Chapter 1
"I'm only 29 years old . . . not 30," I was saying to myself in the mirror that Wednesday afternoon when I had returned from a rather stuffy cocktail party at Mrs. Ravensdales's. "Look at yourself! Not a wrinkle! You're young enough to be Mrs. Ravens-dale's daughter . . . Mrs. Harcourt's granddaughter! There wasn't a single woman at the party under 40! What were you doing there, Norma?"
I stumbled over to my closet and retrieved the bottle of Scotch. It had only about two drinks in it. I frowned, cursed to myself, walked into the bathroom to get a glass and some ice from the little ice-making machine we kept there. Strangely, the Scotch on the rocks made me feel more sober. Oh, not that I was drunk! I was only a little tipsy. I like to stay that way, with a perpetual glow on, something to make my lonely and odd life bearable. Rut after countless martinis, the Scotch did seem to bring me back to my senses.
Or did it?
I stood in front of my vanity mirrors next. I frowned again, wondering if my two-tone, turtle-neck sheath with its long sleeves and fake buttons from neck to hem was a little too short, too much like a mini. It came above my knees but not . . . too far. It was the kind of tight, revealing thing my 68 year old husband, Kenneth Hathaway, liked me to wear when we went out together. But what would the other millionaires' and billionaires' wives who were at the cocktail party think about it?
I often wondered how they compared me to the former Mrs. Hathaway, who had been dead for over nine years. I sipped on my Scotch, put the glass down, and began to sway my body seductively from side to side. The skirt of the dress was flared below the buttocks and more and more of my thighs became visible as it shifted upward with my gyrations.
"You're only 29 years old, Norma!" I said aloud to myself, snapping my fingers and watching my breasts quiver with the body movements. "If your nipples weren't so big and hot, you wouldn't even have to wear that sheer, net bra. Oh . . . come on, baby! Get hot! Strip! Ease the sexy itch between your beautiful thighs, darling. You know that's what you'll be doing before long anyway!"
I sat down at the dressing table and looked at my face very closely. I was wearing a smile that stayed with me as I turned my head slightly from left to right for different views in the side mirrors. I sat up straighter and subtly thrust my breasts forward. The tight dress seemed as if it wanted to burst. My big nipples were becoming excited and their outline began to break through despite the small bra's constraints. I laughed. I wondered how it would feel to have a young man admire me, kiss me, embrace me, feel my breasts, undress me, fondle my body . . . and fuck me!
It wasn't cold, but my body began to shiver and undulate from top to bottom. I reached behind my neck and pulled down the zipper to where it ended, slightly below my waist. I stood up, still admiring myself in all three mirrors, catching side as well as front views. I wriggled and giggled so that the dress fell over my shoulders and down to the floor. I stepped out of it and playfully balanced the frock over my right toe and tossed it onto the bed.
"Very good, Norma!" I said in self-congratulation, then walked to the window that looked out over the rear of our beautiful Westchester County estate. "Hey, Jim! Look at me! Do you want me? Do you want to fuck my body? Do you want me to suck your cock? Don't tell me it isn't big. I've seen your trousers about to bust open before......"
Of course, I knew that Jim, our chauffeur, could not hear me. I knew that he had driven away only moments before to go into Manhattan and pick up my husband, Kenneth, and my stepson, Ken, who was 36 years old. I laughed aloud as I thought about it! My stepson was nearly old enough to be my father! My husband was old enough to be my grandfather. My stepdaughter, Cissy, was 33 years old, four years more than I. And since her third divorce, she was once again living at the family estate. Kenneth, Jr., who was a vice-president of my husband's electronics concern, was a member of our 'happy" household too.
Nine years! How could it be possible, I thought? I had been married to Kenneth for almost nine years!
He had been 59 and I had been 19 when we first met in Houston. My father was a sales agent for a large petrochemical company angling for a big contract with one of Kenneth's subsidiary corporations. Kenneth was suave, smooth, very good looking for a man almost 60. And he was a recent widower, a "lonesome" man" as he told me while we were dancing.
It was crazy! Insane! How could my father have done that to me just for his own selfish interests? Kenneth wanted to marry me. He had announced it in front of a dozen people, including my family. I had just finished high school and was planning on college. But marriage to a New York multi-millionaire seemed glamorous even to me back then.
I shook my head and looked at my young body in the mirrors again. I was resigned to my fate after all the years of sexual imprisonment, married to an impotent old man who used me as a toy to show off to his friends and make them jealous. Of course, I was sexually useful to Kenneth. He could derive pleasure and orgasm. Sometimes, his constant licking of my cunt resulted in pleasure fo me too. However, most of my sexual needs had to be met in solitary ways. Some of Kenneth's demands were so bizarre and unusual that they made me sick. And there were times when I cursed to myself that I hated all men. My father had forced me into the situation. My husband was a beast! And my 36 year old stepson was a leering vulture, who would be the first one to condemn me for my infidelity if I let him do what he so often tried to do.
