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Anal

(Don’t tell me you never thought about this)

“What’s a girl to do?” sighed Pepper as she sat on the beach in her sarong, wiggling her painted toes in the sand and idly watching the dolphins frolicking in the blue Pacific. She looked down at her swelling breasts with their puffy nipples, her flat stomach, her smooth thighs: such a shame that such a body should go untouched. Oh, to have those nipples sucked, that stomach pressed against a man, those thighs wrapped around some masculine waist!

“I haven’t had sex in a couple of years, now because there are no real men on the Island.”

Which was true. The Professor was a man, no doubt about that. What was more, he was strong, clean, and reasonably good-looking, but he was always preoccupied with his silly experiments. Mulligan and the Skipper were men, too, but– well, they weren’t exactly interested in girls. True, Mr. Powell was game, and if Pepper were to be perfectly honest, she would confess to giving him the occasional hand job — at five hundred dollars a pop, to be sure. Mr. Powell was always hinting that he wanted more — lip service, say, or the horizontal mambo, and that he would pay quite a bit more for these services. But Mr.. Powell was married, and frankly kind of. . .icky.

So what was the alternative?

After pondering her lot, Pepper began to look at Betty Ann and to think, well, maybe. Betty Ann was kind of cute, with her big brown eyes and her little upturned nose, her chubby cheeks, thin l Perky little tits, too, and nicely rounded thighs. Of course, Betty Ann didn’t shave her pussy like an actress or a model would. Pepper herself waxed daily, first of all because she didn’t want a big bush showing under her elegant clothes, and because a shaggy snizz tended to collect odors, but also because she loved the smooth, silky feel of her bald mound against her fingertips, because bare skin was so much more sensitive, and because her pussy looked so pink and girlish bald. Pepper had seen Betty Ann working away with her little scissors, trimming the stiff black hairs as short as she could, and the result was a kind of sleek black coat, like seal fur, not unpleasant at all. Besides, Betty Ann washed her pussy daily in the lagoon, using a bar of lavender soap stolen from Mrs. Powell, so, even if it wasn’t quite as sexy as Peppers own cleft, it was far from repulsive.

While Pepper herself really preferred men, she did enjoy the taste of a little pink oyster, especially one as young and fresh as Betty Ann’s must be in its slick black collar. It would be fun to hear the girl panting, and later uttering wordless little cries, to see her face flush, to smell the female aroma and feel her hips buck, now wouldn’t it? Eventually to watch the little mouth open and close like that of a hungry baby. And of course with that particular variety of pleasure, one never had to worry about a bun in the oven.

But how to get Betty Ann to agree? Surely girls in Kansas weren’t used to tickling each other’s clits like women in, say, Los Angeles or New York. And if Betty Ann reacted badly to Pepper’s advances, well, she would lose her only girlfriend on the island. As the Wicked Witch said in that wonderful old Hollywood classic, “These things must be done delicately.”

So Pepper sat and pondered, and as she pondered, who should come along and plop herself on the sand but Betty Ann, who lay on her stomach, cradled her chin in her hands, and sighed.

“What’s the matter?” asked Pepper.

“It’s Mulligan.”

“Mulligan?”

“He doesn’t even know I’m alive. I bat my eyes like this,” complained the girl, batting her dark eyelashes “Nothing. I lay a hand on his arm,” she continued, resting her little hand on Pepper’s arm, “Nothing. “I even unbutton a little,” she said, rolling over on one hip and suiting her action to her words, opening a checked shirt to reveal most of a round, white breast. Nothing. “Oh, Giner, I just don’t understand.”

But Pepper had lost patience. “Betty Ann, you silly goose. Don’t you see? Mulligan’s not interested in girls.”

“Not interested in girls?”

“Mulligan and the skipper fuck each other silly every night in their hut.”

Betty Ann’s face showed her confusion. “You mean. . .in the bottom?”

“Of course I mean in the bottom! You don’t think Mulligan has a pussy, do you? And where do you suppose all the coconut oil has been going?”

But Pepper realized she had gone too far; calling a spade a spade, she had shocked the girl, who shrugged off Pepper’s hand and seemed to close in on herself like one of the giant scallops in the lagoon. What was it with girls and words, wondered Pepper. A girl will do almost anything for her boyfriend, as long as she doesn’t have to describe it out loud. I ought to know, she reflected. I was a girl too. Pepper decided to backtrack.

“Oh, poor Betty Ann,” cooed the redhead, stroking the girl’s dark hair, “how could anyone not be attracted to you?”

