Flossie's Revenge

by Lubrican

Chapters : Foreword | 1-2 | 3-4 | 5-6 | 7-8 | 9-10 | 11-12 | 13-14 | 15-16 | 17-18 | 19-20 | 21-22
23-24 | 25-26 | 27-28 | 29-30 | 31-32 | 33-34 | 35-36 | 37-38 | 39-40 | 41-42 | 43-44

Chapter 27

Nathan stopped off at Flossie's on the way home. His sisters were still there, and he sent them home. Flossie, after spending a day with the girls, was in much better spirits. She still moved stiffly, but she was moving around.

"I couldn't paint, seeing as how my paint was all gone," she joked.

"Sorry about that," said Nathan.

"It was for a good cause, as far as I'm concerned," said Flossie, seriously. "Thank you."

"I couldn't let him ..." Nathan turned away. The vision of his father looming over her almost naked form tormented him.

"It will cause trouble," she said. "For your mother too. I'm sorry about that," she said.

"You don't know my mother," said Nathan, picking at a patch of paint on his arm. "She's much tougher than he is."

"She was very kind," said Flossie. "She's got a very good heart for a white ..." Flossie stopped, embarrassed that her own racism was showing.

Seeing him pick at the paint on his arm reminded her of the paint remover he had obtained. The girls had told her about it, but she hadn't used it yet. She wondered why now. She had noticed the paint all day long, but hadn't removed it. Now that Nathan was here, she realized it reminded her of him ... of him saving her. It was like she was wearing the protection he represented.

She got a rag and the paint remover, and made him sit down. She began swabbing at the paint on his arms. The fumes made her light headed, and when one arm was clean she suggested that they take a break outside. She got into a box and pulled out some scissors. Once outside she sat on a keg and handed them to him, telling him to clip the paint-clogged tangles out of her kinky hair.

"It's going to leave bald spots," he said, after examining her head.

"Can't be helped," she said. "It will grow back." She looked up at him. "Yours too. I'll do yours when you're done with mine."

He asked for a comb, and she went back in to get it and sat back down.

"Just get it over with," she said.

He clipped and tugged. The pain in her hair roots, she decided, distracted her from the pain elsewhere, and embraced it, thinking that this pain was removing the feeling of dread that had hung over her since the attack. As clots of paint-hardened hair fell to the ground, she released the fear along with them, beginning to slump on the keg as she relaxed.

"What's taking so long?" she asked, at one point.

"I'm trying to save what I can," he said. "If I don't, you'll be bald."

She sat, feeling drowsy as his fingers pulled and stroked and massaged her scalp, while the comb pulled the fear out of her. Finally he stood back.

"You look like a boy," he commented. "Well, from the neck up, anyway." He looked startled and blushed.

"It will grow back."

She took him back inside and tackled his other arm. Working on his fingers, swabbing with the rag, she examined his strong hands. Then she moved to his neck. There was even paint on the back of his neck, small spatters that had landed there somehow. She saw a thick splinter of wood stuck in his hair. She couldn't believe she hadn't seen it when she was cutting his hair, and plucked it out.

"Where did that come from?" she asked him, showing him the inch long piece of wood.

Her fingers on his body had relaxed him, too, and he answered automatically.

"We've been salvaging wood from that old mansion to build a treehouse with."

"The one they say is haunted?" she asked, astonished. She couldn't imagine this city boy messing around out there in the woods. She'd seen the house as a child - all children snuck out to peek at it as a rite of passage - but she hadn't even dreamed that Nathan might do the same thing.

"We haven't seen any ghosts," he said. He was wary now, though. He hadn't meant to say anything to any adult about the house. He didn't say anything about what they'd found.

"I hope you're being careful," she said. "That place is falling down."

She combed at his hair, pulling the dots of paint-fused strands, while he winced. She got the scissors and began clipping them out until she could run the comb through his long locks.

"Your hair is getting pretty long for a ..."

"White boy?" he asked. Most white men kept their hair very short around these parts. "I guess being white doesn't mean as much to me as it used to."

"Nathan, I'm sorry I dragged you into all this," she said, going around to stand in front of him. "I should have left well enough alone. I should have stuck to math, and reading and English. Now you and your father are at odds and those other children are playing at sex and ... I've just made a real mess of things."

He took the scissors from one hand, and the comb from another. He sat her down and took up the can and rag, and began cleaning one of her arms, like she had cleaned his.

"If you'd have left well enough alone, I wouldn't be passing. I wouldn't have a job offer that will make it so that what my father thinks doesn't matter any more. I'd still hate you and call you a nigger and make a fool of myself. All things considered, I rather prefer liking you."

He switched arms. The paint on her was mostly smears, transferred from him to her. When the paint left the can, the bottom was pointed towards her, and the paint had hit him squarely. Some of it had splashed back on her, making dots and spots all over her front. He was more or less unconsciously going after those dots when he ended up swabbing the skin under her chin, on her upper chest. On one swipe, the rag, in his fingers, hit where the top button of the shirt was. Her fingers reached for it unconsciously and undid it, opening up the shirt to the top of her cleavage. He stared at that spot, and Flossie's eyes saw him staring. He pulled back, flustered.

She took the rag from him, and started doing his face, where paint had soaked almost everything. He had rubbed a lot of it off before it dried, but there was still a haze of paint all over. She swabbed carefully, and then went to his neck and to his own top button. She unbuttoned that and pulled his shirt apart to see that paint had soaked through his clothes, onto his skin. Again, it was just a haze of color, but she unbuttoned the rest of the buttons, looking at each one, and pushed the shirt open. She stared at the muscles under the skin on his chest as she rubbed at the paint. Then she got to his nipples, she swiped at them gently and he hissed.

"Does it sting?" she asked.

"A little," he said tightly. "I should do that myself."

"Why?" she said, her voice light.

"It makes me feel funny," he said.

She looked from his chest to his eyes, and they bore into hers.

She leaned back. This boy ... man, really ... who sat in front of her caused complex emotions to bubble up into her chest. He had gone against his own flesh and blood to save her. He had saved her from further injury and clearly from rape. She was quite sure that, had she resisted Harvey, he would have beaten her, maybe to death. The upwelling of gratitude in her got all mixed up with other feelings. She remembered the way he had looked at her when that door creaked open, as she stood there naked. His eyes had held something that was different than the raw lust other men had shown when they looked at her ... the way Harvey had looked at her. But there had been desire in his eyes, even as he tried to apologize and move away from her. She saw a little of the same thing in his eyes now, as they darted from her face to where her shirt was open. It appealed to Wanton Flossie, who quietly urged her to do something crazy, but which was irriseistable.

