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Singapore Slut

April 12, 2011 4 comments

Last time I was in Singapore, New Years Day 2003, I had me a delicious Slut. Rather inexpensive she was, too–cheaper than a plate of Nachos or a peanut butter sandwich and much tastier, but not as tasty as her garlic twin covered with lime juice.

Categories: Uncategorized

Nails

April 6, 2011 3 comments

Nails. Illustration by Andrea and Ale.

I’m good looking enough but nothing special. I’d give myself a seven on a scale of one to ten, though I’ve been told I deserve better. I have short brown hair, I’m not comfortable dressing sexy or wearing a lot of makeup, and I’m not outgoing, which isn’t surprising, since I’m a software engineer. I’m kind of nerdy, but at least my figure is attractive. It gets me attention, but it’s not always the kind of attention I want.

By contrast there’s this girl in accounting. Her name is Tina, and she’s hot. Her hair is long and blond, and she keeps it in a ponytail that she swishes from side to side as she sashays down the halls. She wears bright red lipstick, blushes her cheeks, darkens her eyelashes, and she’s talkative and vivacious, which makes it seem like she’s flirting even when she’s not. Her figure is wonderful—smaller and bigger than mine in all the right places, and she has great legs, though I don’t like the way she shows them off, with fuck-me skirts and high heels. If I was a guy I’d want to fuck her for sure.

I was going to say that I don’t like Tina, but she’s really not that bad. When it’s just us girls she’s pretty nice, and she’s smart and works hard. It’s just that she’s insecure, especially about her looks—go figure. When she’s with a guy she needs his approval, which translates into showing off her body—the fuck-me skirt thing—and shameless sucking up.

Besides designing product software I’m in charge of IT, so my cube is near Administration. And since I’m a girl, and with the way Tina dresses, they put me in the cube that looks into hers. I think they figured a guy wouldn’t get any work done, and I’m sure that’s true. Tina keeps her modesty when the boss is in her cube, but when she’s just working she often lifts one leg and pushes off with the other to swivel around in her chair and get at her file cabinet. This causes her legs to spread, which, with her short skirts, exposes her between her legs. I’ve fantasized about keeping a spreadsheet that tracks her panty collection and which ones she wears on which days—Monday’s tend to be ordinary—Friday’s are always special except when she’s having her period. I guess I could keep track of her cycle in my spreadsheet too.

It was the end of our fiscal year, and a crew of auditors came in to check our books. There were five of them—two older guys, a guy in his forties, and two younger guys. The five of them, our CFO, and Tina had a get acquainted meeting. I could see them through the glass of our conference room as I walked by to go to the ladies room, and the new guys checked me out, though with Tina there I don’t know why they bothered. After the meeting the bigwigs left, leaving the middle-aged guy, the two younger guys, and Tina to do all the work.

Audits are a pain in the ass. The job of the auditors is to poke into everything (preferably Tina, they must have thinking) and find mistakes, and they can ask for pretty much any document. It was Tina’s job to give them everything they asked for and to insure they were satisfied, figuratively speaking.

The middle-aged guy was a slave driver and had his two underlings hopping. They, in turn, took their frustrations out on Tina, whom they ran ragged. All day long they sent her into the back room to retrieve piles of paper that she had to put away when they were finished. By the end of the day her ponytail was undone, her makeup needed refreshing, and her blouse was no longer tucked into her skirt. She looked like her mother just caught her in bed making out with a boy she wasn’t supposed to be with.

I caught Tina’s eye and mopped my hand across my forehead.

She nodded yes, tough day.

After the second day the auditors had the situation in hand—they would have preferred to have Tina in hand—and the middle-aged guy left. That’s when the fun really began. The two young guys had gotten to know Tina, had spent two days ogling her legs and looking down her blouse (she’d been wearing her best bras, and I knew, matching panties), and now they were in charge and had the authority to give Tina orders of their own.

The problem was they had to compete for her, and being guys, that’s what they did. While one was adding figures the other was sitting on Tina’s desk flirting. When he had to do some work, the other guy came to tell Tina what a good job she was doing and how helpful she was.

The first guy got it got it wrong—he assumed Tina was a dumb sexy blond who’d respond to innuendo and jock humor. It is true she was sexy, very much so, but she wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t coarse.

The second guy got it right. Tina desired to please, and his praise touched her where she wanted to be touched most, at least as a starting point. To be fair, his praise wasn’t wholly manipulative. Sure, he wanted to get into her pants, and Tina knew that, but Tina had done a good job and had put out extra effort to make the work of the auditors easier.

After awhile Tina’s signals became clear, and guy number one licked his wounds and left. Guy number two hung around to see if his tomcatting was going to pay off. Even I wondered how lucky he’d get.

They stayed in Tina’s cube where I watched them while I pretended to work. They sat side by side, looking at Tina’s PC. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the body language was clear—they were touching shoulders, touching hands, making eye contact, and smiling. Also, Tina’s skirt had ridden up immodestly, and she wasn’t pulling it down.

Tina went to the ladies room and came back and sat. Her skirt was way up, and her friend couldn’t take his eyes from between her legs. My guess was that she had taken off her panties, an outrageous thing to do, and was giving him a look. He put his hand down, I couldn’t see where, but I saw Tina open her legs. She started squirming, and she grabbed his hand and removed it. She looked toward me, but I pretended to be engrossed in my monitor.

His hand must have had the desired effect, for Tina whispered something to the guy, and then she got up and walked out back. He gave her a moment and then followed.

I waited exactly three minutes and followed too, and using my key to the server room, which also opened the door to the financial records room, I let myself in.

Tina was already moaning, and I tiptoed to see what she was doing, or, more accurately, see what was being done to her.

Tina was standing on one leg. Her other leg was raised and resting on guy number two’s hip. Her legs were spread, his hand was under her ass, and his fingers were exploring her pussy.

One of her arms was holding his ass. Her other arm was behind her, holding onto a shelf for balance. Tina was rubbing her breasts on his chest.

“Take off your shirt,” he told her.

Tina shook her head and mumbled something negative, but the guy wasn’t taking no for an answer, and he took his fingers out of Tina’s pussy and began unbuttoning her shirt.

She tried to stop him, but it was a halfhearted attempt. When he got her shirt open and began teasing her nipples her reserve melted away, and she allowed him to push her shirt down her arms and take it off completely.

Tina was nearly naked, only dressed in a miniskirt and heels, and his hands were all over her. She moaned as he felt her up and gasped each time he hit a sweet spot, and she frantically began trying to get his belt open, which he finally did himself. He lowered his trousers and underwear.

His cock wasn’t the biggest I’d ever seen, but it was big enough and hard as any I’d had inside me. And though I’m not in Tina’s class, looks-wise, I do know how to make a man hard.

