"No longer virgin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Finch R W)

CHAPTER THREE

Wendy waited silently in the small lobby of the counseling office to see Miss Westoff, the school psychologist. She stared vacantly at the floor, sat with her hands in her lap, tried to cover the dried semen that stained the front of her blue skirt. She had even found a small bit of it entrusted high on one knee sock, had scratched it out with a fingernail. There wasn't much she could do about the rest until she got home. She tried not to think about it.

George Davison was still in Miss Westoff's office, no doubt still loudly proclaimed his total innocence in the matter. It made little difference to Wendy what he said. Fault was not the issue. The mere fact of her involvement labeled her. She knew that and could do little about it. That she had actually initiated the episode would add only slightly to her guilt. Soon, the rest of the school would know. And then, of course, Alan would know.

The door to Miss Westoff's office opened finally. George Davison appeared. He walked quickly past Wendy, would not look at her. Wendy really couldn't blame him.

She stood uncertainly. When no one appeared to usher her in, walked cautiously to the open doorway. She rapped lightly.

Miss Westoff sat at her desk, sorted through a stack of Manila file folders. She looked up, smiled at Wendy. She was an attractive woman, slender, probably not quite thirty-five. She wore her blonde hair tied back in a rather severe style, and somehow gave the impression of being a 19th century English boarding mistress or something. Even the dresses she chose, though stylish, seemed always to suggest that same image. Wendy had talked with her before. The woman was easy enough to get along with. At least she seemed understanding.

"Wendy, come in," she said. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting. I've just been searching for your file here. My records are always such a jumble, you know. Oh, and close the door, if you don't mind."

Wendy quietly closed the door. She walked over, sat down across from Miss Westoff in a surprisingly comfortable leather bound chair… She waited silently, unsure of what exactly to expect. She kept her hands in her lap.

Miss Westoff stood finally, came around the side of her desk, moved another chair alongside Wendy's. She sat down.

"This is a trifle more informal," she smiled. She started right in. "Now, suppose you tell me what exactly happened between you and George?"

Wendy blushed, did not know what to say. Given a choice, she wouldn't have talked about it at all. She knew she didn't have that choice. Miss Westoff waited.

"Well, relax, Wendy," Miss Westoff said easily. "There's nothing to be frightened of I'm here to help you, not to punish you. Just talk to me as if I was one of your friends."

She paused expectantly, when Wendy still didn't respond, said, "I'd like you to think of me as one of your friends, Wendy. That's why I'm here. To be your friend." She smiled again.

"I know," Wendy said, shakily. "I've always liked talking to you. You're easy to talk to. It's just that… that…"

Two tears trickled down Wendy's face, dropped soundlessly to her skirt. She felt completely lost.

"It's all right," Miss Westoff said quietly. "I can understand how you must feel. Take your time. There's no hurry at all."

She rose, walked to her desk, pulled out a box of facial tissues. She offered it to Wendy.

Wendy took several, wiped at her eyes, balled the tissues in her hand.

"Thank you."

"So, anyway," Miss Westoff said, smiled again. "Back to business. I'd like your version of what happened. It won't leave this room, I assure you. Anything you say will be held in strictest confidence. Do you understand, dear?"

"Yes," Wendy nodded.

"Fine. Now, start at the beginning."

Wendy told her, haltingly, about her quarrel with Alan, his infidelity with Lucinda Krell, finally Wendy's silly attempt at some sort of revenge through George Davison.

"That's so typical of a man," Miss Westoff shook her head. "If he doesn't get what he wants from a girl, he throws the relationship aside. So typical. No consideration at all for the sensitivity of a woman."

Wendy nodded. "I felt like he cheated me out of something. Out of our relationship. He didn't even think of what he was doing to me. He didn't even care."

"It's something women have to face, I'm afraid," Miss Westoff said. "There's really very few ways around it."

She patted Wendy's hand consolingly. Wendy smiled at her, felt somehow cheered by her presence.

Wendy said, "I feel so dumb about what I did with George. I'm too ashamed to face anyone again. I can imagine what they're saying right now. It's so embarrassing!"

"There now, don't be overly harsh on yourself. Besides, you actually wanted to be caught, you know. And, that's exactly what happened."

