The Addicted Natural


Chapter 9  –  Dee’s Diary  –  The Boathouse



TUESDAY, JUNE 12th


Dear Diary,

Bet you never thought you’d hear from ME again! 

Early yesterday evening, Brenda came out of the house and walked down the hill toward the lake holding YOU. I couldn’t believe it. I’d really, really forgotten all about you; but of course, I’ve forgotten a lot about my life … before. She wasn’t bringing you to me, of course, she was carrying you to Master, who was sitting on the wooden swing under the big oak, reading some school papers. She sat next to him and told him she’d found it among some of my old things, and they flipped through you and talked about me as if I wasn’t just 30 feet away working in one of the flower beds. She grinned at me as she got up and walked back inside while Master became engrossed in you, the papers totally forgotten.

And then this morning after we’d finished breakfast (Master just LOVES my French toast!), he told me that I was to write one more entry explaining what has happened to me during this past month. I started to protest. But protesting, of course, is something I’m not allowed to do.

“Right after I do the dishes,” I promised. “And the bathrooms. Today is bathroom day.”

But Master would have none of my excuses, and to my utter horror, he instructed Brenda that she was to take over my chores until I finished my assignment. This seemed to delight her. She grinned broadly as she took the dishes to the sink and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves, and she laughed at my obvious discomfort. These menial tasks are supposed to be MINE! Seeing her working at my chores absolutely tortures me, and she knows it!

“Please get started, Dee,” Master urged. “I’d really like you to be done before dinner. Lord only knows what type of food Brenda will abuse if she has to take over cooking duties.”

She stuck out her tongue at him.

And so, here I am again, Diary. Let’s see. Begin at the beginning, I suppose.

I really don’t remember what day of the week my new life began (Master has forbidden me to look back and read previous entries), but I do remember that it was early afternoon when I put you in a box in my closet and rushed downstairs to greet my Master in the old house. I drew up short when I found him deep in conversation with Ben, who was polishing the Ghost. I approached them tentatively, and Ben told me that he remembered him very well. Fred had actually interviewed him (and Daddy, too!) four years earlier while doing a magazine story on Rolls Royce’s in the U.S.  Can you imagine?! I must have been working inside in the office at the time, and HE’D BEEN HERE!

I took him on the grand tour, inside and out, which took the better part of an hour, of course, but for some reason, we wound up in the big office.

“Dee,” he told me seriously, “I’m going to need to get some sort of feel about what you own … money wise, I mean. Can you show me some sort of balance sheet; your assets, debits and credits … that sort of thing?”

The look on my face must have been pretty emphatic, because he immediately asked me what was wrong. “Oh, nothing,” I murmured, walking to the desk and beginning the task of entering all the passwords into the computer. I felt one of the old telltale tears slide down my cheek, and he more or less ordered me to tell him what the matter was.

“Brenda told me I’d never have to think about the money again,” I said quietly. “But I should have known that was impossible ….”

And before I could finish logging into the accounts, he took me gently by the arm and hoisted me out of the chair. I looked up at him questioningly.

“Would you like to be hypnotized now?” he asked calmly.

“Yes!” I answered too loudly, too quickly, too earnestly. He laughed. I blushed. He told me to look into his eyes. And soon my whole world just spun away, and I was safely in my “room,” away from all the thoughts of money and the other horribly mundane things that had defined my old life.

When he told me to awaken, I leaned back in the big desk chair and stretched. I felt wonderful. I glanced at the computer screen, but all my programs had been logged off, and I wondered what had happened while I was in my trance. He was straightening out a couple pages of notes, all in his own handwriting, but he laid them aside.

“Do you want me?” I asked in a small voice.

“Get up,” he ordered, and of course I did. “Come here,” he insisted sternly, and I walked around the desk and stood very close to him. I waited for another command, and I wanted to kiss him SO badly. Despite that desire, I was still shocked when he began undressing me. He unbuttoned and removed my blouse, tortuously slowly, and then my skirt and folded each in its turn, draping them across the computer. Next came my bra, and he feasted on the site of my big breasts bouncing and swinging before him. He peeled down my panties, and I was acutely aware of my sandals, the only article of clothing left on me, and more or less in spite of them I felt more naked and vulnerable than I’ve ever felt in my life.