Tina was in his arms and in heat, squirming and pleading for him to “put it in,” but he was a cool customer and wouldn’t let her have it. Instead he teased her mercilessly, until she slid down and took his cock in her mouth and sucked it.

That didn’t last long, for her tease was better than his, and Tina quickly got him to where she wanted him. She was smart enough not to keep at it, for sucking a man is dangerous when you want to get fucked.

He lowered her to the cold floor (girls usually get the worst of it in that department), and he stepped out of his trousers.

Tina opened her legs. She was more than ready with milky fluid was pooled at her entrance.

He got on his knees, between hers, and played with her thighs with his fingertips. Then he took his cock and positioned it, with his hand, just inside the lips of her pussy.

Again he teased Tina, this time with his cock, pushing in and out, in and out of just her opening, until she would have no more of that, and she grabbed two hunks of his ass with ten fingernails and dug in hard.

“Ahhh,” he screamed. “You Bitch!” as she pulled him in.

Those were the only sounds he made, but Tina was making enough sounds for the both of them, and her sounds and his anger drove him wild. He pulled his cock all the way out, sneered sadistically, and he rammed into her depths, sinking to the hilt with a brutal thrust meant to hurt her.

But Tina didn’t seem to care or notice, or maybe it’s what she wanted. Her fingers tightened, her nails dug deeper, and she yanked him in and out, fucking herself in rhythms to suit her needs as she moaned, gasped, and squealed in a rut of lust.

I was seeing a different side of Tina—I’d always thought of her as unsure of herself, prudish, a tease who wouldn’t put out, but it was clear that she was in charge, at least at first. After a while the balance of power shifted, and it was hard to determine who was in charge—both were thrusting in a fury of madness in a tempo they’d negotiated for their coupling.

With a great grunt of release he came first, but to his credit he kept going, going at her, going at her until he flung Tina over a cliff, and with eyes tightly shut, her face twisted in agony, and a mighty “ohhhhh” of relief she fell headlong into an orgasm that she kept fucking to prolong.

Tina released her grip of Mr. Auditor’s buttocks, and he calmed down and became complacent. He was polite enough to stay in Tina for a long time, kissing her with kisses she didn’t return, until she gave him permission to pull out.

The last thing I noticed was Tina’s fingernail marks, deep crescents welling blood that dripped down his thighs; his cock, now limp, wet with Tina’s fluids; and Tina’s pussy, bright red, dripping with girl juice and cum. I sneaked back to my desk.

***

He was gone when Tina got back from the ladies room. She looked in on me, trying to gauge how much I knew or guessed.

I motioned her inside my cube, and I clicked my mouse and showed her my monitor on which there was a full screen picture of Tina with her legs spread, her face contorted with anguish, and the auditor’s cock buried deep inside her.

Tina was shocked and then angry, but I quickly told her not to worry, and I deleted the picture and emptied my Recycle Bin.

“I deleted the picture from my phone, too,” I told her, “but what if it hadn’t been me? You’d best be more careful in the future.”

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Tina begged.

“I won’t,” I said, and to assure her I confessed to the one time I fucked our boss at a hotel during a three-day convention.

Girls will be girls, and we had a good talk that we didn’t want to end. “Would you like to come over to my house?” Tina asked. “We could pick up some take-out.”

“Sounds like fun,” I replied. “You know, you’re very pretty. It’s no wonder all the guys go for you. And you really do a great job here. You’re one of the most competent people in the company.”

Tina smiled with pleasure. We left together, but I wondered what I was going to do about her nails. Tie her hands behind her back, I thought. It was going to be a fun evening.

Making the Grade

April 4, 2011 6 comments

Making the Grade. Illustration by Andrea and Ale.

Once I got stopped for speeding and showed my boobs to a cop to get out of a ticket. He didn’t ask. I just unbuttoned my shirt as he was looking at my license. He seemed torn between arresting me and letting me strip, but he didn’t say anything, so I kept on going and unclipped my bra and took it off my breasts. He glanced around to see if anyone could see, and then he helped himself to a feel. He felt both breasts. It made me wet. It wasn’t his touch—he was rough, but the whole situation that turned me on. It was risky, but after I got out of the speeding ticket I went home and masturbated thinking about him violating me.

He ordered me out of the car… made me assume the position while he frisked me… lifted my skirt and pulled down my panties to make sure I wasn’t concealing anything… fucked me with a metal rod he took off his belt then fucked me with his cock, right there, in broad daylight, bent over the hood of my car.

That’s not what happened, but that’s what I fantasized about while I worked myself over with my vibrator. I wonder what would have happened if he did do that and what would have happened if someone drove by while he was doing it. What if he had his way with me then stuck my head in my car window and cuffed me to the steering wheel, leaving me for passing motorists to enjoy, however they wished, and then came back at nightfall to release me with a slap on the wrist for the speeding. Or should that be a slap on the ass? If I were him I’d give me a major spanking.

I really did show my breasts to a cop, and he really did feel me up and let me get out of a speeding ticket, but this week I did something much worse. It’s something that goes on all the time, at my college, in a big university. I know other girls who did it, but I swore I never would.

It’s the end of summer school after my sophomore year, which is the hardest year, because the college busts the most people out, so it can weed out the duds before they let you start concentrating on your major.

I’m a good student, but my mind just isn’t capable of complicated math. It’s not that I don’t try, but I just can’t do it, and I was going to get another F on my second try at elementary calculus. I wouldn’t have been able to continue on, and my career, my whole life, would have been ruined. My father would have killed me.

You know what I’m talking about, but what other choice did I have? I was going to offer sex to my professor for a passing grade. It’s not like I was going to give anything away that I couldn’t keep—I mean my pussy wasn’t going to wear out or anything. I was just going to share what I had for what I needed.

The problem was, I don’t like the asshole. He’s an arrogant middle-aged horndog who’s always eyeing the girls and making suggestive remarks that make us uncomfortable. I also don’t like the way he smells, and I was deathly afraid he wouldn’t agree to use a condom. I was also afraid of what he would do to me if I went someplace alone with him and put myself in his hands. Despite my misgivings, I made an appointment to meet him after my final.

I wasn’t going to be subtle, so I dressed in a see-through nightgown. That was all I wore, except for sandals and a thigh-high jacket, so I could walk across campus without being raped. Before I left my dorm room I pulled my nightgown up, twisted the cloth into a roll, and tucked it into itself at the waist. That way the nightgown wouldn’t fall below the hem of my jacket, and no one would know that I was essentially naked, underneath.

My professor was aware that I was a failing student, and he leaned back with his feet on his desk and his hands clasped behind his neck, like he was king of the world and I was some kind of slug. He kept his guest chair across the room, so students can’t sit, and I was forced to stand in front of him while he looked me over, especially at my bare legs, wondering what I had on under my jacket.

