Beetlesmith's Ch. 25

"Then you should remember the question I posed to you."

She nodded her head as a response.

"I'm going to need an answer. Not at this very moment, but soon."

Again, a tear fell from her eye as she lowered her gaze to the floor.

I slipped a gentle finger under her chin and lifted her head up so that I could gaze into her watery eyes. "This is no time for sadness, Sunshine. Remember that you're among friends who love and adore you. You are precious to us. Think on these things as you ponder your answer" Then I laid back on the bed, putting my cock front and center for the camera and the audience, and said, whimsically, "But now, I think it's time you tend to this more...persistent...matter."

Laughing, she repositioned herself into a half sixty-nine position by laying her great tits on my stomach while resting her right hip and legs on the bed next to me.

There was a monitor on the wall above the audience, facing me allowing me to watch her. She took a few moments making tiny adjusts of her body, shifting here or there, licking, wetting, then pursing her lips as she starred at my burgeoning member. The stalling was all done as a way of easing her mind and body into the momentous job that lay ahead.

She wrapped her two hands lightly around the base on my cock, holding it firm and steady while lovingly kneading my balls with her fingers. I saw her lick her lips, again, and I felt her warm, sweet breath course around my cockhead as she brought her mouth closer.

The feeling made my cock twitch.

Lydia giggled at its reaction, and then said, playfully, "Oh my, Mr. Big and Hard. Have you missed me? I've missed you. Oh lordy, how I have missed you."

I heard the beginning of Floyd'sPillow of Winds coming from the speakers behind me. It's one of my favorites of Floyd, and I thought it fitting at this moment—its melodic dream-like melody and soft, ethereal rhythm matching the overall mood of my soul—and quite unexpectedly, putting me into a trance. And As I felt my cock sliding deep into Lydia's warm, moist mouth, my mind slipped deeper into the past.

********

I first caught sight of her coming out of a church. It was about two weeks before the opening of Roman Wilderness, and Karen and I were in the city scouting for potential Wilderness slaves.

Her ass shimmied seductively—like Jell-O on springs—but that seductive waggle was no match to the subtle swaying and jiggling of her giant breasts with each step she took.

It wasn't her body that caught my attention, though, it was the warm, internal light that shown from her. Golden as the sun, the light of goodness radiated from her, providing pure illumination to anyone who could notice—and no one did, until now.

As she made her way down the sidewalk, I could tell no one paid her much attention. She was a fat girl for heaven's sake. Oh, a few men turned their heads for a brief moment and imagined what it would be like to fuck those heavy, fat tits of hers. Fuck them, deposit a load, and then leave. What else was she good for but a late Friday night pick-up when all other amorous options were gone?

That was as far as their option was of her—guttural and coarse, and in the end they would be cruel in their dismissiveness once she was used. Throughout her still short life I suspect most people, including her parents, regarded her as only a fat girl. She may be nice, they would all add, but come on...she's just a fat girl with fat girl problems.

I saw something different, however, something much more. Although I didn't understand what it was or why, I knew she was special. Moreover, there was a little voice within me, nagging me and inciting me with great intensity to follow her and stay with her to whatever ends that follow.

As for me and my baser desires, Lydia represented a dichotomy I have never before or since experienced. There was something about naivety wrapped up in a vessel adorned by giant tits and a pear-shaped ass that sparks my emotional as well as my sexual interests, and Lydia was the personification of all that—virgin and vamp, saint and slut, all rolled into one.

To quote a wise whoremonger—namely me—'she may have had the soul of an angle, but her tits and ass were made for mortal sin.'

I pulled over as quickly as I could.

Karen was taken aback by my abrupt maneuver, "What's wrong?"

"See her?"

"Her who?'

"The blonde across the street, walking toward that greasy spoon. Amazing."

"Her?! I...ah...hmm... Amazing? I don't... Don't you think she's way too...you know, big to be a Wilderness slave?"

"Not a slave. Look again."

Karen stared for a moment, and finally commented, "Well, she'll never drown with those tits that's for sure, but I still don't..."

"You're not seeing her. Take your time and look!"

She stared again, and then exclaimed, "Oh my god! What is that? Is that light?"

