Chapter 9
The woman began to search for her step-ins. She found them laid out neatly on the chair near her dressing table. "Thank you, my dear girl," she said with a smile. "You make a marvelous lady's maid. In fact, you're so good that I'm reluctant to let. . . " Her voice trailed off and her smile was replaced by a perplexed frown as she looked at Clara's obviously horror-stricken face. "Whatever is the matter?" she asked. "You look as though you've just seen a ghost. And you're pale enough to pass for a ghost yourself. Are you ill, child?"
"No, no, not at all," said Clara with a thin tight-lipped smile. "I'm just feeling a tiny bit faint. It's nothing to be alarmed about. You see, I haven't eaten any dinner. As a matter-of-fact, I haven't eaten since breakfast. But I've been drinking-and quite a bit more than usual, I'm afraid. I guess a large quantity of alcohol on an empty stomach will make almost anybody queasy. And it is a bit warm in here, don't you think?"
With this last sentence, Clara's voice assumed a voluptuousness that it had not contained before, and the woman looked at her thoughtfully. "Yes," she said, "now that you mention it, it is rather warm in here. Strange that I didn't notice before. Well, I'll just dress quickly, and we can go for a stroll in the garden to cool off. After you have some dinner, that is. You know, my dear, you really need someone to look after you. Do you live with your family?"
"My parents died in an accident. I've no family at all. Except my sister, that is."
"Oh, does your sister look after you?"
"No. Not any more. In fact, she seems to have been having some trouble looking after herself."
"Oh, poor little...." The woman broke off abruptly and laughed in an embarrassed fashion. "My goodness," she tittered, "I don't even know your name."
'Oh, do forgive me. It's Clara ... Clara Morrow."
"Clara. Spanish for 'clear.' Clear ... pure. How very appropriate."
The smile took the sting out of her sardonic tone. "My name is Alice Burton. And I apologize for keeping you from your dinner. Do come and hook my brassiere for me, will you?"
She slipped her arms through the slender satin straps and turned her naked back towards Clara, who fumblingly hooked the garment's three hooks into its three eyes. Her fingers lightly brushed the woman's warm shoulders and, for an instant, rested there. Alice promptly turned, caught them in her hand and gave them a quick, affectionate squeeze.
The older woman now crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Picking up the stockings Clara had chosen for her, she extended one. "Here," she said, "put it on for me."
Wordlessly, the girl took the stocking, drew it over Alice's tiny foot and carefully pulled it up over her thigh. Smoothing the silk, she then slipped a black satin garter into place over it. Alice prettily extended her other leg, and Clara repeated the performance. As she drew the garter on, she stammered: "I ... I ... don't think I got the seams straight. If you'll stand up, I'll...."
Alice didn't wait for her to finish the sentence. She rose gracefully and turned, spreading her legs slightly apart so that Clara could hold on to one of them for support as she adjusted the stocking on the other.
Somehow, as Clara fumbled with the seams, her face became pressed against Alice's thigh. She attempted to rise, but Alice's hand was planted firmly atop her head. She dropped back on her haunches. The older woman then lowered her hips back onto the bed and hugged Clara's head to her thigh. Clara remained in that position the better part of a minute, then suddenly pulled away.
"Was I mistaken?" mused Alice aloud.
"What do you mean, 'mistaken?'" Clara asked in apparent confusion. "About what? What do you want from me?"
"Don't you know?"
The girl shook her head.
Alice smiled and began stroking the girl's silky hair. "Just a few moments ago," she said very softly, "you acted as though you knew. As if you wanted it, too." She raised one thigh and gently brushed Clara's cheek with it. "But I don't want to force you to do anything you don't want to do. Anything you do with me you must do because you want to; because you like me; and because I like you."
At this, Clara lifted her head and smiled back. 'Be patient with me," she said softly. "Please ... be patient." She rubbed her chin against the softness of the woman's inner thigh and again offered a bitter-sweet smile.
Alice slowly drew the girl's head back into place between her legs. Clara's mouth pressed the lace fringe of the woman's panties, and she kissed first the broad expanse of thigh, then the warm, perfumed groin. "Put out your tongue," Alice whispered.
Clara touched her tongue to the softest part of the woman's thigh and ran it along the milk-white inner side. She fastened her fingers over the top of the panties to draw them down. Her lips, under the crotch of the wispy garment, touched a few curling hairs that escaped through the leg holes. Her tongue dragged sideways over the perfumed petals of the woman's lotus-bud. She pushed the panty crotch to one side with her hand.
