4 comments/ 43285 views/ 8 favorites VS Ch. 01 By: gossog (Author's note: this is part of a sprawling, I mean epic, story of several chapters. Some characters may disappear for a while, but will be back when plot threads are resolved. Warnings: this chapter has a nonviolent rape scene.) VS Ch. 01: Underwater Karla's cell phone rang -- U2's "New Year's Day" -- and she hopped up from the rickety sofa piled with binders and charts. "My boyfriend," she announced. "I'll be back in a bit." She padded barefoot over to her room, leaving Bernard to admire the view from behind. Bernard stifled a sigh. I didn't know you had a boyfriend, he wanted to say. I had no idea. You keep such secrets. He knew the guy had another name, but Karla used the term Boyfriend so much that the given one had faded into history. Boyfriend called each night about 8 pm Athens time, give or take ten minutes. There were five framed photos of Boyfriend in the cottage she and Bernard were renting: one in the kitchen, one in the living room serving as research room and library; one in the single bathroom they shared; and two in the bedroom she used, where she retreated each night when Boyfriend called. And Oh did she miss Boyfriend. One week into a month-long stay overseas, and she was homesick for her beau. The cute girl pining for her guy "back home" was dismayingly common at the university. Even though this was a research trip, sponsored by the Anthropology Department, Bernard couldn't help constructing pleasant fantasies about spending a month alone with Karla. Surely a cordial scholarly relationship could blossom into something more; working together for a common goal could strengthen bonds... but Karla seemed to be repeating the Boyfriend Boyfriend Boyfriend mantra just to ward off any such opportunity. Working closely with her had become even more agonizing as she started shedding clothing to combat the stifling heat. Whatever qualities the "pleasant Mediterranean climate" supposedly offered did not extend to their island. The Sun was unforgiving, the humidity stifling. The second day here Karla had "gone native" and stopped wearing a top. At the cottage, she no longer wore anything at all. She was gorgeous with no clothes on, everything he had imagined since the day she arrived at Miskatonic last August, and she had to know he was enjoying the view. But she didn't seem to care one way or another. Perhaps that was worst of all; his attention was of no concern. Karla lounged on the cheap, lumpy cot that served as a bed in her sunbaked room. Brent's voice, thin and canned over the cell phone, seemed impossibly far away. The oppressive heat would have been much more tolerable if he were sharing this bed: a torrid romance for a torrid climate. They said goodbye and she put the phone aside, leaving her fingertip resting on her vaginal lips, where she had been teasing herself during the entire call. A poor substitute for Brent, but better than nothing. Sheets stuck to her skin and dampened. She raised her knees to circulate more air. She plunged a finger inside, and tweaked a reddening nipple, imagining his touch; in less than a minute she brought herself to a silent and fleetingly satisfying orgasm. She peered between her raised legs, noting the bedroom door had been left open. No big deal; Bernie knew her room was off limits and wouldn't have peeked inside. And so what if he did? He'd already seen so many intimate things several times over: the sprinkling of freckles above and between her breasts; the way her nipples always seemed half-erect, even when she was engrossed in her work; the slight dusting of pubic hair below, as if, at 23 years, it were still growing in. She knew he stared at her bare bottom every time she left the room, and at her vagina when she slouched back on the couch, or lay prone on the floor. She didn't care. If anything, his reverence was a sort of daily affirmation, that she was not just attractive, but sexy. She sat up and the cot creaked in protest. The pungent musk of her wetness wafted up; no doubt Bernie would notice that. Let him. She walked back into the living room. He was seated at the single table that served for food and work. He wore navy swim trunks that he rinsed out each night. "Found something," he said. She stood behind him, peering over his shoulder. If she moved closer, her pubic hair would tickle the back of his arm. A playful voice in her mind was urging her to do just that. "Compare these two" -- he placed side-by-side a pair of drawings, by different artists, annotated in different scripts -- "to what you have yesterday, and you might have the key to the Squid Doc." "Really?" Her curiosity sparked, she forgot about teasing him. The "Squid Document", photos of a set of stone carvings featuring a cephalopod in menacing postures, had been a dead end up to now. The writing had been so much gibberish, and there wasn't enough to find any patterns or meaning within itself; they had needed more information to corroborate, or triangulate, what was being said. "Let me see," she said, taking the drawings. "If you're right about this..." She bounded to the far corner of the room, where the Squid Doc photos were laid out. She dropped down and lay prone on the floor, scrutinizing the scans with newfound enthusiasm. He knew she was excited because her feet were flipping back and forth, like a frog's. Between her spread legs he could make out her pussy lips, a sight he never tired of. Swollen, and a little moist; she had probably fingered herself while on the phone with Boyfriend. He crouched down beside her. "Making sense?" "You are right, Bernie!" she crowed. She grabbed a pen, started scribbling on a notepad. "This is the most progress we've made since we got here! You're a genius!" "It's all teamwork," he said, gazing at her lovely ass, which flexed minutely as her feet kicked. He experimentally rested a hand there; she continued writing. Time passed as she compared notes, started a list of translations, asked him for clarification. But she didn't brush his hand away. Her praise for his insight and acquiescence to his touch emboldened him. He started caressing the outside curve of her butt, just with the fingertips, but certainly she would notice that, and raise a fuss if she objected. Instead, she let her feet drift down, coming to rest on the floor. Her ass was heavenly. By touching her this way, he might be burning through all the good will he had earned with his breakthrough; but he didn't want to let this chance pass. His fingers gradually wandered to the treasure between her slightly spread legs. Karla was aware of this, but didn't consider it worrisome. She felt like an old sea salt who, having finally found the "X" on the parchment map, had dug four feet and felt the shovel strike wood. That wasn't too far from what she and Bernie were doing here. He might have uncovered the final clue for their own "X". His touch amused her; despite all the scenarios obviously running through his mind, he had never been this forward with her. She was kindled enough by the puzzle pieces in front of her that she didn't really mind what Bernie did, one way or another. Actually, it was sort of pleasant. But she needed to say something, at least to acknowledge him. "I think you've earned it" sounded crass, even by her standards, but those were the words that came out. Bernard knew better than to ask questions, or even to take her to the bedroom; anything that might give her a chance to reconsider her offer. He stripped off his swim trunks and kneeled behind her. He was already hard. To her credit, she accommodated him, instead of lying there inert. When he reached around for her breasts, she propped up on her elbows; when the head of his penis poked between her legs, she raised her buttocks to give him a better angle. She enjoyed it more than she had expected. Walking around topless downtown, and nude in the cottage, had bathed her in male desire and attention (Bernie's and others') that had kept her arousal at a slow simmer. A man's hands cradling her breasts, even if it wasn't the right man, generated warmth that flowed out to her fingers and toes. When Bernie's cock pushed inside, that, too, was a sensation she had sorely missed. She casually wondered if her butt jiggled when he thrusted; there had always been those few pounds she couldn't seem to get rid of. As if he would care. He seemed to be deliberately taking his time, making it last as long as possible, which she found endearing. When he could no longer avoid coming, a week's worth of distilled lust shooting inside her, she felt more alive, more charged than in weeks. He pulled out and she settled down, resting her head on folded arms. "Thank you," he whispered, a warm hand on her shoulder. "Mmm-hmm," she said. "Just this once, you know. We are not making a habit out of this." She didn't want to become a fringe benefit for him, her body an attendance award for merely being around. She didn't want to get hooked on it either. "Sure," he said, and stood up. He left the room, and she heard the shower turn on. She considered cleaning up as well, but lassitude had struck and she didn't feel like getting up. She turned her attention to the Squid Doc. Around midnight, Bernard went to bed. Karla was still wrapped up in her work. He knew her offer might never be repeated, but he was still heartened by the "We" she used, and the three weeks stacked in front of them. There was an inkling, valid or not, that he at least had a foot in the door. He fell asleep with a smile. Karla stayed up until after six in the morning. When Bernard awoke two hours later, she was fast asleep. Her snoring was audible from the living room. He smiled; she was dead to the world. Probably sprawled out immodestly on top of the sheets. He was tempted to check but wanted to respect her privacy. Her room was hers alone. She had cleared the table so he wouldn't miss the note. FOUND IT SEE NOTEBOOK NEED SLEEP SAIL TOMORROW "You did it, Karla!" he said to himself. "You did it." He picked up her notebook, where she had summarized her findings on the last two pages. If the evidence was right -- there was a preponderance, like an overhang of snow ready to avalanche -- then less than thirty miles from here would be a religious site, a shrine, built by a race two to five million years in the past. "Lucy", the oldest known ancestor to Man, clocked in at three million years ago. He remembered the outrage following the original Squid Doc monograph. Fortunately, no one at Miskatonic had been involved in that work; several careers were ended in disgrace. Talk of sloppy research, contaminated sites, and outright fraud made the Squid Doc a pariah for any further work. The carved stones were carted to Miskatonic, to languish in a dank storeroom. Anthropologists joked about their "half-life", as in 50,000 years before they would be safe to study again. The University, and Bernard's department, maintained a tradition of doing significant constructive research "under the radar," with some risk to the participants if things went public and sour. (Not ten years ago, a spectacular screwup had required the services of an air strike involving eight fighter jets that were not military and bore no insignia.) In keeping with the Miskatonic tradition, within five years a young professor and team of grad students had dusted off the rocks, which were genuine if not five million years old, and what was found there led to Bernard and Karla being sent to Greece. On the cheap. They suspected they were spending as much out-of-pocket as the school was. So: if Karla's work was correct (and it probably was), the site lay between two islands not far from theirs, a two-hour ride on one of the motorboats for hire. It used to lie on an isthmus, but water levels had changed since then. No problem: both of them were certified divers, and their equipment had been shipped with them. Karla didn't wake up until one in the afternoon: too late to reach the site, explore and return before sunset. "I'm sorry," she said, yawning and stretching. "We'll go first thing tomorrow." With a free afternoon, Bernard had been hoping for some leisurely afternoon sex, but never saw an encouraging sign. She pulled on a tiny bikini bottom and walked to the beach. He explored the cottage road, following it around a set of bluffs to a dead end at an olive grove. Goats patrolling the area eyed him placidly. The next morning, they hired a boat. The negotiation was unpleasant. Karla had gone to church enough times to know that Christos did not deserve the name he had been given at birth. He was a fat, hairy shirtless man, about fifty, with a graying beard and skipper's cap. Venal and lewd, he was the bachelor uncle no one trusted around his or her teenage daughters. He leaned in close as they spoke, touching Karla's forearm, ignoring her flinch. She wore a modest one-piece dark blue swimsuit, yet felt more exposed here than back at the cottage wearing nothing. "The boat is very small," he said. "With all your equipment, I can only take the girl. Your boyfriend will have to stay on shore." He's not my boyfriend, Karla almost said, but thought better of it. "I think it's better if I go," Bernard said, standing up straight. "I'm not interested in taking you," Christos said. "Maybe I'll stay in the harbor and catch fish." Unfortunately, his was the only boat still available. "Can't say I trust you with her." He smiled expansively, waving a weathered hand. "Don't worry. I'm an old man, with an eye for a pretty lady. I have a wife and two sons. I am harmless." "Karla?" "Honey, it's our one chance to go today," she said. "I'll take some photos, then we'll return with a larger boat tomorrow." Christos clapped his hands; the matter was settled. "Demetrious will take you tomorrow. Large enough boat for both of you. And I take the pretty lady today." Neither felt entirely comfortable with Christos, but didn't want to waste another day. They loaded her scuba gear, tools, GPS, torch and ziplocked notes into the aluminum boat. Before hopping aboard, Karla gave Bernard a hug and a brief, but open-lipped, kiss. All for Christos's benefit. "Bye, honey," she said. "Be careful out there," he said. He knew it was a ruse, but he'd take for-show affection from her any time. The blue one-piece swimsuit was more than he'd seen her wear in days, and she was still alluring. Christos yanked the outboard engine into sputtering life. Bernard watched until the boat was out of sight. He figured, based on trip time and the air in her tanks, that she should be back by about five at the latest. Gentle waves slapped the aluminum hull as the boat skipped along. For about an hour, Christos left her alone, content to steer the boat and ogle his passenger. She tried to disregard this, and followed their progress on her chart and GPS handheld. She hoped she had the site pinned down to within a hundred yards. The water was calm and visibility looked to be excellent. On the open water, with a few islands shouldering above the horizon, Christos cut the engine. "Why are we stopped?" Karla said, instantly alert. "You look very pretty in that swimsuit," he said, "but now it is time to take it off." "Oh, you gotta be kidding me," she said, reaching for her cell. She had started to dial when Christos smacked it out of her hand. The phone skipped once on the water and sank. Karla stared at her hand, which flared and stung like a spanked bottom. "I'm faster than I look," he said. "Now this is the deal I make for you. You take off the swimsuit and do what I ask, and I take you to your place and back. If you don't, all the rest of your stuff goes overboard, and you follow it." "Do what you ask...?" she said, cradling her injured hand. Nothing was broken, but it still hurt like hell. Would she be able to fight him off left-handed? "I am not a greedy man," he said, turning on a greasy smile. "Just you, naked, we fuck one time on the way out, and one time on the way back." She gazed beyond him, into the distance. Should she just jump overboard? She recalled a saying, something like "No Sharks in the Med", but couldn't remember who said it, or if it was even true. "I seen you walking around the town, bare tits," he said. "But you did not dress that way today." She didn't answer. "Take it off," he said. "Anyone asks, I could easily say you fell overboard, never came back up. I tried to save you, you know? Think about it." Am I going to die out here? she wondered. What a shitty way to go, at the hands of an old troll who wanted some young tail. But the thought of him touching her intimately evoked similar terror. "Come on, pretty girl," he said. "Don't make me do this the hard way." There appeared to be no way out. She took a deep breath and pulled the shoulder straps down over her arms. The boat rocked and her breasts swayed as she gracelessly peeled the suit the rest of the way off. I should have just worn a bikini, she thought: more revealing at first, but easier to strip off with some dignity. She freed her ankles, picked up the suit, and lay it down next to her. Christos reached over, tossed the suit overboard, restarted the engine and drove away. "Oh, come on!" she protested, watching the limp suit quickly disappear from sight. "You won't need it," he grinned, showing yellowed smoker's teeth. "How close are we to your spot?" She looked at the GPS. "About 3 miles." "Okay. We go another 10 minutes and take a break." She sat up, preparing to turn away from him, when he said "No. Face this way." He leered at her breasts, which jiggled each time the boat crested a wave. The "break" was vile. Karla endured it like a little boy forcing down a plateful of lima beans. She had to sit on his lap, his sweaty, hairy gut pressing against her stomach, his oily, thick cock forced inside her. He ran his hands through her hair, roughly pulled her closer, and pawed her breasts. His grunting orgasm, which she had at first dreaded, was now a relief: at least that meant it was over. True to his word (at least for now), he let her retreat to the bow. She sat sideways, legs clamped together, keeping a vigil with her GPS display. She looked forward to a scalding shower, with antibacterial soap and steel wool. What a detestable man. There was still the one more ride (at the very least) he was demanding on the way back. Her GPS beeped. "Half a mile," she announced. "Yes Ma'am," he chuckled, hand on the throttle. "About 100 yards out, we slow down." At the spot, Karla peered overboard. Shelves and outcroppings of rock or coral dotted the landscape below, like a Grand Canyon ten feet deep and thirty feet underwater. One island broke the surface a few hundred yards away, with steep rock cliffs. Its neighbor was a bit farther away in the other direction. She strapped on her tanks and her weight belt, to which the rest was hooked. They were probably going to chafe her skin, since Christos had seen fit to jettison her swimsuit. Vague ideas of revenge swirled in her brain as she pitched backward into the water. She broke the surface again, got her bearings, and swam a short distance to align herself between two landmarks (she hoped) in the rock cliffs. She dove in and began to search for anything that looked man-made. Small schools of fish appeared and scattered; larger fish continued on their flight plans, judging her no risk. She saw no sharks so far. She remembered that diving without a buddy was a bad idea; she'd never done that before. But curiosity spurred her on. She mouthed a quick underwater prayer for a safe return, and added one for Christos to repent. Nothing looking like a man-made structure showed up. There was always the chance this dive would come up empty. She surveyed a ridge that seemed to lead toward the island, but was solid. Rock, coral, capped with sand at its end. VS Ch. 01 Sand. She gazed at the sea bottom, the sinuous inch-high dunes formed by the meandering currents. She looked at the ridge again. Could it be, after thousands of years...? She unclasped her spade, and started digging into the hill of sand capping the ridge's end. After several minutes she encountered rocks, loose rocks, which she pulled out and maneuvered to the side. A small cavity opened up. Home for a moray eel? She dug carefully, prying out more rocks. The cave was larger, and as far as she could tell, empty. But she couldn't how far it extended. There was now an opening large enough for her to squeeze through. She clicked on her dive torch. Its multiple LEDs bathed the cave in pale illumination. There appeared to be a tunnel. She carefully swam in. She saw no life of any kind inside. The passage sloped gradually down over a few hundred yards. It would widen to about a school corridor, then narrow unnervingly to a crawlspace, encroaching on both sides. At least there were some places she could turn around. She pressed on, grimacing when her leg scraped, just above the knee, on something sharp on the shallow floor. She maneuvered her knee up, shining the torch on it. In the white light, her skin looked ghoulish. From a ragged wound the size of a pinto bean, blood drifted like smoke. I'll have to see a doctor, she thought. If the cut contained any coral cells, it would need particular attention. Wasn't there a diver who had cut his hand, really just a scratch, and had only treated it with soap and water? She tried to remember. The cut got infected; he ignored it and went to sleep. The next morning, he couldn't move his arm; the coral had colonized and calcified it, in its original position from the night before. His friends called the hospital as he screamed. In the ambulance, his arm snapped at the elbow. There was no blood. In the ER, the doctors amputated at the shoulder, but it was already too late... Christ, Karla, get a hold of yourself, she thought. No such thing ever happened. This spooky place is getting to you. The wound continued to bleed. She imagined a shark outside catching the scent and shivered. Through another squeeze point, which she gingerly navigated, the ceiling sloped up sharply and she broke the surface. For a moment she thought she was on another planet. The sky was full of distant green stars. It took a few moments to figure out where she actually was. She had surfaced in a grotto, hard to tell how high, with glowworms dotting the ceiling. A slight breeze implied fresh air was circulating. She removed her regulator, took an experimental breath, and shut off her tank. The rocky bottom had been filled in with silt. She climbed out of the water. It wasn't quite dry land; the surface felt like wet clay. An inch of mire, cool to the touch, oozed between her toes. She found a rocky shelf clear of the mud, and stripped off her tank, weight belt and other belongings. She kept the torch and surveyed the area. Puddles dotted the clay like tide pools. She noticed movement, focused the torch at a spot ten feet distant and was repulsed to see something crawling along a miniature shore. Several inches long, with about thirty legs, it had no shell or exoskeleton. It was pale pink and probably blind. It made Karla think of a peeled centipede. Unnerved, she played the light out over other pools, the walls, and the ceiling. The grotto had about twenty animals, all unnatural life. More wriggling things the size of insects but with pallid worm-skin. A bladder-thing the size of a handbag, extending bungee-like tendrils and slowly squelching itself across the muck. And climbing the walls, not one but two radial creatures, as wide as dinner plates, crawling on six symmetric arms connected to an eyeless pulpy mass in the center. Karla shivered in revulsion and excitement. The biologists and natural historians will go crazy over this, she thought. Those six-armed things have bones. Does any animal except bugs and marine life have more than four limbs? Besides down here? She stood absolutely still. The creatures seemed to be ignoring her. How extensive was this ecosystem? Were there larger predators? Could she be prey? She spotlighted the handbag creature, which seemed not to notice. Probably everything was blind, and had no need for pigmentation. If that were true, then why did the glowworms glow? There was a lot to figure out here. These animals as naked as I am, she mused, covered in pink skin. She cringed at the unpleasant comparison. She saw no other caves or passageways, except a strange arched portal, clearly artificial, leading somewhere dark. There was only about two feet of clearance, which made her wonder about its purpose. She carefully trod forward, making sure her path was clear of little pink creatures. To step on one of them would be awful; she was sure of that. At the portal, she crouched and shone the torch inside. She saw a room of some sort, maybe three feet floor to ceiling, straight walls, some sort of carving, and- A woman, nude, skin nearly white, buried chest-deep in the floor. Karla gasped. A second look showed that the woman was a statue, marble or travertine or another light-colored stone, but dyed with eerily realistic features. She was on the opposite side of the shallow room, about 12 feet distant. Her eyes had an exaggerated slant, and the severe lids and lashes of Egyptian artwork. Her stylized hair was black and pulled straight back, hanging straight down. Karla put the torch in her mouth, dropped to her knees and crawled in. The muck plastered her knees, hands and feet. No creatures were in the room. She reached the statue, which stared distantly at nothing, and knelt next to it. "You look a little like the Bride of Frankenstein," she said. "Prettier, though. Since I can write your name, but don't know how to pronounce it --" (a common bugaboo of ancient written scripts) "-- why don't I just call you Elsa?" The statue didn't respond; Karla took that as assent. Elsa was beautiful, her face in modern proportions, and seeming a mix of different ethnic groups. She was the size of the Beethoven busts Schroeder used to keep in his closet. Karla tried moving and tilting the statue, but it held fast. She traced a finger in the muck along its front, following the contours of the breasts. The stone continued into the mud. She dug with her fingers, exposing stone nipples the size of large gumdrops (an exaggeration for art's sake, surely), and realized that the statue might actually be full-height, extending to the real floor, which was four feet or so underneath eons of accumulated muck. The room would need to be excavated. She returned to the rock shelf outside, found her ziplocked notes (still dry; good), and brought them back to the statue. Karla sat crosslegged, gazing at the idol. Her notes were vague on exactly how the supplicants had to present themselves; she had been hoping to find an answer here. "So, Elsa... now that I'm here, what do I do? What did the others do? Sacrifice? Dance? Fertility rite?" Elsa gave no hints. Her eyes were slightly crossed and downcast. Her full lips were open just a bit, as if preparing to receive a kiss. "A kiss..." Karla said. Would subjects have walked forward, pressed their lips to hers, as part of the ceremony? There still was much more to learn. If she could kiss Elsa now, seeing her as they did millions of years ago, she might gain more insight into the ceremonies. From where she was, in a seated position as high as the woman's chest, a proper kiss would not be possible. She would have to wait until the muck was dug out, months or maybe years from now. Getting permission to excavate in another country was not the easiest task. Curiosity got the better of her. She dropped to hands and