"Come on," I said, as I got out of the car.

"Wait. Where are we going?"

"We're going to follow her."

"What about the club? Finding slaves? You know, what we planned on doing today."

"That can wait. This is more important."

"What's so important about her, except for that weird glow? For all we know she's radioactive, and we should probably keep our distance."

I didn't really know why she was so important, just that my inner voice was urging me forward. I gave Karen one of those looks that tells her to shut up and just do what she's told, and so we started following, staying slightly behind her on the other side of the street.

The girl walked for another block before she went into a coffee shop.

"Okay, now what?" Karen asked.

"We need to get close to her. I want her to get comfortable with us, and let us into her life."

Karen stared at me for a moment, and asked with surprise, "You want to fuck her?"

"Only if it comes to that, but for right now I want us all to become friends."

"I still don't under..."

I gave her the look again.

Once I knew the girl wasn't getting a coffee to go, Karen and I crossed the street and went inside.

The place was near empty, but we made a pretense of sitting at her table, anyway. Karen was expert at putting young woman at ease, and soon had Lydia telling us all about her life. We learned she lived alone, worked in retail, was devoted to her church—Holy Cross Lutheran—and volunteered there as the church's Sunday school coordinator. Her parents were divorced and lived in another state. More importantly, and to my great surprise given her sweet, soulful manner, she had few personal friends, only maintaining distant relations with colleagues and associates.

As with most people who had obvious physical deficiencies, Lydia was racked to the gills with self-doubt and low self-esteem. Surprisingly still, given her mild disposition, she exhibited a deep resentment that she tried to hide, but couldn't at times. It slipped out now and again, and was born from the frustration she felt that no one could see the real person she was on the inside.

She did have a boyfriend, a Jerry something-or-other that she'd been dating for a year now. I got the impression that she latched onto the first man who gave her more than a passing interest—definitely selling herself short by all accounts concerning Jerry, and she knew it deep down. However, she was also scared shitless of spending her life alone, and so stayed with Jerry.

Karen saw an opening, and turning into 'big sister,' quite deftly began prodding her for more information about their relationship. It became evident through all of Karen's questions that Lydia was not that satisfied with Jerry, though she thought him sweet.

As Karen and Lydia continued to talk, I intentionally touched her hand trying to read her better. Direct contact has always intensified my mental abilities with others.

Lydia's reaction to my touch was instantaneous and negative, as she quickly pulled her hand away from mine. She stared at me for a moment, wondering what had just occurred between us. Clearly, she sensed something about me that wasn't right, and that maybe I was something she should fear.

I thought I had lost her in that moment, as she began to gather her things to leave; however, Karen touched her sweetly on the shoulder while starting another humorous story, causing Lydia to ignore her instincts to run and linger with us a while longer.

Once I saw Lydia getting comfortable again with our company, I began projecting that sense of calming bliss and tranquility, all while taking care not to touch her, even accidently. However, I found it difficult, if not impossible, to fully imbue her with these feelings. She possessed an inner strength and an acute sense of right and wrong that resisted most of my advances. I finally had to settle on just easing her mind about me, and giving her a sense that I could be trusted.

At one point, Lydia excused herself to go to the bathroom. When she was out of earshot, Karen let loose with a muted diatribe born from frustration, "I don't get it. If you want to fuck her, just do that thing you do and let's get it on. If I have to listen to her whine one more time how her dullard boyfriend keeps pushing her into having sex out of wedlock, I'm going to slit my wrists. And let me tell you, if anyone needs to get fucked and fucked hard, it's that one."

"It can't happen that way."

"What do you mean, can't?"

"It won't. This isn't some tart I want to fuck in the ass. This has to be done differently. You saw how she reacted when I touched her. If I move too soon it will scare her away for good. I can't risk that. So I can't risk touching her again. Not yet, anyway. And if I can't touch her, I can't mentally seduce her. I just now got her trust back. Plus, I'm getting no help from her feelings on how I can get around her inner strength. She's a bit of a blank to me."

"Really? I'm not having any problems reading her at all. She thinks you're handsome for an older fellow. The words 'cultured' and 'dignified' keep rattling around in her skull. If only she knew you better."