Suddenly Alice backed away. "Get up now, dear," she said sweetly. "It's early yet. We have all evening." She rose from the bed and swung one thigh across Clara's head to step free of her, then recommenced dressing as Clara, disheveled and apparently distraught, got to her feet and started toward the door.
"Where are you going?" Alice asked, catching Clara's fleeing reflection in the mirror.
"To my room," Clara answered. She lowered her eyes and added in a voice so low it was barely a whisper: "To wash my face."
Alice came to her side and took her wrist. "No, you mustn't do that. I don't want you to wash your face."
"But it makes me feel ashamed to stay this way."
"Then that's all the more reason for staying that way. My goodness, child, if you've never been ashamed of yourself before, you must have been leading a terribly sheltered life. Shame is like wine to a woman; she grows drunk and wanton and glowing on it. How old are you? Twenty?"
Clara nodded.
"Twenty-years-old, and never drunk on shame; never crept to your room and bed feeling wonderfully dirty and used and degraded? My poor little Clara, you have a great deal to learn. So we'll call this your first lesson. You will not wash your face, Clara, any more than I will wash the stains of your hp rouge from my thighs. Those stains will stay there, do you understand? I want you to remember them and think of them every time you look at me tonight."
She raised her dress to reveal the splotchy marks left by Clara's lips on her thighs. "Shame wells up inside of you until you think you'll die of it," she went on, "but it never fails-all of a sudden the shame is gone and in its place is a wild exhilaration. You'll see, Clara, you'll see." She paused and gazed at the girl tenderly, almost maternally. "Don't wash up, but do straighten your dress and comb your hair. As soon as you're presentable, we'll go downstairs and get you that dinner I've been promising you."
In less than ten minutes, Clara was comfortably reclining on a lounge chair, a heaping plateful of steaming hot spaghetti and meat balls on a tray across her lap. On a small table at her side sat a basketful of warm garlic bread and a glass of red wine. Alice Burton, seated on the other side of the table, raised her own wine glass. "To our love affair," she smiled. "And to shame." She waited until Clara lifted her glass in apparent acknowledgement of the toast. Then both women drank.
The next hour passed quietly. The wine and food seemed to relax Clara, and she was soon chattering away with Alice Burton and a few other people who had joined them. She did not seem the least bit embarrassed-and, in fact, she had quite captivated the blas' little group with her naive air. It was thus that John Webster found her, in the midst of four or five people, laughing animatedly, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling. "Here you are!" he beamed enthusiastically. I've been searching everywhere for you." He took Clara's arm and helped her to her feet.
"But she belongs to me now," Alice Burton objected.
"Then I'll see to it that she comes back to you," he replied amiably.
"You'd better," she warned coolly. "I have plans for her."
Webster led Clara down the terrace steps and off towards the garden. "Where are you taking me?" the girl asked.
"To meet two friends of mine," he said, hustling her past the sundial and into the darkness of an arbor with a cushioned double swing chair hanging between two great oaks. "You seem to be such a great believer in marital 'togetherness' I thought I'd show you a little sample of it."
"What took you so long?" a woman's voice asked out of the shadows.
"I had a hard time finding her," replied Webster.
"We almost didn't wait," said a masculine voice. "Look what happened."
The couple was lying in the swing chair, their limbs intertwined. In the darkness it was impossible to fathom where the male left off and die female began.
Clara turned away. Webster tightened his grip on her forearm. "Just where do you think you're going?"
"Back to the house. Can't you see that we're disturbing your friends."
Peals of laughter greeted the comment. "I told you she was naive!" said Webster triumphantly.
Turning to Clara he added: "We're not disturbing them, honey. We're going to help them out. You know-entertain them a bit, inspire them."
The three friends laughed again.
"Oh! Take me back to the house," Clara begged. "Please, Johnny."
"Listen," said Webster roughly. "Don't start the innocent virgin bit again. It won't work. He lowered his voice and said softly into Clara's ear. "Unless you do exactly what I tell you to, I'll strip you right down to the skin and take you back to the house like that ... to Blanca!"
"I'm not afraid of her," said Clara defiantly.
"You should be. Remember that I know things about you that she doesn't." He felt her resistance lessening, and, interpreting this as a sign of acquiescence, said aloud: "Sorry, folks. The little lady's still kind of shy. But she's gotten over it now, haven't you, baby?"
Clara nodded.
"Haven't you?" he repeated harshly. "Yes," said Clara. "I've gotten over my shyness now."
"And you don't mind undressing now, do you."
"Undressing?" There was a note of incredulity in her voice as she echoed the word.