"That's got most of it, I think." she said. Her hand went to her shirt. "You got it all over me too." She unbuttoned another button, not believing that she was doing this right in front of this boy.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, as the insides of her breasts became visible.

"I shouldn't ask you to wipe it off of me," she said softly. "But then ... you saw me naked before ... didn't you."

"It was an accident!" he panted.

"I know." She unbuttoned another button. "You saved me," she said. "He would have taken all that I have left in life. He might even have killed me."

"No!" said Nathan, his eyes glued to where he could see smears of white paint crossing her chest.

"I wouldn't have just let him do that," she said, her fingers pulling gently at the shirt, spreading it so slowly apart that it hardly moved. "I would have screamed. He'd have beaten me more to shut me up. I would have fought, and he'd have beaten me some more. He wanted to hurt me badly."

"I know that!" cried Nathan. "I couldn't let him do that either!"

"Then take the paint off of me, Nathan," she said softly. "I can't explain to you how I feel when you take away the paint, but I need you to do this for me ... please?"

She pulled the shirt completely apart, baring her paint-smeared breasts and belly. The bite marks were vividly dark blue against the smooth brown of her flesh, and Nathan cringed, remembering his father's teeth ... clamping ... biting ... pulling like some animal, eating its prey.

"It's all right, Nathan," she said soothingly. "You've already seen me like this. Please, just take the paint off of me, Nathan."

For once, as Proper Flossie began to rant in the background, Flossie shut her out. She didn't think about what she was doing. His touch comforted her, in ways so opposite to those of his father that it was like every time he touched her, some of the pain of his father's touch was taken away. She knew it was wrong to let him see her like this ... to ask him to touch her this way, but the urge to be clean was so strong in her that she had to. She had seen the way he looked at her ... appreciated her as a woman, and she wanted to feel like a woman, and not just a female, who could be taken like some prize won in a game. His touch was filled with something positive, even though she knew he had lust in him. But his lust was fresh and innocent, not a poison, like the lust that had been in the man who created him. She wanted to be respected, and somehow she knew that Nathan at least respected her.

She had to help him by taking his hand, putting the rag in it, and helping him begin to swab at the smears. She started on her stomach, above the crusty skin that was scabbing where Harvey had abraded it around her waist. Eventually she could drop her arms, relaxing as he continued on his own. He bent over and she suddenly stood, taking his hand and pulling him to her bedroom. She didn't want to be in the same room where this had happened ... where this paint had been splattered. She shrugged the shirt off her shoulders and lay down on the bed, dressed only in trousers.

He left her breasts for last, though she saw him staring at them. She watched his eyes, and it thrilled her to see him glance, every so often at her eyes, a question in his.

"Should I keep on?" his eyes asked.

Somehow her eyes said "Yes, please," and he continued.

Finally the rag began to swab the outer edges of her globes. He stayed clear of the bite marks, going around them and, very carefully inside them. The rag scraped across her left nipple and it swelled and became erect. His eyes widened. He had seen Johnnie Sue's, and his sisters nipples do that, when they were horny. The other breast he was firmer with, moving the flesh from side to side as the rag, and his fingers pressed into it. That nipple he was more forceful with as it became erect too.

"You're beautiful," he whispered. His mouth snapped shut and he frowned.

"It's all right," she said softly. "Thank you."

He stopped. "I have to tell you something. Ask you something."

"What is it?" She wished he hadn't started talking. He had stopped touching her when he started talking.

"It's that thing I couldn't talk to you about." He frowned. "I still don't think I should ask you, but what's happening to me now ... " His hand strayed to the front of his pants.

"You're erect?" she asked, a thrill shooting through her.

"Yes," he said, ashamed.

"I'm hardly surprised," she said softly. "I think I wanted you to get that way."

His eyes opened wide. "You did?"

"I'm not supposed to want that," she said. "But I do."

"But isn't it wrong?" he asked. "For both of us, I mean. You're my teacher and ..."

"I'm a Negro," she finished for him.

"I guess ... yes ... but that's not what I meant. You're older. We're not married and I want to ..."

Flossie felt a ball of warmth burst in her loins. The proper Flossie inside her had been nattering on about how wrong all this was, and now it yelled at her. The wanton Flossie said "So what's the big deal? You want to too. Admit it girl."

"You're a man," she said. "Men are built to want to do that with women."

"But my father!" he groaned.

"He wanted to hurt me. Sex can be used for that too. It can be used for terrible things, or loving, beautiful things. It's what's in your heart that makes the difference."

"I feel that way about ... my sisters, sometimes," he whispered. He looked away. "That's what I couldn't talk about."

Now the looks between him and his sisters suddenly made all the sense in the world. She had been confused about them, because the looks Bernadette gave him were very similar to the looks she gave Curtis Lee. Flossie knew what those looks meant - the ones graced on Curtis Lee, but she had been confused by why the girl might flirt with her own brother. Now she knew.

"You've ... done things ... with them?" she asked, her heart beating harder in her chest.

"Yes," he hung his head. "I can't help it."

"How much have you done with them, Nathan?" Her voice was firm now.

"What we saw at the fishing hole?" he mumbled. "Like that. A little more, actually."

"You haven't had intercourse with them." she said firmly.

"No!" He shook his head, but still wouldn't look at her. "But I want to. That's what I wanted to talk to you about, but couldn't, but now I have to and ... and ... I don't know what to do!"

"What do they say?" she asked on impulse.

"They dragged me into this in the first place!" he moaned. "They got curious ... said I was the only boy they could ask to see, and then to touch and then the next thing I knew they were ..." He stopped, flushing.

"Was that why Bernadette asked me about blow jobs?" asked Flossie, her heart thundering in her chest.

"Yes," he said miserably.

"She's done that to you?"

"Yes," he moaned.

"And you liked it." she stated.

He finally looked at her. He looked at her like he was about to cry. "Yeeeeessss" he moaned.

"And now I'm making you feel the same way?" she asked.

He nodded. She watched her hand lift from the bed, and drift over to hover above his lap, where a bulge was apparent. She watched the wanton Flossie, who was in charge of that hand, at the moment, lower it until it rested lightly on the cloth, and the firm flesh under it.

"You don't want to have intercourse with your sisters, do you?" she asked.