knees and reluctantly lowered herself into the muck, propping up on her elbows. The chilly ooze clung to her thighs, tummy and breasts. She used her thumb to clean Elsa's lips; they seemed mainly dank instead of dirty. The idol seemed hardly worn at all; it had aged incredibly well. Karla realized the vulnerable position her body was in, and hoped those creepy crawlies would not come sniffing around. She stretched forward to kiss. She cried out, breaking contact. The lips were cold at first, but quickly thawed, no longer feeling like stone at all. As if the statue were coming to life. For a moment, her eyes swam with colors, as if she'd pressed her closed eyelids with her thumbs. The idol hadn't moved, of course, but was staring directly forward. Karla touched her lip with a forefinger, tentatively. Still stone. "What are you all about, Elsa?" she said. "Let's try this again." She kissed the idol again. The lips didn't move, but there was still the odd sensation of life, of warmth. Colors flooded her eyes, and she shut them. The visions coalesced less as things she could remember and describe afterward, but as bits of knowledge that implanted in her brain, nestling between the other facts she had learned since childhood. Yes, people here had celebrated using the idol, millions of years ago. They were gone now, no relation to the strain of humans now originating in Africa. No, they did not build the idol. The tribe had built a shrine around the idol, where they had found it. There might have been more, but Karla had stopped understanding, and the knowledge did not take root. Other parts of her body were insistently reporting sensations that were quite familiar, but perhaps unexpected here. Elevated heart rate. Increased sensitivity in the nipples and clitoris. Increased wetness in the vagina. She was getting sexually aroused. Her breasts seemed to swell, her nipples extending into the muck. She shuddered, but still kept her lips touching the idol's. Every sexual experience she'd had, and hundreds that she had not, played in her mind as euphoria flooded through her. The kiss was energizing her as well, in a way she couldn't explain but felt with certainty. Her arms ached with the burden of propping her up as she continued to kiss. Finally Karla orgasmed, gasping, spasming as if electrocuted. Her strength gave away and she slipped back, head collapsing onto folded arms. The idol gazed indifferently forward. She lay motionless for about fifteen minutes, her heart racing. She wearily got up on all fours and retrieved her flashlight. Muck clung to most of her front side like a bizarre wetsuit. "That's enough for today," she told the idol. "We'll come back tomorrow." She crawled back into the main grotto and stood up. Relieved to see her equipment undisturbed, she stepped into the water to scrub herself off. She remembered the wound in her leg and cleaned the area, but couldn't find the wound. "Wait a minute," she said. Wasn't it the left leg? There was a pretty good gash, a few inches above the kneecap. She examined the right leg; no wound there, either. That was strange, she thought; but I probably shouldn't dwell on it. I've got that lovely boat ride to look forward to. My knees are fine; worry about why later. She attached her tank and belt and slid into the water. The boat was still there. Even though he had been paid in full, apparently the promise of another go-around with Karla had kept Christos from abandoning her there. Sometimes a man's greed could be played against itself. He even helped her climb back onboard. He was still repellently naked, and gazed at her with prurient interest. "So what did you find down there, pretty girl? Treasure?" "Didn't find anything," she said. "Hoping the place was there, but it wasn't." "What kind of place?" Prospects of finders' fees or other arrangements brightened his grinning face. She regarded him critically, feeling she could rebuff him on this issue. "Sorry, I'm not allowed to say anything." His face fell. "All right. Since I have been waiting here a long time, before we go, you should-" "No." "I do not think you-" "No," she said. "Bad idea. Why don't you start the engine and take us back to shore." Christos stared for a moment, clearly feeling cheated somehow. Karla crossed her arms, glaring at him, saying nothing. He dropped his gaze and started the engine. "And put your shorts back on. It's disgusting." She leaned against the bow, arms on the hull, legs spread lewdly. This is what you can't have, she thought. What you shouldn't have had. As they pulled toward the dock and the engine slowed, she gave him further instructions. "I was very unsatisfied by this trip. You treated your passenger like shit. That's no way to run a business. So, I'll need the following," she said, and ticked off the rest on her fingers. "One, an apology. Two, a refund of what we paid. Three, money for a new swimsuit. Four, money to replace the cellphone." The total exceeded four hundred euros. "That's more than I make in a month," he protested. She doubted that was true, but it didn't matter. "You should have thought of that earlier." Geez, she thought, trying not to smile. I sound like my mom. "Okay. I will do it." Bernard could see them from the dock now, could see that she was naked, and was starting to freak out. "I'm all right," she yelled, waving. "I'll explain." Christos docked the boat and helped her step out, then hurriedly unloaded her gear. "I'm very sorry, ma'am," he said, managing a bow. "I will return in a few minutes." "What the hell happened?" Bernard said. "Did he hurt you?" "No, no. Bernie, it's okay." She took his hands, which had curled into fists. "He's refunding the money, and we'll get a free trip tomorrow from his friend." "What did he do to you?" Karla's swimsuit wasn't just off, it was gone. "He made me take it off. He said he was going to throw me overboard-" "I knew it! I should have never left you alone-" "Bernie? Bernie. Look at me." She still held his hands, making sure she had his attention. "You saw him. He's completely guilt-ridden about what he was trying to do. He's not a problem anymore." "What did you do to him?" "I got to his conscience." "Did he touch you?" She laughed. "Don't you want to know if I found the site?" "So you're OK?" "Yeah, basically. I mean I'm tired, it was a bad experience at first, but yes, I found what we're looking for. We've both got a ride for tomorrow." "Excellent!" He held out his arms, and, happily, Karla took the hug. "Glad to be back, honey," she said, giving him a big wet kiss that ignited thrills inside him. But Christos was back, a reminder of the charade she had played for him that morning. "It's all I have right now," Christos said, handing her an envelope stuffed with currency. "I'll have the rest from the bank tomorrow." "Thank you, Christos. And we're set up with Demetrious tomorrow as well?" "Of course, of course. Is it OK now?" "Yes. Thank you." Christos seemed relieved to be able to scurry away. "What's that all about?" Bernard asked. She finished counting the money. "He was a naughty boy. He threw my swimsuit overboard, and my cell phone. I simply insisted on replacement cost for both, as well as a refund of his fee." He chuckled. "If this anthropology thing doesn't work out, I think you've got a future in civil law." "Let's go home," she said. "Can you grab my tanks and stuff?" Bernard loaded up and they returned to the cottage. Karla collapsed on the futon sofa. "I know you want the scoop on the site, but I just need to chill for a while. I'll be productive in a couple hours." "No problem," Bernard said. He put their gear away and fetched bottled water from the fridge. He settled into a chair with the digital camera and opened its waterproof case. He powered it on and frowned. She hadn't taken any photos. Any unsecured site they visited one day could be off-limits the next, or even forever: local military, bandits, vandals, storms and earthquakes could seal off or destroy it. Every visit was supposed to be conducted as if it could be the last. You always took as many photos as feasible. "No pictures," he said. She sighed, staring at the ceiling. "It was a really rough day. You weren't there." "I know. I'm not saying you didn't..." She looked up at him. "We'll get everything we need tomorrow. Both of us. Don't worry." He recognized that developing this into a full argument had little point, and let it go. She piled both pillows beneath her head and stretched out lengthwise on her back. The futon was short enough that her feet extended off the other end. This was not enough of a nuisance to keep her awake for long. He watched her sleep for a while, eternally fascinated by her body, gratified that she trusted him enough to willingly leave herself this vulnerable around him. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed, only noticeable if he watched closely. Otherwise, she was still. More had happened with her today, more that she wasn't ready to talk about yet. She had always been self-centered to a degree, which aided in her postgraduate work; as long as she was appealing in other ways, most people would indulge her. Bernard knew enough to mark himself firmly in that group. Yet now she was even more herself, somehow; distinctive traits had been distilled and then poured back in. More headstrong, at the very least. On the boat, she had done something to Christos that had cowed him, changed him from venal lecher to docile attendant. Bernard held no sympathy for the boatsman, but Christos did seem to return as a broken man. For dinner, they walked "downtown": the three blocks of shops and restaurants near the waterfront. Karla's eveningwear was the same thing she usually wore to the village: the miniature green bikini bottom that spent most of the time drip-drying on the shower rack. Bernard stayed in his swim trunks, doubting his half-erection was going to stay a problem all evening. At the cafe they enjoyed attentive service the islands weren't usually known for, all because the owner, chef and servers really enjoyed Karla's company. "You come back for lunch tomorrow?" the owner would ask, all too obviously staring at her bare breasts, and she'd say "no, the food is so good, I'm worried about my weight as it is": another opportunity for the men to look her up and down, remarking what a beautiful woman she was, and how groundless her concerns were. After they ordered, Karla told him what she found at the site, including everything except her kissing the statue and the result. "I wish we could head out now," he said, still aware the sun would set in less than an hour. "That was a good dinner," she said, leaning against him as they walked back. "I like you." "We're a good team," he said, putting his arm around her. Wary, he was reluctant to admit more, part of his mind suggesting she was laying a trap best left unsprung. They walked the rest of the way in silence. Inside the cottage, she asked for the time, and gave a charmingly profane apology. "Brent's going to call, and my phone is at the bottom of the sea. Is it OK if I borrowed your phone and gave him your number? I know it's a huge thing to ask. And I'll pay for all the charges. I feel bad about this, but I hope, you know..." "Okay." He handed her his cell. Without her promise to pay the long distance, such a request, even from the winsomely naked Miss Denstrom, would have been no deal. Talking to the U.S. was over a dollar a minute. "Thank you so much." She dialed, and retreated to her room while it connected. Brent went to his room, changed into boxers, took a new paperback from his suitcase, and lay down to read. Back to normal, as far as Karla was concerned: a good show for him every day, but her heart with her boyfriend back in the U.S. Still calling him every day, and using his phone to boot. Fundamentally he knew this was the likely way things would shake out; against his scientific instincts he cultivated the same sort of hope that prodded even people conversant with statistics to drop five dollars a week on the lottery. VS Ch. 01 After talking to Brent, Karla stretched out on top of her bed. Still too warm to think about getting under the covers, even though it was dark. They had talked for an hour and a half, about his new promotion, and her discovery in the grotto. Yet in all that time, she had not told him about kissing the statue and her surprising orgasm. She had not told him about being stripped and raped by Christos. And she had not told him about letting Bernie make love to her, or even that she spent most of her time around him naked. The sex with Bernie had been fun; as time passed, she seemed to remember it more fondly. Maybe because it had been so naughty, cheating on Brent with a fellow grad student, basically a coworker. Maybe because there had been so much sexual tension, however one-sided, that had been released all at once. If she had been more resourceful, she would have had Bernie do something to make her come. So when was she going to tell Brent all this? If not tonight, when? Karla realized the answer was "never." At least she was being honest with herself. Today's events had infused her with a greater sense of... id, she guessed. One the way out, Christos had violated her. On the way back, she was able to stay his hand. She knew that she loved being naked. She also knew she didn't want other people telling her what to do. No more submitting to lecherous boat pilots, distant boyfriends, officious department heads, or anyone else. From now on, she resolved to do what she wanted. She turned out the lights, checked the doors and windows, and walked into Bernie's room, which was still lit. He had fallen asleep, a book still in his limp hand. She nudged him awake. "Huh?" he said groggily, his eyes adjusting. "Time to go to sleep," she said, smiling. "Scoot over." "S-Sure!" He dropped the book on the floor and made room for her. She climbed in beside him, leaning on one side, facing him. "No fooling around tonight. Just go to sleep." She kissed him on the lips, just once, but enough to make him feel as wired as if he had downed a thermos of coffee. "Good night," she said, and quickly fell asleep. Her gentle breath caressed his neck as she nestled next to him. Bernard lay motionless, but wide awake, for a few hours. VS Ch. 02 Bernard awoke at sunrise, still lightheaded from insufficient sleep, feeling a pleasant warm weight at his side. Karla was there, nude, one thigh overlapping his, an arm across his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. Not a dream, then. His right arm was pinned under her body; his fingertips could graze her hip, and linger on the curves of her ass. He stroked her there and felt her gradually wake up. "Hey, Bernie," she said, sleepily. She leaned up and kissed him on the chin. He returned her kiss, on the lips, and felt the odd sensation of being recharged, of being fueled up as her lips lingered against his. "You keep touching me, you're going to start trouble." "I guess I'm a troublemaker." She climbed atop him, her ample breasts hanging above his face, close enough to lean up and lick her there. The air was already humid, and her breasts had a sheen of sweat: a new taste that he savored. He felt her nipples stiffen between his lips; he heard her long intakes of breath become irregular and fractured. Soon she was ready to yank off his boxers, and he was conspicuously ready as well. They made love, hesitant at first, still exploring and learning, but quickly growing more comfortable and confident with each other. After he came, she kept him inside until he was completely soft. "I'd like to sleep here from now on," she said. "Of course." Something occurred to him, a thought he felt guilty for letting surface. Two days ago, when he awkwardly took her as she lay on the floor, she had been excited about a breakthrough in the research, and magnanimous about indulging him for a few minutes. It had been a fluke, honestly. But this morning was no fluke. This time counted. And if she wanted to sleep with him from now on... She showered, dried off, and padded nude into her room, retrieving a green bikini top he felt he should have recognized. It was the counterpart to the bikini bottom she put on to walk into the village. He didn't know there had been a matching top. "Yes, it's a complete set," she said, putting it on. "It's the backup suit, since the blue one's somewhere in the water. Maybe we could look for it on the way out. Don't swimsuits float?" "I don't know," he said. "After we return, we could run an experiment in the natatorium, Collect all the cute undergrads, and..." "You pervert!" she said, feigning shock. "I never knew that about you!" She leaned up against him, still bottomless, whispering conspiratorially. "So have you been sneaking peeks at me all this time? Naughty thoughts?" "Ever since you started walking around in the buff. The thing is, you were sending out strong 'no' signals until two days ago." "I was. It was fun teasing you, but I had no intention of, you know..." "I can't complain about the new you." She laughed and gave him a quick kiss. The skies were clear and the sea calm as Demetrious piloted them out to where Karla specified. The guide was as docile as Christos had been on the return trip. Bernard shook his head, still puzzled at Christos's transformation. He had been chastened, cowed. Broken. Whatever Karla had said to him, it was not a good idea to get on her bad side. They geared up and slipped underwater. She led him through the tunnel and into the grotto. He found the air dank and stale, but she was right: it was breathable. He took in the full scene around him: constellations of glowworms above, and a fantastic bestiary at the ground. "This is unbelievable. Just as you saw yesterday?" "For a moment, I was afraid we'd surface and there would be nothing here." He unpacked the camera and flash from the waterproof case. "I wonder if we should take some sample bags, take one of the smaller ones back." "I don't know. There are so few of each kind. Who knows how big the ecosystem is here." He snapped a photo of what resembled a cupful of squirming pink spaghetti. "The biologists will go nuts with this." "The tunnel seems to constrict right after here," she said. "I haven't looked further. But the most interesting stuff is in that room." He looked skeptically at the low archway, not even as high as his waist. "A race of pygmies?" "No, I told you. There's four to five feet of silt and muck." She stripped off her bikini, laying it on a damp but clean outcropping of rock. "What are you doing?" "This muck washes off the skin easily enough, but I don't know what it'll do to the fabric. You should strip yours too." He looked back at the creatures, who continued ignoring him; but he didn't relish having his private parts dangling like bait as he crawled around. "I'll take my chances." He lit the room with a torch and followed her in. "Holy shit." "Isn't she beautiful?" "It's like an idealized expression of beauty," he said. "Exotic, a universal blend... everything perfect." He gazed at the statue's dark hair, softly angular face, alabaster shoulders and full breasts, the bottom curves dipped in the muck. "So she's full length?" "I think so. It could take forever to dig this out by hand and find out." He noticed the walls for the first time and shone the torch on them. "There's writing!" Closely-spaced carved characters, with no breaks, covered the four walls, from ceiling to below the artificial floor created by the mud. He started taking overlapping photos. Back at the lab he would stitch them into a panorama. "Linear B?" she said. "That would make sense for early Greek." "I don't think so. Some symbols seem to belong, but many, maybe most... I don't recognize them." He pointed to several unfamiliar characters. "Did you see this yesterday?" "I didn't notice. I know that sounds awful, but I was kind of off balance with what happened on the boat. I saw the statue, got a good look, then headed back. I was worried about a cut on my leg too." "I didn't see that. Where was it?" "Right above the knee, here" -- she raised her right calf awkwardly and pointed to it -- "but it's healed now." He took several photos of the statue from all angles. "I think I've got everything. Is there anything more to see?" "I want to dig a little bit. Bring more of the statue out." Bernard was about to comment on the futility of that, without the right tools, but Karla had already dropped to her stomach, lying in the muck, and dug out wet handfuls from around the statue's breasts. Large nipples were painted with the same dye used for the woman's hair and eyebrows. Karla succeeded in uncovering the breasts, but could not expose more of the torso: brackish water started to seep in and fill the holes she made. "I don't think we'll get far," he said. "There's probably not much to see until we find the pedestal." "You're right," she said, getting up on all fours. Her underside was coated with the dark muck. "Let's head back." In the grotto, she climbed nude into the water, holding her swimsuit above her. "Can you help clean me off?" The sticky mud took some effort. He was thorough, washing and wiping it off her body, letting the water dilute and dissipate it. When he started cleaning her bottom, which had never been dirty, and returned to her breasts yet another time, she watched this with increasing bemusement and alarm. "I think I'm squeaky clean now, Bernie!" He took her in his arms. "You're clean when I say you are." They kissed, and again he felt that shock, almost like touching the leads of a nine-volt battery with his tongue. Their kiss at the cottage hadn't felt this way. The kiss in bed had. Maybe it was the mood. She looked warily at the creatures patrolling the cave floor. Bernard was in the mood for sex now, and the animals probably wouldn't bother them; still, she wanted more privacy. "Bernie, let's go back to the cottage, okay?" They agreed to take the next morning off. There was enough evidence for them to spend the remainder of the trip simply correlating and studying what they had found. Karla ventured behind the cottage, intending to collect some wild lilies and irises. Brent settled on the futon inside with a paperback and a jug of chilled water. Her scream jarred him out of the story. He sprinted outside, where she stood holding her right hand. The fear he saw in her eyes knotted his stomach. "Bee sting," she cried. "I'm allergic. I have to get to a hospital." On the back of her hand, below her ring finger, was a welt the size of a jellybean, angry yellow-white with a corona of red. "You have medicine?" he said. "No, I didn't bring anything!" "Let me think," he said. There was no phone in the house; no directory; and even then, he wouldn't know who to call. It was something they had overlooked in planning the trip. And time was running out. "We have to go downtown. There's that clinic, on the way to the docks. If they can't help, they should know who can." "God, I'm so stupid," she said. "All the way out here... dammit, it hurts!" "You'll be OK," he said, taking her arm. "But we have to go, now." He led her at a brisk pace, almost forcing her to trot to keep up. Her hand was still swelling. He wondered if the treatment would depend on what variety of bee had stung her. There was so little he knew. "Did you get a look at the bee?" "No," she said. "I just felt it land, and then right away it stung." They reached the intersection with the road leading down a gentle slope into town. "Halfway there," Bernard said. Karla was barefoot and nude; he hadn't thought to get her sandals or the bikini bottom she normally put on to go out in public. It was too late now. "How's your hand?" "It still hurts." She showed him. The swelling had at least stopped; it wasn't getting any worse. Karla was looking a little more steady on her feet. The clinic was just a few blocks away. "Let's keep moving," he said. "After this, we have to stay out of the back yard." "It's not so bad now," she said, flexing her hand experimentally. The swelling was subsiding now, looking more like an angry mosquito bite, a uniform shade of red, skin swollen but no longer resembling a boil. "Does that normally happen?" "I don't know. The last time I was stung was when I was four. I went to the hospital. Mom said my whole arm swelled up." Iannis was the physician, Illeana his sister and receptionist. They were going over some records at the front desk when Bernard and Karla rushed in. A tiny waiting room with two chairs led to a single office. Karla explained the sting and her allergic reaction, but felt increasing silly doing so; firstly, because she was standing there naked, with no decent explanation for that, and secondly, the bee sting had completely disappeared. There was no longer any sign of it. "Perhaps a different reaction to bees in this part of the world," Iannis said, still skeptical. "Come into the office, and we will make sure you are well." He was young and dark-haired, with intense eyes and a sharp-ridged nose. Illeana shared those features; twins, perhaps. She raised her eyebrows as the doctor led the nude blonde girl into his office. "Hop up on the table and lay back," Iannis said, closing the door. Her temperature and blood pressure were normal. He took her hand, confirmed that she had been stung there, but saw no sign of venom or a puncture. "Maybe you're allergic only to American bees." "So I guess I'm OK, then?" "If you are outside among flowers, you should wear at least something." He smiled, and allowed himself a glance at her ample breasts, her dusting of pubic hair, and pussy lips that were slightly open. "Otherwise, you could be stung in some sensitive areas." Karla flushed. "I would hate to be stung here," she said, drawing a fingertip along the lower curve of a breast. "Or here," she said, pressing against a nipple that popped back up when she released it. "Or anywhere close to here." She traced down from her pubic bone to her labia. In the waiting room, Bernard and Illeana had little to say to each other; both listened to the muffled voices of doctor and patient. Soon they couldn't hear much at all; perhaps the doctor was examining her, or looking something up. There was a giggle, then a sigh, both from Karla. Illeana looked at Bernard, questioning. Bernard shrugged. There were more muffled giggles; then Iannis saying something too softly to be heard; then unmistakable sounds of grunting, gasping and thrusting. Illeana glared at Bernard, blaming him for this, and then stared at her papers. Bernard threw up his hands. He had no say in this. Minutes later, Iannis escorted Karla into the waiting room. He was dressed again; she was not. An awkward silence hung in the room among the four. "Karla will be fine," he said finally. "No lasting reaction to the sting, and she is in good health." No one said anything more. Bernard paid the receptionist and walked Karla out. "What the hell was that all about?" he said. She scoffed. "You're getting jealous?" "It's a doctor's office! You don't even know him!" "Bernie, you go to church, right?" She took his hand. "You remember the story of the vineyard, and the owner hiring people to help?" "You're giving me a parable?" he said, incredulous. "What I'm saying is, I'm not being unfair to you. It's not some zero-sum thing where this doctor -- who I'll probably never see again -- is taking anything away from you!" "I'm not looking at it that way," he protested. "Then it shouldn't matter," she said, clasping his hand. "I'm with you tonight, Bernard. And every