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Spoilt Little Cindy

By: Man4Living



This story is set in the 1970s and reflects the gentler sexual mores of the time. This was not really my story to tell, but with the passage of time it can no longer do any harm. Names have been changed. All participants were over 19. Comments and votes appreciated.

~*~*~

From the perspective of today, the Seventies were another world. It was a febrile time of change and upheaval as a younger generation questioned everything their forebears sought to hand down to them by way of tradition. Yet the change was not easy, nor was it quickly accomplished. It felt to some of us at the time to be a generational struggle with two opposing camps, neither of which was prepared to compromise their values.

This is not intended to be an essay on inter-generational conflicts, but I want to set the scene for what were seismic changes in moral and sexual values which we just couldn't appreciate today. 

Hard porn is freely accessible on the internet now. Casual sex is no longer the subject of scandal. One can holiday in a nudist resort, or indulge in multiple, complex relationships without censure. Such practices are no longer shocking, salacious, exhilarating, or as erotic as they would have felt forty years ago.

Back in the Seventies, the legacy of the 'swinging sixties' was still being enjoyed by a very small proportion of the populous. For the rest of us, the risk of scandal and opprobrium deterred us from almost everything outside of marriage which is freely accepted today. Adultery was considered anti-social and a risk to family life. Sex in the media was implied rather than freely discussed or portrayed; porn was tame by modern standards; and the women's lib movement was fighting back against the growing sexual objectification of women. The miniskirt and hot pants were ceding ground in the fashion stakes to women's shapeless tops and dungarees. Frumpiness was the new anti-feminine uniform for so-called feminists.

So, for a good, conflicted catholic who had been suffering mortifyingly apparent manifestations of sexual awareness for most of his childhood, yet never learnt nor dared to deal with it, gaining experience was to prove problematic. Until Cindy, that is.

My first term at university, away from the oppressingly imposed conformity of my parents, was as much an education in life as in academic studies. Some of my fellow undergrads in Hall, including my own room-mate, were pairing off with partners, variously of the opposite and sometimes the same sex. Most - the rest - were, like me biding their time, waiting for the opportunity.

My first trip home, six weeks into my course, presented that opportunity. My parents were aghast at my long hair, and were immediately convinced I was also 'into drugs - wasn't every student?' They had lost their stranglehold on my lifestyle for ever now, though. Time to show some independence.

It was unseasonably warm for mid-October so I went to the local lido Saturday afternoon. It was thronged with people taking advantage of the Indian summer. Many of my old school friends were there too, so it promised to be a good social occasion.

After chatting and catching up on gossip for a while by the pool I slunk away to lounge in the shallow end and watch the female talent in my usual, pervy fashion. Most wore swimsuits, few of which were to any great extent revealing. A brave few wore bikinis. It was enough though to feed my imagination. Then my attention was drawn to the diving board. It was her swimming costume which caught my eye.

I guessed she was maybe 19. She had long, shapely legs, pear-shaped hips, a slim waist, square shoulders in good proportion to her hips ... and a proud and prominent bust. But what had most caught my attention was her bikini. It was memorable and I had seen it, or something very similar to it before. I racked my brains as she stood at the edge of the spring board for what seemed a very long time. Then she pushed off and upwards in an elegant arc, to straighten out and cut the surface of the pool almost without making a splash. Clearly, she was an accomplished swimmer.

I waited for her to surface, and was surprised that she did not appear until she had swum underwater, half the length of the pool. As she broke the surface a voice in my ear said "Isn't she something?" It was James. Then after a pause: "What brings you here stranger?"

"I'm down from uni for the weekend."

"Come to mix with the plebs?" he joked. University was a privilege not open to many in those days, and James had chosen to find a job, to help out his mother with their housing costs. I had known James since I was five, but he had latterly moved out of my social realm at school and upwards, into the social elite. These were the golden boys who excelled at sport, academic studies, and finding alpha girlfriends. Our catholic Grammar was boys only, so the girls were sourced from the counterpart convent college, and C of E Grammar School.

"I've come to admire the talent," I replied, revealing the heart of my pre-occupation.

"You don't need to admire from a distance then," said James and waved at the golden girl. She swam languidly the few remaining lengths to us and stood up in the water. "Hi Cindy, this is Adam, my old mucker."

That was gracious of him because we hadn't socialised much in recent years.

Cindy gave me a shy smile and stood flicking out her long auburn hair to arrange it decorously across her shoulders. She reminded me of a young Ursula Andress with her high cheekbones and aquiline nose. But she spoke with a relatively cultured English accent. Then my mental James Bond connection made the link. Her bikini was an expensive number, closely resembling the black and white bikini worn by the Bond girl Domino in Thunderball. She spoke with James for a few minutes, shooting glances at me from time to time. I heard none of their chatter. I was entranced by her shining wet globes, pushed up and together in her bikini top. I hadn't seen such a sexy body close-up before. The water lapped around her bikini panties, which were cut relatively low on the hips as was the fashion of the day. As I looked down at the water it seemed to be lapping against her bikini panty front, giving it a sheen which outlined the contours of her pubic mound. 

Realising my prurient behaviour, I looked up quickly into her eyes. She held my gaze for a moment then deliberately dropped her eyes to my trunks. There was no mistaking my erection which, in my distracted mental state I had not noticed. She smiled triumphantly. James' voice pierced through my reverie. "We're having a party at Simon's this evening. You should come. I'll walk home with you and give you the address."

Cindy took that opportunity to excuse herself and immerse her cooling body in the warm water as she swam back up the pool. I arranged to meet up with James when he was ready to leave the pool, then swam slowly after Cindy. She reached the far end when I was a third of a length behind her. I stopped and trod water to watch her pull herself up on the pool edge. As her upper body sprung up out of the water, the glistening water sparkled and reflected the sun off her lean and voluptuous body. The crack of her butt cheeks was perfectly silhouetted and helped me to imagine the rounded beauty of her naked bottom.

Her body dropped back into the water from her initial pull-up, enabling her to pop back up, this time higher, high enough for her to swing a leg onto the pool edge and pull herself out of the water. For a split second, I caught a sight of the expanse of material at her crotch. The shiny black fabric stretched and moulded around a hint of a camel toe.

Mesmerised, I followed with my eyes her slinky walk back to the short queue of men at the diving board. When it was her turn to dive she stepped slowly but purposefully onto and along the length of the board, then paused. I looked around and behind her. A small group of men had gathered to watch her, as if this moment had been pre-arranged. She waited, as if mentally preparing herself. The men waiting to follow her on the board made no objection to her time-wasting though. Like me, they were drinking in the glorious sight of her wet, glistening form, stretched upright at the edge of the board. Then I realised that she must make a habit of exposing her body to the admiring gaze of pubescent males and interested females alike. She raised her arms, preparatory to diving, then locked onto my eyes and flashed me an imperceptibly secret smile. The next moment is etched in my memory even now. Her body bounced up high, arced and readied itself for her dive. Her straightened was suspended vertically in the air, legs slightly apart, emphasising her sculptured back and bottom. It seemed to me like physical perfection. The gentle splash of her body cutting gracefully into the water broke the spell and I readied to swim away.

~*~*~

As we walked to James' house he told me about Cindy. "She's the daughter of the owner of Jennings Department Store. He has a house on the river somewhere and is rolling in money. But her daddy has money. Cindy is completely spoilt. Designer clothes, etc, etc ... whatever she wants"

"Line the designer bikini," I interjected.

"Precisely. I met her at one of Simon's parties. No one knows whose friend she is. How old do you think she is?" I shook my head. He flashed a look at me to judge my reaction as he continued, "Twenty five, but she looks seventeen. She is shy or awkward, but pretty self-absorbed. She's a stunner and likes the boys to know it, but she can be a pain: sullen, moody, opinionated, sarcastic. We think she's really a bit of a pain, but no one is mean enough to tell her. Men flock around her, expecting her to be an easy lay, but she never follows through on that promise.

Take my advice, steer clear and admire from a distance."

~*~*~

Armed with a bottle of Don Cortez red, I caught the train deep into the suburbs where Simon lived. I was surprised that his home was a large apartment above some shops on a sleepy High Street. It didn't fit the image I'd supposed of his probable lifestyle. He opened the door and gave me a welcome he had never previously shown all the time we had known each other.

Dusk was setting in which made the interior of the apartment gloomy. The hall was lit only by the harsh light through the doorway to the kitchen - the wine cellar for the evening. As ever the kitchen was heaving with people chatting and gorging on snacks, to slow down the rate at which they would get drunk during the evening. After some hellos and introductions, I swapped my cheap Spanish plonk for a large vodka and tonic and escaped from the kitchen. A fainter glow further down the hall indicated the location of the lounge. 

I surveyed the scene, as best I could. Music was playing at low volume from a cassette player to create the mood, which was enhanced by the almost complete lack of lighting. A single table lamp on an occasional table in a corner was draped in a dark material so that it did little more than pick out shadowy shapes in the room. The main illumination came from a large sash window which let in reflected light from street lamps in the High Street below.

I cast my eye around the room. The shadows seemed to be grouped in twos or threes, standing talking or squatting on sofas and armchairs. Then a movement in front of the window caught my eye. I moved towards it and guessed it was probably Cindy although she had her back to the room. She was standing by herself but pretending to follow a conversation close to her left. She was dressed in a mini-dress which hung a bit like a tent from her shoulders.

I leaned on the window sill, and turned to look back into the room. She turned her head towards me and I could now see her features in the gentle street light. "Hi Cindy, we meet again," was the best I could muster, as my stomach churned at the memory of her in that bikini. I was not used to chatting up strange women and tended to get tongue-tied.

Her response was to flash me a dazzling smile, which in the reflected street light made her seem stunningly beautiful. "I wondered if you'd come. How do you know these people?"

"Mostly old school friends. Not my normal social group, but I was glad to get the invitation."

"Nor mine," she sighed, and gave a little nervous shrug, "but they're all I've got." She suddenly seemed very young and innocent, uncertain of herself. Not at all like the beautiful, confidant woman on the diving board.

I handed her my drink, cursing that I had not put in even more vodka. "Here, have this, I'll fetch myself another."

She reached out to accept the glass tumbler gratefully, and touched my hand briefly with the fingertips of both of hers. The contact sent shock waves along my arms and down my torso. She smiled and fixed me with a searching, questioning stare. Her eyes seemed to drill into my brain, my mind, as if looking for something. No longer was she the little-girl-lost. Now I could feel an intellect studying me, probing for something. Then she took the glass and relinquished her contact with my hand. 

"I'll be back in a minute," I promised reassuringly. In truth, I needed a few moments alone to digest my sensations and impression of this apparently highly meaningful second contact.

~*~*~

The lounge was filling up now and the noise level rose, making it difficult to speak. I wanted to know more about her and plied her with questions. The atmosphere in the room was fuggy, although thankfully nobody smoked in there. I caught only snippets of what she said. We were both struggling to made audible conversation and she leaned in closer and closer until I felt her warm breath on my face and the fragrant odour of breath freshener mingled with vodka. Her closeness made me giddy. I fetched more drinks and was soon noticing its effects. The room started to swim before my eyes, and the hubbub wafted around me. Cindy was saying something I could not hear. Was she asking me a question? She leaned in even closer to my ear to repeat herself and I turned my ear away so that my lips brushed against hers. Without a moment's pause she pressed her body against mine and kissed me firmly with some passion.

She stepped away to look at me. I pulled her against me again and kissed her back, this time forcing my tongue between her lips. When we eventually pulled ourselves apart she reached down to search for my hand. I was standing slightly at an angle to her and her hand accidentally found my jeans front. Her hand moved across my groin to my hip from where it moved across to my arm, then tracked down to my hand. Turning, she pulled me after her as she headed for the door. She soon dropped her grip but signalled for me to follow her. Simon put a hand on my shoulder to stay me as I passed. "Don't get your hopes up," he warned.

She pushed gently through the throng to the door, into the hall and then along into another room which looked to be the master bedroom. I was confused about her immediate intentions and paused at the door. She turned and smiled, then headed to the bed where coats and handbags had been left. I was relieved when she began searching for a handbag. She came back to me at the door. It was quiet in the bedroom but she leaned in close to me again and brushed my ear with her lips as she whispered breathily, "Let's go." No question or suggestion, just a simple command.

~*~*~*

She wanted to smoke and chose to do so outside on the street. We lit up together and for the first time that evening could have a proper conversation. "I asked James about you, you know." she confided.

"Why?" It was a surprise that she might show any interest in me at all.

"Because you aren't like the rest of the gang. I like that."

"If you don't like them, why do you hang around with them?"

"Very little choice. My dad chooses my friends. He says I have to be careful. My best friend is Simon's girlfriend, Annie. Her father works for us. Annie has told me what Simon and the others think of me so we keep that bit secret."

"Who invites you to their parties and stuff?"

"Annie. There's protection in a group. If I go somewhere on my own men flirt with me and won't take no for an answer. My dad won't let me date men unless he has approved of them. He never has, yet. I don't want to go back to the party. Fuck daddy, let's go."

So many questions sprang to mind about this complicated situation Cindy was in. Repressive father, few friends, socially awkward but on the face of it an appealing personality. She must be a very mixed up woman. We walked along the High Street, hand in hand. I think it was Cindy who sought my hand. She said nothing and I waited for her to speak. For some reason, although we had only just met that day, I felt we had an implicit understanding. Words were not important. Although we could not read each other's thoughts, there was an empathy between us. She reached the station entrance and dragged me on to the platform.

I had to break the silence. "Well, here we are at the station. I live in Wilton. Where do you want to go?"

"Same as you. I live there too." So that was it, we were going home. Evening over and she hadn't even asked me what I wanted. But I was relieved to escape the party and people I didn't care for. My social life was at university now.

The station was unattended. Our train was due in twenty minutes. I leaned against a platform canopy post and pulled her into my body once more, cuddling her. We kissed once more, more tenderly this time. I broke the spell. "Why did you leave?"

"To tell the truth, I hate that crowd. They make fun of me or ignore me." She paused and looked me in the eyes. "I don't have many friends. I ... have difficulty ... with people. I needed to escape."

"Why drag me away with you?"

She paused, looking me in the eye again, as if searching, or making up her mind about something. "I felt an instant connection with you this evening. The first kind face I've seen in a while. And I knew you wouldn't give up the opportunity to follow a beautiful woman." That last was said matter-of-factly, without any pride or boastfulness. I warmed to her and puzzled about what I had heard from Simon.

I yearned to compliment her in some way; to attempt to express how I felt about this fascinating creature. Whatever I would say would be lame. "Surely men are falling over themselves to show you kindness."

"Indeed they do. I have been fighting off 'kind' advances from men for most of my life ..." A faraway look came into her eyes and she paused. "... All they see is a piece of skirt, or they undress me with their eyes. No interest in me as a person - only my body."

"And you think I'm different?" I was seeking confirmation.

She looked at me with surprise. "No, you're just the same. I saw your stiffy at the pool." She giggled at her own words. "But I saw something else, too." The she paused.

"Go on."

"You are shy. I like that. I detest self-confident men. I hate men who want to take, uninvited. All they want is my body."

"Yet you seem to enjoy displaying it?"

"I'm pleased with my body. Why shouldn't I be? I enjoy the attention of people. I just can't seem to communicate with them. I say stupid things. I guess I'm uneasy around other people. I want to talk about important things. All they want to do is flirt or gossip."

"So why mix with them then?" I meant my old school friends. She knew want I meant. The question had been innocent enough, but she glared angrily at me. I could feel the romantic mood ebbing away and cursed myself for pressing her. A difficult moment was dispelled by the arrival of the train.

She sat opposite me and we talked about our respective backgrounds, tastes, current pre-occupations - anything but intimate matters. The train pulled into Wilton.

There was no taxi outside. I would have walked home anyway, but Cindy was agitated. "Can't your father pick you up?" I asked.


Spoilt Little Cindy Ch. 02



The Prelude. The timeline leaps about as the story is revealed, but is necessary to the plot. All participants in activities of a sexual nature are over the age of consent, though not necessarily always consenting.

~*~*~*

Cindy's life changed dramatically in 1975 when she met Adam. Cindy was by then in her mid-20s and had grown finally into a beautiful and sexy woman. Yet she hadn't always been so desirable. She got her looks from her mother who had grown up in 1930s' austerity, into a prim and proper world of sex only within marriage. That makes the backdrop to Angie's story all the more remarkable, and her later, licentious lifestyle astounding. The fact that it took place behind closed doors did not make it any the less shocking for those times. Angie was intelligent but without ambition, a common trait instilled in women at the time. She was destined to be one of life's victims, a tool to be wielded by a man with an excess of ambition.

Her backstory is woven into the story of Cindy's upbringing.

1965:

Whilst always looking cute and pretty, Cindy had been acutely aware at 15 that she was not maturing like her schoolmates. Remaining childlike in appearance and body, she became an outcast, a freak. The cruel taunts of her school mates about her lack of physical development stunted her social development as well. She was an outsider, taking comfort in her parents' steadfast support, she was still daddy's girl. So when she resisted opportunities to take part in social activities her excuse was 'daddy wouldn't allow it'. What was a perfectly valid reason to her was the subject of ridicule from others. Cindy gradually retreated into an emotional shell. 

Shy by nature, she had excelled at sports from a young age. Failing to develop friendships with most of her school contemporaries, she immersed herself in a wide variety of sporting activities, including field sports, gymnastics, swimming and long-distance running. It did not matter to her that her sporting disciplines conflicted with each other. She simply tried harder at each until she was proficient at all and excellent at some. She represented her County at athletics, then was selected for the national training squad. Her athletic prowess distracted her from her profound unhappiness at her social exclusion. 

Cindy was undeniably beautiful in her face, but her flat chest and lean physique excluded her from the cliques of more-burgeoning girls. What could have been the saving grace for an introverted, shy, withdrawn, and awkward girl instead worked against her. She was shunned by boys and girls alike. She was too young to realise that her sporting prowess compounded her social awkwardness by arresting her biological development. Although undeniably pretty, she retained the body of an 11 year old.

She was so different from her mother, whom she simultaneously pitied and despised. 

~*~*~

1950:

Angie had been stunningly beautiful as a young woman, and was snapped up by Bradley as a trophy wife, to show off at dinner parties and public social occasions. Like her future daughter, Angie had also been subjected to abuse as a child by her father. Far from putting her on her guard, it had served to strip her of defences against predatory males. She had been easy prey for Bradley, but not before a number of short-lived experiences with a number of other chancers. At least Bradley had wanted to keep her and protect her. She had felt safe with him because she knew he wanted to make use of her beauty to further his personal ambitions. 

Bradley was the nephew of the department store owner who was grooming Bradley to take over the reins when he retired. "Bradley, my boy," (the old man had no son of his own), "you have to socialise and entertain to get ahead in this business. Make some big bargains and get some exclusive stock into the store. I'm too old for that game, but with that pretty young wife of yours you can charm the big suppliers into some sweet deals. I'm counting on you."

Bradley took the old man at his word, and persuaded him to invest in a house suitable for entertaining, in the best part of town beside the River Thames. There Bradley and Angie rubbed shoulders with the wealthy and influential, plus a sprinkling of minor film and pop star neighbours. 

Then he set about sweating his assets. "I'm hoping to pull off some big deals in the near future," he told Angie, "but I need your help. We have to justify this big house to the old man, and bring in some serious money. Fail that and we will lose everything. So you are going to help me."

Angie giggled into her second neat gin. "You want me to be the hostess, to charm them into agreeing to your seedy deals." It was said without rancour, even perhaps with a conspiratorial tone.

"Exactly!" he exclaimed triumphantly, "and you will tease them into buying into those deals and keep them dangling on the hook."

"And how will I do that?" she giggled.

"By offering them something to sweeten the deal. Perhaps a suggestion of something exotic."

She waited for his elaboration on that point. He pulled her to her feet and stood behind her facing the cheval mirror in the bedroom. He stroked her face as she admired her figure in the tight, low-cut salmon dress which matched her contours perfectly. She put her palms to her sides under her arms and slid them appreciatively down into her small waist then onto her curvy hips. She cupped her breasts and pushed them together under the dress, to accentuate her cleavage. "Like this?" she suggested.

Bradley unzipped the dress from behind and watched as it travelled southwards, to reveal first her bra strap, then the small of her back, then her cotton-clad posterior. He slipped the shoulder straps of the dress down her arms and pushed them off her wrists. The dress hung down from its snug fit on her waist. They could both see her well-filled bra and flat tummy, and the top of her fashionable knickers. She didn't need a girdle owing to her slim figure. 

He turned her to let her see her rear over her shoulder in the mirror and tugged the dress off her hips and down to the floor. She willingly stepped out of it. 

"Like this?" she giggled, wiggling her bottom in the body-hugging briefs. She had seen pictures of women in girlie magazines in modern uplifting bras and waist-high panty girdles, about as revealing as porn got in those days. It would be very daring to publish a photograph of a woman from behind without a bra. It was not possible to get away with showing a woman topless. Girlie pictures were meant to be suggestive, not explicit.

Bradley snapped open her bra clasp and slipped the shoulder straps off her arms. Her magnificent breasts dropped unfettered into a pleasingly natural shape as the cups fell away. She had been imagining herself in the drawing room after a dinner party, in scandalous underwear. But the thought that her breasts might be exposed to their guests snapped her out of her fantasy with alarm. She put her arms up instinctively to hide her bust. 

Bradley tweaked her nipples until they stiffened and came erect. She took in a deep breath as arousal kicked in. Bradley put his palms on her now naked sides as she had done earlier in her dress, and slid them down her hips so that his fingers slipped into the elasticated sides of her briefs. They slipped reluctantly down the sides of her legs then fell to her ankles. She was breathing heavily now at Bradley's advances and kicked the panties away from her feet. She turned to admire her front, naked, in the mirror. Bradley cupped her breasts from behind once more and kneaded them until he felt her respond, then he slid one hand down in her natural cleavage, his fingers tracing their way through the valley between her orbs then down her belly until they pushed their way between her parting thighs. As his fingers probed her slit and spread her moist juices over her stiffening clit, she gasped with pleasurable expectation and pushed out her hips to improve the angle of his fingering.

"Like that," was all he said.

~*~*~

The evening of their first house party, she stood again in front of the mirror in the outfit she would change into during the evening. The guests were business contacts of Bradley - suppliers, bankers, lawyers, spouses, and carefully selected single ladies for the unattached men. "I can't do this," she thought. 