"No!" he gasped. "I mean yes, I want to, but it would be too dangerous! But if I don't, they'll do it with Moses and Curtis Lee. I know they will. They're horny all the time!"

Flossie closed her eyes, but didn't move her hand. Moses and Curtis Lee? Both of them?! Hilda Mae couldn't have at least chosen Luthor?

"But they haven't done that with them yet?" she asked.

"No. They'd have told me." He slumped. "They've done the other though, and I know them. They won't stop. It's like some disease or something!"

Flossie suddenly remembered that the health class was supposed to have something in it about self control. She couldn't remember talking about that. Apparently her class had unleashed passions, instead of controlling them. She wondered why she hadn't gotten to the "How to keep from doing this" part of the course.

"That's easy," said the wanton Flossie inside her. "You don't have any control. You're about to take your pants off in front of this boy. Why would you want him or any of the others to have any control?"

Her hands went to her belt, and undid it.

"I have some paint on my left leg," she said, unbuttoning the pants. She was wearing panties today. She couldn't wear a bra because it hurt the bite marks, but she had put on panties. She kicked out of her pants as he sat, frozen. The front of her left thigh was white where he had hugged her against him, carrying her to the bed. "Would you take my panties off, Nathan? There's paint under them too."

"What are you doing?" he gasped.

"As I said, you've already seen me."

"But I just told you how I feel about you," he croaked, staring at the panties.

"Nathan, take them off," she said firmly.

His hands were twitching as they reached for the panties. She lifted her hips and held her breath as he slid them to her knees. She dropped her buttocks onto the bed and lifted her feet so he could pull them off. The wanton Flossie made her legs spread, drawing one up to lie on the bed, exposing her sex to him. He stared and swallowed audibly.

"The paint, Nathan," she said, her voice husky.

Automatically his hand, holding the rag, went to the smears of paint inches away from her pussy. Automatically he pulled it away again, plugging the neck of the can and tipping it to re-wet the rag. Then he removed the paint. His eyes darted from where he was working to the two black and almost leathery looking lips that closed her off to his view. There was a thin stark stripe of bright pink between those lips, just like the lips of her mouth went from dark, outside, to pink inside. He didn't know what would happen next, but he licked his own lips, staring at those black and pink lines below her curly pubes. He wasn't prepared when she sat up and swung her legs away from him, standing on the opposite side of the bed. She stood, outwardly looking completely unashamed. Inside she quailed, and there was a fierce battle going on.

"We both stink of that stuff," she said, pointing at the can in his hand. "I'm going to heat water for a bath."

She turned and walked out, wanting to run, to leave the house completely. Proper Flossie demanded it, then quailed as she actually took a step toward the front door. She couldn't go outside. She was naked!

She filled the big bucket from the hand pump and put it on the stove. Nathan hadn't come out of the bedroom yet. Being apart from him helped ... just a little. Still the urges that raced through her bloodstream made her ache with need. She'd never felt like this in her whole life. She'd been horny, true, but the newness of letting a man see her, and touching that man's body brought her to a level that was also new. She'd never let herself get into a situation like this before.

She thought, for a while, that the time it would take to heat the water would cool her off. She envisioned the heat she felt inside of her flowing into the water, and that helped too. He still hadn't come out, but that was all right too. Every moment she delayed returned more control to her almost dizzy mind. She dumped the first bucket into the big copper tub that had come from some rich white man's house at some long gone-bye time, when a new porcelain tub, with running water, was installed in his big, fancy house. She filled the bucket again and set it on the stove, adding two sticks of wood. She felt much better, even though she was still naked. She thought about putting on a robe, but didn't want to transfer the stink of the solvent to her clothing. She rubbed at where the paint had been, and felt both an oily residue, and the dryness of her skin, where the natural oils had been sucked out by the solvent. The skin itched where it had been cleaned. Her nipples itched, and she rubbed them. Sensation flooded through her body and she jerked her hand away. That wasn't a good idea. When would the water be ready?

She dumped the second bucket, and started a third. Three would be enough, with a little cold water added to adjust the temperature. She picked up the fancy soap, one of the few things she pampered herself with. She sniffed the bar, taking it in deep to wash away the smell of the solvent that hung about her.

Nathan still hadn't come out. What was he thinking about? Was he trying to control his urges too? She warred inside herself, Wanton Flossie wanting to see him come out of the room gloriously naked, stiff as a board, all male and ready to fulfill the male's destiny. Proper Flossie hoped he would somehow be able to climb out the window that would magically open for him.

She felt the heat of the stove, and then wondered if it was really the stove causing that flush of warmth over her body. The water was boiling. She had left it on too long. Gingerly she picked it up, feeling the handle, hot in her hands. She had to get a rag to dump it because the bottom rim was too hot to touch. The water steamed in the tub and she pushed more of her own internal heat into it. She dipped a finger. Too hot, by far. She pumped a bucket full of cold water and dumped it, dipping her finger again.

"It's ready," she called out, not intending to.

She was about to step into the tub when he appeared at the door. His shirt was still off, and his silhouette went from wide at the shoulders, to narrow at the waist. She thought of Adonis, and looked away.

"I don't know what to do," came his plaintive voice. His voice was much too young for that body, and it brought impatience into her voice.

"You must get that stuff off of you. It's not good for the skin." That sounded responsible ... instructive.

He was being told what to do. Nathan accepted that easily. She was an adult ... a figure of authority. Annie had often told him to get into the bath ... had seen him naked. His befuddled mind put Annie's image over that of the woman standing beside the tub. He stepped toward her, his fingers going to his belt. Something in him reminded him that Annie had never been naked ... that even if she had, she wouldn't have had those firm thrusting breasts, and that youthful body. The body looked almost like Bernadette's, except the color was all wrong. He had had trouble keeping them apart when he was feasting on Bernie's fabulous pussy. What would this woman taste like? He shook his head, trying to clear it. His hands automatically pushed at his clothing and he stepped out of it. He looked down, reaching to get it off his feet, balancing on one foot and saw his prick. It was hard.

Wanton Flossie made her lean forward as he stood up. There it was! Wanton Flossie purred happily, seeing the maleness that she had been wanting to see for months. Proper Flossie quailed, gibbering with fear. Just plain Flossie stared at something she knew about, but had seen only twice. One had been Jesse's, and it had been youthful and slim. The other had been Luthor's, bare of skin at the tip, and shaped like some kind of fantastic club growing from his loins. This one was completely different, thick and smooth, a tube that looked harmless, but at the same time so virile that she felt a clench in her gut, as if her internal sex organs saw what set them in motion. She had the ridiculous image of her ovaries, spitting out eggs ... dumping them into the slim tubes that would take them to where they could bathe in the sperm that lay inside the drooping testicles that hung below that penis.

