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"I bled too, my first time. But that did not stop me from spending. And how I envied you with Michel!"
"Clearly, I was wrong," Beatrice said. "You are not a lady. Jean-Pierre had the right of it. You're a slut as low and common as Marie."
"Perhaps Marie had the right of you," Constance said, feeling rather cross. "And perhaps I was mistaken. You must not have spent at all, not frigid as you are."
"I am not frigid."
"Do you pet yourself?"
"What?"
"Your cunny. Do you pet it? Stroke it? Finger yourself?"
"I'll not sit here and listen to such disgusting –"
"As I thought." It was spiteful, yes, but she was finding it strangely fun to pick at Beatrice in this way. "Frigid."
"I had been saving my virginity for my rightful husband," Beatrice said.
"Well, when that's too late, you may as well enjoy yourself. I could show you, if you'd like."
"What do you mean?" Beatrice snatched up a drying cloth and covered her breasts with it. "I'll not have you touch me!"
"Watch."
Pulling a chair near to the bath, Constance braced her knees wide apart. She had already tucked up her skirt to keep it from getting wet, so now Beatrice would be able to see all the way up. The other woman looked once, blushed, and looked away.
"Have you no shame?"
"Watch," Constance said again. "It can be so nice."
She commenced frigging herself, her cunny slick from her own juices and Jean-Pierre's seed. When she had been at it for a while, she noticed that Beatrice was rosier than the water's temperature could account for, and was in fact watching quite intently.
Abandoning her pursuit, Constance slid from the chair and plunged her hand into the bathtub. She had it between Beatrice's legs before Beatrice could react. Her forefinger parted smooth dark hair and insinuated itself.
Beatrice made a soft exclamation of surprise, but did not try to fight her off or escape. Constance went tenderly, mindful that Beatrice was probably still aching from the rough invasion of so many cocks. The water and the bath oils helped her along.
Soon Beatrice was trembling, her hands clutching the sides of the tub, eyes tightly closed. She parted her legs as wide as she could. Constance did not penetrate her, just kept up a circular massaging of Beatrice's clitoris, and was finally rewarded with a drawn-out sobbing cry as Beatrice surrendered to orgasm.
Continued in Chapter Fifteen
