Anonumous: The prodigal virgin

“No,” he whispered.

“I’m certain of it,” she assured him, but was stirred to a sort of panic by something in the brown eyes over which hung dark-brown and curly hair.

“Well, we’ll see,” he said vaguely.

With both hands behind her, Marion was striving to coax the thin fabric downwards over an abundantly fleshed buttock, which seemed to resist renewed confinement so determinedly as to endanger the solidity of the dark-blue silk upon which she was tugging while she held this odd, absorbing conversation with her young brother-in-law.

“Want help, Maro?” he smiled.

She ignored the proffer.

“How in the world did you ever got this thing up in the first place!” she said. “I think I’m going to tear it, it seems so very frail. No, don’t you dare, Stanley Cochrane! You have already seen me most disgracefully and you’ve promised, you know, to commit no more indecencies!”

“Indecencies?” he queried in an injured tone. “I only want to help, Maro, since you obviously cannot manage that fabric yourself while you’re inside it.”

“Well, if you’re certain you can be very good,” consented the girl confidingly. “For I find I can’t do it alone without tugging in a way dangerous for the suit. But please-oh, please hurry-for it’s so shameful to have you see me like this!”

He was behind her in a flash. Adeptly he thrust fingers of both hands beneath the clinging silk and swiftly he drew it downward over one lovely mound.

But the touch of the backs of his fingers upon the nudity of this exuberant flesh moved each of them now to a degree out of proportion to the intimacy of the contact, extreme though that was. Marion sighed and cringed a trifle.

Stanley repeated the process with the other buttock. Then, overcome by his agitation over this glorious and intimate young flesh, he dropped quickly to a knee and laid warm lips in the horizontal crease just beneath the mound.

Marion shivered. She stood for an instant as if transfixed. And then, as the ardent lips took possession of the same spot at the base of the other buttock and she felt the heat of his almost flaming breath and the clinging of his lips, she dropped to the sand with a dry and convulsive sob.

“You-you broke your promise!” she quavered dismally. “And now I shan’t ever dare-“

“I broke no promise,” he protested. “What did I do?”

“You kissed me,” she accused, “where people aren’t ever kissed! It was a fearful grossness, taking advantage of me!”

“I kissed you twice, granted,” he murmured. “And found it delicious! But-my dearest sister, kisses were distinctly permitted to me by the terms of our agreement.”

“But, heavens!” wailed the girl. “To kiss a person in such a spot!”

“A wholly lovely and adorable spot,” he assured her. “If you could only see the cute little cross between a wee valley and a large wrinkle that your flesh forms there, Maro, you would have to agree that it’s nothing short of delectable! And there are dimples here too!”

She bit her red lower lip, declining to look into his face. She debated inwardly.

“Why, I suppose I did say you could kiss me,” she said faintly at last. “Maybe you were keeping the letter of our agreement. But still-what a place to put kisses! It absolutely jarred me, Stanley! I’m still all quivery. I had no idea you meant ever to kiss me elsewhere than on my face, and I’m sure you never will again, now that you have seen how it affects me.”

“Just how did it affect you?” he queried.

“Why, what a thing to ask!” she murmured in plaintive agitation. “It-your mouth-seemed almost to burn my flesh. I can still feel it. It made me-well-sort of throb and feel-so funny!”

“I’m entitled to kisses,” he remarked with a soft and joyous exultation. “Our promises hold, don’t they, Maro?”

“I-I couldn’t go back on a promise,” she conceded at last. “But if I’d had the least notion that my pledge could be taken to permit anything like that-we’d never have reached that agreement. Fortunately, you’ll never have another such chance to drive me to distraction. And I still can’t understand in the least how you should have felt inspired to wish to kiss me there.”

“A very dainty and wholly delightful region,” he observed. “All the environs are maddeningly beautiful, as this tiny suit gives me the pleasure of noticing.”

Flushing yet more deeply, Marion contrived to crouch in a less revealing posture.

“Yet, can a thing which makes a girl absolutely shiver and tremble be called a kiss really?” she questioned, seemingly intent on extricating herself gracefully from the dilemma into which her pledge appeared to have immersed her.

“If you don’t think those were kisses, just let me try again,” he suggested.

She quivered and crouched yet lower.

“And since they gave you, as you’ve admitted, new sensations they are merely new kisses to you, which were distinctly within what we agreed upon,” he added.

They had their plunge in the waters of the lake and it was a cooling experience of which both the girl and the man stood in need. But Marion, fond though she already was of her big brother-in-law with the coiling, dark-brown mop of heavy hair and the frank, attractive countenance and body of a young Hercules, was silent and introspective during their swim, as well as on the homeward walk to the pleasant bungalow whither they made their way as the dinner hour drew near.

For a wonder, there was no social affair to draw them from the house that evening, nor did any of the group of some hundred or more of Chicago’s youthful elite chance to invade the summer home of the Cochranes. Hence Marion Stone had the opportunity-of which she took advantage-to go early to her chamber and to bed.

She felt the need of utter solitude, even though not particularly weary. For tremendous things had happened to this lovely and inexperienced girl of twenty. To her they seemed world-shattering and it was necessary for her to ponder alone every episode of that hour with her sister’s husband in the little sand vale on the dunes of the lake shore.

In her bed and in the darkness, she flushed and vibrated as she recalled each crucial point. The intense admiration of Stanley for her bare legs had, she thought, started it all. And, beneath the cover, she ventured to hitch up the nighty she wore and to run her soft, shamed fingers delicately over each naked thigh as if to fathom by sense of touch just why they seemed to him so admirable.

She took anew the immodest posture into which she had fallen so innocently on the sand-knees raised and parted-trying to picture herself as he had seen her in that scant bathing suit, wondering whether it had indeed been as thin and revealing there in the sunlight as he had said, or whether he was just plaguing her. She touched the lower parts of her smooth behind, the curves which, she realized, had indeed protruded shamefully. But Mildred had told her not to be silly about “a little thing like that, which nobody pays attention to.”

How horrid that her chance posture should have suggested to Stanley such a lascivious intimacy as that of which he had spoken! Why, then, from what he had said she supposed that this was indeed the position which a young wife had to assume when in bed with her husband.

Those same exquisite naked legs which had so rejoiced the eyes of Stanley Cochrane clapped together now upon a slender wrist as, with sudden increased agitation, Marion recalled the entire denuding of her rear mounds by her brother-in-law under the jesting pretense of castigating them. Quickly the thighs parted again, however, and the girl sighed, ashamed. For, as she touched the lower rims of her bottom with investigating fingers, trying to make more vivid the recollection of what Stanley had done and said, that slim wrist was so located as to be caught directly in her warm crotch.