I traced a line across the top of her pubic bush, meeting
her hand in the process. She started to pull away but I grabbed
her hand and pulled it back to the top of her pussy and held it
there.
"Margi, it's important to know that you *do* have a choice.
You always do. This is a game. That's all it is. And in this
game, we play that you're a slave, our slave, and that you have
to do the things we say. Keep in mind, if you agree, we'll
expect you to keep your bargain. We'd never hurt you, but we
might embarrass you and we just might make you even hornier. But
you do have a choice. Do you understand that?"
After I removed my hand from her's, she resumed touching the
area around the top of her slit, idly moving her fingers through
her bush.
Oddly stronger, she went on. "Oh, I know that. And I've
already made the decision. That's the "deal" I made with Jean.
I'm yours for the evening and I have to do what I'm told."
Glancing back, she added, "Isn't the right?"
Jean answered promptly, "That's right, girl and the first
thing I want you to do is play with yourself. I'll play with
your tits. You play with your little cunny. Yes, show Billy your
pussy."
Jean has assumed a firm, directing voice and I took my clue
from that. "While you're playing with yourself, Margi, tell us .
. . when did you start masturbating?"
She ran the index finger of her right hand up through her
slit. In the yellow light, I could see her finger glistening
with her wetness.
"Um . . . I'm not really sure. A long time ago. I was
young. I mean, very young. Maybe eight. Even seven. I don't
remember. All I knew was that it felt really good and I knew I
wasn't supposed to be doing that. I didn't know why. I don't
remember anyone telling me not to touch myself, but I knew.
Maybe my girlfriend told me. I knew it was naughty, but it felt
too good to stop."
"Ever get caught?" Jean asked.
Margi slipped two fingers into her slit and then rubbed her
juice on my hand as I toyed with her pubic hair. When I looked
at her, her eyes were glistening, intense and wide open. She
smiled a little.
"Several times. It was embarrassing, but it also was
exciting. I think I *wanted* to get caught."
"Did you cum then?" I asked, holding my hand up to my nose.
Her eyes glittered as she watched me. I smelled her and
then touched my tongue to my fingers. She jerked.
Now a little more breathless, she answered, "I could cum as
long as I can remember. Just some were more powerful than
others."
I wondered what she was trying to tell us, but before I
could frame another question, Jean asked, "Tell us about the
powerful ones, girl. Can you remember what made them that way?"
"Yes, I can . . . but I'm a little embarrassed to talk about
it."
Bending forward, I used my finger tips to pull open the lips
of her pussy, watching her finger roll her clit.
"Then all the more reason to tell us," I interjected. "It's
the stuff about which we are most embarrassed that's often behind
the greatest erotic charge."
"Exactly," chimed Jean. "Remember, you're our slave, so
tell us everything girlfriend."
I presented the wet tips of my fingers to Jean. She sniffed
them and said, "I'm beginning to understand why you keep
snitching my panties, Billy."
Margi looked back and forth between us, straining her neck
trying to see Jean behind her. I nodded to her. "Go on."