Bradley came out of the ensuite bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. "Gorgeous," he said, and slipped a hand inside the costume to grope her bottom. She had rehearsed for him several times to perfect her body movements in the sexy outfit. "Remember to pay special attention to Wally Harris. He may need special persuading to sign on the dotted line."

Bradley had decided on a buffet, to ensure that the guests would spend the whole evening in the large lounge with its long span of open sliding folding doors to the garden. The patio and poolside would be like an extension to the lounge. They could move seamlessly from the food to the entertainment.

Angie had been an excellent hostess, chatting charmingly to the wives and flirting with the men. She was dressed in a relatively modest full-length, peacock blue ball gown of layers of sequinned chiffon. Nevertheless, she seemed nervous: Bradley spotted the tell-tale signs. He also knew he was taking a risk with some of his hand-picked guests who had probably never attended a risqué event such as he had planned. The country was still recovering from wartime austerity, and people were not yet accustomed to excess. He plied Angie with her favoured neat gins until he sensed that she was at last relaxing. "Time to go and change, Darling," he whispered in her ear.

Exactly ten minutes later, as he had instructed, she waited outside the closed door from the service lobby. He went to the gramophone and put on a record of Arabian dance music of stringed flute, oud, and tom-toms. The sensual tones and rhythms broke through the chatter and the room fell quiet, expectantly. As if on cue the door opened and Angie wafted into the lounge wearing a belly dancing outfit under a black, see-through, full-length body veil attached by a band of dangling coins around her neck. The outfit consisted principally of light gold coins hung from a bra and thong of black translucent gauze material. Unlike the relatively substantial bikini garments s of the period, this outfit was minimalist and daring. Cindy held the front edges of the body veil together with her hands at her chest. 

She stepped gracefully to the centre of the room on the balls of her feet and began to sway to pick up the rhythm of the music. Beneath the body veil the bra allowed glimpses of the flesh of her fulsome breasts beneath the transparent gauze material as the coins swung tantalisingly to her movements. Eyes inevitably dropped to her hips which were adorned with a simple thong of thin black straps with a small triangle of black transparent material matching her veil. The miniscule thong front was hung with a small triangle of coins sewn across it in rows. From a distance Angie's crotch seemed to be clothed only by glittering, dangling coins. 

Angie threw herself increasingly enthusiastically into her dance, so that the shape and flesh of her breasts and nipples were more clearly revealed as the coins bounced about. To an audience used to 50's modesty, and where girlie mags consisted of young ladies in fairly substantial two-piece swimsuits, this was startlingly erotic and scandalous. One or two ladies dropped their hands discreetly to their partners' crotches to check for erections there. Even the women were getting turned on by her display of her beautifully sexy body.

Angie's breasts and hips shook and swivelled in perfect counterpoint to her gracefully waving arms and extended fingers. She could sense the animal arousal around her and savoured it. She decided she liked exhibiting herself. Her fingers held onto the edges of the veil to cloak her body in a semblance of cover, which made the glimpses of her flesh all the more enticing. She danced her way around inside the circle of onlookers, twirling to give everyone an all-round view of her mostly exposed body.

From the rear Angie's body appeared, to people accustomed to seeing glamour models encased in substantial bras and knickers, to all intents and purposes to be naked. The swishing veil barely concealed her naked flesh, save for a thin back strap to the bra across her back, and equally thin thong straps. Her shapely bottom cheeks rippled unrestrainedly as she shook her hips. Such a scanty garment provoked gasps from the audience, coupled with rumbles of appreciation. Bradley had chosen his guests well, and each was savouring this astoundingly illicit display.

Angie advanced to the centre of the room as the music began to fade swivelling her hips and undulating her belly. Enthusiastic applause and whistles broke out around the room. Angie ended her dance in front of Wally, to whom she curtsied, the front of the body veil parting to give a tantalisingly unrestricted glimpse of her coin-clad breasts and nether region. 

Her adoring and now highly aroused audience applauded her performance wildly, prolonging their approval to hold her in front of them for longer.

Bradley was now standing beside Wally Harris, who was seated in pride of place on a sofa. Wally grinned at Bradley with approval. "Your wife is stunning," he declared.

The applause died away as the vinyl record began a second track. Angie resumed her hip swivelling once more, this time shaking her breasts more energetically from the start so that the coins leapt away from her breasts tantalisingly showing more of her breasts and brown areolae. Her swollen nipples pushing out from between the coins. There was a further ripple of appreciation as she upped the tempo and the body shimmying. Male voices were growling in feral arousal. There were more gasps as she reached behind her back and unclasped the bra strap, the weight of the coins pulling them away from her breasts. She unclasped the halter neck strap. The bra instantly fell away and dropped to the floor with a tinkle. Her magnificent breasts were now fully exposed beneath the translucent veil. 

As Angie increased her shimmying her now unencumbered breasts bounced up and down and from side to side, hypnotically bouncing apart then mashing together. The growls were increasing to deep throaty roars of encouragement. The air in the room was thick with sexual tension. 

Angie turned to face Wally, bending her knees forward to drop her upper body into a limbo position. Her breasts splayed heavily to the sides and quivered, her erect nipples pointing upwards in her own sexual excitement. Her legs were spread wide and he could clearly see an unsewn seam at the crotch of her thong which opened with her movements to expose her hairless pussy lips. The flimsy material strained against her stretched crotch, pushing her labial lips through the gap to hang quivering and obscenely exposed through the open seam. She arched her back so far that she had to sink onto her knees to keep her balance. She fixed her gaze on Wally and with a slow and deliberate movement reached for a concealed side opening hook to the thong strap. 

Her adoring audience gasped with delight once more as the hook detached from its eye and a side strap fell away from her hip. She repeated the action on the other hip and that hook and eye pinged open too. The coins clinked as the skimpy material dropped to the floor between her legs, leaving Angie fully exposed beneath the veil, which had fallen open from her neck and hung against the outside of her hips. People crowded in excitedly to get a closer look at her astonishing, full frontal exposure.

Angie's eyes never left the middle-aged supplier's gaze. She purposefully stroked her forefinger up and down her pussy crack against her clit and smiled at him, then pushed herself back up onto her feet. The crowd of onlookers made space for her again as she pulled the veil around her body and twirled round several times, the veil swirling around her like a spinning top. 

As the music faded once more she came to a standstill holding the body veil modestly closed with her hands. The flimsy material draped around her generous curves, pushed out boldly from her chest by her large breasts and prominent nipples. Only the semi-transparent body veil protected her from full nudity. Her heart was pounding, partly from her sexual excitement, but partly also from the frisson she felt at being naked beneath the veil.

She curtsied once more and slowly stepped backwards towards the door, the body veil draping tantalisingly into darkened folds against her body. She had gone far enough to tantalise her audience but somehow she did not feel totally naked with the protective covering of the body veil.

As she stepped backwards, milking the stunned and riotous applause of her audience, Bradley moved swiftly between her and the door. She bumped against him and before she could react he reached for the chain at her neck. Anxiously she tried to stop him, but he was assertive and unhooked it. He swung the body veil off her shoulders and draped it over one arm whilst raising the other with palm pointing upwards, with a flourish like a circus ring master at the end of the act.

Angie was shocked at Bradley's unexpectedly total exposure of her body, as her audience were thrilled to see. The body veil had felt like a protective covering, despite its almost complete transparency. Now she was totally naked in front of this baying audience of near total strangers. She wanted to put her arms across her body in a vain attempt at concealment, but she was afraid that would anger Bradley. Her obvious embarrassment at her complete exposure, despite her voluptuous striptease, made her performance all the sexier.

Bradley led her back to the centre of the floor and raised her arm high to indicate that she should turn around and show off her unadorned body. As Bradley pulled her arm up she felt her left breast swing heavily across her chest, reminding her more graphically of her helpless nakedness. She desperately felt the need to hide it with her arm, but she looked down at her feet in embarrassment, and Bradly had to force her to look up and smile. 

She made herself curtsey, to make any movement so as not just to stand there motionless. She told herself to at least show off her body to its best effect. She arched her back, pushed out her breasts, and pulled in her stomach muscles to stand taller and more statuesque. I must grin and bear this and make them admire me - make them want me, she told herself dutifully.

Bradley led her back to Wally at the sofa as the onlookers moved in close. He took Wally's hand and pulled him gently up from the seat and placed Angie's hand in it. She glared at Bradley. None of this unveiling and awarding of her body to Wally had been mentioned. Wally understood Bradley's meaning though, and led her, now utterly humiliated, towards the main doors. The now envious applause continued but was of no comfort to Angie. Hands pawed her breasts and groped her bottom as she left the room, but she no longer noticed. Her head was spinning, her mind had shut down with panic moments before. She was no longer the hostess of the party, but now just a piece of property to be mauled and used. 

Some women stared jealously at her long legs and voluptuous bottom as she meekly let Wally escort her from the room. Men reached for their cocks absent-mindedly. Other couples were kissing, hands reaching for trouser zips or dress straps. The sexual fever Angie had spread amongst the throng would not dissipate until clothes had been wantonly discarded and sweaty naked bodies had exchanged their bodily juices. Bradley looked around for a suitably unaccompanied female subject.




Spoilt Little Cindy Ch. 02



Angie did not have the satisfaction of seeing men admiring her naked departing rear, and thinking even more enviously of Wally's prize for the evening. Bradley had intimated to each that he had done a good deal with Wally. Now they were thinking what they had to do to gain Bradley's grace and Angie's favour the next time.

Angie resigned herself to whatever pleasures Wally would take from her body as she mounted the stairs. She had gone from nervous apprehension to pleasurable exhibitionism to abject humiliation in a very short space of time. She would just have to live through whatever came next and avoid Bradley's anger at any disobedience. She was determined that whatever took place would not be in the master bedroom and she steered Wally along the corridor to a guest room. He just read that as a sign of consent, and mentally planned how to take full advantage of that delightful flesh. They passed the door that a few years' later would bear the porcelain plaque "Cindy's room". 

~*~*~

The guest room door closed on Angie's self-respect, which she was not to rediscover for many years to come. Wally slobbered over her breasts and naked buttocks. He pushed her into all sorts of sexually compromising and highly exposing positions and viewed her beautiful body from every position. He stood straddling her, knees slightly bent so that he could force his cock into her mouth and thrust, regardless of her gagging. He pulled her by her hair onto her hands and knees and fucked her from behind, doggy style, although withdrawing before he came. He leant forward on her back and grasped her tits and watched himself playing with them in the large mirror against the far wall. Then finally satisfied that he had explored every inch of her, he straightened up on his knees between her legs and let a glob of saliva drop down onto her butt crack, where it trickled down to her tightly puckered anus. She flinched when she realised the probable significance of the moisture, and prayed that she was mistaken. His fingering of her ass to spread his wetness disabused her of any hope otherwise. Then Wally's probing finger into her bottom confirmed her worst fear. More dribbles lubricated his finger as he worked her sphincter loose, then his still throbbing cock began to press into her virginal back cavity. She did not know what to expect, and might even have found the careful penetration of a stiff penis into her butt arousing, but for the circumstances and her lack of preparedness, and the man violating her.

She thought she had been humiliated enough downstairs, but this was far worse, a violation of her most private orifice, and by an undesirable stranger. She would have preferred to select a moment of her own choosing with a man whom she particularly fancied, to initiate her first anal penetration. She wondered whether Bradley would have allowed it if he had he been aware of Wally's intentions.

Wally, meanwhile, was gratified to find that this was a virgin butthole, and elected to proceed with caution, for fear of physically harming Bradley's wife. After all, this was no common prostitute. He fisted his cock for a few seconds to encourage some drops of pre-cum, then gently pushed its head as far inside her as he could, then slowly withdrew and let it rest before pushing in again. Angie realised that she could not fight him and did her best to relax her anal muscles. He felt her resistance dissipate and inserted and withdrew his cock several times more until she could take his whole length. Then he began to thrust.

Despite herself, Angie was beginning to enjoy this new sensation, and she felt an orgasm slowly building in her belly. Then the hot spurt of Wally's cum up her back passage pushed her over the top and she came in waves of pulsating pleasure, biting on her lip to prevent herself from crying out in pleasure. She was determined not to give Wally that satisfaction.

~*~*~

Now in her mid-forties, Angie was a still-stunning, mature woman. Angie was much cleverer than Bradley but lacked his self-confidence and cunning.

Bradley repeatedly told her, "Your talent is your beauty and your body. Why not make full use of it?" He repeated it every time she doubted the correctness of what he asked her to do. And maybe he was right? Bradley had introduced her to a number of men, and she had enjoyed many nights of indescribable pleasure, along with the other nights of unimaginable torment or terror. Yet the painful occasions brought their own perverse feelings of satisfaction. Angie liked to be dominated, the subject of someone's interest and fascination. Over time, she learnt to sublimate feelings of anger and resentment, to earthier pleasures and sexual fulfilment. Her ambitions in life were limited to a good home, plenty of money to spend, and above all else, security. 

Angie had tried to instil similar dutiful, wifely values and aspirations in Cindy who was a slow developer. "You must always bear in mind that you need security in life. Someone to provide for you; who will make sure that you never go without money, food and a good home." Yet as she surveyed her daughter's waif-like form she doubted the wisdom of that advice. Angie's own self-doubts also periodically broke through to the fore in her mind, and caused her to seek solace in the gin bottle.

Cindy listened to her mother's sermons without comment. She was smart enough to realise that antagonising her mother would be unproductive. But she had spied enough on her parents enough through cracks in partly open doors to realise that her mother was totally subjugated by daddy, and she despised her mother's weakness. At the same time, Cindy clung to her father, for his emotional support and approval. He was proud of his little girl's academic and athletic achievements, and he did not mind at all that she had not developed physically. It contented him to have her for as long as possible as the one female he could admire for herself rather than as a sex object. 

She willed herself never to be ruled by daddy in the same way that he dominated Angie. She knew how to get her way with him; how to invoke his approval, and merit his cuddles and affection. She liked being daddy's girl. She never wanted to grow breasts and be the subject of male sexual domination. She feared to follow her mother's fate.

~*~*~

Cindy had been a top student throughout senior school and she had achieved three grade 'A's at A Level. A university place beckoned, but daddy had put his foot down. "Who will look after your mother if you leave home? I'm working all hours to provide the money to keep you both comfortable, as is my duty as the man of the house. The least you can do is support your mother when she needs you." That was when Cindy had been 15 - when her mother began to be her burden.

What Bradley intended was that Cindy keep her mother mentally stimulated and off the booze, so that Angie could continue to fulfil her pre-destined role as wife, hostess, and prize fuck at dinner parties. Cindy understood some of that, but would have railed against it had she not been so emotionally dependent on her parents through her lack of an independent social life.

Angie leaned heavily on Cindy for the moral support she did not receive from her husband, and she rewarded her daughter in turn with just about any material possessions she desired. Thus her daughter earned the epithet from her school mates of 'Spoilt Cindy'.

But Bradley and Angie's protectiveness towards Cindy began to unravel once she left school at 18. Deprived of the sporting facilities which had thus far dominated her spare time, she dropped most of her sporting activities and contented herself with jogging, swimming and workouts in daddy's home gym. The drastic reduction in her physical exertions prompted a late spurt in Cindy's hormonal development. Her body finally began to fill out. Within a year, her hips broadened and her breasts sprang out from her chest. Men started to take an interest in her. Yet that interest proved to be purely sexual, and Cindy had been conditioned by her daddy never to dally with boys, 'who want only one thing'. That, after all, had been the sum total of Bradley's interest in women other than his beloved daughter.

Cindy's best - indeed only - friend at school was Bethany. They shared a passion for progressive music which few of their school contemporaries understood. Bethany learnt about non-popular music from her boyfriends and grew to like it long after she had tired of each boy's advances. Her world was filled with Savoy Brown, Ten Years After, Jethro Tull and East of Eden. She liked Cindy initially because of Cindy's awkwardness, allied with her youthful beauty. Cindy was like a private possession, an enigma that no one else cared to understand. But their relationship blossomed into a genuine friendship. 

Bethany was a part of the elite clique at the Church of England Grammar school, but she did not always follow the crowd. She was popular because of her vibrant personality and sense of humour. She was permitted by the group to dip in and out of social activities because she was cool, a natural leader. And Cindy was her friend, which was therefore cool too.

Cindy spent a lot of time at Bethany's house, and didn't mind when Bethany's much younger sister, Annie, intruded on their private time. It gave her a sense of the family life she missed at home. When Bethany went off to university, it seemed natural for Annie to step into Bethany's place with Cindy. But she could not fully replace her older sister. Bethany had been Cindy's mentor, and Cindy lost her at a crucial time in her physical development. Had Bethany been around for longer, maybe she would have protected Cindy from the ravages to come.

Annie benefited from the same social genes as her older sister and belonged to her own elite clique, but she never forgot her ties to Cindy, and often invited Cindy to tag along in activities with her friends. After a while, Cindy was tolerated as Annie's friend, a hanger-on, which was made easier because she seemed so much younger than her real age.

Then daddy started to take a greater interest in his little girl.

It would be true to say that Cindy was spoilt. She could have just about anything she wanted. The fact that she didn't exploit that power to the full was simply through a general lack of interest in material things. Daddy lavished her with gifts anyway. Being a social outcast at school, she had no reason to attempt to impress her friends with the latest trendy clothes or gadgets. But a trip to the lido in a one-piece swimsuit which was too small for her, led her to realise that boys were beginning to take an interest in her. The material had stretched across her crotch and ended up riding up into her bottom crack when she pulled herself out of the pool. She had been more concerned about her fast growing boobs showing through the thin material, that she had been unaware at first how much her butt cheeks were exposed. Only when she realised from men's stares and reactions as she walked past them that part of her attraction had been her bottom, did she get the first thrill from exhibitionism, but she had to do something about her swimwear.

Unknowingly, she was about to trigger Angie's start on her long path to self-realisation.

Angie had taken Cindy to the cinema to see a re-run of an old James Bond movie, and Domino's black and white bikini in Thunderball had given her her first interest in another woman's body. "Mummy, I want that bikini," she demanded. Mummy had obliged, but not without some considerable shopping around and then much searching by the clothing department head buyer at her husband's department store.

The buyer was twenty years younger than Angie, but still susceptible enough to her feminine persuasion to make extensive enquiries amongst suppliers until the garment was found. He was shy and sexually inexperienced, and smitten with Angie's mature, self-assured manner. She was the sexiest and most beautiful woman who had yet impinged on Benjamin's thus-far sheltered world. 

He called at the house one day to show Angie the garment. "Why Benjamin, how kind of you to go to all that trouble."

"The truth is, Mrs Watson, it's got me into a bit of bother at the store. It isn't a line we normally stock, and the price is way above the limits for swimwear. The truth is, I was told off by the Chief Buyer. I had to make up a story that I had ordered it for you as a special favour."

"That was sweet of you, Benjamin, but it's surely too young an item for me to wear, as she would know. And who paid for it?"

"Oh, I've done that already, discreetly. I had to, to avoid any more questions. I told her you had given me the money in advance."

"Oh, well I must reimburse you for it then."

"No, please don't do that. Consider it as a gift ... if only ... if only you will model it for me. I should so much like to see you wearing it. It looks so ... elegant and I can't imagine what it looks like, just lying there in the box." The truth was he couldn't afford the expense of such an outfit, but the thought of Angie modelling it for him had driven him insane with lust from the moment he handled it. He was taking a risk, but Benjamin was a chancer, with a charm which attracted older women.

"Oh dear, I can't let you go without some recompense for your such generous gesture. Wait here, and I'll try it on. I hope it will fit me - it was intended for my daughter, you know." She thought the bikini was likely to be too large for Cindy's more slender but developing frame.

Angie went upstairs to the bedroom, thrilled to have her own potential conquest - one not supplied by Bradley. She undressed and put on the bikini. She looked in the mirror and was immediately impressed with how well the bikini showed off her slim but well-endowed figure. It pushed up her boobs and she saw with satisfaction that it gave her a pleasingly cock-teasing cleavage. The bikini bottom looked good on her still pert bottom and rounded hips, too. She swung her hips from side to side and imagined how she would look to a young admirer. 

What would Benjy think of it? She had to admit to herself that the thought of showing her body off to the young man in such a slight item of clothing turned her on. She plumped up her breasts within the wire-reinforced cups so that her nipples were almost protruding from the top of the black and white material. Then she pushed the side straps of the panty further down her hips, almost pulling the front below her panty-line. Too late, she felt the inside crotch of the panty moisten from her pussy juices. She would have to rinse the bikini set through before she gave it to Cindy.

Benjamin was stunned when Angie came back into the lounge. Not only had she acceded to his request, but the effect was stunningly sexy. He had no idea Mrs Watson had such a killer body.

She had put on white high heels to elongate her legs, which gave her the air of a catwalk model. She walked into the middle of the room and turned to face Benjamin who was sitting on a wide sofa. "What do you think Benjy, does it suit me?"

He swallowed at her familiarity. "Purely as a professional buyer," he gulped, "I have to say that you sell it very, very well."

"Does it fit me? Is it the right size for me?"

"I should think so, but if you will allow me ..." He stood up and moved across to stand in front of Angie, and waited for some sign of her consent.

"Please do."

"If I were fitting you for this bikini - and of course it would normally be a lady buyer - I would need to check that the ... er ... bra was the correct fit for your ... superb ... assets." He moved smoothly up to Angie, as if he did this sort of thing every day, and with barely a pause to check her acquiescence, he moved to the side and slipped his hand into a bra cup, whilst pretending there was a professional reason for his action. His cock sprang up instantly in his loose suit trousers at the feel of her soft, warm, yielding breast flesh. A sexual tremor ran through the whole length of Angie's body.

He composed his face with his most professional expression. "One should check to see that the breast sits correctly in such a carefully tailored top. It should be supported whilst not being overly constrained. Yes, I can see that it is a perfect fit." His hand briefly pulled Angie's left tit almost fully out of the bra cup then let it slip back in whilst allowing his thumb to stroke the nipple in passing. It was a very deft and slight touch - and the first time that he had done something so outrageous. 

Angie's body trembled at his fingertip touch. She gasped and felt her nipple harden. Her cunt was moist in the bikini panties. She looked at Benjy. His face was deadpan, giving no indication of flirtation. A glance down to his trousers told an altogether different story, though. She felt very turned on. 

Turning to face him she asked, "And the other cup?"