Other than solitary pleasures and self-admiration of my body, I could at least dress to advantage, dress to reveal, so that men would give me long, hungry stares and make me realize I was not alone in my great need. I thought of the stares as I looked at myself in only pantyhose and the little bra, and I remembered that some women looked at me the same way as men. It gave me very strange sensations when they did so. I thought I had detected such looks from Cissy, even from the 19 year old French maid, Lisette, who acted almost like she was Cissy's body-servant, but was always glad to help me out in any way.
"You've got a hot body, Norma!" I whispered to myself, cupping my breasts, lifting them, watching my long tongue lap out at my soft, naked shoulders. "Men would give anything to fuck you, Norma . . . to suck your nipples and lick your whole body. Take off that 36-C bra, Norma. Play with your breasts and nipples . . . stand back a little farther so that all you see are hands playing and fingers squeezing ... so you can't tell that they're your own hands and fingers."
The bra unhooked in front and was off in a moment, tossed on the bed by my dress. The pantyhose seemed very sexy to me. My black pubic hairs showed through in a mat of darkness on the little hump of Venus just above my cunt lips. There was a hint of moisture at the crotch. I squeezed, rolled, pressed, caressed and handled my large, firm breasts in a dozen different ways. I lifted each breast and squeezed as hard as I could, distorting the nipples and discoloring them, pulling the globes out until they were like two giant tubes of toothpaste clogged up but ready to gush forth at any moment.
"Suck your nipples, Norma . . I told myself very softly. "Go ahead, darling. Nobody will walk in on you. It's another hour or more before Kenneth will be coming home. . . ."
That's how bad it was. I lived in a little private sex-world of my own, and had for so many years. I never thought it would change. I had no idea as I used both, hands to pull my right breast up-up-up, that my whole life would be drastically and dramatically changed by events that would happen in the next few hours!
My breasts looked misshapen in the mirror, the right one half again larger than the left because I was stretching my chest flesh so much. In another moment, I was able to lick down the top of my big right breast. I peered upward so that I could see in the mirror as my Hps surrounded the big, hot nipple and sucked it into my mouth. I tongued the swollen bud and sucked in the area surrounding it. My nipple was hardly as large as Kenneth's veined and impotent cock, but the erectness of it thrilled me more.
I sucked harder and harder. I held it up there with one hand and quickly slipped the other one beneath the waistband of my panty hose in the deep grove of black, pubic hair. I paused, letting my index finger "craw!" through the full thatch until I could feel the wet, upper lips of my pussy. I slid it right over my slippery clit and cried out with pleasure! I rubbed it back and forth across the lubricated little sex-knob until one, two, and three strong or- gasms had made me feel as well as look beautiful, sexy, radiantly alive with feeling!
I smiled. I was very narcissistic, of course, but I did know that I looked sexy when I masturbated, sucked my own breasts, left on stockings or panties. I knew because those were some of the little things Kenneth often asked me to do. I would strip in front of him and provide myself with a masturbatory orgy as he watched me with the same lust and leer in his eyes that his son had inherited. Kenneth would ask at times to sit on the toilet and masturbate too. There were dozens of positions he had me use.
Another of Kenneth's quirks was for him to hide in the closet with the door just cracked, as I came into the bedroom fully dressed, pretending I did not know he was there. I would undress slowly, very slowly, kissing my shoulders, licking my fingers and rubbing them over each new piece of my body I exposed. By the time I was to my stockings and gaiter belt, or had on crotchless pantyhose, I would be lying on the bed, writhing and twisting in erotic agony as I masturbated. I would close my eyes, and within seconds, his mouth would be licking my fingers and into my secretion soaked cunt until I could squeeze out at least one or two orgasms.
I stood up straight and looked at myself in the mirrors of my vanity again. If I looked so super sexy to Kenneth as I did these things, I rationalized that I would appear very ultra-erotic to other men in the same ways. And when I performed for myself like that, I would imagine I was doing it for the chauffeur to watch, or for some other man that seemed to have sex appeal, even Ken!
"You have a beautiful body, Norma," I told myself, swaying sensually while I watched in the mirror. "That's why Kenneth likes you so and wants to show you off. The big breasts! The slim, 25 inch waist and almost flat tummy! The rounded, 37 inch hips and the shapely ass and thighs!"
I began to pat my right buttock until a rhythmic quiver was set up in the firm flesh. I did the same for my left buttock, noticing the more subtle quiver in my full, stockinged thighs. I was still on fire sexually! I poured the rest of the Scotch from the bottle into the glass. I grasped my wet, pantyhosed crotch and squeezed and played while I walked awkwardly into the bathroom to put some more ice in the glass.
