Chapter 1
The early morning air, lightly salted by the sparkling Pacific only two blocks away, wafted pleasantly through the open window. A mild spring breeze was blowing inland from the Golden Gate Bridge and gently stirred the upper branches and leaves of an overhanging eucalyptus tree, making them slither softly at the pane. The ripening foliage brushed and tapped against the glass, creating a rustling murmur in the room.
The waking girl stirred languidly, stretching herself reluctantly into wakefulness. As her arms lifted, the single pink sheet which covered her fell away from her breasts. The cool air played across the bare white globe, raising tiny goose-bumps on the delicate skin.
She opened her eyes slowly, blinking at the bright morning light which now flooded into her room. Her nipples tingled and throbbed slightly: the fallen sheet and the sudden change in temperature had caused them instinctively to harden and stiffen into tight sensuous pink buds. The girl smiled to herself, her hands slipping ever her breasts and giving them a brief but possessive fondling.
She sighed, wishing for a moment that she could snuggle down in the bed again and let her hands roam dreamily over her body ... but in a few moments she knew the alarm would begin to shrill and it would be time to dress and prepare breakfast.
Jacqueline regretfully released her breasts and threw the sheet back. She jumped quickly out of the warm bed and snatched up her robe. Tying it tightly around her waist so that the short silk garment clung sensuously to her curves, the girl crossed to the window.
She breathed the crisp, clean air gratefully, drawing it deeply into her lungs and feeling the cobwebs of sleep being quickly banished. She looked out across the expanse of white and red roofed homes below at the rolling swells of the Bay and the brightly colored sails and spinnakers of the early morning amateur sailors who had already ventured out near Alcatraz Island. The view was breathtaking; it gave her a strong feeling of peace and serenity, assuring her that spring would always return, that the renewal life was constant and permanent and that her own youth and beauty were eternal.
Jacqueline opened the sliding window a little farther and stepped out onto the balcony. The sky was light blue, a few fluffy clouds drifted lazily overhead. The girl stood motionless for several moments, lost in sweet contemplation of the tranquil seascape which stretched as far as the eye could see.
She had repeated this ritual daily since the first morning she'd arrived at the Ashley's house, but it never failed to fill her with renewed delight and pleasure. Regularly, she awoke before her alarm sounded and spent these few precious minutes staring out at the panoramic expanse of land and sea.
It seemed to still the frequent pangs of homesickness which overwhelmed her whenever she was alone in the house. Not that there were many of these moments of solitude: Mona Ashley was rarely out of the house for more than a few hours and even when the couple went out in the evenings she had the stereo and television to keep her company.
But, it was at times like this, early in the morning and late at night when she was alone in her room, that Jacqueline felt the sharp yearning to be with her own family and friends again and to breathe the air of her beloved Sweden. When this longing became so intense that it threatened to overwhelm her completely, she would stand before the open window, staring blankly at the lights topping the Golden Gate in the West and dream reminiscently of a past way of life ... a life that had recently changed so much.
These fleeting moments served not only to remind her of home, they enabled her to slip into a sweet reverie in which she pretended to herself that this really was Sweden-that the hills and blue waters of San Francisco were really the land and sea coast near her home in Malmo-that she was there again living with her Swedish father and French mother.
Jacqueline smiled at the way she dramatized her situation. It was a bit melodramatic to have feelings like this-especially because she'd only been in The United States for three weeks and in another three weeks she would be going home anyway.
Still, this working vacation was her very first trip abroad and after all, she was only 19 and a rather imaginative and sensitive girl. The Ashley's, although they still seemed a little unfamiliar to her, tried in every way to make her feel at home and only infrequently did Jacqueline find her thoughts straying towards her loneliness-the loneliness that gnawed just below the surface of her mind.
She jumped, jolted out of her reverie by the strident, grating jangling of the alarm clock and reluctantly stepped from the balcony back into her room and switched it off. Quickly, because she was almost running out of time, she made her bed and stepped softly into the hall.