I’ve got to do this, I thought for the thousandth time, and I said the magic words. “What do I have to do to get a passing grade?”

He knew what I was talking about, but he wasn’t going to say it first. “What are you willing to do?” he asked.

I kept my legs tightly closed, and I opened my jacket and lowered my nightgown before he had a chance to catch more than a glimpse of the strip of hair I kept above my slit. I took off my jacket and dropped it on the floor. My breasts were teasingly visible, and my nipples tingled, advertising my arousal. I hung my head in embarrassment and shame.

He licked his lips. “Put your jacket on, and we’ll go over to my house,” he said.

“Please,” I begged. Then, in a small voice I said, “I can’t do that. It’s too dangerous.” I shrugged apologetically. “But I really, really need to pass,” I implored.

He kept insisting, and I started crying. I hated myself.

Finally, he got up and came toward me. I shrank from him, but he walked past me and locked the door. “Take it off, and bend over the desk,” he said.

I kneeled and got a condom out of my jacket and held it up, pleadingly.

He sighed and shook his head. “You’re hopeless,” he said disgustedly. He took off his trousers and shorts, cleared his desk, lay on it, and he fished my breasts out of my nightgown, so he could see and maul them. He lay down with his legs spread. “Suck me off!” he ordered. “And you’d better do a good job or you’ll be getting the F you deserve. And that’s for sure! And don’t take my cock out until I come in your mouth and let you go,” he added.

I bent over him and took his penis in my hand. It got firm, and then it got hard. I licked it. It didn’t taste that bad, so I put it in my mouth, surrounded it with my cheeks and tongue, and began sucking him.

He let me play with him until he couldn’t take it any more, and then he held my head and fucked my mouth, making me gag. It don’t think it took that long, though it seemed like forever, and he tightened up and gushed cum into my mouth. Some of it escaped out the corners of my lips and dribbled down my chin. His spurts died down, but he kept fucking my mouth until he got soft. Then he let me go.

I spit his come into my hand and shook what I could into his waste basket. I wiped the rest on my nightgown.

He laughed. Then he said, “A minus for the blow job, C for the course.”

With self-loathing I whimpered, “It’s more than I deserve.”

He kept his word and gave me a C. Now, every time I see him he touches his crotch. He tells me he’s sorry he let me off without a good fucking.

Candi Coating

March 31, 2011 4 comments

Candi Coating - Illustration by Andrea and Ale

Brandi saw her aunt on the street, ran past with a breathless “Hi,” ran up the walk to her cousin’s house, and entered without a knock. She took the stairs quickly, burst into her cousin’s room, and found Candi lying on her back, in bed, her face flushed, her dress pulled up her legs, and her nipples impudently poking peaks in the soft cloth of her top.

“What are you doing?” Brandi asked, knowing full well what Candi had been doing.

“Nothing,” Candi gasped, having difficulty coming back from the brink of an orgasm and not in any condition to formulate a convincing lie. She was achingly aroused and terribly frustrated, and she wished her cousin hadn’t come in when she did. Fuck, I need to come so bad, Candi thought, and she cast about, without hope, for an excuse to get her cousin out of the room so Candi could lift her dress all the way again and rub her clit to the explosive climax she had been about to have. Not only was she dying to come, but she had had a hard week in school and was looking forward to whiling away the afternoon with her legs spread, masturbating repeatedly.

“Guess who’s coming to visit?” Brandi blurted, ignoring her cousin’s obvious need for privacy.

Candi resigned herself to frustration and wondered if delayed gratification might add to her arousal and the satisfaction of an even greater climax after her cousin left. “Who?” Candi asked.

“Alessandro, our cousin from Argentina, the guy I once told you about.” Brandi couldn’t stop thinking about her trip to South America with her mom and dad, when she was fifteen, and particularly about Alessandro, her Dad’s relative’s stepson.

“Cousin?”

“Yeah, well, sort of. He’s a God—at lease he would be if he wasn’t such a Bad Boy. I wanted to fuck him more than anything. If only he could have been my first instead of stupid Clint Fengler.”

“You’re such a slut. Clint’s a pig.”

“Yeah, I know, but… He’s coming over now.”

“Clint?” Candi asked with horror.

“No, Alessandro, you idiot.”

“Here? Now? What do you mean?”

“He’s in town, and he called me up.” The only reason he called is because he wants to fuck me,” Brandi thought. “I gave him your address. I knew your Mom would be out, and I figured…” Brandi shrugged.

“I’ll get in trouble,” Candi said immediately. “I’m not allowed to have boys over when my parents aren’t home.”

“They’ll never know,” Brandi said.

Candi calculated the odds of being discovered, the thrill of having a Bad Boy in her bedroom, and the consequences if it was discovered he’d been there. The throbbing need between her legs tended to push her in the direction of saying yes, but what would I let him do? Candi wondered. She wasn’t going to let some strange boy fuck her. She knew that for sure. That’s what Brandi does, Candi thought. She wondered if she had the courage to show herself naked to the boy and then even let him rub her where she wanted to be rubbed most. She clenched her legs tightly and had a mini-orgasm at the thought.

The doorbell rang, but before Candi could protest Brandi ran downstairs and brought back the most delicious hunk of young manhood that Candi ever imagined. In no time at all and with barely a hello he had his shoes and shirt off and was sliding his trousers down his legs.

Candi’s eyes opened wide at the sight of his stiff cock pointing at her, bobbing and waving back and forth as he moved.

“Oh No,” Candi protested. It was happening too fast and was frightening. She wanted to slow down and get control of the situation, but Brandi was behind her and Brandi’s arms reached around and opening the front of Candi’s dress. “Wait!” Candi screeched, but before she knew it she was sandwiched between Brandi and the naked Alessandro. And then Brandi had Candi’s breasts in her hands and was pulling Candi’s nipples and running fingers all over them.

“Ohhhh,” Candi screamed in delight, raising her mouth, which Alessandro took as permission to kiss. He put his tongue deep inside her. Then he positioned himself in front of Candi, while Brandi locked her arms around her girl cousin, imprisoning her against the new boy.

Candi felt Alessandro’s hard penis searching for her prize, coming closer with each probe, and then he found her wet opening and pushed in—not all the way in—just enough not to be dislodged.

It wasn’t that Candi was unwilling—she had even moved to help Alessandro find her wetness, but she felt that feminine modesty demanded at least a show or resistance to being taken so quickly and without so much as tacit permission. Candi tried to rise up, tried to dismount the overwhelming demands of the stallion partly in her, but he followed her up, staying just inside until she could rise no more and had to come down, burying the stiff hot rod all the way into herself.