After a long drink that tasted so good, I pulled my pantyhose down below my knees and sat on the toilet, directly in front of the full mirror on the open door. I began to masturbate once more. I tried to put myself in the position of Kenneth or someone else watching me, and a very weird thought crossed my mind. I was helpless to dissuade myself of the visionary notion! The vision was in the mirror! It was Cissy! She was watching me! She was naked, her long brown hair was flowing and the lovely body clothed only in a diaphanous, white gown that revealed her dark nipples and reddish pubic hairs (I had seen her naked as she undressed in her bedroom one time, then again in the beach house of a friend's out on Long Island)
She licked her lips saucily and her eyes bore at me with the same lustful leer of her brother's, her father's. Without helping myself, I began to masturbate faster. I squeezed and painfully pinched my nipples. I reached around between the cheeks of my ass until I could rub my asshole, could move it teasingly just by injecting my finger in the sensitive crater.
"Oh! Oh, it's so nice! I love you, Norma ... I want to fuck you, Norma!" I cried out crazily, wantonly, moving around on the toilet seat and watching myself with wide-eyed passion. "Go! Go, Norma! Make it come again! Yes, Cissy ... eat me! Suck my cunt and make me a Lesbian. Yes! That's what you are, isn't it? Oh! Oh-ho-h-ho-yeee!"
The last orgasm was so strong it almost knocked me out. I sat back on the seat and closed my eyes. A feeling of guilt hit me. Why had I seen the vision of Cissy? The one thing Kenneth could not stand was homosexuality. But I had seen the look in Cissy's eyes as I masturbated. In reality, she had looked at me in much the same way before, but there had never been any other hint of Lesbian interest.
Why had I made a Lesbian out of Cissy in my own mind? I knew she hated and despised me. I knew she was extremely jealous of me and went so far one time as to accuse me of being interested in her brother. But I didn't consciously hate Cissy. Why should I project her into the role of a female homosexual in my erotic, masturbatory fantasies? It worried me. And when I become conscience stricken, I usually look to masturbation for escape. But as I put my fingers back into my dripping pussy, there was a loud knock on the bedroom door!
"Yes . . . who is it?" I yelled, unable to keep from fingering myself.
"Madame! Madame Hathaway!" Lisette's voice called out with some concern. "Are everythings all-right. I hear you cry . . . no?"
"Just . . . just a minute," I said, yanking my hand from my frustrated sex spots and throwing on a terry cloth robe I kept hanging on the back of the bathroom door.
I liked the little 19 year old French maid and her cute accent and faulty English grammar. I would have liked it if I could have been her confidante. But I knew that Cissy hired her. I also suddenly realized that she spent long periods of time alone with Cissy in my stepdaughter's bedroom! Perhaps, I realized, as I walked through the bedroom, that was why I had the Lesbian vision of Cissy. Maybe I thought they were having an affair because both of them looked at my body sometimes in a way that men did.
"Yes, Lisette?" I questioned upon opening the door to the hall and forcing a very warm smile.
"Oh ... I was to think I hear a scream from your room, Madame," she said, as I tried to avoid looking at her short and sexily shaped young body in the tight fitting uniform. "Are you okay?"
"You must have heard the television," I said with a laugh, opening the door wider so that she could see nothing was amiss. "It was one of those horrible afternoon serials and a girl was being chocked to death. I . . . just turned if off."
"Ah," she said, her clever eyes searching the room until they stopped at the empty Scotch bottle on my vanity. "Well, I think maybe Madame would like that I bring a new bottle of whisky from the bar. I will get it right away..."
"Lisette!" I said, suddenly frightened, fearing that she was in league with Cissy to give a bad impression of me to Kenneth, "why ... do you think I need another bottle of Scotch?"
"It is nothing of worry, Madame Hathaway," she announced firmly, breaking away from my grasp of her arm and walking over to pick up the empty bottle. "I clean Madame's room every day . . . the bedroom of you and Mr. Hathaway. I know that you have the whisky in the closet. It is my pleasure to serve you. . . ."
"Lisette, dear . . .," I said, then walked over to the dresser where my purse was. "It's nothing, really . . . but can I trust you not to tell Cissy or my husband about this? And . . . would you bring up another bottle of Scotch?"
"Oh, yes, Madame!" she said, a sudden sparkle in her eyes as she looked at me and readily accepted the 20 dollar bill I handed her. "I can be very honest with you. You are not like the others. I say nothing. I say nothing that you fell down on the front steps when coming from cocktail party this afternoon day. If it is your secret you drink and like be tipsy ... is also my secret. Madame, if you have not yet had bath ... I will help to bathe your body very clean when I bring back bottle of whisky?"