night we have left. I'm so comfortable with you, just like this." She gestured at herself. "When we go back, all this goes away. Let's enjoy it while it lasts." He shook his head. "It's just like I'm along for the ride." Or I am the ride, he thought. "It's not just you or me. It's us." He nodded. "Okay. It's okay." "We're good?" She hugged him, looking into his eyes. "We're good." He pondered these events, and they were silent the rest of the way home. That night, they returned to their favorite cafe, the Eel's Fin. Karla left the cottage wearing sandals, but without the usual bikini bottom. "Going casual tonight?" he said, smiling. "Sure. I was naked downtown this afternoon, and the world didn't come to an end, so..." "I'm not saying I don't favor it. We'll see if anyone else raises a fuss." The service at their table, always extra attentive when Karla was topless, was now obsessive when she was nude. The server knelt beside her as he recited the night's specials, resting a hand on her shoulder and taking more than a peek or two at her body. She took it all in good stride. As they waited for their entrees, she took Bernard's hand and placed it between her legs. She was already moist, and he slipped a fingertip between her pussy lips. "Not yet," she said, pulling his hand an inch away. "Just so you know how much fun this is." She let his hand rest on her thigh for the rest of the meal. Starting that day, Karla spent eleven days in a row without putting on a single item of clothing, an incredible "streak" of sorts that Bernard counted backward to verify. "Next time I can pack a lot less," she said, with a naughty smile. Brent called each night, and Karla professed her love and longing for him as if nothing were out of the ordinary. "No, there really isn't anybody here anyway," she said one night. "And Bernard's here to watch out for me anyway." Bernard chuckled; he was keeping quite a close eye on her. She was straddling him while talking to Brent on the phone; Bernard was still stiff inside her, not moving at first, but then caressing her tempting breasts, dodging her hand as she tried to silently shoo him away. "Don't do that!" she scolded after she hung up with Brent. "You're going to get us both in trouble!" "We have to keep better track of time. We can't be fooling around when eight o'clock comes by." Bernard always remembered the morning of their return to the U.S. as somber, even melancholy. Karla lugged her suitcases out of her lightly-used room to the front door, now completely dressed, in long pants, polo shirt, panties and bra. It was unnatural and wrong. She would have looked no less out of place wearing a burqa. "I know," she said, setting her luggage down. She picked at the waist of her shirt as if it were part of an unfamiliar, ill-fitting formal outfit, for an occasion she was unable to duck out of. "Back to the real world." "Couldn't put it off forever," Bernard said. She strode toward him and hugged him tight, her head on his shoulder. "Come on, Bernie. We had a great time." "We did." He fought the urge to untuck her shirt in the back, reach inside, and unhook her bra; to incrementally reverse this disagreeable process that had led to her body being covered up like this. "You know I won't see you after this," she said. "I know." Back to Bernard. "I understand." He didn't mention that he still held out hope, if not for a real relationship, then for the occasional tryst in the office, when work kept them up late and no one else was in. Surely they couldn't expect to press a giant Reset button, to erase everything that had happened the past two weeks. Things had changed. Karla said so herself. Their last hug was immediately before boarding the plane. Karla's boyfriend Brent met them at the airport in Boston. Their reunion made her fling with Bernard seem like ancient history. He stood with their bags while they embraced and kissed as any passionate couple who had spent a month apart. It was evident who she really liked. The last two weeks had just been an affair of convenience. "Brent, this is Bernard, from the department." She was introducing them. Bernard shook his hand, matching his firm grip, and she was already saying thanks to him, for a good trip, and he shook her hand as well. Her face looked like a mask. He took a shuttle home to Arkham and climbed into a lonely bed. The next morning, Bernard returned to work. As he climbed the worn granite steps to the Armitage building, a feeling of somewhat requited homesickness surprised him. He did have some fondness for the place. The Mediterranean trip was the first time he had spent more than a week away from the department. He was wondering if his first meeting with Karla would be a little awkward when the department head, Professor Preston Shea, ambushed him at the door. "Bernard, glad to have you back. Did you have a pleasant flight? Many of us are understandably quite eager to get caught up on your findings. Perhaps you can do a half-hour talk, say, at 11 this morning?" Bernard chuckled. Shea's blitzkrieg style used to intimidate him, until he figured out that an answer was usually not needed right away. "Professor, I'll need at least a few hours to put something respectable together. Otherwise, I'd just be reading from my notes." "That's fine," said Shea. "I'll work out a time this afternoon." So much for taking it easy the first day back. "Do you know if Karla's coming in?" "She didn't say." "I'll give her a call. Also, you have a new office mate." "As of today?" There were two weeks left in the semester. "She joined about two weeks ago. Here, I'll introduce you." Shea escorted him to his own office and opened the door to reveal a slim woman with long black hair, seated at a vacant desk that had served as his temporary work area, and was now reclaimed for its original purpose. It was nice while it lasted, Bernard thought. All the offices were set up for two people, but he had enjoyed his own for nearly the whole year. "Roz?" Shea said. "This is Bernard Sharpe, back from the trip. Bernard, this is Roswell Wing." Roswell stood up and turned to face them. Bernard was taken aback for a moment; she was quite an attractive woman. "Hi, you can call me Roz, or Rose." She strode forward to shake his hand. She was nearly as tall as he was. "I've been following the dispatches from your trip. I really wish I could have gone along." VS Ch. 02 "I do, too" were the first words to occur to him; thankfully, he had the presence of mind not to blurt them out. Roz was gorgeous, with appealing dark eyes, glossy hair, and a warm smile; snug, dark jeans clad her slim but shapely legs, and a tucked-in polo shirt covered her narrow waist and modest bustline. Her arched brows seemed to add an understated sardonic flavor to her words, even though he guessed that wasn't her intent. "I'm sure there will be more trips," he said. "There's no way we have uncovered everything there." "Roz comes from Seneca College," Shea said. "Background in paleontology and comparative religion. Some would insist those two disciplines would cancel each other out." Bernard chuckled politely and Roz smiled. Here, a bit of sarcasm seemed intended. "I'll let you two get acquainted," Shea said. "Roz, you might want to attend Bernard's presentation this afternoon." "Wouldn't miss it," she said, but Shea was already out the door. Bernard shrugged and shut the door. "You get used to him after a while. He seems all-elbows sometimes, but he's a smart guy. He can tone it down when he has to." "I think he's a good guy to have on our side," she said. "After Seneca, dealing with any guy is a new experience." "That's the all-girls school, huh?" he said. He corrected himself: "Women's." "The one and only. You probably saw the PBS special?" "Pretty fascinating, actually. A top-tier school, and it mainly stays under the radar." "It's very well-known in some narrow fields. Well-connected in some high places." "Did you graduate there?" "Not yet. The transfer to Miskatonic took forever to work out, so that's why I ended up here mid-semester. And I'm technically still with Seneca, and may be part of this pilot program of cooperation between the two schools. They're still not sure where to go with that. Anyway, the research and field work here is head and shoulders above Seneca, so I'm pretty excited to be here." "Cool," he said, immediately wishing he had thought of something more intelligent. Why would a school like Seneca, with a sterling reputation, want to team with a place like Miskatonic? The University was best-of-breed in a few esoteric disciplines (anthropology included); but its image of the fringe, the crackpot and the occult was unshakable (and well-earned). "Um, anyway," he said, still fumbling, "I have to be heads down for a while to get this presentation ready." "No problem. I wish I could peek through your stuff." "A lot of it's already scanned and uploaded on the network." He gave her the location. She uttered a quick "Thanks!" and turned to her computer. He spread out his notes and started an outline. Adjusting to someone else working in the office was not as bad as Bernard expected; though he found himself regarding Roz with a very lenient eye. Occasionally she would let forth an inadvertent "Wow!" followed by a hushed "Sorry!", which he found charming. No, it wouldn't be bad having her around at all. At one point she could not resist interrupting him. "That's Aysheaia!" she said to herself, a word he overheard but did not recognize. "Bernie? I'm sorry, can I ask you one question?" He rolled his chair over. On her monitor was one of his photos from the cave: a pale worm-thing with stout legs, and in place of the head a large mouth, ringed with feelers and flanked with two stubby arms. The creature was about as long as his hand. "Was this alive when you took the photo?" she said. "Yeah, they all were." "A lot of these animals appear to be new phyla, but this one we've seen before. Burgess Shale, in British Columbia." "You're serious? That exists somewhere else?" He could picture this happening only in terms of animal life escaping from the grotto. A migration of thousands of miles from that unique habitat seemed unlikely. "It used to. Five hundred million years ago, in the Lower Cambrian era. That's when animal life started to really diversify. Everything was soft-bodied, so fossils are hard to find." She brought up a browser and searched through images until she found a rendering she liked. She arranged that drawing and his photo side by side. "That's a good catch," he said, in admiration. "I wouldn't even have known what to look for." She took a breath. "This may be as big as the Burgess Shale was for natural historians. Probably bigger, since these animals are live. And if this onycophoran you have here, this velvet worm, is actually Aysheaia, then... wow. People have made careers out of less than this." Careers have just as easily been destroyed, he thought. She would have to be careful. "We just stumbled across them. It wasn't even what we were studying." "I know; I'm sorry. I promise I'll stop bothering you for a while." Roz turned back to her monitor. Bernard was not bothered at all; indeed, he was really enjoying her company. Casually, he said, "I'm heading out to lunch. You want to come along?" She turned back. "Sure. Where are you taking me?" Well, that was easy. "There's a little cafe on the river. About three blocks away." There was a persistent chill in the air, even in mid-May. Arkham was a city perpetually steeped in late October: gnarled trees with scant leaves, gray skies, and buildings of dark granite, brownstone and brick. Bernard missed the sun-bleached pastels of the Mediterranean. The Greek Islands and eastern Massachusetts shared not a single hue in common. "I've never been this direction," Roz marveled. "I normally love to explore these small cities. But I've been here two weeks and really haven't walked anywhere. I keep putting it off." "There are parts I haven't seen either." He slid his hands into his pockets. "Arkham doesn't seem to reward the curious. There are these old textile mills down the river, shut down decades ago. The quietest place you've ever been. You feel like you're the last person alive on earth. And if you do hear things, from inside those brick buildings, that's even worse." Her eyebrows raised in alarm. "I'll stick to the less spooky areas." "Downtown and the river is fine. If you like restaurants and antique shops." They bought sandwiches and Italian sodas, and walked out to a triangular plaza flanking the river. Six round tables were set up, all of them unoccupied. They chose one that temporarily had some sunlight. After unwrapping her sandwich, she peered at him. "You're not the least interested in my name?" Roswell Wing? Certainly some questions were filed away in the back of his mind. "I don't tend to question or make fun of people's names. I'm just worried it's disrespectful." He paused, glancing at her, then sipped his drink. "Though it sounds like you have an interesting story." "Not really," she said. "My father was a pilot -- 'Wing', good name for it -- and he was really into UFOs right around the time I was born. That was it. I think because it sounds British, he felt that added some extra prestige." "I think it's pretty cool." "It used to be annoying, about ten years ago, when the Area 51 thing reached its peak. But not so much now. I like it." "Do you have brothers and sisters?" "Just one, two years younger. Her name's Jodie. I guess Dad's UFO phase had passed." He shrugged. "As for me, I just have my great grandfather's name. The weight of historical precedent." She smiled. "Well, if I'm an alien airbase, I guess you've got a barrel of whiskey around your neck." "Touché." She changed the subject. "Your friend didn't make it in today, huh?" Friend? Of course. Karla. How little thought he had given her surprised him. "No. I guess not. Though it was a long flight. She might need some rest." He grinned. "Her boyfriend picked her up at the airport. He might have had other plans." "That's probably it," she laughed. "A month is a long time to be away. Was she getting a little crazy toward the end?" Bernard paused, sucked in a breath. "No. No, she was OK. It helped that she had her cell phone. They talked every night." "As much as I want to go, I hadn't really thought about being gone that long." From the sound of that, Roz had a guy, then. "But at Seneca, aren't you similarly cut off?" "We can still leave campus. My boyfriend could even meet me in town, stay at a hotel over the weekend." Damn. So she was taken. He was already thinking of her in terms of a potential date. "If I had to spend a month away," she continued, "ten thousand miles away, I think I'd be getting a little agitated." She gave him a wicked grin. "You'd have to lock your door." Screw that, I'd prop it open, he thought. He hoped that his face was not flushing. Just the thought... "How are you holding up now, if your guy's back in New York?" "It's actually better here," she said. "He's at Harvard." Double damn. "Cool," he said. "It's good to have someone you love close by. Are you ready to head back?" He cleared the table, taking their plates back inside. As they walked back, she placed her arm around him, hand on his shoulder, for just a moment. "I like this. It's good to have someone to have lunch with." They crossed Parsonage Street. "How about I pick a place for us tomorrow?" Stop toying with my heart, Bernard thought. Even though I know you're not. As the day passed, that thought faded. Friendship, flirtation, that wasn't all bad. Perhaps he was the one making something out of nothing, on the rebound from a torrid non-romance with Karla, something that would have never happened unless they were stuck together in a small cottage, in tropical weather, on the other side of the planet from home. Companionship with Roz could be enjoyed, even though her heart was elsewhere. And if she joined him on a field trip... he shook his head to clear the image of her naked, sex-starved, beating down his door. It wasn't nice to think those thoughts about a coworker, was it? His presentation that afternoon went well, though the audience was daunting: Shea had brought in esteemed professors from Harvard, Yale, the University of Chicago, and Cambridge. He recognized many names from journals, and some faces from prior conferences. He persevered with a good outline, strong source material, and the occasional glance to Roz as a friendly face in the crowd. The afternoon took him away from the office, and it was early evening when he returned. He swung the door open to a shriek from Roz, who had not expected him. Her back was turned and she was undressing, wearing only a set of very small, coal-black panties. Her back and legs and arms were bare. She clasped her hands to her breasts, even though at that angle he wouldn't have seen anything. "I'm sorry! I didn't know," he said. "It's okay," she said. "I need your help anyway. Stick around." He shut the door behind him. She looked so graceful, all subtle curves, shoulders dropping away from a beautiful neck, with her glossy hair draped between them. Drawing most of his attention was her small butt, barely covered in a snug triangle of black. "I'm still not used to sharing the office, I guess," he said. "Sorry for barging in." "I have to remember the same thing," she said. "I no longer have the place to myself." She reached for a slinky-looking black dress, looking more liquid than solid, and Bernard got a brief side glimpse of one breast. She stepped into the dress; he had one more peek before she pulled it up. "Can you zip me up? Those last few inches are tough to reach." He forced his hands to steady themselves. Okay, Bernard, he thought; this confirms you have a serious crush on this woman. First day back at the office. Good going. He found the small zipperhead, tucked against the small of her back, her skin warm to the touch. He carefully zipped her up. "Thanks!" she said. "Good thing you were here. That's much easier." "Special event tonight?" "Fancy dinner at the medical school." She laughed. "Might be a little boring, but it should be the safest place in Boston. All those doctors." She turned toward him. "How does it look? Anything out of place?" He held his breath. It was a black sheath dress, sleeveless, ending above the knee; a dramatic choice for her slim figure. It did not try to flaunt cleavage she didn't have anyway, but the thin material made it apparent she wasn't wearing a bra. Should he even admit to having noticed that? Was it intentional? He had to guess "no" and "yes" to those questions. A look in the mirror would easily confirm it for her. Not his place to comment. "Looks good," he said. "Really good." Dammit, Bernard, just quit while you're ahead, he thought. "Thanks," she said, taking her handbag. "I'll get the other clothes tomorrow. Lock up for me, I won't be back tonight." "Have fun." Bernard watched her leave. Her boyfriend was a lucky man. His dream that night was vivid and intense; even days later he remembered every detail. He was underwater, above a ruined city on the ocean floor. Centuries of currents had smudged fine stonework; colonies of coral were growing old linear structures into new, tumorous shapes. Plants snaked along columns and sprouted out of doorways, swaying in the drifting currents. A tiled plaza had been cleared. At its center was the statue from the cave, a nude woman standing full length on a small pedestal. Brilliant dyes marked the woman's eyes, hair, nipples, and pubic area. She gazed serenely forward, where Karla was swimming in lazy figure eights, about twenty feet distant. Nude, Karla looked as radiant and beautiful as ever. Bernard ached as he realized how much he missed her. Her face, breasts, arms, legs and butt were unchanged; he was familiar enough with those. But her hands and feet had adapted visibly to underwater life. She glided effortlessly and sinuously in the water like a slender eel, without the water-pounding ungainly strokes of a human swimmer. Nor was she encumbered by the human need to periodically surface for air. She banked and glided toward the statue. She grasped its shoulders and pulled her body to it, wrapping her legs around its waist. For a while she floated there, nose to nose with the stone idol, her soft breasts pressed against its unyielding stone bosom, as she gazed into its painted eyes. She leaned forward and kissed the statue; after several seconds its eyes closed. When the statue's eyes sprung open, it had come to life. Still pale of skin, with jet black hair and dark nipples providing stark contrast, the statue moved, and her now-soft skin yielded as Karla touched it. They drifted upward, off the pedestal, and hovered in the water. Karla nibbled the woman's chin, her neck, and her breasts. The woman's eyes closed and her dark hair swayed. Karla let herself sink further, her lips at the woman's belly, then her pubic mound, then between her legs. The woman's head leaned back, her eyes shut and her mouth open. Bernard realized he couldn't hear anything; the scene had progressed silently. Karla gripped her bottom, her spread fingers dimpling the woman's pliant flesh. The woman's legs bent and gripped Karla's head - And that was it. Bernard woke up at 4:11 am. Probably lingering jet lag interrupting his sleep. He rolled over, hoping to continue the dream where it left off, but the remainder of his sleep was dreamless. Karla didn't show up the next day. Professor Shea was getting restless, and had already left a few messages at her home. As her cell phone was at the bottom of the Mediterranean (a long story that Bernard did not wish to tell), and no one knew Brent's last name, much less his number, there was no way to reach her. "I think she has to be gone 48 hours before we can report it," said a staffmember overhearing the conversation. "Then we'll call at three," Shea said. Roz noticed Bernard's mounting unease at lunchtime. "I hope she's all right," she said. "I wish she was. I can tell you care very much for her." He chose his words carefully. "I'm worried about her. We've been working fairly closely since August, even before the trip. And she's a good person. You'll find that out when she comes back. I really don't want anything bad to happen to her." She lay a hand on his shoulder. "There's not much more we can do right now. We'll get help, and we'll find her." His work was an effective distraction; but at home, alone, his mind mulled over the problem obsessively. Had he done something to set Karla off? Did she feel taken advantage of, hurt, betrayed? Was she reluctant to be near him now that they were back to normal life? Or (as he tried to not let feelings of guilt overwhelm him) was she simply taking a few days off with Brent? That was the most reassuring explanation, and it held until later that evening, when Brent knocked at his door. "Hello, Brent. Is Karla with you?" "No. Funny thing; I haven't seen her in two days. Nobody seems to know where she is. But I figured you might." "Come in," he said, in part buying time to ponder what Brent had said. Did he know? He led Brent to the couch, and perched on a side chair. "Brent, I haven't seen her since you picked her up at the airport. I figured she would be with you." "She said she was bushed," Brent said, leaning back and folding his arms. "I took her home, and she went to sleep. I called her that night and she was gone." "At the office, we figured she might take a day off. We didn't try contacting her until today." Brent leaned forward. "What happened out there, Bernard?" "Uh, what do you mean? There was the site, the studies... a basic field expedition." "No, about halfway through. Something changed about her. She was saying the same things over the phone, but it sounded different. Like she was distracted or something. Then the first time I see her, after a fucking month living with you, she takes off. So you can understand why I'm really curious about what happened, when she was out there, alone, with you." Bernard hoped he didn't look as guilty as he felt. "I didn't notice anything different. But you know her a lot better than I do." "So nothing funny happened?" "No!" "And you haven't seen her or heard from her at all since the airport?" Here, he was relieved to be able to tell the truth. "No, not at all." Brent surveyed the living room, peering into the darkened hallway, as if Karla were being kept in hiding. He shook his head, obviously unsatisfied with the interview. He stood up and handed Bernard a business card. "If you hear anything, I want you to call me." "Of course. And if you hear something... call Anthropology at Miskatonic. After hours, it'll page someone." He showed Brent to the door. After it shut, he shivered; he had dodged a bullet. Well, now what? he wondered. Even if there were a family emergency, Karla would have taken the few moments to leave a quick message at the University. Playing hooky with her boyfriend was the last pleasant explanation left for her sudden disappearance; and Brent had just popped that bubble. He could probably look forward to talking with the police, tomorrow or the day after. It was time to get his story straight. Should he strictly deny any romantic involvement? They would probably suspect it anyway. And with Brent, he had already chosen that course. But if any discrepancy came out, he would automatically be a prime suspect in her disappearance. And what if, in a way he couldn't picture, telling the truth might lead them to a clue how she could be found? Then lying to preserve himself would only keep her in danger. All this would be fixed, though, if she would pick up the phone and call someone. Dammit, Karla, he thought. Where are you? VS Ch. 03 DENISE ZELLNER LOS SANTOS, CALIF. JUNE Here's how it started, at least for me. I was actually one of the first, even before Kathy and Barbara. They want me to tell what happened that day as I experienced it, without filling in all the things we figured out later. My story is just one piece in a big (and still incomplete) puzzle. It was a Saturday afternoon, the first weekend after my high school graduation. It was the first scorching hot day of the year, where the weather seemed to say "It's summer now, get used to it." Hot enough to be uncomfortable, unless you had the luxury of having no plans at all, and could put on a swimsuit, walk into the back yard, and settle down with an iced tea and a trashy paperback. That's what I was doing. I had my phone with me, just in case, thinking I might hook up later with our group: my best friend Wendy (friends since soccer camp, ten years ago); Erin, who was going to UCI with Wendy; and Diane, who knew Erin at first before we all met. Diane was the oldest of us, almost 22, also at UCI. Her parents were loaded and she lived in this huge house in a gated community up in the foothills. We all had been hanging out together since Christmas break, and even though I wasn't starting college until next year, I never felt like I didn't belong. About 3 pm, Wendy called. "Hey, D, whatcha doing?" "Nothing!" I said. It sounded kind of defiant. "It feels great!" "'Nothing', like staring at the walls, nothing?" "Actually, laying out." I turned over my book to check the cover. "Reading 'Surrender to Passion.'" "Sounds boring," she said. We knew we could razz each other, and often did. "Want to do something better?" "Like what?" "Go to Diane's and take a dip in her pool. She's inviting us." "Sure!" "How soon can you be ready? I'll pick you up." "What do I need to bring?" "Just