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All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old


“Do you REALLY think my pussy is ‘pretty,’ Miss… er, I mean, STELLA?” Clementine McFee asked, as she shut her right hand around the soap bar resting at the junction of her closed thighs, mere inches away from her complimented cunny.

Stella Stone, the 22-year old confidential assistant and, as she liked to put it, ‘Man Friday,’ to Royce Engel, Esq., of Greene, Lester and Quill, stopped working lather into Clementine’s scalp. She leaned further forward on the stool behind the porcelain tub. Her breasts, inside their soaking wet bra, split and pillowed the younger girl’s neck. “I think it’s just about the cutest little cat I’ve seen,” Stella cooed.

Clementine tipped her head back against Stella’s throat-latch and looked at her, upside down, wondering if she was poking fun. The red-head’s bland face gave no indication she was insincere. “Poppa said it was ‘fat,'” Clementine continued, “but he must have thought it was nice, because lookin’ at it and touchin’ it always made his thing hard.” She giggled. “And Royce, too!” She smiled up at Stella. “So, I guess you’re right… I just never thought of it like that, but I’m SURE glad THEY do!”

As she spoke, Clementine’s small right hand brought the soap to bear on the topic of discussion and idly rubbed along its plump slit from bottom to top. Suddenly she gasped. The bar skittered across her left hip and banged the tub wall. A thrill had shot through her loins up to her chest when her hand, pressing more firmly than she had intended, awakened her clitoris.

“Oh you sweet, wonderful, innocent!” Miss Stone thought as the small scene played out on the naked stage before her. “Your father may have deflowered you, and certainly you have been Royce’s recent playground, but you are truly a virgin, all the same!” Stella beamed down into the 18-year old’s wide-eyed, clear oval face. “Sit up and get on your knees, Kitten,” she said, masking her building lust with a calm, measured tone. “Duck your head under the spout… CAREFUL!… It’s time to rinse out your hair.” Stella’s heart raced and her throat parched as the nubile teen re-oriented. The water sloshed while Clementine’s tidy round bottom rose before Stella’s eyes. “That’s… uh,…” she coughed, “right. Now turn on the taps… get all the soap…hunh… out.”

While Clementine complied, Stella stood, mentally composed herself and finished undressing. Stepping out of her black-and-red floral print skirt, she raised first one foot, then the other, to the stool, unsnapped her garters and rolled her nylons off. Her suspender belt and silk tap pants quickly followed, along with her bra. She watched as Clementine rolled her head left and right under the stream and massaged the remaining lather from her long flaxen hair.

“OK, Kitten,” Stella said, stepping over the tub edge. “Now straighten up… EASY! Don’t bump your head!… and sit on your heels. I’m going to do your back.”

Clementine shut off the faucets and scooted forward while Stella squatted behind her, picked up the sopping brown natural sponge and squeezed it dry over the teen’s scapulae. Stella slid her left hand, like a squeegee, down the bare back, chasing the cascading rivulets. “Mmmmmm,” Clementine murmured. “That’s nice.” She closed her eyes and grasped the front edge of the tub for balance while her mind and body luxuriated under the older girl’s sweet sensuous sweeps.

Stella heard Clementine exhale a long soft sigh and felt her body relax. Returning with the soap in her left hand and the replenished sponge in her right, Stella zigzagged from Clementine’s tailbone to her hips, across her lats up to her trapezius muscles, following the dripping, slipping suds with warm drizzling bathwater and the sponge’s light polishing touch. When she was half-way, up Clementine bowed her back into the massage and groaned with pleasure as Stella’s pressure increased. “That’s my girl,” Stella crooned, “That’s my Darling Clementine…” She pushed the sponge and soap under Clementine’s arms and across her chest, crisscrossing, left over right, above and below her firm full breasts. As her hands met on the second pass she switched the soap and sponge and then retreated, along the sides of the girl’s boobs, to her shoulder tops. Clementine shivered. “You cold, Kitten?” Stella asked solicitously, doubting this was the case, and grinning as the tremulous girl shook her head, flexed and wiggled.

“N-no,” Clementine stammered as sheets of heat burned from her nose to her toes, kindling an itching undeniable fire in her cunny. Reflexively she pulled her hands from the tub and plunged them underwater to her agonizing pussy. The delicate middle fingers of her right hand drove their limit into her os while her left thumb and forefinger rapidly ground and tweaked her stiff excited bean. “N-n-nhnnaah!” Clementine whimpered, desperately seeking to quench the flames.