"Well ... I hardly think that will be necessary, Lisette," I responded haltingly as I felt a very strange shudder go through my body. "If I'm just a little tipsy ... I think I can bathe myself. . . ."
"I will be back in two minutes, Madame!" she said, smiling at me in a much more intimate and different way than usual.
Why was Lisette offering to bathe me? I pondered over the question while she was gone. I walked over to the vanity and sat down. I took a cigarette from a half full pack and lit it. The taste of the tobacco was flavorful, mild and pleasant. I hadn't had a cigarette since the party. A very natural and warm smile crossed my lips as I looked at myself. I also saw that the left top of my terry cloth robe was gaping open to reveal almost the entire breast. The nipple had obviously been exposed to Lisette also.
"You're acting like an adolescent!" I told myself scoldingly, forming the words so that my lips moved sensually as I watched them. "Your own mind is so full of sex that you think the slightest thing is an indication of someone else's erotic interest in you. So what if Lisette did see your breast exposed? So what if she did, for the very first time in the year she had worked at the mansion, offer to give you a bath? Norma, you're a fool! If you took a Rorschach, inkblot test right now, every card would look like something to do with sex!
"Norma! Don't let the liquor get to you and ruin everything! What if Cissy has Lisette teasing you? Yes, that would be great! If Cissy could bribe or otherwise entice Lisette to seduce you into something homosexual . . . and if Kenneth caught you at it . . . he'd disinherit and divorce you so fast you wouldn't know what hit you! And then the multi-million dollar estate would only be split up between two heirs. Cissy and Ken would each get a half when Kenneth dies, instead of only a third!"
My mind became confused and I felt the need for a drink as never before. I couldn't let Lisette come back and find me talking to myself, my robe still sloppily exposing my breast. I stood up and untied the sash around my waist. I opened the robe to take a quick look at my body, my excited breasts, my wet pubic hairs. My sensations were so compelling that I had to just have a quick orgasm . . . one quick orgasm.
My finger slid through the hairs and over my clit. Back and forth, I worked it! Hotter! Hotter! I was on fire! I tensed up my whole body and then sighed loudly as the sweet, beautiful, delicious orgasm flooded my body with delight.
At that moment, I was not certain whether I pulled my robe across myself and knotted the sash quickly because I thought Lisette might be coming in at any second, or because I was aware of seeing her through the mirror. She could have seen me. But I preferred to think that I had very cleverly and quickly prevented her from seeing what I had been doing.
She said nothing, but smiled at me with what appeared to be such great understanding and warmth. She picked up the empty Scotch bottle and put it in a wastebasket she had brought with her. She took my glass into the bathroom and washed it, put fresh ice in it, and poured the Scotch from the new bottle until it was just the right distance from the rim.
"Here, Madame," she said, walking toward me with a sensual sway of her young body in the tight and stereotyped "French maid's" uniform that Cissy insisted she wear (short, black and white nylon). "If you want a drink, I want you to have one. You are the Madame!"
"Cissy hired you," I said, turning to look at her, checking with my hands to determine that my robe was in place over my breasts. "I . . . I've always liked you, Lisette . . . but I never quite considered you a servant of the household. You spend so much time with Cissy. . . ."
I had said it and I was glad! I took a deep drink from the glass she handed me. Perhaps, I thought, it was good that I was tipsy. I could be so much more outgoing, say what I thought. And it was evident that I had hit where it hurt. Lisette took the remark much in the way that I took some of hers. She felt that I could read her mind. She felt guilty in some manner.
"Oh . . . Madame Hathaway," she finally responded to me, and I wondered what kind of bra she wore over the adorable breasts that protruded so beautifully. "I ... I may be confuse, but you are the Madame of this household for that I work. I ... I am only a servant. If Miss Hathaway makes many demands of me. I must do. You never ask me for very much, Madame. I only wish you did ask me for more! I like you ... as you have says you like me. Now ... I will help you with your bath. . . ."
"Do you think I need a bath?" I asked her boldly.
"Madame has the odor of woman!" Lisette replied in a breathy, husky voice that made me realize she was somehow attracted to the odor of my excited sex parts. "When Mr. Hathaway get home because is Wednesday, his early day ... he want you to smell fresh! Come! I will help you bath and to put on right makeup and sexy cloths for him." "You . . . you do help Cissy with her bath . . . her toilette?" I asked, wanting at least one word of compromise' from her. "Yes, of course, Madame," she said immediately, laughing gaily and steering me toward the bath-room. "It is my duty . . . but my duty is also to you. You must let me bathe you....."