Wendy, startled, glanced at her.

"Of course, you did," Miss Westoff continued. "Few things occur that are not somehow intentional. The subconscious mind works in ways often contradictory to the purposes you might think. In effect, you set the stage yourself for discovery."

"To hurt Alan, you mean?"

"Exactly. To get even with Alan. Surely, if you hadn't wanted him, or anyone else, for that matter, to find out, you could have chosen a safer location to carry out your plan. And, consider your choice of a temporary lover. Alan's locker partner! What could be more obvious?"

"That's frightening," Wendy said slowly, realized what the woman said was probably true. It did seem to fit neatly.

"Not frightening, dear," Miss Westoff laughed. "Quite normal. When you decide something, consider all the reasons. The actual one may be quite different than those merely on the surface."

"It's as if I wanted to get caught on purpose," Wendy said.

"That would seem to be the case," Miss Westoff agreed. "At least, on a very elementary level. It's something you'll have to learn to live with, at least for the time being."

"I guess so," Wendy nodded.

Wendy became self-conscious at the direction the conversation was taking. She looked at her hands.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about," Miss Westoff assured her, patted her hand again. "It's merely a part of growing up. Accept it."

Miss Westoff glanced down, seemed to notice for the first lime the dried semen on Wendy's skirt.

Wendy blushed, tried to explain, "George, uh, when he…"

"Oh, Wendy, it's a mess! You'll have to rinse it before you go back to your classes, dear."

"I know," Wendy answered, would not look at Miss Westoff. "I haven't had a chance…"

"Well, come with me. We'll take care of it right now. By the time we're through with our little talk, it'll be dry and you'll be good as new."

Before Wendy could protest, she was led to the small, private lavatory off of Miss Westoff's office. There was barely room enough for the two of them.

"Now, stand up here by the sink," Miss Westoff said, nudged her lightly towards it. She turned on the water.

Wendy did as she was told, stood while Miss Westoff took the front of her skirt, attempted to rinse it in the sink. Most of the stains proved too high for the water to reach. The edge of the sink was cold against Wendy's bare thighs. She stepped back slightly.

"This won't do at all," the other woman said. "You'll have to take your skirt off. We can dry it over the air vent."

Wendy was unsure of what to do. The idea of running around Miss Westoff's office in only her underwear didn't appeal to her. She made no move.

"There now, don't worry about it, dear. No one will come in here."

And Miss Westoff unhooked Wendy's skirt, tugged it down. Wendy stepped over it, knew she was blushing again. Luckily, her blouse was quite long.

"Oh, and it's all over your underwear, too," Miss Westoff said, touched at Wendy lightly to indicate the stain. "You'd better take those off too. We'll just take care of everything at once."

"I don't think…"

"Don't be silly. I told you no one would come in here. Now, give me your panties."

Wendy awkwardly pulled her underwear down, stepped out of them. She handed them to Miss Westoff, stood only in her blouse, knee-socks, and shoes. She waited while Miss Westoff washed out her skirt and panties in the small basin.

"Don't be embarrassed, dear," the woman said. "These will be dry in just a little while."

She finished, hung the wet garments carefully over the heat register. She turned to Wendy.

"You have such an attractive shape, dear," she said. "Such a cute bottom." And she patted it lightly.

Wendy jumped slightly.

"Take this, then," Miss Westoff laughed, found a small, white face-towel under the sink, handed it to her. "This should help, seeing as you're shy."

Wendy wrapped the towel around her hips, found it covered very little.

Miss Westoff led her back into the office.

"Relax, dear. I told you no one would come in here. Come on, sit right back down and we'll finish our little chat."

Miss Westoff said, "Now, of course, you know that your parents will have to be told about what happened here today."

"Do they have to know?" she almost cried, with a start realized she hadn't considered their reaction at all. The thought terrified her.

"Well, of course, dear. My responsibility is to them, also. We can't very well just forget about what happened today, now can we?"

Wendy thought she would cry again. It wasn't that either of her parents would strike her, for she knew they wouldn't. Her mother, in fact, a frail, skinny woman with virtually no shape at all, would become almost hysterical at the thought of Wendy's father putting his hands on Wendy in any way whatsoever.