 He gently turned me around so that my back pressed against him, and I could feel the hardness of his cock through his pants. He slid his hands around my waist, up and down my sides, forward over my tummy, upward to cup my breasts, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing, over and over again. His palms felt rough against the tender flesh of my pliable mounds, and I began to feel oh so feminine. Sliding his forearm down around my waist, he bent me over the big desk, my chest ballooning against the highly polished finish. His hands roamed my back and sides and legs and buttocks, stroking, petting, rubbing. He pushed my legs apart. I urgently wanted to please him, but my traitorous body forced my mind to other matters. He dipped a finger into my slippery opening, then two (three? Two, at least. It might have been three), and I felt moisture on my inner thighs just below my cunt. I was dripping. A moan escaped my lips, and I was suddenly embarrassed to realize that it was not the first. I want to please him, my mind said. Shut up and feel what he’s doing to you now, my body replied. Oh, yes. Yes! I pushed back against the wonderful fingers (it MUST be three!).

But they were suddenly gone, and I gasped in utter disappointment. I should have gotten up and fallen on my knees in front of him, taking his wonderful cock into my mouth, but all I seemed capable of doing at the moment was panting, my breasts flattening as I filled my lungs with precious air.

That’s when I heard the zipper! A fascinating source of sound, a zipper. It seems to have the power to force all sorts of thoughts into one’s head. The cock he rubbed up and down my slit was maddening! It touched me in just the right spot, then slid away, searching, searching, then at last it found its target, pushing into me, spreading me, forcing itself, so slippery, so big … SO BIG! … Oh!

I found myself somehow with my hands gripping the far edge of the desktop, holding on for dear life, pushing back to meet him. Gosh, he was so deep … so deep … so deep. He was pressing into that thing, that spot inside me that he had first introduced me to the night before, and as he established his rhythm, his thighs slap, slap, slapping my buttocks as he spread and filled me over and over and over, I knew I was not far away. My mind was still frantic, trying to think of SOME way, someTHING to increase HIS pleasure; but soon I was once again so lost in my own mounting ecstasy that all I could do was arch back against him and just hold on. That’s when he reached around me and touched me right on my clit. He didn’t rub or pinch or fondle; he didn’t need to. Just the touch, like a push-button on a machine, like a pleasure switch that, once pressed lightly, activated my whole body. I screamed. And came and came and came.

I must have passed out for a moment, because the next thing I knew, I was standing limply in his arms, breathing raggedly, crying softly. Slowly, I put my arms around him and held his clothed body against my very, very naked one. I felt something warm and wet and slimy against my tummy, and without looking down, I knew it was his deflating cock, dripping out its last effluence. I felt his juices dripping down my inner thighs, too, and I knew the joy of having been the receptacle of his pleasure.

“I love, you,” I whispered into his chest. “I’ll do anything … anything ….”

And he just held me for the longest time.

He ordered me to get dressed again, and once presentable, he told me to go and get my suitcase and then meet me near the front door. I raced to do his bidding, and when I found him again, he was talking to Ben and Martha, telling them that I would be staying in town tonight, and not to worry. Martha took me aside and told me that she thought my new “guy” was a real winner, and I blushed and gave her a hug. 

Fred told me to get the keys to my car, and we left his vehicle parked at the house while he drove the Mercedes. He looked good behind the wheel. It was his car now, I thought. Everything I used to have is his.

He stopped along the way and bought a bucket of fried chicken with the trimmings, and when we got home, we found that Brenda had already set the table for dinner. Fred uncorked a bottle of Chardonnay, and we toasted our first night together as a “threesome.”

Now, since I have been instructed by my Master not to look back at previous entries, I’m not sure I’ve commented to you, Diary, about my little drinking problem. I have ALWAYS been very, very susceptible to the effects of drink. I really love white wine, which is a shame, because even one glass has always made me very tipsy and giggly. After two glasses, I become embarrassingly drunk, and I can hardly talk. Looking back on my relationship with Brenda, I guess that this commonality should have alerted us to our strange kinship. It’s obviously a prominent trait among “Naturals.” 

Our dinner conversation started with Fred beginning a very well-thought-out list of rules which would effectively govern my life from that moment forward. Each one only added to my sense of total servitude and well being. To begin with, I was not allowed to even think about the family’s financial affairs. I was to henceforth consider myself penniless and totally dependent on Fred for all necessities. He would grant me the use of a bank debit card on grocery shopping days, but I was not to use it for anything else without prior permission, and I was to account for every item purchased with a receipt. Brenda would be in charge of buying all my clothes and personal items, and if I felt I needed anything at all for myself, I was to go to her and ask her to purchase it for me. I was to do all of the cooking, cleaning, and household chores. I would always make myself available to him sexually. I smiled meekly. This whole situation was turning out to be more than I could have possibly hoped for. I found myself thinking that I was fabulously happy.