I walked ahead of her into the bathroom after gulping down the rest of the strong whisky highball, My mind was still confused, but I felt that I could handle things. After all, it was Lisette who had insisted on helping me bathe. No matter how much she might excite me, I could simply pretend that her hands felt good, as I might say to a masseuse. When we were both in the bathroom, I slipped off my robe and lay right down in the tub. I thought I detected a gleam of passion in her eyes when my whole naked body was suddenly exposed to her, but I knew I had to be careful. Her small, sexy lips began to moisten when she looked between my parted upper thighs. I knew that my hairs and pussy were soaking wet and she would certainly know of my previous masturbating and my wanton desire . . . degree of sexual desire!
"Make the water very hot, Lisette," I said, as I began to relax and luxuriate in my role, moving my hips suggestively (but not on purpose then, I swear it), "I want to be cleansed like Lady Macbeth. I've had a frustrating day. Yes ... I do smell . . . like a woman, don't I?"
"Very much," she answered, zipping down her tight uniform at the side. "Is nothing wrong! You are a woman. You please to excuse me if I take some cloth off? The hot water will ruin my uniform. . .
"Yes . . . strip naked, if you like, Lisette," I told her boldly . . . too boldly. "Do anything you want, Lisette. Do you . . . think my body is sexy?"
"Very much . . ," she answered, but then seemed to draw away from me, as if I had shocked her just a little too much. "You . . . have a very nice figure, Madame. You are some year younger than Mademoiselle Cissy. She also has beautiful body of sexual perfection."
Lisette adjusted the water until it was gushing between my legs warmer and warmer. I looked down at myself and saw the steaming water swirl up between my thighs. I felt its warmth creep up into my oversensitive pussy. I looked up dreamily at Lisette, only to notice that she was looking away from me.
But it was only for a moment. The delicious French girl was only taking the more scented soap from the lavatory and then moved back toward me. Without a word, she put the bar of soap between my upper thighs and began to rub it into my cunt! I was suddenly on fire again! She had removed her uniform and faced me in briefs and bra! Her legs were more full and shapely than I had ever dreamed! Her body must have measured something like 36-26-36, I judged. Her naked flesh, the dark area of her mound in the briefs, the large and firm breasts . . . they seemed to beckon to me.
My head was not steady, my mind not rational! Why? Why would I find another woman so deliciously exciting? I remembered what Ken had told me one night about some well-known fashion photographer. He said that she was a dyke Lesbian and had sex relations with all of her young models. Ken was a dirty young man. Such ideas excited him and made his cock hard in his trousers.
"I will scrub your poo-see, Madame Hathaway," I realized Lisette was saying as the sliding soap bar had already created two orgasm for me. "You like this, yes? Oh, please do not say it is bad. I am from a most religious family, Madame. So they say anything sexy feeling is bad. Oh! . . Oh, but you have such a beautiful figure for me to bathe. . . ."
"And you have such a ... a thrillingly shaped body for me to watch!" I blurted out, smiling, although I suddenly felt guilty about prodding the girl farther. "Tell me ... do you wear a bikini when you go swimming?"
"In America . . . yes," she said with a friendly laugh, using her bare hands to suds up the soap she spread over my belly and breasts. "I live in France on the Cote d'Azur and are many private beaches and islands for nude bathing. I am going naked on the beach since I was just a small girl."
"Oh . . . that must be very interesting," I said, debating how far I should go in that initial conversation on sex. "It's not very unusual then for you to see people naked."
"Not at all," she said in a lower, more intimate voice, as her hand played with my breasts, sudsing them thoroughly and so teasingly. "It is so funny to see some of the old women with great big teats . . . they hang almost to their knees. And the men! Ah!
Some men who are for the first time there have a hard penis! But most are used to seeing pretty girls naked . . . unless, maybe, a man concentrate his view and sex ideas in his mind on one special girl. I know that I have seen a penis rise from nothing to greatness when a man looks only at me for some time. . . ."
"Is ... is it exciting when that happens?" I asked her breathily, holding out my arms as she washed sensually under them. "Doesn't it make you ... feel good to know you have such an effect upon him?"
"Oh, yes- If he is good look at, and has a nice penis," Lisette said gaily, indicating that I should turn over on my stomach in the half filled tub. "If so, I will be the coquette, you understand. I will spread open wider my legs and make my titties bounce. Ha-ha! It will give him a very hard time, yes?"
"Yes ... I would think so . . . with the lovely body you have," I told her, my head tilted left to look up at her and see the large breasts move excitingly beneath the sheerness of her little bra. "In fact, I would imagine some of the women . . . those kind, you know . . . like to look too......"
"Yes . . . we have many in France," she said, then remained silent as she continued to bathe me.
She dipped the bar of soap into the water and rubbed it all the way down to the small of my back. When I was well soaped, her delicate young hand worked over my flesh in little swirls, sudsing up the wet soap desposits and massaging me at the same time. The experience was so sensual that I gently moved my pubic mount around on the wet bottom of the bathtub. The motion made my hips rotate very slightly, and I was definitely sighing so that she could hear me.