Stella released the soap and sponge, pressed her buttocks against the sloping tub end and leaned forward, Aksaray Escort flattening her front against Clementine’s back. Sliding her hands once more along the teen’s breasts, she scissored each puffed aching areola and proud throbbing nipple between the first and second knuckles of her long index and middle fingers. Clementine yelped, then mewled, then moaned in ecstasy as Stella pinched her tits and compressed them against her rib cage. “Are you… COMING, Kitten?” Stella whispered sweetly in Clementine’s ear. “Come, COME for me… commmmme…” she buzzed insistently. Stella’s unabated tugging, twisting, palping and pressing rhythm required a strong response.

“Y-YE-YESSS!” Clementine screamed. “Oh STELLLLA! OH YES!” She cried, rocking in the older girl’s clutches, furiously strumming her clit and jamming a full bouquet of fingers as far as possible into her crashing cunt.

Stella held her fast and rode her orgasmic waves with her while continuing sultry encouragement. “Un-hunh, un-hunh… come, kitty, kitty… COME for Stella!” she panted from her own delight until Clementine’s prolonged writhing and nonsensical babbling ceased. Still hugging the teenager, Stella unclamped her breasts and soothed her with small light kisses around and upon her bowed neck. When the water was still and tepid, and Clementine’s heart rate and breathing were again at room temperature, Stella withdrew, stood and stepped from the tub. “Upsy-daisy, Clementine,” she said with soft authority, “We need to dry off and dress.” She pulled a fluffy towel from the shelf over the tub and held it open. “Royce is waiting.”


Royce lounged in the Brown Palace’s imposing atrium lobby, reading the Denver Post. He had worked his way through sketchy reports of the ongoing, and so far fruitless, search for Amelia Earhart’s and Fred Noonan’s Lockheed Electra 10 in the South Pacific. He looked at the sports page just long enough to see his beloved Cleveland Indians had dropped a game, 9 to 5, to the hated Detroit Tigers, in League Park, no less. Now he was consoling himself with the funny papers. He had just finished ‘Dick Tracy’ and was turning to see what Skeezix and Walt were up to this week in ‘Gasoline Alley’ when Stella and Clementine paraded, arm-in-arm and in-step, from the elevators, toward his heavy armchair.

The quiet lobby became suddenly tomb silent. The clerks at the front desk put down a ledger they were discussing. The bell captain’s hand paused above his bell plunger. The florist quit rustling the 4th of July bunting he was arranging over his cut-flowers display. Heads turned as the young, freshly scrubbed beauties swished, swaying and bobbling just enough, across the atrium’s plush Oriental carpets under the sparkling ornate embellishments.

Clementine was radiant in a thin flowing scarlet dress patterned with bold black, gold and white butterflies. Her key-hole pearl-buttoned neckline teased its way over her cleavage and disappeared, with aggravating discretion, into a white lace-edged heart-shaped false bib front which accented her full bust line with utmost daring modesty. A row of pearl buttons marched over her hip from the dress’s lace sash to its calf-length hem. The flared lace-trimmed quarter sleeves fluttered, flashing patches of creamy bare upper arms. Her bare legs pointed to her bone closed-toe sandals with 2″ block heels.

Stella was no less stunning. Her black-and-red floral A-line skirt, with its broad, gold-buckled, red patent leather belt, and her white cotton puff-sleeve blouse, suggestively unbuttoned just shy of impropriety, were perfect color and style complements to Clementine’s outfit. Her 3″ polished black pumps raised her to equal height with her friend, and her russet bobbed hair’s highlights rivaled the flamboyant red-and-gold silk gypsy scarf she had used to tie up and hide Clementine’s unfashionably long, although undeniably fine, yellow hair.

Royce peered over his paper and used it as a screen to conceal the excitement the young women created in his flannel slacks. He uncrossed his legs uncomfortably and stood from his chair, deploying the Post as a cloak until his impertinent cock again lay flat and pendant against his thigh in the left leg of his boxers. “my, My, MY!” He declared with a crescendo of appreciation. He tossed the newspaper on his vacant chair and intercepted the girls, kissing each lightly on her outer cheek as he stepped between them, breaking their connection and substituting himself as the chain link. Turning them about, Engel greeted each with an indistinct word and a warm smile as he slid his arms around their waists and herded them to the registration desk. “You both look good enough to eat,” he chuckled with a wink and a nod. “Let’s get our picnic and get to the park before I am compelled to spread the banquet right here!”