Mr. and Mrs. Ashley wouldn't be awake for another fifteen or twenty minutes and Jacqueline tip-toed quietly to the bathroom. She turned the lock, ran the water for her bath and washed her hands and face. While the tub was filling, she brushed her teeth and casually pinned back her honey-blonde hair.
She draped her robe on the hook by the door, pausing before she stepped into the tub to admire the shapeliness of her young body. Her image was half-obscured by the misty steam rising from her bath, but this only served to enhance the lovely vision: Jacqueline's figure was blurred and partly concealed, almost mysterious and shadowy in the fogged mirror.
The girl stretched up on her toes, just able to see the blonde patch of soft, downy pubic hair nestling tantalizingly down between her legs. Impulsively, she reached for a small towel and wiped away the steam and then stepped back again. She could now see herself clearly-though the mirror was already beginning to cloud over.
Perhaps it was the heat, or some subconscious awakening, but her nipples were thrusting from the center of her high and wide-spread breasts, taut and firm with a hard, pear-like prominence. She slowly moved her hands up her body, golden and glistening from the moistened air and finally she lightly caressed the sensitive, erected buds with the tips of her fingers.
They tingled sweetly, stiffening deliciously into a greater and more strained rigidity. Dreamily, Jacqueline lowered her hands beneath the soft resilient mounds, raising them slightly and keeping her fingertips against her nipples. Rolling them in almost a circular motion, she let her fingertips press into the supple flesh.
Closing her eyes and with one hand slowly tracing its sensuous way across each soft breast, she cautiously moved her other hand down her body past the curve of her hip toward the loosely tangled mound of soft, silky hair ... curiously so much softer than the other light sun streaked tresses that had somehow become unpinned and lay tousled and curled about her shoulders.
Jacqueline opened her eyes to the sound of the tub that was almost overflowing and shakily stepped away from the mirror that had gradually become completely obscured by the steam that filled the room. She lowered herself into the bath until her body was covered completely, sinking down until the caressing warmth lapped around her neck. Instead of soaping herself immediately, she leaned back and let every muscle and nerve relax, luxuriating in the tantalizing feel of the scented water around her. She opened her legs, letting the gently swirling currents envelop her entire being-feeling it seep into her body through the slightly parted lips of her vagina.
Her chin resting on the surface of the water, Jacqueline returned her hands to her breasts. They felt even more soft and smooth beneath the warm caressing water, delicate and gentle. Stroking them lightly and slowly so that it seemed to take an eternity to move her finger-tips from one aroused nipple to the other, she could feel time slowing almost to a standstill. The caresses, so tender and maddening, slowly lulled her into stillness and soon her eyes closed in sweet rolling waves of ecstasy-chilling and trembling waves coursing the entire length of her body.
She could feel her hands, her loins-her whole body begin to quiver as she gradually increased the pressure of her touch. Exploring her breasts as if they were strangers to her own fingers ... tentatively ... then almost fiercely, her fingers nipped at the tiny, pink rosebuds. Squeezing, just touching ... and finally pinching, until a sensation of pleasant pain began to spread deliciously out from her breasts, enveloping her in her own private world of sweet and urgent delight.
Her eyes opened a little and she looked down at herself, at her teasing hands that were bringing her so much pleasure. They seemed to be the strangers now ... elusive fingers belonging to a bold and unknown girl who had climbed into the bath with her ... someone who was dominating her completely and Jacqueline knew she had no will to resist the arousing caresses.
Powerless, she watched her breasts being turned in slow revolving circles-lifted almost out of the frothing water so that for a moment her nipples were clearly visible, then lowered modestly beneath the surface again. She saw them being pressed firmly together, the warm globes rubbing ceaselessly against each other. And her nipples, which for a brief moment had quieted, once again began to react erotically to the relentless touch of the maddening fingertips, pulsating furiously now ... begging to be released-yet longing for the caressing to continue ...
Her eyes grew hot and misty, clouded with desire. Her mouth felt dry and her breath came in long, heaving gasps.
