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young girl sex club

2/23/2000

Young Girl Sex Club
<br>
By
Andrew Laird
<br>
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Chapter 1
<br>
In the Hip Room there wasn't even elbow room, but no oneseemed to mind. There were many other attractions. There
was noise, confusion, smoke (not all of it from tobacco)
and the pungent smells of unwashed bodies, stale beer,
cheap wine and vomit. There was long, unkempt hair, beards,
bare bellies above hip-huggers and bare thighs below abbreviated
miniskirts. There were many dirty feet, both bare and sandaled,
and many grimy hands. In one corner, where it squatted like the insane, plastic
monster it was, a jukebox taxed its mechanical lungs and
electric vocal cords to the utmost, bellowing out the frenzied
beat of a rock group to make itself heard above the witless,
jabbering din that rose in a mad cacophony from the crowd.
The final touch to this man-made inferno was supplied
by multicolored, wildly unsynchronized strobe lights
that were strung along the low ceiling. No torture chamber devised for the specific purpose of
driving its hapless victims to madness could have compared
in devilish ingenuity of the Hip Room. To Ellen Canfield, however, it was all very exciting.
It was her first experience in a place if its kind and, although
she felt both out of place and somewhat frightened, she
was enjoying herself immensely. She turned to convey this
information to her escort, only to discover that he had
managed to slip away from her unnoticed. She thought she
could see the back of his blond head through the haze of smoke
and was temporarily reassured. She supposed he was trying
to squirm his way through the densely packed crowd to get
drinks from the bar. Vaguely she worried about where he
would sit when he returned. The space he had occupied on
the bench at the long table beside her was now taken by another
person; whether man or woman she could not be sure, for all
she could see was the back of a head with its shoulder-length,
brown hair. He solved the matter of his sex by turning toward
her, revealing a bearded jaw and dull, glazed eyes of pale
blue on either side of a jutting, fleshy nose. "Here, " he said, "take a hit." He offered her an inch of
crudely rolled cigarette, the end soggy from many lips.
"What is it?" she asked, drawing away and wrinkling her
nose at the acrid smoke. She thought she knew but couldn't
be sure. She had never before seen marijuana. At least she
was certain it did not resemble the neat, filter-tipped
cigarettes she smoked. "Whadaya mean, what is it?" the man demanded indignantly.
"It's a joint. Whatcha think it is, hashish?" She hesitated, revolted by the thought of that sodden
butt between her lips, yet afraid of offending the one making
the offer. She shifted uncomfortably when he took his first
good look at her, and his eyes widened, then narrowed.
"Well, I'll be dipped in shit!" he exclaimed. "Damned
if it ain't Miss Uptown herself. Whatcha doing down here,
baby doll ... little slumming trip?" Ellen blushed. Under the flashing strobes it probably
was not noticeable, but she felt her flesh become hot, as
though a blowtorch had been turned on her. The intensity
of the hot flash rendered her speechless and made her a little
sick. There was a terrible moment in which the noise, the
stench and her own fear hit her like a blow to the solar plexus.
She wondered if she would faint. The bearded man sneered knowingly. "You fucking squares
are a pain in the ass, " he said disdainfully. "Come down
here to see how the weirdos live ... like going to the zoo
to look at the apes. Then you get all shook if one of us speaks
to you. Whatsa matter, baby, you figure I got leprosy or
something?" "I'm sorry, " Ellen stammered drawing as far away from
him as she could, trying not to show her disgust or fear.
"I ... I didn't mean any harm. I've never been to a place like
this before, and I've never smoked marijuana. My boy friend
brought me here. He's gone for drinks ... I think, " she
ended lamely. The bearded man grinned, but it was not a friendly grin.
His eyes, sparking now with interest, started at her feet
and moved with slow and calculated insolence up her nylon-sheathed
legs to rounded thighs visible below the hem of her miniskirt.
