Afterward, a long time afterward, they had a snack in the kitchen and discussed the movie possibilities. Joan seemed none too keen on going out at all, though, and Elspeth became a mite exasperated with her. And a mite caustic, too. Until, after much sound and fury, Joan was finally persuaded to give in – but even then she managed to make some sort of bargain out of it.
"All right, I'll go to the movies with you. I'll go if you'll promise to do something for me. Oh, you'll think it's silly, Elspeth, but I've just got to say it. Please let's not make love on the sofa anymore."
"Huh? Why not?"
"It upsets me. Reminds me of someone. I-I used to go with a girl who sat and watched TV like that."
"I'll be damned! You mean she watched TV while…"
"Don't ask me about it. Please? Or about anything else like that – I mean sex questions about myself – it just gets me embarrassed. I wish you wouldn't tease me about the panties in the morning, either. That embarrasses me, too." Then, abruptly, "There, darling, I've spoken my piece and I do hope you'll understand. Now let's go to the movies, huh?"
They went out to see a double-feature bill at one of the neighborhood theaters. The second picture was a dubbed-in historical Italian thing, rather badly done, and it soon became obvious that Joan was getting restless. But the theme had to do, with high life in ancient Rome and Elspeth found it quite intriguing. Especially the scenes that depicted a wealthy patrician lady surrounded by her retinue of slave girls.
"This is awful," Joan whispered with a grimace. "And I doubt if it's going to get any better. Let's go. We can have more fun at home, I'm sure."
"Wait a little. I want to see – some more."
Joan shrugged in mute resignation, apparently sulking. Then, a moment later, her hand wandered beneath the trench coat lying folded across Elspeth's lap. Like methodical inchworms, the cunning fingers began their journey. Elspeth concentrated on the screen impassively, but her body kept slipping down and forward in the seat, her steepled knees parting wider and yielding to the artful invasion. The emboldened fingertips were quick to seize the opportunity, marching up the sensitive inner surfaces of her thighs as though an open invitation had been offered…
Soon however they dared too much. "Slow down," Elspeth muttered. "How can I watch the show when you're doing that?"
"Some show. A stinkeroo. Let's go home."
"Not yet." "Well, in that case…"
The hand started moving again and Elspeth snapped her legs shut on it. Just short of the crotch of her panties. Trapped. So near and yet so far! And sitting there like that with one hand locked in a kind of sex-oriented limbo, Joan fidgeted a little but suffered like a meek martyr through the rest of the film – while Elspeth just minded the trap-lock and went on watching the lowly slave girls cavorting around with their aristocratic Roman mistress…
CHAPTER FIVE
The maid entered in careful silence, gliding over the floor with no more than a faint whisper of motion. Gracefully supine upon the bed lay the sleeping figure of her mistress, nude but for the partial cover of a silken sheet. Dark hair lustrously a swirl across her pillow, Margalo Fitch looked impressive even in slumber – truly a magnificent creature! – and Kate just stood there drinking in the sight for a long moment. Then, with a sharp sense of anticipation, she leaned down and slid the corner of the bed sheet away to reveal all of the beautiful bare legs.
There was little indication of movement, only the evenly spaced rise and fall of breath. Kate began her rite, sinking to a crouch and embracing the slender ankles in a gradually tightening hug. She swayed back and forth with the limp-arched feet clasped to her bosom, shaking sleep slowly but inevitably from the unconscious form. Until at last a sigh sounded from above, a soft murmur of awakening, and she dropped her head to end the swaying embrace with a kiss. Almost playfully, her tongue darted out to lick the curved sole of one foot.
"Mmm? Kate?"
"It's me, ma'am. You said to wake you up."
"Oh. Is it that time? But I shouldn't complain, I did have a nice nap. And you woke me so nicely, too. Only please don't stop, dear, just keep on… ummm… you do it so well…"
Kate smiled and stretched her row of kisses to include the wriggling lacquer-tipped toes. Her mistress was awake now – and sexually awakened in the bargain, no doubt, already subject to the spell of this curiously potent caress. It was something Miss Margalo really doted on, the foot kiss. Not that Kate didn't enjoy it herself, of course, but her own mind was always one step ahead, always more interested in what the wake-up rite might lead to. Early in their relationship she had learned that the way to her employer's cunt was through her feet.
But this, too, was a source of pleasure, certainly, and Kate kissed with eager skill. Again the toes wriggled, peremptorily now, and she opened her mouth wide to suck them in. Immediately the wriggle became a tremor of joy that rippled up and away into voluptuously responsive flesh. Craning her neck as she went on munching the mouthful of bare toes, Kate peered high to see the dark-thatched vaginal lips, the dark-nippled breasts, the dark-eyed expression of rapturous lust. She was more than ready when the expected command came.
"My cunt now… suck my cunt…"
Moving out of her crouch, Kate licked up the inner surface of one thigh hurriedly, maintaining contact with her tongue but aware of the need for haste. The scent caught her nostrils; she breathed deeply and drew it into her lungs, the overwhelming but indescribable smell of woman. And then she was there, right there, and her mouth traveled up and down between the lips of the passion-slick slit before coming to rest on the clitoris. She dug into it with the tip of her stiffened tongue, digging in from below to penetrate the soft protective hood and exert direct pressure on the tiny bud itself, giving it the full benefit of her experience, her knowledge of lesbian love. The gasp that reached her ears came as no surprise, and yet somehow the noise carried her to a new level of excitement; she abandoned her skillful pursuit temporarily to burrow back into the depths and lose herself in sudden frenzy. This was the part she liked best, rubbing her face in it, burying her nose and mouth in the essence of cunt. Sometimes she even wished the mistress would grab her head and shove it in harder, deeper – just use her like that. Use her face for a good hot cunt-rub! But of course Miss Margalo would never do anything like that, never anything rough or possibly painful…
After a while Kate came out of her little spasm of selfishness to pick up where she had left off, resuming the task of pleasuring her dear mistress. It didn't take long. The clit-button was up and vulnerable now; a few strokes of her tongue brought on the moaning and twitching, all the familiar signs of orgasm. Miss Margalo lurched once, a lurch of finality, and then Kate eased off but remained there between her quivering thighs, lapping gently to bring her down after the climax.
"Kate dear…"
"Ma'am? Was it all right?"
"Delicious. Light me a cigarette now, will you? And then sit down and let's talk awhile before Inez Bellamy gets here. About young Hildegarde, I mean, since this will be your first real session with her. She's quite pretty, isn't she?"
"Very pretty, if you like that type," Kate fulfilled her cigarette mission and pulled a chair in close. "Cute little redhead, I guess you could call her."
"Did you happen to notice her eyes? Almond-shaped. They looked almost oriental. Or was that just my imagination?"
"More like doe eyes, I thought. Kind of velvety brown. But she's still just a kid – and I don't like kids."