The next opportunity came sooner than expected. Or so I thought, anyway, having seen Bernadette go out to spend her night off with a relative who lived some thirty miles away, down in the farmland area. And when my father got tired of watching television and went to bed early, wel…
I waited awhile, making sure he was asleep, and then tiptoed downstairs in my pajamas. As always, the hall lamp was on, throwing enough light through the kitchen doorway so that I didn't have to click any switches. Not that it made much difference, considering what a sound sleeper my father was, nothing short of an earthquake would wake him up before morning. I felt guilty, though, a guilt mixed with excitement – after all, I was doing something naughty. I even had an excuse ready, just in case, an excuse about coming down for a glass of milk and then deciding to use the maid's bathroom first – not very farfetched really, just the sort of thing a kid my age might do. That way I could read far into the night, keeping one ear open in case of emergency. A perfectly logical excuse. I had to congratulate myself on my cleverness, feeling guilty and excited and a little bit smug too; oh yes, I had everything worked out just fine! Or so I thought.
Breathlessly, nearing my goal now, I glided across the kitchen floor, pausing only to check and make certain that no light peeped out from under Bernadette's door. Again, just in case! There was always the possibility that she had changed her mind and returned early, coming in quietly through the back-porch entrance. Possible but doubtful, and I only stopped for a quick glance – just to catch my breath mainly – before turning the knob and pushing the door open, eager to begin my night of grown-up fun. My night of grown-up naughtiness…
It was naughty, all right, only I sure hadn't figured on anything that naughty. Even the light seemed sinful, a single red bulb that bathed everything in a rosy glow, bright enough for vision but too dim to be seen through the crack underneath the door. She was bare naked, standing in front of the full-length mirror, angled so that I could see part of her for real and the rest of her as a reflection. I stood there without a sound, paralyzed, looking at those two rose-colored Bernadette's and wondering if it was all just a crazy dream. Only it wasn't, of course, and I didn't have to pinch myself to remember lying in bed and waiting for my father to fall asleep and start snoring. Besides, what dream could present such a strange sight, what kind of dream could make my eyes bulge like this?
I saw her big bare bottom and her big bare breasts, round and swollen and sexier than any picture in a book. It turned me all warm and shaky inside, that nice itchy-quivery feeling, and I had an urge to touch myself, to scratch the itch, the deep-down-inside place where it itched the most. And then her hands moved a little and I saw what she was doing with them – just a little, not much, just enough to prod my mind wide-awake and bring back memories of both books. It came in bits and pieces, the words, the pictures, all that storybook stuff; could it really be real?
Even my schoolbooks weren't about real life. Geography books were full of faraway names and places, never Springfield or Chelsea Hill or Oakwood Street. Never anyplace deep down inside. The same went for history books, all about things that happened long ago and far away. Like a lady named Betsy Ross who sewed the American flag. Never about old Mrs. Yates, the lady who sold dresses and did alterations in her shop next to the supermarket. And as for storybooks, well, Dick and Jane and their dog Spot weren't any more real than Hansel and Gretel and the wicked old witch running a gingerbread bakery in the middle of the forest. And now all of a sudden I was seeing storybook stuff come alive! I was even an important part of it – me, little Loi Morlock – standing there and watching our maid Bernadette frig herself…
Uh-huh. I had never seen Mount Everest or a lady flag maker or a gingerbread oven, but this was for real, and right in front of my eyes. Because that was what she was doing with her hands, frigging herself. I knew the word. Oh shit, I knew all the words. I wanted to say them out loud, to tell her how beautiful she looked with that big bare ass shining and those big bare tits shaking and shimmering, all rosy-red in the lamplight. Fingerfucking her own cunt, imagine! Was that how to scratch the itch, the itchy-quivery feeling, the horny feeling? She had both hands down there, down between her legs, working the fingers up and around inside her slit, the hairy cunt-slit that refused to show itself for more than a quick glimpse now and then, no matter how hard I squinted and strained for a better view. Each hand had its own job to do, I noticed, each with its own speed and style, the lower one always in motion, sliding in and out, fucking – while the hand above remained pretty steady, cupped and curved to give the fingertips a chance, caressing her clit, no doubt, the little love-button that was supposed to be hot stuff, at least according to most of the experienced lesbians in that book about the pleasure resort. Anyway, it was good to see a demonstration of something that I had read about with great enjoyment but not much conviction. (Let's face it, there are times when you gotta believe!) And it was even better to see how simple and natural it was, much easier to understand than all that silly nonsense about the birds and the bees and the flowers.