That groundwork being set, the conversation turned to what we had done during the long afternoon, and Brenda talked about the article she was writing. She can be a very passionate person, in her work as well as her private life, and due to the wine, she was soon expansively making her point about a woman who had been wronged by “The System,” meaning of course, state government bureaucracy. When she’d talked to her own satisfaction, she asked what I’d been doing, and from my blush, she quite rightly assumed that I’d been “good and properly porked” by her loving husband; an accusation that left us both laughing and giggling uncontrollably while Fred could only smile and shake his head.

But we both sobered up promptly when he told us that we would be moving to the lake house during the next couple of weeks. After the shock of the announcement wore off, we two women could talk of nothing else. I thought it was an absolutely fabulous idea, and after some consideration, Brenda concurred. But again Fred laid down some strict guidelines. I would be left to pack up the household items here for the move, while Brenda would pick some things of mine from the big house which I would be allowed to have in our “new home.” There wouldn’t be many, he warned. My old life was gone. There was nothing in my new life except dedication to my Master.

After we’d talked some more, and it was obvious that dinner had officially ended, I got up and started doing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen. Left alone with my thoughts, I once again considered my utter joy at my new freedom. But when I had finished in the kitchen and walked into the living room only to find it empty, I followed faint noises until I finally found Fred and Brenda in the master bedroom. Those noises begged a certain degree of cautious stealth, and I tiptoed to the doorway and peeked around the corner into the room. Sitting on a chair, stark naked, his back to me, my new Master sat looking down between his widely spread knees as his equally naked wife bobbed her head up and down on his cock.

“I don’t know, Brenda,” he groaned. “I only came a couple hours ago …. I …. Oh, my God!” He threw his head back, his eyes shut tightly, and he moaned loudly. Brenda opened her eyes and looked up at him, then she shifted her gaze and caught me watching. I involuntarily stepped back a small pace, but I didn’t seem to have the power to stop gawking at the spectacle. I don’t think I have ever seen a more compelling sight. Brenda’s interest in me lasted only a second, and her eyes raised again toward the enraptured face of her husband. He moaned once more, and she opened her mouth as wide as she could, and lowered herself fully onto his engorged manhood, taking him fully into her throat.

With another loud groan, he reached down and grabbed her shoulders, pushing her away. She lurched back at him as if he was denying a bit of food to a starving girl, and she struggled feebly to regain the massive morsel. “I want to fuck you,” he hissed between clenched teeth, and with a great effort, she stopped her struggling and jumped up.

“Can I get on top, Freddy? Please! Please, I want to get on top!” and she pulled him to his feet and then pushed him backwards toward the bed. As he turned and lay back, I could see the questioning look on his face, but he consented. He never saw me in the darkened doorway. Brenda leapt upon him, straddling him easily, but she had to struggle to get him inside. She leaned forward as she fed the monster into her cunt, groaned loudly, then leaned back to sit straight atop him. Again, it was his turn to make a sound, which came from deep in his throat. He closed his eyes, moved his hands to her breasts, and breathed raggedly as she began moving up and down on his manhood. In an easy motion, she raised her right hand and swept her long, sleek black hair over her left shoulder, then glanced back over her right one and again made eye contact with me. I just stood there, rooted to the spot, watching, watching. There was a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I placed the palm of my hand against the flat of my tummy and tried to imagine what he felt like to her. I thought that if I closed my eyes, I could almost feel it. My eyes were locked into hers. It was as if there was some sort of link between us. And then her eyes fluttered for a moment, opened again and locked on mine, fluttered once more, then rolled upward. She shouted “Oh Golly, Freddy!” and turned back toward her lover, unable to think about me any longer.

I dropped to my knees and crawled to the foot of the bed, reached up, grasped the edge, and pulled myself up to peek over it. I’m sure, had either of them glanced back to see me, that I’d have looked like Kilroy peering over a fence. Fred’s legs were spread slightly, Brenda’s ass moved upward, downward, upward; and the cock was very visible as it stuck proudly up from his loins. It glistened. Her juices coated it and dripped from it, as well as down the insides of her thighs. Did I get that wet during sex? There was oily wetness everywhere. It even coated the top of his balls.

She suddenly cried out and started a series of “Aaahh – Aaahh – Aaahh – Aaahh!” noises, and as she did, I could see the muscles of her thighs, and even the ring of cunt flesh that surrounded the phallic invader, tighten and contract in rhythm with her exclamations. Fred suddenly bellowed loudly, and when he did, Brenda began pumping up and down again very rapidly, still making her “Aaahh – Aaahh” noises. The juices coating the monster cock suddenly turned white. His cum joined and mingled with her juices. I could smell it.