Stella laughed aloud and Clementine twittered lightly, though mostly as a reaction to Stella’s cue rather than to the jest, which she only half-heard owing to her preoccupation with Aksaray Escort Bayan the incredible fabrics next to and covering her skin. Every time she looked down at herself she expected to find she was, in fact, naked. “This dress is like air!” She exclaimed to herself for the umpteenth time since she put it on. The unseen silk chemise and tap pants Stella had given her to wear were remarkably soft and tickled her nipples and pussy if she moved in certain ways, which she found herself wanting to do more and more.

When a clerk appeared with a great wicker hamper Royce looked at Stella and said, “Looks like you really outdid yourself, Friday. I can hardly wait to open the goodies and see what’s what!”

“Thanks, Boss,” Stella said, lightly flicking an imperceptible mote from the lapel of Royce’s blazer. “I think you’ll like it.”

Reversing themselves, the trio headed for the street. Engel was just about to ask the doorman to whistle a taxi when Clementine grabbed his elbow. “Can’t we ride one of those trolley cars?” She asked plaintively.

Engel replied, “Sure, kiddo, let me check if it’s doable.” He spoke to the doorman and turned back to his companions. “Looks like the trolley goes right to City Park.” He smiled and added, “Do we mind lugging the basket? It’s a bit awkward…”

Stella shrugged and said, “I’m game. It’s probably not going to be too crowded, yet.”

“Oh, YES, Royce!” Clementine enthused, “It’s got big enough bales that I can help carry it if need be! PLEASE let’s ride the trolley.”

“Alright, alright,” Engel laughed. “But tonight… after a full day… I’m going to want to ride in style. We’ll cab it back to the hotel… RIGHT?”

“Deal!” Agreed Clementine. Stella abstained in the vote and instead pointed to the clanging arrival of the public transit. She was wrong about the crowd size, but a kind man gave up his seat, making room for the hamper to be set down, while the party stood.


Engel and his young companions, along with most of the other tram passengers, debarked the streetcar at the Sopris Gate entrance to City Park. When they were past its great sandstone pillars and reached the first promenade junction, the horde naturally began to divide. The popular choice seemed to be east toward the Museum of Nature, although not a few parties, including Engel’s, continued westerly. The trees were beautiful, the grass lush, the paths well-kept and the 10 o’clock sun was already warm. The day promised to be grand.

By the time Royce’s retinue reached the pavilion and boathouse at Ferril Lake, the throngs had melted into multiple diverse paths and walkways. Several rowboats remained for rent and only a few were to be seen among the ducks on the water. Clementine spied a vendor at a red-white-and-blue draped booth and said, “Looky there!” as she pulled away from Royce and walked quickly to the concession stand. Royce and Stella followed, amused by the naif’s wonder at the myriad trash souvenirs. Stella’s eye, however, was caught by a thin multi-colored holiday-themed wool blanket pinned on the back wall.

Touching Royce’s elbow, Stella suggested, “A blanket would be useful, especially if we stay for the fireworks.”

Engel smiled and asked the concessionaire if the hanging was for sale, or merely for show. “Everything you see can be had for a price, Sir!” the man replied with a twinkle in his eye. “Except, of course, for ‘Barky’ here.” He laughed as he patted a small curly-haired mongrel. “You got two dollars? The blanket’s yours!”

Royce answered, “Sounds like a deal to me.” He pulled the money from his wallet while the man took down and folded the blanket. Stella craned her neck and kissed Royce ‘thanks’ on the cheek, then took the offered blanket from the vendor.

“What about those little flags?” Asked Clementine, pointing to an array of small American flags tacked to thin short sticks.

“You are so right, kiddo,” Royce agreed wholeheartedly. “What’s Independence Day without a little bit of flag-waving?” Turning back to the vendor he asked for their price.

“A dime apiece, mister,” answered the man, “But I’ll sell you three for two-bits…” He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“Sold!” Royce exclaimed, flipping a half-dollar onto the counter top. “But keep the change and feed that scrawny dog!” He laughed as he gathered the bunched flags. “Happy 4th of July!” He boomed over his shoulder at the seller while turning to head back to the boat dock.

Soon the trio was on the water. Royce was at the oars, hamper between his feet, in the center of the rowboat. Stella sat on the crossbar seat behind him and Clementine was in the prow, facing astern. Royce propelled the craft, in no particular hurry, counterclockwise around the lake, maintaining a course approximately midway between the lake shore and the overgrown banks of a small island which lay roughly in the center of the lake.

Clementine played with her miniature Old Glory in her right hand while she dabbled her left Escort Aksaray fingers in the cool water. Her knees were spread and her dress hem stretched taut across her bare legs at mid-thigh. She enjoyed the occasional zephyr which found its way beneath her chemise and ruffled her silk drawers, sometimes teasing her cunny to the point of moisture.