Surprised at her compliance, he moved to the other side of her and reached in with his right hand. Her left breast slid out of its confinement and stayed resting on the top edge of the bra cup. Neither of them moved or spoke, but Angie's breathing deepened, betraying her growing arousal by the manner in which her half-exposed tit rose up and down. 

Continuing the conceit, Benjamin suggested, "Perhaps the bra strap is a little tight for your well-endowed figure ..." and with that he snapped the clasp of the rear bra strap. The bra cups sprang away from her breasts. As Angie stood motionless and unresisting he pulled the bra straps off her shoulder, down her arms and off her wrists, and made to look on the straps for a buckle. The action was outrageous, yet on the face of it plausible in his role as buyer, yet she was now topless. Her breasts were full and well-shaped - the sexiest sight he had ever seen. Mrs Watson was rapidly spoiling Benjamin for other women. He made no move to touch her breasts again, perhaps fearful that he might already have over-played his hand. The next move would have to be hers.

She turned to face him once more, cupped her breasts in her hands, and said wryly "And do the panties need adjusting too?" So far, neither of them had departed from the play of a swimsuit fitting, no matter how unorthodox it might be for a man to arrange such a fitting in the customer's own home. Yet Angie had tossed the ball back to Benjy to make the next move. Swallowing, he squatted down and proceeded to pull down the black and white bikini panties. Mrs Watson breathed heavily as she stepped out of them and was now completely naked in front of him.

Benjy hesitated. He had intended to flirt with Mrs Watson, but he had not anticipated that she would allow him to strip her. What risk did he run, for letting the bosses' wife seduce him - and in shop time? How would he explain this visit and the length of his absence?

Angie interrupted his thoughts. "Do you aim to give your customers complete satisfaction? Her heavy emphasis on 'complete' spurred him on and he moved in close to her naked body. As his clothed body touched against her naked one she reached out and grasped his erect cock straining to expand within its now tight suit trouser confines. "I think you need to salute your customers, like at the most select stores, but you can keep your hands free," she added saucily.

She reached for his buttoned flies and began to undo them, one by one, slowly, deliberately, prolonging the action to excite him all the more. The top of his trousers opened and she reached down inside his waist-high pants to fish out his now straining cock. It pushed out eagerly over his elasticated waistband. She pushed both his trousers and pants down to his knees and grasped his cock tightly in her fist. He stumbled over his trousers at half-mast as she moved backwards, pulling hard on his cock. "I think you need to get rid of your baggage - quickly," she commanded.




Spoilt Little Cindy Ch. 02



He did so, fast. His clothes scattered around the carpet as he yanked them off. Shirt buttons went flying, and he yanked his tie, still knotted up over his head.

Satisfied with his obedience, Angie led him by her grip on his cock towards a coffee table. "Kneel," she commanded. He did so. She went to a cocktail cabinet and he heard clunk, clunk, clunk, as three ice cubes dropped into a glass. A trickling sound followed as she poured herself a double gin, then the hiss as the pent-up fizz in a bottle of tonic was unleashed. The tonic hissed as it was poured on top of the gin on the rocks. Silence, then he felt the very cold sensation of a glass tumbler balancing on his upturned left buttock. He shivered involuntarily and the glass was swept away before he could spill it. 'Slap'. He jumped with pain and turned to see Angie with riding crop in hand. "Naughty boy, you nearly spilled my drink."

Benjamin winced at the pain which was not at all pleasant. Angie realised that he would not find pain arousing and switched her approach. She kissed the rear of his left thigh just below his butt cheek, then the other, whilst stroking the riding crop down on his penis dangling between his inner thighs. He groaned with pleasure and prepared for tenderer foreplay. The shock of cold ice being forced into his anus snapped him cruelly out of his anticipation. He remained on all fours, now with gritted teeth, his obedience now strained by her cruel teasings. But the foreplay was at an end, for him at least. 

Angie tapped him on the shoulder with the riding crop. "On the floor, on your knees." He did so swiftly. She opened her legs and said with gritted teeth, "Kiss my cunt." Benjy's face was inches from Mrs Watson's pussy, which was neatly trimmed with real blonde pubic hair. He wasn't sure, in his ignorance, what to do although he had worked out that the proximity of his face to Mrs Watson's pussy probably intended the deployment of his tongue. He had read about cunnilingus, of course, but none of his few girlfriends had asked for it from him.

Angie saw in Benjy the same weak, compliant nature she had learnt to adopt for the past 20 years of subservience to Bradley and his favoured guests. I wonder whether he has the same attitude with his girlfriend as he does with me, she mused? Or is he more dominant when he feels in control?

Benjy looked up towards Mrs Watson's face. Her skin was surprisingly evenly tanned. Her belly was smooth and almost completely flat. Her heavy boobs hung tantalisingly out from her chest above him like two balloons filled with water and bursting with the pressure. From below her nipples protruded out like snub barrels. They seemed too large, even for her humungous breasts. He could imagine they played a special part in entertaining Mr Watson. She seemed motionless all but for the slight quivering of those breasts.

His gaze dropped again to the pussy a few inches in front of him. He noted now that it was glistening with moisture. It confirmed that she wanted to be fucked - he knew that much. He reached up to Mrs Watson's hips with either hand and leant in to her pussy with his tongue. She responded by bending slightly at the knees and opening them further. As he dived in to search for whatever he might find in her pussy she pressed down on his head with her hands for support, and to push his face further into her groin. She was the Mrs Robinson to his Benjamin.

Angie gasped as she felt his first tonguing of her clit. It provoked a pleasant sensation in her pubic mound which spread to her inside thighs. At last, she was making sexual contact on her terms rather than Bradley's. This young man may not know what to do but he was doing it to her bidding. She moved her hips to ensure better contact with Benjy's tongue and dropped her head back, eyes closed to concentrate all her attention on her stiffening clit. She held Benjy there; he obligingly flicking his tongue backwards, forwards and sideways. Benjy, meanwhile, tried to ignore the developing discomfort in his cheek muscles.

Angie was at last ready for more penetrative action. She pulled away and reached for a clump of Benjy's rumpled hair and turned and walked towards the sofa with him crawling on all fours. He didn't attempt to stand; she would have pulled him up by his hair if she had wanted that. He had a first class, 'bird's eye' view of Mrs Watson's glorious bottom as she walked. It was lean and brown and pleasantly round, and showing hints between her upper thighs of quivering brown labial lips as she slunkily led him across the carpet. She halted at the sofa and bent forwards at the knees to rest her hands on the seat cushion, spreading her legs apart to suggest his next port of call. Her long, lithe legs, slightly apart, made an 'A' frame for her pussy at the apex, brown, moist, with quivering lips demanding his attention.

He smelt her musky scent and looked excitedly at his first sight of a woman's sex from behind. This was an important lesson in his sex education. He noted with interest that her crevice and sexual parts were much darker brown than the tanned skin of her butt cheeks. Her pussy lips were now protruding from between her cheeks and glistening with the vaginal juices seeping from her crack. He looked up the line of her seam and saw her dark brown puckered anus fully exposed and inviting him by the spread of her cheeks. He took a chance and ran his tongue from as far forward as he could reach between her pussy lips, back along her crease and over her butt hole. Mrs Watson responded by angling her butt upwards, simultaneously indicating that he was getting it right whilst improving the angle for his ministrations. She breathed heavily in anticipation. He decided to extemporise by fingering her clit with his right forefinger whilst flicking her anal rose with his tongue. The sideways rocking of her hips suggested that she was enjoying this attention so he continued. Then he resolved to take command and do what he wanted now. He grabbed her hand and pulled her up, around, then down on her hand to signify she should kneel. 'Good boy' she thought, but made no sound.

His penis pointed into her face. It was hers to command. She gave it a few strokes in the hope that it might enlarge further then dived onto it with her mouth, sucking it in deep. Benjy groaned as a long-cherished dream came to fulfilment. Her mouth was warm, her tongue pressurising the underside of his cock whilst her lips squeezed against his shaft as she pumped her clasped fingers back and forwards alongst his cock. She gripped his hips to improve her purchase, and pumped him until she felt his body tightening. The she stopped abruptly and lay down on her back on the floor.

Benjy stood savouring the sexy sight of Mrs Watson lying on the carpet, her legs splayed apart, inviting him to drop between them and penetrate her. Their sexy play had stimulated her and she needed no more foreplay. Benjy knelt between her legs and leant down to suck on those magnificently rigid nipples. The sensation of sucking on such elongated nips excited him further and he spent some moments alternately teasing them. 

Angie did not mind this temporary diversion from the main course and imagined this was what it would be like to nurture the grown-up son she had never had. Then her lover switched his attention back to her pussy once more. Benjy knew he would come instantly he entered Mrs Watson but did not want to disappoint her. He fingered her cunt whilst applying the pressure of his palm to her pubic mound. This was more familiar territory to him and he knew what to probe for with his fingers inside her pussy. With a few deft strokes and pressure he felt Mrs Watson pushing up with her hips as she began to climax. He thrust more urgently with his fingers as her moans morphed into a loud orgasm. His hand was wet with her cum. She was ready to welcome his cock.

It sank quickly and deeply inside her and enabled him to keep her at orgasmic peak as he thrust hard into her, slamming his mound against hers. Warmth quickly spread around his pelvic region as his orgasm built. Angie cried out with pleasure as she felt the spurt of warm male cum up inside her at her bidding. She lay still and felt the spasms in his cock pulsing against her vaginal wall as his climax subsided. She let him lie prone and heavy on top of her for a few moments and stroked his hair as he laid his head between her breasts. She thought with a bit of nurturing Benjy could make a fine, attentive and obedient lover.

Then slow ironic clapping from somewhere close made her raise her head and push the prostrate Benjy off her torso. Bradley stood by the door surveying the carnal scene with a frozen expression which communicated no emotion.

"Brad ... I ... don't know ... oh, Brad ..." Fear coursed through her body, mixing with her post-coital sensations to invoke rapid shivering. She felt totally naked and exposed once more.

"Alice told me you had gone to make a home delivery, sonny. What's your name, huh?" Mr Watson knew Bejamin's name all too well, but the question served to belittle and demean the young man. Alice was the chief buyer and Benjamin's immediate manager. She must have gone straight to Bradley after hearing Benjamin's explanation of his unauthorised order.

"Go and put on a robe and get back here," Bradley commanded Angie. He and Benjamin waited motionless until Angie returned. "Fetch some scissors." She obliged again and was gone again for several minutes. Benjamin's whole body quaked with fear. She returned and handed them to Bradley. He strode across to Benjamin's discarded clothes and searched inside the trousers with the scissors. He fished out Benjamin's underpants on the end of the scissors. He took them dangling accusingly over to Angie who was now seated cowering on the floor with her knees drawn up into her chest. Her back was against the sofa. "Cut this up into small pieces." As she seized the pants and began to cut he added, "Small enough for Benjamin to eat. We wouldn't want to give him indigestion."

Benjamin uttered an objecting "Hey," before remembering his status in the department store and Mr Watson's position. He watched dejectedly as Mrs Watson proceeded carefully to cut the garment into thin strips, then small squares. 

The process seemed to take an eternity whilst the two lovers, one naked and the other robed, and their fully dressed master looked on. Benjamin felt utterly dejected. Angie felt guilty for seducing him into this predicament. Bradley pondered how he could make use of this situation with this young subordinate in the future. But for now, the boy must be punished.

"Now eat." 

Benjamin hesitated only fractionally then moved over to stand, naked, in front of the now huddled Angie. "Give him the first piece, Angie." 

Miserably but without pausing she sorted through the snippets for a least objectionable piece. "Make him sit. Now stand over him. Remove your robe. That's right. Give him a good look at your sluttish body. Now pop it in his mouth. .. Eat it sonny! ... It's a beautiful body, ain't it? Was it worth fucking my wife's body for? Did you enjoy it? Now pay the price."

The young man retched but rolled the material up into a ball in his mouth and swallowed it. He gagged at the dryness of the bolus and felt it lodge in his gullet. He choked on it but kept it in his mouth. Bradley would have liked to see the young man continue to suffer this indignity and humiliation, but he was equally worried that Benjamin might vomit on his expensive Wilton carpet. "Take your clothes and get out!"

Benjamin obliged, scooping up his garments and fleeing from the room.

Bradley strode over to Angie who cowered before him. "You're damaged goods. I shall have to look elsewhere now for my pleasures." They both knew that he had entertained many ladies, discreetly, whilst also openly wife-swapping Angie and freely offering her to perform for his favoured business partners and cronies. But now he was threatening her role as the lady of the house. Her looks had been her ticket to a 'good' marriage and wealth. His money and assets were now tied up in trusts and offshore funds to an extent that if he were to cast her out she could be left with nothing. He raised his arm to strike her across the face with the back of his hand, but stayed it and pondered, then spoke. "No, we can't have you with a black eye on Friday evening."

With that he dragged her by her hair out of the lounge and along the corridor to a downstairs bathroom. He thrust her into a lying position on the cold marble tiled floor and quickly pulled off his clothes. She might in other circumstances have been aroused by him straddling her naked body with his powerful frame towering over her, and his huge cock poised for some form of creative sexual activity. But she sensed this time that she was to obtain no satisfaction from what he would do. He had retained an erection from watching the latter stages of Benjamin's seduction. He laughed, an evil sound, and began to masturbate over her. Initially, she opened her mouth and licked her lips, thinking he would arouse himself then include her in his climax - perhaps forgive her for her indiscretion. 

But no, he brought himself to a climax then squatted over her at shoulder level and spattered his cum all over her face and tits. She stared up at his balls jiggling back and forth as he rubbed up and down his shaft, and looked at his crease and asshole which was being stretched by his squatting position. That, too would have been arousing for her on another day, but today, in her fear of what he might do next, it had no effect. He sat heavily on her belly and flicked her nipples a few times then leaned down and scooped the spunk from her breasts and face and smeared it all over her hair. In all their years of couplings she had always pleaded with him not to touch or spoil her hair. He had obliged her every time, until now. "No, don't do that," she sobbed as she felt his cum drying in her carefully coiffured hair, and tightening on her face. Was this to be the ultimate humiliation for her?

She closed her eyes and willed this mental torment to end, conscious that he had not yet left the bathroom. Then the splash of hot liquid on her face made her open her eyes in panic. He was peeing freely on her, directing his cock for maximum coverage, including into her hair once more. She held her breath and waited for the stream to subside. Now she felt his ultimate contempt for her, and for the first time in their marriage she truly hated him.

True to his word Bradley left his wife alone, but more significantly, did not host any swinging parties or special entertainments during their dinner parties. In fact, he seemed to have been as much affected by the discovery of his cheating wife as she. He thrived on exercising control, particularly of his beautiful and compliant wife. When he made love to her, he recalled the fuckings of her he had orchestrated, and watched. Now, finally, she had rebelled and the spell was broken.

He began to spend much of his free time away from the house, though he never told her where. Over the weeks that followed Angie grew horny and frustrated. She tried self-gratification but found that she missed the thrill of exhibiting herself she had developed at Bradley's insistence. She began to descend mentally into a slough of despond. She did not blame Bradley for her situation, but her own weak will and stupidity. She had been well aware that Bradley was master of the house and controlled her life. Without that attention, she felt lost and alone. Her daughter was little comfort to her. She knew that Cindy despised her for her weakness and compliance. Angie was beginning to fall apart.



Spoilt Little Cindy Ch. 03



I decided to finish this story although I found parts of this chapter difficult to write. However it is essential to the overall story, which concludes in part four.. 

This chapter is in part an affectionate essay on the 'seventies, part story based loosely on real events. The sex is not strong, but an intrinsic part of the story. I have nothing against incest per se, but it should be consensual. I'm sorry if that aspect offends anyone. Please be tolerant. Your comments and reactions will be most appreciated. 

So switch on that lava lamp, put a vinyl on the deck and get down and boogie to those sounds of the 'seventies. 

~*~*~ 

Although this story spans over twenty years, my role in it lasted just three weeks. Those were three heady, breathtaking weeks of self-discovery, which I owe to Cindy. She was on the rebound from trauma in her home life and her own personal self-realisation. I shall always be grateful to her for opening my eyes to the realities of life, though I wish the manner of her discovery had been less damaging to herself and her mother. 

I was to learn something of Angie's married life with Bradley from Cindy, for whom it had been a recent and raw revelation. It changed absolutely Cindy's frame of reference for her adult life and her destiny. She was to carry me along, trailing in the wake of her headwind of exploration and experimentation. 

The story which follows tells how Cindy was transformed. But if you will forgive my nostalgia and fascination for the early 'seventies, it helps to put in context how much an impact the events in this story were to have on each of us. In those simpler times one was either 'aware' or blinkered; open-minded or prejudiced. There didn't appear to be any middle ground. The split was often between town and country, or between the generations. Parents might hold on grimly to their cherished beliefs, as mine did, whilst their children challenged the fundamental tenets of their upbringings. 

~*~*~ 

Cindy left school wide-eyed, innocent and naive. Afraid of the world. she retreated into a dull if pampered home life, sheltering from reality, with few friends, and no external social life to speak of, to enrich her pinhole view on life. I, by contrast, was raised a catholic with the catechism and confessional guilt as personal conditioning. Our meeting was to purge us both of our entrenched attitudes and ideas. Cindy was a child of the 'fifties, but became a woman of the 'seventies. 

As I said in the first part of this story, the early 'seventies was a time when open sex and nudity wasn't commonplace - in fact one was likely to be prosecuted for indecency for either in a public place. Extra-marital affairs were considered scandalous in Britain, at least amongst the relatively moral lower classes. It was a very different story for the elite, who had the wealth and power to write their own rules. It seemed they could get away with anything at the time. 

Britain was still in a collective slough of despond after the humiliating devaluation of the pound in 1967 and the economy subsequently going haywire. Its manufacturing industries were going through a sharp decline. Indeed Britain was labelled by many as the 'sick man of Europe'. Whilst wages were not quite like taking home one's pay in a wheelbarrow, workers might get inflation-pegging pay rises two or three times a year, as I did after graduating, in 1975. 

In culture, it has been said that the seventies were the tired, miserable hangover after the long party of the Swinging Sixties. That may have been the case for the fortunate few, hanging out in London, but for most of us, in the outer suburbs, the home counties, and the other regions the 'seventies was a period of slow, gradual relaxation and redefining of moral standards, broadening of horizons and cultural experimentation: 

David Bowie, The Eagles, Pink Floyd, Slade, Sparks, and Alice Cooper to name just a few, were introducing new dimensions to pop music. Paul McCartney and Wings turned up at Lanchester university with a few hours' warning through word of mouth (posters hastily pasted on lamp posts) to play a sell-out gig. Then there was the explosion of VHS recorders (and yes, there was also superior Betamax for a time!) and the sudden availability of heavily edited soft porn videos in almost every video and record store. Oh Calcutta! signalled that, for a time, anything could go on a London stage. 

It was all out there for the adventurous and curious to sample. For someone with a catholic or other illiberal upbringing though it took a lot of courage or some extraordinary epiphany to escape the shackles of outmoded standards of decency. I tell of my transformation in the final part of the story. This rest of this part belongs to Cindy and her mother's stories. 

~*~*~ 

Being caught by Bradley seducing a departmental head buyer from the store caused a steep decline in Angie's self-confidence. Bradley was angered by her wilful display of independence from his iron control, and he shunned her. As isolated in her own way as Cindy, Angie responded to her situation with alcohol therapy. Life didn't look any better through the base of a crystal whisky tumbler, but it was made more bearable. 

The one bright spot was Cindy's rapid, unexpected physical development. Angie noticed with pleasure that Cindy was finally starting to fill out as a young woman, with a well-toned body, shapely hips and an enticing bust. It would not be long before Cindy's hormones would seize control and urge her to start behaving like a woman rather than as an over-aged adolescent. 

That transformation work-in-progress made it easier now for Angie to identify with her daughter. Angie had been taught - conditioned, even - by Bradley to use her body, so that now it was second nature to her to flaunt her beauty and sexuality. It seemed natural to her to act in that way, and she saw it as a way for Cindy to get what she wanted from life too. It had pained Angie when Cindy at seventeen had still been be so thin and physically under-developed when other girls her age had long since started to mature. 

But now that her daughter was blossoming, Angie was losing control of her own life as a result of one silly mistake. 

Cindy didn't know about Angie's seduction of Benjamin, nor of its immediate aftermath. But she was aware of something changing in her parent's relationship - a coldness on daddy's part, and the emotional withdrawal of her mother. 

Angie was often to be seen these days openly drinking in the morning, and lounging around all day in her silk dressing gown. Alcohol abuse was starting to show as a puffiness in her face. Whilst still beautiful, she had lost her sheen. Cindy noticed how daddy generally ignored mamma, unless to give her orders, which she slavishly obeyed without demur. 

Cindy was ambivalent towards her father. She longed for his approval, and had always happily sat on his knee and listened to his stories, real or imagined, of his heroic life of achievement against all the odds; how he had taken over his uncle's business and turned it around. He would always end with a lecture for Cindy on behaving herself and keeping away from boys, so that she might one day make a success of her life like daddy. He would say how proud he was of his daughter, often ending with an instruction to Angie to find a special treat for their special daughter. So Cindy wanted for nothing, materially, yet felt unfulfilled as a young adult. She was totally under her daddy's control, afraid to disobey him, but equally comforted by the security of his paternalism. 

Her main source of external influences had been BBC radio, particularly Radio 1, and before that pirate radio stations Caroline and Radio London. She listened every night in bed to John Peel, who introduced to her to records and bands that nobody else played on the airwaves. But radio could only communicate so much, and in matters of life she remained isolated and woefully ignorant, despite being an avid reader of books and magazines. She would dream, but her frame of reference was narrow. In that respect, daddy controlled what she experienced, and influenced her views on life generally. 

Cindy loved her father but she was intelligent enough to keep her own counsel about what she intended to do with her life. She made naive plans for when she would eventually be ready to leave home, although in reality, these were just idle day dreams. She had few friends and a less than satisfying social life. For the moment, home still remained a refuge in her twenties, as it had been when she was younger from bullies at school, only now it was from the humiliation of social exclusion from social cliques in the town. 

Her only real friend, since Bethany was no longer around was Annie, Bethany's younger sister. Annie had witnessed Mr Watson's uncaring treatment of Angie, and was aware of Mrs Watson's consequential self-administered decline. Cindy refused to discuss it with her, though, despite her own mounting concerns 

Annie had known Cindy for a long time. She was several years younger but more worldly wise. At first she had admired Cindy as an accomplished athlete and champion swimmer. Then when Cindy gave up athletics and her delayed puberty kicked in, her frame began to fill out. Annie felt a physical attraction to her increasingly statuesque friend. Annie was short and chubby, unlike her beautiful older sister, but with an infectious personality which made her popular and likeable. Cindy was taller, and now more shapely. She was someone for Annie to look up to and desire. 