Slowly, I slid down, turned and sat on the floor, my back to the footboard of the bed, and I tried not to breathe too loudly. Oh, I needed to cum. I wanted to feel it SO much. But I couldn’t. This was my destiny now. I would only know sex when I was called upon by my Master to provide it. I lowered myself to the floor, finding comfort from at least being in the same room with him, and I lay down and curled into a fetal position, staying like that for a long time. I might have slept a little.

But then Brenda was pulling me to my feet, shushing me, and telling me to strip out of my clothes. It was very dark (she must have turned off all the lights), and I could feel her hands on my skirt, helping me remove it. Soon, I was completely naked, and her body was very near mine, touching it here and there with her own as she pulled me over to the edge of the bed, raising the sheet and turning me so that I would lie facing the edge. I heard Fred snort once, then calm and finally he began to snore. Brenda pushed me toward him gently, and he threw a lazy arm over me and pulled me to him, cuddling into my back. I stayed like that for many long seconds, when I became aware of yet another hand on my body. Brenda had crawled into the bed from the other side, and she had put her arm over both of us, her hand lying gently on my hip. Fred was sandwiched between his two women. I sighed and closed my eyes. I’ve heard countless stories of people who are kept awake at night by a person’s snoring. Fred’s, however, has the opposite effect on me (I have since found that it’s the same with Brenda). If I listen to it for a few minutes, I always fall right asleep. And I did.

(Brenda just walked by with the cleaning supplies, going from the job in one bathroom to the other. It’s torturing me, knowing that she’s soiling her beautiful hands on a job that is rightfully mine. She’s so pretty and so petit. I just can’t stand it! She’s smug, too. She KNOWS what it’s doing to me inside. She’s really infuriating, sometimes. God, I love her.)

(But I must continue or Brenda will be cooking dinner tonight.) 

For the next two weeks, I was very busy. Fred has morning classes four times a week, and Brenda was nearing a deadline for the article. I cleaned the little house over and over, and walked to a small grocery every other day, where I used the debit card Fred had given me to buy the things I needed to prepare meals. I also began the task of boxing up the books and other items in the living room, getting ready for the big move. Every afternoon, he and I would go to the big house, where we would chat with Ben and Martha for a few minutes and then go right to the office. There, I would quickly and willingly be put into a deep, deep trance by my Master. I never looked at a clock, but I know that we would spend many hours at a time in there. Letters started coming for me, very official letters, some from state and federal government offices, but I was never allowed to open and read them (or if I was, it was only after I had been “put under”). A few times, Brenda would accompany us to the mansion, and while I was in my trance, she was up in my room (and sometimes in Mommy’s room, the attic and some of the storage rooms), rummaging through things and picking which clothes and other items would accompany me to our new home at the lake. She packed several boxes, but I neither knew nor cared what was in them.

We made the move gradually, a load of this or that each time we went to the lake house, Fred making his plans like a general. My parent’s old room would become the master bedroom. I would have the smallest of the four bedrooms down the hall. Another bedroom would be converted to an exercise room, the den would be made into Fred’s office, etc, etc. I would clean and scrub and organize things to Brenda’s specifications after she cleared the work schedule with her husband. He spent a lot of time just walking around, looking at the lake like he had that first night here. It was quite a drive back into town, and we would often spend the night here. But almost every day had some portion of time set aside for my Master and me in the office of the big house. I supposed that it had to do with the money, but I never thought about it. Money held no power over me anymore. I was free.

Last Thursday, Brenda took me shopping at one of the finest dress shops in the city and picked out a business pants suit that cost $700, as well as finding one for herself for considerably less. The tailoring was done that same day, and while we waited, I spent two hours in the beauty shop having my hair and nails done. When I questioned her on these things, she’d only tell me that “Freddy” had said it must be like this. There was no arguing with that logic.

The next morning we were all at the big house by eight o’clock, and the whole place smelled marvelous. Martha had been up very early baking, and the air was rich with the odor of cinnamon. Master stopped in to talk to Ben and Martha while Brenda and I went up to my old bedroom and started getting ready … for what? Brenda was conspiratorial at first but finally took pity on me and told me that today was the day I would officially end my old life on this earth and begin my new one. Today in this house, the “loose ends” would all be tied up. She admitted that she herself had no idea what would happen, but that Fred had been planning this for the past three weeks, and that I was to do exactly as I was told. Oddly, this only made me feel more secure. My life of “no decisions” was a pleasant life indeed.

