They were still glowing when I brought her the drink, emerald-green eyes, less formidable now somehow, the slanted corners crinkling in apparent amusement. As though she was laughing at me or had found the situation to her liking, perhaps, since she chose that moment to slip off her coat.
Once again, I couldn't help but recognize a wealth of unexpected beauty, even a certain grandeur. Voluptuous. But without a trace of extra fat, as far as I could see, truly a magnificent body. The one advantage of being childless, no doubt. And I could see plenty, too, the big breasts and narrow waist and broad hips, all delineated by her scantily cut dress, a simple black sheath. And the legs, of course, long and perfectly shaped, with slender ankles – impossibly beautiful! I could only stand there and goggle. With a wife like this, why would any man take a mistress?
"Well, my dear? Admiring the view?"
My cheeks flamed. "Uh, nice. Very nice."
"Just nice? That's hardly a compliment." Her smile was slow and smug, replete with self-satisfaction. She sat down and crossed her legs with lazy abandon, one hand gliding up over her bosom in a pointedly significant caress. "Come now, pretty good for an old broad, wouldn't you say?"
"Of course. But you're not old." It seemed only prudent to bestow the flattery that was so obviously called for. "You're a beautiful woman, Mrs. Beresford."
"Julia. Let's not be formal."
"Uh-huh. Julia, then. Your drink okay?"
She took a sip and nodded; then, "You meant that, about, my being beautiful. I could tell. Much as you hated to admit it."
"Well…"
"You did hate admitting it, though. Why?"
"Oh. You know. This thing between us. I-I don't understand, frankly. Aren't you angry with me?"
"A little. My pride was hurt. But it's happened before, my husband playing around like this. Bastard! Oh no, it isn't exactly new to me. Did you think it was, Rory?"
"N-no. I did at first. I felt guilty, too, since it was my fault as much as his. But then he said you didn't care, it wasn't that kind of marriage. You both go your separate ways, he told me; you have your own life, your own friends, isn't that so?"
"Umm, well, something like that."
"It's true then? About the marriage? He's only staying married to you because of the business?"
"True enough. At this point, anyway. After all, what else can he do? I own the business. Although I'm sure he neglected to mention that fact."
"Huh? You own…"
"Consolidated was founded by my grandfather. I'm the majority stockholder. Simon has only a little piece of it, in spite of his executive position. Surprise, surprise."
"Okay, so I'm surprised. Only now I can't figure out why you even came here. Julia, what do you want from me?"
"Nothing much. I just wanted to get a look at you. To see what my husband is so hot for. Only I haven't seen anything like that yet, at least not that exciting. It's beyond me. Unless maybe you're hiding something special under that dress. Are you? Take it off, let's have a peek."
"Silly. You-you can't be serious."
"Don't provoke me, my dear. Remember now, I'm in a position to make trouble for you. With my husband. And at your job. I could even kick up a fuss and have you thrown out of this apartment, considering who's paying for it. So perhaps you ought to humor me, hmm? I don't ask much. Let's go. Strip!"
Her abrupt change of expression came as a shock. The green eyes had narrowed to slits, the lipsticked mouth drawn thin, a cruel red slash. It was no time for me to argue. Besides, what could I lose? Afterward, she would still be puzzled – my just wasn't that great, with or without clothes. Oh sure, it had all the necessary curves, even a few extra for good measure. But it was far from spectacular. Just like my face, round and pleasant, with a turned-up button for a nose, cute but nothing to write home about. All in all, cute and cuddly in a kind of chubby way, too compact for real beauty. I had youth in my favor, sure, but not much more. No, this uptight woman could look all night and never understand what her husband found so attractive in me. That was our secret, his and mine.
I moved away from her, out to the middle of the floor, sensing those eyes on my back. Impulsively, maybe even deliberately, I let my hips sway with each step. If she wanted to look, I'd give her something to look at! I was glad now that my costume didn't include pantyhose; they're fine on the legs but all seamy up above, not very sexy once the dress comes off. And not very practical for my original purpose, of course, hardly conducive to a quick lay in some neighborhood hallway. I wasn't even wearing a garter belt, just round elastic thigh-garters to keep my rolled nylons from falling down.
My pulses throbbed as I turned and faced her again, conscious now of a strange mixture of terror and excitement. Like it or not, this haughty creature had me in her power. My skin felt uncomfortably warm, a heat that seemed to come from deep inside. My breasts were tingling, the nipples popped-out and swollen, chafed by the fabric of my bra. A wave of sensuality swept over me, washing away my last vestige of pride, the last pretense of vanity. I simply shucked off my dress and posed like that, anxious to end the weird ordeal.
"Cute, my dear. I like your rolled stockings. But don't quit now, let's see what's underneath the bra."
"But-but you said…"
"I said strip. So strip! What have you got, padding?"
