James Wheaton

The playful twins

CHAPTER ONE

"Hello there!"

Bob Redding whirled around at the sound of the throaty voice, and gasped as he saw the beautiful girl coming down the steps. At first glance she appeared to be only about fifteen, but as she came nearer, and the molded firmness of her breasts, pushing against the soft pink silk of her blouse, became evident, Bob judged that she must be about eighteen. Her long cornsilk blond hair swept around her golden-tanned face, and she walked over to him, her hips jiggling in a jaunty coltish walk. She was wearing tight white shorts, which revealed the enticing line of her upper thigh, and Bob thought he could see a faint darkening at the vee of her legs through the almost diaphanous shorts.

"Hello," he gulped, unable to take his eyes off her swerving pelvis.

"You must be Mr. Redding," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Leslie Lansing."

Bob could hardly believe that this was the same woman who had answered his phone call. He expected someone different… the Miss Lansing of his imagination was nearer forty than under twenty! He clasped her well-manicured hand in his rough one, and was amazed at its coolness. It felt like a piece of soft, finely sculpted ivory and he was loathe to release it.

"Would you care for some coffee while we talk business?" she asked, her nasal twang adding to her air of New England refinement.

He timidly followed Miss Lansing inside, feeling awkward and out of place as he stepped into the magnificent hallway of the old house. She led him into a small sitting room, where she left him, flashing a dazzling smile as she went to get the coffee. Bob looked around the room admiring the oak paneling on the walls, and the ceiling which was covered with teak tiles. Nautical ornaments adorned the shelves and mantelpiece.

There were several tanks of tropical fish, and two cages containing two parrots in each rested on matching tables. He gazed with interest at the tiny intricate ships in bottles, the multicolored shells and the stuffed fish mounted on plaques. He was rather surprised at the antiquity of the room, which contrasted very sharply with the youth and freshness of the girl who lived there.

He chuckled to himself as he thought of the wording of the ad Leslie Lansing had placed. He pictured it now in his mind…

"Landscape gardener required for extensive project. Could lead to other things."

Bob felt that this job would be a turning point. His one-man landscape gardening business, which he started just two years ago in his home town of Providence, Rhode Island, right after his marriage, had not been doing too well. In fact, if this new job did not result in further contacts, he'd have to give it up and work elsewhere.

Goddamnit, he thought, even if we starve, I'm not going to work for old Lamont! "Old Lamont" was his father-in-law, and Bob grimaced at the memory of his wife's pleas, at first gentle hints, but now persistent nagging, to give up their precarious existence on his meager income and accept her father's offer of a sales position in his real estate office.

"Never!" Bob had said aloud, as he'd driven up to the huge iron gates that opened on to a long, poplar-lined avenue. "Sea Garden" the sign said, and Bob could smell the salty air through the open car window, even though the bay was not visible.

As he was still waiting, musing over what looked like an old log-book, Leslie came back carrying a tray with two large glasses.

"Do you find this room interesting?" she asked, her green eyes sparkling. Bob was again struck by her dew-like freshness and the superb carriage of her perfectly proportioned frame. His eyes stole down over her swan-like neck, and he stared, until his eyes were straining, to catch a glimpse of the cleft of her smooth, undulating young buttocks.

"Actually," she continued, without giving him a chance to answer, "it was Daddy who collected all these things, but now he and Melissa live in the Bahamas, so my sister and I live here alone. Melissa is my step-mother, you see," she added quickly, smiling her brilliant smile at him as she motioned him to join her at the small round table. She was a little out of breath from her long explanation and Bob could see her breasts heave faintly and her lips were slightly parted as she recovered her breath. A tingle coursed swiftly through his body and then was gone, almost before he was aware of it.

He seated himself comfortably in the captain's chair, and sipped his iced coffee.

"Mmmmm, this is great!" Bob said enthusiastically, "What's your secret recipe?"

"I added a little borage," she said. "It's an herb we have growing in the back. C'mon, I'll show you!"

