Dallas Mayo: Girl-crazy girl

It wasn't quite that drastic, of course, but her response did send me into a stew of frustration. She locked her legs together, preventing my entry. I slid my hands behind her knees hopefully, trying to pry them apart, and then surrendered and accepted the next best thing, gliding upward in a slow caress until my palms cupped her buttocks. They were big and soft in my hands, those lovely round ass-cheeks, and meanwhile I kept nuzzling into the seal of her thighs amorously, sniffing the musky sex-odor that all her resistance couldn't possibly hold back. Better yet, I couldn't help but detect the telltale tremors that had already begun to ripple through her flesh, cause for a certain optimism at least, if not outright exhilaration. Success was just around the corner, I figured, if only the phone call continued to occupy her enough to create a major diversion.

Tilting my face, I placed a wet kiss on the silky edge of her cunt-hair, thrilling to the taste and sliding my parted lips around to get more of it. For a moment there I was doing it all for myself, purely for my own enjoyment, simply carried away by this unprecedented degree of intimacy. Until, gradually, I recognized a change in the stiffness of her stance and knew that victory was mine. Her legs were opening, offering me the treasure between them; it was right there for the taking…

Cunt!

Elated, sure of myself now, I suppressed my immediate instinct and made her wait a little, enjoying the vision of those kissable pink lips just an inch beyond the tip of my nose, the vaginal lips of a grownup lesbian woman. I could even see tiny pearls of moisture glistening, the sex-dew, the outcropping of a cunt already hotly awash with passion; how pretty it looked!

But the delay soon became just as unbearable for me, if not more so. Almost of its own volition, my tongue seemed to uncurl and slip out of my mouth, touching the little droplets and savoring their deliciously erotic taste – and then at last doing what it had always been meant to do, what it had been born to do, elongating voluptuously into the satiny wetness of all that intimate woman-flesh…

"Darling, oh yes, you darling girl!" The hang-up clatter of the telephone announced the end of the call as Bernadette uttered her wail of rapture. "Oh, it's too much, too much. Get undressed and let me love you."

Intriguing as the suggestion sounded, I chose to ignore it and go on with my own activity, far more intrigued by this thing I was already doing, this thing that was like a revelation to me. I'm sucking it, I'm sucking like a lesbian, I'm sucking her cunt! And if the idea itself wasn't enough, I was inescapably enthralled by all the physical sensations – the touch, the taste, the smell, the total immersion in this sex-perfumed pool of excitement. So warm and wet, so soft and sweet and suckable…

"No? Okay then, well do it your way. Lick me good, honeybunch, and I'll come for you, I'll cream a mouthful. Right on my clit, that's it, that's my little lover-girl. Ah! Wait now, let me get comfortable."

"Hmm?"

"Don't quit, don't you dare stop! Just stay with it, Missy, finish what you started. Next time maybe you won't be in such a hurry to bite off more than you can chew."

"Ummmm…"

"Now. Uh-huh. Oooh, you little cuntlapper!"

It was like a badge of honor. Cuntlapper. A proud moment for me – and I stayed right with it until she finally got herself settled on the bed, both of us clutching each other to keep my face tucked into its rightful place. And after that, of course, everything was all comfy-cozy and I just burrowed in deeper as she twitched and shuddered and clamped her big heavy thighs around my head. Oh, it felt so right…

And so a new pattern was established between us, based on my unquenchable need for her cunt. Even aside from her age and size and experience and rank in the household, it gave her the upper hand over me – and I soon became her little slave, eager for any possible chance to prove my devotion. She still felt guilty, true, speaking of it often – all too often to suit me – but that no longer stopped her from taking advantage of my willingness.

During the day, whenever my father wasn't around, she didn't even wear panties any more, just a loose housedress with a wide skirt, wide enough for me to get underneath it. All she had to do was put one foot up on the rung of a chair and utter an order – or even beckon me in silence – and I never hesitated to obey. Even her posture was exciting, the arrogance of it, the way she towered so high my crouched body. And then when she he hem of her skirt over me, it was like a sex-redolent tent compressing and enhancing ail the various sensations as I turned my face up into her crotch, the hairy nest between her plump thighs. Oh, how I loved being Bernadette's darling little cuntlapper!

Sometimes, often, I would sit in school and think of her, almost feeling those big soft legs around me, encircling my cheeks. It was always inside my head, the memory of that hot woman-cunt, available whenever I cared to bypass some dull class work and slip away into a delectable daydream. Now and then, too, quite deliberately, I would recall the more trying moments in our relationship, the times when she made me wait for my pleasure. Like the nights when she might lie naked on her bed, all limp and lazy, letting me just stand there and stew awhile. Watching her like that, it was all I could do to keep from undressing and throwing myself down alongside her. But I didn't dare, not without specific permission, and had learned to control my impatience the hard way. Yes indeed, she had taught me to wait and suffer until I was told what to do. It was always better to play safe and just look hopeful – and maybe lick my lips a little – until the invitation came. Or the command, more likely, direct and to the point, since that lazily relaxed attitude of hers was seldom more than sham. For someone who made her living as a servant, she was sure dictatorial, a bossy bitch if ever there was one. But that too was part of the excitement and I always seemed to wind up adoring her all the more for it. As if it was in my nature to be dictated to.

(Wasn't that the submissive side, the "Eloi" side of my nature already showing itself? Oh, but I was too young to understand, too young for such a psychologically complex concept!)

Anyway, I was Bernadette's obedient little angel and loved every minute of it. Whatever she wanted was fine with me. I worshipped at the shrine of her cunt and was ever so pleased to give her access to mine – anytime, anywhere, just a happy little girl. Those years with my favorite maid were good ones. The best, perhaps. Too bad they had to end so abruptly.

I never knew how or why it happened, not even whether she got fired by my father or quit of her own free will. Nor did it matter, actually, not to a heartbroken child – and I didn't even dare show the degree of my heartbreak! I just had to grin and bear it, the pain, the emptiness, truly aware for the first time in my life of a lesbian's need for secrecy…

Eventually, of course, the wound healed over. A succession of maids came and went, none more than mildly appealing, none clever enough to see my overture of affection for what it really was. I gave up hoping in time, turning almost, normal as past memories began to blur. Almost but not quite. My interest in the opposite sex just wasn't as pronounced, comparatively speaking, as it should have been. The girls at school talked about boys incessantly; we were at the awkward-but-eager age now, out of childhood and into adolescences too young to date but old enough for parties and dances. And like any normal youngster, I too became one of the flock. Only I couldn't quite feel comfortable playing that game, always vaguely-conscious of something amiss – like a black sheep trying to disguise myself under a snow-white fleece. An off-color sheep, anyhow.