"You're funny," I answered sarcastically. "How about her sexuality?"

"She's a virgin. Big surprise. The girl knows less about sex than I know about the dark side of the moon."

"Any tendencies? Toward the Sapphic, I mean. Her virginity isn't going to help me given her strong religious scruples."

"I don't know. I haven't tapped into that area much seeing how you're the one who wants to fuck her. Not me."

"I don't want to fuck her, per se. I want to corrupt her. I want her to become ours, body and soul." I paused for a moment thinking on this new development, and then concluded, "It sounds like you'll have to take the lead on this until I can find an opening."

"It's the 'light' thing, isn't it?" she asked, rhetorically, and of which I didn't bother answering the obvious.

We sat in silence for a few moments while leaving the question up in the air. Finally, she said, "I think she's going to be more trouble than she's worth, but let me see what I can do."

When Lydia got back to the table, I invited her to dine with us.

I took us to a posh restaurant on the upper west side. One Karen and I usually frequented when we were in the city. The maître d', an arrogant, condescending little prick who excelled at douche-baggery, was about to refuse us a table when he saw how low-rent Lydia was dressed. That is, until I slipped him a couple of c-notes, and wiping that snooty look off his prepubescent face. His arrogance was taken down a few more notches when I made him seat us at the best table without an additional bribe.

We plied Lydia with a little wine. Not a lot, just enough to make her feel at ease with us and the surroundings. She was still a bit uncomfortable about my newfound generosity toward her, and leery of what I might expect in return. But, after a while she ignored those misgivings, just as she had ignored her instincts earlier, and so began to except my friendship.

Much of this was due to Karen's manipulation, as she continually touched the young woman whenever they were in conversation. The touching wasn't obvious, just a friendly hand at the shoulder or arm, to stress a funny or interesting point.

As the wine worked its way through Lydia's system combined with Karen's gentle prodding, she lightened up even more, and began regaling us with droll stories about her childhood. The pièce de résistance of the evening came when Karen would put her head against Lydia's as they laughed over a witticism. It was at those times when Karen could fill her as much as possible with the overriding sense of warm bliss and tranquility. I eventually could feel the sisterly love Lydia had for Karen radiating from her, and more importantly, I sensed a great needfulness in her for us to be her friends.

We made plans for the next day when we dropped her off at her apartment.

On our way home, I commented, "Well done, my love. I don't think I could have done it better."

"I still have a long way to go. You're right, she's going to be a tough nut to crack. She has a lot of locked closets, and won't let me have the keys. I have to wait for her to open them for me, and she's really reluctant to do so most times."

"Sexuality?"

"She likes guys. No doubt about that. She's curious about sex, like all young women, but it scares her. And I don't believe she's thought about it beyond procreatively. That's something I can work on, though. It's easy enough to get the young ones to disregard their sexual reserve when they start to think of sex as a pleasurable pursuit rather than just a way to just make babies."

"Love joined in lust. My favorite corruption."

She laughed. "Yep, just put the two together in their minds. Easy piece-y, piece of ass-y"

"Any exotic tendencies?"

Karen shook her head while saying, "Hard to tell. That side of her is being guided, or guarded, by her religiosity. It's resisting me every step of the way. I feel like I'm a salmon fighting my way, tooth and nail, upstream. It's actually very physically, as well as mentally, draining."

"Speaking of religiosity, getting her comfortable with the idea of sex is one thing, but that still doesn't get us around those deep-seated principles of right and wrong she has. How are you going to get her to shuck those firmly held beliefs without breaking her?"

"I may have found a way toward the end of dinner. She's a Florence Nightingale."

That was the best news I heard all night. "Excellent! That would work with the right kind of leverage."

"Maybe. Now, could you please tell me why we're doing this?"

"I really don't know, except I feel she's a danger to us." Karen suddenly got eerily quiet. I asked, "Does this surprise you?"

"No. I felt something during dinner. I'm not sure what it was, but it didn't set well with me." She thought for a long moment, and then said, earnestly, "I think we should walk away from her."

"No. The little voice in my head is telling me we have to go through with this. She's too dangerous to be left alone."

