| Concubines to the Rescue I'm looking at Cecelia, (C as she is known to all), marvelling at the joy she brings to my heart. She is looking through a telescope, a birthday present from her father, concentrating on the revelations it brings. Discoveries are the stuff of life, and my life has been stuffed full by the revelations of my own homosexuality. I love her. There's just no other word that will do. Sure, I have great and exciting sex with her mother, but it's C that I love. She may not appreciate love as I do, but at six she loves me in ways she does not love her mother. We both get all we can out of the sex and the intimate relationship we have. She is dressed in her newest finery, a silk-like dress in blue that finishes a few inches above her knees, gossamer thin, floating away from her petticoat in the breeze, a subtle, seductive invitation. Her legs fascinate me. Thin, tanned; her kneecaps, her ankles, her toes, the smooth skin, they are all erotic. I want to pick her up and lick every centimetre of her body. She can do no wrong. Well, not often. She turns and grins. "I can see my school." She sounds amazed. I beckon her over to where I'm sitting. "Kiss," I say softly, and, knowing the difference between mother kisses and lover kisses, she opens her mouth slightly as her lips come to mine. Her tongue slides its way past my teeth and probes. Her sweetness is medicine to my mind, her love a golden thread through my life. She's sitting on my knee, looking at my textbook on muscles, when Beth walks in. "Ready?" she asks, smiling fondly at the scene. We rise, smiling at our mother/lover, and gather our things. We're off to a party, a homecoming for John, Beth's husband, who finally turned up about three months after I arrived in the household. The party is at Inga's, the mother of Birgit, the Nordic blonde six year old who was introduced to the joys of vibrators at C's birthday party a couple of weeks earlier. John is one of the most attractive men I have ever met. Not because of his looks which aren't bad at all but he has an engaging personality, coupled with a directness that made me respect and love him at the same time. I can see at once that he and Beth are entwined, aware, and happy in each other's company. That doesn't mean he has not looked sideways at me a few times - it's always nice to be admired and I have not been exactly cold to him in return. Good fun.
*
A small sound makes me look up from my book. C is kind of staggering towards me, mouth open, eyes bulging. She has something in her hand, and is beautifully nude. Dangerous, because someone could walk into this area at any time, even though the door to the rest of the house is closed, and there's a stairs from there to here. This is called the children's area, or to be precise, the child's area, the child being Birgit. We are at the birthday party, and until a short time ago there were five children, three having recently departed with parents. We have whooped it up, snacked continuously, drunk champagne, played mildly adult games, and talked nonstop. I'm exhausted, the two remaining girls also, but C has already whispered to me that Birgit has a 'surprise' for her. They went into the latter's bedroom fifteen minutes ago, and this appears to be the outcome. She wobbles towards me, smiles, and shows me what she is holding. I have never seen anything quite like it before a small, round, blue plastic object about six inches long, with a knurled bit at the thickest end. The other end tapers to a smooth apex from which protrudes a tiny stalk with a small black rubber cup attached. Half dildo, half flyswat. Or miniature drain unblocker. Or something. "What's that?" I whisper. Somehow a normal voice seems wrong. She swallows, trying but failing to speak. Instead, she sticks the cup end between her legs, looks at me cross-eyed, then hands it over. "You do it," she mumbles. Now I'm not in the habit of taking risks like this. The children's lounge area, complete with every entertainment, view over the back garden and the beach, very nice and all, is no place to be dropping my knickers. Six year olds playing together in the nude might get a raised eyebrow, but I'd get a raised cock or voice for sure, not to mention a reputation. C edges around the chair and puts her face on my shoulder. "Go on, Lisa, it's pretty good." I look around, hear and see nothing suspicious, stand C sliding to the floor as I do so and drop jeans and undies. Big girls aren't scared, are they? Back on the chair I turn the knurling and hear the familiar sound of a vibrator, making the little cup vibrate so fast it's almost invisible. Hmmm. Well, what the hell. Open legs, slide the cup end up the folds until oh shit! Shit shit shit. Somebody has put electrodes on my pubes and turned on the current. My teeth are chattering, I can hardly see, and I have to remove the unit from my clit or I'll have a heart attack and I'm too young to die. C sits up and grins. "Like it?" I can only nod. When I have got my breath back, and knowing what to expect, I try again. Less pressure this