They rose to the slight curve of her stomach and the contours
of a sweetly crafted torso, revealed in abundant detail
by the form-hugging fabric of her knit dress. They lingered
appraisingly on the twin bulges of her breasts, then rose
to her face, baby-round beneath the heaped meringue of
her champagne-blonde hair. He read the unmistakable fear
in her blue eyes and in the nervous trembling of her soft,
red lips. "Whenever I see a chick like you, " he said with
toneless menace, "all starched and ironed and strapped
into place, I get the damnedest urge to mess her up. So you
dreamed you went slumming in your Maidenhead bra and in
your Playsex girdle, did you? I gotta notion to pull them
to hell off of you and see what you look like with your titties
flopping and your bare cunt hanging out." Ellen gasped in shocked horror. "You wouldn't! You wouldn't
dare! This is a public place! My escort will be back. He'll
... he'll ..." The bearded man laughed unpleasantly. "You just said
the wrong word, you goddamned phony, antiseptic, perfumed
bitch. Nobody dares Max Kern. Hey, look what I got here, "
he said to the others at the table. "Smart-assed cunt needs
a lesson. Watch for that blond square she was with while
I show this chick how we do it on Cool Street." "No! No!" Ellen screamed as Max Kern's long-fingered
dirty hands reached for her. "Help me!" she appealed to
a hard-faced girl her own age who sat across from her. The
girl curled a pale upper lip and, to Kern, said: "Why doncha
take her down under the table and fuck her, Maxy? We'll cover
for you. When her boy friend comes back, we'll tell him she
split on him." Ellen screamed again. Not a head turned in her direction.
Screaming was the normal method of communication in the
Hip Room. She tried to fight, but her efforts were futile.
Not only was Max several times stronger than she, but by
this time she was so nearly paralyzed with terror that all
power had deserted her arms and legs. He easily held her
arms pinned to her sides while his free hand went under the
hem of her dress to claw at her panties. She felt the elastic
give and then he had drawn them down to act as a hobble around
her kicking ankles. Despite the fact that she held her legs
clamped as tightly together as possible, he thrust hard
fingers into the tender flesh of her inner thighs, violating
for the first time the sacrosanct cleft of her crotch, roughly
parting the hair-shrouded lips of her vagina. She continued to scream, even though she knew it was useless.
Those around the table were laughing and leering at her.
Those in the rest of the place ignored her. As she felt Max
Kern begin to slide under the table and drag her with him,
her sanity left her; she was bludgeoned temporarily numb
by the impossibility of what was happening to her. She was
from a small town, and certainly no smarter than the average
of her sex and she knew--just as she knew that there is a President
of the United States, that the sun rises in every morning,
and that Walter Cronkite comes on every evening--that
one does not get in a public place among seventy or
more people. She knew that, but it was happening anyway.
Her mind, therefore unable to cope with the impossible,
withdrew from the nightmare that was taking place, leaving
her only enough awareness to feel pain, shame and horror.
They were on the floor under the table. Bare, willing feet
found her arms and held them with cruel pressure against
the cement floor. Her resistance was instinctive but feeble
and futile as her dress was tugged and pulled until it was
bunched under her armpits. Her bra surrendered to a savage
jerk that tore the snaps loose and her panties were snatched
the rest of the way off of her weakly thrashing legs. The
cement was cold and hard against her bare back and buttocks.
She had stopped screaming and only cried in a continuous,
sobbing bleat of mindless terror. "How is it, Max?" A bearded face appeared upside down under
the edge of the tablecloth. "Don't know, " Ellen's attacker grunted. "I ain't fucked
her yet. But, man, she's got one hell of a body. Dig them big
boobies." "Yeah, " the upside down one agreed. "You gonna suck her
cunt, too?" "Naw, not now. She ain't in no condition to appreciate
the finer things. Maybe after I've broken her in I'll take
her up to my pad and give her the full treatment. Depends
on how she acts." "How about me taking seconds on her when you're through?"
"Sure. She'll need a lot of screwing to tame her down. We
got all afternoon. Tell the rest of the guys, too. Pussy
just ain't much good unless it's been gang-banged. Keep
a watch out for the guy she was with." As he talked, Max had
been dropping his trousers. He wore no underwear. He held
his long, hard cock in his hand, fondling it lovingly as
he knelt between her legs and studied her hair-fringed
slit. "Okay, baby doll, " he muttered as he lowered himself
to her, "here's where you get it ... right up to the balls!"