**

Over the next few days we spent all of our waking hours with Lydia. We would always pick her up and drop her off at her apartment, and every day we would do something new and special. We took her to places she never dreamed of visiting: art galleries and museums, plays, recitals, and interspaced with all the five-star restaurants in town, all complete with their snooty maître d's that needed bribing. It wasn't long before we had the young girl's head spinning from the opulence and revelry of it all, and more than comfortable with being our good friend.

Naturally, as a young naïve woman, and Karen and I being more experienced and cultured, Lydia's innate curiosity about the world at large came out, and she would tap into our vast knowledge at times. I usually let Karen answer most of her questions, particularly those dealing with romantic relationships and sex. However, Karen would inevitably defer to me on important matters; thus, giving me the status of a supreme, but benevolent, authoritarian in the young girl's eyes.

On one of our last days together, Karen took Lydia shopping. It was just to be a girl's day out, so I stayed back at Lydia's apartment. I knew given Karen's look that this would probably be the day of reckoning.

It was about five hours later when they returned carrying a vast assortment of garment bags and boxes containing all clothes imaginable, from formal evening wear to casual outfits to even sleep wear, and all complete with matching shoes and lingerie.

As Lydia entered her apartment, she immediately threw herself at me, hugged me tightly about the waist and kissed me on the cheek. With her head still spinning from the day, she said, "William...I mean Mr. Henry, thank you so much for the clothes...and the...well, for everything!"

I kept a tight hold around her waist, pressing her sizable chest and belly into mine, and said, "No Sunshine, it's me who should be thanking you. You are truly a wonderful friend to us, who deserves to be lavished with praise and love. Thank you for letting Karen and me into your life and sharing it with us. You've enriched us beyond even the treasures and wealth of Solomon." Tears were beginning to fall from her eyes, before I could finish, "And please keep calling me William. It makes me feel special, but only as long as I can continue to call you Sunshine..."

She burst into uncontrollable tears. Embarrassed, she fled to her bedroom, and closed the door between us.

Karen winked, and then said softly, "I couldn't have done that any better myself. You do have a way with the young ones. Shall we join her in the bedroom?"

"Not yet my love, I don't feel she's quite ready. It may be overkill, but I have one more special thing planned." Then I said, loudly, "Lydia, could you come out here please."

She was dabbing her eyes with a tissue when she came out, and said, "I'm sorry for my outburst. I feel like such a dork." Pausing a moment to sniff back more tears, she added, "And yes, William, please keep calling me Sunshine."

"Thank you, Sunshine. Now, I happened to acquire, at great cost and with a little bit of luck, three tickets to the symphony tonight. The philharmonic has put together a wonderful program highlighting some of Bach's most famous works."

Lydia almost burst into tears again, as she exclaimed, "Bach?! I love Bach!"

"I was hoping you would. I'm also hoping that among your purchases today there's a formal evening dress."

"Oh yes! Black with small silver sequences on top...And very low cut with a shear black...well, you get the idea," she answered with a deep blush blooming.

Karen wrapped an arm around my waist, and gave me a deep kiss. "So, that's the reason you wanted us to bring formal evening wear today. You're so thoughtful."

"Thoughtful, yes, but my timing is off. I don't think we'll have enough of it to make our reservations for The Lantern. Why don't you and Sunshine make us something here, something quick and light. That way we should get to the Metropolitan in plenty of time."

I watched my ladies fix us something. They put on the radio and danced to the pop tunes as they shifted between the counter and refrigerator, laughing and giggling the whole time like a couple of schoolgirls at a pajama party. Occasionally, they would bump their hips together to a particularly festive and raucous beat as they cut up vegetables and fruit for salads.

Lydia shone like the sun—brilliant, almost blinding, unwavering and never dimming, as her joy and happiness welled-up from inside and overflowed in the knowledge of our absolute friendship.

The three of us had a perfect evening, and a perfect view of the orchestra from the first box-seats above the stage. Lydia sat between us, and held our hands warmly throughout the concert. Every now and again, she would playfully, almost seductively, run her thumb across my knuckles as she sat spellbound by the majesty of the Brandenburg Concertos.