time, and the sensation is sensational. I can feel every one of the 80,000 nerve ends in my clit firing in sequence, my brain and I get ready to explode, and when a couple of fingers enter my vagina there is an exponential increase: Ready, set, HERE I CUM! The atomic age of orgasms has arrived. I remember jerking and screaming I think feeling that hot, wonderful release, my cunt spasming, and everything a young randy woman could want. Funny, isn't it, how hard it is to tell how long you've been under? Under the rule of Orgasmus, I mean. Einstein was right time is elastic, but my, what a lovely pink haze it leaves when you've been to the promised land. When I open my eyes I'm alone. I look down and see my dishevelled state, legs wide, glistening curly hair, ravishing odours arising, and cannot help smiling. 'Keep this up, young lady, and you'll have a cunt like a prostitute.' Wry thoughts. Some Nanny. Some concubine. Who'd have thought but my musings are interrupted by two small make that glowing female figures hand in hand. My heart does a skip. Does anybody else love little girls the way I do? I really would lay down my life for them. Deep thoughts in a new situation, but I really do know the difference between love and just getting my jollies. They part hands and move each side of the chair, then each put their head on my shoulders, nestling. A moment and they begin caressing my boobs as they kiss my neck. I love my boobs, arguably my best feature, and I equally love having them played with. I put my arms around them, caring mother hen that I have turned into, and close my eyes. I'm not sure what nirvana is, except it must involve this. The pulse in my crotch reminds me of the frisson it has recently experienced. Ah After a time: "I asked Mama for a vibrator, and this is what she gave me," miss Birgit informs me, solemn faced, brandishing the instrument. "D'you like it, Lisa?" "Pretty good - hey, how about you?" "I only used it three times. My cunnie's sore." "Like me to kiss it better?" Yes, you're right. I'm insatiable. She climbs onto the chair, stands on its arms, one foot each side, and leans forwards. The exact height, the right position, and the sweet, puffy lips and gaping hood right before me. No words, just acquiescence. I stick out my tongue and gently lick the pinkness, the redness, the depths and the juice on the soft skin. I'm the bee at the flower, the ant at the sugar, the hummingbird at the nectar. Life and beauty. She carefully demounts, says, "Thank you, Lisa," and smiles at her companion in lewd. Miss C says, "So does mine," and adopts the position. Her lips are also engorged, gaping, revealing a tiny but growing clit, and so wet and sexy that I almost cum again. Instead of climbing down, however, she slides onto my lap and looks at me with those big brown eyes of hers. "We want to go to bed now, we're so tired, do we have to get a bath?" "Of course. What time is it?" Birgit says, "Half past eight. I'm hungry." Holy mackerel. I jump up, taking C with me, then put her down while I find my clothes and rip them on. No bra, no knickers, just respectability. We have been up here over three hours. Miss Lebos herself must be looking out for me. I shoo them into the bathroom, run a bath, plonk them in and tell them to behave while I rustle up some suitable high protein food. The rest of the house has quietened down, although there's laughter and voices from the pool area. Beth is asleep in an armchair, John nowhere to be seen, Inga in the kitchen, so I ask her what the girls can have to eat. Glass of bubbly in one hand, she waves a tired hand at the fridge, the table, and says, "Whatever. They OK?" I fill her in, gather ham, tomato, warmish sausage rolls, sauce, plates, a half empty bottle of bubbly, (they might need help getting off to sleep), and am about to leave when a door opens and in steps a man I have met briefly, Inga's cousin or something, but for the life of me I cannot remember his name. He stops, goggling at me, whistles softly, and says, "Lisa, let me help you with that." I shake my head and scoot. He follows. He opens the door to the stairs leading up to the kids area, something I would have had a problem with, seeing both hands are full, and somehow his hand just manages to grab a pointy braless boob and squeeze it in the process. I've had this happen before, so say, "You must be pretty randy. Want to fuck?" He nods eagerly. "Too bad. It looks as though all the other oldies have gone already." I push through the door, push it shut with my foot, and heave a sigh. Men and their libidos. He had to be at least thirty. The bath is empty, damp towels on the floor, and the bed is now occupied by two shut-eyed cherubs. In night attire, no less. Separated by the centre of the bed. They were tired. I put the food on the dresser and bend to kiss them goodnight. So beautiful. So natural. I sit on the edge of the bed and gaze. Pour myself a glass of bubbles. Look and muse. Stroke hair, kiss them again. Another glass. I really do not want to leave, but the toilet is becoming insistent. Leave