It was strange, Sharon reflected as she stood just outside the prison gate, waiting for Vickie, how she could be so bitter and yet, at the same time, so terribly horny. Bitter because of the year the state had stolen from her life, and horny because her thoughts kept straying to the juicy little slit between Vickie's pretty legs.
But before the thoughts of Vickie's pussy had become so strong she could almost taste it, her mind had been on grimmer things. When the massive iron gate had clanged shut behind her twenty minutes ago, she had vowed for the thousandth time to clear her name of the crime for which she had been wrongly convicted and imprisoned.
Exonerating herself would be difficult, she knew. It might even be impossible. But starting today – the first day of her parole – she would begin to try. And she would never stop trying until she succeeded.
She moved over to the curb to look down the street again, wondering what could have happened to Vickie, who had promised to be waiting for her when she was released. A car suddenly swerved too close to the curb, and she stepped back quickly.
She was just beginning to think about taking a cab when she saw Vickie's convertible make the turn at the corner, and a few moments later the car drew up beside her.
"Hi," Vickie said as she reached across the seat to open the door for her. "I'm sorry I'm late, honey. I just couldn't get the car started." She was a small silver-blonde with warm, large amber eyes beneath incredibly long lashes, and upthrust breasts that nippled sharply against the taut bosom of her minidress. "Have you been waiting long?"
"No," Sharon said, settling into the seat beside her. "Only a year."
Vickie moved close to her. "Gimme," she said.
"What?" Sharon said.
"A kiss," Vickie said. "It was a long year, honey."
Sharon kissed her.
"Ummm," Vickie said. "Good."
Sharon laughed. "I agree," she said. "You've changed your brand of lipstick, haven't you?"
"Yes," Vickie said. "You want another sample?"
Sharon kissed her again, and this time she let her hand drop to the other girl's thigh, trailing her fingertips up the sleekly nyloned flesh and beneath the hem of the brief white skirt.
Vickie pushed away from her and brushed her skirt down again. "Hey!" she said, laughing. "You want to get us both arrested?"
"You look delicious, Vickie," Sharon said.
"So do you," Vickie said. "God, honey, it's so good to have you back again."
"It's good to be back, I can tell you," Sharon said. "But are you sure I won't be putting you out? After all, you've had the apartment to yourself for a whole year now."
"Which is a whole year longer than I wanted to," Vickie said as she started the engine and eased the car away from the curb. "I've missed you terribly, Sharon. I'll bet I've dreamed of you a thousand times."
Sharon smiled. "There haven't been that many nights, silly," she said, watching with fascination as Vickie's skirt rode up to reveal the shadowy V of pubic hair beneath the sheer pantyhose.
"I doubled up some nights," Vickie said, smiling as she noted the direction of Sharon's gaze. "And other nights I tripled up."
"I see."
Vickie took a long breath and let it out slowly. "Oh, I just can't wait to get you home," she said. "I'm going to lick you from one end to the other and back again."
"And that's all?"
"No… that's just for starters." She stopped for a red light. "Tomorrow we'll buy you a whole new wardrobe. Then, the next day, we…"
"I haven't a penny, Vickie. They're supposed to give you twenty dollars. But I'd broken some dishes, and they made me pay for them."
"Money's no problem, honey. I'm loaded. I mean it. The modeling racket has never been so good. And once you get back into it, you'll be a rich girl in no time at all."
"I'll be modeling, all right," Sharon said. "But not for photographers, Vickie. It's against the rules."
"What rules?"
"The parole rules. A parolee has to have a job, but it has to be steady. No freelancing. She can't model for fees at all."
"That's ridiculous."
"I know. But that's the way it is." She paused. "My parole officer got me a job at Chumley's."
"Chumley's! Why, that's a department store."
"Yes."
"And the rattiest one in town, too. What'll you be doing? Salesgirl?"
"No. I'll be modeling in the ready-to-wear."
"Good God, Sharon. They don't pay their girls anything at all. And they treat them like dirt. I know that for a fact."
