Chapter 5
Ben Drake was an unusually attractive young man. Three or four years older than his sister, like her, he was fair. Except that his hair was blond instead of red. Also like Margo, he was tall but rangy and wore clothes that looked almost as if they were custom-tailored to fit his slim, wide-shouldered figure.
The first day that he came to the apartment and Margo introduced him, Sherry was attracted to him. At the beginning, she told herself it was because she was so fond of Margo and he not only looked like his sister, but had so many of her characteristics and mannerisms. But she soon discovered there was a great deal more to it than that.
When Margo got Sherry alone, she told her that she'd almost forgotten she had a brother. "We were only kids when our parents died and we were made wards of the state and sent to an orphanage. We stayed there only a few months then were shipped out to a foster home together. It was a truck farm and it didn't last long because Ben wouldn't do anything he was asked to by the man who owned the place. They had a big fight and we both were sent back to the orphanage. After that there was almost a dozen different places I lived at. But Ben and I were never sent any place together. So we just grew up, hardly knowing each other. He came to see me a couple of times when I was living with Mrs. Crozier--the woman I told you about who left an endowment for me to finish college; and who also gave me a lot of the furniture I have. Each time he came to see me he was out of a job and needed money. I gave it to him, he went away and except for maybe a card at Christmas, I never heard from him until he showed up the next time." She checked her mental calendar for dates. "Must be close to three years since I last saw him."
"Do you think he'll stay long this time?" Sherry asked with gathering interest.
"I have no idea," Margo admitted then paused to look deep into Sherry's curious gray-green eyes. "I hope you're not interested in him?"
Sherry laughed hollowly. "You've got to be kidding me. He is a man--even if he is your brother--and you know how I feel about men."
"I'm glad," Margo said with a sigh of relief. "Not only because he is a man but I know almost nothing about him. I don't know where he's been, what he's been doing for a living all these years. I don't even know if he's married."
What didn't take long for either of them to find out, was that brother Ben was once again out of work and told his sister he'd like to stay at their apartment until he could get located. Since Sherry was paying half the rent and equally sharing the expenses, Margo first had to clear it with her.
Sherry gave her consent. But she had the feeling that Margo wasn't at all happy with the arrangement because his presence in the apartment brought about many changes.
They couldn't walk around the place naked, or even semi-draped as they usually did. There were no more spontaneous displays of affection or passion. No more kisses before dinner, or sly feels at the table. No more bathing together or playing in the tub or under the shower. Now when they sat down to watch television, they watched the program in progress with no opportunity for Margo to slip a hand up under Sherry's skirt or beneath her nightie and get her ready for a lesbian finish. They even had to be discreet and mouse quiet when they got into bed because only a thin wall and a closed door separated the bedroom from the living room where Ben slept on the convertible.
Margo assured Sherry that they'd have to put up with this inconvenience for only a short time. "He never stays for more than a few days--a week at most."
Strangely, the "inconvenience" as Margo called it, didn't bother Sherry nearly as much as she thought it would. She didn't know why because he'd done nothing to change her impression of men, but she rather enjoyed Ben Drake's presence there, even if he said very little--especially about himself.
It was toward the end of what Margo insisted would be "only a week", that Sherry came home from the bank one evening to find Ben alone in the apartment.
"Margo called and said she's got to work tonight," was the way he greeted Sherry. "She said she tried to get you at the bank to let you know, but you'd already left. She said for us to go ahead and have dinner without her."
Sherry didn't know exactly why the prospect of having dinner with him alone caused her a little tingle. Unless it was because it had been so long since she'd dined, or even been alone like this, with a man. What made it even more pleasant was that Ben had a spaghetti dinner all ready and waiting for them.
"My specialty," he said with a puff of pride. "Learned to make it from a real dago. Sweat it out in the kitchen of his spaghetti house when I was growing up."
He had the table set for the two of them with tall candles and an equally tall, slim bottle of Chianti, chilled and ready to be served. He lit the candles and put out the rest of the lights in the place, then held a chair for her to sit across from him at the white covered table. The moment she was seated--even before he opened the wine, or began serving the spaghetti, he did a strange thing. He dropped to his knees on the floor in front of her and took one of her feet in his two hands. She was wearing tall heels that gave her foot and ankle a trim, flattering look.
"Must be tired standing on heels like these all day long," he sympathized.
She nodded, looking down at him, quizzically. "A little ..."
"I'll get your slippers from the bedroom." Before she could even think to stop him, he had climbed to his feet, hurried into the bedroom and a moment later returned with a pair of neat but comfortable looking slippers. Again he knelt before her, lifted her right foot and removed her shoe. He admired her foot for a moment--the high arch, the curved instep, the slim ankle, the small curled toes. "You have beautiful feet. That's one of the very first things I noticed about you. Beautiful feet. Small and dainty. Thoroughbred feet."