However, Lisette kept right on with her work. She soaped up my buttocks and hips and then squeezed the scented bar down deep into my ass-cleavage, rubbing back and forth over my asshole with what seemed like deliberate teasing. Oh! She felt so good. Her hands roamed both buttocks softly, sliding through the suds and cleansing me as I had never been cleansed before.
I could not help but continue the movement of my pelvis, the rubbing in a circular style of my pussy mount on the tub surface. I sighed out once in orgasm! Twice! But Lisette went right on, not saying a word. Her fingers dived into the area between my buttocks and rubbed up a new amount of thick suds. The side of her hand kept going up and down, from the small of my back, over my anus and into my cunt!
And before she completed that area, Lisette made certain that my asshole was clean too. I rose up in a strong, moaning orgasm when she began to push two soapy fingers in and out of the hole itself!
Still, she said nothing. I was afraid to say anything. I had certainly demonstrated the effect she was having on me. Why, I wondered, was she ignoring it all, but continuing her actions? In sudsing my upper and lower thighs from behind, the feeling was also sensual, arousing. Even the cleaning of my feet and toes kept my libido charged at full voltage.
Finally, I was rinsed thoroughly and stood up on the bath mat beside the tub as Lisette dried me off. - It was warm in the bathroom and she was sweaty. But I liked the aroma. I had a strange and forbidden urge to kneel and pull down her briefs and......
I tossed the idea from my head as strongly as possible. I couldn't imagine what had made me even think of such a thing . . . except that it was so obvious she was trying to seduce me. And as she patted my body dry with the big Turkish towel, she paid special attention to my nipples, making them stick out erect as she pulled on them with the towel.
When I spread my legs as she dried down over my belly and around my buttocks, I almost cringed in pleasant anticipation. And I was not disappointed. I looked down at the almost naked body of the 19 year old girl. She crouched and pushed the towel between my thighs. She rubbed with titillating pressure into my pussy. I sighed again and shivered with a small orgasm. She moved the towel back and parted my ass-cheeks. She rubbed me thoroughly and produced a powerful sensation by using her finger to push the rough cloth into my asshole.
I was so excited that I wanted desperately to say something. She twisted her towel covered finger around and around and pressed it deeper and deeper into my anus. I sighed. I moaned. She pulled it out and then pushed a fresh piece of the towelling back inside and began the process all over again.
"Oh . . . Madame is quite sensitive," Lisette said when I turned around, my legs still spread, and she parted the lips of my wet pussy and dried away the secretions in short dabs and rubs, aimed primarily at my clit. "You must be very glad when Mr. Hathaway comes home, yes?"
"Is ... is Cissy so sensitive?" I blurted out, then cursed myself silently for having come out with the question.
"Oh, yes," she replied unhesitatingly and with a little laugh. "And I too. We are a houseful of loving women, I suppose. But that is okay....."
Her voice trailed off as I stood there naked and breathing so heavily. It seemed to me as if she was afraid to go any further. She wanted me to go ahead with the conversation and bring it to some sort of definite conclusion. But I realized that I honestly could not bring it to a conclusion. I was experiencing strange, new feelings. I was quite unsure of myself, quite plagued by guilt feelings, some of which I could not understand myself.
"Oh! Oh, Madame Hathaway!" Lisette suddenly screamed in terror, and jumped up to quickly put her uniform back on. "I have done something so terrible!"
"No . . . no, you haven't, Lisette!" I exclaimed, grasping her arm and completely misunderstanding her. "It's all right. I think we both just . . . well, became a little too. . . ."
"The letter!" she shrieked, ignoring my clumsy attempts at trying to soothe what I so foolishly thought was a guilty conscience. "It came with Special Delivery from the postman in a station wagon! You were at the cocktail party. Will Madame ever, ever forgive me? I will go downstairs at once to get it. . . ."
Almost in tears, Lisette turned and fled from the room. While a Special Delivery letter may or may not be important to one, Lisette was so trained for being the "perfect" servant that she was scolding herself for the oversight of not bringing me the letter as soon as I had come home.
I tossed the terry cloth robe I had been wearing into the hamper, and produced a fresh one from the towel closet. I slipped my feet into a pair of high-heeled slippers fronted with big fluffs of marabou (the ones Kenneth liked to see me walk around in when nude or in boudoir attire). Quickly, I drained the rest of my Scotch and what was left of the ice, then fixed a new one and drank almost half of it at once. Kenneth would not be home until about five, and it was only a little past four.
I paced the floor of our large bedroom impatiently, wondering what I would do for the next hour. Only when Lisette came running back in the room did I remember that I had a Special Delivery letter. Who could it be from? My parents seldom wrote. If there had been a tragedy of some sort in the family, they would have wired or called.
"It is all the way from Texas, Madame!" Lisette exclaimed with a spark of her European excitement that gave away her provinciality. "I hope Madame will please forgive me. . . . ?"