"I'm just lucky she got me a job, even one like that. If she hadn't, I'd still be in prison."
"I don't understand, honey. A beautiful girl like you could find a job in thirty seconds."
"Yes, but you have to have the job before you get out. There are dozens of girls still in prison just because they haven't any job to go to. Girls who could be paroled tomorrow. Some of them have even been eligible for two or three years."
"Why, that's terrible!"
"The whole thing's pretty terrible, Vickie. Wait till you see the list of things I can't do for the next two years. It's a foot long."
"You mean you'll be on parole two whole years?"
"Yes."
"My God," Vickie said. "Oh, my poor baby."
Sharon could resist the temptation no longer. She put her hand on Vickie's knee, ran it slowly up her leg as far as it could go, cupping the warm mound with her palm.
Vickie laughed. "Stop that," she said. "If somebody sees you, they'll wreck their car."
Sharon pressed harder, running a fingertip the length of Vickie's slit, pushing the nylon of her pantyhose deep between her the cunt lips. Vickie was just as horny as she was herself, she noted with satisfaction; the silky sheath of nylon beneath her hand was soaking wet.
"Honestly, Sharon!" Vickie said. "If you don't stop, I'll wreck the car myself!" But even as she spoke, she spread her legs a little wider and Sharon could feel her pussy lifting into her hand.
Sharon raised her hand beneath Vickie's skirt to the waist of Vickie's pantyhose, tugged out the elastic, and slipped it down inside.
"Oh, my God," Vickie said. "Sharon!"
Sharon spread the lips of Vickie's cunt apart with her fingers, then caught the pulsing clitoris between thumb and forefinger and rolled it gently, increasing the pressure on it little by little.
"Sharon, please!" Vickie said, squirming on the seat. "For goodness sake, Sharon!"
Sharon pushed a finger into Vickie's hole and worked it slowly up into her as far as it would go. Vickie moaned and thrust her cunt up against Sharon's hand for a few moments – then suddenly pulled over to the curb and stopped the car.
"Sharon, honey, I just can't stand it," she said as tugged Sharon's hand out of her pantyhose. "Can't you wait just a few minutes, darling? We'll be home before you know it."
Sharon looked at her dripping finger for a moment, then put it to her lips and began to lick the juice from it. "Well, I'm glad you didn't change the flavor of that, anyhow," she said. "I'd never have forgiven you."
"Boy," Vickie said, nosing the car out into the traffic again. "You've got me so horny I can't even think."
"You did feel just a little juicy at that," Sharon said.
"Juicy!" Vickie said. "My God, honey, I've got a fountain down there."
They reached the apartment house ten minutes later.
"You just wait," Vickie said as they walked toward the entrance. "Boy, are you ever going to get it. I'm going to spank you good."
Sharon laughed. "I thought you were the one that liked to be spanked," she said.
"I might be the one that likes it," Vickie said, "but you're the one that deserves it. Fingerfucking me right out there in broad daylight, for heaven's sake!"
"Well," Sharon began, "if you really think a spanking's called for…"
"Oh, Miss Palmer," a woman's voice said behind them. "May I have a word with you, please?"
"Who's that?" Vickie said as she and Sharon turned back toward the sidewalk.
"My parole officer," Sharon said. "Miss Thornton."
"Where'd she come from?"
"She must have been waiting in that car there, in back of yours."
The woman who strode up to them appeared to be in her late twenties. She was very tall, with a full-blown body, carefully-coiffed brown hair, a small-featured face that just missed being pretty, and cool green eyes beneath unplucked brows.
"How are you, Miss Palmer?" she said. Her voice was low-pitched, faintly metallic.
"Very well, thank?" Sharon said. "Miss Thornton, this is my roommate, Miss Quinn. Vickie, this is my parole officer, Miss Thornton."
"How do you do, Miss Quinn," the redheaded woman said, not smiling.
"Hi," Vickie said.
"I hope you're not a thief too," Miss Thornton said.
"What?" Vickie said.
