It was morning before the voluptuous young blonde finally came to again on the rumpled bed. Her long-lashed blue eyes fluttered open and fought the early morning twilight that permeated the heavy stale air of the well-furnished and beautifully decorated bedroom. She stretched lazily, like a cat, her curvaceously proportioned body swaying in all of its sultry contours. Strange odors wafted through her nostrils, causing her brow to wrinkle slightly as though deep in concentrated retrospection.
Her tongue circled on the outskirts of her glossy pink lips, testing the slight pungency of the encrustations that she found on them.
Her pretty, winsomely innocent eyes adjusted quizzically to the dimness, and she looked down at her body, reflecting on the curious position she had been sleeping in. Someone had changed her into a pink negligee, which was bunched up almost around her neck, the high twin rose-capped peaks of her proud young breasts jutted upward between her eyes and the rest of her body. Her legs were spread wide apart as though in invitation, and the muscles of those legs felt very sore and overworked indeed. She brought them together with some effort and experienced small twinges of pain in her vagina. Her entire body felt dreadfully used and exhausted. That was the only term she could think of to accurately describe how she felt.
And then she remembered. The dream! The most curious dream she had had about Handsome, and the Carters, and – what was it? She couldn't remember the rest of the dream, but then dreams were rarely remembered totally. And anyway the dull ache in her throbbing little cunt was sufficient to distract her from any deep thought.
Ellen smoothed her hands carefully up to her breasts, touching them gently in guarded exploration. Oooooh, they were tender. Her fingers explored further, coursing their way down over her tautly rounded belly to her still open legs. Then she groaned as she tenderly touched the slight bruises lining the moist pink lips of her pussy. Her outstretched middle finger probed gently at the sensitive opening, becoming moist from the sticky white liquid that was still flowing viscously from the recently deflowered aperture. The split of her buttocks felt damp with it as well.
Her thoughts rambled in myriad confusion she brushed her bright blonde hair from around her eyes and heaving breasts to let it fall in a soft golden mass around her back and shoulders. What a terrible dream she'd had, with Handsome and Mr. Carter and Dominique – their shadowy forms flitted sensuously through her teenage memory. It had all seemed so real.
But if it had all been a dream, where did this warm wet pool between her legs come from? Had she been playing with herself again, despite her best intentions? Had her own fingers produced this sticky liquid?
It had to be! There could be no other explanation.
But how shameful, she thought, blushing. Her licentious dream had proven that she was not the prude she had fancied herself. She had wantonly satisfied herself with her own probing fingers.
Ellen's thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knocking at the door.
Dominique's sophisticated voice came softly from the other side, "Oh, Ellen, dear. It's time to wake up."
For some unknown reason that lilting tone of Dominique's made Ellen shiver all over like a startled sparrow. She reflected on this strange reaction, than realized again what a terrible state she was in. Oh my, she thought, stumbling to her feet, I mustn't let her see me like this.
I've got cum all over my loins and legs. "In a minute, Dominique. I'm just getting up."
"That's all right, dear," came the reply. "Take your time. Breakfast will be ready when you are."
Ellen sighed with relief and covered her suddenly tingling breasts with her hands. She would have a chance to clean up, then. She looked back at the rumpled bed, her eyes resting thoughtfully on the large wet round spot where her buttocks had nestled. Well, she thought, I really masturbated to beat the band. I should be ashamed of myself – yet somehow I'm not. There's not much point in feeling guilty about something I can't control.
And then she noticed the loose dog hairs in various part of the bed.
She picked up one of them and looked at it curiously, her eyes narrowing with puzzlement. Had Handsome gotten up on the bed some time during the night?
But one of the hairs was a lighter color – almost gray – lighter than Handsome's fur. It was very puzzling. She shrugged and went into the bathroom to start up the shower.
The warm spray felt good cascading down over her voluptuous young body.
She washed immaculately the insides of her thighs and buttocks, vaguely reluctant to wash away the white crust from her matted pussy hair. As her fingers moved up and down cleansingly within the warmth of her narrow sexual furrow, the vision she had had of Handsome in her dream returned most strongly.
She visualized the big German shepherd's snout pushed down between her hairless young thighs, his enormous tongue lapping thirstily at the flooded outskirts of her burning young pussy, her pink vaginal folds being drawn up hotly within his mouth by his sharply adhesive tongue, then returned. Her middle finger idly duplicated the vision of that lashing tongue, batting around her tingling little clitoris until she began to tremble with joy. It was all she could do to find the strength to rip her finger out of that clinging pleasure-drugged orifice.
As she staggered gasping from the shower, feelings of guilt and shame well-nigh overwhelmed her. Since that dreadful dream, she couldn't seem to keep her fingers out of herself for a single instant.
"I must get control of myself," she muttered. One obscene dream and I can't seem to stop masturbating. What's coming over me?