"Of course," I said, taking her hand in mine after I took the letter from her, feeling sorry for the look of hurt and pleading in her soft, blue eyes. "I'm sure it's nothing important, really. It's from Dallas, and my family lives in Houston. I do forgive you, Lisette. And I want to thank you for giving me such a . . .a wonderful bath, and bringing me the fresh bottle of Scotch."
"Oh, thank you! Bless you!" Lisette responded with sudden emotion, sending a sudden tingle through me when she raised my hand to her full-lipped mouth and kissed it . . . with both lips and tongue! "I will leave you alone now, Madame to read your special letter. Anytime you desire me to give you a bath, please call me. Miss Cissy is never out of bed before noon. You could call me at nine and I would give you a very long and very relaxing bath to make you feel so good....."
She closed the door to the hall with those words and I was left alone. Instantly, I looked down at the unopened letter I was holding. It was very feminine, with the name and return address printed on the black flap-"Miss Jeanne Love; 2418 Colmar Drive; Dallas, Texas 75289".
My heart did a sudden jump! I half-reclined on the bed and tore open the envelope with trembling fingers. At that moment, my conscious mind was not aware of the reason for my reaction. Jeanne Love had been a girl for whom I used to babysit a lot when I was 17 to 19, and she was 12 to 14. She had moved with her parents to Dallas when she was 14, and we had kept in very loose touch by exchanging Christmas cards over the years, and adding little notes of interest on the backs of the cards.
But why a Special Delivery letter from her?
Jeanne's handwriting was flowing and beautiful, but the contents of the letter were quite unexpected. Far from being a short note, it was over three pages long, and read: Dallas, Texas June 17 My dear Norma, By the time you receive this, I may already be in New York. The movers have taken everything from my apartment except a small table and desk that I am going to leave for whoever may want it. My taxi is not due for another half hour, so I can take my time explaining why I am moving to New York City.
I told you on my last Christmas card that I was finally modeling for high-fashion and loving it. Dallas is one of the fashion centers of the world now, and I have been doing a lot of work. But now, I have hit the jackpot, Norma-Denyse DeFontayne, the famous haute couture photographer in New York was here for our last season's showing and liked my work so much that she signed a contract for me to come to New York and model for her exclusively! I'm just so thrilled, Norma! It's the big break that every model dreams of!
After almost ten years, I'm also very excited that I will get to see you again. I know that you're leading a very active social life, and I'll be pretty busy too. But we have to have some hours to spend together. I want to tell you about all the exciting things that have happened to me in all these years. And I know you must have so much to tell me about being in the rich society bunch up there. I'll bet you lead a wonderful life, and I look forward to getting up there where the "action" is.
I don't think I've changed very much since I was 14. I'm a little more filled out, but not too much. That's something high-fashion won't allow. One designer described me as a "tall gamin" with "elfish charm". I hope the description doesn't scare you away, Norma. I think my face and personality are much the same as ever, except that my personality is not so hidden now. I'm a little over 5' 6" tall and weigh 116 pounds. The other vital statistics are 34A-20-34.
I'm reminiscing now, Norma, and I hope you don't mind. The years have been long, and I will have certain personal obligations to Denyse. In fact, I'll be staying at her place for a while, so you call me there anytime after noon on the 18th. No matter what, Norma, I still mean every word that I said to you the last time you babysat for me in Houston. Will you ever forget that night? I won't. I hope you haven't changed, Norma. I realize you are married, and it may be that my way of life is not for you at all. If you don't accept my way of life, Norma, please accept me.
I will wait a few days before calling you, but you may call me before. If you don't want to see me, Norma, it will just kill me. Please, Norma, let me see you and talk to you just once, no matter how you may feel about me after all these years.
I meant every word I said that night in Houston.
Love, Jeanne The stationary had a very subtle fragrance that I liked. It only "hinted" of the perfume-like odor from afar, and when put directly beneath my nose, was still distant, feminine, beckoning, seductive. I was not so naive that I did not detect the inferences in her letter. But I could not think, though I tried very hard, what the exact words were that she had spoken to me that last night I babysat for her.
Unlike my parents, who let me do babysitting when I was 14, Jeanne's mother and father would never leave her alone without a sitter. I seemed to remember a Christmas card from her when she was 16, in which she told me joyfully that she did not have to have a sitter anymore.
Chills ran through my body and I began to itch between my legs again. I lay back more comfortably and let my right hand migrate toward my pussy, pushing aside the front of my robe and finding a damp forest and wet sex-flesh. I had never before believed in metaphysics or the psychic phenomena that includes extra-sensory perception. But what other reason could explain my Lesbian thoughts as I had masturbated and admired myself, and let Lisette thrill me so in a sexual way?