Cindy's previously child-like figure had burgeoned into an athletic hourglass physique. As her face filled out her youthful prettiness had transformed into striking beauty. Set off by naturally lustrous auburn hair, Cindy attracted admiring or envious glances now wherever she went, despite dressing in shapeless clothes. She seemed oblivious to the admiring reactions her new appearance provoked, including Annie's. 

She was conscious of men staring, appraising, admiring her, but was unaffected by their attention. She had grown up a loner, and had not been exposed to the girlish culture of boy-watching and vying for their attention. Her daddy had warned her against consorting with other men, who were "not to be trusted". The absence of sexual urges in Cindy had made it easy to believe her daddy. Now, though, her hormones were belatedly kicking in and unlocking new physical sensations, new trains of thought in her mind. For the want of a trigger, they might already have turned her thoughts towards carnal desires. For the moment, in her self-image she was still the shy, frumpy girl. Yet her body spoke of a different person emerging. She had a lithe poise and grace, developed through her past prowess at athletics, swimming and gymnastics. Men notice it now and it left them speculating what figure she might be hiding beneath her shapeless smocks and jeans 

Annie had stepped into Bethany's shoes as Cindy's friend when her older sister went to university. It was easy to look up to Cindy, who had greater knowledge and maturity in many ways despite her sheltered life and naivety. She felt protective towards Cindy too, being all too well aware of what people said about Cindy behind her back: the awkward, introverted little rich girl who had everything and nothing. 

Now though, Annie's protectiveness towards her friend was increasingly becoming tinged with envy as she watched Cindy finally begin to blossom into womanhood. Envy and apprehension, because when child-like, Cindy had been easy to associate with; now that she was blossoming, Cindy was growing to look and act more like her real age, and less like Annie. 

For the moment, Annie had resolved to take on the burgeoning Cindy as a project. Her own cause was hopeless. If Annie couldn't transform herself into a physically desirable woman she was determined to concentrate her energies into making her friend's charms more obvious. Annie had long forsaken her childhood dolls, but now she had a real-life subject to dress. 

~*~*~ 

It was Annie who persuaded Cindy to change her style from frumpy girly to sexy siren. It had begun frivolously with a pair of hot pants. They had been shopping for summer dresses and had purposefully gone into London to the new Biba department store which had opened in Kensington High Street. In 1974 it was perhaps the coolest and most stylish department store ever and a world away from daddy's Jennings department store in Wilton. Biba was the store for teenagers and young adults who wanted to stand out from the crowd. It had been opened in the grand, seven storey premises of the former art deco Derry & Toms department store. Cindy remembered the Christmas TV adverts from her childhood for 'end of season sale now on in Kensington High Street, at Barkers, Pontings and Derry & Toms'. Neither she nor Angie had bothered going to such sales before because the styles had been so old fashioned. Angie tended to be dressed by designer fashion houses in Piccadilly, Jermyn Street and Mayfair, Annie made do with basic clothing from Marks and Spencer, and Cindy got clothing at trade from Jennings. 

Biba was to be a short-lived experiment in translating young and hip tastes for fashion into a broader lifestyle of stylish furniture and clothing. It had burst into the shopping world's consciousness: a spin off from the Swinging London scene of Carnaby Street and Chelsea, but in Kensington. Biba was not so much a store as a hip, Art Deco shopping experience. An immense complex on five floors, including a roof garden restaurant complete with resident flamingos, its decor was unique. A combination of chic art deco, Victorian furnishings, art nouveau, and Hollywood. Each retail area was a unique experience taking on an ambience drawn from the antique furniture and curios with which it was furnished. No expense had been spared to make Biba the ultimate shopping experience, which probably contributed, sadly, to its rapid demise - it seemed at times that more people had come just to look rather than to buy. I was certainly one of those rubberneckers, but I intrude on Cindy's story. 

Clothing was its speciality, and the women's main communal clothing changing room had a grand Egyptian theme, with tall mirrors and antique / reproduction furniture (so I was reliably told). there were additional Informal changing areas amongst the clothing displays. The cooler people disregarded the changing areas altogether and tried on jeans and other clothes in full public display. It was the habit in London boutiques in those days for some people to strip off unashamedly next to the clothes rails in shops to try on clothes. That was part of the 'happening' behaviour of the late 'sixties and early 'seventies. Some behaviours were tolerated in hip establishments which would not have been tolerated elsewhere and certainly not today. Anything seemed possible then, any act permissible provided it was in the right place and nobody minded. 

The Biba take on modern 'seventies fashion, particularly for women, was chic and stylish wear for the under thirties. Dark shades for women, of elaborate mixtures of oranges, purples, dark browns and blacks; and a mix of ethnic styles such as Indian, Romany, Paisley, peasant wear tended to predominate. 

Biba pandered quite unashamedly to the tall, skinny, young, teenage woman out to make a statement. This was a different sort of liberation from the women's lib movement at that time. Biba espoused confident women, rather than asexual, androgynous, grungy women's libbers. Women had a lot of protesting to do about male chauvinists and sexual inequalities, but, arguably, it was better done through empowerment than protest. Biba celebrated women in its fashion. Minis or power dressing were definitely in, mature frumpy styles were not. 

The Biba store tended to hang clothes on coat stands rather than rails, or arranged in piles on country-style furniture like kitchen tables or chests of drawers, or in mirror lined display cases. Pulsing light displays from liquid oil wheels were projected in some areas onto walls to give those retail spaces the atmosphere of a boutique rather than a huge department store. Sales assistants might keep a continuous supply of sandalwood joss sticks smoking to add to the ambience. Around every corner or display area was a new focal point, a new concept, a new experience. 

For Annie and Cindy this was exhilarating retail heaven. The styles and ambience assaulted the senses, and were conducive to spending to excess for those who had the urge and the money. Annie had that urge, Cindy had the money. Nor was it necessarily expensive. The store's philosophy was democratic: affordable styles for the discerning. Cindy was over-awed by an abundance of clothing which might have been made for her, were it not for her more generous bust than some of the cuts which pandered to teenage stick insects. 

They were browsing ladies' fashions to a backdrop of the pounding beats of chart hits. Annie wasn't particularly interested in fashion clothes. She was too short and tubby to look good in miniskirts, unless they were obscenely short of course. That would attract a man's attention in Wilton, where that level of over exposure was still unusual. 

"What do you think of this?" asked Annie, holding up an outrageously skimpy garment. She had been enviously admiring some hot pants on clip hangers, and now held one up for Cindy's perusal. "What do you think of this, Cindy, would I look good in it?" 

Both girls giggled at the thought, but Annie's eyes were flashing. "Bet you would look phantasmagorical, though! Every man's wet dream. Here, let me find one to suit you." 

Cindy didn't want to be the subject of men's secret cum. She gasped as Annie held aloft a scanty pair of hot pants in a shiny silver material with cutaway sides. Annie held it against Cindy's jeans front and pronounced it "Perfect!". 

"What, I couldn't ever wear something like that!" gasped Cindy. 

"Why not? You have the body for it, now!" Annie broke into an exagerrated rendition of a Simon and Garfunkel song which was purring out from wall-hung speakers. 

"Sail on silvergirl, 

Sail on by. 

Your time has come to shine. 

All your dreams are on their way. 

See how they shine..." 

As she held up the hot pants the sequins caught the discreetly flashing disco lights on the ceiling and the pants took on a life of their own. 

"Go on, try them on, just for me," Annie urged. "Just for fun. Nobody else need see you." 

Cindy, indecisive, stroked them thoughtfully then put them back on the pile. Then she stroked them again. With a shrug she exclaimed, "Why not?" 

Annie quickly grabbed a pair and thrust them and Cindy in the direction of the changing room. They passed an older woman with straggly purple-streaked hair trying on a pair of jeans right by that display. They spotted a bamboo folding screen nearby, cordoning off a corner, and framed by artificial giant palm fronds in pots and they made a dash for it, winning out on an older woman, heading sedately in the same direction. They laughed exuberantly. Cindy commandeered the space by removing and draping her jeans over the top, the boutique version of an 'engaged' signal.. The area was quite informal and spacious, and it had a large cheval mirror on a stand in the corner. It was illuminated by a spotlight into the corner which bounced light off the white walls. 

The shop was quite busy and people were walking past all the time, so the girls did not particularly notice a tall, straggly-haired, hippie-like man in a shaggy afghan coat lounging against a pillar across the aisle from them. He watched then through a gap between the side of the screen and the palm fronds as Cindy struggled to pull up the impossibly tight minimalist hot pants. 




Spoilt Little Cindy Ch. 03



"They're too small!" 

"I thought you said you were a ten," admonished Annie. 

"I was, until recently, I think," said Cindy, puzzled. "Anyway, I don't think I could wear something so revealing ..." Her enthusiasm was waning 

Annie quickly snatched the garment to retain the initiative. "I'll get a size twelve, and a matching top." 

Cindy stood there waiting, in her knickers, her bare legs trembling, regretting weakening to Annie's suggestion. Realisation dawned that her friend wasn't going to take no for an answer. Well, it wouldn't hurt to appease her friend by buying them, if they fit. After all, she need never wear them, like a lot of impulse purchases she stuffed in drawers because she never had the inclination or occasion to wear them. 

Sure enough, Annie came back flourishing a larger pair. "These will simply caress your curves," she purred, smiling with flashing eyes. "Put them on." 

Cindy pondered for a moment, then quickly removed her knickers before she could regret it. She gasped and her heart raced as she pulled the snug but soft, stretchy material up her loins and felt them scrape across the flesh of her bare bottom force their way into the folds of skin around her pussy. She felt naughty just trying them on thinking, 'I'm creaming them, I'll have to buy them now.' Creaming her knickers was an expression she had learnt from Annie and only recently come to understood. 

Annie lifted the cotton smock up and over Cindy's head before she could react. "There, now we can fully admire the effect of those very hot pants on your gorgeous figure." 

The hot pants hung low on Cindy's hips and hugged her without pressing uncomfortably into her flesh. With her taut, flawless, pear-shaped hips, slim waist, flat tummy and golden tan she looked stunning. Had she bent and opened her knees though, she might have spotted a mild camel toe. 

"Wow," Annie exclaimed, her attention diverted as she saw Cindy's pert 35C tits straining to escape a little from a white Gossard push-up. ('Pity about the bra', she thought.) "I'd never have guessed you were hiding those beauties under your shapeless tops!" She cupped a breast appreciatively in her hand. The gesture took Cindy by surprise. Her legs wobbled with the shock of the touch of a human hand on her tit. 

"Wow girl, you look fab - you bitch!" said Annie teasingly. Cindy felt a guilty excitement at the tightness of the stretch material on her bottom and crotch, and the unaccustomed coolness of her exposed legs. She wanted to see what she looked like from behind but the changing area was too small for her to stand back and get a good look at herself. 

Annie was holding out a matching tailored silver sequinned crop top. "Here, let's see what they look like together." 

As Cindy took the top from her friend she felt her bra strap ping. Annie had released the clasp. "With your figure, I think the natural look will suit you better. Anyway, you need a bigger brassière." Cindy's breasts were firm and round, with slight points at the nipple tips. Annie felt a little giddy at seeing her friend's magnificent, exposed orbs. Never had she seen such perfectly formed breasts. There was no hint of envy now, just desire. Before she could cup one again, Cindy hastily slipped the top over her head. They both gasped at the sight in the mirror. Cindy's body shape was clearly defined by the tight ensemble, her curves highlighted and enhanced by the light bouncing off the sequins. 

Excitedly, Cindy hurried outside to find a mirror in the main display area. 

Annie stood open-mouthed by the bamboo screen. Her friend couldn't have looked sexier if had she been wearing a bikini or even less. 

There was a full length wall mirror on a pillar nearby. Cindy turned her hips one way, then the other, then turned and looked back over her shoulder at her rear in the mirror. She gasped at what she saw. The silver hot pants clung to her hips and accentuated her long, slim legs. Her bottom looked beautifully round, the curved hem of the pants moulding perfectly to the contours of her butt cheeks. They hugged her bottom so well in fact that they could have been painted on. And as for the top, it emphasised her bust against her slim, athletic torso. Absent-mindedly, she stroked the clear outline of her left nipple with her right hand. Her bust which had embarrassed her before, for fear that she was getting fat from lack of exercise, now looked more like that of a Sun Page 3 model. 

She breathed out, not realising she had been holding her breath. She was startled to hear a wolf whistle behind her. She looked past her reflection in the mirror and her stomach churned. A man in a shaggy afghan coat was standing a few feet away, admiring her body. His girlfriend who was browsing a nearby garment rail turned at the sound, and frowned. Annie saw all this from beside the bamboo screen and came to milk the situation. 

"Isn't that just the most perfect bottom?" She stood beside Cindy and stroked her fingers around the exposed lower curves of Cindy's cheeks. 

Cindy studied the man for the first time at the periphery of her vision. He was probably in his late twenties, unshaven, long dark-haired, three-day bristled chin, and the essence of a cool seventies hippy. He looked at her body with a languid, proprietorial expression, as if he could own her if he wanted. Cindy felt an unusual feeling stirring within her abdomen and a tingling between her legs which she had not really noticed before. She felt proud for once of her appearance, and the approval of this worldly-wise older man was turning her on. 

The girlfriend tore her man angrily away from the scene and shouted, "That's just obscene!" 

That made the girls laugh out loud, and emboldened Cindy. "Do I really look good in it?" 

Annie was surprised to see what she guessed to be arousal in her friend's eyes, mirroring her own feelings. "Sister, you look sexy and gorgeous. If only I had a bottom like yours..." 

Cindy wasn't listening. She wondered whether, from his vantage point, the man had seen even more of her around the bamboo screen and reflected in the cheval mirror. Surely he must have seen her lose her bra then strip off her panties? Her body trembled at the twin pleasures of her friend's touch and the thrilling thought of a stranger's illicit view of her naked bottom and breasts. "I'll take them," she declared, her quivering intensifying as she realised what she was doing, "and the ones in the maroon crushed velvet as well." 

Annie interrupted her. "You need some killer boots!" 

Cindy wasn't listening, remembering the lyrics of that song. 

"Sail on silvergirl, 

Sail on by. 

Your time has come to shine. 

All your dreams are on their way. 

See how they shine..." 

The silver hot pants had indeed been a bridge across the troubled waters of her delayed puberty. A newly defined Cindy was on her way. 

~*~*~ 

Cindy knew little of her parents' past lifestyle. She had sometimes spied through a crack in the door, incidents from Bradley's parties, but not understood their full significance. She knew nothing of Benjamin's seduction by her mother, or its immediate aftermath. But she was aware that something had changed in her parent's relationship - a coldness towards her mother on daddy's part, and her mother's mental withdrawal into herself. 

The family was to a great extent immune from the scandal such behaviour would have provoked amongst the working classes. Theirs was a privileged life, secured by the wealth earned through Bradley's use of his family assets to rise through the social ranks of the wealthy and influential. Life amongst this privileged class was less bound by general moral standards. In the 'seventies, before the days of emails and the internet, scandal usually only broke out if an article were written up in the likes of the Sunday Pictorial, News of the World or Titbits, and the truly influential could always prevent or deter such publication. 

Cindy was conflicted about her father. She longed for his approval, and had always happily sat on his knee and listened to his stories, real or imagined, of his heroic past life. He would always end with a lecture on how Cindy should behave, and how proud he was of his daughter. Cindy was naive due to her sheltered upbringing and happily lapped up daddy's adoration. 

But she was still intelligent enough to know her own mind. She had been educated at a private school until the age of eleven, then gone to a high-achievers' direct grant girls' grammar school in another nearby town. The family chauffeur drove her there and collected her each afternoon after school. The daily arrival of the limousine did not escape the notice of some of the rougher elements in the school. Although state educated, these girls were still privileged, either due to their parents' ability to meet the fees, or through local authority financial support for passing the 'Eleven Plus' exam. 

In that privileged school environment Cindy experienced for the first time girls from other social classes, who were more worldly wise. She was bullied mercilessly. It ashamed her to realise that she was unpopular, even despised for her father's wealth and her own social awkwardness. But she kept her private misery from her parents because she felt that she was letting her daddy down: she was a social failure. 

Home had been a refuge from school bullies, and remained so even after she left school with brilliant 'A' Levels. She was an regarded by her peers in Wilton as an outsider. Some of them had been to her school and were bullying ringleaders. 

But now she was undergoing a physical epiphany. This was no gradual change which would allow a body time to adjust, but the mad onrush of delayed pubescence. Suddenly filled with self confidence, she wanted to show off her newly discovered body, like her mother had done herself before her. 

~*~*~ 

Equipped with dark brown, knee-high brown cowboy boots, they went to show off Cindy's new maroon hot pants outfit in the Kon-Tiki coffee bar. Annie's friends were hanging out there, drinking coffee and smoking - trying to look cool for the benefit of some older youths in another booth. Annie swept in excitedly to greet her friends, leaving Cindy standing uncertainly in the open doorway.. 

Cindy stood there surveying the coffee bar, which she had rarely ventured into before. It was long and narrow with a line of seating booths against each wall. Green leather benches were arrayed back to back with a tall trellis between the backs, creating an intimate setting for each booth. The benches in each booth had a table jutting from the wall. It held sugar, salt and pepper shakers, glass mustard tubs and ketchup bottles, aluminium napkins holders, and square, toughened glass ashtrays. Laminated A4 size menus stood upright in wooden stands, offering chips, burgers, fried meats, and assorted flavour milk shakes. Attached to the wall in each booth was a small, glass-fronted, coin-operated mini jukebox console, connected to a full size, neon lit Rock-Ola jukebox next to the serving counter at the rear. A lever in the top of the console was used to flip small metal racks which contained two rows of cards, the size of small business cards with the name of the 'A' and 'B' side tracks of each pop single, and the name of the artist. Most of the cards would be changed every few weeks as singles left the charts and new ones began to get airplay. Some discs - the enduring favourites - were retained permanently. These included tracks by the Elvis Presley, Cliff Richard, James Brown, the Beach Boys, Supremes and Aretha Franklin. vying for airplays against the newer pretenders to their thrones, the likes of Slade, Alice Cooper and of course the Beatles and Stones. 

Neon wall illuminations in the form of words and phrases like 'Surfin' and 'disco beat' in reds and blues, competed with strip lights to brighten and add atmosphere to the coffee bar. 

Cindy felt totally out of her depth in this noisy, fuggy, smoky environment. 

She saw some older youths over-populating a six-seater booth with an overspill standing in the aisle. One of them turned to check her out. She felt suddenly over exposed and tempted to run away, but was rooted to the spot by indecision. 

He shoved his hand into his too tight Levis and with some difficulty fished out some coins. He tossed one to someone in the booth. 

The unseen someone evidently slotted a sixpence into the juke box console because immediately recognisable percussive descending chords on a double bass, followed by guitar chords broke into the noisy hubbub of voices, and conversations temporarily died as people appraised the selected disc, and decided whether they liked it enough to want to listen to it, or resume their conversations. This one ranked alongside the Kinks' Dedicated Followers of Fashion as an anthem to the celebration of something hip or ironic. Automatically, heads turned to see who had triggered this corny choice of music. 

Her awkwardness turned to emboldenment as Cindy instantly recognised the track. She guessed it had been put on for her benefit, and felt immediately the focus of everyone's' attention. A new-found self-confidence kicked in like the flick of a switch as she felt the spotlight on her, and plucked up the courage to make an entrance as the guitar gave way to four loud and insistent beats on the snare drum. The voice of Nancy Sinatra broke in to the melody and sang loudly, 

" You keep saying you've got something for me, 

something you call love, but confess ..." 

Appraising eyes swept down from her face to her footwear as "These Boots Are Made For Walking" filled the coffee bar. 

Carefully putting one foot in front of the other, and conscious that the movement would make her hips swing to emphasise the hot pants, Cindy approached the gaggle of girls halfway up the aisle on the left. As she progressed with deliberate steps, several of the youths spilled out of their booth to join their admiring colleagues ogling Cindy's arresting entrance and stunning outfit. Hot pants they had seen before, but nothing clothing such an erotic body. Youthful bravado prompted whistles and catcalls at the unexpected sight of a gorgeous dolly bird on display. Cindy felt far from that, but happy for once and comfortable to be the centre of attention 

She loved every second of that short walk, though it felt like it was taking ages. Butterflies flitted about her insides. An onrush of hot blood to her loins made her instantly aroused. This was her moment. 

"Hey baby," one of the youths called, "would you care to walk those boots this way?" 

Annie realised then, that she had left Cindy stranded in the doorway. She noted the reaction Cindy was now getting, she was thrilled at this new, confident Cindy, but jealous at the men's attention. 

Some of the other girls raised their eyes to the ceiling in mock exasperation at this awkward older woman approaching them. Others noticed the interest she was attracting from the boys. When she reached the girl's booth Annie announced, "Ta-da! Here is the gorgeous Cindy!" 

Cindy turned to face the open-mouthed girls and broke into a self-conscious giggle, showing no hint of airs and graces. It broke the ice and served to downplay the stunning impact she had made with her entrance. It wasn't lost on them that several of the youths were now heading their way, with whoops of anticipation. They had a bravado born of safety in numbers. The felt they could approach Cindy without intimidating her because she was part of a group. Such was the courteous culture of that time. 

Cindy was sucked into the maelstrom of excited chatter in and surrounding the booth. It was nothing more than time filling in the seconds the youths would take to stroll to their booth. 

This was no time to be cool and reserved. The girls spilled out into the aisle as well, a gangly, giggling mass, to be swallowed up in the encircling mass of young men. One headed straight for Cindy and introduced himself. "Hi, I'm James." 

Cindy was evidently a man magnet and instantly admitted to membership of the Annie's circle of friends That was a turning point in her life for Cindy. 

~*~*~ 

She realised that her new look made her popular as a sort of role model for the younger girls. As long as she didn't flaunt her daddy's wealth and privilege, the girls found her quiet and diffident nature easy to get along with. They introduced her to a social melée of cool young people in pubs and clubs and her quiet self-confidence slowly consolidated within her. Her stand-offish reputation would take time to be dispelled, but she began to be socially accepted. 