We took turns doing each other’s hair, helping each other dress, checking each other over for minor flaws. At the end of 45 minutes, we stood side by side before the big mirror and admired our handiwork. My gosh, we were foxy! But professional-looking, too. In fact, VERY professional-looking. My hair was in a tight bun atop my head, my sleek, silk tailored pants suit hugged my curves, accentuated my figure, and displayed my sexuality in a “no-nonsense” kind of way. My silk blouse was slightly open at the neck, and my underwire bra displayed just enough of my cleavage to leave no doubt whatever that these babies are real! As a topper, Brenda disappeared for a few minutes and returned with Mommy’s necklace. THE necklace. The one that had been featured in a magazine article several years ago. It sparkled like fire when she fastened it for me, and I was almost overcome with emotion. The chain consisted of twenty diamonds that totaled about 40 carats of pure flawlessness.

Brenda, on the other hand, was dressed to assume the “executive assistant” persona, and she did so (as she did with almost all things) in a sort of innocent-sexy-professional way. Her long, shiny black hair was in a single braid that snaked all the way to the top of her butt, and with her glasses on, she was the sort of no-nonsense secretary that would entice every executive to have daydreams of a purely non-professional sort.

Our high heels clicked sharply as we made our way back downstairs to the big office, where Master was sitting at the massive desk. Brenda was especially disappointed when he told her wait outside in the hall for a few minutes, but she obeyed without comment. I instinctively walked over to him and presented myself for his approval, and I was overjoyed by his brief smile and nod of acceptance. He reached forward, sprang the latches on Daddy’s old briefcase, and I was stunned at what was inside. The mahogany box from the mantle at home (I had already come to think of the little house as “home”). I stood, waiting for the feeling I knew was about to seize me, even before he lifted the lid and took out the watch. The watch, you see, has a very strange effect on me. I don’t know why, but I try to fight it. Silly, really, since I know there is absolutely no way I will ever evade its profound and overpowering hold over me. As always, when he held it up and began swinging it by its gold chain, I fought and fought and fought its effects and then surrendered and plunged down and down and down into the deepest possible trance imaginable. It was heaven! And when he told me to wake up, I felt oddly self-assured and very professional.

Back in the hall, I became the chief of the group (I felt like the chief of WORLD!), and the three of us literally marched into the executive meeting room in the East Wing of the house. I had rarely ventured into this room, it having absolutely no appeal to me, but Daddy used it many times when he was alive. Now the huge meeting table was surrounded by many people, and I smiled and greeted many of them that I had met before and introduced myself to those who were unknown to me. The IRS was represented (federal, New York and here in Illinois), and I recognized my CPA, personal lawyer, corporate lawyer, other lawyers, other CPA’s; at least twenty people. Martha was walking through the room with a tray of pastries. Ben had coffee. A few people had mixed themselves drinks, though it was only ten in the morning. 

A man I knew by reputation only approached, and the others gave him room deferentially. He looked so much like Daddy that he made my skin crawl, but I felt strangely in command here and not only stood my ground, but held my head high. This man was the CEO of the richest chain of mutual funds in the world.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Darlingshire,” he said cordially while his snake eyes raked my body from top to bottom, back toward the top and finally rested on my cleavage. “I knew your father quite well. We would often talk well into the night in the Manhattan Club about the mood of the market in modern society.”

“God! That must have been stupendously boring,” I commented offhand, then ignored him completely as he laughed nervously at my snub. I was concentrating now on a twenty year-old man, a geeky youth with pimples, who had just been featured prominently in several Wall Street publications, and was widely heralded as the newest “protégé” of the business world. I knew that he wasn’t really a businessman at all; he was a mathematician! I had come to find his theorems fascinating; and I told him so. He, too, raked my body with his eyes, but I found myself thinking this trait was sort of cute in a really young man. Unfortunately, he had attached himself financially to the “snake” that owned all the funds.

I introduced Fred and Brenda to the room as “members of the press” who would handle the releases of information to the various media. Then I took my place at the head of the table and called for order. I thanked everyone for coming, told them that I was going out of the country, and that that is what had prompted my recent business actions. Then I turned the meeting over to the chief lawyer. I had no idea where all the lines I was speaking had come from, and I frankly didn’t care. I sat, unmoving and smiling, while the lawyer went over each page of the documents contained in folders sitting before all the key players. I was selling the mutual fund. I hadn’t realized until this moment that’s what was happening, and I discovered that the concept pleased me greatly. I DID raise my eyebrows a little when I heard the sum that was to be paid. My profit was indeed very modest, but as I listened I realized that the majority of the surplus capital was going back into the fund itself to cover fees. I smiled at the stroke of genius involved. Whose idea had this been? This way, the fund would be maintained as a “no-load.” I won’t get into all that here, but to put it simply, it means that small investors are more apt be attracted. In other words, the current and future investors were getting a really good deal this way, and the value of the fund could only go up with the news of new ownership, especially if it was being managed by the protégé.

