“I… was a little unfair with you, Marie, but I promise to treat you a bit more kindly,” faltered Marcia, seeing that matters were piling up with serious portent for her.
“A bit more kindly,” mocked Marie. “We’ll see a drastic change made in you, my fine jade. And we’re going to start with fundamental facts. A moment ago, I asked you whether you were a virgin you evaded the question, so I am going to find out for myself. Greg, will you please hold her legs very tight, because she may be somewhat restless, never having had her maid work on her proud cunt before!”
“Gladly, Marie,” said Gregory and he redoubled his strong tension on the chiseled, silken sheathed ankles of the haughty debutante, while the naked blonde Marie approached her mistress with a deliberate and anticipatory smile on her pretty red lips.
“Oh! Keep away… don’t you dare touch me!” cried Marcia, beside herself at the fearful threat to her most treasured charms, shamed and horrified at the thought that Gregory would be able to feast his eyes on her degradation.
‘And she drew in her belly, with distraught shudders rippling her flesh, trying to surge to this side and that away from Marie.
But the stooping executioner was much too masterful for her to move her limbs; besides, the rope at wrists and round throat restrained her. Marie extended her right hand slowly, gazing frill into Marcia’s humid, widened eyes.
“No! Marie! I forbid you to! Not before him!” cried the agonized Marcia as her dilates eyes, lowered to watch the approaching hand of her maid, saw the dainty fingers near her panties.
Marie paused and, with a smile, replied, “Then perhaps you would prefer Greg to determine your cunt’s state of health?”
“No! No! Oh, you wicked girl, how can you say such things to me!”
“Greg, I’ll hold her legs while you furrow in-side her pants and see whether there’s anything to block a good cock from doing its duty,” said Marie, feigning anger.
Marcia was wild with horror and shame; with contorted features and writhing body, she cried aloud, stridently, “Ohhh! No, no, Marie… I… I’ll let you don’t have him Oh, please, please!”
Marie seemed to ponder and Marcia’s agonized features appealed to her piteously, with tremulous lips, wild, fear-dilated eyes and throbbing nostrils.
“All right, then, Marcia, but if you dare insult me just once more, I’ll turn you over to Greg,” she threatened and then added, “Now hold still while I take stock of your pussy.”
Marcia’s face was furious with crimson shame and she could hardly restrain the tears of chagrin that brimmed her dilated, liquid brown eyes.
The dainty fingers neared-grazed the forefront of the coquettish panties; and Marcia groaned, her head rising, her eyes closed, tense and trembling.
“How amiable of you to wear panties with a slit in front; that makes it so much easier to get at your cunt,” said Marie and with deft fingers she parted the slight flap of the orange silk sheath and introduced a questing forefinger inside the slit in the material.
“Ohhhhhhh!” An anguished groan of shame emerged from Marcia’s panting lips; she drew in her belly, flattened herself against the wall, trembling spasmodically; for the first time in her proud, selfish life, her coyly and affectedly guarded quimtemple was vulnerable to the attainment of a rude hand!
But Marie was in no hurry, for she intensely enjoyed the delicious spasms of Marcia’s body, which she felt against her finger; she gloried in the thrill of making her hateful mistress linger in suspense before Marcia at last felt the dregs of shame in this carnal test and she prolonged the hesitation of her fingertip just inside the slit in the panties.
Then, turning her gaze on Greg, who watched her as he stooped and pinioned Marcia’s delectable ankles with harsh hands, she said, “You’ve no idea what a forest of pussy hair she’s got there, darling! We’ll have to give her a haircut and shave between her legs, or the boys won’t be able to find the furrow for the cornsilk that grows over it!”
“I beg you, Marie, don’t shame me so,” groaned Marcia, scarlet with agony of spirit, her pride crushed, her assurance reeling under the merciless continuation of the ordeal. “Do… do… what you want… and let me go, oh, my God!”
“What an indecent slut you are, to be sure,” said Marie, laughing merrily.
“First you don’t want me to touch you and now you beg me to finger fuck your maiden cunt! Really, you’re hard to please, but I shall try to give you satisfaction. Now, no more shivers save them for your boy friends, Marcia darling… relax… let your cuntlips open by themselves so I can ram my finger well into your gaping slit!”
“Ohhhh! Please, Marie!” Marcia was trembling, hysterical, almost at the end of her endurance in this degradation of her vaunted arrogance.
At last Marie, after wrapping her forefinger in the down-soft tendrils of Marcia’s hidden quimfoliage, probed… deeper.
“Ahhhh! Oh, oh, my God!” cried Marcia, biting her lips in the abyss of her terrible shame.
For Marie’s suave fingertip had brushed aside the raven down of her, quim and now glided slowly around the surface,of the cunnylips, so prized, so haughtily cherished, hitherto so inviolate and denied to the yearning of honest male desire! “You should bathe yourself there more often, Marcia,” observed Marie, continuing the deliberate and maddeningly shameful and lubricious rimming of her mistress’s quimmouth, “it’s soft, yes, but not so soft as I had imagined a rich debutante’s pussy would be. Well, a few hours 8pent in getting your yawning slit licked by your customers tongues should work wonders! Though a little soap and water now and then wouldn’t hurt either!”