She sat before the vanity mirror naked, combing out her long silken blonde hair, which seemed to have an unusual number of tangles this morning. Still, she liked the way it swept around her waist, belly and over her proudly uplifted breasts when she let it. Something like Lady Godiva in the history books! Her father had never allowed her to have it cut when he was alive, and it was her pride and glory. She couldn't think of another girl in school who had such long beautiful hair. It went all the way down to her slender waspish waist.
She also liked the high set of her lushly ripening breasts and their warm feeling of soft resiliency. She scratched the bristles of the hairbrush across them until her nipples came up flushing and goosebumped, fully erect and tingling. Then she rolled them between thumbs and index fingers. She watched herself in the mirror and smiled in satisfaction with her own body.
But what had come over her since yesterday? Could it be that she was merely growing up? There was a faintly lascivious, pleasant feeling in her still-tingling loins which seemed to wash up easily into her belly, buttocks and breasts. She felt relaxed enough to go right back to bed and sleep for a week. She couldn't stop humming to herself, either, and that was another indication of how generally nice she felt.
She smiled to herself and got up, watching her sensually quivering mounds jiggle in the mirror as she moved. She couldn't think of when she had been more pleased with herself. She felt as if she had been loved to death.
On impulse she decided not to wear a brassiere, but merely threw on a fuzzy pink wool sweater with buttons down the front which she allowed to "vee" open provocatively. Then she put on some white cotton panties and the only pair of jeans she had brought with her.
She looked at herself in the mirror continuously, quite pleased with what she saw. All that wealth of long blonde hair, firmly up-thrust breasts outlined clingingly in that snug pink sweater, tight Levi's that showed off her smoothly rounded ass-cheeks to best advantage. She giggled silly to herself and stepped into a pair of loafers. Then she opened the door to the library.
As her eyes swept the bookshelves, couches, drapes, and Persian carpeting, it seemed to her that there was something sensuous about the room. She wondered why she had never looked upon it in this way before.
There were subtle associations having something to do with what she had dreamed last night that struggled to free themselves from the cobwebs of her muddled brain.
But somehow the solution just wouldn't come. She was drawn to the room in a way that made her warmly pulsating loins feel vibrant and alive as she tried to remember, but nothing in her memory bank seemed to focus properly.
Then she looked back at her bedroom and the huge, circular bed she had been sleeping on. There was something about that bed tickling at her memory, yet nothing seemed to materialize very clearly. And why hadn't she been put in one of the big bedrooms upstairs? Strange how she had never noticed this bedroom off the living room before.
The thirteen year old girl shrugged and moved thoughtfully to the big doors leading from the library to the entrance hall. Opening them carefully, not quite sure of what to expect, she stepped up into the hall. She could hear some commotion coming from the direction of the kitchen and turned sharply to the left towards it.
"Ah, here she is now, the little darling," Dominique beamed at her as she descended the steps into the breakfast room a few moments later, and this made Ellen feel wonderful and well-loved.
And then she noticed the other two visitors to the Carter household – a leering fat man with a big cigar in his mouth, and a powerful, shaggy "white" German shepherd, his coat thick with gray hairs. This other dog sat up on his haunches and began whining plaintively the second he saw her, his large pink penis coming slithering out of its fur sleek container, a spot of ooze appearing on its tip.
"Easy, Lucifer," grinned the fat man, restraining the animal on a heavy chain leash. "We'll get pretty to do some more for you. But let's have some breakfast first. Don't be so greedy, you silly satyr, you!" And then he laughed uproariously.
Ellen blushed winsomely and her thirteen year old mind struggled to comprehend. What on earth could the fat man be referring to?
She looked around the breakfast nook and at the windows showing what a lovely day it was outside, with birds singing and all of the streets in bloom, the buds fairly bursting on the trees. It was a beautiful spring day to come alive. The kitchen nook itself was decorated most tastefully in orange shades, with patterned curtains and wallpaper filled with flowers and birds. The furniture, from Welsh dresser to dining table, was all natural pine and very cheery. The scent of fresh bacon and coffee filled the air, and beyond them, in the outsized kitchen, could be heard whirring busily a built-in extractor fan above the built-in ranges.
"Sit down, Ellen," smiled Maxwell Carter lazily, and he patted a place beside himself on the pinewood bench. He was munching a toasted bagel with butter on it and looked very elegant in a violet robe with matching paisley silk handkerchief in the upper pocket, and a white shirt with collar spread open at the throat to reveal the splendid contours of his muscular upper chest.
But she noticed also – to her bewilderment – that the bottom center of his dressing gown was also open, and that his massively throbbing penis was sticking out hard and high from it like the leaning tower of Pisa. Ellen gasped and put her hand up to her throat, taking an involuntary step backward. Her eyes met those of Handsome, who was lying lazily on his stomach and legs at one end of the table, his eyes looking very tired and sleepy – or drugged with sensuality.
And in that terrible moment of recognition, the young girl remembered.