Stella crowded her boss’ back, hanging her chin on his left shoulder as he rowed. Her bare knees were widespread, too, pressing his hips and rubbing against the soft flannel of his trousers while he worked the oars. She hugged his chest, under his arms, and splayed her fingers, inside his blazer, against his pectorals, grazing them through his shirt with her nails. “Mmmmmm,” She buzzed into Engel’s ear, “I love how hard you feel when you stroke, slow and steady. It makes the little man in MY boat sit up and take notice.”

Stella’s breathy whispers and scratchy nails, along with the direct view of Clementine’s creamy thighs disappearing into her sheer beige tap pants, quickly brought Royce’s cock to life again in his slacks. It fought futilely to free itself as it outgrew Engel’s shorts. Stella saw the jumping lump on the inside of Royce’s left leg. She grinned and puffed a hot air kiss on his ear. He flinched. His back rippled beneath his clothes, scraping her unbound breasts behind her blouse and camisole. Engel’s head involuntarily jerked and his hat fell off onto the basket. Clementine pulled her hand from the lake just in time to save the fedora from a sudden gust which tried to blow it out of the boat.

She giggled as she caught it and exclaimed, “Why, my word! Whatever made THAT happen?” Then, noticing Stella was nibbling Engel’s ear while she hugged his torso with her sliding left hand, and took the measure of his flannel-clad erection with her right, Clementine stopped laughing. “OH HO!” She crowed in her enlightenment. She put her hands on the oars next to Royce’s and scooted off the bow seat and onto the forward crossbar. Her steel gray eyes glinted impishly as she asked, with a chuckle, “Do you want ME to row for awhile?”

Stella popped Royce’s earlobe from her lips and hissed, “That’s a great idea!” then resumed her assault, not just on Engel’s ear, but on his buckle and fly, as well. In a flash she had fished out Royce’s long, thick prick and had her fists double wrapped around it. “Keep a weather-eye out for other boaters and shout ‘Ahoy’ to them if they get close, Kitten,” she instructed as her hands split. Royce groaned and leaned against Stella. Her camisole and blouse, together with his blazer and shirt, were inadequate protection for his shoulder blades from the furnace of her squashed bosom. He pressed his hips forward and up, maximizing her pressure, as she slid her left hand to the top of his cock and rubbed her thumb pad around his plum, burnishing it with his oozing pre-cum. Meanwhile her right hand dove through the vent of his boxers and rolled his fat eggs in her warm palm. She gently separated them in their loose sack with her thumb and then applied direct pressure to the base of Royce’s root. His groan deepened and he rolled his ass, squirming in Stella’s control. She slid her mouth from his ear to his neck, fixed her teeth with a firm grip on a tender spot and sucked noisily.

Clementine drew on her limited, yet accurate enough, experience and comprehended the situation. Glancing around the lake, she verified there was no craft anywhere near, and no persons on either shore within eyesight. She pulled the picnic hamper out of the way, stowing it behind her, and fell on her knees in its place on the bottom of the rowboat. “Oh, Stella!” She cried, “He’s gonna SHOOT! I KNOW it!” Ducking her head, Clementine took Royce’s knob into her mouth, pushing Stella’s fingers down with her lips. She slid her hands up the outside of his legs and seized his twisting waist while her tongue and teeth scraped and slid along the engorged velvet helmet, sucking for his goodness.

Stella let go of Royce’s neck and reviewed the rosy hickey she had left. Cooing, she asked, “ARE you? ARE you going to SHOOT? Will you cum for us, Royce… can you shoot? Give,,, my kitten,,, her CREAM?”

Beset and besotted by the vampish Stella and her vixen familiar, Engel surrendered to his helpless tortured ecstasy. His breath shortened, his heart pounded, his temples throbbed and his balls ached for release. Stella was torn. Whereas, she delighted in exercising her skill to bring a man, or a woman, to the climactic edge and then hold, maintaining sensual torment, until it was her desire that allowed her victim to spend, she also wanted to encourage Clementine’s uninhibited awakening and she was moved by the girl’s innocent spontaneous joy.

Stella decided. She palped Royce’s nuts and shrinking bag as she rippled her loose curled hand rapidly up and down his stalk. “Come, Royce, Come!” She repeated like a perverse grade-school primer. “Feel Clementine’s warm mouth… FILL her UP… Come… Come… Commmmmmme!” And, with a snarl, he did. Royce grabbed Clementine’s head in his hands as his hips hopped from the bench. She sealed her lips tightly around his pulsing plum and pulled his pelvis closer. Spurt after spurt, his nuts voided themselves, sending their best product to be gratefully slurped and swallowed.

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