He addressed the dripping, throbbing head to her opening
and settled himself, his bearded lips quivering with lust
and his pale eyes glowing in anticipation as he hesitated
one last second to savor the creamy expanse of her beautifully
molded torso and the swelling mounds of her breasts with
their pink and brown nipples, the softly rounded contours
tremulous with the agitation of her sob-shaken body. He
pushed the broad, purplish bead of his prick into her until
it was lost to sight. Then, with a long, almost anguished
"ahhh" of pleasure, he thrust down with all his strength,
driving the bone-hard instrument into her, relishing
the exquisite sensation of her flesh parting or tearing
as it was shouldered aside by his ruthlessly rapacious
root. Ellen screamed again, but the hard-eyed girl who had been
across the table from her was bending down so that she could
watch. Expecting the scream, she effectively muffled
it by putting a bare, dirty foot in Ellen's open mouth. She
kept her foot there for a while, then transferred it to one
of the exposed breasts, roughly massaging it and sometimes
pinching the nipple with a prehensile big toe. As she peered
under the uplifted edge of the tablecloth, her face was
flushed; and her eyes shining, her breath coming in convulsive
gasps. One hand was under her skirt, her fingers frantically
manipulating her clitoris. Had Ellen looked about her, she would have seen not only
the shapely limbs of the hard-eyed girl, trembling to one
self-induced orgasm after another, but that the men at
the table, inflamed by the vicarious thrill of what they
knew to be taking place right under their feet, had unzipped
themselves and were stroking their cocks. They also cried
encouragement to Max. "Fuck her, man!"
"Stick it to her, Maxy!"
"Ram it clear up into her goddamn fucking guts!"
But Ellen was not aware. She knew only pain and, dimly,that she was naked on the floor while a man her, that
the virginity she had cherished for nineteen years was
being ravaged and destroyed, and that her oneness with
herself as an entity distinct from all others was being
annihilated. Mostly she was aware of the plunging, piston-like
prick and the ruthlessness in which it battered her inner
body, each thrust as agonizing as though performed by a
hot poker. But even pain must finally reach a plateau, must
suffer a surfeit of itself until it fails from overproduction.
It lessened. She opened her eyes to the forest of legs, feet
and dripping pricks as seen through the fringe of Max's
rancid-smelling beard. As a child she had had nightmares,
but none to compare with this atrocious and impossible
scene. She had two choices ... either go completely insane
with fear, or withdraw in a kind of stunned indifference
and patiently await the moment when this Phantasmagoria
would end. Too tough-minded to go crazy, she lapsed into state of
semi- catatonia in which what was being done to her body
became a dim, unreal and distant thing. Her mind, detached
from both pain and the shame of involvement, was free to
consider her surroundings with curiosity. She saw the
foot that massaged one of her breasts and followed up the
slim, unclean limbs to parted thighs and gaping vulva where
busy fingers agitated the clitoris hidden beneath the
moist, pink flesh. She could even see the hair-shrouded,
brown eye that was the girl's anus; it winked in time with
the gasping of her pulsating vagina. Ellen was familiar with masturbation. She had experimented
with it during her twelfth year, but it had been her favorite
sport only until she learned to play tennis. She tore her
eyes from the performance of this rite to look from one to
another of the men who were playing with the pricks under
the table. Only once before in her life had she seen a man's
prick, and that had been just before leaving home. She had
walked in on her brother while he was in the bathroom. He
had been busy urinating, and she had stared at his exposed
organ for a second in both dismay and fascination before
blushing violently and fleeing from room. That night she
had dreamed that he carried a large snake coiled between
his legs and was chasing her with it. She next looked down to see Max's white buttocks bobbing
above her hips and realized with astonishment that he had
a cock just like those other men and that he was industriously
sloshing it in and out of her. He was no longer hurting her.
Her body, having turned numb, had rejected the pain. Ellen did not know when her boy friend came back from the
bar, a bottle of beer in either hand. The ones at the table
informed him seriously and sympathetically that his girl
had gotten sick, had said she was going home. The closely
pressed bodies about the table prevented him from seeing
what took place beneath it and Ellen had stopped screaming.
She was no longer even crying. The young man's face turned
red and he cursed. As he put the bottles on the table and began
elbowing his way toward the door, the conspirators laughed,
nudging and clapping each other on the back as they congratulated
themselves on the success their deception. At that moment, Max had his orgasm. The cadence of his probing
increased, and he grunted loudly, emitting other animal
noises as Ellen felt his hot sperm shoot into her and slush
out to roll down her thighs. She watched with mild interest
as he withdrew, noting that his cock was smeared with his
own semen and red from her blood where he had torn her hymen.
