Wilma returned her gaze calmly from cat-eyes. Half-closed now, Wilma’s eyes always struck people. They were dark green, unfathomable, slanted in a manner associated with ebony-haired Eurasian women. But Wilma wasn’t Eurasian, and her hair wasn’t black. It was copper red and she wore it loose and reaching almost to her waist. She was a tall girl -- two or three inches taller than Glory— and quite slender, without being bony.
Now, looking at Glory’s nudity, Wilma’s emotions were anything but mixed. She knew exactly how she felt about Glory. She hated her guts. But Wilma also knew that this wouldn’t stop her from making love to Glory.
Wilma had always hated Glory. For so many reasons. From the very first, for so many, many reasons. Because Glory was rich and she, Wilma, was poor. Because Glory had grown up in big-city luxury, and she had been raised in farmyard stable dirt. Because Glory had known innocence -- and, in spite of everything, possessed it still—while she had been suckled on the twin teats of Sin and Shame and counted corruption the hallmark of her future. But these were only the vague reasons of envy, and tonight Wilma hated Glory for a different reason, a very special reason, a reason which gave her hatred focus and impetus, making of it a cold, hard flame.
Still, nothing of what Wilma felt showed as she crossed the room to Glory. As always, Glory couldn’t help admiring the way the red-haired girl moved. Wilma didn’t walk, she glided, a fluid motion, a natural grace which, along with her eyes, increased the impression of her being somehow feline. It was remarkable in so tall a girl; both her size and the mannish clothes she affected might easily have made her movements awkward.
She began to undress. With no trace of modesty, she unbuttoned the crisply starched man’s shirt she was wearing and stripped off the neatly creased, tailored slacks. She stood before Glory in her bra and panties.
Glory felt her heart beating faster as she watched. Aware that Glory was reacting, Wilma turned away to take off her bra. When she turned back, her long red hair was arranged so that her breasts were peeping provocatively through the strands covering them. Glory caught her breath audibly and Wilma smiled, satisfied. Undulating her hips deliberately, she worked her panties down over them, turning teasingly and finally giving a bump and closing her long legs so that the lacy undergarment fell to the floor. She stepped out of them and stood in front of Glory, swaying.
“Oh, you do excite me!” It was half a moan from Glory and there was reluctance mixed with the desire in her voice. “That’s my intention.” Wilma stood where she was, but her body began moving—first one buttock rippling as though with a will of its own, then a breast describing a small, spasmodic circle, finally her hips bouncing slowly and the muscles of her inner thighs tensing and relaxing rhythmically.
G1ory’s tongue darted to moisten her lips. Her eyes stayed riveted to Wilma. “Good Lord! The things you can do with your body!” she said almost reverently. “That’s what being in burlesque teaches a girl.” Wilma paused. Then, slowly, one of her breasts began to rotate again. It moved faster and faster, describing larger and larger circles, sweeping aside the red tresses which had been half-concealing it.
“You could have been a star.”
“No I couldn’t.”
“But why not?”
“I don’t have the build. No hips and my breasts are too small.”
It was true. Wilma’s breasts were high, uptilted and beautifully shaped, but they were small. Her hips didn’t flare as Glory’s did; they were smooth and only slightly curved out from her narrow waist. Her legs were long and smoothly tapered, giving her the appearance more of an athlete than of the kind of overdeveloped exotic found in burlesque. Yet there was that about Wilma which made people look at her. The women looked admiringly, envying her a figure which wouldn’t have been out of place in the pages of Vogue. And the men looked covetously, attracted by an aura of sex which blinded them to the conventionally voluptuous qualities Wilma lacked. Not sexy by the usual standards, sex nevertheless was Wilma’s stock-in-trade.
She gauged Glory’s mood shrewdly now and let her movements slow to a halt. “Come to bed, baby,” she said softly.
Glory started for the bed. Then, “Oh, look what I forgot,” she said, glancing down at the garter belt around her hips.
“Very sexy,” Wilma said.
“Thanks. But it’ll get in the way. I’ll take it off.” She reached behind her for the hook.‘
“Wait! Let me do it for you.” Wilma crossed over to Glory and sank gracefully to her knees in front of the blonde girl. She reached behind Glory and purposely fumbled at the garter belt, her long, slender fingers kneading the plump flesh of the girl’s derriere. When she’d loosened the clasp, she allowed her lips to travel in a series of light kisses over Glory’s thighs. The younger gir1’s flesh quivered in response and she arched her hips.
Wilma stood up and put her arms around Glory. “Come to bed now, baby,” she whispered. Her lips brushed Glory’s ear and then she kissed her full on the mouth, felt the lips grow warm and part beneath the insistent probing of her tongue. She closed her sharp little teeth suddenly, smiling inwardly at the little cry of mingled pleasure and pain with which Glory pulled away from her.
Glory’s breasts jiggled provocatively as she half-ran to the bed and threw herself on it. Lying there face up, she began moving her body, as though to urge Wilma to hurry and join her. Deliberately, Wilma took her time.
Finally she stood over the bed looking down at Glory. The blonde squirmed under the open lust of Wilma’s gaze. Wilma licked her lips insinuatingly. “Oh, do hurry! Please!” Glory said, really writhing in her eagerness now.
Wilma stretched out beside her on the bed and kissed her again. Her hand closed over Glory’s breast, massaging the tip with the palm of her hand. She felt it tremble and grow larger and harder. She caught it between two fingers and manipulated it, tickling it with one long fingernail.
To Glory the sensation was exquisite. She felt the warmth spread from her breasts and grow until her whole body felt like it was on fire. She slid her hand eagerly down Wilma’s flat stomach until she felt Wilm'a’s thighs part to her touch. Then, unable to control herself, Glory shifted position and closed her lips over Wilma’s breast.
Wilma’s hand pressed hard against the back of Glory’s head, tangling in the long blonde curls, pushing her against her bosom. The touch of Glory’s tongue on her flesh made her feel a passion of her own. Her nails raked the younger girl’s back. She pulled Glory’s mouth from her breast and made the blonde lie flat on the bed. Then Wilma covered her body with a slow series of deep, passionate kisses. She swung her body around to kiss the girl’s thighs, and Glory copied her example, pressing Wilma to her by digging her nails into the redhead’s buttocks.
The redhead’s slender fingers moved expertly over the triangle of soft blonde curls at Glory’s crotch. She separated the quivering pink lips of Glory’s vagina. She found Glory’s stiff little clitoris. Glory’s juices were flowing freely now and the clitty was quite slippery. Wilma rolled it around her fingertips. She deliberately flicked it with one long nail. Glory yelped and buried her face more deeply in Wilma’s groin. The redhead smiled cruelly. She licked the sweet, flowing honey from Glory’s pink vagina lips. Cunt! Wilma thought. Christ I love the taste of cunt.
The tongue probing inside her sent a series of thrills through Glory’s body. The sensuous smell of the cream frothing over the red tendrils between Wilma’s legs filled Glory’s nostrils. Glory couldn’t stop herself from suck-kissing thirstily at the hot, raw, creaming slit there.
That’s it, you bitch-in-heat! Suck my twat! Lick it! Eat it! Wilma moved until her gaping gash pinned and covered Glory’s nose and mouth. Then, carefully, she caught Glory’s burning clitty between her teeth and nibbled it! Get that tongue all the way up there!