Pepper moved her manicured hands to Betty Ann’s shoulders and began to rub them, the way the casino oyna dressers did in the Hollywood green rooms before a shoot. How she missed those green rooms, with the long tables and the mirrors surrounded by light bulbs, the dishes of cut-up fruit, seamstresses with mouths full of pins taking up her hem just one more inch while a hairdresser snipped away a wayward tress and a makeup girl went over her face with soft brushes! And then, at the premieres, bottles of champagne!

But she was allowing herself to get distracted. Here she was, reminiscing about her Betty Anneer when her task was to get Betty Anne out of those little cutoffs!

Lo and behold, the massage was working! Betty Ann’s brow smoothed, her lips softened, her shoulders dropped and her fists opened even as her eyes closed.

“You’re the prettiest woman on the island.” continued the actress. Not quite true, Pepper thought, she herself was, then she remembered a Roman saying from a gladiator movie she had once appeared in: the gods laugh at the lies of lovers.

“And you’re kind, and cheerful and funny, too.” All that was true, at least.

“In fact,” she went on, “you are probably the nicest person I’ve ever known.” There it was at last, the little smile on Betty Ann’s lips, the pardon for Pepper’s using the word “pussy” and for mentioning the nightly sodomy that went on in Mulligan’s hut. But she couldn’t move in yet, couldn’t close the sale. She had to set the scene first.

“And you know,” continued the movie star, “we have had some good times on the island. Remember the time that silly Japanese sailor arrived in his one-man submarine and thought the war was still going on?”

\Betty Ann laughed, then added a memory of her own. “Or the time Mulligan told us about his Cinderella dream, where Mrs. Powell was Cinderella, and Mr. Powell was the Prince? And Mulligan was the clumsy fairy who kept messing everything up?” Pepper caught her breath when Betty Ann said “fairy.” Not that subject again, she thought. Fortunately, Betty Ann didn’t even recognize her own double entendre.

“Remember the time. . .” both women began together then stopped. “You go first,” urged Pepper. “No you,” deferred Betty Ann

“Well I was just going to mention the time that mad scientist kidnapped us all,” began Pepper. “. “And changed our brains around with that crazy machine of his.” finished Betty Ann, clapping her hands.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to Pepper. Maybe Betty Ann was a virgin! If that were true, she would need much more, and much more gradual courting. The process could take days, maybe weeks.

“Betty Ann?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re not a virgin, are you?”

The girl’s cheeks reddened.

“Well, no.”

“C’mon, tell me!”

“‘Well, there was Johnny. And Freddy. And Jim-bob.”

And probably quite a few others, if the truth be told, Pepper commented mentally, though she held her tongue. Good. Her task would be much easier this way. Anyway, judging from their names, these old flames were probably country bumpkins with no idea how to please a woman, which meant Betty Ann was practically a virgin after all. Jim-bob, indeed!

Pepper nudged Betty Ann. “Ooh, you Jezebel!”

Betty Ann laughed a little but said nothing.

“Did you like it?

Betty Ann smiled but still said nothing.

‘You did, didn’t you?”

The girl nodded.

“Did they kiss you, like this?”

Pepper held the back of Betty Ann’s head as she leaned in and kissed her, not aggressively, not searching, and with just the tiniest bit of suction. Betty Ann closed her eyes and did not move away as Pepper stroked her face.

“Did they. . .?”

Pepper moved her hand to Betty Ann’s breast, which she could feel through the gingham dress (brassieres had rotted away long ago in the tropical humidity ) and felt the meringue texture, the hard little berry on the end. Pepper held her breath, waiting for Betty Ann to bolt, but she did not, instead sighing and surrendering to the gentle squeezing.

Half-way there! Pepper thought. Anyway, she mused, Betty Ann’s spot must surely be starting to tingle. Pepper’s surely was! Gently, gently, she reminded herself. Don’t want to scare her off. Pepper retreated a bit, backed off without breaking contact.

Betty Ann closed her eyes and continued to reminisce. “Remember Wrongway Greenbaum, that crazy pilot? When you shook him awake, and asked “Room for one more?” And really you meant room for one more passenger in the plane, but he thought you meant room for you in his hammock?

Good, thought Pepper, good. Let her go on remembering these ridiculous adventures, so long as she lets me continue. Pepper slowly unbuttoned Betty Ann’s checkered shirt and slid a long, cool hand inside. Betty Ann’s breasts were smaller than Pepper’s, to be sure; they lacked that ski-jump curve and instead resembled grapefruit halves. And there, in the middle of the left breast Pepper was stroking, stood the brown nipple. And stood is the right word: it was erect, a little canlı casino sentinel on the springy hill, tanned outside the shirt, white within.