She had a new interest in life now. She set out to explore the world of sexy clothing, which usually meant miniskirts, hot pants and low-cut fronts for socialising - and bikinis for sunbathing around the pool at home. She had been plain too long to feel beautiful inside yet, but she understood that young men appeared to be sexually attracted to her. She found it natural to flirt with men, to play with their sexual feelings, as she had observed her mother doing. She felt, vaguely, that one day her body and her looks could provide her fortune and security, just like her mother. Yet, in the back of her mind a voice of reason nagged at her, urging her to avoid such a pre-ordained future. It told her she should want more from life. Nurture was warring with aspiration. 

~*~*~ 

She was 23, but looked younger, and ready to make a change. Her self-confidence was soaring; she was no longer the little girl. Then fate stepped in and brought her plans crashing to earth. 

It was late one Friday evening when she came home a little the worse for drink. Bradley, in the lounge alone, heard her stumbling and knocking something over in the hall and came out to investigate. He had lost touch with family matters after the Benjamin incident with Angie, and spent very little of his leisure time at home. The department store was having cash flow difficulties and Bradley worked late into the evenings then often went to a nearby hotel which had a very comfortable lounge bar, to drown his sorrows. He would also chat up any solitary business women in the bar, and got to accompany many of them back to their rooms. 

Cindy watched mamma drinking heavily and felt obliged to support her as best Cindy could. But Cindy didn't take sides in her parent's quarrel. Though she hated what daddy was doing to mamma, she still felt reassured in his company. So it was a pleasant surprise to see him at home that evening. "Hi daddy!" she cried in a high-pitched, alcohol-fuelled voice. 

Bradley was astonished. His little Cindy had changed - and how! She was filling out nicely. He ignored for the moment that she was sluttlly dressed in a miniskirt, tight top and heels. His attention was drawn to her long legs, fuller hips and bust. She had also had her hair styled so that it fell to her shoulders in wavy cascades. What he saw was no longer his little Cindy, but a sexy, ball-busting young woman. 

How could this have happened, and so suddenly? He should have been angry that she had gone out dressed like that, but her new look interested him. "Where have you been?" he asked, nervously swallowing, puzzled, mentally salivating. 

"Out, with friends. having a good time." she said gaily, staggering a few steps. 

"Well, come into the lounge and tell daddy all about it. Let me fix you another drink." 

Cindy liked that idea. She was flattered by daddy's attention which she had been missing for some months now. 

He put a Bert Kaempfert LP on the radiogram to provide some suitable mood music and let the first few bars of 'Bye Bye Blues' waft around the room. He switched off a couple of table lamps to create a more shadowy mood for a plan that was slowly dawning in his mind. He stood uncertainly, waiting to see what Cindy would do. 




Spoilt Little Cindy Ch. 03



At first Cindy let the music wash over her, swinging her hips, pleasantly relaxing her, before remembering that she was not supposed to like easy listening music. It wasn't cool. 

Bradley was speaking. He had stood back to get a better look at her. "Let me see what you're wearing. Give me a twirl." 

With a large vodka tonic in her hand, Cindy showed off her figure in her outfit to her daddy and chuckled with surprise and pleasure at his approving reaction. His eyes were riveted at first to her generous, shapely bust, encased in a strappy low-cut top which allowed her cleavage to show. Her prominent nipples stood out in the white cotton material and made him instantly hard. Reluctantly he tore his eyes away from her chest to sweep down her exposed belly to the belted tailored brown suede miniskirt which hugged her hips, and white heels. 

"My little girl is growing up into a beautiful woman," he observed, almost to himself, endeavouring to keep the growl out of his voice, lest it give him away. He paused, then in a matter-of-fact tone asked, "Are you seeing anyone?" His voice cracked, nervous, anxious, betraying fear at her possible answer. He thought his voice might be communicating what was forming in his mind, but Cindy didn't appear to notice. He was surprised to be quivering with nervous anticipation at the potential presented by this situation. He felt like a youth on a first date again. He sat down more heavily on the sofa than he had intended. 

Cindy had been pondering daddy's question about a boyfriend. "No daddy, of courssnot!" The drink was making it difficult for her to speak. 

"Are you still daddy's girl?" His voice was strained with tension, fear, anticipation. 

"Yesss, of course." She reinforced that, without thinking of possible consequences, by sitting down across his lap and putting an arm around her daddy's shoulder. She dropped the side of her head against his chest. He looked at two outstandingly, perfectly proportioned breasts outlined in her low-cut top. Almost without thinking, he cupped a breast in his hand and asked, "Are you wearing a bra?" 

She slurred her reply, putting on a little girlie voice. "No daddy; naughty Thindy!" She was suffering the after-effects from the accumulation of alcohol she had drunk during the evening. "I'm thorry daddy, are you going to punissh Schindy?" She giggled at her mispronunciation. She was in a playful mood. 

Of course, he never had punished her. He watched her drain her glass and took it from her, gently easing her off his lap. "Go up to your room and wait for me. I have something serious to say to you." His voice was commanding rather than admonishing. 

She got up and stood shakily, looking at him for a moment, puzzled at the abrupt change in mood, before dismissing the thought and stumbling obediently off upstairs, suddenly looking forward to bed and sleep. 

~*~*~ 

Conditioning 

Bradley went to freshen up in his ensuite bathroom. He paused on his way out of the bedroom to look at Angie who was deeply asleep under a single sheet this warm evening. He pulled back the sheet and admired her nude form lying on its side, thighs drawn up towards her chest. Her breasts lay fallen sideways on the white cotton sheet and he felt a hard-on. He took a nowadays rare opportunity to study his wife. She still stirred him, even when asleep. He leant down and sniffed the odour between her thighs, and gently licked her sex. He liked the smell of her, and relished his power over her. He would have done the same even if she had been awake, but she hadn't stirred in sleep for some months when he came to their bed. He was fed up of fucking a virtual corpse. His cock was straining in his trousers. He would have to do something about that. But not with Angie this night. 

He went into his dressing room and took a large cardboard box from a wardrobe with the legend Bell and Howell Sportster on the sides. It had a hole cut into one side. He fiddled with it for a couple of minutes then headed to Cindy's room. 

She had sat on the edge of the bed but fallen backwards in an inebriated stupor, legs dangling off the end of the bed. Bradley's final drink had delivered the knock-out punch. 

He studied her thighs and panties exposed by the almost no-longer-there suede miniskirt. It had ridden up her hips when she fell back on the bed. Her firm legs looked temptingly strokable. He imagined running his fingers up inside thighs, right into her youthful panty crotch. A comment by Angie flashed briefly through his mind. Mindful of their free-living lifestyle, she had made him swear years ago never to fiddle with their daughter, a promise made easier up to now by Cindy's arrested development. 

But months of one-sided sex - at home at least - had made him more pre-occupied than normally with sexual fantasies. He had even made passes at Alice during one-to-one stock buying review meetings, which had led inevitably in time to full-on sex in his office. "You're my number one he had told her," and now she did favours for him at every opportunity in a vain attempt to cement her place as his mistress. 

Yet tonight, his ardour was being stirred by the unexpected discovery of his blossoming daughter. But for her glossy brunette hair, she could have been the spitting image of her mother twenty years before. He wondered whether her body would arouse him in the same way as Angie's had back then. 

He studied her to determine the best vantage point for viewing her body. When he was satisfied he moved to the bed and was about to remove her heels, when he paused. It would be so much sexier to leave them on. He reached under her for the zip to her miniskirt. The slight garment came away easily from under her. The panties came off next. He was surprised to see that Cindy had trimmed her pubic hair in a bikini line. 

The top was more problematic. He had to push her arms up beyond her head and ease the top up her chest and off her head and arms. Her breasts were pulled backwards towards her head as the top clung to her flesh. Then they bounced free as the top relinquished its grip on her flesh. Her breasts stood up young, round and proud, her nipples pointing slightly outwards at the centre of small brown aureole rings. The absence of strap marks on her flawless all-over-tan skin sent a thrill through his body. So, she must have been sunbathing regularly in the nude in the garden. Pity he had missed that. 

She now lay there naked, but for her shoes. Her body flawless with but the faintest of panty lines. Her young, firm breasts seemingly beckoning to him, begging for his petting. Her nipples rose and fell steadily as she breathed in her light sleep. 

He planned to take his time to savour this pleasant surprise of a gorgeous new body on his maturing daughter. As he licked her pussy lips Cindy may have felt pleasantly aroused even in her drunken stupor. She groaned but as yet did not awaken. In her dreams she was imagining an encounter with the sexy Biba man, the mysterious stranger who was kissing her ... down there. 

Bradley removed his clothes, unnecessarily quietly, and fastidiously took them to his dressing room, then returned naked to Cindy's room. Standing holding his cock in his hand, he surveyed his naked daughter, now no longer a child, beautiful and womanly. Her young adult body was firm and athletic. 'This is not my Cindy', he told himself as he knelt on the floor at the bottom of the bed. He would not have contemplated assaulting his little girl Cindy, but this gorgeous creature was a stranger to him. 

Her musky aroma made him light-headed. It was different from Angie's, lighter, mysterious, beguiling. He licked gently at the moisture formed on the dark folds around her slit. Cindy's thighs and hips flexed involuntarily but she remained asleep. Bradley tried his best to enjoy this illicit encounter with his now nubile daughter's groin, but her lack of response dampened his desire. This was little more stimulating than attempting to screw an inert Angie. 

Undeterred, he got up and knelt on the bed between her spread legs and placed his still throbbing, engorged cock at her pussy lips. As he stroked her folds and opening with his tip, to encourage lubrication, Cindy groaned, shifted her hips sideways, then opened her eyes. 

The pressure against her loins had brought her awake and she looked up as her eyes cleared to see her father leaning over her, shirtless. "What is it?" she mumbled. "What are you doing?" She had been dreaming about the stranger, but these physical sensations had become too vivid for her innocent dream 

She quickly guessed what Bradley was preparing to do and with a sharp intake of breath cried out "Oh, daddy ... why?" 

"Because you're ready," he replied, "and I want to prepare you for your grown up life." 

She was confused and could not pull her thoughts together, but felt instinctively that this was wrong. She sobbed and pushed against his chest. "No, you can't, it's not right!" 

Bradley pushed himself abruptly off the bed and stood up, holding his erect penis in his hand. Cindy's eyes traced their way down from her father's face to his chest, then to his hips. She had never seen an erect penis, let alone one this close up. 

Her eyes widened, her befuddled interest in his cock not lost on Bradley. He removed his hand to let her study his manhood more clearly. It dropped slightly then stiffened as if responding to his daughter's scrutiny. She sat up and stared at it curiously, aware of the wetness between her legs and a physical longing which had been happening recently with increasing regularity. 

She looked up into her daddy's eyes, saw his encouraging smile and held out a hand tentatively as if seeking permission to touch his manhood. Bradley moved closer within her reach. She touched the pulsing knob with the fingertips of her right hand. Surprised at its warmth, for an extremity, she grasped it in her hand from the underside. Its tip was sticky from her moistness and his pre-cum. 

Bradley moved in closer still, to reach out a hand to cup her left breast. The sense of daddy's touch against her naked bosom sent a thrill through Cindy's body. She looked up at him with a myriad of different, conflicting feelings and physical impulses racing around in her head. All the sensations of arousal she had felt in her waking dreams, catching the eye of the stranger in Biba\, the caress of Annie on her breast, the buzz of showing off in public, all now came flooding to the fore in her consciousness, urging her to take another step in her exploration of her sexuality. 

"Kiss it," he commanded, in a quietly kindly but insistent voice, dropping his eyes to his throbbing cock. 

What harm could it do? Without demur, Cindy did so. 

"Put it in your mouth." 

Again, with but the slightest of hesitation, Cindy parted her lips and leant in hesitantly to wrap her mouth around the head of daddy's cock. She had to stretch her lips wider to accept its head into her mouth. She could taste and smell soap and something curious. The throbbing member felt huge in her mouth, a monstrous foreign body. "Suck it, all the way in" he demanded, and she obeyed, despite gagging as she attempted to take it all the way to the back of her throat. He remained still as his no-longer-little girl explored his cock with her mouth. He let her withdraw from it and lick his shaft instead as she held it delicately by her fingertips. Finally, he had had enough of this initial pleasuring by his Cindy, and wanted to finish himself off. He intended to proceed with caution. She had shown initial signs of questioning his sexual commands. He needed time to think, to plan how to deal with that. 

"You must realise Cindy, that now you are blossoming into a beautiful young woman, men will want to have sex with you. You don't know their history. They may damage you." 

She knew that already, with her assumption of men's motives for all the recent attention she had been receiving. Daddy had already delivered many warning lectures about other men. But now the effect of those warnings was being diluted by a newly emerging sexual dimension she hadn't felt before. 

"They will tell you anything to be able to have you. You must resist, until you're ready to settle down with the man you want to spend your life with." 

"You must know that men find you attractive now. Your body can turn them on. Use it wisely, as your mother has. Let me show you what it can do. Let me help you to understand your power." With that, he held out his hand and pulled her gently up from the bed, then directed her to stand on it. 

"Dance for me, my angel. Let me show you how to please and control men." 

Cindy was confused, and still unsteady from alcohol, but her left hand went instinctively to her groin, to the heat and arousal emanating from her genital area. Pulling it away reluctantly, she climbed up onto the bed and started to dance, her mind detaching from her physical present. She imagined herself in a dance hall, swaying her hips to the music and teasing the men jostling each other to get closest to her. Then Bradley came into her mental picture; no longer her daddy, but one of those leering men. She opened her eyes. He was naked and he was wanking his cock furiously, his face contorted in the throes of an imminent climax. In a daze, she watched as cum shot out from his cock, flecks spattering her calves and the quilt cover, so warm it barely registered as a sensation as it hit her flesh.. 

Bradley stood exhaling heavily as he recovered from the exertions of his climactic eruption, staring at Cindy's movement. She had witnessed something unexpectedly arousing, and was standing with knees slightly bent, squeezing her vulva with the cleft of a hand between her thumb and forefinger, all the while moaning. It seemed to work because she quickly began to gasp in a crescendo of mounting orgasm until she let out a loud and long moan. Then she sank to her knees on the bed, and fell onto her back. 

Bradley studied her limp form for several minutes, committing to memory this glorious sight of Cindy's flowering womanhood. The thought flashed through his mind that perhaps he had found a replacement hostess for the lush that was now his once desirable Angie. 

Gathering his thoughts he said, "We must sponge your bedspread." He scooped Cindy's limp, naked form into his arms and carried her gently to a sofa where he tenderly laid her down to relax. She watched sleepily whilst he cleaned up and remade her bed. 

Then he carried her into her ensuite shower and tenderly washed her body as she stood reflecting on the events of the past half hour. He stood nakedly against her and hugged her in the warmth of the water on her back. She felt safe in his arms, but with a nagging doubt about the propriety of what had just taken place. Despite the alcohol dulling her senses, she, too, mentally filed away these new thoughts and sensations. 

~*~*~ 

Taking care of Business 

She woke next morning to see daddy holding a cup of tea for her. "How do you feel?" he asked. 

She had a thick head. She thought about last night. She was sure it hadn't been a dream because her recollections of the previous evening had been too vivid. Daddy seemed so attentive, and so calm, that she simply accepted that what had happened must have been for the good. Daddy was being protective. After all, he had not penetrated her. She must still be a virgin. He had supported her in his arm on her bed as he blow-dried her hair after their shower. Daddy was being kind to her. 

Yet deep in her subconscious, another voice was struggling to be heard - the voice of warning. For the moment, Cindy repressed all its attempts to come to the fore in her confused, inexperienced mind. She would look upon daddy's ministrations as a good, positive thing. Nobody had ever shown such love for her as daddy. 

"Let's go out somewhere today. Just the two of us." 

"What about mamma" 

"I think we'll let her sleep on to recover from last night." 

The 'two of us' turned out to be Bradley, Cindy, and the chauffeured Bentley. They went to West London. Money had its privileges, and they could park right outside every establishment they visited without the police moving them on. They shopped for clothes for Cindy. She bought pantsuits, sedate separates, wrap dresses, hats and power suits. Bradley had an eye for sexy accoutrements to his daughter's developing sexuality, and guided her towards sexy underwear, miniskirts, tight leather trousers, equally tight jumpers, and knee-high leather boots. Labels like von Furstenberg, Porter, Gibb, Yves St Laurent and Vivienne Westwood were bagged alongside glam wear and erotic labels. 

They dined in a swish restaurant on prawn cocktails, T-bone steaks and Black Forest Gateau, washed down with expensive wines, then brandy. 

"We have to think about your future, you know. You can't be a lady of leisure forever. I'd like you to take an interest in the business. I won't insult you by starting you as a junior. I'm going to make you a management trainee, with a stake in the business as a junior partner. He handed her a large envelope. In it was a share certificate. "I have been holding onto this for a while - until I thought you were ready. I've given you and Angie minority stakes in the company. I will manage Angie's stake - she wouldn't know what to do with it anyway - but I want you to learn how to help me manage the business. I need your eyes and ears alongside mine in the business. " He didn't add that he was also doing it for tax reasons. 

That was it. In one fell swoop her future had been decided - by daddy. 

~*~*~ 

She went to work the following Monday, as a management trainee. The department store's General Manager welcomed her politely enough, but seethed that Bradley had foisted his daughter on him at a day's notice, and without a brief as to how she should be deployed. They sat in his well-appointed office on the fourth floor with a commanding view over the river and palatial houses on the far bank. 

He eyed her up and down and had to admit that she was both beautiful and exceptionally well-dressed. She had chosen to wear a smart Mary quant dress suit in black with white collar and lapels. She was evidently not to be any old run-of-the-mill shop assistant. 

That night Bradley came into her room and asked her about her first day in the 'office'. Then he moved almost seamlessly to enquire about her periods. Satisfied about where she was in her cycle, he told her that she must allow him to continue to prepare her body for womanhood and the 'right man'. 

So began a week of conditioning. Bradley brought her some pills and explained about how and when to take them. Money and influence over-rode the requirement for a doctor's prescription. He bought her a lockable diary in which to record her periods and contraception, and told her to keep it safe and private. His fear of a pregnancy overcame his natural inclination for her to keep their relationship unrecorded. He hadn't got where he was in his business without being careful. He was determined that he would deflower his daughter, but was attentive to all the preparations to ensure that she would regard it as a natural progression. He would watch where she concealed the diary and be prepared to destroy it when the time was right. He would also ensure that he could monitor her. 

The next evening, he taught Cindy how to dance and disrobe sensually and was rewarded by another utterly fulfilling self-administered climax as she stripped for him with instinctive skill. It gave him satisfaction too, to hear her cry out as she again afterwards masturbated. He warned about her mother hearing her though, and that she must keep all this a secret between them, because few daddies took such care over the nurturing of their children, and it could so easily be misunderstood. 




Spoilt Little Cindy Ch. 04



This final part is quite long, but I had to get it out of my system. Erotic events mostly take second place to the storyline so please be patient. Names and details have been changed to conceal the identities of the characters involved, but time has taken its toll anyway. I have nothing against incest by the way, but it should be consensual.

First, a re-cap for those who don't intend to start at the first part (I try to cater for all tastes).

~*~*~

Recap

The back story to my fateful meeting with Cindy was later told to me by Cindy and her mother. It was at times shocking and erotic, particularly those bits Cindy's sexy mother had to tell. She spared me nothing - even relating the finer details of how she had been used and abused by her husband, before he switched his attention to Cindy. Angie's life was driven by sex, promoted by her husband who used her to curry favours with businessmen and politicians. Angie was beautiful, in some ways even more beautiful, or at least sexier than her daughter - someone who nowadays would be described as a 'milf' - but in those more innocent days of the 'seventies would simply have been called glamorous.

But before I learnt about all that, I was an innocent and naive student home from university for the weekend and catching up with old school friends. I have mentioned before how much more uptight people were about sex and nudity in the ''seventies. The privileged classes were a law unto themselves, though, and what went on behind many of their closed doors could not have been contemplated by ordinary people who had to endure mostly boring and mundane lives.

Yes, I was naive in those days, at least until that fateful weekend I met Cindy. It was to open doors to a more liberated lifestyle, when I returned to university. My old school friends back home who didn't go to university (only a select few did in those days) mostly continued to 'lead what looked like dull, conforming lives.

What was about to happen to me next beggared belief. It was for me in every sense, a 'big bang'.

But back to that weekend in October back home, for my last time as a virgin. That was in Part 1 of this story.

It was a warm October Saturday, and Cindy had been alone at home, looking for distractions. I didn't know her then. She had fancied a swim, but not alone in the family's pool. She wanted company. With her new-found confidence and a desire to tease in her 'Domino' bikini, she headed off to the local lido.

The designer bikini which her mother Angie had persuaded a head buyer at her husband's department store to procure for Cindy, was an astounding success. Cindy felt all men's eyes admiring her body as she walked along the edge of the swimming pool, and she deliberately posed on the diving board before each dive. Usually slow or nervous divers would be yelled at to force them to get a move on, but nobody shouted at Cindy. She looked too damn good on that board!

She knew she had a reputation for being stand-offish and a prick-teaser, which was why she had few real friends. James, an ex-school friend of mine in Wilton, chatted to her at the pool. He met her when Cindy made heads turn in the local KonTiki coffee bar a few months before. She had suddenly blossomed into the most gorgeous creature imaginable, but her reputation for stand-offishness stuck to her like a limpet. Cindy was beautiful but distant. James had been endeavouring for some time to get inside her panties, without success.

He introduced Cindy to me that day at the lido. Big mistake. He was never to get his way with her after that. She knew all too well what he wanted, but she didn't know me at all. Let's say the timing was fortuitous. She teamed up with me on the rebound from the unwanted attentions of her father.

I was no different from any other lustful male, except that I had only fantasised, never actually done it. I knew the theory, but none of the practicals. I didn't come on to women the way more confident men would do. It turned out Cindy appreciated that: someone who was not predatorily threatening.

My life was never to be the same again after meeting her. I had heard of her exaggerated reputation, a frequent topic of conversation amongst girl-starved schoolboys, but seeing her in the flesh for the first time, I saw instead a beautiful but shy and lonely young woman. It was inconceivable that such a gorgeous female should have no boyfriend, but I did not know then about her domineering father. I would have been even more surprised to learn that she was in her early Twenties. She looked eighteen, younger than me.