She rubbed her hand down over one breast, sliding it deliciously down her stomach until her fingers touched the soft, tingling curl of pubic hair. The growth was soft and silken, floating upwards as the hot water swirled gently around it. She stroked the firm rise of her sweetly aching mound, reaching her probing middle finger down the warm, velvet-like slit until it slipped easily into the open gently, throbbing lips of her vagina.
Scarcely aware of what she was doing, Jacqueline began to work her long, sinewy middle finger deeper and deeper into the warm, moist cavern between her legs ... until finally it was buried completely up inside her.
The hot caressing waters of her bath mingled indistinguishably with the flowing secretions that now churned deep in her belly and had lubricated the smooth fleshed passage to a point that she could almost effortlessly slide one ... and then ... two more fingers into the warm, hungry channel.
Almost blinded by the ecstatic sensation of her moving fingers, she forced herself to keep her eyes open ... to watch the quickening movements of her half-obscured hand below the surface of the rippling water.
Her hips writhed in small sensuous circles, grinding slowly beneath the steaming surface. Her thrusting hand moved more rapidly now as her desire mounted and the growing pulsations in her loins made her wince deliciously in pleasure.
The water lapped deeper and deeper into the wide-stretched lips of her impassioned cunt, bubbling hotly as with a grimace, she forced a third finger all the way up into what now seemed to be the throbbing center of her entire existence ... Then, she was frantically thrusting almost the whole of her hand in and out, in and out, deep up into the tight, resisting opening between her wide-spread legs.
Her other hand, that all the while had been teasing and tormenting the rigid tips of her heaving breasts, suddenly came into play-reaching down and searching desperately for the concealed button of her clitoris. Now, with both hands driving her into feverish, helpless passion she nearly fainted from the lewd, obscene pleasures she was bestowing upon herself.
Then, almost before she knew it, it was upon her.
She started to cum!
Arching and thrusting her hips in waves of uncontrollable desire she sobbed and groaned as she fought to sustain her climax for as long as possible. Her warm, erupting juices merged with the rippling waters of her bath, boiling from deep in her belly past her straining fingers out into the steaming tub.
Crying out, she drove her fingers ruthlessly up and down the narrow, tortured channel of her cunt-spluttering as her mouth went under water. She threshed wildly, throwing her hands out to grip the side of the tub to keep from drowning in her sudden fit of uncontrolled passion.
The spell was broken instantly; her desire left her as quickly as it had come, leaving her frustrated and not completely relieved. Shakily, Jacqueline raised herself out of the tub and buried her face in a towel. A mixture of guilt and anger forced the tears to flow unchecked down her cheeks.
She hated herself. She felt dirty and unclean, like a schoolgirl masturbating behind her parents' backs. What had made her touch herself like that? She had never before allowed her emotions to control her that way-never played with herself so openly and blatantly ... not in broad daylight, not watching her hands that way.
Late at night, curled up in bed under the covers, with her eyes tightly closed, she had secretly slipped her fingers down between her legs and given herself pleasure. But to lie in the bath in broad daylight and-
Jacqueline shivered with self-reproach. Caressing her body was one thing. Admiring the feel of her skin, running her hands over the soft curves of her body ... that was very pleasant and normal, certainly nothing to be ashamed of. Every girl did that ... she was sure they did!
But her feelings and the way she had just aroused them was very different. Even earlier, when she had awakened with the cool breeze caressing her nude breasts, Jacqueline had felt stronger desires than ever before-the impulse to "do things" to herself. She had easily overcome the temptation-or so she imagined. But the warm water all around her body, liquid heat soothing and caressing her ... that had been too much!
Dropping the damp towel to the floor, Jacqueline snapped herself back into reality. No, she told herself sharply. It wasn't just that you touched yourself that's making you feel so guilty-it's not even the bright daylight. She recalled-she forced herself to recall, that she had for moments pretended there was another girl in the bath with her! Another girl, fondling and stroking her aching body and bringing her such ecstatic pleasure. It was the memory of this fantasy that disturbed her so much.