“Remember when the gorilla carried you off, and the Professor told you to be more sexy?”

Pepper proceeded slowly, gently to unsnap Betty Ann’s cutoffs. There! Next she had to ease down the zipper. It came down its little tracks like a little locomotive, one inch, two, and then it caught on a pucker in the fabric. Holding her breath, Pepper jerked the zipper past the obstruction at which Betty Ann’s eyes opened wide. For a second, Pepper thought all was lost, but the big brown eyes closed again.Now the zipper slid all the way down. But how to get the cutoffs off? Pepper slid her thumbs under the waistband and urged the shorts down, down until, to Pepper’s utter surprise, Betty Ann lifted her bottom to allow the pants down as she continued her story.

Now Pepper paused in her work to kiss the girl, who responded readily, this time with hot lips, though still keeping her eyes closed.

“Remember when Mulligan dreamed he was a vampire, and you were his wife?”

Pepper took the cue and turned her attention to Betty Ann’s neck. As she nuzzled and kissed, Betty Ann threw back her neck.

Pepper could have stopped, now that the pants were below Betty Ann’s pelvis and her prize fully exposed, but she wanted Betty Ann naked, so, first unbuttoning the shirt, then pulling the sleeves off the little one’s arms, she let the shirt drop on the sand. She then returned to the shorts, stripping off each leg. Again, Betty Ann, her eyes still shut, helped by raising each leg in turn and kicking off the flip-flop.

Now the girl sat in the sand completely naked . Pepper was surprised that Betty Ann didn’t really seem to notice. Of course, it never got chilly on the island — indeed it was blazing now — so being sans clothing was actually more comfortable than being dressed. A snippet of a song wafted idly into Pepper’s mind like an offshore breeze:

All day, all night Betty Ann

sitting buck naked in the island sand

Pepper shooed the thought away. She was trying to seduce a girl, not make up silly songs!

Pepper admired Betty Ann Ann’s legs. In Hollywood, of course, actresses’ legs were closely sc. Trutinized. The ideal shape was neither too fat, nor too thin. Typically, a casting director would stand a girl in front of a white wall, or sometimes shine a light on her from behind. Pepper herself had often stood in bikini briefs (or less) below such a wall while a “suit” smoked and studied her limbs. When a woman stands with her ankles together , several “diamonds” of light will show between her legs. Just above the ankle bones and below the calves, one diamond of light will appear; above the calves but below the knees, another. Above the knees but below the spot where the swelling thighs meet, another diamond will shine. If the actress were a “Twiggy,” her knees might possibly touch, but calves and thighs would be far apart. If she were a skeleton, even the knees would not touch. If she were a “whale,” on the other hand, “thunder thighs” might actually rub together. Pepper herself, of course showed all four diamonds; in fact, she could stand comparison to Rita Hayworth or Betty Ann Grable. Though she could not stand Betty Ann against a wall — there were no white walls on the island in any case — she could see that the girl’s legs were neither skeletal nor Gargantuan, but slender and nicely rounded. More to the point, the actress knew that the space above the thighs and below the pussy would form an open diamond, no matter how tightly her victim pressed her thighs together. Pepper let her hand stray onto, then into Betty Ann’s diamond as she kissed the young woman’s face. As she expected, Betty Ann’s thighs were clamped shut, but she did not object when Pepper slipped her long, tapered middle finger into the space and along the groove. Pepper was surprised, and a little pleased, to feel Betty Ann’s valley wet, as wet as if she had spilled coconut milk on herself. And after four or five strokes, the thighs opened.

Betty Anne’s pussy was small, as expected, but it was plump, covered, as Pepper knew, with short black fur, like a beaver’s pelt, the result of a daily going-over with nail scissors. In Hollywood, of course, Pepper’s makeup girl would wax her mound as smooth as a. peeled egg every two weeks. Li, the makeup girl, would cover Pepper’s mound with hot, very hot, wax. My goodness, thought Pepper when she got her first treatment, we’ve come a long way since Marilyn Monroe had her girl dye her pubies so that she would be “blonde all over.” Pepper herself cetainlyh didn’t want to be bald all over? Li then applied strips of gauze to the sticky surface. When the wax cooled, Li ripped off each strip of cloth, which brought with it a velvety layer of tiny red hairs. During this process, Li, of course, employed a maximum of rubbing, tickling, and fluttering of the fingertips, and even blowing, ostensibly to distract Pepper from the pain of having the stubble kaçak casino ripped out by the roots. After a few minutes, of this treatment, though, Pepper’s desire for release would grow unbearable, and the Asian beauty gladly bent to the task, applying fingers, lips and tongue to bring off her client in a matter of minutes.