your swimsuit. She's got towels and everything." "Then I'm ready right now!" "See you out front," she said. I had been to Diane's before, but only at night, and never in her pool. No doubt it would be spectacular. Anyway, the sun had gotten hot and I was really looking forward to cooling off. When I got back inside, the doorbell rang; Wendy was already here. She must have called as she was pulling in the driveway. "Mom, I'm going with Wendy to Diane's," I called out. Mom had met them both, and had no problem with me going. We both knew that next year in college, she wouldn't have any say. Wendy was wearing a blue bikini top and a sarong wrapped around her waist. "You're looking fine," I teased, sashaying out the door. "You're all set for the Olympic finals," she said, smirking. She had me there. I was wearing a one-piece red swimsuit that was pretty modest. It bared my upper back, going down about halfway, but only had a little bit of a scoop neckline in front. Even so, I would catch guys sneaking a peek, especially if I bent forward. But it wasn't a big attention-getter. Made for swimming instead of tanning. I actually liked it that way. After years of playing soccer, going on hikes and other "tomboy" stuff, I got a late start at doing "girly" stuff. Wendy says my body developed into a woman's before my mind did. Even at 18 I preferred the functional one-piece suit over a flamboyant bikini. It seemed more honest. More like me. Erin was already there when we arrived at Diane's, and they greeted us with glasses of white wine. I wasn't used to drinking wine without a meal; I sipped a little bit as Diane ushered us through to the pool, and then put it aside. The pool was gorgeous, like what you'd find at a resort, surrounded by a curving tiled wall, veranda, and large deck with deluxe lounge chairs. The water was just the right temperature: a little chilly until you got used to it. Wendy dove underwater a few times; I watched her blue bikini ripple and blur as she reached the deep end. Erin wore a white one that showed off her curves. She was content to just lean against the wall and watch us swim. Diane wore this sleek white one-piece with a deep neckline and almost no sides. When wet, it turned transparent. "I can't wear this outside the house," she laughed. I couldn't picture myself wearing it anywhere. I would have been terrified. The other three stayed in with me for a while, then dried off and stretched out on the lounge chairs. I swam underwater, enjoying the respite from the world above. The water must have been 12 feet deep at the end; I let myself drift down until my ears hurt. I could imagine I was flying, making lazy circles under the clouds. After a while, I was ready for some sun, and climbed out. I just stood there, water dripping off me, forming a puddle by the ladder. The scene before me showed that there were a few things about my friends I didn't know. Wendy was asleep, or just resting her eyes, lying on her back. Her bikini top was on the deck next to her, looking like a spilled drink. We'd been friends for years, and I had never seen her topless. She was slim, and her breasts were small, unlike mine. She had slight tanlines, not much of a tan yet. Her bikini bottom looked very small compared to all the exposed skin. I hoped she had put on sunscreen. Erin was walking back from the kitchen with some water bottles. She had also taken off her top, and seemed entirely at ease like that. She had an enviable figure I couldn't help comparing to mine. I have a good-sized chest, and I've always been physically fit; but she had those subtle differences, those curves in just the right places, that made a big difference. She could totally turn heads at the beach. "Oh, thank you," Diane said, taking a bottle. She was sitting upright, and she had taken everything off. Her legs were apart; she didn't bother hiding anything. She behaved like being naked outside was no big thing. I'd had no idea she was into this. She must have noticed me staring. "Denise, are you OK? It looks like you saw a ghost!" "Aren't you worried people will see you like that?" Neighboring houses had second-floor windows with a view. I glanced up, but saw only reflections of a cloudless sky. "Not really. The whole community really values privacy. That's why you have the gates and fences and big houses. Most of the neighbors don't even know each other." I toweled off and laid down. From our chairs, we had a great view of the hills over the fence. Someone out there would be able to see in, too. "It's pretty secluded," said Erin. "Except for the high school kid next door. He's looking out from between his curtains. I think he has a crush on Diane." "Where?" I said, looking up, and she laughed. "Just kidding," she said. "Playing with you." I forced a laugh. "It's okay." "I guess you're not very adventurous, are you?" "I'm not chicken," I wanted to clarify. "I'm just not much for being naked outside." "Have you fooled around with guys yet?" she asked. "A few times. But... I want it to be special. You know... not just with anyone." I shrugged, unable to think of a really succinct way of putting it. I wasn't entirely happy with this line of questioning. "Well, good for her," Diane announced. "I have a niece, only 13 years old, and she wants to dress like Paris Hilton already, with makeup, miniskirt and crop top. That's way too young, you know?" I didn't like being compared to a 13-year-old; and anyway, this was a funny comment to hear from a woman sitting there nude. But I liked Diane a lot. She was just 3 years older than me, but had a lot more wisdom than the rest of us. If I had a really cool big sister, she would be like Diane. Erin had somewhat of an edge to her, sometimes stirring up mischief, though I wouldn't say she was mean. It's just that Diane looked out for people more. Wendy was a friend from way back, but I could feel us drifting apart a little. Going to different colleges would change things unavoidably. She used to play soccer with me, and we would go walking in the woods when either one of us was feeling stressed. One summer my parents invited her to come along with us to Maui. She was standing up now, and peeled off her bikini bottoms. She had either trimmed or waxed, because her pubic hair was a thin strip. Naked, she sat back down and closed her eyes again. I wondered if she had been doing this for a long time, but I didn't want to ask in front of the others. We stayed there for the rest of the afternoon, talking about various things and just relaxing. I tried not to stare at their bodies, but it was hard not to look. Diane had a model's body, slender with small breasts, and a refined face with fine blonde hair. Wendy had a similar body, but looked more like the cute girl next door: a few freckles, pert nose, and wavy brown hair. I hoped they didn't expect me to strip too. I didn't want to. But I was starting to feel peer pressure, and starting to feel like the little kid in the group. Eventually the topic of what to do that night came up, and none of us had really made plans. Diane suggested that we go run our suits through a quick wash, then go home and change, and go downtown for dinner. That sounded great, and we went inside. Erin stepped out of her bikini bottom on the patio steps. All three were naked now, and they walked over to the laundry room carrying their swimsuits. I wanted to ask where the bathroom was, so I could strip in private and then put on a towel. But I hesitated, worried I would sound like a prude (or worse, a little kid), and then I had to follow them anyway so I could ask. By then they were already dropping their suits in the washer. Now my request would sound silly since I was already there. I stood there for a moment until Diane said, "Denise, go ahead." I pulled at the straps of my suit gingerly, freeing my shoulders. "Don't worry," Diane said. "It's just us." The last thing I wanted to do was make a scene, to stand out. I braced myself, like preparing to rip off a band-aid, and peeled off my suit quickly. I dropped it in and tried to act casual instead of self-conscious. "Hey, she's hot," said Erin, grinning, checking me out. Diane shot her a quick stern look: don't tease. I still wanted to get a towel. Even with my friends, inside, where no one could see; even though they were all naked too; I instinctively wanted to cover up. The phone rang in the kitchen. We could see it from where we stood. Diane walked over and took the call. I couldn't conceive of doing what she did, just standing against the countertop, naked, with a huge sliding glass door and window behind her. I would have felt like I was in a fishbowl. "I wonder who it is?" Wendy whispered. "Gotta be a boyfriend," Erin said. "Look at the way she's talking to him." "If he had any idea there were four naked chicks here, he'd drop the phone and drive over," Wendy joked. I felt a hand on my bottom: Erin's. "Cute butt," she whispered, teasing again. I wanted to move forward, but Wendy was blocking me. Another inch, and my boobs would be pressing into her back. I didn't want that. I squirmed to the side, but Erin kept her hand there. I was basically trapped. Diane spoke animatedly, twirling her hair, laughing, sitting on a stool, then hopping off. She seemed to be much more absorbed in the conversation than her surroundings. What surprised us was when her free hand drifted between her legs and then stayed there. Gently tapping and stroking, with the tips of her fingers. Had she forgotten we were here? I was finding out so many things about my friends that it seemed I didn't even know them anymore. Maybe she had told him what she was wearing, or not wearing, and their talk had taken an erotic turn. "Oh my god, look!" Erin whispered. It looked like Diane was about to insert a fingertip inside. Then she saw us, glared at us, and turned away. We could only see from the back, but it seemed like she was still doing it. Now I was feeling a little uncomfortable. Was she mad at me? Were we intruding? Should we go? Erin was still teasing me, kind of tickling I guess, her fingertips gently stroking the curves where my butt joined my upper thigh. I wasn't really ticklish there; just a little bit, I guess, but mainly the sensation was making me shiver instead of laugh. She was totally invading my personal space. She was very surreptitious about it; Wendy and Diane wouldn't have noticed. Diane hung up and turned toward us, smiling. I guess she never stayed upset for long. Or maybe it was the news she had: Her boyfriend had a block of extra tickets to see the Grey Caps that night! All of us could go if we wanted. That settled our plans for the night in a hurry. I guess I should talk a little about the Caps. They were red hot now, but years from now people might wonder who I was talking about. Tickets to the Grey Caps were impossible to get. They had the number one selling CD, single, ringtone, download, school lunch box, everything. Their songs had this menacing, suggestive groove; even the songs that were not about sex were still about sex. And there were these strange rumors swirling around the Caps, too: bizarre stuff like them not really being human, not eating, not even breathing. Like mushrooms. How could stuff like that persist? I mean, how can you sing if you don't breathe? Much of their fame or infamy came from the "Underground" video. It was shown on TV exactly once, on a Saturday midnight premiere on MTV. The uproar was so huge that all the stations were saying they could no longer play it. (You can still see it, though; It's all over the Internet.) The video wasn't really groundbreaking: just the four Caps playing a house party, with concert scenes, dancing and stuff. There must be a billion videos like that. But in "Underground," all the dancing women, all the girls at the party, were naked, head to toe. Their naughty bits were digitally censored, not with pixel blurs, but old-fashioned black bars that covered up just what they needed to. Each girl had a narrow horizontal bar at her breasts, basically from one nipple to the other, and a little square between her legs. In order not to reveal anything they shouldn't, these bars moved in near-perfect sync with the girls as they danced. That was probably bad enough for the conservative groups. But the bars were only used when the camera had a frontal view. If a girl was shown from the back, nothing was covered, so there were lots of bare bottoms. Even from the side view, the girls weren't censored, so you did spot some bare breasts, but only partially. My lab partner confessed he had fallen in love with "the Asian girl" in the video, and that if I watched it, I'd know which one he meant. I basically told him that telling me this creeped me out, so he stopped. He might still be searching the net, trying to find out who she is. The totally uncensored version of the video, if it exists, is a holy grail for most of the guys. As far as I've overheard, no one has found it. Wendy had the video sitting on her hard drive, so we looked through it. The Asian girl showed up, and yes, I kind of remembered her. She was in a group of three. She was seen first from the back, swiveling her bare bottom, her long hair swishing side to side. She looked over her shoulder and turned a little, and she was definitely flirting with the camera. No wonder the guys liked her. She moved into a side view, even a little toward the front, and still nothing was censored. Her large breasts swayed up and down. Her hard nipples were the color and size of chocolate bonbons; probably just as tasty for guys. As she twisted, you could often see both, though still from mainly a side view. A few times, we saw a flash of black pubic hair, as her hips rotated to just the right position, and it was still not covered. It seemed the producer was deliberately being careless with this girl. Only when she turned fully to the front, and started dancing toward the camera, did the black bars finally flicker on. We agreed this was totally unfair: where were the buck-naked men? And why, when the video lingered on the bodies of these hot young women, did we never really get a good look at the Caps themselves? We didn't really know what they looked like. Still, we absolutely wanted to go to that concert. You should have seen us hugging and high-fiving when Diane said she had tickets for us. We would have to go pretty soon, though. Diane brought Erin's and Wendy's bags, and they changed into street clothes. "Denise, you didn't bring clothes?" Diane said. "Nope. All I have is the suit, and it's in the wash!" She thought for a second, and said, "I've got just the thing for you." She brought me a huge white towel, even bigger than a beach towel, lusciously soft and smelling fresh out of the dryer. "You can wear this in the car, and we'll drop you off at your house." I wrapped it around me, and it covered from my shoulders almost to my ankles; I had never seen a towel this big. And it felt delicious against my skin. I demanded to know where it was from, but she didn't know; her parents had purchased a set somewhere in Europe. Wendy drove back alone to run a quick errand, and Erin and I rode in Diane's Mercedes. It was luxurious and roomy, and with the sumptuous towel it seemed like I was getting limo service to a spa. Diane took another call, and this one was short. Afterward, she asked if it was OK if we picked up two guys on the way. She said I would know Rob, one of them. I didn't like that; the boys would be sitting with me in the back, and I was still naked under this towel. I asked if she could drop me off first. "Actually, we're going over to Erin's and then the concert. It's on the way. She has some clothes that should fit you." I didn't want to insist on being the wet blanket, so I went along with it. At Rob's house, I stayed in the car while Diane went to their front door. I recognized Rob from a few years ago; he had been a senior in band when I was a freshman. He had grown into a pretty handsome man. Terry was the other guy, and he looked about 25. Terry took the left seat, Rob the right, with me in the middle. Terry offered a handshake and I had to maneuver an arm out of the voluminous folds of towel protecting me. I could tell he was wondering what I had on underneath. Well, none of his business. I didn't like him much already. To put him aside, I talked to Rob instead, catching up on news about some friends we had in common. He said he was majoring in sports therapy. Erin overheard this and said, "He gives a greeeat shoulder massage. You ought to have him do you." "No, no thanks," I said. "It's pretty chaste," Rob said. "The goal is to loosen and strengthen muscles around the neck and shoulders, not to seduce a person. Teammates give them to each other, and you don't have to have clothes off. I mean, you could leave the towel on." "Oh, Rob, admit it," said Erin. "The best massage is where the woman is naked, you're naked, and you have a happy ending." Diane tossed a lightly scolding "Erin!" her way. Rob was getting defensive. "It's really not that way! Denise, here, turn your back to me. If at any time it hurts or you feel uncomfortable, just say stop." I felt boxed in again. I didn't want to turn down something that seemed so reasonable. And I told myself I could always say "stop" later. I didn't want to look at Terry head-on, so I inched closer to Rob and then faced diagonally, toward the driver's seat. He started very gently, so that it almost felt that the towel itself was doing the work. After a while he added pressure, working with his thumbs and palms, and I had to admit, doing a really good job. I didn't realize how tight my muscles were, but I could feel them relaxing under his touch. He never touched bare skin; he only worked through the towel. I felt warmth around my shoulders and neck, just as if I were back in the sun. VS Ch. 03 Terry was talking with Erin and had apparently lost interest in what Rob was doing. That was nice; a little more privacy. I would be happy with Rob continuing until we got to her house. If I didn't fall asleep first; it was very cozy and comfy. And I felt myself rationalizing that technically Rob was a friend, and I knew he was a good guy, and I sure would like to feel how the massage was on bare skin. "Here, wait a minute," I said. I wriggled one arm out of the towel and held it up while I freed the other. I leaned forward and the towel drooped in the back, baring my shoulders. I kept it crossed over my breasts like a bandeau, or a wedding dress, and folded my arms to keep it there. "Okay," I said, and Rob resumed. His touch wasn't sexual at all, but it was friendly, and it seemed to be doing me a world of good. Terry looked at me, raised his eyebrows, but then actually blushed and turned away. Maybe he wasn't a total creep after all. Rob's fingertips on my bare skin spread warmth throughout me, and I think I fell asleep very fast. It was like falling into warm water. I was back in Diane's pool, and jetting underwater like a minnow, enjoying the weightless feeling of being immersed. I wasn't wearing my suit. Not that I had simply taken it off; instead, it seemed like I had stopped wearing one. I came up for air and then dove again, like a dolphin. Suddenly the pool was larger, much larger. The walls disappeared and the water grew salty. It was dark around me now, except for a rippling rectangle of light, high above, that I understood was the surface of the pool. I looked down, and saw a bird's-eye night view of a city. It was like flying into LA at night; everything that would otherwise be invisible was outlined in little dots of light. The more I looked, the more I noticed how different this city was. There were no patterns, no straight lines or rivers or freeways outlined by the lights. Shapes and colors were random, more grown than planned. And the lights were the cool phosphorescent colors of the deep, without the power to illuminate anything around them. Each light attracted attention only to itself. Every light belonged to some living creature. I didn't see movement at first, other than some blinks in sequence, rippling like dominos, the sort of light patterns some jellyfish make. But then I saw huge dark things peel themselves away from the city, drifting upward. I had no idea how large they were. Aside from the lights covering them, I would not have seen anything. I saw no faces or anything; but the way they moved, slow and deliberate, looked evil. It was time to get out of the water. I darted toward the rectangle of sunlight above, not daring to look back. When I surfaced, I was back in Diane's pool, surrounded by reassuring blue concrete. The city in the sea was gone, and my earlier fear seemed to drain away. As I climbed out, I was mainly feeling guilty about swimming nude in her pool, as if she had said "make yourself at home" and I had taken it too far. When I saw Erin and Diane, I no longer worried about even that. Diane was leaning back in her lounge chair, talking on the phone, and she was nude. Her left hand held the phone; her right hand caressed her left breast, thumb teasing the nipple. This all seemed normal, given what had happened earlier at her house. Erin, however, was also naked, and had folded a towel to give her a place to kneel. I didn't see their swimsuits anywhere. She was leaning forward and licking Diane between her legs. Diane was enjoying this for a while, and then Erin must have done something, found the right spot, and Diane spasmed, as if electrocuted, and dropped the phone. She clasped her lounge chair with both hands and closed her eyes. Was anyone truly looking from the neighbor's house? He would have had quite a show. Diane shuddered and moaned as Erin licked her. Her breasts quivered, her nipples stiffened, and her feet lifted off the ground. This was very hot. I couldn't decide if I wanted to take Diane's place, or Erin's. I touched myself as I watched. Diane climaxed and lay sprawled on the lounge, exhausted, her breasts rising and falling as she breathed heavily. Her legs were spread in a very immodest manner. Erin stood up, all buoyant breasts and curved hips, and I felt this sudden strong attraction to her. She walked toward me, with a warm smile. I saw her thin blonde pubic hair, barely there, and wet vaginal lips. I was ready for whatever she wanted to do. Suddenly she blinked into Rob, naked and hugely erect. This disturbed me, and I turned away, walking toward the kitchen. Diane couldn't help, Wendy wasn't there, and Erin was gone. Suddenly Rob was behind me, and with his quick kiss on my neck I stopped walking. His penis poked into the small of my back. His hands cupped my breasts. My nipples puffed out between his fingers. I still wasn't ready for this, right out in the open, I didn't think of him this way, and -- I woke up, back in the car, and for a few confusing moments it seemed like I was still in the dream. No, I was definitely in Diane's car, with Erin, Terry and Rob; but things had changed while I was asleep. My hands, which had been holding up the towel, were at my sides. The towel had fallen in front; what used to be there now lay in a big snowy heap on my lap. My legs, bared to above the knee, now rested on Terry's thighs; and oh my god Rob was fondling my bare breasts. Terry had gotten over his shyness and was staring openly. Rob was tweaking my nipples, sending electric shivers up and down my body, and it was too late to tell him to stop. I no longer wanted him to, anyway. What I wanted to do is make out with him. I wriggled closer, angling my face to his, and we started kissing wetly, open-mouthed, tongues fighting. He kept kneading my breasts, and heat was welling up inside me. He let one go and his hand drifted farther down, over my belly and nudging under the towel. For one last moment I asked myself, Denise, what are you doing?, and then his finger found my vagina and pushed in. I felt a slight chill there; Terry had unwrapped the towel around me and now I was completely exposed. Terry fondled my legs and bottom as Rob kept doing his thing. At some point Rob returned both hands to my breasts, and Terry moved his finger inside me. I looked down at my naked body, with four hands fondling it, and for a moment wondered, is this really me doing this? But it felt so good I no longer wanted to question anything. The car slowed and turned in a driveway; we were at Erin's house. It was dark already. It was hard not to notice what Rob and I had been doing, and I guess Erin watched most of it. "Let's wrap you up again so you can come in," she said. "I can't believe that you wouldn't sunbathe nude, but you were OK with this." We stopped, and I tried to sit up. "I'm sorry, " I said. "You shouldn't have let them do this," Diane said to Erin. Then to me: "Are you all right?" I had to tell the truth. "I loved it." I wrapped up in the towel and we went inside. Thankfully no one was home. Erin flipped on the lights and walked into a bedroom. "Now, we need a good outfit for you," she shouted from a closet. "Ok, here we go." It was just a gray skirt and light aqua knit top. "That's it?" I asked. What a letdown. I thought I was getting something fun to wear. This stuff was just blah. "Put it on," she said. "It'll make more sense when we're done." I turned toward the bedroom to change, but she stopped me. "Just do it right here. Nobody's seeing anything new." Reluctantly I dropped my towel and stood nude before them. The boys obviously appreciated having the show go on. Diane looked a little conflicted, like she wanted this to stop but couldn't put her foot down. Erin gave me the top and I pulled it over. The material was thin and clingy. "Um, no, I don't think so," I said. "Kinda cheap looking. No offense." "Just try it," she said, giving me the skirt. This was some sort of fleece fabric, like warmup pants. It came down to a few inches above the knee. she hadn't given me any underwear. I shrugged my shoulders. Aside from showcasing my breasts, the outfit was very bland and unattractive. I didn't get it. "Wait right there," she said. She came back with a pair of fabric scissors. "This will be a night you won't forget," she said. "Hold still." Reaching under the skirt, she felt around to where the curve of my bottom started, and then began to cut the skirt. When she was done, it was less than half its original length. My jaw dropped. She had cut it as close as she could. How could I go to a concert like this? "Erin," Diane scolded. "You're taking advantage of her." "And now for the top." At first I couldn't tell what she was doing, making several cuts in back, along the sides, and below. But when she was done, the knit top was converted to a sleeveless, backless, sideless crop top. My breasts were covered in front, but exposed on the sides. There was one thin strip of cloth around my neck, and another around my back, just beneath the shoulder blades. I looked to Diane for support, but this was Erin's show now. She made a few more trims and checked sightlines. "OK, I think we're ready to go!" In the car, Erin told the boys "Don't touch her," and they left me alone. I felt like I was nearly naked. My shyness had come back. I was petrified as we walked into the arena, as if I were the one going out on stage. We pushed our way through crowds, and I felt hands, deliberate or not, at my back, against my breasts, even up under the skirt. I got enough catcalls and hoots that I was glad I was in a group of friends. The warmup band was the Ankles. Only Erin had heard of them at the time. Their music was more funky and dancey than the Caps' serious