Proper Flossie screamed, shouting out the days since Flossie had stopped bleeding after her last period. She screamed the names of the days, saying most of them twice, demanding that Flossie do the math and stop this instantly.

Nathan stepped toward her and his penis bobbed in the air, bouncing gently up and down with each step. Wanton Flossie pushed at her foe and slammed a thick door through which Proper Flossie could only be dimly heard, ranting and screaming.

"I can't ask you to use the water after I do," she said, her voice trembling. "We'll have to do it together."

Nathan couldn't think. Actually, all he could think about was the naked woman in front of him, but he knew he wasn't supposed to think about that. He had told her about his sisters, expecting her to push him away, unwilling to be near a perverted boy. But she hadn't. He had expected her hate of his father to transfer to him. But it hadn't. He was naked in front of her, but she was not turning away in disgust at his obvious lust for her. She had just talked to him, like she always did, asking him questions and listening to him talk.

"Get in, Nathan," came her voice.

He got in, just like when Annie had told him to get in. He sat down in the middle of the tub, just like when he had sat down in front of Annie. Annie got in the tub behind him, standing, and then sat, her legs going to each side of his.

Wait!

Annie had never done this! It was not Annie. He smelled perfume and slippery hands landed on his shoulders and went down over his chest muscles. They pulled him back against soft pillows on a smooth chest, and as he leaned back those hands went to his stomach, dipping so low as to graze the beginnings of his pubic hair. He'd never had pubic hair when Annie washed him. His nut sack tightened and he drew his legs up, anticipating the hand going lower. But it didn't. It came back up to smoothly flow all across his chest, along with the other hand. There was a moan in his ear, and hot breath.

Flossie felt the heat from the water rush back into her body. All the heat she had given it slammed into her like a wave of heat from an oven on a cold day. The heat the stove had put in the water was added to that. The feel of his skin under her palms and fingers was like flame that couldn't burn. She wondered that he didn't lean forward, away from her nipples, which were so hard they felt like rocks pressed into her breasts by his back. She felt the hard flesh of his buttocks, pressing against her sex, and wanted to wiggle closer to him ... to rub her inflamed pussy lips against that flesh.

Proper Flossie was still wailing dimly for her to resist, and she did that by pushing him forward, to soap his back with her hands. His muscles bunched in his shoulders. Almost of their own volition, though, her hands dipped between his arms and chest, and she found her hands sliding around to his stomach again. She knew that, leaned forward like this, she could reach that column of white flesh that called her like the siren song.

She tried to resist that by telling him to stand up.

She expected him to stand, where he was, which would put his back to her. But when he stood, he turned, hands hanging at his sides. His dripping penis was presented at just above her head height. She looked up at him, and he seemed larger than life, Adonis again, white marble dripping with water and suds. From this angle, his testicles, hanging low because of the hot water, stretched down four inches. They reminded her of a bull's balls, and he reminded her of the bull.

He took the soap from her hand, and went to his knees on the floor of the tub, between her still-spread knees. He lathered his hands, and a small detached part of her mind watched as he put the soap back into her right hand. His hands started at her shoulders, as hers had on his, and smoothed their way down her arms. He picked her left one up and then soaped the whole thing before switching to the other arm and doing the same. When he got to her hand he took the soap from her again. This time he pushed the soap itself across the top of her chest, and then between her breasts as she leaned back, arching her back and thrusting her breasts at him. He didn't touch them, and she thought she would go mad from the anticipation. Finally, gently, he swirled his hands over her thrusting mounds, his right hand much lighter as it slid over the bite marks, his left hand squeezing and molding the other breast, causing her to gust her breath out. She hadn't even been aware she was holding it in.

He stood again, obviously ready to get out of the tub.

Flossie was beside herself. All the passion she had carefully fed into the cold water had re-entered her body with a vengeance. She was strung as tightly as a violin string, and she wanted that string to be played. Proper Flossie wailed at the thoughts going through her mind as her eyes fixed on the bow that could stroke that string ... could make her whole body vibrate from within. Lust seized her and, in a last ditch effort to stop this, Proper Flossie whispered that if she stroked that thing, it would become useless to her rival.

Her soap-covered hand reached.

Nathan, to be honest, wasn't really thinking any really coherent thoughts. His thoughts were bouncing around in his brain like a ping pong ball. When he couldn't see her, because she was behind him, her hands felt like those of Hilda Mae, or Bernadette, and they fanned the fires in his loins. When he reacted to her command to stand up, she became Annie's voice again, and he obeyed, turning to her to await her next command. When he saw Flossie, his hands itched to touch her, like the rag had touched her not so long ago in his fingers. It was really that simple. He just wanted to touch and stroke her ebony skin ... to connect with her the way her fingers had connected with him. Then, when he found himself manhandling her breasts, hulking over her like his father had hulked over her, he stood, getting away from her ... giving her the chance to escape.

Then she reached for his penis, and his dreams of just such a situation, dreams in which Flossie had done this, produced exactly the same results as when he dreamed them. Her hand clasped, and stroked, and his penis bucked and spat his seed forcefully, in long, strong streams that mixed with the soap still on her chest, staining her dark skin like the paint he had just removed. All the horror of seeing the paint splatter her, as his father fell away, came back and he sobbed, bringing his fists to his eyes and digging them deep. The streams of viscous, thick white that had hit her chest, and splattered on her breasts, to run down over and between them, were blocked out. But not the horror of it.

He lurched, trying to run, and tripped over the side of the tub, falling, instinctively rolling to land on one shoulder and roll away as he heard her scream. He hit his head on the hard dirt, and saw stars, losing control of his body as his momentum continued to make it roll loosely.

Flossie had expected semen, but not that quickly, and certainly not in the prodigious quantities supplied. Her eyes opened widely as, reaching up, the thing in her hand turned into a hose of some kind. She too, noticed the similarity between what came rocketing out of his penis to splash on her upper chest. Only because she was reaching up and pulling down, did she avoid getting that first offering in the face. She looked down to see the milky white stain begin to drool down her wet body, when a second length of liquid cord landed right on top of the first. Her hand jerked and the third landed square on her right nipple, the heat of it sending a shock through her whole body.