"Yeah. Undressing. You know-taking your clothes off-More laughter from the swing. "Don't answer. Just strip," said Webster. The girl began to obey, taking her dress off slowly, as though she were in a trance. Next came her shoes and stockings, then her slip. Finally, with great hesitation, she removed her brassiere. Then she stood facing the swing, her arms crossed over her pretty, pink breasts.
Webster tugged at the waistband of her panties. "I said to take off everything," he commanded in a voice that brooked no argument. And then, in a gentler tone, he added: "You've got a beautiful body, darling. Did I tell you that? You should be proud of it. You should want these people to see it. The way I want them to see it because I'm proud of it. Proud that it belongs to me. That I can do whatever I want with so much loveliness." As if to prove his domination over her, he violently rugged the seat of the panties over her smooth, round buttocks. "Take them off," he snapped. "Now."
Clara began to cry softly, whispering, "Oh, no," over and over again, like a litany. But she obeyed.
Grinning lasciviously, Webster clutched her breasts and squeezed tightly. Then he maneuvered her hands onto his penis, which he had removed from his trousers and which now stood bravely and sturdily erect. "Rub it between your legs," he said.
Clara did so as a tiny gasp, which welled into a shriek, emanated from the swing, indicating that the couple ensconced there had not been paying full attention to the activities being staged ostensibly for their benefit. The shriek was followed by a duet of giggles, and suddenly the couple bounded off the swing. The man knelt at the base of one of the oaks and fumbled around for several seconds. Then he struck a match and with it lit a small kerosene torch. Carrying the torch, he sat beneath his partner on the grass, not two feet away from where Clara and Webster were standing. Promptly a second act of copulation was begun.
The tiny flame of the torch flicked and quivered, shedding a soft glow around the entangled couple. "No, No, No, NO!" cried Clara, her voice rising hysterically. "I can't bear to look at it!"
Webster gripped her by the shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh. "Stop it," he hissed. "Just stop it." The force of his grip and the authority in his voice seemed to have a tranquilizing effect on the girl, for after a moment she relaxed visibly.
"All right, now?" asked Webster.
Clara nodded dumbly.
"Then forget the lamp. Just forget it. Pretend you're still in the dark. Just you and me. In the dark." He had softened his voice, and he spoke the last words in an hypnotic sing-song. He held Clara almost tenderly, gently stroking her hair. When he felt the tension go out of her he again placed his organ in her hands. "Rub," he whispered.
She held the rigid device against her own hairiness, rubbing it between her palms and against the flesh of her groin.
"Spread your legs and rub it against your pussy," Webster commanded.
She pressed the large bud of the swelling stalk between the soft petals of her dear little flower. She stood on the tips of her toes, rocking back and forth. Presently, dew covered the sweet petals-liquid from Webster's rigid watering can, and liquid which flowed out of Clara's little well.
Webster toyed with her buttocks and her breasts, bruising her nipples against the roughness of his jacket as he pressed her close to him. He curled his fingers and ran his nails lightly along her sides to her thighs.
"You tickle," she said with a giggle.
Unsmiling, he told her to kneel in front of him.
When she complied, he said: "Lick it. Lick the part you had between your legs." He pushed her head close to his crotch, close to his swelling love instrument, and repeated his demand.
Clara dutifully obeyed him. She ran her tongue slowly up and down his organ, making it lurch stiffly. Then she curved her fingers around it and held it firmly as she licked the sides and the bare tip.
"Good," said Webster. "But not good enough."
She held it up and licked beneath it, up and down the underside where the rim of the head came together in the little slot at the tip. Webster's hands gripped her head tightly, holding her mouth fiercely to its task.
Suddenly the other woman sprang up and came to kneel beside Clara. Her naked thigh touched Clara's, her fingers slipped over the fingers which clasped Webster's shaft. Her voice whispered voluptuously into Clara's ear, "Lick it with me, honey." She then faced Clara, pressing her own cheek against Webster's thigh. Her full, sensual lips buried themselves in his groin. Then they touched Clara's lips, kissing them over the arc of Webster's maleness. Her tongue flickered out, wetting Clara's lips with its hot moisture, brushing across Webster's member, then returning to Clara's lips.
"Lick it with me," the woman repeated urgently. Her tongue pressed more firmly against the side of the shaft, forcing it harder against Clara's mouth. She placed one arm around Clara, and feverishly stroked the girl's breast. Her own breast brushed Clara's other breast, and their nipples kissed. Then she slipped her hand down to Clara's buttocks, avidly caressing their round fullness. She tried to push the head of Webster's swollen organ into Clara's mouth, but Clara slid her lips away and tucked her tongue under the head.