groove. They were pretty good. When the Caps came on, and started with "Underground", the audience was pumped. Everybody stood on their seats, and I could no longer see. Two tall guys stood in front of me. "Can we switch?" I shouted at Erin over the thumping music. "I can't see over these guys!" She pointed forward, at a wide, short wall in front of the guys' row. In front of that was an aisle, and then more seats. "See if you can stand there," she said. "Maybe the guys will give you a lift." I tapped one of the guys on the shoulder, mimed my request, and he understood. He deftly grabbed me by the hips and easily lifted me over. This was great; this was a much better vantage point! I looked back for the others, but it was hard to see them between the guys; and they were watching the show anyway. When I turned forward again, I tripped and fell backward. Before I could fall too far, the guy on the right caught me; but how he caught me was a problem. His hands were underneath my skirt, supporting my bare bottom as he helped me get my balance. And when I was up and swaying again to the music, he kept his hands there. Somehow, this was OK; it seemed appropriate that during a naughty song by a naughty band, a stranger might do a naughty thing. For about two songs, he kept fondling me there, supporting my butt as I swayed to the music. I knew I'd have to decide what would happen next, but I kept putting that off. Then he decided for me, moving one hand to the front and fingering my pussy. Oh my, I didn't even know him; I didn't really know what he looked like; and I was letting him do this to me! Such a good feeling just surged through me. A couple songs like this and I was sopping wet. I still didn't turn back to face him. Then he let go, and I wondered if he had decided he had gone far enough. You can only do so much before you risk getting a girl sore, especially one you don't know. I danced on my own for a minute or so. But he wasn't done. With a hand at my lap and another on my back, he guided me to lean forward a little bit; then he was inside me for real. He had just needed time to unzip his pants. He was huge and rock hard; and while I came a few times, he had great staying power, lasting through at least three songs, his big hands on my hips. Then he was done and pulled out, and prodded me over to the left. In front of his friend. This guy might have been seeing my breasts from the side for all that time and couldn't wait to touch them. He reached in beneath my crop top on both sides and took advantage of the easy access Erin had created with her scissors. I wondered how far I would go with this, when was I planning to stop? I'd just had sex with a stranger, and now it was starting up again! I writhed and swayed, enjoying the song. Oh, there was farther to go. He took off my top and tossed it away; I never saw it again. Thousands of people at this concert, and I was topless, nearly naked; and I couldn't even go back! If anyone was seeing me (and I knew some had to be), there would be no doubt about what was going on. But I was getting high on how naughty all this was. I moved sinuously, like an exotic dancer, while he moved his hands over my shoulders, sides, and breasts. Then he turned me around. He seemed an average looking guy, though well built. His friend was sorta cute, but not a hunk either. My boobs were apparently the best things he had ever seen. I could see it in his face. He fondled them for a while, and then drew me closer and started sucking them. That felt sooo good. I danced like that for a while, wiggling my butt, my hands on his shoulders for support, as he nibbled and licked. Briefly I saw Erin in the row behind, and it looked like she was cheering me on. Then I came, and my legs gave way and I collapsed in his arms. I gave him a kiss, and then I stood back up. He unzipped his pants. He was erect, and almost as big as his friend. Even though I could have simply lifted my micro-miniskirt, I wanted instead to take it off, slowly peeling it down as I danced. My inhibitions were just gone. He really appreciated that. When it was off, I threw it away, as far as I could. He picked me up and gently lowered me on top of him. My nipples scratched against his shirt. His breath smelled faintly of beer. Some say that a kiss can be even more intimate than the sexual act, and I wanted to share myself completely. I embraced him as he supported my bare bottom while thrusting into me. I sucked on his lips and forced my tongue inside, tasting him. We were getting hotter and hotter and everything was a blur. The last thing I remembered was some guy yelling "the video, the video", like the "Underground" video that cable TV can't even show anymore, and yes, it must have looked just like that. I woke up in satin sheets. It was morning. I didn't smell of beer, or smoke, or sweat; I must have taken a shower, even though I didn't remember it. Everything was clean. I was starting to panic a little: I was still naked, and this wasn't my room. Beside the bed was a nightstand and table lamp, neither of which I recognized. Where was I? "Good morning, sleepyhead," Erin said. She lay next to me, also under the covers. "You slept like a log." "Erin, what's going on." I faced away; I didn't want to look at her; didn't want to know. This was very strange. Just like the dream last night where I had been attracted to her, then she morphed into Rob. "Don't worry, Denise. You're always worrying." She snuggled close to me, spooning with me from behind. She didn't have anything on either. She kissed the back of my neck, the most sensitive spot, and I stirred. She kissed me there again, and reflexively I nestled closer. "We called your mom" -- she kissed me again -- "and said the concert" -- kiss -- "was late" -- kiss -- "and you were sleeping over." "What happened last night? What happened with me and you?" My arms were sort of folded in front of my chest, and she moved them apart. Every time she kissed the back of my neck I was more aroused, and now she was fondling my breasts as well. "Well, you certainly remember going to the concert..." ("uh huh") "... and moving in front of those guys..." ("yeah") "... and had sex with them both? I guess the outfit I made for you wasn't sexy enough, because they took it off." ("I remember that...") "So after you were done with them, you just danced naked for a while. "Security had to drape a jacket over you and escort you out. I took you home. We missed the end of the concert. You weren't drunk or high, so no charges were pressed. They figured you just got out of control." "Wow," I said. But Erin was making me very horny and I couldn't be counted on to say something intelligent. "So we come back home and we decide we want to go clubbing. This time I got you a real dress, a little black one, with a zipper all the way down the back. I convinced you to go on the dance floor, and find a girl dancing by herself. While dancing with her, you would take off your dress and toss it over. Then, while naked, you would keep dancing with her and one by one take off every bit of clothing she had." "That sounds impossible," I said plaintively. I rotated my hips toward her, opening my legs slightly, and she took the offer, stroking my pussy lips with a fingertip. "It's not impossible. You did it," Erin said. "You found this dark-skinned girl, maybe Brazilian, and you led her away from her group. You were dancing close, and then you kissed her, and she responded; then with one hand you were unzipping yourself. That last inch you had trouble with, but pretty soon it was off. I ran in to grab it before it got trampled on too much." She stopped talking for a while, concentrating on kissing my shoulders, fondling one breast and moving her middle finger inside me. She leaned up and kissed me on the lips, and there was a spark: not romantic, but electrical. "Ow!" I said. "Sorry. Must be the sheets." She kissed me a little more, and there was still a tingle, but I got used to it. She settled back down beside me. "She was a little freaked by all this," Erin said, "but then you kissed her again, big time, really passionate, and she stayed. She started moving her hands over your body, exploring you. After a while, you undid her dress, and she was in little black bra and panties. She was OK with that. Then you went for the panties. She actually took off her own bra afterward. "For about five songs you danced with her, both of you naked. Your hands were all over each other: shoulders, ass, breasts, between your legs. You were basically having sex on the dance floor. It was so hot. Who knows how long you could have kept going. She was licking her own juices off your fingers when security barged in and broke it up. "When we got back, Rob was there. You were still naked and you basically jumped on him. You guys were fucking on the couch until about 5 am. I sent him home, got you into the shower, tucked you in, and let you go to sleep. And here you are now." "This is so weird, but feels so good," I said, responding to her touch. "But why..." I couldn't even think of how to finish the question. I couldn't even start to form the thought. "Don't worry," Erin said. "You haven't changed. It's just part of you that has been awakened." Something was awakened, all right: I wanted her bad. I rolled over and tasted her lips, her neck, her nipples, and more. Good thing we had the house to ourselves; we made some noise. We stayed in bed like lazy bugs until about 1 pm. I didn't want to leave, but I was starving, and it was time to head home. She dressed me in real clothes, took me to lunch, and dropped me off. She even had a conversation with Mom about the fun but relatively wholesome things we officially did last night. If anyone ever asks. As for Rob and I... we were now a couple. Not just lust, or fooling around, but real puppy love with flowers and cards and dates and stuff. So I definitely held nothing against Erin for what had happened. It was because of her, and Diane, that we got together. VS Ch. 03 I'll be back in later stories, so I won't tell you everything that happened afterward. You'll find out when you get to it. (Author's note: inspired by "The Concert" by Jennifer; the coda ties into the Vaughn-Strickland mythos. Don't worry, Bernard and Karla will return in later chapters.) VS Ch. 04 My name is Kelly, and I used to be a lifeguard. This is the story of the day I lost that job. I guess it was natural that I became one in the first place. I was a good swimmer, and I looked the part: blonde hair, nice boobs, long legs, filling out my uniform (yellow one-piece swimsuit) pretty nicely. My friends teased me sometimes, calling me "Baywatch", but it was all good-natured. Whenever I saw myself in the suit I had to admit they had a point. The one drawback was that some people (like my boss, Mike) assumed that a pretty blonde girl couldn't possibly have any brains. As if everyone had a limited amount of good qualities, and shining in one area meant you had to skimp in another. Mike never seemed to give me a break. We all make little mistakes from time to time, and usually we fix them right away. But my boss never gave me the benefit of the doubt. He didn't seem to treat the other girls so harshly, and they all liked him, said he was cute. I agreed that on the surface that he had good looks: bright eyes, strong chin, muscular, flat abs and tight butt... yet the way he was on the inside colored that impression for me. He wasn't handsome in my eyes. All in all, everything else about the job was cool, so Mike I learned to put up with. I was 20 years old, and going to community college. When classes were out, it was a pretty good life: work in the morning, then get cleaned up and go shopping, or see some friends, and think about where to go out that night. My beach was behind a reef so the surf was very gentle, and the surfers and risk-takers went elsewhere. In two summers I had never had to rescue anyone. That Friday morning I woke up late, with just enough time to get my swimsuit and drive to the beach. My yellow one-piece, which I had hand-washed last night, should have been hanging over the shower curtain to drip dry. But it wasn't there. I was frantically looking for it when my little sister said she might have accidentally put it in the dryer. "It's not supposed to go in there!" I yelled. I pulled stuff out into a basket, looking for my suit. Like I was afraid of, it had shrunk. A lot. I held it up in front of me: even hanging down flat, it was too small now. No way would it cover me in 3-D. I yelled some not-so-nice things at my sister, and Mom yelled at me. The day was starting out great. Now I was in a bind. I had no other swimsuit. No store would be open at 9 am. I knew I couldn't skip that day, because we were short-staffed. No one to take my place. I had to show up to work; what was I going to wear? It was getting late, and I had no ideas, so I just kept on what I wore to bed: an aqua blue tank top with a ribbed pattern, and gray fleece shorts. This was an ugly outfit, but I figured it should be a slow day and I probably wouldn't even have to leave my chair until Bernice came in to relieve me. I could count on her not to rat me out to Mike for not having proper attire. And the lifeguard chair was so big and so high, that from the beach people could barely see anything except my arms and head. So even with my shorts and tank, I would probably be OK. I drove really fast, but still got to the beach five minutes late, bracing myself for trouble. However, there was only one blanket set up: a mom and her little boy, playing in the sand. If I was lucky, no one would ever know I wasn't at my post at exactly 9:00. I had never been late up to that point. Still, in Mike's eyes, I would become the ditzy blonde who was always late and lost her swimsuit... unless he never found out. I took off my shoes and walked across the sand to my chair. It's a funny thing about the chairs we had: the guard had a great view of the water and a so-so view of the beach. But unless you were in the water, people on the beach really couldn't see much of me; the angle was wrong. With no one in the water, it was like I had the beach to myself. After the hectic scene at home, and the race to get here, I could finally relax. The sun was behind me, and already pretty warm on my skin. I took out the sunblock and started doing my arms and face. With our one-piece suits, it was pretty easy to reach everywhere that wasn't already covered, which was essential when we were sitting in the sun for hours at a time. Because I was really strict with myself about protecting my skin, I would usually go through summer without much of a tan. Sort of ironic given my job. I took a few deep breaths to really calm down; something my friend Felice had taught me. Now I was feeling pretty relaxed and all the stress was gone. It was a close call, but things were going to be OK. Just another routine day. And that was good. The tank top and shorts covered part of the same area as the one-piece had, and in a few minutes I was done with the sunblock. No more people had shown up at the beach as far as I could tell, and still no one was in the water. Now there was little to do except wait and watch. There was an ocean liner a few miles off, and a stretch of low clouds at the horizon. The air stirred a little; barely a breeze. It was very calm. The warm sun and sound of the surf were making me a little sleepy. I wasn't worried; people would soon start to trickle in and venture into the water. Just watching people have fun tended to keep my interest, and if trouble developed I would notice right away. One drawback with my improvised wardrobe: the tanktop and shorts heated up in the sun a lot more than my reflective yellow swimsuit did. Usually it was only the hottest days of summer that we would need to drink extra fluids, or spritz water on ourselves to cool down. Today wouldn't have been one of those days. But the tank top in particular was getting uncomfortably hot. Not that I could do anything about it; I was stuck here until eleven, when Bernice would spot me. I would take the buggy to the guard office and hopefully snag a spare swimsuit. But right now, I was stuck with my top. Or was I? I gave this a lot of thought. What if I took the top off? I wasn't wearing a bra. Not only was going topless on the beach not allowed, but I had never bared my breasts outside before anyway. The thought was a little scary. On the other hand, basically nobody was here. In my guard chair I had extra privacy anyway. I would see anyone approaching before they could see me. If that was all true, then I should be able to take off the top for a little while, and I'd be able to put it back on before anyone could see me. Right? This struck me as not only scary, but kind of naughty; but instead of dissuading me, that feeling helped convince me to try it. The more I considered it, the more it seemed like some innocent fun. Maybe after the summer I would tell Bernice what I had done that Friday morning. I sat up and looked around -- the coast (ha ha) was still clear -- and then leaned back, scrunching down as much as I could, and pulled my top about halfway upward. An inch or so of the bottoms curves of my breasts were out. Now's not the time to chicken out, I thought. I lifted the top a little higher, up away from my chest now, following the swells of my breasts. I stopped just below my nipples, thinking, OK, this would be the time to turn back if I wanted to. But I realized that without a bra, my nipples had been poking against the thin cloth anyway. And what's the difference if no one can see me anyway? I took a deep breath and took the top completely off. Wow. Instead of the hot fabric, which was making me perspire, there was just the pleasantly warm sun and air on my bare skin. It felt so good! The heat reminded me that I'd better put sunblock on the newly exposed areas, or I'd have one painful, hard to explain sunburn. I smiled. I had never sunbathed topless before, and now I was doing it, and getting paid $16 an hour for it! I first did my tummy and sides, and then my shoulders and back, as far as I could reach. Just putting off the inevitable, really. My breasts, unused to being in the open air, I did last. If just being out here topless was naughty, then imagine how I felt rubbing lotion on my bare breasts. I couldn't help it: I was getting aroused, and even after I had thoroughly rubbed in the sunblock, getting complete coverage, I still was caressing them. I just didn't feel like stopping. I've touched myself before, I think we all have, but only in my bedroom with the door locked and everyone gone or downstairs. Doing it here, outside, was a lot more exciting. At some point I closed my eyes. I wasn't sleepy anymore; parts of my body were wide awake... but I was feeling languid, and almost as if I was floating on the water outside instead of here in the chair. The water was warm, the perfect temperature, and all my stress was floating away. I knew my nipples were hard now, like the tips of my little fingers; I could feel them, now part of the contours of my body, more things to play with. For the first time I started thinking, what if I made myself come, playing like this? I knew exactly how to do this, but I wanted to take my time. At that thought, part of me (my conscience?) was shouting "what are you doing?", but after a while that voice receded, as if drifting out on the water, away from me. I cupped my breasts, fondling them, imaging a guy doing this, like I had been walking around topless for some reason. Maybe in St. Tropez. A guy sees me, wearing nothing but a little thong, and is unable to resist my temptations. I wanted more. Now my right hand was reaching underneath my fleece shorts; I always left the strings untied, so the waistband stretched easily. While I fondled my breast with the other hand, I reached down between my legs. First my thatch of pubic hair, and I got a thrill out of that: whenever a boy I was with first went there, it was obvious we weren't just making out anymore, things were getting serious. I spread my knees a bit and slunk lower in the seat. I reached further underneath my shorts, and I found my slit. Of course I was already wet. I teased myself at first, stroking my lips with a gentle fingertip. I cannot exaggerate how good that felt. My palm stroked my mound as my finger drew along my sensitive lips. My nipples seemed even firmer, my breasts taut. I inserted a finger, and then started getting myself off for real. Looking back, I wonder if I was making some noise which would have been obvious to anyone close enough to hear. But at that point I didn't care about anything but my sense of touch. The shorts didn't provide any obstacle as I touched myself. But still they were annoying me; I wanted them completely off. I didn't want anything covering me. I guess a small part of me was still thinking practically, because I didn't simply kick them off into the sand. I decided that if I slid them down to my knees, I would still have time to quickly pull them back up and put on my top if someone approached. (My eyes were closed, I wasn't paying attention to the outside world, so that plan didn't make sense, but whatever.) I propped myself up on elbows and toes, and scooched my shorts down to my thighs. I lowered my bare bottom back onto the wooden seat, baked dry by years of sun, but thankfully not scorching hot right then. I slid my shorts down, nearly all the way off; instead of at my knees, I left them around my ankles. Even so, I wished my feet could also be free. But I was too chicken to let go of everything. Now I was sitting there basically naked, legs spread, being very naughty, not a care in the world. I don't know how long I stayed that way, touching myself like that. I was starting to fantasize about other guys, other situations, but nothing really took hold. Eventually my hunger overpowered my desire to hold back, and I let myself come really hard. I couldn't believe it. The many nights I had sex with my boyfriend (we split up last May), it was never as good as this. I sat there for a long time recovering, letting the sun warm my bare skin. My eyes were shut. My legs were splayed apart. One hand rested on my moist pussy, while the other continued to idly caress my breast, almost on its own. After my heartbeat slowed down, I opened my eyes, ready to return to the real world. The beach and the water were full of people. I sat up, overwhelmed, shocked, and I didn't move for a few moments, stunned. A lot of people were looking directly at me: how much did they see? Everything? I covered my breasts, and then remembered my shorts were down, too. First things first. I hastily pulled my shorts back up, using both hands. People got a few more peeks at my breasts, but I couldn't help that. Even worse, I could see someone had swam out far beyond the others, and was calling for help! Oh shit, I thought. How long had he been out there? I had that sinking feeling. I was busted, I was so fired. But my practice and training kicked in and I knew what I would have to do. But first, I'd have to put on my tank top, and I reached for where it should have been, right beside me. It was gone. I covered my breasts with one arm and looked around, really trying not to panic, because seconds were ticking by and I needed to go out there immediately. But the top was nowhere to be found! Now I was terrified of going out there, but I knew I had no choice. Someone's life in danger was more important than my comfort, or appearance, or embarrassment. The training had drilled that into us, and fortunately I hadn't forgotten. I had to climb down the ladder to the sand. My throat went dry. There were a *lot* of people here, and they all could see my bare breasts bobbing as I climbed. I couldn't cover up until I had both feet on the ground. I turned and ran into the surf as fast as I could, looking very silly, hands over my boobs. I was already so embarrassed I wanted to cry. Maybe I could move to Montana after this. Far away from anyone on this beach or anyone I knew. When I dove into the water, my shorts instantly soaked up water and became heavy. As I swam, they slid back, baring my bottom and then my thighs, getting dragged down toward my feet! What a stupid idea to wear these clothes here! I would have been better off with a bra and panties. Even if they became see-through when wet, it was still better than losing them altogether! I stood up in the shallow surf and pulled my shorts back up, aware that I was flashing my bare butt to the entire beach. If people could actually die of shame, I would have dropped right there. I had already prepared myself for when I had to come back to shore with the guy I was rescuing; people had seen my boobs once, and they would see them again. There was no avoiding that. But to lose my shorts and have to go back there completely naked -- no way could I let that happen. Absolutely no way. I swam with one hand, holding up my shorts with the other. Much slower going, but fortunately the guy calling for help was still head above water. I finally reached him; he was flailing and spitting water, bobbing in the waves, but not going under. He looked about my age, maybe a few years older. He must have thought he was a better swimmer than he really was. "Don't panic," I shouted as I floated next to him. "I'm going to bring you back to shore. What's your name?" "Gus," he said, coughing a bit, but he was obviously still breathing fine. He was going to be OK. I felt a little better too; sure I had been embarrassed back at the beach, but here I was saving someone's life. And it sounds a little silly, but at that point it didn't matter what I was wearing. I was going to do a good job and all my training would pay off. "OK, Gus, come here." I took his arms and he clung to me like a life preserver, arms around me, hands on my back. I don't know if he was expecting a handrail or what, but my bare skin was slippery in the water. His hands were all over my back. Even in his panic, he noticed something was odd. "Are you naked?" he said, as he moved one hand lower to check. "Never mind that, Gus," I said, reaching back to move his hand away from my ass. "Just stay calm and we'll take you to safety." He hugged me tightly, squeezing my breasts against his chest. "I don't want to drown," he cried. "Don't hang on so tight," I said, pushing him away a little bit. "I'm not going to lose hold of you. I need to be able to move to bring you in." He was OK for a little bit but then he panicked and hugged me again, his chin on my shoulder. One of his hand slipped over my bare breast, his finger accidentally tweaking my nipple. I was starting to lose my confidence and get really annoyed at him. It was more his fault, not mine, that I was out here topless, that tons of people had already seen me as I went in. If he hadn't screwed up I could still be in my chair and no one the wiser. And now, because of him, I'd have to give everyone a peep show all over again when I brought him back. His fault. Damn him for going out farther than he could swim, for not knowing his limits! A wave took us by surprise and tilted us over, so I was sort of on my back and his face ended up between my breasts, which were now out of the water. I could tell he was fascinated by all this, staring intently at them as I paddled to stay afloat. I needed to get back to upright and get him off my chest. He was staring at my right nipple, still erect from before, and as I was thinking, no, he can't possibly be thinking of