“Ahhhh,” Candi screamed. The rubbing, pulling, and twisting of her nipples; the tongue swishing wetness all around the insides of her mouth; the hands of a young man she didn’t know holding her buttocks, spreading her cheeks, and stretching her anus as he pulled her tightly to him; and the arousal she felt even before either of her cousins laid a hand on her: it was all too much, and Candi couldn’t help but commence madly fucking the pole inside her.

Before long, Alessandro took pity on the poor girl—he didn’t want her to have to do all the work, and he carried her, still on his cock, and laid her on her on her bed and took over. He drove Candi, and she screamed herself into an orgasm, and Alessandro, holding her pinned with his muscular hands on her shoulders and his rod buried deep inside her, let her writhe.

Candi gasped for breath as she had her first climax, but Alessandro did not let up. He picked up the pace and fucked her fast and furiously, driving her into another and another orgasm, until she was panting, drenched with sweat, and more than overly satisfied.

Alessandro fell on Candi and rested, and then he pulled out. He hadn’t yet come, and his cock glistened with wetness and was stiffer than ever as he turned toward Brandi.

Brandi licked her lips and began unbuttoning her dress.

Leslie Loves Lavender — Part 3

February 6, 2011 2 comments

Leslie Loves Lavender was only my third story that was professionally edited, and I was still learning to be a much better writer than I had been. This story strikes me as something of a boyish fantasy and in that regard is somewhat embarrassing, but it departs from that boyish, amateurish, flavor at the end, when naive Leslie has her explosive climax. Mmm hmmm. I know what you’re thinking–Leslie’s climax–but I know something you don’t, and you’ll be surprised.

If you want to read them first here are links to Part 1 and Part 2.

Leslie Loves Lavender–Part 1
Leslie Loves Lavender–Part 2

Leslie and Katie Forced to Put On a Show. Illustration by Juan Puyal.

Leslie Loves Lavender

Part 3 of 3

Chapters 9–10

by Matthew Dyne

*****

Chapter 9. Dinner and a Show

Leslie was a busy woman. Every man who entered got to strip her—completely, if he wanted to, or lift her slip and make her hold it up while he unhooked her bra and took it off her cute breasts, or pulled her panties down. She’d never dressed and undressed so many times in one hour in her life, and each time for a different man or group of men. She was a doll to make naked, and then dress back up.

After a while Jacques brought over the suitcase with her clothing in it, and the men got to choose what they wanted her to wear. Some wanted her in stockings, garters, panties, bra, slip, and a dress—the works. Others wanted her in a thong and nothing else. Some made here parade around naked. One got imaginative and made her take the cloth belt out of her silk robe. He tied it around her waist and ran it down her front between the lips of her pussy, and up the back where he pulled on it and made Leslie walk around on her tip toes under his control. That, she especially didn’t like. And all of them felt her breasts and explored the outside of her pussy, maybe cheating a little and running a finger inside, though they weren’t supposed to.

Meanwhile Katie was setting the table for eighty men by wheeling in carts of dishes and silverware and napkins and glassware and setting them out. She was fuming—All Leslie has to do is get dressed and undressed. I’m doing all the work. It was way past midnight and Katie was getting exhausted, and she still wanted to come awful bad.

When she was done she sat a moment to rest, but her respite was short-lived. More and more men came into the dining area and started pulling out the top of her dress to look in, and then they started feeling her up too.

Both the girls were stripped, poked, and prodded; rubbed, pinched and tickled; stimulated and debased; and manhandled in whatever ways eighty men given free reign over two women could think to do. Other than to screw the hell out of them, which all of them wanted to do except for Emile and his secret gay fuck buddies. It seems like probably we won’t get raped, Leslie thought to herself with some relief. After all, they’re religious men, she thought sarcastically—Evangelicals, the worst twisters of gospel for their own purposes on the face of God’s sick earth.

The food finally arrived, delivered to the hall by more Sons’ of France who wanted a look and feel of Katie and Leslie, just like their pals. Then the men started filing into the dining room and seating themselves, with the most senior members up front by the stage.

“Time to get your clothes off,” Jacques said. Katie and Leslie looked at each other. “All of them—rings too, and your hair bands. Let your hair down, everything. I want you as naked as the day you came into this world.”

Leslie slowly stripped off her slip, for about the millionth time it seemed to her, as the men watched. Katie waited until Leslie was in bra and panties. Katie went next and began to unfasten her dress, it buttoned in the back, and Leslie helped open it. Then Leslie started unhooking her skimpy bra which latched in front. “Let’s do it together,” Katie said. The women took a deep breath. “One, two, three…”

Katie lowered the top of her dress and Leslie took off her bra at the same time. The women’s breasts were exposed to the audience. Cheers erupted, and applause, and catcalls, and lewd remarks about which girl had the finer set of tits. Fullness was compared by those who liked them that way, shape and erectness of nipples by others, the loveliness of particular curves were noted, whose breasts stuck up, which ones aimed to the side, nipple color was discussed, and skin tone analyzed. Eighty men could come up with a lot of comparative anatomy on the loveliness of the breasts of two sexy young women like Katie and Leslie.

“Shit, this is worse than getting felt up,” Leslie said.

“It gets me horny,” Katie replied, “I wish I could come.”

“You’re such a slut. But the guys are right—you do have a nice set. I like your freckles.”

“Oh,” Katie groaned. “You too? Can’t you suck my clit for me?”

“Maybe later, though I’ve never done that.”

“I’d be glad to teach you. It’ll be a learning experience.”

“Get the rest off,” Jacques ordered.

“Oh shit, here goes,” said Leslie.

“One, two, three…” Katie counted, and she pretended to lower her dress while Leslie slipped her panties down to her thighs.

“Hey, you cheated,” Leslie said and started to pull her panties back up while Katie laughed.

“Get them off,” Jacques commanded sternly.

Katie lowered her dress and Leslie took her panties off, and the girls stepped out of their clothing. Jacques had his hand out, and Katie handed him her dress, and Leslie handed him her bra and panties, and a couple of rings and hair bands. “You won’t need these,” Jacques said. “I’ll put them by your suitcase.”

The girls were now separated from all their clothing and possessions, and were naked and vulnerable in the midst of a crowd of eighty fully dressed men. “Now start serving,” Jacques said.