Then the penis was ripped from her slippery grasp and he was falling sideways. She would never forget the sight of his legs and feet, pointing upward at a forty-five degree angle, or the thud of what must have been his head on the dirt floor next to the tub. The combination of the water kicked up by his feet, and her own surge forward to reach for his legs, caused water to swoop up into her face. She stood, looking to see that her body was magically clean of his semen, and she felt an instant of loss. That warm paint had somehow been welcome, and now it was gone.

He was moaning when she scrambled out of the tub and got down on her knees beside him, her hands going to his face and head, feeling for blood or some other injury. He jerked, and began crying that he was sorry, and she felt a rush of relief that he was unhurt. She struggled with his weight, but managed to pull him up across her lap, holding his head to her breast, cooing to him that it was all right ... that he hadn't hurt her ... that what had happened was normal and even expected.

"I wanted to help you relieve your tension," she murmured. "I'm not mad at you Nathan."

She felt discomfort, and realized his face was buried in the injured breast. She pulled his head up, under her chin, and rocked him, like a small child. Finally his sobs abated, though he still wouldn't look at her.

"I couldn't help it," he moaned.

"I know," she sighed into his ear. "I know. It wasn't your fault. I did that to you. I've done so much to you that I didn't know about. I'm the one who should be sorry."

His face came up.

"No!" he moaned. "I've dreamed of you doing that. I can't control my urges! There's something wrong with me. I love it when Bernie and Hildy do that too, and I can't make myself stop thinking about them ... and you."

Flossie's mind and body were still in the throes of her own passions. She had relieved his urgency ... defused the situation for him ... but now her own lust begged for release. Whether that is what drove her to the next step, or some truly misplaced sense of responsibility for what Nathan was feeling, we cannot know for sure. She did feel responsible for unleashing passion in the children. But her decision-making process was just as likely affected by other things. All she knew was that, if Nathan Wilson went home like this, his fate, and that of his sisters was in great jeopardy. She knew what it was like to lose control. She knew what it was like to dream of what could be, even though that was wrong on so many levels.

"You mustn't go back home to your sisters," she murmured.

"I have to," he moaned.

"Not like this," she said.

She pulled him up, expecting to take him to get dressed, and then sit with him and help them both find some measure of control ... some way of dealing with the urges both of them had felt ... were feeling. She was completely unprepared for his penis to be just as long, and just as hard, as when it had spat on her chest.

She did pull him to the bedroom, where their clothing lay, scattered across the floor. But once there, they somehow ended in an embrace ... somehow fell to the bed ... holding each other, their faces side by side. She kissed him first, just on the cheek. His face turned to hers and his lips were there. She couldn't help herself from kissing those lips, even though it hurt hers. Her hands strayed, stroking his damp, dirt-flecked back, feeling those muscles again. His kiss was surprisingly soft, at least by her expectations. He pulled back, his eyes wide, looking at her lips. Then he kissed her again. Their bodies moved, shifting this way and that, side by side and his hands stroked her back and buttocks. A hand cupped her buttock and molded itself around her firm muscles there.

She felt his penis between her thighs, touching her where no man had touched before, and the heat exploded in her mind as her body shook with the feel of that male thing, touching her where she had dreamed it might. She could feel it pressing for entry, insistent, strong, not to be denied. She could feel her flesh resist, inviolate, unyielding, yet spread apart by the thing nudging deeper between lips she pulled at and rubbed at in the night.

He pulled back, something like fear in his eyes, but fear mixed with the kind of desire that pierces a woman's heart and makes her legs spread of their own volition.

Ten ... twenty heartbeats went by as they stared into each other's eyes, panting, breathing each other's exhalations.

"This is all my fault," she said.

Her hips wanted to push, to move toward that stiff thing that sought entry into her body.

"I told you about things that you weren't ready for ... or I did it wrong or something. Now you want to do something that isn't accepted in our society. You can't do that with your sisters, Nathan. It will ruin them, and you."

"I know," he whispered.

"But you still want to." she whispered back.

In Flossie's mind, Pandora's Box had been opened, and he would need to move to the next, logical and passionate step ... to do it with somebody, or he'd be driven to do the very thing that would ruin his whole family. She didn't know if what came into her mind then was a legitimate "plan", or just a rationalization of her own desires. She thought of another taboo, a taboo he might be able to violate and survive ... the one between the races. If she met his need ... he would be able to control it when he was with them. No one need know except the two of them.

"Meet your needs," whispered wanton Flossie, not quite getting it right.

"His needs!" Flossie whispered back.

"Both your needs," agreed wanton Flossie.

"You can't make love with your sisters," Flossie said out loud.

"I know," he said again, frustration making his voice tragic.

"But you can make love with me."

Chapter 28

Marian was washing up the supper dishes, wondering at what had come over her husband. He had come home early, subdued, and said he wasn't hungry. He went to bed right away. When she went in to see what was wrong, he asked her ... actually asked her ... to leave him alone. He said he had a rough day, and just needed some extra sleep. Then he asked her to wake him up when she was ready for bed, so he could move to the couch. She had been astounded, and was currently thinking about letting him stay there. The girls had said Nathan had stopped by at Flossie's and told them he'd stay there with her for a while. That was fine. She would probably need company for a while, until she dealt with the fear. Marian had a snippet of worry that people would talk, but Flossie was the teacher, and kids probably came and went all the time in a small town like this.

The girls were reading and Marian was thinking about watching some TV when there was a light tapping on the door. Marian was closer and went to see who was there. It was a girl.

"Hi," said the girl shyly. "I'm Johnnie Sue Thorpe. I go to school with your girls."

"Well, pleased to meet you." said Marian. "Won't you come in?"

Hilda Mae appeared at her elbow.

"Johnnie Sue!" she said. "What in the world are you doing here?"

"Well," said Johnnie Sue, affecting a high and lilting voice, "what with us not having school and all, I got to thinking that I'd never had the chance to have one of those slumber parties I've heard about ... and I asked my Mamma, and she said it would be okay if I invited some friends ... and ..." She looked down shyly.

Bernadette appeared, one eyebrow raised.

"I think that's lovely," said Marian. "Isn't she nice to invite you for her very first slumber party?"

Hilda Mae was staring at Johnnie Sue. Something had to be up. This wasn't how Johnnie Sue talked. The thing that gave it away even more was that she was wearing a dress. Neither Hilda Mae nor Bernadette had ever seen her in a dress. Naked ... yes. In a dress ... no.