True, she was doing it alone, solo, and that was possible for any woman, not just a lesbian; it said so in the book. But the way she panted and kept her attention focused on the mirror, gazing as though it was more than just an image of herself – well, I was almost convinced that those two rose-colored Bernadette's were lesbian lovers. I felt embarrassed watching them in such intimacy, embarrassed even beyond my original mistake in opening the door. And I started wondering if there was a chance of my slipping out unnoticed. Only I couldn't tear myself away, not while the show was still going on and getting better, hotter, as that fuck-hand seemed to grow stronger and penetrate deeper – not hard, just long and slow and sexy. By that time I was craning my neck for improved visibility, hopeful of just one clear and conclusive glimpse of her cunt, a gleam of red maybe, a glistening flash that meant cunt and not just another reflection of the light bulb. It was something I was dying to see, something I had never seen before, a cunt, a real grownup woman-cunt…
"Loi! Don't you knock any more?"
"I-I'm sorry. I didn't know you were home. I thought you went to visit your…"
"Never mind that now. Come in and shut the door. You got yourself an eyeful, huh?" Still panting, she grabbed for her robe and then tossed it aside with a shrug. "Hmph! Maybe you like looking at naked females. How long have you been watching me?"
"I-I don't remember. Not long."
"Shut it tight. Before your father hears us and wakes up. That's better. Now stop fidgeting and come here. I guess you think I'm pretty naughty, hmm?"
"N-naughty?"
"Naughty. I was only having some fun, really. But it's not the kind of fun I'd care to have anyone know about. Especially your father. You wouldn't want to make trouble for me, would you, Missy?"
"Trouble? Golly, no. Of course not."
"Good girl. When grownups are naughty, their punishment can be a lot worse than just a scolding. Or even a spanking. If you told anybody about me – about what you just saw me doing, you know? – I might even lose my job here. You don't want that to happen, do you? Then you'd have another maid to keep house and take care of you, maybe someone like that old prune-face, remember?"
"Ugh. I won't tell. Cross my heart, Bernadette, I won't say a word to my father or anybody else. I like you, honest. You're the nicest maid we've ever had. I'd cry if you left."
"You darling. And you're the nicest little girl. There now, that's settled. Only you must learn to knock, my dear. I can't understand why you didn't."
"Well, uh, I thought you were… uh…"
"You thought I was spending the night with my cousin, hmm? I changed my mind. Good thing I did, too. Now I know who's been snooping in my room. So you thought I was out, that's why you didn't bother to knock. But if that's so, what did you come for? To poke around in my dresser drawers? To learn some secrets that were never meant for children? Secrets that even a lot of grownups would find shocking? Hmph! I won't be spied on, you hear?"
"I'm sorry. Please don't be mad. Don't scold me any more, I'll be a good girl from now on, I promise."
"Of course you will, you always are, darling. Even when you're naughty sometimes, you're still my good little girl."
"Oh. Then you're not mad? Bernadette?"
"Silly. How could I be mad at my little angel?"
"But-but the way you just scolded me…"
"Hmm. I was rather harsh. Well then, there's only one thing to do now, and that's to even the score. It's your turn to be harsh to me, I guess. How does that sound?"
"I-I don't understand."
"A bit complicated, is it? Listen. You were naughty and I scolded you, that was your punishment. But I was naughty, too – when you first came in, remember? Playing with myself like that, standing in front of the mirror, and with this red light on; don't you think that was naughty? Not terribly naughty, but enough so that I ought to be punished. So it's only fair that you punish me for my naughtiness, wouldn't you say so, Missy?"
"You-you mean I should scold you?"
"No, dear, I'm afraid that wouldn't work, you're a little too young to give me a proper scolding. But if you think you're big enough to give me a proper spanking…"
"Huh?"
"Right on my bare bottom, a good hard spanking, as hard as you can hit. I deserve it, I deserve to be punished; will you do it for me, darling?"
"You must. Then I'll feel as if I've paid for my naughtiness. And that's all the more reason not to tell anybody about it, too – a good spanking will take away my guilty feelings. Once the punishment is over, my conscience will be clear and I'll just forget all about it."
"Oh. But-but you're so much bigger than me…"
"Bigger but weaker. I'm a naughty girl, that's all. And since you're the one who caught me, well, that gives you the right to use a little discipline to straighten me out – and what better discipline is there?"
"A spanking… golly…"