She had played a private game with herself. A game involving the imagined presence of someone else-not a man, but someone of her own sex! Like an electric shock, the realization of her thoughts jolted through her entire body-forcing her to acknowledge a desire she had subconsciously hidden all her life.
Another girl ... it was impossible now to suppress the image ... it had finally reared its ugly head and was taking complete control of her. Jacqueline's body ached with longing for the gentle hands, the slender fingers of a soft-fleshed female to stroke the shapeliness of her trembling body ... to caress the hidden areas no one had ever touched before. Closing her eyes, she tried to re-create the dreamy blissfulness that had existed so few moments ago ... imagining the unknown hands that had so tenderly coaxed into smoldering fires of desire ... the merging of her body with another ... breasts pushing against breasts ...
Jacqueline quivered, she trembled from head to toe. Her body glistened with water from the bath ... droplets trickling teasingly down the valley between her breasts, tickling like gentle fingertips down the insides of her thighs. She shivered again.
Jacqueline: the innocent, the almost virginal Jacqueline. The girl who had scarcely explored her own body, let alone allowed her charms to be touched by other hands. Jacqueline: whose sexual awakening so long delayed, was now blossoming-making her ripe for new experiences.
She let her eyes travel with new wonderment over her shining body, over the firm thrust of her thighs, over the flat paleness of her tummy, at the sleek curve of her hips. The body which no lover had ever known ... except her own magic fingers.
She began to dry herself, rubbing the towel quickly over her moist skin until it tingled and glowed a healthy pink. She forced herself to concentrate all of her attention on the toweling of her body. Deliberately refusing to dwell any longer on the sexual implications of her experience, she thought only of the work that had to be done; Caine and Mona Ashley would be up by now and their breakfast had to be prepared.
Her heart still pounded and she could feel her pulse racing wildly. She knew that no matter how hard she tried she wouldn't be able to completely control her feelings, they could never again be repressed and always, the thought of another girl's touches would remain with her. Always, with every reminder of her beautiful young body-every time she felt her breasts thrusting outwards (as she did even now, her nipples still tingling from the feel of the rough towel) Jacqueline would know again the glorious excitement she experienced when she had imagined another girl's caresses, hands holding her breasts possessively and teasing the nipples into tantalizing erectness.
Jacqueline slipped into her robe and quickly rinsed the bath.
Moments later, back in her room, she tried desperately to hide the knowledge from herself-the realization that she would never again be totally innocent. Although the seeds of desire had taken a long time to flower, they were now too vibrant to be ignored. Somehow, Jacqueline thought, somehow she would make her fantasy a reality. Only then would she be able to rid herself of the lingering thoughts of self-disgust and shame. Only by bringing her secret longings out into the open and facing them without fear or remorse would she be able to exorcise them. With a thrill of pleasure at the thought of her dream becoming a reality she brushed her golden hair and began to dress.
Downstairs, Mona Ashley stared at the empty bed beside her. Caine hadn't returned all night and she felt that familiar sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach-the same feeling that told her he had spent the night with another woman.
There would be no proof, of course. There never was. Caine was far too clever and even considerate, for that. At least Mona hoped consideration was involved. She couldn't bear to think that he just didn't give a damn about her anymore and was careful only to avoid a disagreeable confrontation. It had happened so many times, so many lonely nights, that she had even stopped searching for the tell-tale traces of lipstick on his collar, the stray strands of hair on his clothing. And it would always follow the same pattern. He would be kind and solicitous to her for a few days afterwards; their relationship would, on the surface, be closer and warmer and he would talk to her more frequently.
But then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, he would change. He would withdraw back into himself-ignoring her completely except when he roused himself to find fault with something she had done or said. Times like these made it impossible for any warmth or contact between them and it was almost worse than not having him there at all.
