Twyla Twacht - Lesbo Lessons

"You're hurting me," Mara yelled. "Stop it or I'll call my father."

"Don't do that," Wendy said quickly, her voice hardening. "If your father caught us in bed together, he'd kill you."

"What… what are you talking about?"

"Darling, men don't understand the love women have for one another. If he knew this was happening, you'd be sent to some horrible little convent in Bruges or Antwerp. Never see the outside world again… that's what they do to women like us."

"Us? But I did nothing at all," Mara protested. "You made me do this. You made me-"

"It doesn't matter," Wendy snapped. "You wanted this as much as I. You enjoyed doing me this afternoon. I saw it in your eyes."

"You just imagined it," Wendy cried. "I was just trying to examine you like you asked me to."

"No!" Wendy took the girl in her arms. As Wendy strove to free herself, she kissed her on her mouth "You love me as I love you… This is better than any stupid man can give you, darling."

"Let me go or I'll scream for help," Mara cried.

"You do that, my little minx, and I'll tell your father that you locked us in and demanded that I make love with you. That you forced me to lie on your bed, spread my thighs and let you lick my pussy or you'd have me sacked." Her voice rose dangerously.

"You wouldn't!" Mara said. She could not believe that all this was coming from a girl who had always acted so differently with her before. A girl who had always been so kind, so accommodating to her, so humble in her requests. She sounded like a tyrant. Wendy's eyes blazed as she stroked Mara's buttocks.

"Darling, I not only will, but I shall also tell them you've been doing it to me during our afternoon swims. And you know what would happen. You know how hot-tempered your father is when he really gets cross. It will not only horrify him and your dear mater, it will send you packing off to Belgium in a flash. And what's more, I'll see that the news gets there too. Because when I start something I finish it."

"Why are you doing this to me?" Mara asked, trembling.

"Because you've hurt me," Wendy said petulantly. "I don't give myself to another woman easily. I'm very selective. I gave myself to you because I could see you wanted me. And because I'm head over heels in love with you."

As Wendy spoke, her finger drifted back to Mara's wet bush and began to poke between her pink labia.

"Let me make love to you, darling."

Mara tried to push her away but the English girl's superior weight and strength held her down to the bed. Tossing the girl down hard, she pulled back Mara's skirt and then lifted her own. Before the teen-aged girl knew what was happening to her she felt Wendy's bush against her own. She could feel the wetness and the hardness of Wendy's pubic area against hers. The English tutor began to grind her vulva against Mara's.

"Oh Lord this feels wonderful," Wendy groaned aloud. "This is what I love most-the feeling of your delicious Mary Jane against mine, our wetness together. I adore the feel of your wet luxurious bush against mine. Oh dearest this is heaven."

A moment later they heard footsteps outside and then Mara's father's voice.

"Are you all right dear?" he said unconcernedly, "I thought I heard you yell as I passed."

"Tell him it's all right," Wendy whispered fiercely in Mara's ear as their vaginas pressed hard against one another. "Unless you want to ruin us both. You love what we're doing. I can feel your heart beating faster. Don't try to lie to yourself."

Mara hesitated. There was some truth in what Wendy said.

"Mara?" her father said. "Did you hear me?" Mara thought quickly of what Wendy had promised. She was upset by what was happening to her, but she could not overlook Wendy's threats and what would probably follow. Banishment to a convent would be horrible.

"I'm all right Daddy," She said as Wendy's lips sucked at her breast. "Just a little drowsy."

"Don't stay up too long then," her father said. "We're going to the airport to meet your aunt very early."

When he left Wendy kissed her even harder and began to grind her vagina relentlessly against Mara's crotch until suddenly the Englishwoman let out a loud groan and then a sigh. Then she sank back.

"Wonderful… wonderful… did I pleasure you dear?"

"No," Mara said. "And I want you to stay away from me. Don't you dare touch me again."

"Let's not be so blustery, darling," Wendy laughed. "We've only just begun."

"What on earth are you talking about!"

"I'm coming to your room tomorrow and the day after that. And there'll be marvelous lovemaking in the afternoons in our own little Eden." Wendy's voice grew tender. "You loved it, dear. I could feel your body trembling with pleasure… don't deny it." Her voice hardened. "And remember what I said. I start what I finish."

Mara lay back against the pillows, her ears burning, her eyes welling up with tears. Tears because she knew she was trapped and because she realized that she herself was physically aroused. As angry as she was at the rape, she had felt pleasure, sexual pleasure. Wendy's lips on her vagina had thrilled her exquisitely.

The next few weeks were the most difficult in her life. She feared the assaults that Wendy made on her in the forest and in her room and yet she wanted them. And the long visit of her Aunt Lianne, who was married to a pastor in Bruges and spoke incessantly about sin and the temptations of the flesh, did not help.

Once, sneaking into the embassy's library, she looked up lesbianism in a work about psychiatry and her eyes burned. She was horrified. She did not feel that way. She liked men. And yet it was true that she had been pleasured by Wendy's body against hers.

The thought that she was acting as a lesbian, coupled with her aunt's diatribes against sexual sin and the fear that her father would learn of her lovemaking with Wendy, made her ill. She spent whole days in her room with the door locked so that Wendy could not get to her. When the embassy doctor recommended a short trip to Belgium, she accepted the idea with alacrity. Anything to get away. She did not want to be a lesbian; she wanted a husband…

Once in Bruges with her uncle, she felt better. Determined not to go back to Burma and Wendy, she begged her father to let her attend Barnard College in New York where a close friend was enrolled. Her father was pleased and assented. And two years later maneuvered for a post at the United Nations to be nearer to his only child.

She had loved Barnard and New York and trained to be a teacher. But there were no permanent jobs available, only substitute jobs, and these in depressed area schools. She hated going to the dangerous neighborhoods and she hated the modeling jobs she used to filled in the time. And her occasional dates with men were not too satisfactory. She would meet a boy and then break with him a few weeks later. Finally, against her mother and father's wishes she had decided to try Los Angeles. She loved the climate and she had friends there including a classmate at Barnard whose father was politically important. Her chances of getting a permanent job were much better than in New York.

At first she had been delighted. She loved the sunny California climate, the comparatively easy-going pace of living, and her tiny flat in a complex that included many young people. She met Mike, a bright, handsome accountant who loved theater, books and had traveled widely in Europe. And finally the chance for a job had come through with her the efforts of her classmate. But the final decision rested now with Ruth Peter. She had waited months for the chance, she thought sadly, and now again, her fate might depend on the way she satisfied a lesbian.

As she emerged from her Pinto and walked toward the trim white house set behind some hedges and a carefully manicured green lawn, she trembled. But what worried her even more was that she felt very wet between her legs. Even as she drove along the freeway to Ruth's house in the gathering darkness, she could tell that the moisture from her vagina had drenched her pantyhose.