Lee Garimond - Lesbian slave

Uh-huh. Female. No mistake about that. Unfamiliar as it was, that head of hair had been its own identification. Soft and silky and utterly beautiful. Auburn, of course, what else? Even in the inky darkness of this night or of this dream? there wasn't much doubt about the color. Such a lovely, lustrous auburn. She should have known, really. Vera Carlisle had at last come to call. And wasn't it nice to be doing it like this, her lesbian seduction swathed in the dark mystery of a dream? An ease to embarrassment. But then again, well, what could one expect from the hostess of this practically perfect hideout?

Judy sighed in drowsy languor, a faintly audible token of her appreciation. That tongue was so good. A thousand times better than anything the old ten-buck fishqueen had to offer. She was beginning to understand now. Only a woman could truly know where a woman's desires and responses and sensitivities lay buried. And if that sounded like lezzie propaganda, so be it! What more proof did she need? Her body had already aligned itself with the cause, dancing dreamily to the tune of that omniscient tongue-tip, aware of the coming climax. It was even better asleep, somehow, asleep and yet infinitely alive to every exquisite nuance of the prolonged sensation like swimming nude in an unfathomable ocean of bliss. But there were some hazards here, too, dangerous undercurrents to watch out for, a certain peril even in the midst of all this sweet pleasure. Maybe it was wrong to enjoy it so much. Did she dare brave the undertow of lesbianism as a permanent way of life?

It was a chilling thought. She mulled it over momentarily, trying to dissociate her responsible mind from her irresponsible body, hoping for a detached viewpoint. But she was already too late, aware now of her thumping heart and wheezing lungs as though that diabolically cunning tongue had cast a spell upon her. Too late, too late! She didn't want to feel like this, so subject to someone else's whim. Especially in a sexual situation. She would have been more comfortably familiar feeling it under her own control.

But that had become impossible; there wasn't the faintest spark of the old dynamic power left, not even a wistful whisper of resistance. The rapturous sweep was too potent. That tongue was almost too good, tormenting her with its serpentine skill, slithering up and down the pouty lips of her pussy now, flicking fiendishly at her oversensitive clitoris and then poking around lower and plunging into the depths. Into the slick clasp of her hot-to-trot cunt. She could only squirm in response and quit worrying about the hidden currents in her otherwise blissful sea.

No matter. Danger only doubled the excitement. She would have braved anything at this point. And anyway, it was already here hot tongue, hot cunt, hot climax! her spasm of sweet ecstasy. Sweeter than she had known in all her adolescent years. Sweeter by far than those pallid pastimes she had indulged in with Mike and Rocco and Eddie. Not to mention that fucked-up old fish-queen. Or the kids at the reformatory. Oh, it was sweet, all right, an orgasm of flawless perfection in keeping with the rest of this well-nigh perfect place, naturally. She had anticipated nothing less. And it was so nice to feel relaxed and contented once again, just letting this dreamy aftermath lose its glow and fade slowly into the dark velvet oblivion of dreamless sleep…

The morning sun awakened her, filtering through the blinds to chafe her eyelids with the announcement of its solar presence, the dawn of a brand-new day. Judy hugged herself happily. Such a beautiful day! Until she sat up and reached down to scratch an intimate itch and found a stray hair clinging to the bed sheet. A black hair. Black? Very black. And then it didn't seem so nice any more, this beautiful new day, starting off with a suddenly queasy stomach and an impetuous headlong rush for the bathroom to vomit her guts out. Not a very good day at all.

Purring contentedly, naked on her big bed, Vera luxuriated in the touch of the hands gliding over her back. The skilled hands of her maid, as good as any professional masseuse. Even better, perhaps, here in the more conducive atmosphere of the boudoir, redolent of delicate feminine fragrances rather than detergents and deodorants and rubbing alcohol compounds. How could such services remain purely professional in this atmosphere of hushed intimacy? Here a massage isn't just a massage…

"Not too much for you, is it, ma'am? Sometimes I don't know my own strength. Me and my muscles."

"It's okay. A little muscle is what I need. I gain weight so easily these days. Or haven't you noticed?"

"Well, maybe a few ounces here and there, nothing to worry about. You still look great to me. Gorgeous as ever."

"That's encouraging. Thank you, dear. A little muscle for my ass and a little flattery for my ego. Solange, what would I ever do without you?"

A dry chuckle sounded answer enough and Vera purred again, basking in the congenial warmth. Nice to be told that she hadn't lost her looks. Especially since it was something she really dreaded. It was bound to happen eventually, of course, a grimly portentous trauma for every beautiful woman edging past her prime and there was less conceit than candor in the unblushing reflection that she had always been a beauty. As attested to by the pictures on these bedroom walls, all mounted and framed for posterity. Pictures of herself in a dozen different poses. They too were beautiful, particularly the glamorous color shots that brought out the harmonious contrast of her blue eyes and auburn hair.

But even the black-and-white full-length photographs pointed up the curves of her body. Were those curves still the same today? Had she put on too many unwanted ounces? Pounds? Too bad there weren't a few nudes in her photo collection, some means of attempting a more accurate comparison. She wondered how much of a disappointment it would be. Flattery was nice to hear, but with Solange in that mellow mood of hers it had to be taken with a grain of salt. Such an expansive mood lately, doubtless the result of her dealings with their cute little houseguest. There were no more complaints of boredom, no more vague but ominously repetitious threats to quit her job and seek greener fields. For which Vera was duly grateful and just a bit curious, much as she hated to admit it. Hardly an unwarranted curiosity, though; after all, it was happening right here in her own home. Despite her deliberate "hands off policy, she did feel a certain involvement. Enough to ask for a general progress report, anyhow, if not the specific details.

"Solange… "

"Ma'am?"

"Tell me, how is your new affair going?"

"Affair?"

"You know. With the kid."

"Oh. That. It isn't even an affair yet."

"But but you must have made a beginning… "

"I guess so. Sure. A pretty good beginning, come to think of it. Kind of slow maybe, but I'm taking no chances. I wouldn't want to scare her off."

"She won't scare so easily."

"No? You figure that, Miz Vera? Glad to hear it. I've been getting a little impatient for some real action. But what's to stop her from just running out on us?"

"Well, uh, it's only a hunch on my part, but I doubt if she's very anxious to get back out on the road again. Not after the way I've made her feel at home here. Buying clothes for her, treating her like an honored guest instead of just a casual pickup. Oh no, our little Miss Judy Jones is in no hurry to leave. I'd lay odds on that. So if it's action you're looking for… "

"Action. More than I've had so far, at least. But even after what you just said, I'd still be leery of coming on too strong with the kid that's my hunch."

"Use your own judgment, then. As long as you're happy doing it, as long as you don't get bored, my dear. I brought her here just for you, remember? She's all yours. A toy, a plaything, a little girl-doll to keep you amused; wasn't that what I told you?"