The Magazine Girl Ch. 03

The room changed. The shadows danced more boldly. Still she breathed, although more deeply. A brush materialized in my hand. It was once Karla’s, for applying base makeup.

This now drifted on Gwendolyn’s upper thighs, dangerously close to her youthful womanhood, just hidden under the last surviving towel. The brush, almost of it’s own compulsion, disappeared from view, tracing the vee of heavenhood, reemerging from its brief skirmish, only to withdraw again. Gwen’s mouth made a silent O. She made no movement.

The towel was no longer offering fit concealment as it originally had. It had become diagonal over the blazing red beauty formerly concealed, now semi discernible in the low light. A little hip shift, again the thighs splayed, a conditional offering. My brush, now oiled merged with the luxuriant fur of her pudenda, softly flitting to the top of the crease, the start of a girl’s womanhood, then lightly falling, falling between parted thighs. The return began between thickening outer lips and inner thigh, only to wander the red pubes at the top. This gambit repeated over and over. Her thighs, seemingly of their own volition, parted further, the towel falling away. Still no protest escaped her lips, only her increasingly restless hips betrayed her. My oiled hand rubbed her now slick pubis as my brush roamed more freely the feminine partings of her arousal.

Finally, my brush stroke elicited an involuntary jerk, her ooze immediately apparent. I brushed her entrance lightly, to and fro, then going away, forcing her to await the return. She gasped. Still her eyes were closed. Her nipples were excited now without my touch. I brought the brush to visit, as a bee to a flower, then brushing from base to turgid tip, inflamed with passion. Thence again on her swollen sister, the aureola spiking, seeking suckle. Her womanhood had formed a swollen circle, needing surcease from overwhelming want. I had only to strum her proud clit, evident now, suckable in it’s own right, to banish her towering want.

Yet still I persisted. Gwendolyn moaned and she reached for her sex that so copiously and unashamedly betrayed her need. I stayed her hand, but realizing the end of the tease was in sight, I leaned over, and tongued her juiced clit, her throbbing between my lips. I hummed deeply, tightening my lips around her tiny circumference. Her scream rent the air, the release assured. She trusted my deliverance completely and erupted, unembarrassed at her bladder’s loss as her foaming entrance poured forth, hips bringing her puss up to me to assure her final relief.

I held her by her hips as she settled on the bed. Mozart returned to my ears and a lazy hand trailed down to my head, ruffling my hair.

Later, I sponged my little bird down, removing the now non essential oils and her own fluids from her person. I laid her in her bed, pulling up the comforter. She protested sleepily, wanting my bed. Her snores betrayed her wishes and I adjourned the evening, Cat climbing the stairs as I descended.