But this, she thought, this latest would surely push Wendy from her parent's realm altogether. She wasn't sure she could face that. Not yet, at least.

Miss Westoff said, "Wendy, we all have to deal with unpleasantness occasionally. You're a big girl now. It's time you learned to handle these difficult situations."

"I suppose you're right," Wendy had to agree.

Miss Westoff put her hand on Wendy's bare thigh, squeezed lightly.

"It'll all work out for the best," she soothed. "You'll see."

She had not yet removed her hand, inched it slowly upwards. Wendy said nothing, was unsure how to react. She sat stiffly, watched as the other woman's hand crept under the towel, touched between her legs.

"Just relax, dear," Miss Westoff said, put her arm around Wendy's shoulders, hugged her gently.

"Miss Westoff, I…" Wendy started shakily, stopped abruptly when she felt the woman's fingers expertly separate her moist labia, move wetly to the small point of her sensitivity.

Wendy shivered involuntarily, felt her muscles tense. She couldn't believe what was happening, sat dumbly while Miss Westoff began slowly to manipulate her.

"Miss Westoff…"

"Call me Christine, dear. I want you to think of me as your friend. A very close friend."

"Christine."

"Now, hush, dear. Don't worry your prettyhead about a thing. Perhaps you were right. Perhaps your parents won't have to be told. After all, what purpose would it serve? Why should you go through the humiliation? To needlessly embarrass you seems so senseless."

She knelt on the carpet, gently nudged Wendy's knees apart, managed to get between them. She raised slightly, Wendy's legs over her shoulders, put her hands around Wendy's bare bottom, pulled her to the edge of the chair. The towel slid to the floor.

Christine kissed in wet circles along one damp inner thigh, licked at the smooth hollow where it joined Wendy's hip. She pulled Wendy yet closer to her, finally crushed her mouth against Wendy's slick warmth.

Wendy squirmed her round bottom with a little moan, watched as if it was someone else this happened to, as if she had no part in it at all. The sensations Christine Westoff's flicking tongue sent through her stunned her, were more wildly pleasurable than anything she could ever imagine. She made a token attempt at resistance, tried to ignore the exquisite tremors racing through her, could not. She closed her eyes tightly, gripped the arms of the chair. She could not stop squirming.

She was startled when she felt something poke gently at the circle of her anus, tensed when she felt Christine Westoff work a finger slowly up into her tight rectum. She wanted to cry out, did not want it to go this far, could not believe she was letting it all happen to her. She eased her head back, gulped air hungrily. It was all so unreal!

Christine worked her tongue with a frenzy at the fleshy covering of Wendy's pulsing clitoris, darted moistly across it, under it, twitched at the distended stub itself. She sucked at it with her lips.

She had one finger completely up Wendy's throbbing rectum, tried to work still another into the small opening.

Wendy cried out with a choked little whimper, squirmed, twisted her damp buttocks up out of the chair, strained until her sleek muscles ached. She hurtled to her orgasm, shuddered with a low, groaning wail.

"Oh, God!" she moaned raggedly, thrashed wildly, was crushed flat by the incredible intensity of the impact, jarred to the brink of insensibility.

She slid from the chair, hit her head on the edge of it, but barely noticed. Christine Westoff followed her movement, kept at her, still sucked at her feverishly. Wendy sprawled on the carpet, threw her arms over her face. She groaned, twisted slowly, could not escape the woman.

"I can't…" Wendy gasped brokenly. "Please…"

"Once again," Christine whispered hoarsely, was now beside her.

She pushed Wendy's blouse up out of the way, squeezed at her firm breasts, held them as she kissed them. She licked at the full underside of one, traced her tongue lightly across Wendy's flat stomach, down across her groin, arrived again at her cunt.

Christine worked at it from the top this time, her mouth flush against the plump mound, her hands under Wendy's hips, cupping her warm buttocks. She held Wendy to her, moved forward, flicked with her tongue at the rubbery cheeks of Wendy's behind. She spread them with her fingers, probed with her tongue-tip, entered the young girl's puckered anal perforation, licked at it. Wendy dug her heels into the carpet, arching her back with a half-suppressed moan, spread her knees involuntarily.