"I guess that would be fun," said Hilda Mae, overdoing the reluctance in her voice. Her mother took her upper arm and squeezed it in warning. "Yes," she added brightly. "I'm sure Bernadette would love to come too!"

Ten minutes later the sisters came out of their room with a suitcase. Marian was still talking to Johnnie Sue. They were comparing biscuit recipes and Marian was bemoaning the fact that neither of her daughters had any interest in cooking at all.

They weren't even out of the yard before Bernadette was asking "What's going on?"

"Can't a young lady have her first slumber party?" asked Johnnie Sue in her simpering voice. "I'll be happy to teach you how to make biscuits." She grinned. "Where's Nathan?"

"He's down at Miss Flossie's," Bernadette whispered. "Now, what's going on!?"

"You were busy at Miss Flossie's today, but something amazing happened. Didn't Nathan tell you about the treasure?"

"What treasure?" both sisters asked together.

"We found something at the mansion. We worked all day to clear out those steps and found a cellar. There were guns in it!" she said excitedly.

Then she had to describe everything that had happened, and how they couldn't get the metal box open, but she just knew there was treasure in it.

"So what are we doing now?" asked Hilda Mae.

"Well," said Johnnie Sue. "It was your idea to go there, and it was my seeing the attic that got us back there, and we never would have found anything if it wasn't for us girls. I thought we could sneak out there tonight and find out what's in that box before the boys get there tomorrow." She grinned.

"Go there ... in the dark?" It was plain that didn't appeal to Hilda Mae.

"It has to be in the dark," said Johnnie Sue patiently. "When it's light the boys will be there too."

"What about your mother?" asked Hilda Mae. "Won't she be expecting us for the slumber party?"

"It's at your house, you dope!" said the girl, grinning.

"Oh! Uh ... yeah ... of course."

"What will we do for light?" asked Bernadette.

"I've got a lantern," said Johnnie Sue. "I've got it stashed with my clothes." She led them to a big tree, behind which was sitting a kerosene lantern and two bags. Johnnie Sue stripped naked, got into her usual clothes and stuffed her dress into the bag her clothes had come out of. She picked up the other one and indicated that the suitcase sould be left there.

They took off, Johnnie Sue leading, and the two other girls following, somewhat reluctantly, at first. But, as they went on, and the full moon rose higher, their eyes became adjusted to the faint light and the two city girls were soon exclaiming at how easy it was to get around. Neither of them had ever been out, away from the lights of town at night, and had no concept of how much light the full moon actually reflected onto the earth at night. Deep shadows, that seemed so scary at first, became just that ... shadows ... places of refuge, should they run into someone. Then they moved into the woods around the mansion, and the light was cut off as trees arched overhead. The going was slower there, and Johnnie Sue lit the lantern, hunching down and striking the match on the zipper of the pants she had put.

"What if somebody sees the light?" asked Bernadette.

"They'll just think it's the ghosts," whispered Johnnie Sue. She handed Hilda Mae the bag she had been carrying, and it almost fell to the ground as she grabbed it.

"What in the world is in this?" she asked, hefting the heavy bag.

"I got a three pound hammer and cold chisel from the barn," said Johnnie Sue. "How else will we get the box open?"

The sisters were amazed at how much had changed since they were last there. When Johnnie Sue led them down into the cellar, they looked around in awe. They tackled removing the furniture from the stash, and Johnnie Sue showed them a rifle, which was of little interest to the sisters. It took both Johnnie Sue and Bernadette to pull the metal chest from its hiding place.

They stood, panting, looking at the box.

Johnnie Sue got the hammer and chisel from the bag and gave the lock a few tentative whacks. Nothing happened, though some shiny marks showed up on the lock. She hit it harder, and still nothing happened. Then she attacked it with all her energy, hitting the end of the chisel over and over again while the lock flopped around under it.

She finally stopped, unable to lift the hammer again, and panting like she'd sprinted a mile.

"This isn't working," she said, frustration in her voice. "I need to use both hands on the hammer ... hit it harder ... but I can't hold the chisel and hit it at the same time."

Hilda Mae had been watching events, and snorted. "If you think I'm going to hold that chisel for you while you hit my hand, you're sadly mistaken."

They tried propping up the chisel with pieces of wood. Johnnie Sue took a two handed swing and the chisel dropped to the ground. They tried again, and she missed the chisel completely, hitting the pile of wood instead. She dropped the hammer in disgust.

"I thought this would be easy," she moaned.

Bernadette, convinced in her heart that there were jewels inside this thing had become more and more frustrated as she watched Johnnie Sue's vain attempts to defeat the padlock. She picked up the hammer, and her rage and impotence strengthened her arms as she gave a mighty swing. It was more out of frustration than anything else. She actually meant to hit the lid, but missed and the corner of the square hammer caught the base of the padlock squarely. Johnnie Sue's attempts had made a difference, though they couldn't tell it by looking, and the fatigued metal snapped.

The lock hung, open, in the hasp.

With shaking fingers, Johnnie Sue pulled the heavy lock from the hasp, dropping it on the ground. She grasped the end of the hasp and pulled.

It didn't move.

"Open it!" whispered Hilda Mae.

"It won't move!" moaned Johnnie Sue. "It's rusted shut!"

"Get out of the way!" shouted Bernadette, who was still holding the hammer. She attacked the hasp, beating at it with all her strength.

"Stop!" shouted Johnnie Sue. She had to yell twice more before it penetrated Bernadette's enraged brain.

"All you did was bend the ring!" shouted Johnnie Sue. She stared at the "D" ring, which was now bent sideways, folded over the hasp. It was obvious that the hasp couldn't move now.

Bernadette dropped the hammer and sat down on the ground, panting.

Johnnie Sue got the chisel again, and put it between the bent "D" ring and the hasp. She hit the chisel, and the "D" ring moved a hair. They had to take turns, but when they saw that the hasp was moving too, they found renewed energy. Finally, Johnnie Sue pried with the chisel and the hasp popped off the "D" ring.

Three sets of hands reached for the hasp and pulled, only to find that the hinges were also rusted so solidly that they wouldn't move more than a fraction of an inch. When Bernadette picked up the hammer again, Johnnie Sue snatched it away from her.

"You've done enough damage," she growled.

She put the hammer back on the ground and pulled at the hasp, then pushed back down. She set up a rhythm, pulling and dropping and each time the lid moved a fraction more. When the lid was moving a full inch, she ran out of steam, and Hilda Mae took over. Bernadette finally pushed her aside, and with all her strength she yanked at the lid with her fingers in the one inch opening. There was a squeak of complaint from the hinges, and the lid pulled up to stand straight up. Three youthful faces peered into the box.