Katie and Leslie had to work very hard, and they were very tired. Their day had started early in the morning when they each awoke to catch their flight out of London. Then they’d been made sleepy by the sun and sand and sea at the beach where Katie had coaxed Leslie into revealing her breasts. It seemed like days ago to them. And then they went dancing, and exposed themselves suggestively to a lot of guys and women, and got a little drunk too. And then they were abducted and stripped and their legs were spread and they were felt up by Jimmy and Beef in the van, and then they had been purposefully aroused to the point of orgasm but not let come. And then different men—many, many different men—had pulled their tops opened and looked down their dresses. They’d been stripped and dressed in different bras, panties, thongs, dresses, skirts, shirts, and jeans. Their nipples had been twisted and pulled, and their breasts squeezed and stroked and scratched, and their pussie’s had had hands all over and in them. They’d had their legs held opened while men poked and examined and discussed their sexual anatomy. And now they were totally naked. Jacques had even taken Leslie’s rings, which she never took off, and which made her feel even more naked. And they were hustling and sweating, and their bare feet were beginning to hurt, as they served dinner to a crowd of eighty horny men. On top of it all, Katie needed to come so bad she felt like crying, and Leslie wanted to come too, but more than being horny she was pissed at Katie for getting both of them into this big mess in the first place (even though she knew it wasn’t really Katie’s fault).

The girls met for a moment in the kitchen. “I’ve got to come,” Katie said. “I’ve got to,” she wailed, and she bent over a butcher-block countertop and spread her legs and stuck her hand into her hot wet gash and began madly rubbing her clit to get off.

Leslie looked out the kitchen door, Jacques wasn’t far away, he couldn’t see Katie but he was looking in their direction. Leslie pulled Katie up and pulled her hand out of her pussy. “Look busy,” she said. “Jacques is coming this way.”

“I was busy,” Katie said, nearly crying for real.

“Take this tray and get out there before he gets mad. He said he’d punish us severely if we didn’t do what he said. It’s for your own good.” Leslie was tired and fed up and was secretly glad to frustrate Katie. Maybe next time she’ll keep her tits in her bathing suit where they belong, she thought. Katie took the tray and began to walk out of the kitchen, but Leslie grabbed her arm. “Did you notice that guy with the black shirt and the pants with the big pleats?”

“I don’t think so. What about him?”

“Do me a favor. See if you can find out if his name is Jean.” Leslie gave Katie a nudge to send her on her way before Jacques came looking for her.

Dinner was finally finished and the women were allowed to sit and rest, but up on stage where the men could still look at them as the Sons cleaned up the dining area. The women were given food to eat and water, and were allowed to go to the bathroom one at a time, but they had to keep the door opened and a group of men who were into that sort of thing watched as they peed and wiped. Katie took it more or less in stride, but Leslie was so embarrassed it took her a long time to let go, and she could only do so when she closed her eyes and buried her head in her hands and pretended that no one was watching.

The Sons had a lot of tradesmen in its ranks—metal workers, woodworkers, and the like, and they had gotten together and fashioned a device they used at dinners like tonight’s, which they put on twice a year. It was a bed, somewhat narrower than a single, a cot it might be called. One end was fastened to the floor, and the other was fastened by ropes to ceiling joists so the cot was at an angle and a woman could be placed on it and displayed as she was stimulated. It had foot rests at the lower corners, and the woman would of necessity have to spread her legs and place her feet on the rests to keep from sliding off. They could also tie her legs opened if she was uncooperative, and tie her arms up as well. A pretty woman fastened in restraint created quite a tasty spread.

They put Katie in first. They didn’t tie her, but forced her to display herself, and Jacques told Leslie to give them a lecture about stimulating a woman. Hmm, Leslie thought, I’m no expert on the subject. The only woman I’ve stimulated is myself. I’ll have to feel my way around the subject so to speak.

Leslie had always been a good student, and she went about the task with the thoughtfulness she applied to any new endeavor, and used her experience with herself as a guide. She was still miffed at Katie though, and decided to take her anger out on her friend. Leslie lectured on, in French of course. What she didn’t know she made up, and she spoke so quickly and with such a sophisticated vocabulary that Katie could only catch about half of what she was saying. The gist of it seemed to be a lot of bullshit as far as Katie could tell, and there wasn’t near enough touching for her liking. She did get a lovely stroking of her breasts—Leslie had a fine and gentle touch, and Katie’s nipples were rolled delightfully though she would have preferred a firmer pressure behind the squeezing. But there was no denying Katie’s panting throaty begging reaction when Leslie stretched out and displayed Katie’s inner labia, while she droned on about them being a woman’s perhaps third or fourth favorite spot. Katie could have killed her. She just wanted Leslie to get on with rubbing Katie to a blinding, blasting, mind-destroying orgasm. Which Leslie refused to do.

“Do it to me, Leslie,” she whispered. “Do it now, please,” but Leslie wasn’t in a charitable mood.

It wasn’t a great show, and Jacques thought it time to have the girls switch places. He sensed there was some tension between them, and he knew from Jimmy that Leslie was a virgin and therefore inexperienced. Let’s turn the tables, he thought, Maybe the other girl will be more enthusiastic.

Jacques ordered them to change places. Katie got off the bed. Shit, she said to herself, I’ve wanted to come since Leslie showed me her breasts a week ago, so it seems, and no one will help me, not even my sexy supposed-friend Leslie—the bitch. She could have helped me if she wanted to.

Meanwhile, Leslie, all of a sudden, became very anxious. It was one thing to have a couple of men strip and feel you up she thought, and another to hustle around serving dinner naked, yet quite another thing entirely to lie on a bed with your legs spread, in front of a huge audience of men, while your friend opens your vagina to the core and pokes around demonstrating how to stimulate you.

Katie wasn’t the only woman who was aroused by the evening’s entertainment and, though Leslie was wet and wanting like Katie, her mental blocks about sex and men made her terribly ashamed of the vulnerable position she was about to be put in. She absolutely, positively didn’t want to be made to climax in front of them. If she did, if she couldn’t hold back despite all her shame, she knew it would be the climax of the evening for everyone. And especially for Katie who, Leslie was sure, had wanted to make her come since they were on the beach together.

Leslie lay on the bed, and slowly, reluctantly, spread her legs and placed them on the foot rests. “Tie her up,” Katie said to Jacques. Katie was pissed.

“No, no,” Leslie screamed, and she became hysterical and jumped up and tried to get away. Katie grabbed her in a big hug, holding Leslie as much to prevent her in her panic from hurting herself as to keep her on stage. Their naked bodies pressed together, never before so intimately and, with that warm and intimate touch, Katie realized again how frightened and out of her element Leslie was. Katie felt a great surge of love for Leslie and, she couldn’t deny, lust too. But love more so, and deep sympathy.

“I’m sorry Leslie. I won’t let them tie you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have suggested such a terrible thing. Really I am.” Katie looked at Jacques and got up her courage and gave him an imploring look over Leslie’s shoulder, and raised her eyebrows to ask him if he wouldn’t mind not tying Leslie up after all.

Jacques shook his head “Yes, that would be okay,” but he pointed downward as if at a bed, and jabbed his finger at it.

“Come Leslie. You must lie down. Jacques orders it, and you don’t want him to punish you, severely, do you?”

