cupped the soft balls of Monique's arse, fingers sinking deeply into the pillowlike cheeks and fondling them firmly.
Glueing her lips as passionately as she could to the French girl's cunt, Jean sucked with a relentless ardour. She began to shake her head violently from side to side, making her beautifully long hair fall across Monique's thighs and crotch — hiding their lesbian activity like a blanket.
Monique's ankles suddenly locked together around the small of her back and Jean felt the girl's hands grip her head, pushing her strongly against the well-sucked sex.
She began to rock and shiver so uncontrollably that it was all Jean could do to keep her mouth in position. Monique babbled incoherently in French, threshing her body in a furious tantrum. Jean put her fingers into the crease of the girl's arse — running her nails quickly up and down the warm divide and finding at last the entrance to Monique's anus.
Scrabbling wildly, she thrust her forefinger into the tender meat, ignoring Monique's shrill cry of protest. Firmly embedded inside, Jean's finger wiggled around and around; she could feel, through the wafer-thin membrane separating Monique's two orifices, her tongue as it continually darted and lapped at the innermost depths of the girl's cunt. It was beginning to ache, tiring from the strenuous and unaccustomed exercise. But Jean knew that she couldn't withdraw it until Monique had been given every possible satisfaction…
And so frantically was the French girl thrusting herself up and down on the bed that Jean knew her climax couldn't be too distant. Monique was gasping for breath, her mouth opening and closing like a stranded fish: she flailed desperately, pulling Jean's hair and bringing tears to the woman's eyes.
Then — as Jean's tongue lapped suddenly upwards to rub insistently on the stiff red clitoris — Monique went completely stiff. Her entire body tensed as the girl summoned her last ounce of strength… and the next moment Jean's mouth was filled with the runny love-spunk. It jetted hotly and thickly down her throat, forcing her to swallow again and again…
When Monique's orgasm finally abated, Jean kept her mouth pressed tightly against the girl's cunt. Her own quim itched to have the same treatment, but she wasn't sure if Monique would perform the service for her. Perhaps, she thought, now that the girl had fully spent her own lust, Monique would feel ashamed and guilty. She would realise that she had given in to a weak and shameful impulse and want nothing more to do with her. And so Jean fearfully stayed in the same position, afraid to move even slightly in case she broke the spell…
As she ought to have guessed, her fears were completely groundless. Monique, after regaining her breath, lifted Jean's face gently away from her crotch.
“That was so wonderful!” the girl murmured. “So very wonderful, Jean! Please — let me do the same for you. I'd like to kiss you so much!”
Jean raised her eyes to Monique's, gratitude and desire naked on her face. “Oh, Monique!” she sighed. “Would you? Would you really? It means so much to me, you know — so very much!”
The girl, flushed and still breathing heavily, helped Jean to slide up the bed on top of her again by putting her hands under the woman's armpits. “I want to make you happy, Jean', she told the girl softly. “The way you've made me happy! I would do anything for you now, darling — you know that, don't you? Anything in the world! No one has ever given me so much love and pleasure — no one! You're the first person I have ever felt this way about, Jean. The very first!”
As Jean's arms went around Monique again and she joined her lips to the girl's, a strange feeling of power seemed to light up in her mind. “I would do anything in the world for you…” Monique's words echoed again and again, resounding with a meaning — or the possibility of a meaning — which Jean could not yet grasp.
If it were true, if Monique really felt so strongly towards her and the girl's words weren't merely the result of a momentary passion, could it be barely possible that… That Monique might help her to make Michael her lover again?
The scarcely tangible notion seemed fantastic, the product of an over-heated and long frustrated imagination. In any case, how could Monique help her? What could she possibly do that Jean herself hadn't tried? Intrigues such as she was beginning to entertain simply didn't happen in the rarefied stockbroker belt of Surrey! They couldn't! The vague and ethereal hope was too impossibly romantic, too novelettish. She had been reading too many magazine stories.
And yet… Jean opened her eyes a little and looked into Monique's gentle face. Even if the scheme she worked out was a total failure, what possible harm could it do to attempt something which might make Michael her husband in more than just name?
Monique, she knew perfectly well, meant very little to her. If the girl was hurt — that was too bad! She was a sweet and passionate child who had given her a great deal of pleasure: but there was nothing more to it than that. There were far more important things to consider than the emotions of an au pair girl.
She would turn the matter over carefully in her mind, Jean decided. Meantime, just in case she did put some sort of intrigue into operation, it was clearly important that Monique felt as close to her and as dependent on her as possible. And Jean knew of only one sure way in which this could be achieved…
As she returned her full attention back to the girl, Jean realised with a guilty stab of shame that she was being completely ruthless in manipulating Monique's emotions. No better than Michael, in fact.
Yet, she quickly assured herself, Monique was very young — she would soon get over any heartache which their association might cause her. Whereas she, Jean, had to grab at anything which promised to bring her happiness. Her time was rapidly running out… She was well over thirty and had relatively few years left of sexual attraction. She owed it to herself to make the most of them.
And in any case, the words “I love you” which she'd breathed to Monique during their intimate moments weren't entirely a lie. Perhaps she had murmured them in a fit of blind passion — at a time when she felt an overwhelming gratitude towards the girl for helping her to recapture the joys of sex — but nevertheless there must be at least an element of truth in them.
Jean realised at this point in her rapid assessment of her feelings that her mind was a frightening network of disconnected and clashing impulses. Her motives in initiating the affair with Monique seemed terrifyingly ambiguous; she could no longer distinguish between her genuine desires and the ones which she was supposedly acting-out.
For a moment or two Jean felt utterly, totally unsure of herself. What did she want? Was it really Michael? Monique?
Or perhaps neither of them… She forced her thoughts away from the horrible white pit which yawned in front of her. It threatened to engulf her completely, to swallow her up in a horrifying maze of indecision.
She gripped Monique's body tightly, clinging almost desperately to the girl as she fought her way back to sanity. “I must hold on to reality', she repeated over and over to herself. “And reality means Michael… it does, it does! It means having Michael close to me again! And the only way I can win him back is through Monique!”
Jean gradually drew away from the chasm of ambivalence. She sought refuge in the soft warmth of Monique's body, pushing herself against the girl until she could almost feel her flesh merging into Monique's. Slowly, the throbbing in her mind subsided, leaving Jean with a sharp, insatiable desire to make love — passionate, urgent, demanding love…
3
She pressed her fingers into the bare skin of Monique's back, running them up and down the white flesh in a firm, massaging caress. How smooth Monique's shoulders felt! Jean's hands glided upwards to them, spending long, languorous moments just touching the gentle curves.
The sensation of Jean's fingers on her shoulders seemed to fire Monique with an intense lust — as if the caress of the woman's fingers at that particular place triggered off an erotic response in the girl.
Realising that she had found an especially vulnerable spot, Jean increased the pressure of her hands there. She turned her fingers around and around, making Monique's shoulders move under them, the soft flesh rippling under her touch. Monique squirmed against her, the girl moaning into Jean's ear: “I was supposed to give you pleasure this time, darling!” she sighed. “Instead, you're getting me all excited again!”
Jean continued her fondling of the beautiful shoulders, now increasing the pressure of her fingers so that
