Violet whispered, “Lizzie, remember what the Mistress said...” in a warning tone, but she knew it was useless as she saw Lizzie reach out for Yvonne and kiss her very softly on the lips.
“We’re going to form a midnight sisterhood here and now,” she whispered very softly in the redhead’s ear. “First Violet and I are going to strip you naked while you milk us. And then we’re going to lick your cunt until you come, and then you’re going to do it back to each of us. And while we’ll still call you Ma’am and do your bidding all day, we’ll be Sapphic sisters together in this room at the witching hour each night, and we’ll show you such bliss that you’ll wonder why you ever waited so long to get started. So, Ma’am, do we have a deal?”
Yvonne La Roux looked from one face to the other, looked at their naked bodies and big full breasts. “I’ll show you how to unfasten my dress,” she said quietly.
***
Yvonne La Roux slid out of her tight black evening gown like it was water, and stood almost naked save for a pair of tiny black panties and her long black evening gloves. Her skin was milk white and her long red hair like a flame as she stood before them, basking in their adoring gaze. She was a tall slim girl of about twenty-two, with long tapering legs and slender arms, minuscule hips and a trim petite waist, and the most beautiful little breasts that anyone had ever seen. Small and pert, like a pubescent’s first showing, but with large adult nipples, sugar-pink and up hard, like rubbery pink jelly-gums on two iced fairy cakes.
“I’m not as big as you two...” she began apologetically, peeling off her panties to reveal a cunt that took both of the other girls’ breath away. Depilated smooth as silk it nestled snugly in the vee of her thighs, a little fat mound with a deep slit, labia like a soft marzipan rose bursting out like forbidden fruit, desperate to be plucked.
“I think I’ve just come,” Violet breathed as they watched her, mesmerised. Watched her long white body, still with the gloves on, glide over to the bed like a fairy princess, sit down beside them and tentatively start to touch.
“You’ve both got such big tits,” she whispered, fingers gently exploring. “When I was a teenager I used to clip advertisements for brassieres out of magazines and keep them in a secret scrapbook, fantasising about how I was going to have tits like those someday. But I never did...”
“But yours are beautiful,” Violet said softly, very softly, as she reached out a shy hand to feel, feeling a thrill in her pussy as Yvonne’s nipple quivered and got harder at her touch.
“And you’ve got a cunt like a confection,” Lizzie added, getting her fingers wet. “And it’s so smooth. How do you manage to shave it so close?”
“A girl from makeup does it for me with wax. It hurts like hell but I love it, feeling her fingers all over me as she removes every last bit. She even does my ass...”
Lizzie groans and lets her fingers slide in deep. And Yvonne’s wet and ready for her, slippery as hot wet tunnel, ready and wiling to be fucked.
“Steady, tiger,” she gasps, clit like a swollen macadamia. “You promised me milking....”
***
She’s taken the gloves off by now as she massages Violet’s giant breasts while Lizzie kisses her neck and shoulders, her own hot tits rubbing into the redhead’s back. “That’s the way to do it,” Lizzie whispers. “Massage first and then start to milk her at the teat, squeeze her big black olives and watch her milk flow...”
And Yvonne lets out a little squeal as Violet’s huge tits begin to dribble milk, hot and thick, and sweet to the taste. Like the opaque white nectar that they used to spread on buttered bread, straight from the tin, back when she was an ordinary girl in the San Francisco suburbs, riding the streetcar to the school of drama every morning with the early shift workers and shop girls, her little straw hat with the wax cherries on it perched precariously on her head.
“Go down on her, suckle her straight from the nipple,” Lizzie urges, but Yvonne has other plans.
“I want to touch her pussy first, feel how wet she is... But I’m afraid...”
“Here, let me show you,” Lizzie coaxes, taking the pale white hand in her own and leading it down the huge slope of Violet’s belly. “Her skin is as soft as buttermilk and her fur is like an old sheep dog, coarse and wiry like a boy, but her pussy is as slippery as an eel. And look, see how she shows, all her crinkly petals out on display just like yours, not buried and secret like the Mistress...”
“You’ve fucked the Mistress? Played with her cunt?”
They both laugh. “Droit de seigneur,” Violet manages to utter as two sets of nimble fingers explore all her slippery wet flaps and flanges. “Mistress tries out all her girls before she buys...”
“Now,” Lizzie says seductively, moving down the redhead’s marble white body, tongue flicking at the upturned nipples, the little breasts where the skin is so pale that all her fine blue veins show. “Now why don’t you have a good suck on Violet while I go down and do some licking at your baby-smooth pussy and make you big stiff clitty sing?”