That spurred me to action. In a fit of pique, I got rid of the wispy garment and put my bosom on display, free and clear of any phony equipment. Just bare tits. Nice tits, too, nice and big and solid, with real sexy nipples sticking out. But that wasn't enough for her either, apparently, she just made a noise in her throat and pointed to my panties. And off they came, although not without a certain blushing modesty on my part.
"Charming. Such a child! Oh yes, I can see how men would go wild over you. Older men, at least. The little-girl whore, so shy, so reluctant, so innocent…"
"I'm not a whore."
"Don't quibble, it's only a word. We're all whores, every one of us, aren't we? It's the nature of a woman."
"Oh. Well, okay. Forget it. Are you satisfied now? I stripped for you. Down to the bare skin. Satisfied? Do you mind if I go and put on a robe or something?"
"I do mind. I'm not through with you yet. Stay like that, don't be bashful. Because I'm really going to give you something to be bashful about, young lady. An inflamed bottom, that's what. Punishment! Punishment for your sins. You did say it was your fault as much as my husband's, you admitted your guilt, remember? I can't let you off scot-free. I won't walk out of here until you get what's coming to you."
"Aw… you-you want to spank me?"
"Oh no, spanking is too easy. The punishment must fit the crime. You deserve a whipping. With a real whip to sting that saucy butt of yours." Calmly, she dug into her handbag and came up with a weapon, a riding-crop, just limber enough to bend and fit inside. "It ought to be bigger, but this will have to do, I suppose. A dozen good hard ones, eh?"
I whimpered, frightened now. "No…"
"No? Too much for you? Let's say six, then."
"Please… no… still too much…" I blurted the words out and then realized that my bargaining with her could only have, been construed as a kind of consent. But it was too late, there was no backtracking now, not unless I'd be willing to brave a lot worse trouble. So before the squabble got completely out of hand, I raised my voice in a plea, a squeaky squeal. "Three? Please? No more?"
"Sissy. A plump ass like yours, just three?" She snorted scornfully and then shrugged. "Oh well, it's the principle that counts, let it be three. Get over the chair, that one, bend over the back of it. Hurry before I lose patience!"
The whip whirred, a menacing sound. I hurried. And fear gave way to humiliation at that moment. Somehow my dread of the pain just didn't match the ignominy, the shame of bending over and jutting my bare fanny out like that. Two big tears welled up in my eyes. I waited, shuddering as she touched me with the weapon and took a stance, positioning herself for the initial swing. Or so I assumed. But again the touch of the leather was light, a caress now; what was she doing back there? Teasing me, apparently. I felt it stroking my tensed-up buttocks, the backs of my thighs, even down to the twitchy hollows behind my knees. Would it never be over? The anticipation was becoming more painful than whatever the real thing might bring. But it helped in another way, oddly enough, and I quit crying as my shame ebbed and left only apprehension.
"Beautiful…" Her voice sounded almost remote. "It's just too pretty to hit. Maybe I'll let you off this time."
"Hmm? Ma'am?"
"But you'll be on parole, mind you, and any further offense will mean double punishment next time. Uh-huh. Even if I have to break nay own heart and force myself to hurt that cute ass. Do you understand me, Rory?"
I didn't, not really. But her hand was cupping my chin and lifting, straightening me up from that awful position, turning me from the chair. Only then did I realize that the whip was gone and my ordeal was over. Over before it started, actually. And the tears welled up once again, emotional tears, childish tears, and I just laid my head upon her shoulder and let go. It was sympathetic, that shoulder, soft and sweetly perfumed and just plain comforting. I simply made the most of it.
She stroked my hair, whispering little soothing syllables into my ear. The tears tapered off to dry sobs. Her breath was nice and warm; it tickled my ear and gave me a kind of shivery sensation. I liked it. Right then, somehow, I liked her. I couldn't have explained my feelings, though, not in a million years. But I didn't have to, of course. She pulled me closer, tugging my head down, shifting a little – until my cheek was nestled against her bosom. The slope of her breasts became a pillow, tender, peaceful, for my flushed face, its perfume-aura surrounding me with balmy fragrance, redolent of flowers and feminity.
"Better, darling?"
My sobs had ceased, but I still had no desire to raise my head and move out of the haven of her encircling arm. The consoling fingertips kneaded the nape of my neck. Oh yes, I did feel better, much better, and now there was a curiously binding sense of kinship with this impressive creature, the woman who had given me such a shock and was helping me get over it. Kinship, even gratitude! I wondered why everything seemed so peculiar all of a sudden. So odd, so different, so mixed-up. Even the way I was trembling now, even that didn't seem quite the same.
"Such an innocent little child. Sweet thing. You bring out the motherly instinct in me, you know?"