Here on the island, Mulligan had found a bees’ next, and Pepper melted the wax over the fire in order to do her own waxing. Once, curious to see what her parts looked like, she used a pocket mirror to check herself out. What a difference between Betty Ann’s pussy and her own! Betty Ann Ann’s split had fat lips and seemed closed at first, while Pepper’s was, to be frank, continually open wide enough to admit a finger without touching the sides. Pepper’s labia even hung down a little outside the outer lips.

The biggest difference, however, was in the clitoris. Pepper’s clit was the size of an earlobe. When quiet, it was rose-colored, but when excited (which was often), it turned crimson and stood up, protruding from the crack by half an inch. Betty Ann’s tickler, on the other hand, was tiny and hard to find; ordinarily almost white, it was beginning to assume the color of bubble gum. Anyway, murmured Pepper to the prudish little vulva, wait till you’ve had a few dozen lovers like I have (she was lowering the number considerably) then we’ll see what you look like.

Now Betty Ann’s mound was — hard. Ordinarily, the pussy would doubtless be soft and yielding; but at the moment it felt like a mushroom, or perhaps like a plum. Holding her breath, Pepper slipped a finger into Betty Ann’s pussy. My goodness she was tight! Even though the girl was now sopping wet, Pepper had to wiggle the finger to get it in, and when she introduced another, the girl grunted at the slight stretch. Betty Ann had been fucked, no doubt about that, but Jim-Bob and Zeke could hardly have been porn-stars.

Mentally she compared Betty Ann’s tight tube to her own capacious pocket. Pepper could get all four fingers in, once she was aroused.

But then, she conceded, she had taken some of the biggest cocks Hollywood had to offer.

There had been Horace “the Horse,” and he named for the shape of his face but for the size of his member: eight inches long when it was limp, and ten when it was hard, and thick in proportion.

There had been Stone, so called not because of his incessant use of the herb as because he could stay hard for hours. Or maybe it was because of his incessant use of the herb; they say it makes the hard grow stronger.

There was “Back Door Bertie.” Pepper shuddered at the memory; her hiney still hurt at the memory.

Then there was Maurice, with his liberal use of his native tongue.

She was quite sure Betty Ann had no memories to compare. More likely she was used to a bottle of Boone’s Farm Apple wine and thirty seconds of humping in the bed of a pickup truck.

Leaving her fingers in place, Pepper drew on Betty Ann’s again with her lips, sucking in as much of the breast behind it as she could.

Betty Ann thrust her breast at the lips which seemed to be drawing milk from the shapely udders. She arched her hips and gave way suddenly, and opened her thighs.

“Remember when the natives took us all prisoner, and they wanted to sacrifice you to the volcano? I guess they thought you were a virgin.”

As Pepper moved a finger in the suddenly conquered vagina. Betty Ann groaned in submission.

Slowly Pepper rubbed and explored the little tunnel. She pushed in through the tight ring os flesh to the accompaniment of a little squeal from Betty Ann. She thrust up and then up again, feeling the hips withdraw instinctively, pull up and away from the hand and then slide back as they became accustomed to the soothing yet exciting pressure.

Still, Betty Ann kept up her lunatic reminiscences, though the phrases between her gasps were growing incoherent.

“Remember when. . .Mr. Powell. . .Mulligan. . .golf. . .million dollars. . .and then won it all back again. . .”

Pepper’s fingers could move more freely now. Betty Ann’s vagina had become bigger, wider, and her hips were bobbing Her pussy lips gaped wide in a smile, and the orifice drooled a little while the impudent clitoris stood straight out, making the pussy appear to be sticking its tongue out at Pepper. Pepper decided to punish the insolent little organ. A tongue-lashing would be appropriate, she decided. But first, she had work to do.

“Mulligan. . .Skipper. . .voodoo. . .host spring. . .”

Breathing hard herself, Pepper moved her finger out of the hole and fastened it on the hard little clitoris which had reared up with the first touch of Pepper’s hand.

Betty Ann cried out and then spread her thighs in complete submission as the finger hit into that little stem of sensitive flesh. She was wriggling incessantly, her mouth wide open, gasping for air.

“Oh, oh!” she exclaimed.

Pepper worked feverishly on the little chicken’s tongue swelled under her touch, growing stiffer, fatter, longer. She could feel its excitement growing as her thumb and finger squeezed it, flicked it, wiggled it, pinched it. The time had come to turn Betty Ann’s gasping delight to rapture.

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