And Yvonne groans, moans, nods, feel herself being taken like a child into Violet’s big strong arms while Lizzie’s hungry mouth travels down her body, steadily downwards, like an elevator going down a mineshaft. Then she feels Violet’s big swollen nipple in her mouth, tastes the warm sweetness of her yield, feels Lizzie’s tongue in her own slit, feels Lizzie’s fingers pulling her crack open like the girl in the photographs from Paris that the studio had bought for her when she agreed to the public union with Brett. Lizzie’s tongue darting like an insect in a tropical flower, Lizzie’s whole mouth eating her pussy, that long tongue circling her clit, flicking at it, Lizzie’s fingers sliding deep inside her, in-out, in-out... And all the while Violet’s strong arms hold her head to her breast, and Violet’s milk is sweet and intoxicating, and she knows that she is coming, screaming, yelling, but it is happening in some other room, to some other girl, and so she surrenders herself to her bliss and lets the ecstasy take her, throwing her up into the air, tossing her upon the seas of her own lusts. And she is lost. Lost forever on the Sapphic seas and she knows, deep down, that there will never, ever, be any going back.
Chapter 6
Movie Night
Their time together flies by, and their nightly sessions in the privacy of Violet’s room are hot and heavy. But Lizzie can’t help noticing, that, despite her strong affection for Yvonne, it’s Violet who the redhead is drawn to, and it is no great surprise when, at the end of their boarding period, the big maid announces that she is staying on with the family to be the baby’s fulltime nanny - and Yvonne’s night time companion.
And there’s a palpable air of sadness when they meet in Violet’s room that final night, each of them knowing that it will be the last time that the three of them will ever be naked together again. But Yvonne has a special treat that she’s been saving, and she slips up to meet them just as the old grandfather clock in the downstairs hall sighs the midnight hour and the household below drifts drowsily towards bed; Brett and one of his male friends alone with the decanter in the billiards room, the soft click-clack of wooden balls like an old tabby’s heart-beat in that still old house.
And there’s not a whisper, not a mouse, as the chimes die away into the soft velvet dusk. Just Yvonne creeping, incy-wincy-spider-like up the side stairs to the attics with a large leather-bound album under one arm; a tiny eight-millimetre Kodak camera in her other hand.
“I’ve a special treat tonight, girls,” she whispers as she slips inside and shuts the door tight behind her. They’ve had a lock installed, but she’s taking no chances. “I want to show you some of my special photos, the ones that kept me warm on my lonely nights before I met you...”
Violet is in her long white nightgown but Lizzie’s already naked, and Yvonne swears that she sees her nipples go stiff like little cocks.
“The legendary special
photographs,” the girl gasps, her eyes shining, and even Violet can’t feign indifference over what’s inside that big book of pictures.
“There’s only one rule,” Yvonne whispers, seating herself between them like she usually does. “No-one opens the book while they have clothes on. Are you both alright with that?”
And they laugh and nod. Hell, Lizzie’s already nude and Yvonne is wearing a simple charcoal grey knitted shift dress that shows off her big stiff nipples - Lizzie isn’t the only one with aroused nubs - and she quickly pulls it up over her head to reveal that she has no bra or panties on underneath and her little shaved mound is all bare and on public exhibition.
“Hell, you make me wet every time I see that sweet little cooch,” Violet utters, running her hands up and down the movie star’s naked body. “I just want to hold your head against my big fat pussy and have you lap me up like a kitten with a bowl of cream.”
“All in good time, lover of mine,” Yvonne breathes, kissing Violet’s neck and inhaling her fresh floral scent. “But now it’s time for you to bare your beautiful tits in deference to all the lovely naked lesbian ladies in my book...”
And the big maid nods and quickly strips, her nipples hard as liquorice sticks and leaking a little milk, her fat hairy cunt warm and sleek as Yvonne unties the ribbon and slowly opens the book.
And within lies a Bluebeard’s castle of delight, the six wives of Henry the Eighth exposed and laid bare, as Parisian courtesans and Kansas country girls alike shuck their garments for the camera’s hungry eye, the whole book a grimoire of Sapphic grace as these anonymous beauties pose and strut, eyes soft with promise, pussies exposed and wanton.
“I’m hot just visualising you looking at them and touching yourself,” Lizzie whispers hoarsely, and Yvonne gives a sad little smile and kisses the tip of her nose.
“I’ll do it for you both before we fuck,” she promises. “But before I perform there’s something I want from you two...”
“Anything,” Violet says quietly, her eyes brimming with love, and Yvonne holds up the little movie camera.
“I want to make a little movie of the three of us, you know, like this, naked and in love, both of your tits streaming with sweet milk, so that whatever comes our way we’ll never get old and never, ever, be parted.”
And Lizzie still has a copy of that old film, stowed away somewhere on a top shelf along with some old clothes and jewellery, the pearl necklace that Yvonne slipped into her pocket and the jet brooch that the Mistress had pinned on her lapel when she and Tom Junior finally said goodbye to The Farm for good, plus her own scrapbook of mementos and yellowing photographs clipped from Photo Play, of a beautiful redheaded movie star, sometimes with other celebrities, sometimes just her maid.
And sometimes, on warm nights when the magnolia trees are in full blossom and there’s a huge orange moon and a hot wind in the corn fields, she sits quietly on her porch and waits until everyone else has gone to sleep, and then, quiet as a mouse, she tiptoes soundlessly into the living room and turns on the TV, hoping that there’ll be an old Yvonne La Roux movie on the late, late show tonight...
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