No, Leslie shook her head emphatically, and she turned her head quickly toward Jacques, and then toward the bed.

Katie gently released Leslie and helped her lie down. “Lie on your front,” Katie said. I think it will be okay with the men if I rub your back and make you feel good. Okay, my sweetheart? Will you let me make you feel good?”

“Okay,” said Leslie meekly. She lay as Katie suggested and spread her legs, knowing full well the sight she was presenting.

The men had been making quite a bit of noise when Katie was being displayed, but now even they were wrapped up in the emotional tenderness that seemed to have come over the women, and there were only quiet murmurs from the audience.

“Forget those nasty men are out there.”

“Okay. I’ll try.”

“It’s just you and me.”

“Okay. It’s just you and me.”

“I’ll make you feel good. I’ll show you how. And someday you can do it for me, okay?”

“Okay.”

Katie thought a moment. “I’m going to get something, I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t leave me. Please don’t go.”

“Okay. Okay. I won’t leave you if you don’t want me to,” Katie said soothingly as she stroked Leslie’s back to reassure her. “How about if I cover you up, so the men can’t see you? Could I go away for just a minute to get something to make you feel good, and I’ll run right back?”

“Okay, if you cover me, just for a minute. But hurry, I’m afraid.”

“I’m going to ask Jacques to give me your dress, and I’ll cover you with it.”

“Okay.”

Katie kept a hand on Leslie, and turned and asked, “Jacques, please get Leslie’s dress.”

“Which one?” he asked.

What an idiot, Katie thought. He just doesn’t get it, does he? “Any dress will do,” she said politely.

Jacques had one of the men get a dress. It was one of Katie’s, but she took it anyway, and turned back to Leslie.

“The stupid men don’t know one dress from another,” she whispered. “They got mine. Can I cover you with that?”

“I like your dress.”

“Okay. I’ll cover you with it, and then I’ll go and come right back.”

“Okay, but hurry.”

Katie covered Leslie, not rushing, spreading the dress smoothly and evenly over Leslie and taking special care to drape the cloth between Leslie’s legs so that Leslie knew she was modestly covered there. Katie gave Leslie a kiss, and quickly went to find Leslie’s handbag. The men loved the way her breasts bounced and swayed as she ran.

Katie found what she was looking for, and ran back as quickly as she could, bouncing and swaying delightfully.

“I got your hairbrush,” she told Leslie. “My aunt used to brush my hair for me.” Leslie started to brush Leslie’s hair with long slow strokes. “She loved to do it. I loved it too.” Katie stroked a long, slow stroke again. “It would take her forever.”

“Mmm,” Leslie said. Katie could see Leslie’s shoulders beginning to relax.

“I’m going to ask Jacques to put the bed down.  Okay my love?  That will make you more comfortable.”

“Okay.  That would be more comfortable.”

Katie kneeled at the front of the stage and Jacques came over.  “Leslie is very frightened,” Katie said.  “She’s very inexperienced—I’m trying to get her to relax. Do you think you could put the bed down… please?  I think it would help.”

Jacques shook his head understandingly, and he directed two men to go up onstage and lower the bed.  Katie stood by Leslie protectively, with a hand caressing her back.

After the men left Katie resumed brushing Leslie’s hair, and continued to talk quietly to her. Leslie stopped answering, but Katie knew she was listening. She told Leslie about her childhood, and about her aunt who loved her perhaps even more than her mother, because her aunt had wanted children desperately, but couldn’t have any. Katie was the closest person to a child her aunt ever had.

The men were very quiet. One time one of them made a loud noise and Leslie startled, and started to turn her head to the audience. Katie calmed her, then turned to the men and put a finger to her lips to tell them to keep silent. Jacques nodded his head in agreement.

Katie finished with Leslie’s hair, and she draped the silky strands gently to one side around Leslie’s neck and shoulder. “I love you, Leslie,” she said.

“Mmm” Leslie murmured. It sounded like she was crying. Katie kissed her again, and Leslie lifted her arm and found Katie and gave her a squeeze. Katie took Leslie’s hand and kissed her palm, and laid her arm back down so she would be comfortable.

Katie gently rubbed Leslie’s temples, and then her ears. She took each ear between thumb and forefinger and traced its contours, pulling delicately, and then explored the inner folds with little fingers. She kissed Leslie again on her cheek, and then inside her ear which elicited a plaintive sound that was heartbreaking.

Katie had tucked her dress around and under Leslie so she was still mostly covered. Only her shoulders and arms, legs, and head were exposed. Katie now undraped Leslie’s back down to her waist and began kissing all around Leslie’s neck. Leslie’s neck was very sensitive—the kisses tickled her. She squirmed under Katie’s caresses, but she loved it—Katie could see her smiling. Katie massaged Leslie’s neck and shoulders, and Leslie rolled her head from time to time to allow Katie access to both sides—then Katie began massaging Leslie’s back.

For Katie, massage was not manipulation, but exploration. She massaged a lover’s back with her eyes closed, discovering features as her hands wandered. Sometimes a muscle—she’d stop with interest at the tiniest ones. Sometimes bones, even bones had unnamed finds for her fingertips—protrusions and depressions as individual as eyes, or lips, or labia. And she had many ways to touch skin as she traveled her lover: with hands, with sweet kisses, or by lying on her sweetheart with a full-fleshed pressing of her breasts. When Katie was your lover, she gave you everything.

Katie moved her hands over the dress covering Leslie, never losing contact, moving down to Leslie’s legs. She knew Leslie was afraid of being aroused, but the signs of arousal were there. Katie also knew neither of them had a choice—Jacques expression was unforgiving, and he clearly indicated that he expected Katie to bring the show to a climax. She took her time, and worked from feet on up. When Katie reached the backs of Leslie’s knees, she let out the first of many unrepressed moans. Katie felt it between her legs. She was sure eighty penises twitched.

Katie stroked Leslie’s thighs, outside first, then inside, working her way to where she had desired to give Leslie the best feelings of her entire young life—lust unbearable, but for the love Katie would bring with it. If only the circumstances could be different, Katie lamented—this is no place to experience sex with a lover for the first time. Leslie’s head lifted from the mattress, mouth open, eyes closed. Katie timed her movements in concert with Leslie’s breathing. With each stroke, with each breath, Leslie made a tiny noise of indescribable pleasure that could be heard clearly in the silence of the hall.

Katie removed the dress and dropped it to the floor. Leslie cried out, one sharp note of shame. Katie quickly hugged and held her, and stroked her buttocks tenderly to let her friend know that Katie was with her in her time of need.