"It's just rags!", moaned Bernadette.

"It can't be rags," said Johnnie Sue, her fingers reaching. "It's too heavy to be just rags."

White cloth came away in her fist ... to expose shiny gold.

Three youthful mouths dropped open, and it was suddenly silent as nobody breathed.

They were coins. As the girls grabbed at them, and pulled up a fistful of six or seven coins each, they gaped. What they had thought was rags, was just the remnants of canvas bags the coins had been in. There were three bags, in all, but none of the cloth was sound any more.

Bernadette lifted one coin out and examined it in the lamp light. On one side there was a woman's face, in profile, wearing a crown like thing with the word "Liberty" on it. There were thirteen floral looking things around the outside, and at the bottom was the date - 1861. On the other side there was a shield, clutched in the claws of an eagle. The words "United States of America" were around the outside at the top and sides. At the bottom were the letters "Twenty D"

"Money!" sighed Johnnie Sue, looking at a coin in her own hand.

"I've never seen anything like this," said Hilda Mae, turning the shiny coin so that the light glinted off its rich color.

"It says twenty on the back," said Bernadette. "Is that twenty dollars?"

"It has to be," said Johnnie Sue. "My grandpa had a coin like this when I was little. They were worth a lot of money then. He let me hold it one time and told me it could buy a whole mule!"

"1861," said Hilda Mae. "These are almost a hundred years old!"

"How many are there?" asked Bernadette.

They made stacks of ten. When they were done, there were forty-three stacks of ten, and one stack of seven.

"That's over eight thousand dollars! Suddenly, the comforting dark around them held watching eyes ... jealous eyes ... coveting eyes. Johnnie Sue actually blew out the lamp, so sure was she that they were being watched. Down in the cellar, there was no light at all, and the blackness terrified Hilda Mae and Bernadette. Both girls started crying.

It took a minute, but Johnnie Sue located another match in her pocket and lit it. She held it up, and the cries of the girls stopped.

"Put it all back," she whispered urgently. "Quick!" She barely got the lamp re-lit before the match burned her fingers, and sucked at them. There was the dull clink of coins being dumped back into the chest.

"Wait! Keep one out!" Johnnie Sue whispered again. Bernadette reached and gripped one coin tightly in her hand, as they pushed the lid back down. Then, with strength produced by adrenaline, Johnnie Sue grunted and moved the box by herself, back into the corner. Then there was a frenzy of piling broken furniture back up to cover the rifles and the real treasure. They crept to the stairs, and Johnnie Sue blew out the lantern again. She cut off the complaints from the other two girls, telling them to just wait.

Ten minutes later, though it seemed like an hour to the girls, they stole up the stairs and stood in the ruins of the mansion, heads turning ... listening. Their eyes were adjusted, and no one wanted the lantern now. They flitted from tree to tree for the first five minutes, until at last they began to feel secure that no one was actually there ... that their secret was safe after all.

"What are we gonna do?" asked Hilda Mae, excitement flowing through her veins.

"We can't tell anybody!" said Johnnie Sue.

"The boys!" squeaked Bernadette. "They'll come here tomorrow and find it!"

Johnnie Sue stopped at the edge of the woods, looking out at the field they would have to cross. "I didn't mean them," she said. "The coins belong to all of us. I meant adults."

"We have to tell somebody!" said Bernadette. "We can't just show up with hundred year old gold coins to buy things and expect nobody to ask any questions!"

"Miss Flossie would know what to do," said Hilda Mae.

"She might want some of them," objected Johnnie Sue.

"There's four hundred and thirty-seven of them!" said Hilda Mae. "I think there's enough to go around!"

Johnnie Sue felt shame. Of course there was enough to share with special people. There was more than all the kids could spend in years!

"Okay, but we can't tell her how many there are. Not yet. Let's see what she says about us finding ... say ... ten or something."

"Deal!" said Bernadette.

The three excited girls headed across the field. It was late, and they'd probably have to wake Miss Flossie up, but they were too excited to wait until morning.

The words rang like a gong inside Nathan's head: "You can make love with me."

He had been wallowing in the feel of her naked skin against his, like a pig wallows in mud, delighting in the pure sensation of it. He was aware that there was the kind of heat around the tip of his stiff prick that he usually only felt when Bernie's or Hildy's mouth was sucking him, but he had been so overwhelmed with the sensations of her hands on him, and his hands on her, and her breasts pressing against his chest, and her full, lips caressing his, that he hadn't had time to fully evaluate that heat.

Now her words brought that heat to front and center, and he realized exactly where his penis was. The urge to thrust came upon him like a ravening wolf, almost blotting out any control. But a more mature part of his mind remembered the pain she had recently been through. He knew enough about maidenheads to know there was pain associated with them, and he was well acquainted with how snugly his finger was clutched by his sisters' pussies. Along with the mind boggling sensation of a woman inviting him into her, was the iron fist of caution that prevented him from attempting to skewer her with one lusty thrust. He couldn't prevent the initial movement of his hips, but that tiny surge only spread her a little more, her pussy lips sucking at half the tip.

"It will hurt," he gasped. "won't it?"

"I don't know," she moaned. Her mind was grappling with the permission she had just blurted out. She must be crazy! He was just a boy! There was a sensation that pushed its way into her consciousness. The clitoris she loved to rub was in contact with the wide head of his penis as it pressed between her straining vulva. It felt delicious. Nothing but her finger had ever touched her there. She couldn't resist the tremor that ran through her body and caused her to wiggle down onto that pressure.

That action stretched things too far, and his foreskin was pushed back enough to let the head pop through the constricting lips. Her hymen, already abused, gave way with a slight sting.

"Uhhhhhh," she groaned.

When the heat surrounded the tip of his prick, Nathan felt light headed, and that almost overwhelming urge to thrust came back. Her groan held it at bay.

"Flossie?" he whispered. It was the first time he had addressed her as an equal, by only her first name.

"Ohhh Nathan," she moaned. "We shouldn't be doing this."

It took every ounce of strength in his body to offer to stop, but he did, through gritted teeth.

Wanton Flossie, who was frowning at the pain of the stretching, gritted her teeth too, and forced a "No!" through Flossie's lips.

