"Sure you can, girl." Jean cupped both her breasts in her
hands and rolled her nipples between thumb and forefinger. She
then turned her attention to me. "I'll start." she began.
"Margi has always wanted to acknowledge her body as well as her
sexuality. She told me that making out in the dark is fun
certainly, but not exciting. She's attracted to the excitement.
Aren't you, girl?"
Margi glanced at me and then tried to look up at Jean but
couldn't manage fully. Jean nudged her again and she nodded.
"Aren't you?" prompted Jean.
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, I love the excitement."
"And?"
"And . . . I'm too embarrassed to ask for it."
Patiently, "For what, Margi?"
"For someone to tell me what to do." she said softly and
then gaining some confidence, added in a louder voice, "I want to
do things. All sorts of things, you know - sexy things - but I'm
too shy. It's not that I don't want to try things, everything,
it's that I'm so embarrassed. If someone, you, *makes* me do
things . . . well, then I can't refuse. It's like it's not my
fault. Then it's OK. Know what I mean?"
"Good, Margi. Now let me ask you this. Are you willing to
tell Billy what are deal is?"
Margi nodded, studying the rug in front of her, not looking
up.
"ARE you, girl?" Jean nudged her again.
Margi suddenly looked up at me and stared for a long moment
before saying, "Yes, I am."
I touched her for the first time. I placed my hands on the
tops of her thighs and slowly stroked up and down. "Then tell
me, Margi. What's the "deal' - the one you've made with Jean.
I'd like to hear you tell me."
She took a deep breath and blew it out. Then another before
beginning. "I told Jean that I was so excited, so hot a little
while ago - when we were playing Truth or Dare - that I would
have done anything, and Jean asked, 'Anything?'"
She took another breath and continued. "When she asked me
that, I was excited and afraid at the same time, but I guess I
was more excited then frightened so I said, 'Yes, anything.'"
Jean continued to roll Margi's nipples in her fingers. They
were swollen and dusky. I hunched a little closer and ran my
fingers over the tops of her thighs, ending just an inch away
from her public thatch. "Go on," I urged.
"She asked me if I'd be your slave for the night, the two of
you's slave. I wasn't sure what that meant, but somehow it made
me wetter."
She looked at me again and asked, "Know what I mean?"
"The slave part or the wetter part?" I asked.
"Uh . . . I figure you know about the wetter part. I'm
horny. But do you know about the slave part? What does that mean
to you?"
"No, Margi. The real question is: What does that mean to
*you*?"
She looked down, nibbling on her lower lip and brushed the
top of her pubic hair with her fingers. "Well, I *think* it
means that I have to do what you tell me to do, that I have no
choice."