Bob followed her out of the small room. The material of her brief shorts slipped into the crevice of her rounded bottom as she walked, and again, Bob felt a rush of pleasure sweeping through him. His cock leaped in awareness and he could feel it growing along his leg. He felt an almost uncontrollable urge to reach out and knead the enticing cheeks of her buttocks in his hands but just then, they went through some French doors and out onto a patio. He was aware of Leslie pointing out the view to him, and tore his eyes reluctantly from the tight moons of her creamy flesh. Before them was a spectacular panorama of the bay, and Bob thought he had never seen anything as beautiful in his life. His gardener's eye assessed the perfect harmony between the surrounding area and the grounds of the mansion and realized that in the past, great expense and effort had been expended to achieve the present result. Leslie led him over to a small patch of cultivated ground near the patio and began to identify the many herbs for him. Almost lovingly, she pointed out the small blue flowers of the borage, the delicate white buds of the balm, the multi-mauve blooms of coriander and the more familiar yellow flowers of dill and fennel. As she named the different plants, Leslie knelt down and gently touched each bloom with her fingers. Bob remained standing and sucked his breath as the girl leaned forward to point out the pink blossoms of the sage. He could see directly down the top of her blouse, to where the butter-colored tops of her young breasts pushed up out of her lacy pink bra. He could almost feel their tender softness and the warmth of the secret valley cutting between them. His prick wakened again, this time more insistently and he felt sure that at any moment, she would look up and see the telltale bulge. Kneeling down put an extra strain on the already tight shorts and Bob could just barely see the outline of the fleshy folds of her pussy. A tiny wisp of golden pubic hair curled around the tight leg band of her shorts and Bob's eyes were riveted on the escaping fleece. His eyes burned in his head and he could not release his gaze from between her thighs, as if in hope that his staring would strip away her protective clothing.

His own groin was maddenly alive with sensation, and he began to feel the perspiration breaking out on his face. The muscles of his thighs felt like cruelly stretched rubber bands and his stomach was a churning knot of tension. His discomfort must have been mirrored in his face for Leslie looked up at him and said solicitously, "Are you all right, Mr. Redding?"

Her bright green eyes flicked over his trembling form, and rested briefly and a trifle daringly on the tremendous bulge of his cock, before returning to his face.

"It's just… the sun… I guess…" he stuttered, feeling as inept as a schoolboy.

"Let's go inside where it's cooler," she urged, taking him by the arm and propelling him inside. Her touch magnified the tumultuous feelings inside him and he gratefully sank into the over-stuffed leather armchair in the sitting room wondering why he was reacting so strongly. Leslie disappeared and quickly came back with a glass.

"Here, drink this!" she said almost coldly in the tone of one who was used to being obeyed. Bob obediently sipped the drink, which turned out to be almost straight Scotch. The sharp fire of the liquid burned his throat, and then seared an intoxicating path down to his stomach. After a moment, its smooth fingers reached out and calmed his quivering nerves and he was able to look the young girl in the face.

"Are you sure you're all right?" she repeated. After assuring her, they went out again into the garden, and Leslie outlined the work to be done, explaining that the job was to be a surprise for her sister, Lila, who was on vacation in Europe. As Leslie talked, Bob's earlier belief that this job would be a turning point for him was reinforced by the casually dropped indications that the Lansings were one of the old families of Providence, and hence had many other wealthy connections, and also by the generous financial payment which Leslie proposed for the work.

They agreed that Bob should commence work the very next day, and he left the mansion elated with his good fortune and brimming with self-confidence. He whistled as he wound around the narrow country road, but in the back of his mind, he kept thinking guiltily of Julie, his wife. Not that he had done anything to feel guilty about. But he'd thought plenty. He wished that things were better between him and Julie, but he didn't know what to do to make them better. He kept going back over the early days in his mind, in hopes of finding some clue. There, and now on his way home, he relived it all again, remembering how, after high school, he had enlisted in the Army and travelled in America and Europe only to come back to Providence after his discharge. It was on the very day of his arrival home that he had first seen Julie Lamont. Of course, he'd vaguely remembered a little red-haired, snub-nosed girl from years ago, whose father rented out all the apartments in the slum where he lived, but this Julie was different. She had a mane of chestnut hair that on any other girl of her petite dimensions would have seemed ridiculous. But not on Julie! It was just a crown to top off the perfect assembly of her voluptuous body. She had stared at Bob that first day, her piercing blue eyes cutting into him until he turned to rubber. Then she had looked past him and walked haughtily on. He swore then that no matter what, he'd have Julie Lamont if it was the last thing he did.