After the paperwork was done, I took Daddy’s old briefcase (I DID hope that the pocket watch wasn’t still in there!), opened it, and took out my battered old notebook. This had always been kept safely locked in the vault in the office, and it contained the “strategy” that I had developed. Making a dramatic show of it, I leaned forward and placed it in front of my favorite leering geek. He flushed, had to keep himself from snatching at it, picked up slowly, and leafed through it. (He later explained to me that he had spent almost a year trying to “reverse engineer” my process. The answer, after he’d read my notes, was very simple. But answers, once discovered, almost always are, aren’t they?)

There was applause, and there was champagne, and there were pictures, and finally, they all left, though my lawyers and CPA’s stayed for lunch. Martha had outdone herself preparing lunch.

I won’t get too deeply into the proceedings after the meal, but suffice it to say that by day’s end, my fortune was gone. The string of guests came one at a time, and each one of them left the house very, very happy. A huge part of the money was donated to the University for a Department of Textile Arts and Sciences, including a new building that would bear Mommy’s name. One stipulation was that her quilts would be displayed under glass in the hallways. There were six large charities that each got massive donations. The house and grounds (as well as funds to cover an annual grant), would constitute a new center for abused women and children … the largest in the state.

After they all finally departed (including, at last, the lawyers, CPA’s and tax men), it was Ben and Martha’s turn, and we adjourned to the kitchen table, where Fred and Brenda listened while I gave my maid and butler a quarter-million dollar separation bonus and the keys to the Rolls. Martha and I cried and hugged, and we all talked about Arizona, where they planned to move to be closer to their relatives. Then we all went out to Alphonse’s for dinner, and we had a great time, though Brenda and I got pretty tipsy on our glasses of champagne.

Now, I’ve always had the innate ability to add up a column of numbers in my head and reach a correct sum. So while I didn’t really have any interest in the money at all, I simply couldn’t help but notice that, after taxes, there was still going to be a little left over. Not much, considering. Ten million, give or take. I don’t know (or care) where it’s going to go, I just know that it no longer concerns ME. I have nothing, financially; but I have EVERYTHING else in life.  I have happiness. I never would have guessed that I would ever have been so happy.

On Saturday, Fred got the old johnboat working in the boathouse down by the little pier, and told us that he’d be taking it out on the lake for several hours. Before he left, however, Brenda said she had something to suggest, and she went into the bedroom and emerged holding two bikinis. She’d purchased them the day before, and since the weather had turned warm, she asked Fred it the two of us could lie on the pier and soak up some sun. I was mortified! I couldn’t possibly wear a bikini! My scarred back would look terrible! But Fred actively endorsed the proposition, and that was that. He waited while we changed, and we had to put on a little show for him when the swimsuits were on. Again, I felt big and ungainly next to Brenda’s lovely form. She’s so beautiful!  The top to my bikini barely kept me contained. But Master seemed to spend just as much time ogling me as he did his wife, and that made me blush all the more.

Towels and tanning lotion in hand, we followed him down to the dock, where he got the boat launched and roared off as we waved good-bye. Then we spread our towels on the wooden planks of the dock and took turns rubbing lotion into each other’s bodies. Two boatloads of drunken fishermen motored by, then by again, honking and whistling, but I took Brenda’s lead and just ignored them. The afternoon turned drowsy, and we both dozed a little, only to be startled rudely awake by the crash of thunder very close by. Neither of us had noticed the skies turn cloudy, and now the heavens opened up and it poured. Grabbing our towels, we fled into the boathouse, but we were both thoroughly soaked, water shimmering and droplets running rapidly down our oiled bodies. I took my towel and dried her the best I could, for the towels were damp, too. The temperature had dropped with the coming of the rain, and I began to shiver. Her own moist towel didn’t help much as she tried to pat me dry, so she started rubbing my shoulders rapidly in an attempt to warm me. She was very close.

It was one of those moments you read about in books; one of those “across the room” revelations they try to depict in the movies. Her hands were rubbing me, then they slowly stopped as she looked into my eyes. That “something” was there again; the thing I’d felt in the shower with her on that second day after we met. I’d felt it since. Recently, I’d felt it more often, but I never even considered saying anything about it. I wasn’t that kind of girl. Neither was she. Were we? Looking back on it, I don’t think any force on earth could have kept our lips apart. It happened slowly, tenderly. After the kiss had gone on and on and on, thunder split the cosmos. The lightning must have been right overhead, but we paid it no heed at all, and the kiss went on. Finally, finally, we parted. We were both breathing hard. Her eyes were unfocused for a moment before they settled onto mine.

“Golly,” she said.