Leslie calmed, and Katie released her, and stood and put a hand on each buttock, her thumbs by the crease between them, and she moved her hands along the crease, spreading Leslie’s buttocks gently, stimulating, but trying not to frightening her. Katie was very aware that this was all new to Leslie, that it was the first time another person had touched her lovingly in places Leslie had heretofore only touched herself.

Katie slipped her hand between Leslie’s legs. Leslie spread wide, and Katie stroked the insides of her vulva, long and slow, keeping one hand on Leslie’s lower back and stroking there at the same time.

Katie sensed Leslie was ready. Her arousal was high. Her sounds and movements were in concert with Katie, and the men seemed to have disappeared from her awareness.

Katie put her fingers together and placed them at the entrance of Leslie’s vagina. Leslie raised her butt, tilting her pelvis for penetration. Katie slowly put two fingers in. Leslie wailed a long, drawn-out “Ohhh,” and then another, and another, and she sank back down to the mattress as Katie unselfishly began to treat her to a good girl screwing.

It took a long time for Leslie to approach climax, but her progress never wavered. Her rate of breathing increased steadily, and the noises a woman makes when making love became more intense. Katie let Leslie do most of the work, pleasuring herself on Katie’s fingers at whatever rate, and with whatever motions felt best. And Leslie, after a while, rose up on shins and knees with her legs spread wide to take advantage.

Leslie was ready to travel the last part of her journey. Her motions increased, and Katie reached under Leslie and placed the fingers of one hand on Leslie’s clit. Leslie screamed and rose up high, arching her back, her eyes closed, her head up and her mouth gaping, her legs trembling with exertion, panting deep and fast while she fucked Katie’s fingers  and spread her legs wide to give Katie access to her clit. Sweat and vaginal juice poured out of her.

She was wild with need, but she couldn’t quite get there… couldn’t quite get there… Katie was doing everything she could to stay with her, to help Leslie get where she desperately wanted to go, but Leslie couldn’t quite make it. She was tiring, it was now or never, and Katie did from instinct exactly what Leslie needed.

Katie took both hands out of Leslie’s sweetness and, keeping contact all the time, she came around the side of Leslie, and slid under her, and pulled her down so they melded breasts to breasts, and hugged her. She slipped one hand under Leslie and put her fingers back on her clit, and she kept on hugging Leslie while stroking her that last little bit more she needed. Then she kissed Leslie, hard and full on the lips, a kiss of uninhibited lust and love. She put her tongue deep into Leslie’s mouth and, as she did so, she stopped rubbing, and instead just held Leslie’s clitoris in gentle fingers, giving it tiny, tender squeezes through which she conveyed all the sadness and apology and caring and hope for the future that she could well from within her. And then Katie placed Leslie so their heads were side to side, their cheeks touching, and she whispered in Leslie’s ear, “I love you, my sweetheart. I love you, Leslie…” and Leslie came.

It was not the screaming pretend orgasm of the type of whore the Sons of France were used to. It wasn’t the wild gyrations and spread legs and vulgar humping they’d seen so many times before. It was almost silent. Leslie let out a few quiet cries of release and satisfaction as she pumped a dozen times, more and more gently each. And then she lay still, although her legs stayed tightly locked around Katie’s hand for a long time after. Leslie’s eyes remained closed as her breathing calmed. Only she and Katie had felt the spasms of contractions that accompanied Leslie to a heaven her father never acknowledged.

The girls lay in each other’s arms. The men were respectfully silent. They knew they had seen a show like no other, and one that they would never see again.

It seemed like hours passed before Leslie raised her head and kissed Katie tenderly. “Surely we can go now,” she whispered.

“Yes. I’m sure they’ll let us go. They’ve seen it all.” Katie smiled. Leslie smiled with her.

The girls rose slowly from the bed. Leslie held Katie’s dress over her front to cover herself. “Did you get his name,” she asked? “Is it Jean?”

“Yes. His name is Jean. Why do you ask?”

Leslie stepped to the front of the stage. The men were beginning to get up from their seats. “You,” Leslie screamed—she raised her arm and pointed to the audience. “You,” she said again, moving her arm with its accusing finger slowly across the field of men. “You sinners,” she screamed.

“What are you doing?” Katie whispered loudly, trying to pull Leslie off the stage.

You’ve defiled me,” Leslie screamed. “And you shall pay, saith the Lord.”

“What are you doing,” Katie pleaded?

“Who the hell are you to say God’s word?” yelled out a member of the Sons from the floor.

I am Deborah,” screamed Leslie, and then in a quiet voice she repeated, “I am Deborah, the Lord’s prophet, and the Lord has come to judge you. You are defilers, defilers of women. You have not much time to repent.”

“Who the fuck are you?” someone yelled.

“Bullshit!” someone else shouted out.

“Go home,” shouted another.

Leslie turned and crossed the stage, and came quickly down the steps onto the main floor. Her finger still pointed accusingly, and her arm traversed to take in the crowd as a whole. “I told you who I am. Do you doubt the word of the Lord? Who wishes to doubt the word of the Lord? You?” she asked, pointing to one man. “You?” she asked another? “Do you wish to burn in hell forever because you think I’m a charlatan? Do you?” she shouted. “Who wants to chance it?—for it can be arranged.”

“Go fuck your girlfriend,” a man said, but it was a man on the edge of the crowd, not one of the men near Leslie. For the men near Leslie could see the fires of hell burning in her eyes as she scanned them, and they could feel the radiance of the Lord piercing them as the tip of her finger pointed to each man in turn, and as she looked each of them in the eyes. The Sons of France were no longer so cocky.

Leslie waded into the crowd, her arm still raised. As she moved through them, they pushed back against themselves to avoid being close to her. There was something about her that frightened them—a mysterious mix of God, woman, and psychoses. She still held Katie’s dress in front of her. Other than that, she was utterly naked.

Leslie walked among the men with complete confidence and, more than that, with an air of mastery. The fear they had seen in her earlier had vanished. Her voice was no longer meek—it was piercing, it commanded, and it demanded obedience as if from God himself. When it came to sex, Leslie was an insecure and inexperienced young woman—her parents had seen to that, and they had hurt her in other ways—but, when it came to holding sway over a congregation of sinners and making them understand they were in the house of the Lord, and that the rules of the Lord had been laid down and could not be controverted with impunity—her parents, either of them, were as good as it gets. Leslie had learned from the best.

Leslie waded through the crowd, making her way toward the little man with the black shirt and the pants with the big pleats. As she approached him everyone realized he had been singled out, and he realized it, and he started backing up looking for a route of escape, but she had him cornered—there was no way out. Leslie reached him; he was blocked in against the far wall and between a table and stacks of chairs.

“You,” she said. “You are the worst. You, the messenger of the Lord, shepherd of his flock, their spiritual leader. And here you are, a defiler amongst defilers—you shall be judged most harshly.”