As he drove, he thought about the grim three years following his discharge. An endless stream of ego-wrecking jobs with no prospects and low pay. The bright spot had been an old gardener, who had taken a liking to him when they were both working for the same hotel, Bob as a waiter, and who used to talk to him about planting and sowing and reaping. That had started the seed of interest in Bob but the old man suddenly died, leaving an empty spot in Bob's life.

He remembered now how the memory of stand-offish, sensuous Julie had never left him, and it seemed like a miracle when he'd managed eventually to land a job as mail boy in the company where she worked as a receptionist.

By sheer determination he got first one date with her, and incredibly, another and another.

He slowed the Buick down, smiling a little as he recalled how happy and proud he'd felt when she'd timidly admitted to being in love with him and wanting to marry him.

"If only I'd known what I was getting into!" he snarled, the hitherto calming effect of the Scotch giving way to a latent resentment which had been simmering deep inside him for months.

"Frigid little bitch!" he thought, thinking of the contrast between the apparent sensuality of his wife's appearance and the actual prudishness of her nature. His face boiled with rage as image after image of her timid responses flicked through his brain, each session of lovemaking terminating in a cold, unfulfilling letdown for him.

I bet that rich bitch Leslie knows how a woman should treat a man! he thought, picturing the young girl's ripe, upswept breasts as he had glimpsed them from the neckline of her blouse. A wave of pleasure throbbed through him.

But then his thoughts, softening, returned to Julie. He had to admit he was still in love with her. He was still attracted by the creamy, ivory-like proportions of his wife's body. She only had to look at him in a certain way and he was ready and willing to make love to her on the spot. All the humiliation of his attempts to experiment with her would be forgotten if she would only open up and love him completely, like that first time! He recalled again, savoring each moment, the one time, just before their marriage, when Julie had really let loose, and shown him the volcano that was buried inside her.

They had been at a party for a friend of Julie's, a few months before their marriage, and the champagne was flowing freely. Bob had felt out of place among Julie's friends, but in the flush of love, was anxious to please her. So he had consented to go. However, he spent most of the evening drinking glass after glass of champagne alone in a corner. He was busy watching Julie, who unlike her usual self under the influence of the champagne, was flitting about, and flirting. Bob became more sullen as he noticed that Julie was spending more and more time with a tall blond guy, whom he knew only as Frank, but who was a former boyfriend of Julie's.

Enraged, he watched as they went outside, and he was enveloped by a slow, seething anger when they returned, much later, both looking flushed. Before he couldn't bring himself to leave the sanctuary of his corner to follow them, but now, impelled by a furious rage, he dashed over to Julie, and grabbing her roughly by the arm, half-pulled her out of the house. She followed him meekly and sat silently beside him as he drove his old Chevy in the direction of the Forest Preserve. He parked in their favorite parking place, in a grove completely surrounded by trees, where no one else ever came. Angrily, he turned and faced her.

"You Goddamn little bitch!" he rasped. "Isn't one man enough for you? Or are you giving him something that you're not giving me?"

Julie looked frightened and cringed back against the door.

"Oh, Bob! We were only talking about old times! Honest!"