I barked a laugh and held her close. “Yeah, golly.” We were quiet for a long moment.

I said: “I think I’ve wanted that to happen since the first time I met you.”

And she sighed and said: “Me too.”

And I said: “I’m not that kind of girl.”

And she trailed her fingernail across my bare skin and said: “Me neither.”

And I said: “What are you going to do to me?”

And she said: “Anything I want.”

And I blushed and looked into her smiling eyes and said: “Don’t tease me.”

And for a moment, she got a sort of funny, questioning look, but then she said: “I’m going to make love to you.”

And I said: “Okay.”

We took a couple of lounge chair cushions off a rack on the wall and put them on the wooden floor of the boathouse, then I stood calmly, my hands at my sides, while she unhooked my bikini straps and peeled the garment off of me. She let me undress her, as well, then we lay down and held each other and kissed some more. Our hands began to roam rather freely, and we both had to stop kissing from time to time to gulp air and moan.

She sort of took charge, naturally, and after awhile, she stopped her French kisses and rested her lips lightly on mine, so that our mouths were always touching. Her left hand was caressing my right breast, rubbing and pressing, stroking and tweaking; and my left hand was doing exactly the same to hers. Her right hand was between my legs, her fingers moving up and down, side to side, round and round my clit; and my right hand was doing exactly the same to her. She would speed up her strokes, and I would speed up mine. She’d slow down, and I would take her cue immediately. The only things she couldn’t seem to control were my moans, and she wasn’t doing a very good job controlling her own, either.

She suddenly whispered harshly: “Stop! Stop! Stop!” her lips still touching mine, her pleas were breathed into my open mouth. I immediately stopped rubbing her, though she kept up her manipulations of my own love bud. She took a shuddering breath and relaxed just a little. “I was about to cum,” she said softly, urgently. “Wait a minute before you start again. And don’t let me make you cum yet, either. Tell me before it’s too late.”

She kept up her ministrations, and I really WAS getting close. I let her keep rubbing me for a few more seconds. “Okay, stop!” I gasped, and for a moment, I thought I’d let her go too far, but I willed the orgasm back into its lair and relaxed a bit. She kissed me lightly.

“Okay, you can start doing me again,” she said softly, and I began rubbing little circles around her clit again. She immediately gasped and stiffened against me again. I began rolling her nipple between my thumb and forefinger, and she arched her body into my hand. She was very, very wet. My whole right hand felt oily and slippery. She started rubbing my clit again, as well, and I instantly told her to stop, which she did. “Me too!” she moaned loudly. “Stop! Stop!” And I paused again. We panted and tried to keep ourselves from coming, using sheer force of will.

This little game kept up for several long minutes. I quickly lost count of how many times we told the other to cease and desist at the last possible instant. More and more often, we found ourselves just touching but not moving, gasping and moaning and whispering.

“I feel like I’m on the edge of a cliff that’s beginning to crumble,” I said softly against her lips. “Oh, Brenda, I’m SO close!” We were down to the point that we’d only give each other a single stroke before stopping. I gave her another little tweak and she shuddered but did not cum.

“Wait for it,” she ordered weakly. “Not until I say so!”

I could tell she was about to stroke me again. “Wait! Wait!” I urged, and she paused to give me a few seconds peace. I took a few ragged breaths then grit my teeth. “Okay,” I whispered, then gasped loudly as she stroked me once. I arched up and almost didn’t make it. I gulp a couple times. “Oooh, that was close,” I muttered. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, but not too hard,” and she moaned loudly and tried to back away from the stroking finger, shuddering, but somehow maintaining the brittle status quo. “So close,” she breathed. “So close.”

We did that two more times, then rested again, our bodies physically shaking with expectation. “When I say so,” she told me in a ragged whisper, “I want you to look right into my eyes and don’t stop rubbing.” She laid her fingertip right on my engorged clit, and it was all I could do not to jerk and cum. I touched her the same way. She shivered violently.

“Now!” she said, and we locked eyes and rubbed hard, pinching each other’s nipple almost painfully. Her eyes, if I haven’t mentioned it before, are the loveliest shade of dark green, like an evergreen tree at wintertime. They immediately flew wide, gazing hard into my own, and her pupils contracted into pinpricks as she began bucking against my right hand. My orgasm began instantaneously, and flooded every part of me. I cried out and shook and held on for dear life to her nipple, stroking with the fingers of my right hand for all I was worth. It just kept going and going. Her pupils dilated now, held mine for more long seconds, then they rolled up into her head so that only the whites showed, and she fell heavily against me, limp, damp and breathing hard.

