That very same morning, Robin Young was a lovely young college freshman in the full bloom of her youthful virginity when she came to Pickford's Meadows to visit her cousin Priscilla Devereaux for her summer break. Actually, she had come to visit her Uncle James Devereaux, for she adored the strong and confident man with the sense of humor that kept her in stitches through the whole time when she came to see him, but the excuse was to spend time with her rowdy cousin.
Priscilla, if the truth were told, never ceased to rub Robin the wrong way. The younger girl found her selfish, abrasive, malicious, and, from what she had gathered, promiscuous. In private, Priscilla's speech never ascended to anything above parties, sex, and her obsession with the married man, Mark Denning, now irrevocably united with the lovely young woman DesirЋe, nee Mitchell. Frankly, Robin had heard enough of Priscilla's hatred for DesirЋe, whom Robin liked and admired, having seen the beautiful, blonde piano teacher sing in church and having talked amiably with her on many occasions. Though only a few years younger than DesirЋe, Robin had found herself hoping to emulate her in many ways.
Like DesirЋe, Robin was a girl without guile or ill-will for anyone. Though she felt she lacked the musical talent to equal DesirЋe's, she had taken up a voice class and a violin class at the university, and she was definitely opposed to living off her parent's wealth, indolently, in the way Priscilla seemed quite happy to do. Robin was studying to be a doctor.
She was a lovely girl, with thick, straight, silky brown hair that just brushed the tops of her shoulders, flowing like liquid chocolate, the way the elegant lines of her dancer's body flowed from one perfect feature to the next, from the full but not-too-heavy, wide-based, cone-shaped breasts, to her tiny, supple waist and hard, flat belly, to her gently-curved, girlish, dancer's hips running into long, perfect, slender legs.
Yes, she was a lovely girl, innocent in the way most girls were until corrupted by an overwhelming love for some animalistic man. She had never had a real boyfriend and even the few chaste kisses she had had were few, dry, and far between. Watching DesirЋe, from over a year before, when she had still been in high school, she had formulated a tentative plan for her life, that was, physical and mental fitness and moral rectitude, like her uncle seemed to lean toward and which Priscilla seemed to have rejected.
Hearing Priscilla talk about men and sex was often more than faintly nauseating to Robin, who had always been fairly regular at church and straight about her love life. Yes, too straight sometimes, she admitted to herself when she thought of the feminine instincts growing daily in her healthy loins. To dampen those impulses she had thrown herself with ever more energy into her studies.
Her Uncle James Devereaux met her at the door when the middle-aged driver who had met her at the airport dropped her on the wide veranda of the mansion.
"It's so good to see you, Uncle Jim," she cried, throwing her arms around his strong neck and feeling the rasp of his afternoon shadow of beard on her tender cheek. His was a comforting avuncular embrace, the feel of his body, in spite of his wealth hardened by his activities on his ranch, pressing his strong, paunchy belly against her own lean form. Their kiss of greeting, always before just a brief peck, lingered a trifle longer than was comfortable for her and then broke. Robin peeled her arms away from her favorite uncle's shoulders, and stepped back.
"It's good to see you, Robin," he said, leading her inside. "Hope you enjoy the summer. But it looks like you're getting a bit too big for kid's games." His creased, blue eyes devoured her fresh, new sexual maturity for just a moment before turning away.
"Oh, I'll be fine, Uncle Jim. Do you know if DesirЋe Mitchell is still giving piano lessons? I'd like to study some with her again this summer."
"I can't tell you about the piano lessons," he said, leading her toward the guestroom, "but her name isn't Mitchell anymore. She got married a month or so ago."
Robin stopped. "DesirЋe married? I don't believe it!"
"It's true, Robin, but she's still around and I'm sure she'll be happy to give you lessons. You and she were always close friends, not so?"
Robin nodded. DesirЋe, though only a few years older than she, was Robin's idol, her quintessential ideal of feminine perfection. Though it was unlikely that Robin's singing voice could ever equal DesirЋe's in natural talent, she did hope to rival her one day in piano. Robin also played the violin and harp. And her lithe body gave her an advantage in dancing that DesirЋe, with her heavy, round breasts, could not hope to better.
Not that there was a real rivalry between the two girls, for their friendship and mutual affection were above any kind of selfish jealousies.
Robin, still amazed at DesirЋe's marriage, went into her summer quarters, hearing Uncle Jim close the door quietly behind her. The hired hand had already brought in her bags and left them there. She should unpack, but first she would take a shower and wash off the road sweat from her journey.
Jim Devereaux breathed deeply as he closed the door. Last year, Robin had been an insecure high school senior moving into college. This year she was changed, matured into the next stage of womanhood. He wondered if she had any idea how her looks affected men. Her ripening sexuality was like a deadly weapon, with the power to turn a strong man into a whimpering weakling. He wondered what she looked like under those clothes. For years he had resisted the mild impulse to find out, to feast his eyes on the pulchritudinous reality of his brother's daughter's body. But now the temptations were exceeding the bounds of familial propriety. If brother John was stupid enough to send this tender little squab here for the summer, that was his problem. Jim Devereaux knew what women were for and, since the death of Priscilla's mother, had made sure that he kept in practice.
Devereaux found the closet, entered, and slid the section of wall aside, behind a two-way mirror he had installed himself, revealing a view of a bathroom just as the unsuspecting young girl walked into the field of vision. He watched her move with the light and slender grace of a dedicated dancer, seeming to slither sensually out of her skirt and blouse. Devereaux caught his breath at the sight of her body, so nicely matured this last year, so well turned out. He had been watching her the last few years, watching as she gradually ripened into a beauty that had been foretold by her childlike, pouting face that he knew so well, the cupid's bow lips, the dimpled chin, the high, rosy cheeks, and long and graceful neck. Her broad shoulders and tapering back.
Though she needed no bra, she wore one, and the lacy panties covered a plump pubic mound of rich promise. Robin looked in the mirror a moment, brushing some imaginary blemish from her perfect cheek, tossed back the glossy chocolate locks from the oval of her face, and then reached up behind herself and unsnapped the bra, sliding the cups away from the peachy softness of her breasts. The pink aureolae and small nipples drew Devereaux's eyes to them immediately and his mouth watered with desire for a taste of them.
As he stared at her through the mirror, she seemed to be looking directly at him as he stood there in the darkness, ogling her incredible beauty, which rivaled even that of the superb DesirЋe Denning. Devereaux had to restrain himself from knocking down the mirror and climbing through the small aperture through which he was conducting his illicit examination. Her pretty hands brushed down over her belly, over the small and dainty dimple of her navel, and the thumbs hooked under the sheer material of her panties.
Again Devereaux had to restrain himself and found himself unzipping his pants to relieve the pressure of his swelling penis. With burning eyes he watched her draw the elastic waistband down, down, down, until the thick, rich, brown pelt of her pubic hair swelled into view, like a muffin rising in the oven. He could make out the warm crease beneath the puffy labia and he felt he would go blind with arousal when he saw her slender fingers first pat, and then gently rub that warm and enticing pad of moist hair. Closing her eyes, she allowed her middle finger to dip into that warm vaginal slit where it played briefly in a way that caused her lovely tits to rise and fall to a new rhythm. Just for a moment, and then she drew her finger clear, glistening and wet with her secretions.
Turning she went to the toilet and sat down. Grabbing impotently at his crotch, Devereaux watched a pale stream of warm pee flow from her pussy into the bowl, before she picked up a Vogue magazine from the soft bag she had brought with her.
Fifteen minutes later, after daintily wiping herself and flushing the toilet, she stood up and went to the shower. By then, Devereaux was almost beyond insanity.