Her blue eyes were opened wide in terror and she was trembling. Her rabbit-like fear touched off the tremendous desire for her that was always lurking in him, and reaching over suddenly, he crushed his mouth down on hers in a hard, bruising kiss. She struggled violently, trying to escape his grasp, but he held her in a tight grip. Then, she sunk her teeth into his lower lip. The excruciating pain numbed his brain for a second, and he felt the salt-taste of his own blood. He drew back and then lashed his palm hard across her face. With a piteous cry she immediately cradled the reddening cheek in her hand. Tears sprung to her eyes and gushed unchecked down her face. Again, he ground his mouth down on hers, and at first her lips were soft and unresisting from the shock. But then she began to struggle again and Bob felt her body stiffen. He tightened his arms around her and drove his tongue into her mouth, forcing it forward against her resistance. Then he felt a shudder convulse her small body, and her struggles weakened. Unbelievably, her arms crept up around his neck, and her tongue began to play with his, chasing it around, trying to entwine with it. His hands darted over her breasts, reveling in their firmness. He had only touched them through her clothing once or twice. Eagerly he unzipped her summer dress and unhooked her bra. Then his hands raced around again and cupped the lovely swellings of her breasts. He was actually touching them! He could feel her nipples between his fingers, already tense and full erected. He stroked them gently, the heat of her soft pliant body urging him on, further igniting the rushing desire in him. He slipped the dress down over her shoulders and in the clear moonlight gazed at the beautiful milk white of her breasts, the high round smoothness set off by coral nipples. He could see that she was shivering and tiny goose bumps all over her exposed flesh made him even more excited.

He lowered his head and fastened his mouth on one of the tiny pebblelike nipples and he was surprised when Julie immediately pressed his head to her breast, moaning softly, as he sucked on first one and then the other. He felt her straining under him, and realized with disbelief, that she was thrusting her pelvis upward, trying to press her groin against his. He could hardly believe that this was his Julie… the prim, prudish Julie whom he loved but who barely had tolerated a tentative hand on her breast thus far. Something in him wanted to stop, to protect her… but his desire was too great now and she was wriggling a little beneath him, her breath coming in uneven gasps. Her hand was reaching down and he could feel her fingers fumbling at his fly. Disbelief swept over Bob as he felt her steadily lowering the zipper, and then slowly insert a tentative hand inside. A low guttural moan escaped him as he felt her hands on his swollen penis. Her touch sent eddies of spasmodic pleasure rippling over his entire body. He reached down and assisted her until she held his burgeoning cock in her hand and gently squeezed it, testing the hot, hard surface with her fingers. Then she instinctively began a rhythmic milking, moving slowly up and down and Bob was afraid that he'd cum right then in her hand. Looking down at her he saw that her normally sedate face was contorted with lust. He began rhythmic down-thrust against her belly.

Her dress was up over her hips now and was bunched around her waist and looking down between them he could see the gleam of her russet pubic triangle through her passion drenched panties and feverishly he began to work the intervening garment down over her hips. She moaned again as her lower belly was exposed to the air and his middle finger moved toward the wetness of her pulsing cunt. Stealthily he stroked the velvety fleshiness of the lips of her vagina and slid beneath the secret folds. She twisted and groaned under his touch, desperately trying to avoid, and at the same time, engulf the trespassing finger. Gently, he thrust one finger up into the constricted warmness of her sensitive pussy, then tenderly, he stretched the virginal orifice, widening it for his ever-expanding cock. Her hips were undulating under his fingers, and her own grip tightened on his throbbing member. Incredibly he heard her sob: "Oh, darling, please do it now! Please put your big thing into me… oh, please…"

Urged on by her lewd words, he tore his engorged penis from her grasp and moving down a bit placed the blood-pressured rod at the tiny opening of her vibrant young cunt.

The searing contact of the bulbous head against the tip of her moist pink clitoris electrified Julie, and her entire body seemed to explode and flower with an overpowering desire.

His own body was on fire and it took all his willpower not to ram his bursting prick far up into her now hungrily throbbing depths.

Gently, he began to press the head against the moist mouth of her silky virgin cunt. Her mewls of pleasure had ceased and he saw that she was biting her lip in anticipation of the pain she feared was coming. A doubt flickered across his mind… maybe she'd decide not to go ahead… to stop now…

The maddening thought blocked out all reason for a moment and he lunged forward, mindless of her strident scream, he buried the fleshy head in her open vagina, forcing it upward further and further until piteous sobs racked Julie's body from the harsh intruding pain. But still she did not stop him. Slowly, inch by inch, he pressed forward, imbedding his rock-hard prick in her yielding young cunt. He felt her inner muscles contract hard around his rod, sheathing it completely, and then with another push he was all the way in! Dizzy with pleasure, he could feel the silkiness of her pubic curls grazing the base of his cock as his squirming balls nestled heavily down in the niche of her tightly clenched young buttocks. After a moment he withdrew his long prick and again surged forward. This time, it disappeared more readily into her dark moistness and Bob could feel her vaginal walls begin to relax around him.