I gathered her into my arms (once I could get them to work again), and held her head tenderly to my breast, gently stroking her long hair, which was still wet from the rain. Almost at once she stirred, then weakly held me. She was crying softly. I was surprised to find that I was, too.

“I love you,” I told her. She only held me, and we listened to the rain on the metal roof for long minutes. It was getting lighter now, and after awhile, it stopped completely.

“Dee?” she asked softly.

“Yes?”

She paused again. I could tell she was about to ask me something meaningful.

“I’ve never, ever even considered making love to another woman before,” she said, and paused, waiting for me to comment.

“Neither have I.”

We lay like that for more long minutes.

“Dee?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think we’re being manipulated?”

Ah, so that’s what was bugging her. I decided to pick my words carefully, as well.

“I want to ask you two questions,” I said. “The first one isn’t very important, but the second one is.”

“Okay,” she said. “Shoot.”

“Do you love me?”

She barked a laugh and looked up into my eyes. “You don’t think that’s important?” she asked.

“Not to me. You see, it doesn’t really matter to me. I would much rather love than be loved. Does that make sense? I love you, and that’s all that I really care about. Even if you hated me, it wouldn’t make me love you any less.”

She thought about that for a second. “Yes,” she said softly, “I love you.”

“And now for the biggie,” I continued. “Are you happy?”

She didn’t have to think about that one at all. She hugged me tightly. “Yes. Yes, I’m happy.”

“Then the whole thing’s moot,” I told her.

“Huh?”

“Your question may make some difference to you,” I explained, “but the answer is meaningless.” She looked up at me questioningly. “Look,” I continued, “Fred either forced us to fall in love or he didn’t. If he didn’t, then it was meant to be and we did it all on our own. We’re in love, and we’re happy. End of story.”

“And if he did ‘make’ this happen?” she asked.

“Then we should thank him. We’re still in love and we’re still happy; and just between you and me, I STILL think it was meant to be!”

She relaxed back into my arms. “End of story,” she said.

“End of story.”

She suddenly struggled out of my arms. “Hey! Let me show you something!” 

She lay back and reached up, taking my head and resting it on her left breast. I snuggled into her. “Just relax,” she told me, and when I had, she asked “What do you hear?”

I listened. “The birds.”

“What else?”

“The wind on the water.”

“What else?”

“Noth …. Your heart. I hear your heart.”

“Right. And now, with every beat of my heart, I want you to relax more and more. With every beat, you’re going to become more and more relaxed. More and more.”

My body seemed to go limp of its own accord. I was suddenly very tired. “You’re hypnotizing me with your heart,” I murmured. 

“No,” she said softly, “but you ARE going to go to sleep now. With every beat, you’re more and more and more relaxed.”

And I was suddenly dreaming that we were skinny dipping in the lake. The guys that yelled at us earlier were still there in their boats, waving and hollering, but Brenda didn’t seem to care, so I tried not to blush. She swam over to me and kissed me, and I kissed her back and told her that I loved her, and she laughed her bright, pleasant laugh, and told me to wake up now. And I did. She was right, she hadn’t hypnotized me. I felt just like I did when I awakened from an afternoon nap; drowsy and lazy.

Fred finally got back from his boat ride, full of stories about trying to outrun the storm and how he made it to a marina just in time. I fixed dinner, and that evening we told him what had happened to us in the boathouse, and he smiled and told us that he was happy we had discovered each other. I suppose that sort of confirmed Brenda’s suspicions, but once again, it just doesn’t matter, does it?

Well, Diary, I guess that’s about it. Master has promised me that I will never have to write in you again, and that’s okay with me. I don’t seem to have enough time as it is, taking care of this house and the two people I love. I still have enough time left to cook dinner tonight (Hooray!): braised beef tips and wild rice. I started marinating the beef last night.

But first, I have to tell you what happened just two hours ago.

I was called away from my writing and into the kitchen by Brenda, who had made a delicious lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (which were pretty good) and coffee (which was too weak). She was pretty proud of her meal, the first she’d prepared since I had come to live with them, and Fred graced her with a smile and praised her household industriousness. I complained again about neglecting my chores due to the writing task. Brenda said she had to spend an hour in the library before dinner. Fred talked about a new boat he’d seen in the marina. 

Eventually, the subject changed yet again, and we talked about what we should do after dinner that evening. Brenda suggested a video, and Fred told us he’d run up to the video rental place and get something.

“No, wait!” Brenda said. “I know something we can watch!” She jumped up. “Wait right here!” and she ran off down the hall. I guess I should have seen it coming, but to tell you the truth, I had now idea the thing still existed! Mommy must have hidden it in one of the storage rooms. I gasped loudly when she returned holding it.

The blue gym bag!