“Marie… oh… my God… Marie… stop… please… pity… don’t speak so… and before him… oh… I shall die of shame…“ groaned the broken beauty, trembling, cringing against the wall, praying that some miracle should rescue her from this pitiless fate.
But there was to be no miracle for her… save in her transfiguration into a woman, where she had been a demi-vierge, sterile and fruitless! “Will you hold still and keep your belly from jerking around; there’s time enough to do that when you’ve got a stiff cock inside your hole instead of my soft finger… tell me, Marcia, have you ever masturbated?”
Marie’s sweet voice contrasted provocatively with her carnal and voluptuous choice of verbiage and the result was a sensual dominance over her mistress which would never have been conceived of by the haughty Marcia in the security of her own lavish apartment.
Women are sisters under the skin, no matter what degrees of veneer and culture garnish that skin!
And now, to Marcia’s utter consternation, Marie’s fingertip retreated from the petal-surfaces of the cuntmouth and attacked the entry gate of girlish fulfillment itself, parting the pouting snatchlips, Marie’s pretty finger inserted itself and slowly began to delve… inward.
Marcia’s lips moved, forming incoherent words, pleas, her eyes were widened, repulsed; beads of sweat broke out on her ivory forehead and her ankles jerked against Gregory’s pinioning hands in reflexes of utter, piteous excitement.
Marie’s eyes were fixed on Marcia’s face. It was an alluring tableau, this scene of the naked blond, in her sheer stockings and pretty open toed sandals, her left hand poised indolently on her enchanting, rounded, milky hip-in deliberate simulation of Marcia’s haughty pose when in the lime light of society-the other hand applied against the flamboyant orange silk panties of her mistress, the fingers being hidden from sight And the naked Gregory holding fast to the silken ankles of the debutante completed that sensual tableau!
A tableau in which little action but much effective psychological achievement had taken place!
Marcia held her breath, her face livid with despairing shame.
And then, suddenly, she cried out, throwing back her head until the rope’s tightening noose made her gasp, “Ahhhh! Oh… oh… it hurts… Marie, stop!
Stop!”
“She’s still got her cherry, Greg darling,” said Marie, smiling in triumph, “and that five hundred is safe. Now we can dress her and get her ready for losing her maidenhead.. Hold her still; I’ll go get her clothes.”
And she left Marcia, trembling, blushing, groaning, tense with dread of what would next occur-an emotional state desired from the start by these two intrepid lovers who planned so well their vengeance on the heartless debutante!
Marie returned from, the bedroom, whence she had procured, from the closet at the corner of, the room, the articles of apparel which Marcia was to wear in receiving her first lover, who had paid a high price to sacrifice her maidenhead to lust!
And the lovely maid placed the articles at Marcia’s feet, so that the terrified beauty might behold the depths of sensual depravity to which she was destined to sink! “Now, then, Marcia, I give you your choice. Either you’ll put these clothes on yourself and Gregory will leave the room-for the moment, at any rate-or we’ll both strip you naked and force them on you! Give me your answer at once!” ordered the beautiful blond.
Marcia hesitated. To accept these garments was, in a sense, to accept the harlot’s fate in store for her; but, on the other hand, clothing would give her a security through her dazzling beauty whereby she might hope to beguile the unknown man who had paid to possess her to yielding his claim to honor and saving her; she had failed to win Gregory’s intervention on her behalf-but alone, seductive, promising, tantalizing, she might win out over the male Marie had bargained with, surely it would be a better chance.
So, controlling her fury and shame, forcing herself to seem submissive, she murmured meekly, “I’ll… I’ll… do what you want only have Greg leave… I couldn’t bear the shame to have him see me…”
“Untie her, then, Greg darling and go into the bedroom-but be ready to come in a hurry in case Marcia tries any tricks,” said Marie.
Gregory rose, unfastened the ropes which bound Marcia’s wrists and fettered her pulsing throat and then, bowing to the debutante, said mockingly, “I look forward to viewing you in your professional attire, my dear,” and went into the bedroom, where he calmly clambered on the bed and lit a cigarette, awaiting and anticipating his summons by his beautiful blond mistress.’
Marie had no fear of Marcia’s reprisals; she had played her part of docility well, but now that the situations were reversed and she was the mistress instead of the slave, she felt herself capable of compelling Marcia to obey, the more so as her formidable ally remained within earshot.
Marcia tottered, for the strain of her position had been acute and the moral shock even more devastating. She perceived Marie’s cold gaze and realized that her submissive maid was in no mood for relenting; choking back the flood of torrential anger that seethed within her, she waited, feigning submission.
But Marie was not duped; well she knew what Marcia hoped to gain by this pretense of obedience. But she and Gregory had planned toe well to admit of failure and Marcia, though unaware of what was in store for her, was to taste, nuance by nuance, the downward-compelling dregs of bitterest woe.
“Throw off that torn gown, it’s no use to you now,” ordered Marie, planting her hands on her hips and regarding Marcia insolently and with dominating assurance.