We met again by coincidence that same evening at a party James had invited me to, and I got to enjoy the thrill of sex on a first date afterwards, the ultimate illicit 'seventies experience. The occasion had been marred when we were discovered in flagrante delicto in her bedroom by her parents. Cindy had already confessed to me aspects of family life with her father. I lost my cool and accused him of fucking his daughter. Cindy's mother had been outside the bedroom door and heard it all. It was to be the final straw for her.

Unsurprisingly, Cindy left home next morning for good and, very surprisingly, came back with me to university. But then, she had nowhere else to go.

~*~*~

A Long Journey

Lanchester was about a hundred miles north of Wilton, but the journey was to transform both our lives. Cindy had phoned for a taxi to take us to Wilton station. We were escaping from the wrath of her father. I couldn't have afforded a taxi for myself, and would have walked to the station, but money and privilege has its fringe benefits and Cindy had a credit card funded by her daddy, and ample cash. I was quietly relieved she hadn't commandeered the family chauffeur and limousine. I found the Watson lifestyle - what little of it I had seen - stifling.

Cindy paid for the rail tickets - First Class of course - I always travelled second, so it was a new experience for me. I was taking her back to Lanchester University for want of anywhere else to take her. She seemed to want my protection, for me to make the decisions. That was potentially awkward because my lifestyle was unlikely to be satisfying for a young woman used to the finer things in life.

I hadn't a clue what I was going to do with her in Lanchester. I was a first year student with a single bedroom in an all-male Hall, a tower block. I suspected that a few women lived there with their boyfriends for short periods, but there was always a risk of being found out The fire alarm had gone off at two in the morning a few weeks before, and I saw at least a dozen women, dressed in men's coats, dressing gowns, and in one case just a tee shirt and knickers, assembled in the grounds outside. There had been a memo slipped under each of our doors that evening reminding us of eleven o'clock curfew for any female visitors. I couldn't risk trying to hide her in my room.

I felt uneasy as we alighted from the taxi at the station. I felt even worse after I gallantly paid the fare, using up the last of my hard-earned student cash. I hadn't told Cindy how little money I had to survive on. How could I hope to keep her satisfied? It was a relied to see that she could flash the cash.

I didn't know then, but Cindy had a guilty secret which she could not yet bring herself to tell me. No two people could have been travelling with more differing hang-ups, moods and preoccupations.

Cindy browsed at the platform WH Smith's bookstall whilst we waited for our train. I studied her mesmerising pear-shaped hips in tight jeans tucked into knee high black Gucci designer Cuban-heeled boots. She had a short, exquisitely chic afghan jacket which reached to her waist and allowed her divine hips and bottom to be displayed in the unself-conscious way of the truly glamorous. It hid her upper half from view. With her glossy auburn hair she didn't look the bimbo stereotype, which she might have done with blonde hair. No, Cindy reeked of class and style. She had dressed down to an extent, but her outfit spoke cool 'seventies quality. I saw her scan the motoring, DIY, Playboy and Penthouse magazines, a strange selection for a young woman. Then her eyes settled on the paperbacks displayed behind the counter. She smiled and said "Don't look." She was probably buying Cosmopolitan or Playgirl magazine, or a woman's romantic novel. I turned away so as not to embarrass her whilst she made her purchase.

I smiled at my beautiful and enigmatic companion. "Happy?" I was hoping for a positive answer. I felt something dark lurking behind Cindy's superficially bright expression, and hoped that her escape from daddy's clutches might have lightened her mood. We had acted on impulse and neither of us knew what lay ahead. She confirmed her real feelings by simply giving out a long, heart-felt sigh.

It had shocked her mother when I accused Bradley of fucking his own daughter. I was not to know that it was the one thing Angie had hoped Bradley might never do. Had she not now lost the last vestiges of sympathy for her now invalided husband, Angie might have feared Cindy to be a threat to her marriage and security. She could not know that Cindy had no designs on her daddy; in fact Cindy wanted to get as far away from him as possible, but hadn't until now found the opportunity.

Angie had wakened Cindy on Sunday morning following the discovery of me in her room, to make a proposal. Angie had thrashed it out with Bradley, using threats of exposing his conduct as bargaining power. He had agreed to support their daughter financially under the implied threat that she might otherwise seek to have him prosecuted. He was not to know it was an empty threat. Angie had been delighted to help her daughter to escape daddy's clutches. It would put Cindy beyond his reach and secure Angie's position as mistress of the house again. But Cindy wasn't the only one with a guilty undiscovered secret. Angie, herself was harbouring one, which Bradley was now bound to discover.

It was now just 72 hours since Cindy and I had first met. Yet I was helping her to escape from an unhappy life, which was all she had known. I had delayed my return to Lanchester to ensure that Cindy was not under any form of threat after her father's discovery of me in her bed. It shouldn't have been the end of the world but her father was clearly very protective of her. Maybe he had entertained hopes of keeping Cindy to himself? If so, his wife had dispelled them by showing openly for the first time in their marriage the courage to challenge her husband and insist on getting her own way.

It was mid-day Monday. Cindy and I stood on Wilton Station platform with several hastily packed designer suitcases and my own battered and frayed holdall. How could a young woman have so much luggage? How long would she be staying?

The train was a corridor type, of separate compartments with sliding doors. Cindy told me she had never travelled by train before, even in First Class. The family had a chauffeur and daddy didn't like his daughter mixing with common people. As we settled into the pre-war, well sprung seats Cindy looked all around her in the compartment. "It's just like a 'sixties' spy movie," she exclaimed, rolling her eyes in wonderment. She folded down the tops of her boots like flaps, to reveal a tan calf skin lining. The contrast of the shiny black against the tan inner blew me away. Being with Cindy presented lots of surprises, one after another.

I chuckled at the image of spies stalking the train corridors with upturned coat collars, gun in hand - maybe on the Orient Express! I countered: "To me, it's more like the Beatles in A Hard Day's Night, with those young female groupies."

Cindy punched me playfully. "You didn't tell me you were into young girls!"

I resisted an obvious riposte. It might just have been a bit too near the knuckle for Cindy.

The train lurched as the couplings stretched to take the strain, then clanged as they recoiled and the buffers between the carriages bumped one another. I have a strong nostalgia for those days when trains had real character.

As the train gathered speed its wheels 'clickety clacked' rhythmically as they ran over the joints between the rails. It had a hypnotic effect on us both and we turned in temporarily on our own thoughts. For me, it meant re-living the mainly pleasurable past two days. For Cindy it was the reverse. Her mood slumped as she allowed her innermost thoughts to seep to the surface.

I soon snapped out of my daydream and got up to pull down the corridor roller blinds, hoping to indulge in some heavy petting with this beautiful creature. The sound shook Cindy temporarily from her troubled thoughts and she leapt up and faced me. "No, I can't. I need time to think. Here, read this." There was a tremor in her voice and I dared not challenge her obviously disturbed emotional state.

She fished around in her Gucci designer handbag and produced a paperback. It was a Pan edition of Ian Fleming's 'Thunderball'. She waved it with a flourish, but it was unconvincing. She had probably intended it to be a witty gesture when she bought the book, but her mood now had reduced the gesture to a motive to pre-occupy me. I smiled at the filmic reference. She had wanted to remind me of the bikini she had worn on her ravishing body at the Lido. Now, erotica was the last thing on her mind. She was pleased at my flash of recognition and smiled too, briefly, then she re-opened the blinds.

She sank again into the deeply cushioned seat once more and pulled down the padded armrest out of its recess to put both physical and a metaphorical barrier between us. She returned to her dark thoughts.

I realised that she needed time to think, and I guessed it wasn't about me.

~*~*~

I tried to immerse myself in the book, but couldn't stop thinking about this gorgeous creature sitting beside me. After a decent interval, I tried to start a conversation. "James told me you didn't go out with men. Why did you come away with me from the party?"

She smiled, perhaps relieved just then to escape her thoughts. "Fishing for compliments? Now let me think ... because you seemed a nice person ... because James had told me a bit about you ... because of a coincidence. James told me where you are studying. My friend Bethany goes to Lanchester as well. "

Bethany? could there be more than one? Bethany was the very delectable older girlfriend of one of my best friends in Hall, a few years older than me. Bethany also lived in Wilton. She was of similar age to Cindy, and was currently completing a PhD. A very great coincidence indeed.

Cindy was still considering my question. "Because I needed to break out of my mink-lined prison. I hid from people, from life outside the house, because of daddy. You think I've told you the whole story? Well I haven't - I can't ... not yet. I need time to sort my mind out, to discover who and what I am - my inclinations now I'm free of my home life. " She was about to say more, then paused, thinking.

" ... and because you remind me of daddy. You look a bit like him, you know."

We had left Wilton in bright Autumnal sunshine, but it was now gloomily cloudy outside. A suitable backdrop to Cindy's sombre mood. Her last comment hung in the air. Was she escaping daddy, or wanting someone to remind her of home? I settled back to reading my book. After a few minutes, Cindy pulled the armrest between us up and back into its recess. She shifted up close to me, our hips touching. She lay her head on my shoulder, trustingly. For the pleasure that single gesture gave me at that moment, I would have sacrificed my soul.

~*~*~

Living From A Suitcase

She summoned a taxi at Lanchester Midland station. "Take us to the best hotel in town," she demanded.

"You'd better pay this time," I muttered, "I'm wiped out."

The best hotel turned out to be a comfortable country house hotel in spacious parkland grounds in the green and leafy suburbs near the university campuses. I hadn't noticed its discreet existence behind tall trees and hedges before.

It was late afternoon. An elderly porter was manning the reception. "Yes, young sir?" he asked, raising an eyebrow inquisitorially, which spoke volumes for his opinion of my chances of getting a room in this august establishment.

"Your best suite, please," Cindy commanded imperiously.

The porter switched his attention onto Cindy with surprise, as if he had only then noticed her presence. At first, he looked suspiciously at her, then his eyes swept up and down her figure, taking in and appraising her net worth. "And how will you be paying?" he asked cautiously, encouraged.

Cindy flourished daddy's American Express card. "That will do nicely," smiled the porter. His shoulders dropped from their tense position to a more relaxed repose. Money talks.

The business transacted, he came out from behind the reception desk and offered to pick up her cases. Cindy raised a hand and turned to me with a 'poor man, how could he possibly ...' expression. I volunteered, "No, don't trouble yourself, I can manage ... er, lead the way."

Two trips saw the cases stowed in the ancient lift, more an elaborate cage than a means of vertical conveyance. It was all varnished woods, brass fittings, and a huge floor to ceiling mirror on its back wall. It spoke of genteel hotel living from a by-gone age.

I couldn't help gasp out loud at the luxurious suite of rooms - a double bedroom with king-sized bed, sitting room and mirror-walled bathroom. The porter coughed as he deposited Cindy's vanity case in the bedroom; his only concession to his role as porter. I felt awkward at his highly suggestive cough. Luckily Cindy had given me two pound notes to pay the taxi. I had kept the change and not given a tip. It wasn't much. I fished it out and gave it to the porter. He looked disdainfully at the coins but declined to refuse them. Little did he know how little I had to survive on by way of a measly government student grant.

Cindy didn't want to make love. I couldn't blame her, for the trauma of the past two days. We lay cuddled up in the huge king-size bed, Cindy resting her head on my shoulder once more. She slept soundly. I couldn't. I wasn't used to sleeping with another person, and I feared to move lest I disturb her peaceful sleep. I lay awake and ran over and over in my mind the events of the past few days, and what would we do from here.

Next day was Tuesday. I had missed two lectures the previous day but didn't feel like going in to the university that morning either. Cindy was still sleeping soundly though so I went down to breakfast alone, then went for a walk around the extensive landscaped and pristine grounds.

She didn't wake until late morning so we went down to the sedate Residents' Lounge for a light lunch then went for another walk in the grounds. Cindy didn't want to talk much, so engrossed was she still in her own thoughts. I would have left her to them by herself had I felt confident that she could cope with being alone. Her mood had been brittle and she had frequently turned into me for a reassuring cuddle, her eyes watering. My eyes watered too at her expressive need for physical comfort; this gorgeous creature who should have had the world at her feet; who was turning to me for comfort and solace. I hoped she wasn't seeing me as a substitute for daddy.

I had lain in bed dozing fitfully for much of the previous night. Now, in the light of this fresh new day I had a lot of questions to raise. I started the conversation gently as we strolled.

"A penny for your thoughts?"

"I've been thinking about my life. Do you think I'm a bad person?"

I didn't know how to reply. I stayed silent.

"I've lived so long in a cocoon of daddy's making, I don't know how to compare myself with the outside world. I've done some things I'm ashamed of. I know people don't like me. Am I truly that awful?




Spoilt Little Cindy Ch. 04



"Cindy, I can't really say - whether you're good or bad, I mean, I'm not the one to judge - maybe you shouldn't be torturing yourself like this."

This was just too heavy a subject. I stopped us in our tracks and turned to face her, professional frown on my face. "Yes, you have a very serious condition. I diagnose a severe case of arrested development, and prescribe an intensive course of super fast catch-up."

For a moment she remained silent, then dug the humour in my comment and giggled, then laughed out loud. She flung her arms around me and kissed me, her body pressing into mine just about everywhere. It was a response she preferred, for the moment.

She stepped back, eyes gleaming. "Are these arrested?" lifting her sweater to flash her breasts in a sexy and frankly, redundant push-up Gossard wonder bra. I looked around in horror. An elegant elderly couple were sniffing the roses in the formal part of the gardens. They seemed to be ignoring us. I heaved a sigh of relief.

Cindy put on a playfully penitent face. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me." She paused to consider her next comment, then took a deep breath. "I discovered something monumental about myself on Saturday. I watched myself strip in front of a mirror - don't say anything, just listen." (I closed my mouth, nipping my tongue) "I turned myself on, I masturbated myself, I actually enjoyed it. Am I perverted?"

I considered that. "I'm not the best person to ask that question. I was a virgin until Saturday evening, and before that, a guilt-ridden catholic boy who had been afraid to touch himself. Abuse to me meant nothing worse than calling someone a real shit ..."

Her tinkling laughter interrupted my confession.

"... What I do think is making love, well, sex, is natural and fundamental to our beings. It takes all sorts to make the world, but for heterosexuals like me - like us - we men have a basic inbuilt need to look at and admire a woman's body, well many of us have, anyway. That's why women are strippers. They are meeting a demand. I can't tell how many times I've read Parade, Mayfair, to ogle women in their knickers with naked breasts. I once paid a pound to buy a copy of Playboy which had been hidden on top of the cisterns in the school toilets, only to find that the centrefold pages had been torn out. There wasn't a single tit left in the whole magazine. I thought it the most unimaginably cruel and wicked crime.

"If I can be turned on by a naked woman, I'm damn sure you can too. But why waste your physical talents on yourself. Let me share them."

She said nothing. I'd been flippant, but honest.

I returned to her initial question. "Whatever has happened to you up to now has been largely influenced by your father. I'm sure it hasn't all been bad - you've said as much yourself. But now it's time to discover the new you. I only hope that in this voyage of self-discovery you don't leave me drowning in your wake."

"I might make the odd splash," she giggled again. Somehow, she made the word 'splash' sound erotic. Her lightly cultured voice sent shivers through my groin.

~*~*~

We dined in style à la carte in the hotel restaurant, then I really had to go back to Hall to prepare for Wednesday morning's lectures. My head was still spinning from the momentous past four days now. It hadn't passed my notice that Cindy had not wanted to make love with me since that first evening on Saturday. I didn't mind, though, because my cock was still sore from that first experience. Yet my cock disagreed with me. It had other ideas and was persistently semi-stiff and I thought causing people to stare ...

We arranged to meet in Hall that evening, at six o'clock. We had kissed passionately, Cindy had cried a bit, and I left her in her suite, feeling a rat leaving her there in her evidently emotionally fragile state.

I was in the hall bar with my friends. I had left a message with the superannuated hall porter that Cindy was expected, and where I would be. We were supping on Brew 11 Bitter, like dishwater but cheap, when I heard a commotion from the doorway. Cindy swept into the bar with the hall porter following in her slipstream shouting, "You haven't signed in!". There were strict rules about unaccompanied female guests in the all-male Hall, and the head porter was frequently heard to exclaim "it's more than my job's worth to let a woman roam unaccompanied amongst all you rutting stags."

The hall bar was a typically dowdy affair with minimal décor. The university obviously considered it didn't need attractive pub features to tempt impecunious students to drink subsidised alcohol. There were usually a sprinkling of female guests in this predominantly male preserve.

Silence fell at Cindy's noisy, ostentatious entrance. Cindy made a considerable contrast against the usual female student attire of shapeless jumpers and jeans. She was wearing a short designer's two buttonhole black leather jacket, with only the lower button done up. Below it was a black leather miniskirt stretched across her upper thighs and pear-shaped hips. Some distance further down her long, slim tanned legs, she wore shiny black stiletto heels. The style was definitely chic erotic. Her freshly washed auburn hair cascaded around her shoulders in luxuriant curls. Her hair was kept off her face by redundant sun glasses pushed up high on her head. She wore no blouse or tee shirt. Peeping out from jacket lapels was an erotic black leather bra. The bra had squeezed her breasts into a fulsome cleavage. She looked totally out of place in that Bar. She also looked astonishingly sexy.

The porter decided an unaccompanied female could do little harm in a crowded Bar and left, shaking his head, muttering to himself. He should have been grateful. At least on this occasion he had something to mutter about. Normally , he needed no excuse.

Cindy surveyed the student bar and was in turn appraised by the students. Her clothes were evidently expensive and sexy. She might have been a starlet dressed to meet the paparazzi at Cannes.

She saw me. Having made quite an entrance, she strode like a predatory female towards her prey, placing each foot in turn in front of the other, to make her hips sway. The bar's subdued lighting highlighted her curves in the sheen of the leather skirt. A mischievous smile played on her lips. She reached me and leant down, legs straight and slightly apart, to kiss me on the forehead. I looked down at the stretched front hem of the skirt and wondered what her rear view must look like. I envied those behind her who were being treated to the glorious sight of her shapely bottom behind the stretched leather skirt, and the backs of her upper thighs tantalisingly exposed under its raised hem.

"Won't you introduce me to your friends?" she asked.

~*~*~

My drinking buddies stared at Cindy, then at me, dumbfoundedly. Was it so surprising that I had met a woman at last? They obviously thought so. After some hasty introductions, and with other students drifting over to make the acquaintance of this stunning creature, I gulped a mouthful of M&B's finest beer (?) and made our apologies. We left, I feeling dozens of eyes following our departing figures - well, Cindy's departing figure anyway. Students dressed scruffily, supposedly to look cool. The truth for many was it saved them on clothing costs. I doubt one person in that bar thought Cindy looked anything less than totally uber cool.

"Did you need to make such an ostentatious entrance?"

She laughed. "I've spent my whole life creeping around like a mouse. Now my vamp body has finally developed, I think it deserves a bit of display."

"You mean like at the lido?"

She giggled at the recollection. "Too right! I'd just had the most incredible self-administered orgasm that afternoon, staring at myself in front of my mirror. I wanted to know how it felt having other people admiring my exposed flesh. I surprised myself by the buzz it gave me. That just then, back there in the bar, was buzz number two."

"You've never been aware of other peoples' reactions before?"

"Oh sure, but it never turned me on until last Saturday. Well, perhaps once previously in a boutique ..."

"Yet you turned up at the party in a plain dress?"

"I was scared. There were people there I was nervous about seeing. Old school friends - well, hardly friends. It felt safe to be anonymous. And they barely recognised me."

"If you had been dressed sexily that evening, I would probably not have plucked up the courage to talk to you."

"Good. Now, shall we dine at the hotel?" she suggested, changing the subject.

I thought I could just about bare to forego my hall dinner, to dine in style with Cindy in plush hotel surroundings, so I agreed non-committally. I couldn't imagine anything better. As we walked across the Halls' residential parkland campus in the direction of the hotel, I let my hand caress Cindy's bottom through the tight leather skirt. The warmth of her taut butt cheeks against the smooth leather fabric made me giddy. I held my hand there and felt a cheek sliding backwards and forwards against the inside of the leather hide as she walked. She liked it and stuck her bum out to push approvingly against my hand. I shot the occasional sly glance at her body. She knew she was provoking an extreme erotic reaction in my jeans and seemed pleased with the reaction. I surprised myself. A few days ago I would never had dreamed of flirting with a girl. Now I had a hand on the bottom of the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in the flesh, except perhaps for her mother.

I was relieved that she had recovered her spirits and playfulness, but puzzled at these extreme mood swings of hers.

The hotel restaurant was almost empty. Cindy grasped the menu with confidence and ordered the most expensive items on it. I remember it well. It was exceptionally expensive: a dozen oysters followed by T-bone steak, broccoli with mushrooms in an oyster sauce, and duchesse potatoes. British menus were not very imaginative in those days so that was a pretty impressive line-up. She asked me to order the wine. I looked for a name I recognised - where were the Blue Nuns or Don Cortez's? All I could see were Burgundy, Beaujolais, Macon Rouge and so on, with unheard-of chateaux names and vintages from when I was a boy. She suggested I choose something expensive, so I did, which cost the equivalent of a fifth of my termly student grant. 'Let's order five bottles and blow the lot!' I mused grimly.

The 'sommelier' (as the wine list informed me) arrived wearing a mask of utterly overwhelming superiority, which slipped a bit as he drank in the vision of Cindy in her gaping leather jacket and leather bra. He recovered well, remembering to close his drooling mouth, and enquired whether I had "yet made a decision on the wine". I disliked his emphasis on the 'yet'.

I ordered a vintage Châteauneuf du Pape - 1969, so that I could say "Soixante-neuf" whilst staring meaningfully at Cindy's cleavage. He sniffed and duly returned with a bottle with a slightly faded pale brown label, which he showed me with a flourish, resting it across his left arm theatrically to allow me to check the label. Years later I found out that 1969 had been a poor vintage and was probably past its best. Hotels could shift a lot of crap to the ignorant with money in those days. I hadn't understood the meaning of that particular sommelier sniff. Maybe he knew that, or maybe he was as ignorant as I was?

Having to endure the ordeal of a very superior 'sommelier' standing over me as I performed the pantomime of testing a wine I could not in my wildest dreams ever have dreamt of tasting, I desperately tried to recollect all I knew about fine red wines. "I think this needs time to breathe," I declared. "Leave the bottle to stand."

His air of superiority evaporated as he pondered the dilemma that I might actually know what I was talking about and ultimately send back the bottle as 'corked' - or worse, Cindy ruined the moment though, by giggling.

