Zane Pella: Fanchon_s Book

"Now? But the lamps-they're all-"

"Pooh-Who needs lamps?" Excitement gripped me; Kristi was still exhilarated-flushed face, shining eyes-why not take advantage of such an opening?" All we have to do is choose our roles and start playing them. The entire room can be our stage and-oh, what an idea!-I just thought of something, a good scene to begin with. Shall we give it a try? Just as an experiment?"

"Ma'm… you're so nice. I'm ready. Just tell me what to do. Ooh, I never dreamed it would be like this. Working for you, I mean. I-I-"

"Hush, dear. Don't tell me how you feel; act it out instead. Now there's a part for you to play-you can be a slave girl who worships her mistress. Hmm, we could make something really dramatic out of that, couldn't we? How does it strike you, Kristi, do you think you can playa slave girl?"

"A slave girl… " The green gaze lost some of its luster. "But that wouldn't be acting, would it, ma'm? I'm already your maid and you're my mistress-it's just real life, isn't it? We wouldn't be playing a game at all. "

"Hmm. You do have a point, my dear. But that's easy to fix. Let's say you're not a maid, you're a captive girl in ancient times. And I'm a Roman matron who has bought you at the market-so now you have to please me by being my beautiful love-slave."

"Oh. Ma'm… I-I couldn't. I wouldn't know how."

"That's no problem. I'll show you."

"Ma'm? You? You'll show me? Ooh, yes, that would be fun. Please show me."

"No, dear, I don't think you understand. Once we start playing our parts, I'll tell you exactly what to-" I struck a snag; the woebegone look on the poor child's face stopped me cold. The game meant so much to her and I was apparently spoiling it by changing the rules. What could I do? The little darling loved me-and I did recall having made some sort of promise. Could I disappoint her? Wouldn't that build up the wall of shyness again? And run the risk of another setback just when we were making such wonderful progress?

"Ma'm? Is there something wrong?"

"Not a thing, Kristi. We'll do it your way. And I'll give you a demonstration of how the slave girl's role should be played. Only you'll have to help, of course."

"Yes, ma'm, I'll help. But if you're the slave girl, what part do I play? I don't think I could be a Roman matron."

I chuckled. There was nothing very matronly about the dainty little creature. But I already had a name for her, and in this case it seemed to fit the situation: she had tucked her hair up and it didn't take much imagination to visualize that golden crown as a symbol of royalty.

Still smiling, I went into a curtsy, low, graceful, the kind I had been taught in finishing school. "No, not a matron," I said, peering up at her. "A princess. You're a beautiful princess. And I'm your slave." But my smile was a pasted-on mask; I felt its falseness and dropped my gaze to the level of her legs, her beautiful bare legs, and then I couldn't wait any longer, I just couldn't, I had to kiss the cream-smooth skin, I had to know its softness with my own lips.

I heard her giggle, a silvery obbligato to the clamorous twang of my heartstrings; in a crouching glide I followed her moving body and strove to retain the delectable contact as she edged backward to sit upon the bed. Kissing, kissing, leaving a damp trail of a thousand kisses, I sought the young thighs and mouthed my way between them under the tucked-up hem of her uniform, moaning ecstatically at the unexpected discovery (ah yes, she had dressed in a hurry: no panties!) and at last smothering my moan in the hot silk-thatched mound of flesh that split invitingly and yielded to the thrusting pressure of my face. And oh, the mystery of it, the dark depths, moist, pulpy, tart-sweet to taste and breathe, a vortex of lubricity luring me liquidly ever deeper, mushy, slippery, oily, perhaps even slimy-but did it matter? Did anything matter but this?

For me the play-acting game had ended. I found myself in a mindless abyss of passion; there was no princess, no slave, no mistress, no maid, no sense of identification whatsoever. Only the thrill. The thrill of turning all of my entity into a sucking mouth. It was too enormous to comprehend, but then again I must have been too dazed to even try. And too busy.

Too busy being a mouth. Too busy sucking.

And too busy losing my head, although I didn't recognize it until I heard a shriek and felt Kristi's hands shoving me away roughly, small hands but strong, and I came up out of the wet softness reluctantly, drunk with desire, dizzy with the ineffable sensuality of it all; a sob of desperation tore itself from my throat and I knew only that something precious had been taken from me-but why, why?-and would it never return?

"Ma'm, you're hurting me!"

"Uh… "

"You-you bit me. Your teeth-"

"I-I'm sorry… "

Only it was too late; she was already out of my embrace and racing across the floor-through the door and out of sight, gone to her own room-gone-and I could do nothing but writhe in frantic yearning and sink my fingers into the seething maelstrom of my need, hoping beyond hope that I might find some solace in what I was doing. But I had hardly touched myself when I felt the drawstring of orgasm tighten around my hot flesh, and it wasn't until a century later that I realized that my tongue was out and that I had been licking my lips. Even at the very peak. Licking the taste of Kristi.

The taste of Kristi on my lips-and during the next few days I recalled it often, appalled by my spontaneous act of self-abasement and yet excited by the inescapable fact that it was going to happen again. It had to. There was no other way. How else could I apologize for my boorish behavior? In the stress of that insensate moment I had actually bitten the poor sweet kid-and hard enough to frighten her, apparently, although my own memory (somewhat dubious, considering my state of oblivion) just didn't go any farther than the misty cognizance of a wealth of warm wet softness.

I was sorry, of course, and had told her so, but that scarcely atoned for my blunder. So I knew I would be playing her game again-but gently this time, skillfully if possible, and with the fixed purpose of expressing my contrition; how else could I regain the little darling's confidence? True, I might have dropped the entire matter right then and there. Or at least remained patient until time healed the wound. That would have been the judicious course, perhaps, but all my emotional instincts demanded otherwise. The girl had added a new dimension to my life; I looked forward to each day with a feeling of zest now, a hedonistic fervor, an intensity that had been sadly lacking in recent years. Tutto dl novello par bello. I couldn't sit around and twiddle my thumbs and let the sparkling champagne grow flat.

Nor did I. But it soon became evident that I a tough nut to crack. Kristi was my employee. and. never once did she let down in her household duties-indeed she was more obliging than ever in such details-but getting her to relay and discuss the paramount Issue was something else again. Until, m a fit of urgency, I all but ordered her to do so.

She didn't talk much. Worse yet, she listened with a stoic smile on her face and I realized I wasn't making much headway. But I had no choice; I had told her to sit and hear me out-although I certainly hadn't anticipated such an impervious defense. It got to be pretty exasperating, and it was almost m anger that I finally spoke the words that drew a response from her.

"Kristi, what do I have to do, beg you?"

"Ma'm?" Her lashes fluttered, overly coy; there seemed to be mischief brewing inside her. "I guess you really liked the acting game, huh?"

"I've already said so."

"You liked it when I was the princess?"

"Yes dear. It was fun."