Now Nathan felt like he'd have to thrust, or he'd just go crazy. But she was panting like a locomotive at full steam, her eyes tightly closed, and he knew that if he did, it would cause her pain. The only thing he could do was roll away from her, whether she wanted him to or not. As he moved, and she realized what he was trying to do, she clutched at him, and her elbow aided her in rolling up on top of him. The tip came out of her, and the pressure vanished. Her rigid body relaxed, and she lay her head on his chest, suddenly missing the pressure.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his chest heaving almost as much as hers.

Now that the pain was gone, only her lust was left, and Flossie, though she'd never heard of making love like this ... with the woman on top ... felt driven to do something. She pushed with her hands, moving them from the bed to his chest, and sat halfway up. She could feel that hard thing that had stretched her under her buttocks, and she slid downwards, feeling the tip slide greasily between her vulva. Her clit contacted it, and with another groan, she slid her clit along the entire length of it, until she felt his testicles squash.

All her attention centered on that feel ... the feel of his suddenly bumpy penis as her bud slid along its length. She pulled forward, arching her back to increase the pressure, and sighed as the thrills shot through her. Her nipples tingled, and she wanted to squeeze them, but she couldn't and support her weight at the same time. She reached with one hand, trying to squeeze her right nipple, while supporting herself with her left hand. She could get to the nipple, but she couldn't slide as well, and she dropped her hand back to his chest. Sliding was more important. She couldn't believe the feel of this wonderful thing she had discovered.

Nathan, unable to think clearly, just watched as the woman rode him like some kind of hobby horse. It felt good to him too, but the urgency he expected to spurt wasn't there. He saw her reach for her nipple, and squeeze it, and then stop, and it just seemed natural to do that for her, so he did, taking care with the left one, to make sure he didn't touch the teeth marks. Her eyes popped open and she looked down.

"Uhhhhh yessssss," she hissed, rubbing harder.

Her movements became more frantic as she felt the orgasm just ... there ... and reached for it. When she slid too far, and the tip of his penis slipped between her vulva to lodge in her opening, she didn't care about the pain any more. With a grunt, she impaled herself as the orgasm broke. There was considerable pain, but her tingling clitty fought with that, putting pleasure up against the pain in a head-to-head battle. What made the difference was that, when she bottomed out, her clitty was squashed flat, trapped against his pubic bone, with nowhere to go. Her cry was of mixed agony, as her virgin pussy was filled to overflowing for the first time, and of exquisite ecstasy, as her clit sent waves of pleasure throughout her body, bouncing between that spot, and the nipples that his fingers were pinching.

Nathan lifted his head, unbelieving, as what felt like the warmth of Hilda Mae's throat surrounded his prick. He stared, seeing the base of his penis, surrounded by his light brown hairs, and her black ones. Her cries, delivered in panting grunts as she hunched and wiggled on the thing that she was impaled on, told him there was something going on that wasn't all bad.

She went rigid, the muscles in her arms like steel cords as her head went back, like she was looking at the ceiling, and she held that rigid stance for long seconds, before she sagged suddenly back onto wobbly arms. She looked down into his eyes.

"Oh Nathan," she sighed, slowly collapsing down to seek his lips with hers.

She reflected on the pain in her lips, and the lesser pain that she felt where they were joined, as she kissed him. She welcomed that pain now. It was her just due. She had broken the taboo ... corrupted this sweet boy. She deserved the pain. It was while she was kissing him, and welcoming the pain of crushing her bruised lips to his, that she realized that was the only pain she felt any more.

She sat back up, feeling muscles that, before this, she hadn't known existed. Those muscles were still gripping hard flesh inside her. She tensed them, expecting pain, but nothing happened, except that he moaned. Amazed that the pain could vanish like that, she moved her hips on his hardness. There was a feeling of fullness, to be sure, of things being forced apart, but it wasn't exactly pain any more.

"Ohhhh Nathan," she moaned, her hips beginning to move again.

They didn't know what they were doing, really. Everything was so new, and felt so good to Nathan, that he just lay there and let the feelings wash over him. When she went stiff like that, and her muscles sucked at him, almost like Hildy's throat, he felt a rush of gratitude that, in some small way, he was involved in that.

For Flossie, she was lost in the feelings that riding him produced. There were times she wasn't really aware he was there, or that maybe this was all a dream. But the feelings kept coming, and she learned how to help them come, altering her upper body in this way, or that way, that caused his penis to press in this way, or that. She exhausted herself on him, reaching for that feeling five, then six times, like a child eating candy until she can hold not another bite. Then she lay down on him, and the emotion of all this caught up with her, and she cried.

Her tears were a complex mixture of emotions. For one thing, as she lay there, his thick manhood still thrust deep into her, she knew, beyond any reason to doubt, that she would never be able to turn him away again. She felt in her bones, that if he lifted a finger, she would strip naked and lay open for him to plunder her. She felt almost owned, and that made her feel shame. More shame came from the knowledge that she had crossed a line that should never have been crossed. But along with her tears of shame, she shed tears of pure, unbounded joy. She also knew that she had found something with this boy that was precious ... more precious than anything she owned, and that he, too, would come at her beck and call, to do this again, if she wanted.

He had been gentle and caring. There had been no bull in him, to rampage and trample her under his male hooves. That he wanted this ... luxuriated in this like she had, was plain, even as her tired muscles felt his invading strength still pressing against them.

She wondered at that strength. He had exploded without warning in the tub, yet, had stayed hard and ready. She didn't think that was the usual behavior of this new thing she was now so well acquainted with. Had he spurted those long strings of white inside her too, while she had ridden him to exhaustion? That caused remorse, because she knew how dangerous that would be ... to her more than him ... but still something that could cause trouble. There was, though, deep inside her, an almost hope that he had given her his ultimate gift, as much trouble as the results of that gift might be. Her biology alone craved to be filled with life, if not other parts of her.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly as he felt her tears drip hotly to his chest. "Did I hurt you?"

That he cared so much washed over her like waves from the ocean she had never seen, tumbling her fears and regrets away and leaving her feeling like she had just stepped from the bath.

"No," she whispered. "I loved it."

"I love you," he said, his hands drifting along her back.

Her initial reaction was that he was a puppy, who didn't know what he loved, but his next comment blew that away in tattered shreds too.

"I know I shouldn't love you ... that I'm not supposed to love you ... and that it can be hurtful to you ... but I know what I feel."

Perhaps it was too much for them both. She knew she should get off him, send him home, that someone might come looking for him. But he felt so good, holding her, that she lay there just a little longer. She wasn't aware she fell asleep, or that he joined her soon after.

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