the night light on and head for the loo feeling happy, knowing I'm a bit pissed as I piss, but quite content. As I pass a closed door before I go downstairs I hear murmurs. Female ones. Suggestive female ones. Intriguing. Carefully ease the door ajar and voyeuristically listen. Inga: "What you can do with your fingers, my love. Again, please." Moans. Beth: "OK, I'll do that, you've had a breather, so extend your tongue into my hot aching hole once more, my sweet." Sighs. Well, well. I've not had an orgasm for maybe two whole hours, and I can do without any other food for now. I creep into the room, close the door gently, head to the bed where the two squirming figures lie head to toe. Dim room, curtains nearly closed, smell of hot female ejaculation and sweat, heady and enticing, with more flowing as they cum yet again. Sighs and kisses, kisses and sighs. I strip, gently slide onto the bed and put my arms around the nearest form, which happens to be Inga. Her sudden fright is embarrassing, as I was sure she'd know who it was, but she's sophisticated and recovers quickly. "Lisa. Now this is a nice surprise. Beth, look who the fairies brought us." Beth, struggling up, sees me and smiles. "Lisa. The best nanny in the world. Strongest body, most inventive mind, great in all positions, totally randy and summa cum laude teacher of young girls. Can we help you, my dear?" Arch, sexy grin. "Um I think I'm ready for adult ministrations, but Inga that little vibrator. I nearly went through the ceiling. Beth, never buy C one, I'll be out of a job." She grins. "Got it in Germany. Glad you like it. Hope those girls didn't do any damage to themselves." "No, but well, um, there is a bit of early development. Better for everyone, hey?" Inga is looking at my boobs, then begins to play with them "My god, they're beautiful," she murmurs. "You're a lucky young woman. I went from an A to a B only after my pregnancy. I've always wanted breasts like yours." She leans down and began to suck. I love this. I know my features are about as regular as an outhouse I've even got odd coloured eyes but my boobs, ah, yes. They are not bad at all. And I keep my hair nice. Beth, meanwhile, has worked her way to the foot of the bed and is now prying my legs apart. "You might like her boobs, my dear, but me? I like her cunt. Tight, unmarred by male members or pregnancy, squirt-to-order, and hot, baby, hot." She puts her face in my crotch. "And the smell is out of this world. Shakespeare should have been a woman. He'd have done a bonzer job at describing this." Now I do not know how you view the joys of heaven, but take it from me, this is one of the mansions. Being sucked, fingered and drooled over by two randy women for whom you have a high regard is what the angels came up with. And, in case you didn't know, angels are lesbians. I get Inga to sit on my face so I can suck her at the same time, and we both have the female equivalent of the male kneetrembler, and in unison. They advocate walking as exercise. Nothing beats orgasms. Healthy, invigorating, addictive, wholesome. I love them. So do these two. Inga and I turn our attentions to Beth, just as soon as we are able, and Inga has to hold her hand over the randy, screaming, filthy mouth near the end. Women don't have to spread their sperm around, just their love. And we have a mιnage a cinq. "Quiet. The children might hear." Pause. "And I'm pooped." Inga was laughing as she spoke. We collapse in a heap, nuzzling and stroking, purring and meowing. My kind of party. But even parties come to an end, so we have had to reunite our bodies with our smelly clothes, hive off to the kitchen and eat. It's quite dark by now, and it's cold. It wasn't a warm day to begin with, but the chill has brought the remaining folk inside. Men talking football, stocks; women, all three, talking crθche or clothes. The respective husbands, John and Bjorn, join our repast, enquire about the children and the state of our health, John suggesting we depart soon, having had a hell of a homecoming, as he puts it. Cries of protest from our hosts, and it is soon apparent that we will stay the night. Thanks, I think, getting miss C up and home would be scarier than jaws. We soon get to our respective ablutions, mine in the children's area, where I will sleep on the pull out sofa bed. By ten I am clean and in the really comfortable bed, having checked on my charges, by ten oh two I'm asleep. Sometime after midnight I'm awake. Something has changed, and I soon discover what. There's a hand over my mouth, another inside the bedclothes sliding down my stomach searching for, well, my sex. My first thought is that I'm in a movie, a rape movie, and but it hits me that I'm not. This is real. Jesus. My horror turns to hatred, my sleep vanishes and I'm active. Hands, legs, body, all thrusting upwards, open my mouth, try to scream, hear nothing but a grunt, a hand comes free and I throw it up toward where the head of this fuckwit should be. It is. The slap hurt hurts him all right, because his hand leaves my mouth and punches