"You ain't a bad fuck, " he admitted, panting, "only you
got a lot to learn. I'll let some of the other guys help break
you in and then maybe I'll take you to my pad tonight. You
act right and I'll let you stay with me until I get tired of
you, but you got to start dropping acid and smoking pot like
the rest of us. Hey, Joe, give me a tab of 'L'." He accepted something from an anonymous hand that appeared
under the table and he told Ellen to open her mouth. She did
and felt a small, white tablet being inserted by a grimy
finger. She was instructed to let it melt on her tongue.
"When that hits you, you'll be on a helluva trip, " he promised.
"I'm gonna let Benny screw you now. He's kinda queer, but
he likes chicks, too. After Benny, some of the other cats
will take a crack at you. How you dig getting fucked, hunh?
Groovy, ain't it?" She regarded him dumbly and didn't answer. She was in a
state of shock, her body and mind no longer able to respond
to either pain or fear. Had he told her she was free to get
up and go home, she would not have stirred from her place
on the floor. Only a part of her mind remained active, but
her thoughts were remote, barely connected to body. Max shrugged indifferently, pulled his pants into place
and slid out of her range of vision as another bearded man,
a somewhat younger one, took his place. "Boy!" Benny exclaimed, viewing her with awe. "You're
sure a lot prettier than the chicks we usually get around
here." He bent to kiss her on the mouth, the soft, blond hairs
of his beard woolly and somehow comforting against her
face. He roughly pushed aside the girl's foot, which still
rubbed Ellen's breast, and cupped the mound with his hand.
Then he felt down over her ribs and hip to caress her white,
rounded thighs and touch her semen-moist vulva. "I'm gonna suck your cunt, " he declared, his face twitching
with excitement. "I'll bet you'll like that." He turned
around so that his head was even with her hips, then reached
back to adjust his cock so that it rested above her breasts.
"I guess you ain't used to sucking cocks, " he told her,
"but you can hold it and play with it for me while I'm going
down on you. Hey, you cats, get your feet off of her arm."
He knocked the dirty feet away and Ellen, for the first time,
was able to relax from the awkward position she had been
in. She made no protest when he took her hands and cupped
them around his prick. Because he told her to, and because
she had no will of her own, she continued to hold his member
tightly as he lowered his mouth to her crotch. The lapping
of his tongue was so mild a feeling compared to being punched
and torn by Max's big cock that at first she was hardly aware
of it when he began titillating her clitoris. His hips moved
and his prick, already dripping and smeary, slid easily
back and forth in her tight grip. He took his time, and she didn't mind. Now that the feet
no longer pummeled and imprisoned her, she was fairly comfortable
and his licking and sucking at her vulva was soothing. Furthermore,
something new was happening to her mind. She was beginning
to be affected by the drug she had taken. It was like drunkenness
and yet not like it. There was a dizziness and a lightness,
almost as though she were floating, and a gradual increase
of sharpness and clarity in her perception of everything
about her. It was, she thought with dull curiosity, as though
she had donned glasses that magnified everything. Her
face was only a few inches from the young man's thighs, and
she suddenly saw each hair and pore in vivid, microscopic
detail. Her other senses were also greatly increased.
The rich, mingled smells of semen and sweat assailed her
nostrils, and his prick was like wet, slick satin to the
touch of her hands. As he continued to lick her clitoris, she felt the first,
faint tingle of returning sensation to her lower body.
She was sore from the brutal way in which Max had assaulted
her, but the richness of feeling inspired by the eager tongue
of her new lover was driving away remembrance of pain. Her
mind still refused to tolerate the shame and humiliation
of her position. It blocked it out as a thing too awful to
bear and, as she began to derive pleasure from this new thing
that was happening to her, she concentrated on that to keep
from thinking about the fact that she was being in
public. To save her sanity, she surrendered her body, the
powerful dose of LSD she had taken helping her make this
adjustment. The slobbering attack on her sex organ was accomplished
with ravenous hunger and much enthusiasm, but not without
expertise. Benny Morely had practiced the art extensively
on both men and women. At twenty-one he had achieved his
ambition to become a complete degenerate, living only
for sex ... any kind of sex, and for dope ... any kind of dope.