"Certainly, sir," he murmured, his teeth tightly clenched with the faintest of faux French accent which sounded more Irish than continental. He strode away, silently gnashing his teeth.

In fact that first sip had tasted rather good despite my inexperienced palate.

When the starter was served, the sommelier returned with a chilled bottle of Muscadet as a "suggested digestif" to "enjoy" with the oysters whilst the "fine red" "chambré'd"; each phrase launched like a verbal javelin at the very centre of my equilibrium. The heavy inference: was I so ignorant that I would allow this fine young lady to drink red wine with her oysters?

I had chickened out of the oysters and chosen duck liver pâté with melba toast. So I countered with a compromise. "Certainly, for the mademoiselle, but I think I will start on the 'grand cru'".

The sommelier's patronising expression froze. He thought he had delivered an ace with the 'white wine with fish' serve to my by-line (James Bond didn't really know his wines in From Russia With Love, by the way), but I had lobbed him with my reference to the matter of the as-yet untested red wine. I knew that I was actually out of my depth, and resolved to declare the second taste of the red, which the waiter politely served in a clean glass, as excellent.

He disdainfully poured a gnat's piss-worth of red into my glass and waited as I tried to swill such a meagre quantity around in my mouth without it diluting beyond redemption in my saliva. I was going to accept the wine, but I was damned if I was going to let him crow over me. I sighed: "It'll have to do."

Cindy watched this exchange with barely suppressed glee but couldn't prevent herself from spluttering noisily into her Muscadet.

The sommelier departed, with uncertain haughtiness, unsure whether his honour had been preserved or impugned. I reflected years later that neither of us appeared to know very much about fine wines.

We rushed through the meal in anticipation of the 'afters', which wasn't going to be anything from the dessert trolley. It would be each other, upstairs in our bedroom, alcohol permitting.

We Have Lift-Off

The hotel lift was an old oak-lined cabin with a sliding grille for a door and an ornate hand crank device like a ship's chadburn, (ie telegraph to the engine room). The operator would turn the lever a quarter clockwise to ascend, and 45 degrees anti-clockwise to descend. The lift's rear wall was covered with a full length mirror: high maintenance for the cleaners, but a statement of the quality of the establishment. The lift operator was off duty, or at least temporarily not at his post this quiet late evening, so I performed that duty. The geriatric lift rattled and shuddered as it lifted off its base springs and hauled itself up the shaft. As it slowly ascended and was between the second and third floors, I turned the wheel mischievously back to the neutral position. A quick snog in a lift felt naughty. The lift stopped between the floors. A bare, plastered wall beyond the grille confirmed that we couldn't be seen outside the lift, either from the floors above or below. I had a limited ambition, but Cindy was way ahead of me. Dinner had consolidated her perky mood. As soon as she felt the lift stop she began

One flick of the button and her jacket fell open, fully exposing the black leather bra and her impressive décolletage. She lifted the front hem of her skirt with the other hand and flashed me her naked pussy. She put her hand into a jacket pocket and pulled out her panties, twirling them on the tip of her forefinger triumphantly. I hadn't seen her remove them at the table. It must have happened when I was having palpitations at ordering the expensive wine she had demanded. Had the wine waiter spotted her removing them, I wondered?

I reached for the rear zip of her leather mini skirt - the thought of its good fortune of being hugging Cindy's belly, hips and bottom had fired me up all the way through dinner - but she said "Uh, Uh," and reached for my shirt instead. She fixed my gaze with her limpid hazel eyes as she pulled my shirt apart, scattering the buttons, and pushed it off my shoulders onto the floor. I couldn't resist. I raised my eyes to the heavens in gratitude. She squatted down on her haunches. I felt her fiddling with my jeans zip. Then her hand reach inside and grasped my cock. It pulsed with relief as it sensed it was finally to be released from its denim incarceration for a second engagement. I congratulated myself for my foresight in not finishing off either bottle of wine. She pulled out my member and shrieked with pleasure as it sprung out and up at her face. She stood up and arched her back against the mirror, using the palm of her left hand to rub up and down the underside of my cock. I was totally in her control, eager, but wincing at its red rawness. If she noticed, it didn't deter her.

She pulled my jeans down my legs and signalled for me to remove them, which meant slipping off my shoes and socks as well. Then I was naked - in a staid, upmarket hotel lift. The cold air draught from the lift shaft and the realisation of my complete exposure made me shiver and tremble in equal measure.

Now it was my turn to seize the initiative. I kissed the exposed orbs of the tops of her breasts within her leather bra. She raised her head to let me kiss her neck, then gently moved her head away and downwards until our lips met.

I felt the warmth and firmness of her body within her leather skirt pressing thrillingly against my naked belly and loins. My senses reeled at these new tactile sensations and this unbelievably erotic situation. I brushed my hips from side to side to rub my stiffened cock against her leather-clad groin. My hands groped the stretched rear of the leather which constrained her taut buttocks. Her bottom felt firm, warm and round. I looked in the mirror and admired their shapeliness beneath the leather. I could barely believe this fantasy was really happening. I tried desperately to memorise every moment of this encounter, to re-live later when alone, not trusting that perhaps there would be many more such moments to come. I stood back to look at her skirt from the front. There was a trail of glistening moisture from my pre-cum, like a snail trail smeared across her leather-bound belly.

She unclasped her bra and slipped it off her shoulders, pulling her arms out of the leather jacket sleeves alternately then putting the jacket back on. Her breasts peeped in deliciously wanton fashion from within the opened front of the leather jacket. She turned to face the mirror to inspect the effect, then, satisfied, placed her palms wide apart on the mirror at shoulder height and spread her legs further. She jutted out her bottom. Her breasts in the mirror looked better than any I had seen furtively in the pages of Parade magazine. I reached for the rear zip of her skirt.

"Uh Uh," she admonished once more. I felt up inside her hem for her butt cheeks and traced my way with my fingers towards her pussy lips. Her buttocks quivered with pleasure at my fingertip stroked. My cock searched eagerly for her pussy opening and she bent at the waist further at the waist and pushed her bottom out and upwards to improve my angle of entry. My penis encountered some tight resistance but eventually slid deep up inside her warm and, moistly lubricated passage. I pulled the hem of her miniskirt back down around the upper side of my shaft enjoy to feel the hem rub against the top side of my cock as I thrust and withdrew in her love passage.

She sighed with the pleasurable sensation of my penetrations and pushed her bottom backwards to meet my forward thrusts. I pumped her eagerly. She was moaning at her mounting pleasure, but simultaneously strained to reach and turn the control wheel of the lift. it engaged the drive and the lift creaked and clanked protestingly back into life and rose clatteringly to the top of the shaft. Anyone waiting for the lift on the top floor would have seen us through the grille as the lift ascended. My thrusting movements were counteracted to an extent by the sense of the Ascending lift. The floor didn't feel firm and substantial. My senses reeled with confusion as the blood in my loins boiled with desire.




Spoilt Little Cindy Ch. 04



The lift's rattling, whining, echoing in the shaft excited me even more and my thrusting pace quickened as my arousal grew. The feel of the leather against my cock, and the thrill of potential discovery heightened my arousal. It seemed the crescendo towards my climax would never level out. I was teetering on the edge of a sperm explosion when Cindy reversed the direction of the wheel and we began to descend once more towards the foyer, throwing me off balance. For a moment, it seemed the floor was now falling away beneath my feet for a split-second. That must be what fucking in the weightlessness of outer space feels like.

My cock, my balls, every muscle in my loins cried out for orgasmic relief and as the lift cage dropped an explosion erupted from my phallus, sending me into a convulsion of pumped-up ecstasy. Long after my sperm-laden juices had squirted up high into Cindy's heavenly cavity, after-spasms persisted and I groaned loud and abandonedly as the lift settled back with a sigh on its springs at the Ground Floor.

A gasp from behind me made me look over my shoulder. A middle-aged couple were waiting outside the closed grille for the lift. They saw a naked young man staring at them over his shoulder, and no doubt the reflections in the rear mirror-wall of a woman bent almost double with skirt hoisted to her waist and breasts hanging pendulously from her opened leather jacket. I shrank back instinctively against a side wall, my cock falling out of Cindy's stretched pussy opening, hoping forlornly to conceal my nakedness from their view. Cowardly, I didn't consider Cindy's predicament which now became fully exposed. She kept her just-fucked position with her splayed fingers pressed against the mirror, her back arched, bottom pushed out and her legs parted. She held the couple's gaze through the mirror and coolly reached again for the control wheel. I watched and they almost certainly saw her breasts jiggle at her exertion and the shake of the lift on lift-off from its resting springs once more. As it climbed painstakingly slowly once more, their heads also rose to track its ascent as if following the trajectory of a distant rocket into the sky.

The lift reached our floor. It would not return to the ground floor until we had stepped out and closed the grille. As the bell rang angrily from below, Cindy removed her skirt, then her jacket so that she too was now naked. Leaving me to collect her discarded clothing from the lift floor she set off slinkily down the corridor towards our bedroom. I stared after her gloriously sexy rear with mixed sensations: admiration and fear. I hoped the room corridor would be quiet this late at night and gambled that we could get into our room without being seen any further. Cindy had no such qualms, and called out in Mae West tones "Come on big boy and open up!"

My heart sank. I scurried after her, searching frantically for the room key, somewhere in my scrunched-up jeans pockets. She meanwhile reprised the stance she had adopted in the lift, fingertips pressed against the wall beside the door, back arched, bottom pushed out, tilting her hips in what might be described as a sexy body roll.

The noise had disturbed the occupants of the room opposite. The door opened and a man peered out. I groaned but Cindy merely looked at him over her shoulder, fluttered her eyelashes and ground her hips some more. I finally got our door unlocked. The man looked surprised but showed no embarrassment at discovering a sexy naked woman displaying herself outside his door, and nor did she. Luckily, I suffered enough embarrassment for the three of us.

I pulled her brusquely through the doorway. She turned and with her free hand blew our neighbour a kiss. As the door closed my eyes connected with his. He stood open-mouthed in pleasurable disbelief at what he had just witnessed, a weak smile on his lips.

I groaned. Cindy had booked this room for a week. I fervently hoped that our neighbours opposite would be checking out the following morning.

"Are you always this shameless?"

"Why don't you stick around and find out. I know I want to." I suspect she was surprising herself with her new-found, wantonly exhibitionistic streak.

~*~*~

We were too wide awake to settle for the night.

"Why did you act like that, exhibiting yourself?"

"I don't know. Did you mind?"

"Mind? I was embarrassed. Do you do that often?"

She told me then about her striptease under the influence of weed or something at a hotel disco in the Peaks; and about the rush she got from a stranger spying on her when she was changing clothes in the London Biba department store. "This evening is the first time I've done it deliberately, and I enjoyed it!" She paused then added, "I think I must take after my mother."

I was astonished. I had met Angie briefly. She was beautiful and elegant, but seemed utterly respectable.

Cindy was continuing. "I got a real rush from wearing that bikini at the lido, and an even bigger one from showing off in your hall bar. Do you think I'm an exhibitionist?"

"I don't think so. I don't know. Perhaps you're suffering mental after-effects of your trauma last weekend. Maybe it's making you act out of character." I had wanted to say manically but thought that maybe a bit harsh.

"Do you mind?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I want your body all to myself. Other times, I'm proud to see others admiring you. I'd never seen a naked woman in the flesh before Saturday night. Twice in one week is blowing my mind."

She rolled over on top of me then brought up her knees either side of my waist. Her gentle touch on my penis had no effect. I was thoroughly spent. We slept. I woke in the dark. She was lying across me with her head on my chest. I felt her naked warmth on my body under the top sheet. The joy of her closeness brought a lump to my throat and I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I had become besotted with this delightful creature.

Student Life

Next day, Thursday, I met Eddie, in the campus refectory. He was a close friend on my floor in Hall. We sometimes met up for lunch. Eddie had found a sexy olive-skinned beauty called Abigail almost as soon as he arrived at university, much to my jealous admiration. To make matters worse, my other two hall friends, Austin and Richard had also quickly found birds, making me feel a gooseberry when we met up as a group. Austin's girl was Caryl, a Celtic red head with pale skin and freckles but good body and large breasts. I had introduced Richard to Bethany who had looked me up on my first day at university. She was several years older and doing a PhD, but surprisingly found a mutual attraction with Richard. Bethany was a cool, leggy blonde with a model-like figure.

I had often entertained lascivious thoughts about Abigail and Caryl but not known how to capitalise on them, and anyway been discouraged by remembered invocations of hell and damnation for self abuse by the catholic priests at my grammar boarding school.

That day, Eddie wanted to know everything about Cindy, and plied me with questions. "You dark horse. For months you show no inclination of getting a bird then you go home for the weekend and come back with a stunner on your arm!. How the fuck did you manage that?"

I didn't feel inclined to confess my pervy behaviour at the Lido, so gave him an edited version.

"Well, now you're sorted, I won't feel so guilty at spending time with Abby."

"Let's hope it lasts," I said pessimistically.

Eddie was looking on the positive side. "Let's take the girls to a pub this evening; after all, if Cindy is only up for a few days. we should take advantage whilst the iron is hot -- and she is most definitely hot! I'll round up the others."

We went looking for the others in between lectures that afternoon and passed on the invitation. Luckily we knew where to look and found them. We met up in the hall bar that evening after dinner. Caryl and Abigail arrived first, then Cindy and Bethany turned up arm in arm. It felt strange to be on equal dating terms with my buddies, after being single for so long, but the closeness between Cindy and Bethany unnerved me for some unknown reason.

Eddie introduced Abigail to Cindy, Bethany introduced Cindy to Richard. Austin, looking confused at the obvious closeness between Bethany and Cindy forgot about Caryl, who introduced herself.

Cindy hadn't told me much about her friendship with Bethany back in Wilton, and when Bethany made some remark about Bradley, Cindy's father, I felt as confused as Austin. In fact the whole occasion felt somehow unreal, and out of my control.

After a few cheap Hall bar drinks to loosen us up we headed off to a nearby club that ran an evening disco.

The Jackhammer Lounge was in reality a function room for wedding receptions behind an Davenport pub, taken over on weekday evenings for the lucrative 'seventies disco club trade. It throbbed with bopping-quality sounds and pulsing disco light displays. A resident DJ was employed to whip the crowd into a dancing frenzy. It was almost impossible to talk or be heard so communication was essentially left to expressive body movements on the dance floor. Students apart, who mostly dressed in jeans and tee shirts, the local talent wore elaborate club wear of loud coloured blouses with wide frilled fronts, or tank tops, thick-belted, tight cord flares or brightly coloured denims with absurd bell bottoms, oh, and obligatory Cuban-heeled boots. Hair was freshly washed and blown dry into waves or curls. And that was the just the men.

The women wore a mixture of kaftans, full length gypsy skirts or tight, ribbed jumpers, over bell-bottom jeans (tight on the hips, loose at the ankles), or ultra-short miniskirts and long boots. They looked positively dowdy when set against the men.

It was midweek so the dance floor was not overly crowded. The girls headed straight for the dance floor to dance around their handbags, whilst we men got in the drinks.

Bethany danced with an air of cool confidence and superior detachment. She wore a long, flowing cheese-cloth dress, a bunch of long beaded necklaces and brown boots. With her fine flowing blonde hair she looked ultra chic.

Olive-skinned Abigail was pretty, dark-haired, curvaceous and exotic. I had harboured a secret passion for her since I first saw her. She had chosen to wear a loose fitting, semi-transparent blouse, no bra, and flared black miniskirt with black patent leather stiletto boots. She had a lot of flesh on show and, boy, was it worth showing. Despite Cindy's obvious attractions, I kept stealing furtive glances. Once or twice she met my surreptitious gaze and smiled. It caused a knot in my stomach.

Caryl had long, wild, red hair, pale skin and freckles which betrayed her Irish Celtic origins. Despite these potentially fatal drawbacks she had a strong, firm and sexy body with large breasts, which she showed off to good effect in a tight, low-cut, cream top, and a figure-hugging brown suede mini skirt, set off by brown suede knee-high boots. Her mini skirt showed off a long pair of muscular legs with plenty of exposed thigh. I had often lusted after her too, until now, but she paled against the beauty that was Cindy.

Cindy had chosen a dark brown lurex halter top mini-dress, which hugged her body and showed her bare back. Not student attire. Her breasts bounced unfetteredly beneath the tight top. She finished off the ensemble with half-calf brown wet-look crinkle boots. The style showcased her long, lean legs. With her tanned flesh she looked stunning. Her curves flashed in the lurex as she moved and the lights reflected off the metallic threads.

Each girl in their own way was stand-out attractive. For a change, the other three didn't look like students. I guessed they were making an extra special attempt in honour of Cindy, or perhaps to compete with her? The other men had betrayed their obvious sexual attraction to Cindy.

The music was loud and throbbing, the atmosphere fuggy, and the alcohol cheap enough to encourage binge drinking. We men mostly sat it out to watch the four girls practice new dance steps and try to out-perform each other. Their dance moves seemed choreographed to show off their bodies, and continually attracted the unwanted attentions of likely lads determined to score one-night stands they could boast about later to their mates. Spliffs were circulating freely on the dance floor and the air was thick and smoky. The girls accepted long drags even though Abigail and Caryl didn't normally smoke. I remembered Cindy's tale about that hotel disco and began to worry. Would she remember to take it easy with the spliffs? As the evening wore on the DJ turned down the lights to smooching levels, and rogue males were even more in evidence on the prowl for any inebriated women who might not resist too much.

We men danced with the girls from time to time, but frequently retreated to a table to drink our beers. Cindy spent a lot of time dancing and chatting with Bethany. Soon, they were the epicentre of the dance-floor action. Cindy was taking more drags of the spliffs than the other girls. The dim lighting and flickering strobes made it increasingly difficult to keep track of what was happening. Some rougher elements had come in as the evening progressed. The music was now louder and more rock-inspired than disco, to suit the changing clientele profile. Under the flashing strobes the dancers appeared to be moving jerkily in stop-start motion.

An anonymous track was being swapped out mid-way through for Silver Machine by Hawkwind when Caryl staggered to our table and tossed me Cindy's lurex halter dress, giggling manically. I leapt up in a panic. Where was Cindy? There was a dark circle of men in the centre of the floor. I guessed she must be inside the circle. I groaned - they were Hells Angel bikers who had appeared from nowhere, dressed in studded leather riding gear. The evening was now well and truly fucked.

I pushed my way through the throng, then more gingerly through a gap in the bikers' circle and saw Cindy dancing abstractedly in just a pair of flesh coloured panties and her crinkle boots. She was wafting her hands high in the air like a stoned hippie. Her eyes closed and her shoulders and hips swaying. A dreamy smile played across her face. In the subdued lighting she appeared to be naked.

The DJ had obviously spotted the connection between the bikers, Hawkwind's legendary naked dancer, Stacia, and Cindy's current performance. From his raised platform he had seen something I hadn't. The DJ had speeded up the strobes to make the dancing on the floor look more frenetic, not that it needed it. The atmosphere was now very stoked. I stood mesmerised as the biker figures, with the stop-motion effect, looked to be dancing elaborate steps with their arms jerking in every direction, like a jerky vintage black and white movie. It disoriented me for a moment until I realised that they were actually fighting with each other. I suspected they had started fighting over who was to have first go with my stoned Cindy somewhere out the back. I had to step in and rescue Cindy without getting caught up in the melée.

Amidst the flailing maelstrom I saw Cindy being lifted aloft by a muscular set of arms and passed on her back from one waiting pair of hands to another. The passing turned to more vigorous tossing and her arms flailed helplessly as her body bounced like a rag doll from one pair of strong hands to another. That served to stop the fighting but Cindy was now in physical peril of being injured or gang-raped (the only logical biker compromise) or worse, if such is conceivable.

I was galvanised into action. I pushed through the group of burly men without a thought for my safety and grabbed for Cindy's body just as someone was pawing at her bouncing breast. She was relinquished reluctantly into my insistent possession with the assistance of one of the kindlier bikers. His gesture must have been misinterpreted by his mates because the pitched battle resumed all around us. I stood holding Cindy against my body like an island refuge in a storm-tossed sea of flailing fists, waiting for a break to appear in the wall of violence. At last I found the opportunity to make our escape.

We made it through the scrum and back to our table. Her panties had been ripped off and she was naked and limp in my arms. The only cover to her nakedness was the gloomy shadow away from the centre of the ballroom. Bethany found Cindy's lurex dress and slipped it on her whilst I held her up. Bethany told me as we left that some men had deliberately targeted Cindy with their weed, and that she had smoked too much to know what she was doing.

Cindy would be mortified in the morning to hear what had happened to her. The spliffs had weakened her inhibitions once again and led her to perform an exhibition she would probably regret. My mates didn't regard the situation as serious though. They had seen enough of Cindy's body to want to see more, but in more controlled surroundings.

~*~*~

Hidden Depths

Friday morning. Cindy was surprisingly bright and perky when she waited for me in front of the campus clock tower as arranged. I had taken her back to the hotel the previous night in a taxi. She had obviously recovered sufficiently now to walk the mile back to the main campus in the mild Autumnal morning sunshine to meet me. Cindy had wanted to look around the campus and to take some pictures. I agreed to skip my first lecture to be her tour guide. I feared that she may have been planning to move on, and wanted to take pictures as a remembrance of her week at Lanchester. I told myself I should make the most of it before she dumps you, mate. She's far too good totty and far too good looking for you.

She had dressed this time in trend-busting tight designer jeans, flat shoes, and an unbuttoned white blouse, tied in a knot under her bust. She wore a long cardigan, buttoned from the hips downwards, to keep some of the autumnal chill out and off her designer bottom.

We were crossing the central quad which was a vast grassed expanse where students sun-bathed in the height of summer. Students prefer to walk in straight lines so the green was criss-crossed by a series of bisecting paths to accommodate the full permutation of direct lines between buildings and doorways. I saw Dr. Henshaw, approaching. He was one of my lecturers, and in his late thirties, Thomas Henshaw was slim, handsome, and quietly confident in the company of students. He saw me and smiled automatically as if on auto-pilot, and would have passed by had he not then noticed Cindy. He slowed, looked her up and down, then turned as if desperately thinking of a reason to pause and speak to me. He didn't have to think too hard. As he spoke my heart sank. "Ah, Adam, good morning. Where are you going?"

He had been heading in the opposite direction for a reason, and had good cause to assume that I should be heading there too. "Have you forgotten our ten o'clock tutorial?"