She had never had anyone talk that way about her feet, although she had to admit she liked to receive compliments about any and all parts of her person--and she thanked him. Also she liked the gentle, knowing way he began to relax her toes, moving them slowly up and down as he massaged her entire foot. Then he took off her other shoe and repeated the same action on her left foot. She leaned her head back slightly and closed her eyes, enjoying the pleasant relaxing sensation he was causing her.
"You wearing stockings, or one of those panty-things?" he asked.
His question snapped open her eyes with surprise. She looked down into his upturned face.
"Stockings," she murmured.
He smiled. He was much more handsome when he smiled. "If you'll take 'em off, I'll give your feet a real massage."
She tried to talk him out of it but he insisted. So raising her short skirt just enough so she could reach one of her garters, she unfastened it and rolled the stocking halfway down her shapely leg. While he took over and peeled it off her foot, she unfastened the other nylon. She made sure of the way she raised her skirt and lifted each leg to get at the garters so as not to show him too much of her white panties. Because they were real sheer scanties and didn't always completely hide her pubic hair.
When both shoes and stockings were off, he picked up her bare, femininely small, white feet and kissed each dainty, red-lacquer-tipped toe in a way that almost had her expecting him to recite, "This little piggie ..."
He kissed along her instep and ankle and about halfway up her calf. Then he licked his way downward and over her arch. She jumped and giggled and tried to pull her feet back from him because his tongue tickled and sent a tingling sensation through to what the Germans call the Kitzler.
He was aware of her twitching. "Feel good?"
"Funny ..." she murmured, closing her eyes and rolling her head slowly from side to side as she felt him begin to kiss his way up her right leg again, his hand moving ahead of his lips like a vanguard. His fingertips got to within an inch or so of the lace border of her panties and he hesitated. "Mind?"
She made no reply but sucked in her breath. She felt his fingers work slowly beneath the leg of her panties and she stiffened at his first gentle caress of her fuzzy veneris. Why did a man's hands feel so different... so good . . . ?
She knew now that the time had come to take inventory and be truthful with herself. The many months she had spent as the recipient of Margo's insatiable sex-appetite had been delightful. There was no denying that. But there also was no denying that as much as she may have despised them, there were times when her body ached and hungered for the physical satisfaction that only a man could bring her. Because no matter how proficient, or how intense Margo's love-making may have been, there always was one tiny spot deep in the heart of her womb that her redheaded dyke could never reach.
So absorbed had she become in the rovings of Ben's fingers over her labia, that she was unaware that he had placed her right foot against his groin until she felt the unmistakable impression of his hardened penis through the material of his trousers. As his fingers began to press gently into the warm moistness of her vulva and churn it into a veritable quagmire, she began to stroke the length of his phallus with her toes.
By his expression and the increased throbbing of his penis, she knew it was exactly what he wanted her to do. As he continued to move his fingers in and out the wet honeypot between her thighs, she heard the faint slide of a zipper as he opened his fly with his free hand and took out his penis. She kept her eyes closed as she put her toes to the wet and slimy exposed flesh.
She heard his moan of delight as she felt his pre-come drool from his meatus. While she'd heard of foot fetishes, she'd never known a man who could get such pleasure out of being caressed by a woman's foot. But if that's how he wanted it, she'd oblige him. She brought up her other foot and holding his arrogant tool between her arches she began to masturbate him with deliberate slowness. Obviously she'd rung the bell because she could hear his breathing grow heavy with passion as he hooked his fingers into the elastic waistband of her white panties and pulled them down below her knees. But as he raised her skirt to her waist and moved his lips slowly upward along her thigh, toward the slit of dewy pink flesh hidden in the nest of black foliage straight ahead, she brought up her hands and pushed his face away.
"Not that way," she murmured, her breathing becoming as ragged and coarse as his.
He looked up at her, heavy-lidded, and let his gaze wander to the day bed. Sherry nodded almost imperceptibly.
He got to his feet and tucked his perpendicular weapon inside his trousers without closing his fly. Then he stooped and swept her off the chair into his arms. She was amazed at how easily he handled her.
She hesitated a moment as he held her in his arms alongside the table, then her arms went around his neck and she put her mouth to his. His lips were hard and authoritative and when he urged her lips to part to accept his tongue, she readily responded. It was the first time in more than a year that a man had kissed her and there was no argument about it--a man's kiss was different! It sparked her loins and turned her whole body to jelly.