Oddly enough, he was a sensitive and generous person who
would eagerly share himself or anything he had with someone
he liked. He liked Ellen, so he gave to her in the only way
he knew how to give. He employed all of his cunning to the
pleasurable task of sucking her clitoris and was childishly
delighted when he felt her straining body begin to respond
to his efforts. He would really have preferred sucking
a man, but licking Ellen's semen-filled cunt was almost
as good as sucking Max's cock and, of course, there was the
fun of doing it with someone new. The tingling sensation grew to a flooding warmth of passion
that spread out from the one focal point to Ellen's entire
body. She felt it in her thighs and in her groin, knew it in
the hardness of her nipples and in the straining muscles
of her back as she arched herself to his mouth. It wrapped
her in a pink mist that shut out everything else, and she
gave herself to it gratefully. She even enjoyed the sensuous
feel of his cock sliding back and forth through her hands.
When her passion had reached a height she would not have
thought possible, it suddenly soared beyond that and then
her hips were jerking convulsively, her pretty, white
legs thrashing madly and her body pulsing with a paroxysm
of lust as she came to her orgasm. At the same time, Benny's prick swelled, strained, and
then began to spurt, the hot, sticky stuff squirting onto
Ellen's lower face and neck. Their cries of pleasure, too
intense to bear in silence, went unheard above the din of
the Hip Room. "Hey, get your nose out of it, you queer bastard!" another
voice was saying and Benny was pulled roughly away from
her as another man took his place. Ellen, still in a daze of post-coital lassitude, made
no resistance when her legs were spread and another cock
was thrust into her body. It hardly hurt at all, and she accepted
the burly, sweat-smelling weight on her chest and belly,
wrapping her arms and legs around him and lifting her hips
to meet his lunge, her whole being concentrated on trying
to recapture the exquisite sensation she had just experienced
with Benny. They kept her there under the table all afternoon, taking
turns with her until all of the men in the group had been with
her at least twice. They let her rest only long enough to
take frequent drags from marijuana cigarettes. By evening
she had passed out, but they didn't mind, continuing to
sate themselves with use of her inert body. She was not aware
when the girl with the hard eyes slid under the table to make
love to her just as Benny Morely had done. Ellen awoke in the small hours of the morning. She was lying
on the filthy mattress in a strange room beside Max Kern,
who snored like the distant whine of a power saw into his
beard. They were both naked. She sat up and saw a candle in
the dim light of the room. She found matches and lit it, staring
at the yellow spearhead of flames as she let memory invade
her mind, bit by bit until all of the astonishing facts were
present and accounted for. The one thing she saw with absolute clarity was that her
adventure had changed her life utterly and irrevocably.
She knew there was nothing to prevent her from getting up,
dressing and going home to her apartment. There she could
bathe, have breakfast, put on clean clothes and report
to work as usual. No one would ever know. Oh, but they would!
She would know! Ellen Canfield would no longer--could
no longer--be the Ellen Canfield who had smugly thought
of herself as a nice, virtuous, nineteen-year-old girl
from a respectable, small-town family. The only thing
that amazed her was that she could find within herself not
even the tiniest spark of regret for the demise of that other
Ellen Canfield. She looked at Max's thin, knobby-kneed body sprawled
beside her in the steady light of the candle. She remembered
again what he and all of his friends had done to her under
the table in the Hip Room. Her hips moved and she felt the
nipples of her breasts harden with returning excitement.
She took his limp cock in her hand and began stroking it.
When it was hard, she tugged on it to awaken him. "Hey, Max, " she said, jerking at him, "wake up and fuck
me again." <br>
<br>
<br>
Chapter 2
<br>
Lynn Charles picked up the newspaper from the coffee tablewhere her brother-in-law, Sam Dryerson, had dropped it
the evening before. It was an act of desperation. She normally
avoided reading newspapers. She turned to the comics,
then the women's section. She was about to toss the paper
back down when her attention was caught by a picture of a
young girl. She was an amazingly pretty girl, Lynn thought,
even though she had done her best to disguise the fact with
long, straight hair, flowered, bell-bottomed pants,
a sweater so tight it made her look like a tart, and a medallion
that dangled in such a way as to call even further attention
to her large bust. It was a human-interest story about what
the reporter had called a "hippie love-nest tragedy."
It seemed that one Maxwell Kern had died from an overdose
of drugs, and a sexy picture of his teen-aged mistress could
be calculated to sell a few newspapers. The girl, Ellen,
had refused to cooperate by looking either tragic or regretful.