I thought rapidly: how to change the subject, to distract him? "Doctor Henshaw, may I introduce you to my friend, Cindy Watson. She's visiting the area, so I thought I would show her the campus. We have some important matters to discuss so I thought perhaps I might forgo this morning's tutorial."

Dr Henshaw held out a hand to Cindy and gently but firmly seized hers, placing his other hand on top, to trap and hold her in his grasp. "Call me Thomas, please, and may I say how delighted I am to meet such an attractive young woman, who would light up any campus with her presence."

It could have precipitated a gagging response had he not delivered the line with such practised panache and charm which he was confident would disarm any woman. Open flirtation of that sort with a woman was not yet in those days likely to be challenged by most women as sexist. He might have got a different reaction today.




Spoilt Little Cindy



"My parents have gone to London for the evening. To the opera. Covent Garden.. La Traviata, I think. They will dine out late, get drunk and stay over in some plush hotel." She looked angry, resentful. I guessed she would have been lonely at home alone.

"Shall I walk you home then? See that you are safe?"

She glared at me for a moment, then reconsidered my offer. "Won't it be out of your way?"

"I don't mind. I've nothing else to do, and it would be my pleasure to escort such a beautiful woman and keep her safe from predatory males."

She snorted a half-cynical laugh, but I suspect she saw some common sense in my suggestion. "Come then, escort me, Sir Good Knight. Keep me safe from dragons and vampires, and wicked vagabonds." The heavy atmosphere dissipated and we set off in brighter mood.

"So, did you admire me at the pool?" Her tone was coquettish.

"You know I did. Wasn't it obvious?"

"I took it as a compliment. I like men to show their appreciation. I just don't want them to ravish me in the process." She glanced at me to gauge my expression. I kept silent so she resumed, as if answering what she thought was in my mind. "I'm not a virgin if that is what you were thinking."

"How did you guess?"

"Predictable. As I said, you men are all the same."

I objected to the implied slur on my character. "I'm not like that. My father taught me to respect women, and anyway my catholic upbringing conditioned me ..."

She laughed out loud at that. "You're a virgin!" The discovery seemed to delight her. She turned into me as we walked and grabbed my crotch. Almost instantly, my cock began to stiffen. I looked around us. Thankfully there was no one on the street.

I disengaged myself from her clutch. "What did your father teach you?"

I could feel her mood change, as if a light switch had been flicked off. We walked in silence for a while, then turned on to the towpath. There were only properties to the left so I turned in that direction without needing to check. "I'm sorry Cindy, if I've touched a raw nerve."

"It's quite uncanny, how you can read me. I felt it at Simon's. Men are usually so insensitive. But you ..." She turned to look at me, probably weighing me up in her mind afresh.

"Is that a good thing?"

"No, I wouldn't want my thoughts to be read... Can I trust you?"

"What sort of a question is that? I'm damned whichever way I answer that. I can say yes, if only in the hopes of getting inside your knickers ..." I paused, realising how crude that sounded, but she stayed silent, waiting. "... and if I say no, well, then I've blown it."

She smirked. "Blown the chance to get inside my knickers? To sample my secret places?" 

This was getting awkward. "Never on a first date," I countered.

Now she laughed heartily. "You mean never, as in never ever!" She was rubbing it in with glee.

She had complained about people being cruel in what they said to her. Now she was mocking me in turn and it hurt. She noticed that and swung into me again, pushed her body against me and kissed me. "Sorry, that was mean of me." That was part of her problem: blowing hot and cold every few minutes.

It had been a mile or more to her house, but we had travelled much further in relationship terms during the walk. She stopped outside a high-walled property with a wooden gate in an archway built into the wall. Over the top I could see the upper floor of a large house. This was the rear of the property, and a large garden separated the house from the towpath. The house was lit, presumably to deter burglars. We stopped in the gateway. "Thank you for walking me home, Sir Good Knight."

I left and she shut the gate behind me. As I began to retrace my steps I mused on the events of the evening.

"Hey!" The sound made me turn. Cindy was outside the gate waving at me, beckoning me to return. "How mean of me to dismiss you so summarily. You will want your reward. Come, let me show you the house."

Involuntarily, my cock stiffened once more. As we walked up the lawn, a floodlight came on. "Photosensitive," she explained. Her mini dress swung around her hips as she walked ahead of me, a spring in her step. I could see that she was happy to be home; probably away from other people. She dropped her hands to the ground and laughed as her dress fell away from her body at the apex of a perfectly executed cartwheel, to display her white bra and panties. Landing on her feet she giggled at her naughtiness. She turned to me and put her finger to her bottom lip in a naughty girl pose. Then she turned to walk on before stopping again and with more deliberation, paused mid-way through a second cartwheel to stand motionless on her hands long enough for the loose minidress to drop to the ground. As she resumed her cartwheel to the final landing position the dress lay discarded behind her. I picked it up as she walked on towards the house, swinging her hips exaggeratedly. She was at the same time sexy and playful.

She led me through a side door past a large kitchen and into a study, lined with bookshelves. On a side table was a tray of assorted spirits, cut glass decanters and cut glass tumblers.

"That was your first reward, and now a night cap for your second, with my undying gratitude." She handed me a neat gin, pouring one for herself too. "Salu!"

I sipped at mine but she knocked hers back as if it was water. "Another, I think." She refilled her glass and drank that back too. We had been standing during these hospitality preliminaries. "Come and sit down," she invited, indicating a long sofa. I sat. She looked me in the eye and asked, "What did you see at the pool? Tell me everything."

Such an open question made me pause to think. I guessed this was some sort of teasing game though, so I replied, "I saw a lot of very ordinary people splashing about and gossiping, and the most gorgeous brunette diver."

"Describe her to me," Cindy demanded excitedly.

"She was 5' 7" I think, long legs, beautiful body, and wearing the most magnificent bikini."

Cindy forgot the game for a moment and giggled conspiratorially, "I made mummy find it for me. She got it mail order from Italy, I think." For a moment, she was the spoiled little girl, wide-eyed with pleasure at the memory of getting something she wanted.

I continued, "Her hips looked so sexy in her skimpy bikini briefs. The water made it shine and cling to her body, so that I could imagine how sexy she would look naked."

Cindy giggled some more. "Is my bottom as sexy?"

Considering she had not put her dress back on and I had been snatching glances at her delightful posterior every time she turned away from me, I felt I could honestly say, "well, about the same ... absolutely knock out!"

She scrunched up her shoulders, squeezing her breasts into the most tantalising cleavage. It reminded me, "Oh, and her breasts ..." I might have been telling Cindy a bed-time story, so eager was she to hear what I had to say next. "Those breasts were plump and rounded and eminently touchable. I wanted to bury my face in that cleavage."

Cindy gasped with delight and moved up tight beside me on the sofa, turning her shoulder into me to offer me her bust. "Would mine do?"

"I saw how beautiful hers were in that bikini, but I fantasised about seeing them naked, free of captivity."

"Oh." The ejaculation was so soft and endearing. I had upped the stakes in the game. Cindy rolled over to lift her leg across me so that she straddled me on the sofa. I could feel my cock swelling within the tight constraints of my jeans in anticipation of an intimacy I had never experienced before. Cindy spoke: "Are my breasts not as beautiful?" and with that she unclipped her bra strap and shrugged her shoulders. Her bra slipped away from her orbs and slithered down her arms where she shook the straps free of her hands and was topless, straddling me, and shaking her breasts as if relishing their freedom from constraint.

I was lost for words. I guess she was a 36"C, but her tits had a real firm fullness and natural. She didn't need a bra to keep her shape. In all my years of avidly reading Parade and Penthouse, I had never been as entranced with a rack as Cindy was now shaking inches from my face. Moreover, she had no false modesty. She was enjoying my obviously rapturous reaction to her display. 

"They are the most beautiful breasts I have ever seen," I conceded.

Cindy's eyes were glazing over. She was drifting into a world of her own by this point. Maybe it was the quadruple neat gin taking its toll. "Only for my Daddy," she intoned, and leant in to push her tits into my face, hugging me tightly.

I gasped for breath. She was at risk of smothering me. I pushed her gently away from me. She looked at me with glazed eyes then frowned. Then the frown turned to alarm, and she pushed against my chest as if to force me away from her. A look of confusion spread across her face. I was not prepared for this turn of events and thought rapidly what I should do to calm her emotions.

I seized her arms and pulled her back to me and kissed her, gently but firmly and hoped for the best. I took control of her. Her tensed body relaxed in our embrace and she moaned with pleasure once more. I felt her relax against me. Now my mind was racing, turning over the possible permutations. Perhaps Cindy had mental problems. Something turbulent was going on in her mind. Yet I could not deny my arousal for this beautiful creature who exhibited such endearingly child-like qualities and was undeniably gorgeous. What should I do?

Cindy came to my rescue. She sighed and said, "Adam, I'm a crazy mixed up girl, but if you can love me tonight I shall be one happy lady." 

That was it: confirmation that she was in possession of her faculties, and desired me. "And I shall be equally delirious to love you tonight," I replied. I picked her up in my arms and said, "Show me the way."

She let me carry her up the stairs and directed me through the corridors to a room with a ceramic plate attached to its door which said 'Cindy's Room'. She obliged me by turning the door handle and the door swung open.

It was the most kitsch bedroom I could imagine. Lots of pink drapes, a large four poster bed with a pink chiffon draped canopy and girlie cartoon character bedspread. The carpet was also a shade of pink. This didn't seem to be the room of an adult.

Cindy wriggled to alert me to her wish to be set down on the floor. As she stood upright she jiggled up and down a few times - I presume with excitement. That had the effect of bouncing her breasts up and down, reminding me once more how sexually desirable she was. "Nobody is allowed in here," she intoned, "except daddy. But now I'm letting you see it. You must keep it a secret. You promise?"

I nodded and looked around for somewhere to sit. The room was capacious and I had several options. I chose a couch with girly cartoon characters woven into its upholstery, and sank down into it. Cindy stood in the centre of the room and surveyed her surroundings, as if re-living memories in that room. I took the opportunity to enjoy her body once more. It appeared faultless. Smooth skin, flowing contours, a bottom to die for, and a beautifully sculpted back. I wondered why the golden set despised her so much. To me, she seemed like a little girl lost in a woman's body. She was facing her bed with her back to me. She looked at me over her shoulder then bent to slip her panties down her legs. She stepped out of them and turned sideways on to me, as if to allow me to admire her profile. Once again waves of giddiness flowed over me as my body and mind prepared for the prospect of what might be about to happen. A shy virgin was apparently being seduced by the most beautiful, if coquettish creature imaginable. My brain shouted out at me 'Why me? What have I done to deserve this? Where's the catch?' My conditioning cried equally loudly, 'Is God testing me? Remember your Faith, my child. Do not give way to sin. No sex before marriage. Blah, blah, blah!'

Her naked profile was entrancing and arousing me. All my fantasies were coming true in one giddy evening of realisation. Fuck my conscience!

I stood up and reached for my jeans belt. Cindy put her finger to her lip once more and turned to sit on the edge of the bed. She was waiting for me to perform.

I left my belt and unbuttoned my shirt instead and let it drop to the floor. I sat down and pulled off my trainers, and my socks. I stood up again and undid my belt. My jeans fell down around my ankles and I stepped out of them. Cindy's eyes were glued to my under-stated performance, as if she had never seen such an exhibition before. This did not square with her earlier admission that she was no longer a virgin. Her eyes were wide and she had parted her lips with anticipation. Her chest heaved, pushing her breasts up and down with her breathing exertions. She beckoned to me to approach her. I did so, and she reached for the waist band of my underpants and leaned into me to push them down my legs. For the first time since I could remember, I was now naked in front of another person, and a gorgeous, sexy woman to boot.

My engorged cock sprung up once it was freed from my pants. It poked into Cindy's face. She chuckled and grasped it in one hand whilst reaching for a breast with the other. She made a gasping sound and looked up at me standing naked before her. I felt no embarrassment. She held my cock in one hand whilst stroking her fingers up my belly and chest, "Such a young, smooth, tight body, and what a lovely big penis!"

Not letting go of my cock she looked up at me and asked, "Do you find me attractive? Do you find me desirable? Is my body beautiful? Do you want to make love to me?"

I could have said 'yes', 'yes', 'yes', 'yes', but speaking seemed superfluous. She shifted higher up the bed and pulled on my penis to follow her. I felt myself hurriedly and clumsily crawling up the bed. She lay on her back and sighed and pulled my head down towards her breasts. Despite my inexperience, I knew what to do: I had rehearsed it in my fantasies countless times before. I first kissed then sucked on her nipples and felt them grow under my attention. She arched her back with obvious pleasure at my first ministrations. 

After a while she pushed on my head to indicate that I should move lower. I had thought cunnilingus was only for advanced lovers but I shuffled down the bed nevertheless. She opened her legs and gave me my first sight of a woman's pussy. My first thought was 'what is all the fuss about?' then she pushed up on her hips and moisture seeped out of her opening and physical waves of desire flowed through my body. I sought out her pussy with my tongue. I had no idea how to do what rudimentary movements I had read in Playboy. Yet Cindy soon confirmed that what I was doing was OK by her. She gasped as I first found her clitoris, then groaned louder and louder as I explored her vaginal passage, straining my tongue to get in as far as was physically possible. When my oral muscles tired I retreated and began to explore with my fingers. This was way better than biology lessons, and soon I must have found her g-spot because she bucked her body and cried out, then gasped repeatedly in what I guessed to be an orgasm. She lay back, temporarily spent from her exertions.

I leant back on my haunches and studied my first real cunt close-up. She had folds of skin I now know to be labial lips, which were swollen and deep brown from her arousal, and oozed moisture from her lubrication. As I studied it and grew increasingly aroused, my brain shouted 'Stop!' My conditioning was kicking in again. My consternation must have registered on my face because Cindy sat up with a show of concern. 

"Don't worry," she said quietly. "I'm protected." With that she pulled me down beside her then rolled over on top. Her breasts now hung pendulously over my face. She leant down to kiss me gently on the lips, then ran her tongue up my nose, across one eyebrow, then the other. Then she moved it to an ear and I squirmed as she poked it into my ear canal. She shushed me gently and reached down between her thighs to locate my cock. Leaning up she pushed back the foreskin and placed it at the mouth of her vagina. Nobody had pushed back my foreskin before and I gasped with the shock of that not entirely pleasant sensation. Undeterred, she manoeuvred her pussy over its tip and sank slowly down onto it. The virgin penetration of my ultra-sensitive cock head into a foreign body caused me great discomfort I cried out involuntarily. She continued to sink her firm, faultless nether region down around shaft despite my wriggling and gasps of consternation, until her public mound met mine.

She laughed, a soft tinkling laugh this time. "So you really are a virgin!" With that final proof, she delicately pushed up on her hands to temporarily relieve my anxiety before descending again to envelop my cock once more. For a good catholic boy who had never experienced anything more physically arousing than a wet dream, a new and more pleasant sensation kicked in to sublimate the initial discomfort of my first time. An earthquake of truly seismic proportions was building in my belly and hips. It morphed into a wave of warmth which enveloped my groin then swept along my shaft with ever increasing intensity. I was having my first orgasm, at 19, and with the most beautiful woman imaginable.

Cindy gasped in awe, "I can feel your hot sperm shooting up my body." She sat straight-backed with her head back and eyes closed, and a most divine expression on her face.

I spent several moments experiencing the aftershocks before my cock went flaccid and began to slip out of Cindy's divine interior. She sat back on my thighs and stared, her eyes wide. "I did not realise it could be so intense for a man," she spoke in awe.

"It's not surprising," I observed, "I've waited 19 years for this moment.

She leant down to kiss me and tears fell on my cheeks. "Why are you crying?" I asked.

She slumped down inert on my chest and sobbed.

"This should have been a joyous occasion. My first time; an earth-shaking experience ..."

At that she recovered her composure a bit and giggled a little and sat up, sniffed and wiped her eyes with her fingers.

"What is it? Please tell me."

She said nothing but laid flat along my body and reached around me with her arms to hug me tightly. I waited, for whatever explanation she might offer. I sensed that she was drawing some comfort from our closeness so, despite her dead weight pressing down on my chest, I lay and waited for her to speak.

Eventually, she sniffed and with a fragile voice began. "You are the first real man I've had. The first someone I wanted to make love to me. Someone I could trust." Her voice changed its tone and suddenly became harsh and resentful. "Someone who isn't my father!"

That bombshell stunned me. I lay waiting for more to come. The silence felt like an eternity, Had Cindy fallen asleep? No, she had been thinking back on past events. Her tale of abuse, which she then told me in between sobs in a monotone, shocked me to my core. I lay and let her spill out her story without interruption, until she fell quiet. Then I waited some more, patiently, willing her to draw comfort from my empathy with her pain. Whether it was my imagination or some unspoken communication between us she shifted on top of me and chuckled uncertainly. "My Sir Good Knight. My bestest knight ... I thank you good sir." She didn't add, "Good night."

~*~*~

I should have got up and got dressed and gone home, but I woke up to find myself lying next to Cindy under her bed covers. It was morning and the Indian summer was continuing. 

I reflected on last night. I pulled together all that I had heard about Cindy: her behaviour, her spoilt attitude, her self-centredness, her inability to relate to others socially. It made sense to me as a non-psychiatrist, in the context of her father's abuse. My first sexual encounter, and I had been sucked into a minefield. I needed time to think, to make sense of my conclusions.




Spoilt Little Cindy



Cindy was not moving. I slid my legs gingerly out of the side of the bed to leave without waking her. 

As I stood up she said, "Don't' go." She had been awake. Her tone was pleading. She sat up in bed, the covers falling away from her shoulders. 

I looked at her plaintive expression, then down to her lovely exposed breasts. Why could I not separate my emotional feelings from my sexual urges? I couldn't think straight: what was the proper thing to do? I gave up wrestling with the question and got back into bed with her. Cindy smelt warm and sweet and inviting. I had not been awake this close to a woman in bed before, and a wealth of sensations and impressions crowded into my consciousness. Was this what it was like being married? I dismissed the absurd thought from my mind. Yesterday I had been a virgin. I had known Cindy for less than 24 hours and already it felt like a commitment. My ordered, if unexciting life, had been turned upside down, and my values no longer seemed relevant.

She interrupted my musings by rolling on top of me again. She began to kiss me. It didn't matter that our breaths were stale. This was real and now and unimaginably erotic. Her breasts brushed my chest and my cock was being massaged between her upper thighs. Her pussy was dripping with arousal and smearing my groin. She reached for my cock and I let her guide it back into her welcoming pussy. Too late, I felt its stinging rawness. Too late to withdraw it. Cindy was pumping me wildly between her thighs as she quickly climaxed. I let her rest on me until she was ready to alight my still erect shaft.

She looked at my stiff member and asked, "Don't you fancy me anymore?"

I couldn't stop myself from laughing wryly. "You're as tantalisingly gorgeous as ever, but my poor cock stings like hell."

She rocked with laughter, with absolutely no sympathy for my distressed physical condition. She lay back, nakedly exposed to the cool morning air, the picture of contentment. "Shall I bring you breakfast in bed? Would you like to be served by a naked wench?" With that, she sprang out of her bed and twirled nakedly to let me savour her enticing body. She flung open the door and announced "Breakfast will be served imminently." before wafting from the room.

A moment later there was a scream and she staggered back into the bedroom as if pushed, closely followed by a thick-set middle-aged man with a face like thunder. "What's the meaning of this?" he roared, staring at me in Cindy's bed. He pushed her forcibly aside and she fell heavily with a whimper. He advanced on the bed with his hands held out in front of him in a grasping motion.

I leapt out of the bed and stood defiantly preparing for an onslaught. He roared again and reached for my throat but I ducked with all the nimbleness of a 19 year old. I felt increased freedom of movement in my nakedness. He turned to renew his attack but I slapped him hard on the face and moved quickly out of his reach. I didn't want to physically harm him, but I was desperate to discourage his attack. As he lunged for me again he roared "How dare you defile my house and my daughter. I'll kill you."

"You should be strung up for fucking your own daughter, you monster." I had not meant to say that, but it escaped my lips before I could think of an alternative riposte. The words hit him harder than a punch in the face. He stopped dead and glared at me, then looked around for Cindy who was cowering behind the door. He seemed capable of immense violence. Then he caught sight of a movement in the open doorway. A woman I assume to be Cindy's mother was standing on the landing with a horrified expression on her face. We none of us moved for some time. Then the woman broke the spell by sobbing and running out of sight. The man followed her, forgetting us for the moment. Screaming and deeper bellowing followed from somewhere far away outside the room.

I went to Cindy and pulled her up and comforted her. She was surprisingly calm. "So, it all comes out at last," she stated matter-of-factly.

~*~*~

We left her home together, with the row between her parents continuing to rage inside. "She will never leave him," was Cindy's prediction. "She is totally dependent on him. Poor mamma has nowhere to go, no-one to go to."

"Where will you go?" I asked.

She pondered that question. "I have a credit card with a thousand pound limit. I can do whatever I want. He wouldn't dare stop me. I have an aunt in Shrewsbury who will take me in, at least in the short term." She paused, then resumed, "Then again, I could book into a hotel in Lanchester for a few days and nurture the young stud who has helped me to break free of my father."

"But I'll be I at lectures all day."

"Plenty of time for shopping, then."

We walked hand in hand back to the station to find a taxi, then went to my home to collect my weekend bag. James had called round with a message to go and see him.

When the door opened, he eyed us both with surprise. "You left your coat," was all he could say. Then he invited us inside. He asked Cindy to excuse us and took me to his room.

"What the fuck are you playing at? She's damaged goods. She'll hurt you!" Then he looked closer and must have seen my slight smile. He exhaled then said with awe, "How was she?"

I asked him to tell Annie that Cindy was going away for a few days and wouldn't be going back home. His realisation of the connection dawned.

Travelling first class back to Lanchester was my next new experience in a weekend of firsts, with the beautiful Cindy dozing on my shoulder. I suspected she would never be the same socially inept hanger-on again. Out from under her father I hoped she would blossom and find her real self. Someone everybody would appreciate. Yes, we would have a brief fling for a few days, in between my lectures, and I would flaunt her proudly amongst my undergrad compatriots. But this Cindy would no longer be confined by others. She had broken free from her constraints and was destined to wow the world. I only hoped that my sore prick would recover sufficiently quickly to let me delve deeply into her treasures a few more times before she left me forever.