“I don’t believe you,” he said, but he did not sound convinced.

“Jean… Alain… Bouchard. Reverend Jean Alain Bouchard,” Leslie called out, naming him much to everyone’s astonishment. “The Lord comes for you. What saith you now?”

“I say the Lord put women on earth to be men’s servants. The Lord has said so in the scriptures: ‘Let the wives be to their husbands in every thing,’ Ephesians 5:22-24.” The reverend started rattling off scripture. “Women should shut up, just like you: ‘Let your women keep silence in the churches: for it is not permitted unto them to speak,’ 1 Corinthians 14:34-35… Women shouldn’t wear clothing like that dress you came in with: ‘…women adorn themselves in modest apparel, with shamefacedness and sobriety,’ 1 Timothy 2:9.”

“You dare use the words of the Lord, you dare, to rationalize what you just did to me, and to my friend? You tie me up and bring me here against my will, you strip me naked in a hall full of men, and you use God’s greatest gifts of love and sexuality… Don’t look away! Look at me! You take God’s greatest gift to woman and man and you use it against me for your own sick pleasure. And then you dare, you sanctimonious hypocrite, you dare quote scripture to the Lord himself who wrote it? You dare? The Lord sent me here today to give you one chance to repent, and you throw his words at him? You impudent scum. Bow down to the Lord. Bow down now, He saith.”

“Who are you?”

“I am the Lord’s prophet. You don’t believe me? Then look at me! Look… at… me… and tell me I am not the prophet of the Lord our God.” Leslie cast away Katie’s dress and stood in front of the reverend, and spread her arms and legs wide as she did so, and thrust herself toward him. “Look at me!” she commanded.

The reverend looked at Leslie and quailed. He had been looking at her all evening. He had found her very arousing—much more so than Katie—but he had remained in the back of the room, for he was uncomfortable participating in this event which, in his heart, he knew was blasphemous. He was a spiritual man, highly devout by his own reckoning. And yet, he had given in to his base urges, and pressure from the men of his flock, to follow the other Sons.

Now, with Leslie not five feet from him, spread so he could see the supreme gifts God had bestowed on her, the reverend had serious doubts about whether she might not really be a messenger from God. He didn’t believe that she was Deborah reincarnated, or a prophet. That was going too far. But she was some kind of messenger, with a message particularly meant for him. That he could believe. He looked again at Leslie, and this time he saw Eve, innocent and pure. He looked at her again, and saw Eve, sullied and defiled by his hand—he, the snake who had led her into a world of shame and pain.

“Look at me” Leslie said again, now in a quiet voice meant only for him, and she advanced on the reverend causing him to back into the little space left for him. Slowly she came forward, thrusting her body toward him, tempting and castigating him at the same time with the flesh of God’s special creation, and the flesh of the devil, as he tried to shrink from her. And as he cringed, now with his back against the wall and on his knees in supplication, she came to him and stood over him, and she reached down between her legs and thrust fingers deep into her vaginal mucosa, and worked them all around, coating them fully, and she took them out all wet and slimy and brought them toward him.

“No,” he pleaded as he sank to the floor: “Please, God… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I beg your forgiveness…”

But Leslie had no mercy for him. She had had it. She’d had it with her mother and her father, she’d had it with the elders of their church in New York who had poisoned her childhood, and she’d had it with this sanctimonious hypocrite of a prick who had participated indirectly in her abduction, and the abduction of her friend. No, not her friend—more than that. Of her lover, Katie. She lowered her fingers, reached out, and marked his forehead with a handful of slick juice from inside her body. And then she raised her hand from his forehead and lowered it to his cheek, and she laid a trail of slime upon it before she rubbed her fingers dry, back and forth, beneath his nostrils.

“Oh…” he cried in agony. “Oh…” he cried repeatedly in fear and shame before God. Leslie turned her back on him, leaving him in a pose of debasement and contrition.

Without permission Leslie and Katie went to their suitcase and dressed, in modest clothing for the first time since they had gone out dancing practically naked. They packed all their things away and wheeled the suitcase out front. “We’re ready to go now,” Katie said to Jacques.

“You can go,” he said simply—there was nothing more to say.

Chapter 10. Leslie Loves Lavender

Jimmy got Emile and Beef, and they and the two women went out to the van. Jimmy opened the back door and put the suitcase and his own duffel in. Emile drove, and Jimmy sat up front with him. Beef sat in the seat behind the driver and promptly fell asleep. Leslie and Katie sat in the seats toward the rear, and the van took off for the city.

The girls dozed, and sometimes held hands, until they could see the Cannes lights in the distance. Katie quietly got up from her seat. Leslie didn’t know why, but Katie put a finger to her lips and slipped into the rear. It took her no longer than a minute, and then she was back. Leslie gave her a quizzical look, but Katie said nothing.

Jimmy let the girls out in the parking lot under the hotel and unceremoniously dumped their suitcase with them. Without a goodbye, he turned and got back in the van and drove off.

Katie and Leslie took the elevator to their room, wheeled the suitcase in the door, and flopped together onto a king size bed. “I’m so tired,” Leslie said. “I could sleep for a week. I guess we’ll miss most of the conference.”

“The restoration part is the third day. We can still make that,” Katie said without enthusiasm, and with a deep sigh.

“You seem so sad. Is there something the matter?”

“I hate to mention it. It seems so selfish, but I’m still terribly horny.”

“Yeah, I guess I had all the fun,” Leslie teased. “If you’d like me to I’ll return your favor, though I won’t do as good a job as you did, that’s for sure.”

“Would you be willing to now?”

“I’d love to. Turn over and I’ll brush your hair.”

“You’re sweet, but wait—there’s one more thing I want to do for you first. Come on, we’ve got to go downstairs.”

Leslie had no idea what Katie had in mind, but it was morning and light was filling the sky, and the girls were getting another wind.

Katie unzipped and fished an envelope from the outer compartment of the suitcase Jimmy had taken to The Sons, and she took Leslie’s hand and the girls rode the elevator to the lobby. Katie led Leslie to the shop that had caught Leslie’s eye after they had spent the morning on the beach, and after Leslie had generously shared her breasts with Katie. Katie took her right inside.

“Well take it,” Katie said to the bitch of a shop lady. “Go get it,” Katie said to Leslie, and Katie opened the envelope and started counting out three thousand Euros.

Leslie’s eyes lit up. “That’s… that’s Jimmy’s money, isn’t it? You took it in the van.”

“Jimmy’s money? Fuck no, it’s our money—we earned it. Looks like there will be a lot left over too.”

“Finder’s keepers,” Leslie said. “I love lavender.”

“Come on,” Katie said, taking Leslie’s arm and pulling her along as Leslie fondled the dress folded over her arm. “I need you upstairs.”