my wrist and tugged me closer.
"Kitten, don't. Not like this. It's wrong. What if Adelaide were to walk in on us?"
"Oooh, that would be fun!"
"Fun? Wouldn't she be angry?"
"Could be. But that's when she's the most fun. I'd probably get a spanking – kind of sexy, you know?"
It sounded weird; was she putting me on? But the expression on her face gave credence to the words. She was smirking ecstatically, the thickly fringed lids of her eyes in a droop. As if at this very instant some strange, perverse thrill held her completely enthralled. It even got to me a little, although I could only guess at its erotic implications with a small shudder, recalling the symbolic riding-crop…
She wrinkled her nose wryly, an end to the trance. "Hey, look at me – what a dope! – now I'm giving away family secrets."
"It's okay. I've already forgotten it."
"Have you? That's nice. Here then, let me give you something else to forget." Her hand returned to my breasts. "You've got a terrific pair of tits, you know? Big ones. Real solid, just the kind I go for. And let's not worry about somebody corning in. Not a chance. When those two out there start talking business…"
An unwelcome thought struck me. I wasn't functioning any too well, but even the alcohol hadn't been that brain-numbing. Was tins the reason why I had been sent here? I wondered. This? Was it an arranged situation to get me broken in?
The hand on my breasts was less inquisitive now; the inspection had become a bold caress. That compliment of hers had evidently been sincere, and I couldn't help but appreciate the idea. Only it just wasn't in me to speak up and say so. I could hardly breathe, much less talk. Her hand, cupping and squeezing; oh it felt so sexy! Its heat penetrated right through my clothes. My nipples felt huge inside the bra, stiff and swollen with unwanted desire, and those maddening fingers just wouldn't quit.
Then, abruptly, they did quit – just like that, gone! – and my gasp of relief was tinged with disappointment. Neither lasted very long, though, the hand was already traveling down over my trembling belly. Under the skirt. Up my thighs. Inside the panties? What the hell was she doing down there? As if I didn't know. My legs sure did, spreading wide to make it easier. I moaned through clenched teeth, still not reconciled to the invasion. And then it came, the intimate touch, a flick of her finger. And at last a hot stabbing sensation, sharp, the thrust of a molten steel blade, a fleeting pain that changed mercifully to enduring but almost unendurably exquisite pleasure…
"Isn't this nice? I love your cunt. Rory? You do like it, don't you? What I'm doing. Feel it?"
"Oh!"
"Hold still, just try to feel it, hmm? I'll bet you do. So wet now, your cunt, soft and wet and hot – getting hotter all the time, isn't it?"
I shuddered mutely, incapable of anything else at the moment, growing increasingly apprehensive as my ear tingled to the sudden warmth of her breath, an unintelligible whisper that sounded even more salacious than those last words. My secret flesh throbbed in rhythm to the persuasively probing fingertip. She had told me to lie still – and I really wanted to, even if only in silent testimony to my bent but still unbroken will. For my own peace of mind, if nothing more. But my body betrayed me, twitching and jerking and then actually heaving itself toward the source of my distress, striving to surround that lewdly impudent finger and suck it in. While another part of me recoiled from this new second touch, her mouth grazing my ear and then gliding unerringly across my cheek.
She kissed me. The tip of her tongue poked and pushed, demanding entry, and after a final spasm of resistance I could only melt and part my lips. Yielding dizzily, I just relaxed and let it happen, letting that pointy little girl-tongue occupy my mouth, quivering now as it scurried around inside like some tiny animal. Protest seemed futile after that, and I sobbed in my throat and simply surrendered to the inevitable, drifting into a heady mist of cognac and mint and lips and fingers and sweet perfume.
A hand began working on my clothes. I tried to help but couldn't do very much in the languorous torpor of my coma. My fumbling became a bit of a hindrance even, and I was glad to suffer momentarily as she took over the task with both hands. And soon there was nothing to impede our embrace, no clothes, no negligee, nothing. Nothing but us. Naked skin against naked skin. Clinging one minute and sliding the next. Lips at my throat, nuzzling. Lips at my breasts, devouring. Lips in unceasing motion, searching. Lips bearing gifts, finding. Lips bringing ecstasy, bestowing. There. Such a frantic little cuntlapper…
But those hands were busy again and I didn't like that, the way they were pulling and pushing and dragging me out of my scented fog. Not that I could do much about it. Oh shit, I was too steamed up to do anything but go along. Where they wanted me. There. And I too became a sexy little cuntlapper.
The sudden realization sent a shiver through my body, a shiver of guilt. It was wrong, terribly wrong to be doing this – Julia, forgive me! – and even more wrong to be enjoying it so much. But the sense of the forbidden only intensified my excitement, and I nibbled eagerly at that sweet little slit, reveling in my first taste of young cunt. Somewhere down there I too was being reveled in, young cunt for young cunt. I loved it. And yet it seemed far away – and I felt my passion right here, centering in my mouth, all musk and moisture and fragrant softness, a dainty and delectable little mouthful. Young cunt…