He looked down and saw the white pillar of his hardened cock slicing into the warm mystery of her tight secret passage and in the dark of the car, he could just barely make out the pink gleam of her slit. The glossy columns of her thighs shone eerily in the half-light, and Bob, heedless of the discomfort of their position, began to fuck in and out with mesmeric regularity. Again he pulled her head up to his and she responded passionately with a long ardent kiss. Their breaths mingled hotly and their tongues fenced wildly together in a rising heat of desire. The hard tips of her breasts burned into his chest through his shirt like branding irons. Every sense, every nerve ending in his body was intoxicated with the erotic pliancy of her body, which fitted like a piece of jig-saw into his.

Julie uttered a series of shrieks, proclaiming the increasing crescendo of her passion. Her hands were raking into his back urging him to drive still deeper into her vibrant young belly. Their combined guttural moans reverberated heavily in the confinement of the car.

As he rode her wildly, holding her firmly by the hips as he plunged with hard, reaming strokes into her.

"Fuck me… fuck me harder…" she screamed, all her former sense of propriety obliterated from her mind. Her clasping vagina clutched desperately, like a drowning animal, at his pistoning cock, the warm clinging sheath inside sucking violently. The lewd words, coming from her hitherto innocent and prim lips, inflamed him even more and he heard a roaring in his ears. An anguished groan rumbled deep in his throat and he was just about to shriek out his orgasm when Julie, her body lashed to a frenzy of desire, began to heave uncontrollably, and half sobbing, gurgled an incoherent jumble, as the gushes of the first of her mind-shattering orgasms flowed down in a continual, hot, moist stream over her boyfriend's invading prick. And as thick hot streams of burning fluid gushed from Bob's invading cock into her churning depths, he glanced down at her lust-contorted face and thought he had never seen her look as beautiful as she did then, and an overwhelming feeling of love swept over him as he emptied gush after gush of his hot flooding sperm into her wildly contracting belly.

***

Bob, coming back to reality, was surprised to find himself parked in his own driveway. He had been completely lost in his daydream, and was unaware of his arriving at his house. Now, with a deep sigh, he got out of the car and went inside.

CHAPTER TWO

Julie whipped the eggs furiously. She could hear Bob in the bathroom and knew that when he came out, he'd be bad-tempered because they'd both overslept and he didn't want to be late for his job. She hadn't felt like getting up this morning, much less like fixing his breakfast, but even before she'd gotten married, she vowed to herself that she wouldn't be one of "those" wives who didn't get up to see their husbands off to work. Not that he cares, she muttered as she emptied the eggs into the skillet. "It is ready yet?" Bob called gruffly, "I'm late already!"

He came hurrying out of the bathroom and Julie could see that he had nicked himself with the razor.

He sat down noisily and began to rattle the cutlery absentmindedly. The irritating noise was torture to her as she was already beginning a headache, and it was all she could do to stop herself from screaming at him. She served him breakfast and sat down opposite him with a cup of coffee.

"Where exactly will you be working?" Julie asked.

When he came home last night, Bob had, in answer to her questioning, admitted to being successful in being hired, but had not elaborated.

"On the other side of town!" he answered gulping down his eggs. Julie knew it was useless to question him further and returned to her solitary thoughts.

She'd noticed how strange he was acting when he came home last night. He had a funny look in his eye, and she couldn't help noticing that there was an obvious bulge in his trousers. The way he kept staring at her, too, like a dirty old man, had made her uneasy… she'd been afraid that he'd try and make her do disgusting things that night in bed. But to her surprise, he had just rolled over on top of her, without a word, and roughly spread apart her legs. As usual, she tried to be responsive and to show some sign of arousal, but his coarse jabbing with his thick, hardened penis disgusted her more than anything. She just lay there with her eyes closed, as he thrust into her, like a rutting animal, and she breathed a sigh of relief when, with a few heavy grunts, he emptied his semen into her. She could hardly wait for him to roll off her again, before she dashed into the bathroom to wash away the outward signs of their coupling.

