"Oooh!"
"S'matter?"
"I I'm so hot… "
"Yeah? Glad to hear it."
"Let me suck you. Suck your cunt. Please?"
"Well now… "
"Pretty please with sugar on it?"
"Hah! Guess who used to say that. Ethel. How that slave-bitch could beg! She could talk me into anything. Same as you, baby-love, if you try hard enough. I'm a pushover for sweet-lipped young blondes. In fact, you've already convinced me, you adorable little cuntlapper. Just give me a minute to get organized. And I'll give you all the "
"Vera? What where are you going?"
The bedsprings creaked a wordless reply, audible but hardly explicit, hardly a clue to the sudden flurry of activity. Alison whimpered in her daze of disappointment, aware only that the prize about to be plucked had just been snatched away. Then, somehow, she too was part of the creaking flurry, unceremoniously asprawl in a new position on the bed. Supine now. A strategic and surprisingly logical position, as it turned out, what with the precious prize itself hovering so close, once again within range. Dangling, practically, dangling over her upturned face like some ripe tropical fruit about to split down the middle and spill its juices…
"You see, darling? Just a touch of novelty. All that chatter about poor old Ethel made me recollect my own duties. A good slave-girl rates a good mistress. And a good mistress is always one jump ahead, never in a rut. It's like show business, the charm wears thin with too much repetition. Novelty is its lifeblood. With a little suspense maybe to bring out the flavor. And the only thing better than a good mistress is a good masterful mistress, you hear? So you might pay attention and appreciate this, what I'm doing for you, just for you. Listen now. Cunt is cunt, they say, but don't you believe it! That's man-talk and doesn't the dumb jock realize he's making every appraisal with the same dull tool? Cunt is unique in its truest sense, no two alike, all different. And even the unique cunt changes from hour to hour. To say nothing of the change you're about to discover right now, baby, a change in position. It'll be brand-new this way, a brand-new cunt to suck properly aged, of course, like a good wine or a good steak a brand-new cunt to satisfy that old craving. I'll even serve it to you. Like this. Hey, just look at the service you're getting. See? Service with a smile!"
Alison peered up higher, refocusing her gaze just in time to catch a glimpse of the smiling face. And then it was blocked out by that big creamy body sinking deeper into its lewdly nonchalant squat and she was left with only the earlier vision to focus on. Cunt. It seemed to be smiling, too; from this angle, who could figure out horizontals and verticals?
The cloven flesh settled at last, squirming fluidly to conform to her chin and cheeks and the lips of her gaping mouth. It was a new sensation, sure enough. Brand-new. A brand-new cunt? Alison pondered the phenomenon, trying to recall the substance of her dear teacher's droll harangue. Surely there was a message to be garnered here! But she was already aroused and sucking with unbridled girl-lust, losing herself in the pulsating union of lips cunt-lips, mouth-lips, lesbian lips and the circumstances were scarcely conducive to such philosophical pondering. She understood it all vaguely, anyhow, and there was really no urgent need for further understanding. The physical part, just feeling like this would tide her over…
"Darling! Oh, you do appreciate me!"
That too had some tie-in with the impromptu lecture. Something to do with appreciation; who could remember? And then, quite conveniently, it all dissolved into shadow as she felt the touch of a hand at the crux of her quivering thighs. No fingers, just the palm patting affectionately hardly a sex-inspired gesture. But it was effective, that one light touch, and Alison succumbed deliriously to a prodigious climax and might have blacked out altogether except for the terrible, wonderful burden squashing her face and forcing a certain recognition of the potential power wielded by a good masterful mistress. Or was that merely the intended message? Masterful?
Chapter 10
Delivered by the maid, it had sounded like a royal summons from the mistress. Judy scurried through the hall, wondering what was so all-fired important. The door was ajar; she knocked lightly and entered, pushing it shut behind her with a fleeting shudder of excitement at this sudden unexpected intimacy. Eyes popping, she stood there and stared.
In a filmy black negligee, Vera Carlisle lounged against the tufted headboard of her bed. Long and lustrous, the tumble of her hair was like a richly resplendent auburn mantle around her shoulders. Indolently supine loose-limbed and lax upon the satin coverlet she looked simply gorgeous. And the negligee could only confirm that opinion, sheer enough to leave little to the imagination. It was her sole garment apparently, except for a suspicion of extra darkness about her loins, possibly a pair of bikini-styled panties. Nothing detracted from the impression of remarkable ripeness; every jutting crest and curving slope of her body appeared to have attained a maturity of its own, adding up to an awesome maturity-plus for the entire picture. Like a hothouse bloom at peak growth, already heavy enough to show a hint of droop. Only how could any plant, no matter how exotic, achieve comparison with this spectacular species of sensuous human female?
Obviously affected by such admiration, Vera smiled slowly and seemed to preen herself anew for the occasion. Her flesh rippled in response, basking in the warmth of so flattering an appraisal. Languidly, she lifted one leg and pointed it toward the nearby chair, her bare foot arched, the lacquered toenails shining like directional signals.
"Sit down, my dear."
"Uh-huh. Thanks." Judy sank into the seat, striving for a calmly casual air. "Something on your mind?"
"Something. Or somebody, rather, somebody I read about in an old newspaper in the town library. A girl. A girl whose description fits you exactly. A girl named Genevieve Eichelberger."
"Oh… "
"Sound familiar maybe?"
"Yeah. Familiar." Judy tried to stem her rising panic. "You don't have to play games. We both know the score."
"You're not denying it's you? From the reformatory?"
"How could I deny it? You'd only check up and find out the truth anyway, I guess. Sure, it's me. So what?"
"Good question. So what? That's what we'd better figure out right now. The newspaper story said you had been a model inmate at Wicklow, under minimum security that was the reason for your easy escape. If that's so, why did you run?"
"They only told half the story, Vera. Good behavior was my best bet because I was supposed to get out soon, less than a year. But then my stepfather landed up in a charity alcoholic ward and that left me without a home to go to; he's my only living relative. It meant being stuck there a lot longer till age 18, at least unless they could find me a foster home. Maybe even age 21, that was the awful rumor over the grapevine and not much chance of a foster home, either. Tough shit, huh? So there I was no hope left, all that good behavior wasted and even with minimum security, that place is no picnic. So I just broke out, that's all. But don't worry, I'm no criminal, you won't have to count the silverware when I leave."
"Don't get snotty. And what makes you think you're leaving?"
"Oh? What am I, a prisoner here?"
"Not exactly. Let's just say you're an alien. An alien on probation. Until I decide what to do with you. And meanwhile, you're quite safe here. I'm sure you appreciate having such a fine hideout, my dear. It's better than being on the run, isn't it?"
"Of course. That goes without saying. But if it's a question of going on the run again, I sure as hell will."
"I think not. Because I won't let you. Oh, I'm not keeping you against your will. You can leave anytime you care to. But it would make me angry if you did. Angry enough to do something we'd both be sorry for." Vera's shrug was painfully expressive. "How simple it would be for me to drop a hint to the police, hmm?"