James Wheaton: The playful twins

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.

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!"

"Good morning," she answered gaily, "but," she added, "from now on, I'm going to call you Bob, so you'll have to call me Leslie!"

"All right, Leslie," Bob smiled, his equilibrium recovered.

"Care for some coffee? I'm just having breakfast."

Bob followed her into the dining room, where he couldn't help noticing that the table was set for two. She poured him a cup of coffee.

"I think I've prepared too much… would you help me eat it? It's Eggs Lucullus!"

The mixture of eggs, mushrooms and spinach looked very appetizing, and although it hadn't been very long since he'd eaten, Bob felt tempted by the delicious aroma.

They sat eating and exchanging small talk, until it was nearly ten. Bob got up, and thanking Leslie, made his exit into the garden. The excellent meal, eaten in the company of his beautiful young employer, put him in an exceedingly good mood and he set to work with a will.

About an hour later, Bob looked up from his measuring and saw his teen-age employer standing over him. She wore a short shift, and from his squatting position, he could see right up to the thin strip of white panties covering her pubic mound. The long, slender columns of her legs were like finely sculpted marble and Bob felt a flush spread over his features. Straightening himself up, he felt ill at ease, his face was burning and he could hardly look the young girl in the eye.

"How about a break?" Leslie asked, her hand on her hip and her head tilted a little to one side.

Bob barely mumbled assent, and together they walked silently toward the wide patio. On the patio table, there was a pitcher and two glasses. She poured out two long drinks and watched Bob over the rim of her glass as he sipped his drink.

"What's this called?" he asked after a moment.

"Singapore Sling," she answered, "made with Daddy's special rum!"

"From Triangle Trade days?" Bob quipped, referring to the old method of trading used by New Englanders of buying slaves in Africa, selling them in the West Indies for molasses, and bringing back the molasses to be distilled into rum which was used to buy more slaves in Africa!

"Not quite!" Leslie replied, blushing. "This is of a later vintage, from Cuba. Pre-revolution of course!"

They were silent for a moment, and then Leslie said: "Let's sit on the lawn!" She walked ahead with the pitcher, and Bob followed her over to a large spreading oak tree, and sat down beside her on the grass. Bob watched appreciatively as she yawned a little as she stretched out, and lay on her side facing him. Nonchalantly, Leslie sipped her drink, carefully observing him, her eyes strangely narrowed to smoky green slits.

Bob wondered just what was expected of him and he felt very nervous, sitting so close to this strange, exotic girl. Her heady perfume wafted over to him on the soft breeze… an erotic scent that bespoke mystery, excitement, promise. He couldn't keep his eyes off her legs where the mini-shift had ridden up till it barely covered the tops of her thighs. The superb line of her long legs tapered to a womanly expanse of thigh and the whole sweep from hip to ankle was exquisitely beautiful.

"I want to kiss you!"

Bob's mouth dropped open and remained there a second before he had the presence of mind to close it. He looked at Leslie's face, but her expression was inscrutable, as if not a word had been said. For a moment, he thought he had imagined it, or perhaps it was one of those strange parrot-like birds which had somehow escaped from their cages in the sitting room. He felt more and more uncomfortable.

"Do you want to kiss me?"

Again he looked at the young girl's face and this time there was no doubt as to the origin of the statement. Her lips were slightly parted and glistened moistly. Her hand toyed gracefully with the curve of her well-rounded hip.

Before he could speak, he felt her warm hand on his arm, and the teen-age girl pulled him gently over to her. His first impulse was to draw back, but her hand was still clasped possessively on his arm and her face lay invitingly close to his. There seemed to be a magnet drawing his head down to hers and a shot of exquisite pleasure darted through him as his lips touched hers. Her firm yet pliant flesh seemed to burn into his and he felt he could go on kissing her like this indefinitely. His tongue slipped out and, pressing against the unresisting barricade of her teeth, gained entrance to her soft, velvety mouth. Her tongue rose expertly to meet his and performed a sort of lewd ecstatic dance, teasing and touching his own eager organ. He dabbed at her throat, feeling the ridged roof of her mouth, the sharp indentations of her teeth, and pushed at the back of her throat. Still she sought to swallow more and more of the feverishly drubbing tongue. Bob felt the buttons on his shirt being opened and then a cool hand was resting on his chest, playing with the dark curly hair. Shivers coursed up and down his back and he almost leapt up off the grass in a convulsing reaction to the electrifying shock of her touch. Her tongue withdrew from his sucking mouth and trailed a path of burning fire along his face. Slowly she inched closer to him and Bob could feel her large, firm breasts pressing hotly against his arm. His prick was palpitating wildly in his pants and his balls began to ache from the pressure of his churning sperm.

Suddenly, her hand reached out and she touched the throbbing bulge. There was a roaring in his brain and his blood-swollen prick leapt to even more agonizing life, burning like a firebrand against his leg. Her hand never stopped gently massaging his tormented penis while her darting tongue snaked wetly down, over his throat and among the crisp hairs on his chest.