Bob broke into her thoughts with a curt goodbye and it was with a feeling of pleasure that she heard the door slam behind him.

Automatically, she began to clear away the breakfast things. A dull plodding resentment governed her actions. She felt used and humiliated… a piece of chattel to be used at her husband's whim. She'd tried hard to make him a good wife. She kept the house clean and tidy, cooked good meals, and she knew she had kept her looks and figure. She'd even asked her father to offer him a job so he wouldn't have to labor like an ordinary workman in other people's gardens. If he likes gardening so much, she thought indignantly, he could do ours on weekends, as a hobby, like other men do! She put the dishes in the dishwasher, and began to tidy the other rooms. But she felt no joy in her work. She had been so relieved when her father had found this house and offered to buy it for them. He was so good to them and Bob was so ungrateful!

She couldn't help feeling that most of the fault for the trouble in their marriage was Bob's. She had really tried to help him. She offered to teach him the ins and outs of society etiquette, but when she suggested it, he got furious and refused to discuss it. He just didn't want to be helped, to improve himself.

She still had her headache, so she decided to treat herself to what she considered a real luxury… a long luxuriant bath.

One of the things that impressed her about their otherwise ordinary suburban house, was its two bathrooms. One of these was a magnificent large room, with a deep old-fashioned tub. This she had appropriated for herself and had even gone so far as to have a special lock attached to the door. Now she stepped into the room and as she habitually did, locked the door behind her.

Her taste for old-fashioned luxury was obvious in the decor she had chosen. The walls were covered in a special fabriclike wallpaper with a tiny rose pattern. She had installed a marble dressing table, topped by a huge gilt mirror, and instead of an ordinary shower curtain, she hung a pair of red antique velvet drapes with a waterproof backing. These fell from the high ceiling right down to the floor and they were tied back in a Victorian style. The whole effect was that of a regal boudoir, and Julie felt tension drop away from her as she selected a lavender scented bubble soap and began to draw the tub.

As the bath was filling, Julie slipped off her robe and nightdress and scrutinized herself in the full-length mirror. On the whole, she was pleased with what she saw. Her tummy was a trifle rounded, but knew that it was not unattractive. Apart from that, she still had the figure she had that day, over five years ago, when Bob had come home from the army and had stared so rudely at her. Goodness! She was only seventeen then… so much had happened since then! Not all good either, she sighed, stepping into the fragrant bath.

She lay back, covering her shoulders with the creamy lather. The ends of her coppery hair floated for a moment and then sank into the foam. A sigh of contentment escaped her as the warm enveloping water seeped into her pores.

As she lay there soaking, she recalled again the girl she had been at seventeen… cheerful, vivacious, full of hope for the future… a far cry from the lonely, depressed person she was now. What had gone wrong? Again she asked herself the question that tormented her daily… was it a mistake to have married Bob? She knew the difference in their backgrounds was overwhelming and now they didn't even have the same interests. Tears blinded her eyes as she thought of the endless litany of unfulfilled nights… their frustrating sexual encounters… they were almost like strangers with each other. Surely it wasn't all her fault, as Bob so darkly intimated? She knew that, coming from a conventional, somewhat religious background, she was a little inhibited, but wasn't it a husband's duty to try and help his wife, to be patient with her and carry her out of the repression of a cleric-dominated way of life? But no! Bob was too selfish, too caught up in satisfying his own animalistic impulses to take time and find out what she really needed. Tears streamed down her face and all the misery of her unhappy existence flowed from its pent-up hiding place. A memory came flickering back… a thought she tried to banish forever from her mind. An image of a girl on the seat of a car, flailing about in lustful abandon, under the surging poundings of her fiance's penis! Wildly shaking her head, she tried to blot out the memory of her own pre-marital surrender, but her lewd words, screamed at the height of depraved passion, seemed to echo throughout the room.

"Fuck me… fuck me harder…"

She clasped her hands over her ears to shut out the lascivious memory. Where had she learned those words? She never used them, before that time or since, and felt a pang of distaste whenever she heard her husband use them.