that, he put it in his mouth! "Hey!" I cried, outraged; but he kept going; and with one hand started fondling my other breast. I could not believe this! From the shock, or the sensation of being played with, I no longer had strength or composure to get myself upright, or to fend him off. I was getting hot. I didn't want to, but sometimes the body doesn't obey the brain. And my body didn't mind as his other hand, which had been on the small of my back, inched downward and underneath my shorts to my butt. During all this, he hadn't said a word. But somehow, part of my mind snapped into gear, and instead of trying to right myself I simply pushed him off. He went under a bit, but then bobbed back up. "Do that again, and I'll fucking leave you out here!" I yelled, as I cinched up my waterlogged shorts. "I'm sorry," he said, all innocent looking. "Now come back, face to face, but at arm's length, and I'll take you in." I paddled over to him and got ready, but then another wave came, and he panicked again. He seemed to want to climb my like a tree and sit atop my shoulders, completely out of the water. He didn't get that far as his hands and feet flailed, trying to get a grip. Unfortunately, one foot got caught in the waistband of my shorts, and pushed it down to my knees. I screamed again and pushed him away, and reached for my shorts. However, they were now sliding down my calves, just out of reach. I started panicking; I really didn't want to lose the only clothing I had! I brought my legs up to bring the shorts within reach, but instead they slipped farther down, bunching around my ankles. "Come on," I said to myself, bringing my knees to my chest. I almost had the shorts when another wave came, filling my mouth with salt water, and I had to kick and paddle to stay afloat. Now my shorts just barely hung off one foot. The other foot was completely free! I jammed my feet together to try to keep the shorts from slipping off. The guy had paddled toward me, and once again tried to climb on top of me. "No!" I yelled, but then I was thrust underwater. I kicked back up to surface, and made sure he was still floating. OK. Now back to getting my shorts on. But at that point my heart sank as my feet were completely free. The shorts had fallen off! I had a guy to bring back to shore, and I was naked! "Stay there!" I yelled and dove under. I could see drifting sand; some rocks and shells; and the guy's kicking feet; but no shorts. C'mon, where were they? They had to be close by. I ran out of air, had to surface, and dove again. But I couldn't find them. By the time I surfaced again, I was crying. "I hope you're satisfied, you jerk!" VS Ch. 04 He had floated back into me and had one arm around my back, and the other was underwater; I didn't know where it was, until it went straight between my legs. He probed a few moments with a finger, and then inserted it inside me. I just yelled something at him. I didn't even know what to say. I couldn't believe what was going on. "You really are naked," he said. "Don't you wear a swimsuit?" "Shut. Up!" I said and shoved him away. I wished I could just let him stay there. I could swim underwater and come to shore a mile north, where there was no public beach. And then somehow find my way home. But he was my responsibility. If something happened to him... that would be a lot worse than being seen naked. I yanked him toward me and let him hang, sort of piggyback style, on as I swam back. It was slow going. He held onto my shoulder with one hand, and had another arm around my stomach. His hand moved around as I tried to swim, and once he had hold of my right breast, he stayed there. I was too defeated to care. He fondled and squeezed it, playing with my nipple with a free finger, or gently trapping it between two. I just let him do it. Things were already at their worst. We were getting closer to shore, and a lot of people were watching us come in. If they didn't already know I was naked, they would soon. I was dead tired and had to stop. "We'll float here for a second," I said. He still hung off my back. His face was against the back of my neck, and he started kissing me there, at the nape of the neck and my shoulder. "Please don't do that," I said wearily. But he ignored me. His left hand slipped off my shoulder and under my arm, and now he was pawing my breasts with both hands. "Please," I cried, completely out of strength. He pulled me close to him, and I could feel his erection beneath his swim trunks, poking at my bottom. He reached one arm around my chest for leverage, and with his other hand moved down, between my legs. "Why are you naked?" he asked again, but I don't think he cared much about an answer. I shuddered as he teased my labia and then inserted a finger inside. I couldn't believe this. Completely naked, floating in the water, a stranger having his way with me; and my legs had started to spread apart, as if I was welcoming it! Something told me that if I climaxed out here in the water I would never get the strength back to take him to shore. So I kicked and leaned forward, swimming away, and he held onto my hips like a kickboard, and I towed him in. Pretty soon it was shallow enough for us to stand as I walked him in. So many people were staring at me. I avoided their eyes, looking at the ground. As the receding water showed more and more, I ended up doing a slow striptease for them. I wished I could crawl in a hole and die. First my bare shoulders were revealed, and then there were whoops and hollers from the crowd as they saw my breasts. At this point I was already crying from embarrassment. As I got even closer, and it was obvious I was wearing nothing at all, the noise got even worse. I could even see people with cameras. Finally we were on dry land, away from the waves. Water was dripping off my bare body and making little pats of mud in the sand. I was required to make sure the guy was all right, and I asked him that. He hugged me again, tight and lingering, and thanked me for rescuing him. Then, whispering in my ear, he asked me to come home with him! "No way," I cried, pushing him away. I didn't know what to do next other than find my car and go home. The crowd of people wasn't interested in clearing a path for me. I tried to wave them aside, and was prepared to push my way through, even though that would open me up to a lot of groping and fondling from the boys and men there. I didn't bother trying to cover up. They had already seen everything. Then I heard a familiar voice call my name, and found out, yes, things could indeed get worse. Mike, my boss, was here. "What in the hell are you doing?" He was nearly screaming, he was so pissed off. He glanced once at the guy I rescued, judged he was OK, then turned back to glare at me. "God, what is wrong with you?" He shook his head and then yanked my arm, pulling me away, walking so fast I nearly tangled my feet and fell. He realized that he was out here in public and representing the lifeguards, and said some sort of apology to the crowd, and assured them that I would no longer be working here. I felt like dirt, standing there crying, having screwed up everything. "Let's go," he said, and dragged me forward. The crowd parted for him, cheering and whistling, as he took me to his buggy. He had the small one that really only fit one person. He sat down and lifted me onto his lap. Then, with one hand on the steering wheel and one around my waist, we were riding along the beach, toward the guard house. "I want to go home!" I sobbed. He didn't reply; apparently so angry he couldn't even speak. There were lots of people we passed by, kids, teens and adults, and they all must have wondered what the story was behind this naked girl being driven on a four-wheel dune buggy. I was surprised Mike didn't start fondling my breasts, or reaching between my legs. My body was right there for him, on his lap. I was relieved he didn't do anything then, because I had little will to resist. When we got to the shack, he was treating me more gently, and led me into the equipment room. There were surfboards, tanks, and other things along the walls, and a long bench in the center. He sat me down, faced me, and took a deep breath to calm down. "I'd say that was the mother of all blonde moments," he said. He was calmer now, but how he said that, on top of all the other times he had called me a ditz, was as malicious as ever. I started crying again, and that renewed his anger. "What you did out there reflects badly on our entire team. I don't even want to think about the bad publicity we'll have, and how fucking long it will take to get our good reputation back. Look at yourself! You certainly live up to your hair color, don't you?" He wouldn't leave that alone. I couldn't face him, and looked at the floor. "I want some clothes," I said. "There aren't any here," Mike said. He put a hand on my shoulder and another on my chin, gently lifting my head up. My eyes must have looked really red. "Kelly, I need you to tell me what happened. From the very beginning. I need to know what, when, how and why." I huddled myself, legs crossed and arms folded over my chest. There was still a lot showing. I told him everything, from the beginning of this story, but tried to dance around the fact that I was masturbating in the guard chair. I probably didn't do to well. Anyway, he was mostly quiet. The one thing he said was "Your mother was right," and I demanded to know what he meant, but he wouldn't answer. When I finished, I was surprised to see I had gained some sympathy. He sighed. "Kelly, you made some really bad decisions, but still you've been through a hell of an experience. I think anyone would feel shellshocked at this point." He got me a bottle of water from the cooler and let me drink. "Now is this the first time you did something like this?" "Yes!" I said, indignant. "There wasn't something with your friend? What's her name, Felicia?" "Oh my god! Felice!" Now I remembered. It had been only two days ago. But how had Mike heard about it? --- Felice is a good friend and is also my age. She's part Brazilian and Polynesian, and really gorgeous. A few inches shorter than me, but really curvy build, big breasts, nice butt, glossy black hair, and really bright eyes. She can look at you and smile, and it's the best feeling in the world that she likes you. On Wednesday, two days earlier, she called up around lunchtime and asked what I was doing. It was my day off, so not much at all. Probably read for a while, then maybe go shopping. She suggested laying out in my backyard and then going to dinner somewhere. That sounded good. When she arrived, I had a cooler with some drinks, a blanket, a book, some sunscreen, and tanning goggles. These looked like swim goggles but were opaque, and protected your eyes like sunglasses but without the raccoon effect. Felice had never seen them, so I had to explain what they were. We picked our spots and I put the goggles on. I decided to lay on my stomach first. Felice offered to put sunscreen on the hard-to-reach places, and ended up doing my entire back. She untied my bikini top and moved the strings to either side. This was the first time I had laid out to get a tan all summer. ("I thought you didn't have any swimsuits left after the one-piece got shrunk," said Mike; and I was really disoriented for a moment. Of course I had other swimsuits; about five of them, in my little drawer! Why on Friday did I not think I had any? I was really upset with myself for this, but Mike asked me to continue.) I dozed off after a while, laying there on the towel, and woke when Felice tapped my shoulder. "Time to turn over," she said. I was still groggy when I turned over, so it wasn't until I was lying on my back that I realized my top was off. I covered with one arm and blindly tried to find my top with the other hand. My goggles were still on, and I couldn't see anything. "It's OK," said Felice. "I just put it aside. There's nobody looking, anyway. What's to worry about?" "There's a 15-year old boy next door with a second-story bedroom!" I said. "He could easily see us!" There was a pause, and then Felice laughed. "I guess there is. I think I saw his curtain move." "Give me my top! He's looking at me right now!" "It's no big deal," she said. "Here." She took my hand and placed it on her bare breast. She was topless too. "I took off my top as soon as you had turned over. That was an hour ago." "Still, I don't think we should be -" "And how about this," Felice said. She moved my hand slowly down her side, to her waist, hips, ass, and thighs. Bare skin, everywhere. Then inside, between her legs, I felt her patch of pubic hair, and even her moist lips. "Felice, my god!" She laughed. "So he's seen a lot more of me than of you." "You've been naked this whole time?" "It's not a big thing. Think about it. Your boy next door has already imagined you naked. Who knows what you're doing for him in his fantasies. Seeing you just laying out here on a blanket, that's practically PG-13." "He'll tell his mom, and then she'll tell my mom!" "This is your yard," she said. "It's his fault for looking, not yours." She paused. "Although it is tempting to walk over and ask him to join us." "NO!" I yelled. "Felice, what's gotten into you?" I realized my finger was still touching her vagina and I yanked it away. "Kelly, I think you're really stressing out for no reason. What I'm going to do is have you put your arms aside, and I'll put sunscreen on you, everywhere that's exposed. You just relax. And at the end, see if you're comfortable with this." She was convincing enough that I laid my hands at my hips, baring my breasts. Her fingers and hands were gentle and sensual as she caressed me, as a lover would. And I mean I loved her as a good friend, but that day she was into much more sharing that we ever had done before. And it was OK, it was good. The goggles kept my world dark, so there was just the feel of Felice's touch, the smell of her, the sound of her voice. "Don't move your arms," she said softly as she caressed my breasts, her thumbs on my nipples, definitely with erotic intent. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, although maybe just to get her to stop, to take a break, get back to our old comfortable friendship. Now she was at my waist, applying more cream, when she had me lift my hips. I knew what was coming next, and was partly scared of it, and partly welcomed it. She slowly pulled down my bikini briefs and then I was laying there as naked as she was. I could feel the sun everywhere on my skin, just like at the guard chair. Her hands were on my bare legs, my calves, my hips and bottom, and when she was all done, when I was covered in sunscreen and nothing else, she sat or kneeled next to me, and leaned over. I could feel her shadow blocking the warm sun. "Lick your lips," she said, "and then open your mouth." Then her nipple grazed my lips and I closed them, kissing it. When she put a finger inside my pussy, I started sucking harder, and that made her move faster, and we wound each other up. This was my first time ever fooling around with a woman. Her first time? I didn't know. I made her come, just licking her breasts, and then I came too. She lay down beside me and guided my face toward hers, and kissed me. Then we spent a long time just embracing and kissing. Afterward, spent, we both lay on our backs, one of her legs over mine, not caring who saw us. After dinner, though, she went home, and I haven't talked to her since then. --- After telling the story, I was a little shaken. First, I didn't even remember it had happened until Mike brought it up; and second, I really did have some other swimsuits I could have worn! I was wearing one that day! How did I not know that this morning? None of this would have happened! Why did I mess up things so badly? It was nice to be inside the guard shack, out of the public eye, and I was relieved that Mike didn't seem as super furious as he was before. Still, it had been a really shitty day, and I was still sitting naked in front of this guy, and getting pretty tired. "Can you get me a ride home? Or at least back to my car?" Mike nodded. "Yes, let's go." I was reluctant to go back outside, but knew that each step would be closer to being home. Mike led me by the hand not to the buggy, but to the adjacent parking lot. Not where I was parked. "Where are we going?" "Just come along." He took me to his jeep, which was open-air, no doors, and then I was covering my quivering boobs with my hands as we rode onto the highway. I tried to get him to tell me where he was taking me, but he wouldn't say. What I didn't expect is that he would take me to his own house. It was a nice big place, in a gated community, very expensive for a senior lifeguard's salary. Did he marry into money? Mike had never talked about his personal life, other than he was married. And that might have been just to have us girls feel more at ease than if he was single. It must have looked so ridiculous: Mike parked the Jeep in the driveway and marched me up the front walkway, naked in the view of all these million-dollar houses. Mike unlocked the door and ushered me in. His wife was there. She was fashionably thin, in elegant casual clothes, just like the rich women downtown; short brunette hair and green eyes. She was a pretty woman. And she stared at Mike and I with a look of shock and grief. "This is Kelly, from the beach," he said amiably. "She'll be staying with us for a while." She stared at me for a moment and then glared at Mike. "Why. Is she here. Like this." "Kelly, why don't you go to the living room," Mike said. "I need to talk with Moira a sec." It took much longer than that. I stood for a while in the living room, hearing muffled voices as they argued. I couldn't even decide whether to sit down; I was dead tired, but the furniture looked really expensive and I might get in trouble for sitting naked on it. But more time passed, and Mike still hadn't come downstairs; so I slumped down in the end of a large sofa and tried to think of what to do. I guess adrenaline and fear had kept me semi-alert so far, because once I was resting and things were quieter, I quickly fell asleep. My slumber was full of dreams; but I only remembered the first and last. In the first, my eyes were shut, but the warm air, gentle scents and sounds told me where I was: back at the beach, atop the lifeguard chair. But something was a little off. I opened my eyes. To start, I was naked, head to toe. There was no sign of my clothes anywhere. Where had I left them? How long had I been up here like this? It was strange, the feeling of having jumped into my own body, kind of joining myself in progress. For one, I was suddenly feeling very aroused. My legs were spread a little, and the middle finger of my right hand was deep inside me. I was really moist, and my nipples were hard. The lifeguard chair wasn't the one I normally used: it was just as tall, but without railings or arms. Nothing to hide behind. I looked down, and a throng of people were watching. What's worse, I knew every one of these people staring at me. Not one of them was a stranger. This seems incredible, but inside the dream it was undeniably true. There were classmates, friends, people from church, little kids from down the street, my mom, other lifeguards, all unable to tear their eyes away. And not only was I naked, I had been playing with myself! But some people stopped looking directly up at me; their interest was below. I leaned forward to find out what had their attention. Two naked men were climbing my chair. I didn't recognize them. Lean, erect, and feral, they looked like jungle animals going for the kill. Their penises were huge and erect. My shame and confusion turned quickly to fear. They were only seconds away from reaching me. One hand brushed my foot as I jumped up and perched on the seat. Then I leaped off the side, dropping about 12 feet to the sand. I landed off-balance and stumbled forward, falling on my face. But I had to get up quickly. The men had jumped off too, like cats, and glared at me. I got up, spat out sand, and started running. I dodged people walking and jumped over people sunbathing, afraid to look back. Even one hesitation, and they could catch up. I could sense them right behind me. And nobody was helping me, even though I was obviously in danger. They were all just watching the spectacle. I could see the guard shack, about 200 feet away. If I got there first and could lock the door behind me, I'd be safe. I jumped over one more blanket and my foot landed wrong, a hole where I didn't see or expect it. Maybe a kid's sand castle. But I tripped and fell, and before I could even get up one of the guys chasing me roughly flipped me on my back. Some people took my hands and forced my arms apart; then the same was done with my legs. One of the feral men lowered himself onto me and forced himself inside; I was still wet from when I was playing with myself. I was thinking, No, please, not this way! Mercifully, that was where that dream ended. The last dream was at my house, late at night, about 2 am. I woke up thirsty and decided to go to the kitchen for some ice water. I was wearing this nightshirt, sort of a long T-shirt that used to go down to my knees. After going thru the laundry countless times, it had shrunk to about mid-thigh, hugged my body more than it used to, and the fabric had gotten thin. That would be no big deal, since I was the only one up. The house was dark and quiet. I flipped on the hallway light and headed out. When I got to the living room, I found out I wasn't the only one up. My brother and his friend Brad were watching some softcore thriller on cable, with the sound almost all the way down. No other lights were on. (I don't have a brother in real life, but in the dream I did. He was about 22, older than me. Even in the dream, I don't think I found out his name.) Brad saw me first, silhouetted in the light from hallway. Thinking back, it must have shone right through my nightshirt and outlined my body underneath. I wonder if I looked like some sort of erotic angel. He did take a second or two before saying "Hey, Kel." My brother did some sort of wise-guy salute. "Just getting some water," I said, still a little sleepy. "Can you grab a couple beers?" my brother said. "There should be some left." VS Ch. 04 "OK." I walked into the kitchen, which was very dark, but I knew my way to the fridge: just straight across from the living room. In fact, you could see it from the couch. I opened the door and was bathed in fluorescent light. I looked for the beer, but couldn't find it, and must have stood there a long time. Brad walked up beside me, put a hand on my shoulder. I wasn't dressed for mixed company at all. "You know, I think we finished them all," he said. "Sorry for making you look." I turned to him. "It was my brother, not you." The door was still open and cool air was chilling the back of my legs. It seemed like my nightshirt was shorter than ever, like miniskirt length. He looked me up and down, then put a hand on my hip, taking a bit of the material between thumb and finger. "Do you usually wear this to bed?" I was kind of under a spell. "Yeah." "Anything underneath?" "No." This was already the most personal conversation I had ever had with Brad. He was an OK guy, kind of good looking; I just tended not to pay attention to my brother's friends. "It's kinda see-thru," he said. "Yeah." Suddenly I really enjoyed the attention I was getting. I put my arms around him and we started making out. It was naughty enough, kissing my brother's friend, wearing only this flimsy nightshirt. But then he pulled it up above my waist. My butt started getting chilled except where he had his hands, and he only had one back there anyway. With the other he was probing between my legs, tickling my bush, and finally playing directly with my pussy. All the while we were still kissing. He came up for air, and I raised my hands, whispering that he should just take the whole thing off. He was good with that. I finally kicked the fridge door shut and we were mostly in darkness. He fondled me all over and licked my breasts, just driving me crazy. Then he stopped. "Let's go back to the couch." I didn't want to stop. "My brother's there." "He'll be cool," Brad said, and took me over. My brother looked up at us, but then went back to watching the movie, as though seeing his sister naked was no big thing. "Scoot over," Brad said, and sat me down between them. Then I leaned back on Brad's lap, resting my head on a pillow to the side, and plopped my legs on my brother's lap. Brad idly played with my breasts and pussy as we all watched TV. And then I woke up. It took a few seconds to figure out where I was. Back in Mike's living room, naked, laying on the couch. Mike was kneeling at my side, one hand on my bare breast. "You awake?" he said. "Yeah." I looked out the picture window: dark already. "How long did I sleep?" "A few hours. I got us some dinner. Hungry?" "Yes..." "C'mon up." He took my hand and led me to the kitchen table. Two place settings were already out. Chinese food. "Can I wear something?" "Not yet," Mike said. We sat down and started to eat. "How do you feel? Dizzy? Drowsy?" "I feel OK," I said. Clearheaded, despite how weird everything was. Sitting here naked at the table of a married man, having dinner with him? "After dinner we'll talk about what happened today," he said. "And about what happens next." "Mmm-hmmmgh," I said, keeping my mouth closed because I had just taken a bite. After we were done, he moved his chair next to mine and turned me so we were face to face. "Can I go home now?" I said. He had a pained look. "It's not that easy," he said. "My mom must be worried sick by now!" "She already knows where you are." I was dumbfounded. This didn't make any sense. He continued, "The story you told me about today, and what happened in your backyard Wednesday; they were mostly true, but you left out a few things. Or possibly forgot them." "Left out what?" "Let's go to Wednesday. You said Felice came over, you lay down on your stomach and she stripped everything off. Then when you turned over, she stripped your bikini off and you made out for a little while. Then you got dressed and went to dinner. Is that right?" "Yeah, that's what I said." He sighed. "The guy next door was looking through his window at you and didn't even notice when his mother entered the room. She saw you both, called your mom, and then your mom marched out and caught you both in the act." "Oh my god!" "She was so shocked she could hardly move. It was only until you and Felice started relaxing that she stormed out and started yelling at you. You and Felice were yelling back." I could feel myself turning beet red. What he said was true. It was just so traumatic, I had blocked it out. Only Mike going over it was helping me remember. "At that point, she kicked you out of the house. Told Felice never to set foot there again or she'd call the cops. She didn't even let you back inside; didn't even let you put clothes on. She just marched you both around the side yard to Felice's car and stood there until you drove off." "What happened next?" I still couldn't remember. "I'm guessing you stayed at Felice's house or another friend's. Then on Friday you borrowed some clothes and drove to the beach to start your shift." Now I felt extremely tired, beaten down. But there was still hope. "It's been two days. Can I call my Mom, try to talk to her?" "Sure." He reached back, put his phone