The woman's tongue covered Clara's, tickling it teasingly. Clara curled her tongue in the other direction; the woman's tongue followed, licking more insistently and firmly. At last the woman drew Clara's tongue into her mouth and sucked it, lipping Webster's manhood at the same time. Then she drew his weapon into her mouth, sucking it and Clara's tongue simultaneously. Her lips pressed the organ firmly against Clara's tongue, so that it was being licked by Clara and sucked by the other woman at the same time. Webster's hips began to plunge back and forth, back and forth, and Clara violently pulled her tongue free.
The other girl's mouth stopped working and she pulled her lips away with an audible pop. "Don't you want to suck it, too?" she asked.
"No!" gasped Clara. "Oh, no."
"Then lick it."
She pushed Clara's face against Webster's groin. "Lick!"
She waited for Clara to obey before she replaced the end of the organ in her mouth, compressing her lips tightly around it
Then she slipped her hand through Webster's open legs and tickled the groove between his buttocks with one delicate finger. Meanwhile, Clara dutifully continued to rub the base of the shaft with the tip and blade of her tongue.
Suddenly, the older girl's face convulsed. Her lips grew wetter and she sucked more noisily than ever. Webster's hips were gyrating wildly, and his legs trembled and pressed more firmly against the girl's cheeks.
Webster suddenly pushed both women away, and stepped back. Clara's whole body drooped, and she closed her eyes, a relieved expression on her face. She remained there until she felt the man's member once again rubbing her lips. Even then she didn't open her eyes. She merely stuck out her tongue and resumed her former task. After awhile, she opened her eyes, raised her head ... and gasped. It was not Webster who towered above her, but a stranger-the man who had just witnessed the little scene in which Clara had participated.
Clara's eyes widened, and she pulled away. The man quickly gripped her body between his knees and placed his hands on her shoulders. The other girl, who had already begun to suck this new lollipop, also placed her arms around Clara.
"You're not going to stop now-after you've begun so well, are you?" the man queried mockingly.
"I didn't realize," cried Clara. "I didn't know ... I don't know you ... oh ... please ... "
"It isn't any different, honey chile," the other woman said. When she spoke out loud, her voice carried the heavy languorousness of the deep South. "You didn't even know the difference till you looked.
"But if it will make you feel any better, why, just pretend it's Johnny you're loving up."
Clara appealed to Webster, now seated in a comer of the swing, watching dispassionately. "Johnny," she said, "do I have to?"
"Yes, Clara, you have to."
"Oh, please don't make me. Please take me back to the house."
"When you've finished what you've started. This is a funny time to rum squeamish, don't you think? You've already licked one man. I can't see why you should object to licking another. Don't they all taste pretty much alike, Mary Lou?" he asked, addressing the other girl.
"Practically," she laughed. "Make her suck it if she doesn't want to lick it. Maybe it would be fun to see your virgin girl friend suck my husband. Arnold, darling, have you ever been sucked by a virgin?"
The man glared at her. "Can it," he said, "and get back to work."
The girl reached for her husband's love instrument and rubbed it against Clara's mouth, whispering in her ear as she did so.
Clara flushed. "No!" she spat. "That's disgusting! I'd never say such a thing."
"Say it, or I'll have Johnny make you swallow Arnold's come."
Clara lowered her eyes and said softly, "I like licking men. I want to do it again."
Arnold smiled and arched his hips forward. "That's the spirit, kid," he said. Clara resumed lipping his organ, rubbing her mouth up and down the sides of the penis as though she were playing a flute. She mouthed it up and down to the tip, finally nibbling on the tip itself. Mary Lou came in on the downstroke, and the two wet tongues played an andante up and down the length of the instrument. Then, when the jerking motions of his hips told the woman that her husband was about to reach his climax, she put the tip into her mouth and pressed forward until her lips almost reached his pubic hair.
Clara drew back as Mary Lou began sucking violently, driving her mouth up and down and shaking her head from side to side.
When she had finished, she rose and began to dress. Clara remained seated, as though she was too dazed to move. She remained there, squatting on the flagstones, until Webster touched her shoulders and silently held out her underwear. She then rose and stepped into her panties. She extended her arms and he slipped the straps of the brassiere over them. Then he hooked the hooks in the back and slipped her dress over her head.
Finally he handed her her evening purse, saying: "I suggest you powder your face and put on lipstick. That is unless you want everybody to know what you've been doing for the past hour."
Clara blanched and immediately withdrew her compact from the purse. When she had finished making herself as presentable as possible, Webster said: "Come on, now, we're going back. After all, I did promise Alice I'd return you to her."