One day he would announce that he was leaving on an unexpected business trip and disappear for several days. She always tried to make herself believe that he had told her the truth, that he really was going to a meeting or a conference, but she knew she was deceiving herself. On his return, Caine once again would act out the role of a tender, loving husband.
The pattern had been established for over a year and Mona felt powerless to change it. She searched herself desperately for a clue to the cause of their marriage breakdown but could find nothing that would help her understand what really had happened to them. She couldn't even pinpoint the exact moment they had begun to drift apart.
Caine had moved away from her so slowly that there never had been a sudden realization that his feelings had changed. But he had changed, changed to a point that she could no longer delude herself into thinking that it was just a passing moment or mood. Even now, on the infrequent occasions when he made love to her, it had become an impersonal, almost clinical exercise-as if he were just using her to relieve himself, or perhaps, just to fulfill what he considered a husbandly obligation. Still, Mona could see that it was not she alone that was hurt by their cold and remote relationship-she could almost feel herself the inward suffering Caine tried to hide as he felt their life together dividing. But, when she pleaded with him to talk to her ... to find from each other what was the matter ... he would refuse to discuss the subject with her. When she persisted he would get angry, almost violent and she had no clue to the reason for his behavior. They had reached an impasse.
And, if it hadn't been for Anne, Mona felt she would have left him long ago. To their daughter, Caine was always warm and affectionate; it was obviously something that she, Mona, had done to cause this rift between them. But, she never could discover what ...
The tension generated by their estrangement was becoming more and more intolerable. If only Caine would talk to her!
Mona pulled herself out of her contemplation and got out of bed. As she moved toward the closets to choose a dress for the day, she realized with a start that this time Caine hadn't even told her he was going away! She felt the familiar tears welling in her eyes and she bit her lip at the anguished helpless feeling.
Fighting back the crying that was threatening to engulf her, Mona yanked the closet door open and dragged a dress from a hangar without even looking to see which one it was. She threw it on the bed and was about to close the door when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the full length mirror.
Her hands dropped to her side as she stared at the woman who was facing her. She stood quite still, almost reflectively, amazed at the beauty of image that confronted her-the glossiness of the waist-length ebony hair that Caine at one time had loved so much. Her hair was disheveled and tossed about her shoulders, but it seemed to add to her attractiveness rather than detract from it.
The thin shoulder straps of her negligee had fallen away and the swellings of her large firm breasts would have been visible if it hadn't been for the shimmering cascade of black hair which streamed across her shoulders and bosom. Through the tresses, however, she could plainly see the tips of her ruby nipples-protruding budlike through the silken hair as if they were determined not to be hidden.
Mona slowly ran her hands down the rest of her body; as if mesmerized; unable to move an inch; fascinated by the sensuousness she saw in the mirror. It had been so long, so very long since she had studied her body so carefully. Now she saw the fine slimness, the shapeliness of her thighs, the curves of her long legs ...
Thoughtfully, Mona slowly rotated her body so that she could study her figure from the rear. The thrust of her buttocks under the clinging silk of her negligee was arousing and intriguing. She put her hands on the firm cheeks, pressing the white globes softly. The flesh moved easily beneath her touch-springing back into shape as Mona pensively rubbed her fingers over her bottom.
She really didn't look like a woman of thirty-four with a fifteen-year old daughter, she thought proudly. Her figure was more voluptuous than ever; no sign of soft looseness anywhere and her flesh was firm and smooth to her hands.
Mona turned back again to face the mirror. Perhaps I should take off my negligee and take a really critical look before I start to feel too pleased with myself, she murmured. Let's see if I still look as good with no clothes on at all ...
She pulled the ribbon at her waist and allowed the nightgown to rustle to the floor. Because it was shaped to her body it fell slowly, giving her plenty of time to savor the sensation of the silk as it slithered down her skin. Raising her feet demurely, Mona stepped out of its folds and returned her gaze once more to the reflection in the mirror.