on speakerphone, and dialed. My mom answered, and I said "Mom?" but Mike put a finger to his lips. "Mrs. Klein," he said. "Your daughter would like to talk to you about what happened Wednesday." The hate that dripped from my mother's voice was like a stake through my heart. "You tell that slut that she is no longer my daughter. My daughter does not do those horrible things she did! She is no longer welcome in my house. Ever!" And then she hung up! "It's real," Mike said. Well, I was a wreck at that point. I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach. I sat on Mike's lap, crying on his shoulder, arms draped around him. He was now the one familiar thing here, the one comfort zone. He was all I had. I cried for a long time. Then I had an idea. "I'd like to go to Felice's. She can help me for a while. It's better than here." Mike shook his head. "Felice has the same problems you do. I don't think it's good for you and her to be together until whatever you have is fixed." "What do you mean, fixed?" "There's some fundamental reason for what you did and what happened to you," he said. He stood me up. "Right now, you've got nothing to your name, not even any clothing. Think of it as a clean start." "What do I do?" "Right now, I think you should get ready for bed." He showed me the guest room, where I would sleep. It had its own full bathroom, which he had stocked with every sort of health, beauty and hygiene product he could think of. There was a closet, but it was bare (like me): just a few empty hangers. I stood there a few moments, thinking. Mike was casually looking me over. I realized something: ever since I had started as a lifeguard, I had subtly noticed him gazing at me like that. Sneak peeks, especially when others probably weren't looking. The yellow swimsuit hugged my curves really well, back when I was wearing it; and he had pored over those curves so many times. He must have been imagining what I'd look like with the suit off. It was so obvious now. And when that weird chain of events caused me to be naked, he decided, even against his better judgment, that he was not going to let me go. Why did he scold me so much, then? Why did he call me a dizzy blonde every chance he got? Well, don't boys in school tease the most the girls they secretly have crushes on? To be naked in front of him, and to be wanted so intensely, was making me aroused. I looked at Mike. He was in good shape, decently handsome, and could be charming when he wanted to. The main thing I didn't like was how he had treated me. But seeing things in a different light... I took his hand, laid it on my bare breast. I looked up at him. Mike, I'm yours, I thought. At least for now. He took me on the guest bed, without even turning down the comforter. I lay on my back, comfortably padded. He kissed my thighs, my breasts, and my neck. He stripped off his shirt; I ran my hands over his muscular chest. His pants came off next, and his boxers; his penis bobbed up, stiffening. The sight made me moist. We didn't say anything to each other, but I was making more and more noise. Looking back, I figured his wife Moira was sure to have overheard us. He fondled my tingling breasts, and the head of his penis tapped against my inner thighs as he leaned forward. I took him in my hands and guided him in. I gasped. He was big, and even though I was wet, I was still tight. He'd have to ease his way in, let me stretch a little. "Oh god, Mike," I said, softer at the end, remembering his wife was around; but as he moved all the way in, and we started thrusting, it felt so delicious that I no longer cared about keeping quiet. I looked up at him, seeing his features for the first time, his firm chin, his bright green eyes. If only I had known. That first day on the job, when he had looked me over, me standing there shyly, worrying that my nipples were poking out too much against the yellow swimsuit, that I was a little more exposed than I wanted to me -- if only I had known then. I would have peeled off my suit right there. He could have taken me right then, there in the office. I wouldn't have picked the suit back up. I would have never worn anything again. The feeling of him inside me was winding me up and up. He had been imagining me in the position all this time... every day, while I wore nothing but that thin yellow swimsuit... I raked my nails along his back, luxuriating in the feeling of him filling me up, stoked by the naughtiness of where we were doing it, and where we might have done it earlier, if I had only known... There was such heat building up, a core between my legs, and sensation overload everywhere he touched me. I was moving, but my body's motion was not under my control. It was like I was strapped in, along for the ride. His eyes gazed into mine, and I swear I saw them harden first, before his body began to stiffen as well, his movements more deliberate, forceful. Then he let go, he came, and I came too, and it was only later, after we had calmed down, that I realized I must have been moaning, even screaming, at the very end. The silence now, as he nuzzled the nape of my neck, cloaked us like a blanket. I showered and climbed into bed. He went upstairs. I wondered if his wife had stayed up there, had heard the whole thing. * * * Now I know this story hasn't portrayed me in a complimentary light. I've tried my best to tell exactly what happened, and admit everything. But I'd like to take my own defense for a moment, against those of you who would call what I did "falling into my captor's arms", as the blondest thing of all. I knew my life was a mess at that point. Everyone I knew would quickly find out about what happened. I just didn't want to go out there and face them right then. Mike offered a fresh start. Like he said, I had nothing -- not even clothes on my back. He offered a place to stay and a chance to get back on my feet. I stayed for about 11 months, and stayed willingly. He eventually bought me some clothes, slowly accumulating a varied assortment that never seemed to add up to a complete outfit. I was almost never completely dressed, unless we left the house (and sometimes not even then). Much of the time I was nude. He bought a bikini bottom, which I sometimes wore around the house; ironically, when I swam in his backyard pool, I never wore anything. Maybe that image of me emerging from the surf, naked and dripping wet, was something he wanted to keep fresh. There's much more I could tell about my year with Mike, but they're moving on to the next story, so I'll stop here. The next one is (I think) Jim's story, which happened only a day later and on another beach about 15 miles away. So that's all for now, but I'll be back. VS Ch. 05 Toro Beach, in southern California, is partially protected by a spit of land and rock, so that waves are gentle. The beach itself is hidden from the parking area by a serpentine dune, about 15 feet high, dotted with dry grasses and shrubs. The dune separated Jim Donner, relaxing on a spread blanket on the beach, and college student Beth Gergen, driving her red Miata into the lot. They had never met. Still, he had an unwitting influence on her actions from that point on. Beth was a striking young woman, with pale white skin, voluptuous build, and long jet-black hair cascading down in gentle waves. The preceding Halloween, she summed up the courage to dress as Vampirella, carefully taping the sashes of red fabric over her breasts. She had briefly considered wearing nothing else but the sashes, which would loop over her shoulders and between her legs and cover almost everything they needed to. She tried this at home, assessing herself in the mirror. So much was exposed, at the curves of her buttocks, and outside the narrow red V covering her private parts, that she lost her nerve. Along her sides was uninterrupted bare skin from neck to toe. She put on a matching black miniskirt. Even with that concession to safety, she stole the attention of every guy at that party. (And the tape held.) She looked good in black clothing; it was one of her favorite colors. But she liked red even more. The bikini she wore today was a fire-engine red, a close match to her Miata; and her favorite party dress, in the closet at home, was the same color. Beth drove into the lot looking forward to a little quiet time: do some reading, scope out some guys, think a little about what to do later with her friends. After a year of being constantly surrounded by fellow college students, she welcomed the relative anonymity of a public beach, where families and groups of friends usually kept to themselves. Before she could park, however, she was struck by an impulse of surprising power, as if prodded with an electric baton. She sat stunned for a moment, car idling, not knowing what to make of it. Then she sped out of the lot. There was a compulsion to return home, as quickly as possible. For what reason, she didn't know; but she was unable to resist. As she steered back onto the main road, she felt a bubbling anxiety about not being back home yet. The sense of urgency increased as Beth drove through town, going as fast as she thought was safe without crashing or getting pulled over. She muttered "C'mon, c'mon!" at cars and pedestrians slowing her progress. Her heart was pounding faster, as if running in place, or watching a scary movie. The adrenaline and uncertainly was somehow making her feel sexually aroused as well. Without really thinking about it, she had her right hand in her lap, then between her legs. She slipped her hand underneath her bikini bottoms. She shifted in the seat, fingering herself as she steered with the other hand. At a stoplight she rose up in her seat slightly, and awkwardly slipped the bottoms off, leaving them on the floor. She banged her knee on the steering wheel doing this, creating a bruise that showed up later, but she wouldn't remember how she got it. As she waited for the light to change, she drummed her left fingers on the steering wheel, while her right fingers probed her moistening slit. A guy on a skateboard rolled to a stop, his attention caught by the lovely brunette in the bright red bikini. When he leaned closer, to check out her lower half, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. She was beautiful, and bottomless, and touching herself. One or two fingers right up inside her pussy as she stared straight ahead. Too soon, the light changed and she sped off. She was about halfway home, past the center of town, and her nipples had hardened, erect like gumdrops, and her top was feeling constrictingly tight. She didn't feel safe taking it off here, though; it would be too conspicuous and she didn't want to be stopped. She did reach back and undo the clasp, letting the top loosely cover her breasts. The top continued to irritate her, and after a while she no longer cared about being seen. About a mile from her house, she took it off and tossed it outside. Now nude, her mind seemed to clear and she was able to focus. She needed to put on different clothes; that's why she was going home. The bikini wasn't right, it wasn't the right thing to wear, and that's why she had taken it off. It was better to wear nothing for the moment. As she sped past, a man picking up a newspaper blinked at what he wasn't sure he had seen. Surely that wasn't a naked woman in that car. Beth pulled into the driveway diagonally, just barely out up out of the street, and sprinted into the house. "Beth, is that you?" her mother called. "Forgot something. Gotta go get it," Beth yelled, bounding up the stairs. Her mom caught just a glimpse of her running up and shook her head at the skimpy things kids wore these days. It almost looked like her daughter wasn't wearing anything at all. Beth stood in front of her closet, fidgeting, shifting weight from one foot to another. Her right hand was at her chin, as she nibbled at a fingernail, not biting through, but just worrying at it. Her left hand was between her legs. She might not even have noticed she was stroking herself. (Her neighbor, the 45-year-old man who happened to glance through her window, did notice. The best sight of her he had previously enjoyed was last summer, when she was watering the back lawn and accidentally sprayed herself, drenching the front of her white T-shirt. She hadn't been wearing a bra, and the thin cotton turned nearly transparent against her breasts.) Now that she was home, nothing looked suitable to wear. Beth was at a standstill, paralyzed by indecision, anxiety mounting. Finally the answer occurred to her. She ran down the hall to the den, where she knew a pair of sharp scissors was. Heedless of a thousand mothers' warnings, she ran back with the scissors to her room. Luckily her brother was already out of the house. As far as she knew, he had not seen her naked since before puberty. She started with a red polo shirt that was a size too small, and cut off large swathes of fabric. Sleeves, collar and midriff were gone, making it a strapless bandeau, about five inches wide, that covered enough of her breasts to technically not be indecent. She tried it on; a single button strainingly held it together. An old pair of black bikini panties became the bottom; from these she cut out the elastic waistband. When she put them on, they had trouble staying up, and tended to drift down whenever she walked, or even stood with her legs slightly apart. Still, an overwhelming feeling of relief confirmed that this outfit was the right thing to wear. She walked gingerly down the stairs, shouting "Bye Mom" as she stepped outside. The drive back to the beach was sedate. Beth felt no urge to speed, or touch herself, or take all her clothes off. She knew her skimpy outfit was attracting some attention, and that her large breasts were putting a lot of stress on the button holding together her improvised top; but nothing worried her. Everything was going to be all right. Back at the parking lot, Beth stepped out of the car, then leaned over to get her beach mat and bag. The panties slipped down to her knees, exposing her bottom. Normally she would have been mortified about such a thing; but instead she was merely irritated. The panties were proving a nuisance. She hiked them back up and walked toward the dune, and a small footpath leading to the beach. She took small steps. She had no hands free to hold her panties up. She climbed to the top of the dune without incident, seeing the ocean for the first time. It was a beautiful day. But just standing there, pausing to enjoy the view, caused her panties to slide down again. A few people on the beach had already noticed her and were no doubt happily surprised to see her accidentally bottomless. A neat triangle of black pubic hair contrasted sharply with her pale skin. She bent forward, trying to get hold of her panties with two fingers while still holding her things. This put just enough additional stress on the single button holding together her stretched top to snap its thread. The top sprang off to the back, and her breasts quivered slightly as they were revealed. Now Beth was in worse shape, practically naked, still trying to pull her panties back up, and drawing more attention. Flustered, she finally got a grip on the delicate black fabric and pulled up, so at least most of her butt and pubic area was covered. Her exposed breasts she could do nothing about right now. She carefully started downhill. Even though she was going slowly, at the second step she lost her footing and fell headlong. She ended up on her stomach and slid down a little bit. She lay there dazed for a few moments, sand in her face and clinging to her breasts. Jim had been walking by moments before, and Beth had caught his eye as soon as she reached the top of the dune. He stopped and watched the whole thing happen, about 20 feet away. When she fell, he jogged over to assist her. The other people looking on apparently were just content to watch. The girl was starting to prop herself up, shaking her head and spitting out sand. Raven-black hair spilled out over her shoulders and back. Even at first sight, with her in an unflattering position, he knew she was beautiful. Large breasts slowly lifted off the sand as she came to her elbows. Long legs and a curvaceous body were separated by the skimpiest black underthings, which had slipped down a bit, exposing most of her lovely ass. The first thing he did, even before speaking to her, was to tug at her panties until the fabric ripped and gave way. He tossed the material to the side. And just in time, too; seconds later she got to her knees. Then he extended a hand and helped her to her feet. Her naked body was perfection in his eyes. Melon-sized natural breasts that needed no bra. Torso tapering down to a trim waist, then flowering into voluptuous hips, neatly trimmed pussy and lovely legs. It was silly for any of this to be covered up. "Are you OK?" he said. "Looks like you had a bad fall." Beth was still a little shaken and didn't answer. Sand was still stuck to her tummy, breasts, forearms and thighs. Jim started to gently brush the sand away. She watched him do this, not resisting, even when he paid considerable attention to her breasts, nipples, and pubic area. After he finished, he walked slowly around her, checking everything out. She was quite beautiful, even by southern California standards. What a knockout. "I think you're OK now," he said. "Whoops, missed one." A few grains of sand rested on her red lips. He brushed them with a fingertip and then gave her a quick kiss. "My name's Jim." "I'm Beth," she said, looking into his eyes. A sense of rightness flooded through her. This was all meant to be, another clue in a mystery slowly being unraveled. She kissed him, open lips, hungry, oblivious to those around her, not caring she was naked. He took her to his blanket, in a less crowded area of the beach, and laid her on her back. She still seemed a little out of it, and was happy to gaze up at him. The sight of her laying there, nipples pointing straight up, legs slightly spread to show her moist pink slit... that was too much for Jim to put off enjoying. He stripped off his trunks, touched her a little bit to make sure she was wet, and then guided himself in. Beth was an enthusiastic lovemaker, moving in concert with him, alternately caressing him and raking his back with her nails. Neither of them cared that probably no one else at the beach was even topless, and they were having sex not 50 feet away from other beachgoers. He pulled out temporarily to spend some time nibbling and licking her delicious tits, and then moved down between her legs, licking her pussy until she seemed almost ready to come. When he got back inside her, a few strategic caresses of her left nipple were enough to send her over the edge. After her climax, he let himself go and came too. They spent a while just laying there in the sun naked, her head on his shoulders, Jim on his back. After a while Beth returned to her supine position and fell asleep. He marveled at this: asleep, nude, on a public beach, legs not even crossed, showing everything. Was that confidence, or trust, or just nonchalance? Jim put on his trunks and got up to get drinks. Without knowing the exact reasons, he was sure Beth would be OK by herself until he returned. The line was long at the snack bar. He fell in behind a blonde woman with short hair, and and hourglass figure almost like Beth's. She had cute legs and a nice ass, but the blue one-piece she wore was way too modest in his view. She had some freckles on her shoulders. "Long line," Jim remarked. She turned around. A cute face, not super skinny like a model's. Nice boobs too, really nice, although her swimsuit didn't show much of a neckline. "Sort of like purgatory", she said. "Like line torture." She had an appealing smile, intelligent eyes and evidently a unique sense of humor. Line torture? Hmmm. "Too bad there's no safe word," Jay said. "What's a safe word?" Maybe he had misread her. "When you're doing bondage and domination play, it's supposed to be consensual, even though you're playing at being master and slave. The safe word is something the "slave" can say at any time to stop whatever they're doing and go back to normal. It's like an escape valve." Jim had never participated in such things, but had read enough about them. "Bondage is like whips and chains, right?" "Not just that. There are all sorts of roles you can play. But you'll have one person commanding the other and often doing what looks like abuse. But with the safe word, the submissive one actually determines how far things go." "That's fascinating, how it turns things around!" she said. "So how does it work in practice?" she said. "Well, we could do a little session right here in line. No whips, because I left them at home." She laughed. "What could we do standing in line anyway?" "Simple stuff. Innocuous things. Like violating personal space, touching, so on." "Well, we are stuck here for a while, so let's try it. Before we start, what's your name?" "Jim." "I'm Jolene. Glad to meet you, master." She shook his hand. "Shall we start?" "Sure. For the safe word, let's just use the number eight." "Okay. Easy enough." "Good. First thing you need to do is take off your sandals and put them over there." She looked puzzled for a second, as if she was really expecting him to ask something else. But she doffed her sandals and returned to the line. "That wasn't so bad. Sounds more like Simon Says." "It's not only following directions," Jim said. "Also the dominant person can do what he or she wants with the submissive. Like this." He drew up close behind her and placed his hands at her hips. He spoke softly in her ear. "Until, of course, the safe word." She tensed up but otherwise stood still. "You know, I'm not comfortable with basically a complete stranger touching me like that." "You know the safe word. You can use it at any time." She didn't. He could feel her relax at his touch. "I'm starting to understand this more, now," she said. "So I can protest and you can still force your will on me. The safe word is just to let you know when I really mean it." "That's exactly right." He moved his hands slowly upward from her hips to her waist and higher. He still had not touched her bare skin -- she wore a one-piece -- but he was moving toward cupping her breasts underneath. "You keep going, I'm going to say it," she warned. "That way, we find some limits," he said, and took his hands away. He then started to massage her shoulders, which she enjoyed. ("This bondage stuff isn't bad at all," she whispered.) After getting her accustomed to that, he slipped his fingers underneath her swimsuit straps. "Okay, stop," she said. "I don't want you reaching underneath." The line moved forward slightly. Jim ignored her. Nothing she could say besides the safe word would get his attention. He shifted the straps over her shoulders and onto her arms, leaving the neck and shoulders bare; then he caressed her there for a little while. Jolene's body language showed some discomfort at this, but she didn't move away or say anything. The line was moving a little faster now. There might not be as much time as he had thought. He wanted to pull down her straps far enough to free her arms and create a sleeveless maillot for Jolene, still covering everything except her arms and shoulders. But the material wouldn't stretch that far. To move toward freeing her arms, he would have to peel the entire suit down to near her waist. He slowly did so, gradually exposing more and more of the tops of her breasts. "Don't do this, it's not right," she said, almost in a whisper. He ignored her and kept going. Once he got the material over her nipples, there was more slack and her breasts were easily bared. "Oh god," she said. "I can't believe this." He let go of her swimsuit and started to fondle her breasts from behind. The woman in front of them turned back, saw this, and looked at Jim with an arched eyebrow. He smiled guiltily and she smiled back. She was cute; a slim brunette in a tiny black bikini. Maybe he could hook up with her next. Jolene still seemed unhappy, even though she was getting noticeably aroused. Her pink nipples hardened to nubs between Jim's teasing fingers. "Use the safe word if you want," he whispered. He was glad she was going along this far. It was time to uncover more of her soft skin. He peeled the suit down to her waist, and then started fondling her bottom, which was still covered for now, sort of a preview for later. She was really getting into this, not even half-heartedly protesting anymore. The black bikini woman was watching again. Jolene looked silly now, most of her swimsuit hanging limply below the waist. The highest point was now at hiphugger height, and Jim kept slowly peeling it down. The cleft between her butt cheeks came to light, and the first tufts of her pubic hair began to show. The person in front of black bikini woman tapped her shoulder; she was next. She reluctantly turned away to make her order. Time was running out. Jolene's ass and pussy were almost completely exposed when Jim pulled everything down to her ankles. "Step out," he said, and she did. He said, "Give your suit to that guy in the green trunks." He was about 18 or so, drinking a Coke and watching her. "Don't say anything to him; just give him the suit and come back." She obeyed, and walked calmly back to him. He saw her full frontal nude for the first time. Full breasts, creamy thighs; a light dusting of blonde pubic hair. Moist pussy lips. He guessed he wasn't the only one with a tent pole in his swim trunks. Black bikini woman had her order and turned for one last glimpse. She smiled and shook her head. "Have fun." Jim hoped he could find her again. Jolene was at the front of the line. Jim had her face forward with legs shoulder length apart. "Order three lemonades," he told her, and inserted a finger in her pussy. He left her breasts uncovered for the server to see. "Th-three lemonades, please," she said as Jim fingered her. The counterperson, a boy still with pimples on his face, leaned over and stared down at her body. Jim removed his hand to give the guy a look at Jolene's pussy. "Uh, six dollars, please," the kid said. "You don't have any money," Jim whispered. "Maybe he can touch your tits." "Oh, I don't have anything with me," she said coyly to the boy. She caressed her breasts, tweaking her nipples with her thumbs. "Do you want to touch these? That should be worth something." VS Ch. 05 "I - okay, I can do these on the house," the boy said. "Oh, thank you." She leaned forward on her tiptoes and he hesitantly reached out to her. "Tell him don't be shy," said Jim. "Don't be shy," she said. "You love being touched like this." "I love being naked and I love when a man touches me." The boy cupped her breasts and then began pawing them. It was the first time he had touched a naked woman. He was eager but not very skilled. To make her more aroused, Jim resumed fingering her pussy. "Oh, my god," Jolene said, and then "oh" at intervals that got closer and closer. She gripped the drink counter for support. "You want to come," Jim said. She had a hard time forcing out her assent between gasps and grunts. He inserted another finger inside; she had warmed up and stretched out a bit. He flicked his fingers against each other inside her and she shuddered. Her hair whipped back and forth as she shuddered and came. Jim had to remind the boy to get their lemonades. "Thank you, ma'am," he said as she carried them away. Jim didn't let Jolene even look