Sanity returned to her troubled mind, and she lay back again, the tears drying on her cheeks. She felt cold and began to scoop up the soap bubbles. Idly, she smoothed them over her breasts, delighting in the way the frothy lather coated her creamy orbs. As she covered them with bubbles, she noticed how the nipples, a deep blush pink, stretched and awoke and the crinkled brown skin around them began to contract and squirm. She continued to massage them, enjoying the relaxing sensation, until the reddening buds jutted out boldly from the soap-covered mounds. A shiver raced through her and she sank further back in the suds. She began to soap herself, lifting one graceful leg and then the other, lathering it right up to her thigh. A tingle erupted deep in the pit of her stomach as her hand grazed the wet clinging curls of her bronze triangle. She rested her palm momentarily on the glistening mound and a forbidden tingle shot through her. She felt her nipples stiffen again and involuntarily, her hand flew up to the hungry orbs. The tingle in her stomach had grown to a jabbing fire and horror crept over her as she realized that she was becoming aroused.

But, almost of its own volition, her hand dropped lower and began to search gently in the swelling folds of her pulsating vagina. Her finger brushed against the tiny erogenous knob of her clitoris and she gasped at the electrical shock of the unexpected contact. A twinge of guilt prodded at her conscience… memories of the childhood warnings instilled in her that to touch oneself there was evil, dirty… but the incredible hunger, borne of two years of frustration would brook no sidestepping, and she began to trace the hot, throbbing lips of her vagina, swollen to fleshiness, with her fingers. Her fingertips glided over the slippery flesh of her inner folds, and slid toward the clasping, viscous opening. Her breathing was ragged and a series of sensual visions tumbled about in her head and she felt swept along in the increasing erotic frenzy that she was conjuring up in her mind. She raised up her knees to afford her probing fingers greater access to her burning vagina and she began to thrust her finger into the moistness of her vaginal orifice. Her loins were aflame, and her head was spinning with the strength of her overwhelming need. With a savage mewl, she sunk her finger into the inflamed opening. The warm fleshy walls closed in ravenously over her finger and a gnawing hunger told her that one finger wasn't enough.

Desperate now, she plunged two more of her fingers into the hot, moist opening and began to frantically swirl them around in her cavernous depths. Her other hand began to knead at her breasts and her nails dug deeply into the doughy fleshiness, trying to rout out the overwhelming fire that was raging in them. She was moaning incessantly now and her hips were jerking and twisting in time to the incessant probing of her fingers. The lewd rhythm of her undulance gained momentum until her whole lust-crazed body was thrashing wildly in the water, whipping up a new froth of bubbles and lashing the water out over the sides of the bath. The back of her head was totally submerged and only her face was above water. Her hips rose up in paroxysm after paroxysm of delight and every muscle in her body was tensed, waiting for the final release.

Then Julie's lithe, young body was convulsed with a gigantic spasm which seized her trembling loins and held them teetering dangerously over the edge before sending her shattering into the water, her luscious hips, flailing spasmodically like a fish on a hook as wave after wave of hot, screaming tremors raced throughout her entire body, crashing against the deep secret inner walls of her womb like the California surf at Big Sur. For interminable seconds she as unable to breathe and her heart seemed to stop in the wake of her shattering climax, until finally she sank back, exhausted and satiated.

When the momentary pleasure of orgasm passed, a feeling of degradation and mortification engulfed her. Fresh tears streamed down her face and rising up from the tub, now a thing of horror to her, her legs, weak from the draining surge of her passion, gave way and she collapsed on the floor, her body racked with guilty heartfelt sobs.

CHAPTER THREE

It was just 9:00 when Bob pulled up outside the Lansing mansion. There was no one in sight, and not knowing where the rear entrance was, he pressed the front doorbell. A moment later, the young girl who had hired him opened the door. She was wearing a flimsy dusty rose peignoir which gave her golden skin an unusual blushing glow. Bob's eyes roamed over her voluptuous body, accentuated by the clinging fabric. Finally he stammered: "Good morning, Miss Lansing!"