me in the side of the head while he snarls, "Fuckin' bitch. I'll teach you to - " But I'm already screaming. Not sure what, "Get off, help," or something, and I don't feel the punch, but get my other hand free and push him with it as I try to roll away. His other hand appears and grabs the hand I hit him with while the other clamps back over my mouth. There's enough light in the room for his shape to be discernable now, and I reckon it's the idiot who grabbed me earlier. I'm fit, adrenaline boosted, totally outraged, and he's half crouching as he wrenches my arm back, but that doesn't stop me rolling toward him as I try to knock him off balance. This time his blow is really hard, and I'm dazed, but still try to squirm out of reach. "You know you want it, bitch, open those fuckin' legs and you'll see - " There's a thud and he stops in midstream. A groan and the figure collapses, slowly, ballet style, and I see outlined in the gloom a figure no, two figures slim, in nighties, one with something in her hands that is being swung back so that it will descend on the recumbent, struggling form. It does so swiftly, accompanied by a grunt of exertion, and finds its mark. Another thud and then silence. Except for heavy breathing. "Lisa, Lisa, are you all right?" C. The panicky voice moves away and in a moment the overhead light is on. I blink, adjusting my eyes, and feel the pain in my shoulder. Birgit, holding a baseball bat, watching her quarry for signs of movement. C, coming to me, then turning and running from the room. I look down and see the idiot attacker, blood dripping from his nose, open his eyes and stare at the bat. "Shit," he groans. The bat is swung back, but I manage to say, rolling out of bed, standing, wobbly. "No, darling, not until - " But the until is now, and he's wild eyed and manic as he grabs at the bat and hauls it and Birgit down toward him. Wobbles gone, I use the one sure way of fixing this: Kick, very hard. The balls. The penis. The googlies. He's only got track pants on, and the erection has not had time to deflate. Such an easy target. A yell and the bat is let go, another kick and he's doubled over, nursing the parts that are most precious to him. A beautiful sight. Birgit picks herself up, still clutching the weapon, looking astonished and horrified. I know she is saying to herself, 'I did this?' The room is invaded by John and Beth. They are bug eyed, speechless. C races in, goes to her friend and puts her arm around her. "You hit him so hard. You are wonderful. Saved Lisa, saved us, real heroine." Big kiss. Next in are Inga and Bjorn. They too take in the scene as John is setting our assailant in a chair. Everyone talking, I'm suddenly aware of the pain in my shoulder, the attempt made to hurt me, the effrontery, the shock, and I abruptly feel dizzy as the carpet comes up to meet me. Strong arms. Thank god I'd worn PJ's to bed. Sleep. Wake. Same scene, same actors, new script in seconds. Birgit sees my open eyes and tugs her father's arm. He looks at me, smiles a grim one, shakes his head in disbelief, frowns, taps Inga, points, and she comes and pulls a blanket over me. I've been put back on the bed. "What a mess. Lisa, what can I say? That stupid, stupid prick is my brother. Young brother, about to be dealt with as he should have been years ago. I am so sorry. Are you OK?" "Apart from a sore shoulder, I'm fine. You have a feisty daughter, Inga. Determined, quick on the uptake, and I owe her. She saved my bacon. Well, my virginity anyway. So she plays baseball?" She grinned. "No, that's her father's. He scored the winning run for Harvard with it a few years ago. And yes, we have brought her up to be self-sufficient, as far as possible. She talks of nothing but you, you know. C too, but you are her idol. We all do. You are really something special, you know." I never know how to cope with talk like this. I can only smile. "But why surgery?" "A long story. Tell you one day." John: "Want me to call the police, have him charged?" I shake my head. "That would be bad for everyone, wouldn't it? Get him some therapy, maybe?" "I'll therapy the bastard," he says grimly. Turning to Inga, he asks, "Back into rehab?" "On Christmas Island, maybe. Could become a castrato. It's what he deserves." Well, we're awake, but I for one am now exhausted. It's one a.m., and I close my eyes. The perp, subdued and silent, won't look at me as he's marched out by Bjorn. I should hope not. Sounds of quiet withdrawals, followed by lights out and the nestling of two growing, beautiful bodies as they climb in, one each side. So good, so comforting. "Love you," whispers Birgit as she kisses my neck. "Love you," whispers C as she puts her head in the crook of my arm. To be loved at all is wonderful. To be loved by two beautiful girls is a miracle. "You are my two super concubines," I tell them. "Rescuers of the weak, protectors of of the careworn, defenders of the innocent. We can be great together. We are strong, we are women, we are lovers. We, my darlings," as I give them big hugs, "are the best!"
THE END |