The letter had been in the house ever since I had returned from the cocktail party, and I had never before, so far as I could remember, let my imagination and my body respond to girl-girl sexuality. The letter was there! It had transmitted, without my having read it yet, the potential I had for Lesbian love. The experience with Jeanne when she was 14 must have been an unusually powerful one. But I had completely rejected it over the past years.
"Oh . . . oh, darling . . . ," I moaned in orgasm, and then I recalled what Ken had told me one time.
"You really go for those models, don't you?" he had asked in a leering, sneering way, when he saw me looking at a fashion magazine in the downstairs den.
"I like the outfit this one has on," I replied, not understanding his inference.
"Yeah I Sexy, baby I" he had retorted, his eyes bulging at the beach wear bikinis and swim suits. "See the credit? 'Denyse DeFontayne'. She's the biggest dyke Lesbian in the business, I heard. She ever lets a broad model for her without tasting the goodies first. Wheee! I wish I had the choice of cunts she does to lick on. Lap I Lap! Lap! Yeah . . . that gal has a club of them, Club Lesbos, I've heard it called. Wildest thing in New York . . . and I sure would like to get in the middle of it. . . ."
"Go to hell!" I had cursed him, and thrown the magazine in his face and left the room while he was still laughing.
Ken was always making all kinds of sexual suggestions in a vulgar way. He was a good-looking young man and quite a sportsman. His personality was cheerful and humorous around others and he was quite popular in the rich Westchester crowd . . . the crowd in my age group that I longed so much to be with.
I think Ken and Cissy both were very fond of their mother. When their father married me, a girl just out of high school, almost an adolescent teenager, they automatically despised me. But despite Ken's attitude, his male appeal was very strong for me.
He had tried to seduce me dozens of times, almost raped me once. I wanted him to fuck me, suck me, make long, young love to me I But it was impossible in more ways than one. I would have been a one-time plaything for him had I ever given in. And then he would have told his father that I was a tramp! How cruel he was, knowing (as he must have) how I suffered and craved sexual love and satisfaction from a virile and potent male closer to my own age.
My eyes moved toward Jeanne's letter again as I lay across the bed and continued to masturbate. I drew up both legs so that the heels almost touched each cheek of my ass, then let my knees fall to either side, suspended, and spread my thighs widely apart. Oh, how I would Uke to see and feel the hard cock of a man, a young man! How I had wanted to see, feel, suck, lick and be fucked by Ken's cock when I could see the mighty bulge in his slacks as he teased me.
I brought my fingers up to my mouth and narcissistically licked my cunt juices from them. I let them mix with the abundant saliva in my mouth, and then I swallowed it all. When I exhaled through my mose, the aroma was beautiful. I wondered about Jeanne, and what she did with other women in sex. Would she want to get naked with me? I could take her to our downtown apartment, which was rarely used. Would Jeanne want to suck between my legs? Would she lie over me as a man? Would she want me to lick and suck her lovely breasts?
I could almost picture them . . . small, yet pert and firm, the nipples barely developed and uptilted.
She was 23 years old, I realized, and hardly the sweet and lovable little 14 year old that I remembered. But, she said she had not changed! And what did she say to me that last night I sat for her? What happened that night? What did we do?
My head felt dizzy. The liquor was finally hitting me. My right hand and fingers were still at my clit, rubbing the little bud around and around and around. I was having orgasms. I saw visions of Ken, Lisette, Cissy and Jeanne-all of them naked and beckoning to me! My left hand clung to the letter the one physical object that had transmitted its powerful message of sex before it had even been opened.
"No . . . no, Cissy," I moaned in a low, husky, self-stimulating voice. "Your . . . your pussy is blonde! It's ... as blonde as Jeanne's! And . . my cunt hairs are as dark as Lisette's. Jeannel What is it? No, Jeanne. Don't go down on Cissy. . . ."
I was somewhere between reality and fantasy. My left hand fell to my side, but the letter remained between my possessive fingers. I had to have the letter! The letter was mine! The letter had the power to make me react as I never had before in my life!
Or had I?
The question pounded through my head as yet another orgasm filled my body with brief but strong pleasure. My finger still slid around and around and around my slippery clit. Ken was standing over me. He was watching Jeanne suck between his sister's beautiful legs, admiring the milk-whiteness of her perfectly formed thighs against the carefully tanned and shapely slimness of Jeanne's body.
"Jeanne! Jeanne!" I cried out, holding up my hands in supplication. "It's me that you want! You told me so in your letter....."
"Open that wet, brunette cunt, Norma!" Ken's voice rasped and I turned to see him guide his powerful cock between my legs and deep into my pussy.
Everything began going around and around again, my head spinning. I was hot, sexy, passionate. But the scene had changed to a beautiful lakeside home in Houston, Texas almost ten years before