"Sharon can't associate with other thieves, you know," Miss Thornton said. "Much less share an apartment with one."
Vickie glanced from her to Sharon and back again, her face suddenly flushed. "Listen here," she said, taking a short step forward. "Who the hell do you think…"
"Never mind, Vickie," Sharon said.
"But she…"
"Please," Sharon said. "It can only make things worse for me."
The parole officer smiled, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "She's right, you know," she said. "You go around without a bra all the time, dear?"
"That's none of your business," Vickie said.
"You a whore?" Miss Thornton said. "You must be, with your tits sticking through your dress like that."
Vickie took another step forward, but Sharon put out an arm to restrain her. "Just don't say anything," she said. "Please." It was all she could do to keep from saying something herself, and she had to bite her lip to keep the words from spilling out. But she had no choice. When a convicted criminal's parole was less than an hour old, and she was talking to the woman who could send her back to prison for another two years, she held her tongue.
"Now that I notice," Miss Thornton said, "you aren't wearing a bra either, Sharon."
"They didn't return it to me this morning," Sharon said. "They didn't return any of my underclothes at all. Or my stockings either."
"No? Well, isn't that a shame. Your tits stick out even worse than your little chippy friend's do. I did notice you didn't have any slip on, when I was coming up the walk." There was a long silence.
"I wasn't expecting to see you until Monday morning," Sharon said. "I was supposed to report to your office."
"I take a special interest in some of my girls. You ought to feel flattered. I have forty little darlings like you, you know. Forty little thieves and whores and cutthroats and…"
"Sharon's none of those things," Vickie said. "She isn't."
"She's a convicted felon," Miss Thornton said. "She's a stinking ex-con, and she's damn lucky I spoke up for her. Otherwise, she'd have done her full three years."
"You spoke up for me?" Sharon said.
"How else did you think you got out in minimum time? Without me, and the job I got for you, you'd still be inside."
"I did get time off for good behavior, Miss Thornton."
"You're just a sweet little girl all around," the parole officer said. "Especially with your bare tits poking out that way."
"Was there something you wanted to see me about?" Sharon said.
"I certainly didn't come here just to welcome you home," Miss Thornton said. "I've a few things to say to you, girl." She glanced meaningfully at Vickie. "Privately."
Sharon took a deep breath. "Would you mind, Vickie?"
Vickie hesitated a moment, then turned and started for the entrance. "I'll have a pitcher of martinis waiting for you, baby," she said over her shoulder.
"Not for this little thief, you won't," Miss Thornton said, watching the saucy undulation of Vickie's hips beneath the brief white skirt. "The use of intoxicating liquors is a violation of Article Four of the Conditions of Parole."
Vickie said something beneath her breath, and opened the door.
"Look at that," Miss Thornton said, gesturing toward Sharon's pelvis. "The sun shows right through you. I can see…"
"You really don't have to look, you know," Sharon said.
"I really don't have to take the tiniest particle of lip from you either," Miss Thornton said. "We'll talk in my car, out of the sun."
In the car, Sharon sat waiting while the other woman took a tissue from the glove compartment and sponged at her face and the hollow of her throat.
"Hot," Miss Thornton said. "Hottest summer I can remember." She rolled the tissue into a ball and tossed it out the window. "Now," she said. "About this job I got for you."
"Yes?"
"It pays pretty well, considering. A hundred and ten dollars a week." She paused. "Of which you'll keep sixty."
"What?" Sharon said.
"That's half," Miss Thornton said. "You'll bring the other half along with you every Monday, when you report to me."
"A kickback?" Sharon said.
"You might call it that," Miss Thornton said. "It'll be quite a comedown for you, modeling ready-to-wear, won't it?" She smiled. "I understand you used to make fifty dollars an hour, modeling in the nude."
"I did lingerie and hosiery."
"Just another way of selling your body," Miss Thornton said, her eyes roving over Sharon from breasts to knees and back again. "And probably doing a little whoring along with it, too."
Sharon started to say something, then caught herself. She was in a mistress-slave relationship with this woman, and would be for the next two years.