"Ummm…"
"Do you mind my petting you like this? I hope not. I hope we're going to be friends, good friends. You do want me for your friend, don't you?"
Questions, too many questions. I mumbled again, nodding my all but tacit approval. Only they were the kind of questions that didn't need answers, really. Sure, we were going to be friends. We were friends already. And I certainly didn't mind being petted, not when it made me feel so safe and secure. She could go on petting me all night; why should I mind?
"Such a tiny girl. My little cherub. It's in the cards for us, we'll be the best of friends. I just know it. Isn't this nice, darling? Ah, you're so soft. Especially right there…"
"Oh!"
"And here, too. Soft…"
"Julia, what are you…"
"Shhh. Just relax, hmm? I'll take care of you, don't worry, don't give it another thought. Put yourself in my hands – you won't regret it, I promise."
"But…"
"Relax, dear. Let me pet you some more… Like this. See? See how nice? There. Doesn't that feel good?"
"N-no… please…"
"Don't stop me. You'll like it, see? You like it already, isn't that so? I can tell. You're getting excited."
It was true. I shook my head, more to clear the fog than in disavowal. Maybe both would work. I couldn't deny the physical heat, the tension – alien but vaguely familiar – growing in the depths of my body. Nor could I deny the limp forbearance of my flesh as her fingers continued to forage industriously, feeling like points of flame on my skin. My bare skin, so vulnerable! What was happening, what was I doing here naked?
The revelation struck with a wallop, no blinding flash, just a sickening thud. Right in the gut. The pit of my belly. A place I couldn't even call my own at the moment. Not with that busy hand turning light and feathery down there, encroaching slyly but steadily. I should have gotten the message ages ago, no doubt. Julia Beresford was a lesbian! But then again, well, my person experience in that direction amounted to a blank, just about; how was I to know? This wasn't kid stuff, something I could relate to my past. Simon's wife, imagine, a lesbian? All that voluptuous beauty, too. Not the obvious type, that was for sure. No grown-up tomboy, this one.
I remembered Wendy. Out of the dim dark yesteryears came the memory of childhood pastimes with my little friend who lived next door. You be the mommy and I'll be the daddy. Girlish romps under the front porch, behind the ivy-covered trellis. Youngsters playing games and giggling at their own naughty antics. Where was mischievous little Wendy now? Married, probably – and fat – with kids of her own playing those same secret games most likely. Oh well, no matter. Kid stuff. Or was that what inspired voluptuously stacked wives to drift away from marriage and into more aberrant embraces later on in life?
In any case, it sure wasn't inspiring me. I almost chuckled aloud at the ludicrous turn of events. But at least I didn't feel like shedding tears or sobbing any more, especially since all that soft-bosomed sympathy could no longer be mistaken for anything but part of the plot. A prelude to lesbian seduction. Very clever, too. No wonder my bare ass had gone unpunished, suffering only the shame, never the pain. My "beautiful" bare ass, too pretty to hit. Or too kissable, perhaps? From a lesbian's point of view…
"What the hell! Rory, what's wrong?"
"Sorry. I just woke up."
"Huh?"
"It's funny now, kind of."
"Funny?"
"Uh-huh. Don't you see? I just realized what you're trying to accomplish. To tell the truth, I rather enjoyed it. But I'm your husband's little girl, not yours. I just couldn't make it with a woman. Not even someone I like."
"Is that so? Don't be so sure."
"Oh shit, I'd have trouble just faking it, you know?"
"Let's not talk of trouble, baby. It's a nasty word. And I have no intention of being troublesome. But I do wish you'd stop and reconsider, hmm? If nothing else, think of the novelty, the new experience. Don't knock it until you've tried it; doesn't that hold true for just about anything?"
"I-I guess so. Anyway, you just said the magic word, believe it or not. Novelty. I'm hooked on it, an addict practically, always looking for a new experience. Julia? You won't let me down? It'll be different? Promise?"
"Different. I promise. Maybe even wild."
"Oooh… yesss… nice and wild…"
"Not nice, darling, not necessarily. Just wild. Until you've learned what nice really is. Like cunt, for instance. Something to love, not a curse-word."
"Of course. I know that."
"Say it. Cunt."
"Cunt?"
"Let it ooze over your tongue. Nice and cunty."
"Cunt. Cunt, cunt, cunt."
"You feel it, honey? Feel a little charge?"
"Uh-huh. Cunt. Hot. Cunty-cunty-cunt."
"Don't get fancy, just stick to the script. Learn the simple stuff first, improvise later. Cunt! Once more, with feeling."
"Cunt. Okay?"
"Okay, try another. Cuntlapper."
"Cuntlapper. Oooh! Turns me on. But it's still only a word, Julia, how long must I wait to feel it? I mean really feel it, the real thing, you know? Are you going to tease me all night? How long do I have to wait? I'm ready now. Julia?"