for her swimsuit. Perhaps the guy she gave it to would keep it for a souvenir. He led her back to his area, passing by dozens of people gawking at the naked woman carrying drinks. At his towel, Beth had woken up and waved sleepily. "What's going on here?" Jolene asked. "Are you collecting naked women or something?" "Don't ask questions," Jim said. "Lay down on the towel next to Beth." Instead, Jolene stepped up to Jim and kissed him lightly on the lips, hers slightly open, with the tip of her tongue. She repeated this, more passionately this time. It felt as if all of the erotic potential of this lovely nude blonde was concentrated and passed through her lips into his. His heartbeat surged and his cock stiffened. She removed her lips and said "Eight," with a mischievous smile, looking him straight in the eye. "What?" Jim didn't remember the context, the game they were playing. "Eight. The safe word. I'm done playing." Jolene's behavior had changed so abruptly it was like a switch had flipped. "But you came all the way out here..." "You wouldn't understand. Even I don't understand a lot about it. But it sometimes works retroactively." Jim was about to ask what she was talking about when she dropped to her knees next to Beth. "What's your name?" Jolene asked, in almost the sing-song voice kindergarten teachers use. "Beth?" Beth nodded, gazing up at Jolene with wide eyes. Jolene ran one hand through Beth's long hair, and then caressed one breast, culminating with a gentle squeeze of the nipple between thumb and finger. Beth sighed. "You're beautiful, Beth," Jolene said, and leaned over her, one hand planted on each side, lowering herself as if to kiss. Then she shook her head. "I really shouldn't," she said, more to herself, and stood up. "I have to leave, Jim," said Jolene. "But don't cry over spilt milk. There will be plenty of Beths from now on. But remember that they're temporary. Not yours to keep. So have a little fun, and then let her get on with her life. OK?" "OK," said Jim, though he had no idea what she was talking about. "It was nice to meet you," Jolene said, extending a hand. Jim found shaking hands with a naked woman very odd, and she seemed to be treating this like a successful sales call. "I'd better go find my swimsuit," she said. "Hope it's still there!" With a huge grin, she stepped back, gave Jim a mock salute, and walked away. She didn't seem to mind being naked in the open at all. He stood there and watched until she was out of sight. He missed her very much. "I know I've been had," he said, shaking his head. "I just don't know how." She had obviously planned this somehow. What was in it for her? "What'd you say?" Beth said, groggily. "Nothing." He sat down next to her. "Here's your lemonade." She sat up and they both sipped their drinks, watching the surf. Jim's confusion and regret ebbed after a while. After all, Beth was still here, she was naked and beautiful, and she might fancy another go-round, as the Brits would say. So he'd have to let her go; he could worry about that when the time came. She lay back down, stretching her arms, offering her nude body to him; he took one of those beautiful breasts in a hand and started to caress. VS Ch. 06 Chapter 06: Roz and Jodie Roswell Wing swallowed the last ounce of water from her bottle, shut her eyes, and rubbed her temples. She'd devoted more than enough time to the Cthaat Aqua-whatever to be certain that the far-fetched grimoire was a dead end, about as useful for her needs as a horoscope in planning a Mars mission. Most of it read like amateur fiction that, in an attempt to be made more compelling, was presented as fact. The inhospitability of the Miskatonic Rare Book Reading Room to serious study irked Roz. The room's stuffy ambiance and and dour security was a constant irritation. She sat alone in the reading area, wearing an uncomfortable, itchy smock instead of her own clothes, while a wizened, centenarian staffer kept watch from inside an enclosed booth. Aside from the dull hum of a computer fan, and odd creaks and ticks echoing along the linoleum floor and tinned ceiling, the room was as stuffy and quiet as a tomb. The tablet computer's fan silenced after she tapped the screen's shutdown button. The real Cthaat Aquadingen was more than seven centuries old; the Rare Book staff were reluctant to even expose it to light. Instead, she was given a touchscreen tablet, like a laptop computer without a keyboard, with scanned images of each page. There was no manufacturer logo -- she had no idea who made the device -- and no data ports, no way to copy the images. The tablet did not leave the Reading Room. The document was protected in more ways than one. The near-hysterical security surrounding the room still astounded her, though by now she had arrived at a grudging understanding. Visitors were forbidden from bringing anything in at all; pens and note paper were provided. As a pleasant surprise for the nickeled-and-dimed undergraduate student, the materials were free of charge. The staffer (more of a guard, really) waited in a booth of bulletproof glass, with a speaker and slide tray, like a box office or bank. She carefully laid the tablet in the tray. The guard pulled a lever and the booth swallowed it up. "Thank you," she said, a noble insistence on politeness, though he never responded. He tucked the tablet into a bin where a few others were stacked on end. He wore white gloves; she had never seen his hands. "Smock," he said. She disliked this part of the routine. She wore nothing underneath the borrowed smock, and there was nowhere to undress in private. Even if there were, she would have to walk over and hand the smock to him anyway. She turned away from him and pulled the cheap sleeveless garment over her head. She'd learned the hard way to lean forward slightly and avoid having the coarse fabric chafe her nipples. Using a study table, she folded the smock so it would fit, and recalled a previous boyfriend who would have enjoyed watching this. In a careless moment, he'd confided that when he was rich, he'd hire a bevy of nude maids, many more than the job would require. She placed the smock in the tray. During her first visit, she had tried to accomplish this while simultaneously covering her breasts and privates. She stopped bothering when she realized that the guard did not care; if he had any interests at all, they lay elsewhere. The striptease wasn't for the guard's benefit. To make sure she brought nothing into the room, her privacy and modesty were elbowed aside in the interest of security. She'd taken her own clothes off outside the entrance and placed them in a locker; then entered the room naked through a plexiglass airlock, with interlocking doors at each end. A quick stroll across to the booth, and the guard had passed her a smock through the slide tray. That was her attire for her stay at the Reading Room. The white smock felt more like paper than cloth; she wondered how often it was laundered. At least it seemed clean. She'd told Professor Shea a few times that if there were no one else in the room, she'd prefer to work without it; being naked would be more comfortable. Shea told her the same thing each time: don't cause trouble. The guard put the smock away in an unseen room, and returned. "Notes," he said; always a gruff voice, with no trace of the accent many older people in Arkham had. She handed over her pen and stack of blank sheets; she hadn't taken any notes. If she had, they would be transcribed by library staff and delivered to her office within a day. One more item came out in the tray, the visitor record, and Roz signed out. Once he buzzed her out, she would be free to exit through the airlock. It was entirely transparent, and passed by the guard's booth, which had a floor-to-ceiling view of anyone walking through. A metal detector prevented anyone from smuggling anything inside, and Roz supposed it was better than a cavity check. Still, the whole process was quite demeaning. She took some solace in an appeal to vanity: she looked very good naked, and had nothing to be ashamed of. For many students, and most of the faculty, it was a different story. She recalled a particularly embarrassing discussion with Professor Shea that she wished she could undo, starting with her asking if all the security was a response to any recent event. The specter of Y2K, with its potential of world collapse, was still several months away. "No, it was much earlier than that," Shea said, chuckling. "Decades ago, in 1928, there was a bit of an incident, where a, uh, gentleman was caught trying to steal a book. He was caught, but it was quite an eye-opener. The college realized that more protective measures were in order." "The books are that valuable?" He laughed again, and she suspected she was being made fun of. "Not monetarily. Though there always could be a black market for these works, chances are someone trying to make off with the Necronomicon is not doing so in order to fence it." "I understand the metal detector, but why the X-ray?" That question surprised him most, which puzzled her. "Why, to make sure you're human." That conversation, exactly a week after she arrived, had made her wonder whether transferring to his department, or to Miskatonic at all, was a good idea. Now, his answers made more sense; as her paleontology studies ventured deeper into what she once considered cryptozoology, her perspective had widened. Roz dressed, bought a coffee at the student union, and settled into an easy chair near a bay window overlooking the lawn. Shea would want to know what she had found out, but he could wait. She'd grab a late lunch before going back to her office. She dialed her younger sister's number, back at Seneca College. Making the call felt strange; for all Jodie's other birthdays, Roz had greeted her with a hug, instead of a phone call. This was their first summer apart, Roz at Miskatonic, and Jodie at Seneca's summer session. As the phone rang, Roz realized mid-afternoon might be a bad time to call; Jodie would probably be out of the room. But instead of the answering machine, she picked up. "Hello?" "Happy birthday, early!" "Hey, big sis, thanks!" "I didn't expect to catch you in. Are you still going to class these days?" Jodie laughed. "Of course! But my last one got out at 2:30. Why are you calling today instead of Saturday?" "I'm going to the Vineyard for the weekend. With Adrian's family. Big yacht, seaside mansion, the works." "'The Vineyard'? I guess you're already assimilated." Arkham was over an hour away from Boston, but Roz could manage a credible accent. "It's wicked awesome." "So are you going to drop out and marry the guy?" "He does have friends in high places. Is everything OK with you?" "Yeah." Jodie paused long enough that Roz wasn't entirely convinced. "But don't tell anyone, I miss having you here." "Really? I thought you'd enjoy not having me around. You finally have some freedom." "No, seriously. It's so quiet here, anyway. There's like one-tenth as many people." "You're behaving?" "Roz, I'm 20. Almost." "I know, I shouldn't talk." Throughout high school, Roz, not Jodie, was the one always getting into trouble. "Actually, I want to drive out there, maybe mid-August if things work out. Stay a few days." "Oh, that would be cool! But aren't you doing the expedition this summer?" Roz had been stingy with details, but Jodie knew there had been a significant archaeological find in the Mediterranean, and her sister hoped to go on the next trip out. Roz sighed. "I don't know. It's such a mess with funding, and politics. We want to have a clean dig while there's a chance, but Athens is talking about national heritage, and wants to know exactly where the site is, on and on and on. It doesn't help that Karla is still missing." "They haven't found her? It's been almost two months, right?" "I don't think the news will be good. Bernard especially; he's still hopeful, but I think he'd be at least relieved if there were any sort of closure." "I can't imagine how that hit him. They were pretty close, weren't they?" "Not romantically, he says, though the cops still can't shake that idea, and every once in a while call him in again for questioning. It's just so hard on him." "Is he seeing anyone?" "No. If I knew anyone available out here..." She snickered. "He does think I'm cute." "What a surprise." This wasn't anything new: Both Roz and Jodie were quite attractive. Bernard was just another guy in a long parade of admirers. "Oh, he's harmless. He won't do anything. Are you still good with Luke?" "Yeah, we'll do something this weekend. He's supposed to surprise me. He'll pick me up at the gate." No men were allowed on Seneca's campus. Roz peered up, and noticed Professor Shea seated next to her. She held up a finger and turned away, hoping her dismay had not shown on her face. Had Shea come out here looking for her? "Sorry, Jodie, I gotta go. If I don't get you later today, I'll call back on Sunday. Anything else going on?" "No... same old stuff..." Another pause. "You know, study and read and relax." "Cool. Love you, sis." "Love you, Roz. Bye." Jodie stretched out on the bed and yawned, thinking it might be a good time for a catnap. Plenty of light shone through a window kept open for fresh air, but she was well known for being able to curl up and sleep at any time of the day. Larissa nestled closer to her, brushed away a few strands of hair at the nape of her neck, kissed her there, and said: "You didn't tell her." "I know. I chickened out. I'm sorry." Jodie slipped a hand underneath Larissa and stroked the small of her back. The afternoon sun warmed the room; Jodie and Larissa had taken everything off, and had pushed the bedsheets down to the waist. If the intent was to cool off, Larissa's nude body and gentle kisses weren't helping. "You haven't told your family either." Larissa's soft breasts pressed against Jodie as she hugged her from the side. Her bare thigh crossed Jodie's legs just above the knee. She found one of Jodie's breasts without looking; the girl's slender body was familiar territory. She caressed it in lazy curves, making Jodie shiver. Larissa said, "I'm having trouble thinking of the right words. Like 'Hey, dad, there's this really hot girl I'm in love with, she's got beautiful eyes, a fantastic body, and she has this way of looking at me that just makes me totally wet...'" "Do not say that to him." Jodie let her eyes droop shut. Larissa's lyrical voice, and the warmth of her body, was sensation enough. "... and he'd say, 'That's OK, Larissa, as long as you're happy.'" Jodie giggled at her attempt at a baritone voice, then sighed as Larissa made minute adjustments to bring their bodies even closer together. The low sandpaper tones seemed to resonate from Larissa's body into hers. She was starting to slip into a familiar, comfortable state of aroused bliss that Larissa brought on just by being close to her, or even speaking to her. She had once admitted that Larissa's voice was such a turn-on that simply being sung a lullaby could probably make her come. Larissa hadn't tried it yet, but there was little doubt she was waiting for the right moment. Larissa continued imitating her father's voice. "'And as long as you're keeping up with your studies.' Then I'd say, 'Well, that's a problem, Dad, because my econ class is kinda boring, so I skipped it today, and instead I'm naked in Jodie's bed, making out with her.'" "Stop it!" Jodie said, eyes open again, laughing. "You make it sound so bad..." Larissa snaked a hand underneath the sheets and between Jodie's thighs. "You are going to tell her before she comes out, right?" she said, and let her fingertip glide along Jodie's sensitive labia for emphasis. "I'm not going to hide. She's going to wonder who's this naked girl in her sister's bed." Jodie waited too long to respond. Her swelling pussy lips grew slick as Larissa's finger moved between, still resting on top, with the slightest pressure. Larissa kicked the sheet away, uncovering the rest of Jodie's body, and spread her index and little fingers between Jodie's thighs, prodding her to open them further. Jodie spread her knees obligingly. She could see the door between them and hoped she remembered to lock it. "She'll see me doing this to you," Larissa said. "You're going to tell her, right?" "I will, I will," Jodie said, after drawing a breath. "You promise?" Larissa's finger slowed, pressed gently between Jodie's lips, and plunged inside her. Jodie gasped and arched her back, momentarily raising her butt from the bed before settling back down. "I promise!" Jodie said. "She might wonder if I'm into older sisters..." "Ewww! Stop!" Jodie cried, for all the good it would do. Larissa loved to needle her, and keep her off guard, especially when she was at her most vulnerable. The teasing was mostly affectionate, yet sometimes (always after the fact) Jodie thought she could detect a trace of malice, like a drop of chili sauce in a cup of soup. It hardly mattered. At times like this, when Jodie was nude, aroused, and flustered, with Larissa expertly bringing her closer to climax, it was more exciting not knowing whether she planned to show any mercy at all. Jodie savored the shiver of fear she felt when she considered how Larissa might take their relationship further, with more explicit roles of master and slave. Larissa seemed to disapprove of much of Jodie's clothing, not for its style, but for its being there at all. She always prodded Jodie into wearing less and less. As a slave Jodie might be forbidden to wear anything at all, ever. Larissa's occasional suggestions for Jodie to shave down below would become orders, and her most intimate parts would be plainly visible to all. Jodie's body would be Larissa's to use as she pleased (I'm practically there already, Jodie thought, writhing naked in her arms), and she would also look after Larissa's wants and needs. Still, so far there were limits. Larissa could have easily revealed their secret during Roz's call, but had kept still and silent. Jodie didn't know how to tell Roz about this. So much around her was changing; the summer fling was more a consequence of larger events than something she had set out to do. She sensed the entire school had floated up to a tipping point, a temporary, unstable, equilibrium, and would settle into a different posture when the fall semester arrived. About a month ago Allison, a freshman student in the morning swim class, asked for permission to attend class without her swimsuit. The instructor, Lorraine, had no objections as long as no one else minded. The other students agreed her request was reasonable, especially with no men around to cause trouble. Allison, a skinny girl with grapefruit-sized breasts high on her chest, peeled off her dry swimsuit and climbed into the pool nude. The class continued without incident. After showering and dropping off the school-supplied towel, Allison simply got dressed and was ready to go.The advantages of her idea became clear. She no longer had to worry about carting her damp swimsuit to her room, or the next class. No more rinsing, laundering and drying. More students asked Lorraine for permission in the following days, and she told everyone in all sessions that they no longer needed to ask. Larissa was one of the first girls in Jodie's class to leave her swimsuit behind. It took her a couple tries to convince Jodie. Some girls still preferred wearing their suits -- even a skimpy bikini offered more security than nothing at all -- but by now over half the girls were swimming nude. As if honoring a pledge to follow the majority, even Lorraine, the instructor, had started going without. Lorraine was probably ten years Jodie's senior, but in great shape with a no-nonsense trim physique. Jodie had a secret crush on her, which made the class even more enjoyable. Lorraine had short auburn hair that she would slick back when wet (and Jodie loved watching her reach back to do this), but would revert to a plastered mess as soon as she went back underwater. She had small breasts, a tight butt, and well-toned arms and legs. She might not have had all the curves that would catch a man's eye when she was clothed, but nude, Lorraine was undeniably female, and Jodie found the self-assured way she moved undeniably erotic. Jodie nurtured a recurring fantasy about Lorraine, a private one-on-one session, that she dared not share with anyone, especially Larissa. Other classes were changing as well. Larissa's marketing class was taught by a new summer instructor named Sandy, a Scandinavian blonde who seemed not much older than her students. "You should sit in on a class," Larissa told Jodie. "She's pretty cute." Sandy ran class very casually, often sitting at the edge of her desk, dangling her bare feet, or kneeling next to a student who might need her to clarify a point. She preferred tiny gym shorts and white tees with a snug, feminine fit. Had Seneca not been an all-female school, Sandy's class might have been the most popular on campus. Sandy's office hours were even less formal. To talk with her outside of class meant finding her somewhere on the south lawn, wherever the breeze and sun were nicest and there wasn't a frisbee game. And you had to be okay with nudity; Sandy sunbathed in nothing but a pair of designer sunglasses. "It's gotta be a cultural thing," Larissa told Jodie. "Maybe they're all like that in Sweden or wherever she's from." "You've gone out there, then." "It was a little weird. I sat down next to her, but she didn't sit up or take off her shades. We had a normal conversation, but when she wasn't talking it looked like she wasn't paying attention at all, even though I knew she was. So she's looking up at the sky, or asleep, and I'm, you know, checking out her boobs, her legs, between her legs; it's not every day you see your teacher's clitoris, you know? I could have just leaned in and kissed her there. She wasn't watching. The question is, would she go off like a fire alarm or would she be totally cool with it?" "Would you, if you had the chance?" "Maybe. Would you do Lorraine if you had the chance?" Jodie started. How had she figured that out? Or was it a lucky guess? "I don't think she goes that way," Jodie managed to say. She didn't dare tell about her fantasies, even though she feared somehow Larissa already knew. Maybe she'd seen her gazing at the instructor. Lorraine's body was a nice and possibly necessary distraction from Larissa's charms. It was more than once Jodie had been tempted to swim over to her naked friend and start making out. She had to resist, not to keep any sort of secret -- everyone knew they were together -- but to avoid disrupting class. Jodie didn't tell Roz that after today's class, she had showered next to Larissa, still behaving, lingering as the rest of the class showered and dressed. Jodie paid rapt attention as Larissa leisurely, thoroughly soaped up and rinsed every inch of her body. Her straight hair, as long and dark as Jodie's, was gathered between her shoulders like the tip of a calligrapher's brush. Larissa turned around slowly, showing Jodie all sides, but aside from a few conspiratorial smiles, and appreciative glances at her figure, Larissa acted as if Jodie wasn't there. When they were alone, Larissa turned off her shower, and reached over to turn off Jodie's. The room was silent except for the water dripping off their bodies. VS Ch. 06 Larissa leaned forward and kissed Jodie, and the delayed gratification of their pent up passion broke like a crumbling dam. Jodie absolutely loved this, when their bodies were so slippery it was impossible to keep her hands or lips in any one place. Larissa smelled of conditioner and soap. Her wet nipple slipped out of Jodie's searching mouth, and then Jodie was in between Larissa's squeaky clean breasts, smothered for a moment until she came up for air, finding her neck and chin, until they were kissing again. Larissa grabbed Jodie's ass, then let it slide out of her grasp, and followed a slick thigh to Jodie's pussy, getting wet with her own juices. Jodie moaned something, muffled as their lips were still locked. Jodie reached for Larissa's breasts, each one a luscious overflowing handful, puffing nipples slipping from under her palms and between her fingers. Larissa broke off their kiss, caught her breath, and said, "I'm so glad you ditched the swimsuit." Her finger slipped out of Jodie's pussy, and Jodie shivered when she found her way back inside. "One of these days I'm going to do this right in the pool. I'll make you come in front of everyone." There was little point in warning Jodie, other than to excite her even more. If Larissa carried out her threat, Jodie would be unwilling to resist. Larissa slipped another finger inside Jodie's tight pussy. "Then you can watch while I make love to the teacher." Jodie moaned at the images she introduced, of Lorraine's tight nude body brought to climax by Larissa's voluptuous charms. She wished- and then Larissa twisted her fingers in such a way that Jodie irresistibly fell, or slipped, into an an intense orgasm. And that was only the start. They lay out towels where there was room on the floor, for those parts of lovemaking that were more effectively done lying down. Jodie lay on her stomach, arms at her sides, as Larissa massaged her with her own body. Jodie could only hear Larissa's breathy whispers, and feel her pillowy breasts, her damp-dry pubic hair, her fingertips and lips. She pleaded to be allowed to turn over, and was ignored. Feeling Larissa's knee between hers, she spread her legs and raised her bottom, inviting a touch which didn't arrive. Larissa touched her everywhere except the place she wanted. "Please," Jodie cried, almost a sob. Larissa seemed to wait an eternity before relenting. She let Jodie sit up and they kissed for a while; Jodie fumbled at Larissa's buoyant breasts and her own hungry pussy. "Lay down," Larissa said, and helped Jodie onto her back before removing her hand from between her legs. Jodie enjoyed a glimpse of her friend above, the intense dark eyes and predatory grin, and then saw only her spilled dark hair, as Larissa alternated feather-light kisses on her tingling breasts. She bucked and came again, her moist pussy untouched, steaming the cool air. Larissa sat up and watched Jodie's breasts rise and fall as she breathed. They switched positions, and Larissa lay back indulgently as Jodie explored her with fingers and lips, kissing lower and lower on her taut belly and pubic thatch. Larissa's pussy lips were warm, moist, swelling, open. There was the slight taste of soap with Larissa's musk. Larissa was very specific about what she wanted, and soon Jodie's nose, mouth and chin were slick with her juices. After she had tongued Larissa to a noisy climax, Jodie crawled forward and lay on her tummy, laying her cheek between Larissa's breasts. Larissa ran her fingers through Jodie's damp hair. "We need another shower," Larissa said; both were covered in perspiration. Jodie shifted her head just enough to be able to kiss Larissa's breast. "Let's get cleaned up," Larissa said, and helped Jodie up. "No fooling around this time." They shared a shower nozzle, lips locked most of the time, their bodies entwined, separating only to let the water rinse between them. Finally they dried and dressed, and walked to Jodie's room. Yes, Jodie would have to tell Roz somehow. They were spending a lot of time together, and their clothes had a way of being quickly shed. She'd have to explain to Roz exactly who this insanely hot girl was.