Her long, lustrous hair still partially covered her breasts and she impatiently shook it out of the way. Her movement caused her breasts to bounce delightfully, wobbling free in a sensuous, rolling action. Mona ran her hands up from her waist to encompass them, taking the ivory orbs in her palms and raising them gently.
Preciously, she held the warm melons-her nipples already starting to stiffen perceptibly. They were firm enough that they didn't need the added support of Mona's hands and by raising them she had increased their out-thrusting curve to almost unbelievable proportions. She let her fingers move up over her breasts until they released the full white globes, letting them fall back heavily into their normal position.
Although she had scarcely touched them, her nipples were already thick and throbbing-the tight little petals flowering quickly under the urge that had seized her.
Oblivious to everything except the fire that was raging up inside her, Mona moved away from the mirror toward the bed. In a trance-not even knowing the steps that had brought her there-she found herself under the covers.
As if in a dream, her hands began to involuntarily massage the straining whiteness of her breasts, trapping the trembling nipples between her fingers, kneading and pulling until it felt as though she would tear them loose from the quivering white mounds. She groaned and turned over on her stomach, pressing the mound of her clitoris tightly into the mattress-attempting to relieve the fire that was suddenly raging out of control there.
Her hand, completely against her will, burrowed down beneath her body and the bed and groped for the tangled mass of curled hair between her legs. Her legs scissored open, a foot dangling on either side of the bed. Her body trembled in ecstatic convulsions as her fingers found the moist opening of her pulsating cunt. She could feel the palpitations of her clitoris as her fingertips pried open the throbbing orifice ... exposing it to the heated air beneath the covers. With a groan, she sunk one of her middle fingers deep into the viscous moistened mouth between her thighs. Holding her breath, she felt relieved for a moment ... but only a very short moment. The fire within her raged even hotter, demanding more to feed its insatiable hunger. She inserted another finger, drawing her knees up to a kneeling position, with her buttocks raised high in the air behind her. Her head ground into the pillow and her feet thrashed wildly as she drove her fingers relentlessly in and out of her lust-maddened cunt ... gasping, she wished Caine were there ... she wanted to be fucked ... she wanted to feel his huge throbbing cock sliding and ramming into her ... drumming its way in and out like a great, glistening machine. Her gasps began to match the pounding of her fingers, as she screwed them even deeper into the hot searing passage. But, her fingers weren't enough as her thoughts reeled, remembering the urgent and delicious hammering of Caine's cock ... she had to have more but there was nothing ... nothing but her fingers! In desperation she reached up over her swaying buttocks, with her other hand searched the wet crevice and rammed a finger deep into the puckered anal hole between her moon-shaped buttocks. She cried out, as in her haste a fingernail cut into the soft fleshy wall, sending a sharp scream of pain through her quivering body. But the pain became a stilled moment of delicious agony as she once again took up the rhythm of the creaking bed springs ... as her fingers below drove into the roaring furnace of her cunt her other finger matched the ferocious pounding-and she could feel them sliding past each other-separated only by a thin tortured membrane of flesh inside her.
Her full breasts hung and swayed beneath her kneeling body and her head banged into the headboard-the roaring in her ears was matched only by the frantic thrusting of both her hands ... and her face turned crimson as she felt it coming-coming in a great avalanche-she hung for a moment teetering on the edge of unconsciousness ... then her whole body vibrated; she could feel the white hot juices gush from between her rummaging fingers-covering her hand and streaming onto the mattress below. She could feel it running in tiny trickling rivulets down the insides of her trembling thighs to her bended knees.
Mona stayed on her hands and knees for a while, her buttocks swaying as she tried to keep her balance. She couldn't bear to withdraw her fingers until the last dying throbs had stilled within her body.
She lay there, panting harshly, fingers still tightly embedded in both aching openings of her body, eyes glazing over. And it was not until she heard the sudden gasp from the doorway and she realized that Jacqueline, the young Swedish girl, was standing there that Mona came back down to reality-a deep blush spreading over her face as she turned sideways to the bedroom door, her finger still crooked in her cunt ...