Christine lapped across the small, tight muscle that separated Wendy's anus and vagina, sucked wetly at the glistening erect finger of the girl's trembling clit. She pushed two fingers into the swollen opening, another into Wendy's bottom, began moving her hand in short, jerky thrusts.

Wendy ground her damp buttocks against the carpet, strained to spread her round thighs still wider, could think only of the immense relief Christine again hurried her to. She stretched her legs taut, felt her toes spread slowly apart, was battered by the groaning spasms that wracked her slender body into clenched knots of flesh and pounded the breath out of her.

Christine Westoff stood slowly, reached up under her dress and pulled down her pantyhose and underwear. She left them dangling around one foot, moved to Wendy. She stood almost directly over her.

Wendy froze inside. From where she lay looking up, she could see the thick patch of dark hair between the woman's full thighs, could see the deep pink slash of Christine's thick labia peeking from within. Wendy started slightly. If Christine Westoff thought Wendy would perform similarly on her, she was more than a little mistaken. Wendy began to get up.

"Relax, dear," Christine said huskily, crawled right on top of Wendy. "Just lay still. I have to rub my cunt against your leg a bit. Otherwise, I won't be able to think straight this afternoon." She giggled.

Christine lay slightly off to one side, pulled her dress up in front, pushed it out of tile way. She smiled at Wendy's expression. "This won't take a minute," she said. "Raise your knee up a little, will you, baby?"

Wendy raised her knee reluctantly, felt Christine's thighs clamp her own warmly between them. She turned her face away, would not look at the woman.

"Put your arms around me at least," Christine said with a small laugh.

Wendy encircled her slim waist and held her. She closed her eyes.

Christine moved back slightly, positioned herself against Wendy's upraised leg. The slick opening of her cunt slid wetly along Wendy's thigh. Wendy tried not to think about it and remained perfectly still. Christine began to pump her hips, with her hands searched under Wendy's blouse, lit on her firm breasts, clung to them. She wasted no time, was already thrusting with a fervent urgency, her breath coming harshly, hot against Wendy's neck.

Wendy moved her leg slightly, bounced the heel of her foot, thinking it might hurry things along. She still would not look at Christine.

"Wendy, honey?" Christine breathed between small, almost crying whimpers.

"What?"

"Move your hands down to my bottom, will you, baby?"

Wendy made no move, merely closed her eyes more tightly, pretended she hadn't understood.

"Please, baby," Christine said brokenly.

Wendy reached down and cupped Christine's sweaty buttocks, helped pull her along. She would have done almost anything to end this humiliating scene.

Each time Christine thrust, Wendy's fingertips inadvertently touched the crinkled ring of the woman's puckered anus and seemed to spur her on all the more. Wendy curled her fingers slightly, trying to avoid the small opening.

"Go… go ahead," Christine urged, grinding against her.

"What?"

"You know," Christine breathed. "Stick your finger… up my ass."

"I'd… I'd rather not."

"You can wash your hands after," Christine gasped. "I'm almost… there. Oh! Oh, it's so fucking good! I… I want you to… fingerfuck my asshole! Oh! God! Please, hon!"

Wendy swallowed, reached slightly, managed to poke a finger up into Christine's rectum. It throbbed, was as slickly wet as the gaping opening she thrust against Wendy's upraised thigh. Wendy pushed her finger all the way in.

"Another!" Christine urged, obviously within seconds of total oblivion. "Wendy, please! OH! My cunt's ready to burst into flame! Oh, fuck! Stick another finger into my ass! Fuck my ass! Pull it open!"

Wendy forced another finger into her rectum, managed to get still a third partially in, tugging at the elasticity of her tight anus, before Christine convulsed wildly with a gurgling, strangled shriek, went rigid, then was limp on top of her.

Christine lay with her face buried in the warm hollow of Wendy's neck, her arms around Wendy's slim waist. Wendy moved slightly, had trouble breathing with the woman on top of her.

"Do you want to come again?" Christine whispered, traced a hand lingeringly across Wendy's bare groin, entwined her fingers once again in the soft tendrils of hair between the younger girl's parted thighs. "Would you like me to suck on your darling pussy again?"

Wendy felt a tear forming in the corner of one eye, turned her face away, trembled. She heard herself answer as if from a great distance, and in a very small voice. "Yes."