"Too bad you had to get so greedy," Miss Thornton said. "Tell me, Sharon. Whatever possessed you to go in for something as stupid as armed robbery?"
"Nothing possessed me. I never…"
"Oh, but you did. You were driving the getaway car. You waited while your boyfriend went inside and…"
"I didn't know what he was going to do. I had no idea he…"
"Oh, of course not."
"It's true!"
"You were convicted, weren't you? Four witnesses saw him run out of that jewelry shop and get in your car, didn't they? And what about that necklace and bracelet the detectives found in your apartment? They were part of the loot, weren't they?"
"Yes, but…"
"Yes, but nothing. Hell, even your boyfriend swore you…"
"He would have sworn to anything. He knew that if they tried a woman for the same crime, he'd have a better chance. He and his lawyer thought the judge and jury would go easier on him if I was being tried along with him."
"Well, of course. You were willing to share the loot, weren't you? Why shouldn't you share the penalty?"
"And he wasn't my boyfriend, Miss Thornton. I hardly even knew him. He was a friend of a girl I knew."
"He told a different story."
Sharon sighed and turned to look out the window. "What's the point in talking about it?" she said.
"That little platinum friend of yours is a lesbian," Miss Thornton said. "Right?"
"What makes you say that?"
"And so are you."
"Oh?"
"I heard what you were saying after you got out of her car."
"Whether either of us is a lesbian or not is none of your concern, Miss Thornton."
"I just might make it my concern. You rub me the wrong way just once, girl, and you're going to be in for an ugly surprise."
"There's nothing illegal about lesbianism, Miss Thornton."
"Maybe not. But there's plenty illegal about contributing to the delinquency of a minor."
"What's that got to do with it?"
"A lot. You let me catch you fooling around with any little girls, and you'll find out."
Sharon sat looking straight ahead. A very pretty girl was crossing the street, and a sudden gust of wind sent her skirt billowing up about her waist, revealing powder-blue bikini panties with narrow yellow edging. The panties were exactly like the ones she'd bought for Vickie on a whim just a week before she'd been arrested, Sharon remembered. Vickie had been so pleased that she'd worn them, and nothing else, around the apartment all evening. Wonderful little Vickie – as delighted as a child, over something that had cost less than five dollars.
"You have your copy of the Conditions of Parole with you?" Miss Thornton said.
"Yes."
"And we understand each other about your salary at Chumley's?"
"Yes."
"And you do know I can send you back to a cell any time I choose, don't you? I have only to say you've violated one or another of the articles of your parole. It doesn't matter how minor the infraction is. In fact, there doesn't even have to be an infraction. All that's necessary is for me to say there's been one. You understand me, Sharon?"
"Yes."
"Because I don't have to prove a thing. It's my word against yours – and you know which one they'll take. I can arrest you myself, or ask to have you apprehended, and have you back in prison within the hour." She paused. "And there's nothing in the world you can do about it. Absolutely nothing."
"I know," Sharon said.
"Just see you don't forget it," Miss Thornton said, reaching into her handbag. "Here's my card. My home address is on it too, you'll notice. I'll expect you at two o'clock tomorrow afternoon."
"At your home, you mean?"
"I just said as much, didn't I?"
"But why?"
"What's the matter? Don't you like surprises?"
"I just…"
"And make damn sure you're wearing something under your dress for once. I have respectable neighbors, you know." She nodded toward the door on Sharon's side of the car. "That's all for now. I've kept you from your little blond chippy long enough."
Sharon opened the door and started to get out.
"And Sharon," Miss Thornton said, her metallic voice pitched a little lower than it had been.
"Yes?" Sharon said.
"I hear you've been threatening to make trouble. They say you've sworn you're going to get your case reopened." She paused, her green eyes narrowing slightly. "Let me promise you something, Sharon. The first step you make in that direction will be your last. The day you even look like you're going to rock the boat will be the sorriest day of your life."
"I…"
"Shut up! I've listened to enough lying for one day, God knows. Get out of this car."