She merely looked bored. "At least she's alive, " Lynn muttered aloud, "not half-dead
and stuck in a no man's land like this." The no man's land was the rather modern and comfortable
home of her older sister, Shirley Dryerson. Her own "half-dead"
condition was a slight exaggeration. She was simply bored,
lonely and, in general, full of discontent with life. At
twenty-six, Lynn had taught school for five years and had
been married for three. On the day her divorce had become
final, she had been notified by the school board that they
did not intend to renew her contract as a teacher for the
coming year. When Shirley and Sam had offered to take her
in while she made the adjustment to her new, sharply reduced
status, she had accepted gratefully. Now she found herself
wishing she had done almost anything else than run scared
through the first door opened to her. The trouble was, she conceded bitterly, that Shirley
and Sam both worked days and had no social life evenings.
That left Lynn exactly nowhere. The rest of the trouble
was, she admitted, that she, Lynn Charles, was a sissy who
didn't have the nerve to go to a cocktail lounge, get herself
picked up, taken to a hotel room and thoroughly screwed,
which, of course, was what she really wanted and missed
most of all. "Goddamnit!" she cursed in a way that would have shocked
the school board as much as her divorce had shocked them,
"what the hell does a divorcee with hot pants do anyway?"
It was a good question and Lynn wasn't the first grass widow
to ask it without receiving any ready answer. It was midmorning.
She had washed the dishes and cleaned the house. What now
remained as a means of passing the next six hours until Shirley
and Sam came home to eat the dinner she would prepare and
then watch television until the late-late show? Lynn hated
television as much as she despised newspapers. She could,
she supposed, take a bath. Hardly an exciting prospect,
but it would kill an hour. She undressed in the bathroom, performing the unnecessary
ritual of weighing herself. While the tub was running,
she studied her nude reflection in the full-length mirror
on the back of the bathroom door. She was a redhead who had
miraculously escaped the redhead's curse of freckles.
Her skin was a golden bronze all over, for, on the few fog-free
days of the San Francisco summer, she took full advantage
of the Dryerson sun deck at the rear of the house. She had
green, slightly slanted eyes and a mouth that made up in
sensuality for its somewhat overly generous proportions.
She was tall and slender, but it was a healthy thinness,
not the emaciated slenderness of a fashion model. Her breasts,
while not large, were ideally shaped, the magenta nipples
delicate and small. Her waist was narrow, her body flaring
below it to womanly hips and tapering again to sweetly rounded
thighs at the juncture of which was an arrowhead of auburn
hair. "Not bad, " she murmured, "but what the hell good is it
to me if I don't use it? Somewhere in San Francisco there
must be a man who would dearly love to get my clothes off,
play with all my goodies and then stick his big, fat, lovely
cock in my pussy and bang hell out of me until I yelled for
mercy. They have college courses in home economics, the
modern dance and even karate. Why don't they have one on
how to get fucked?" She sighed and stepped into the tub, settling herself
in the sudsy water. She allowed the warmth and the quiet
to induce a lassitude that soon verged on sleep and made
no effort to dispel an erotic fantasy that began to weave
its way through her half-awake mind. She snapped back to
consciousness when she became aware that in the midst of
her imaginings she had allowed one hand to drift to her crotch
and that she was gently massaging her clitoris. "Good grief!" she gasped, sitting upright in the tub.
"I haven't done that since I was fifteen! Oh well, what the
hell? It does feel good, and if I'm going to be an old maid
I might as well go the whole route." She lay back down and
again put her fingers to her vagina. With the other hand
she touched one of her nipples and experimentally rubbed
it with the tip of a finger. Not like having a man's hand or
mouth there, but better than nothing. Lynn was so preoccupied with the new method she had found
to entertain herself that she failed to hear the front door
open or the sound of masculine feet on the carpeted floor
of the living room. She was not aware that she was no longer
alone in the house until the bathroom door was shoved open.
"Oops!" Sam exclaimed as he hastily backed out. "Sorry,
Lynn, but the door was unlocked and I had to go." "It's okay, " she called out. "What are you doing home
this time of day?" She was startled but not particularly
embarrassed. Nothing but her head and knees had shown above
the soapy water, and she was thankful that he had not been
able to see that she had been masturbating. Nevertheless,
she was trembling a little as she got out of the tub, hastily

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