There was a railroad spike being driven into my forehead, and my stomach clenched with the sudden urge to vomit. I opened my eyes and regretted it instantly, squinting against the dim light in the room as my empty insides lurched violently. Gasping for air and straining against weakness, I rolled on one arm to the side of the bed and found the wastebasket lined with a plastic bag, not giving a thought to how I knew it would be there. My stomach heaved and I retched violently, expelling nothing but sour bile and stringy spit that seemed determined to never let go of my lip. A few more heaves and my stomach settled enough to let me concentrate on my skull splitting open from the inside, pounding enough to make me groan out loud and fall back onto the warm pillow. I felt something damp under my shoulder and fumbled a wet towel out, laying it back across my face where I somehow knew it had come from.
I lay in the bed and suffered.
My mouth tasted like sour shit and my muscles ached. My head throbbed. I tried to breath, get oxygen into my blood. Patches of memory returned. The wastebasket being placed. Soft soothing words as a cool washcloth was placed on my eyes. I turned to the side to see a water bottle, half full, where I knew it would be. A flashing image of cool porcelain against my face, a welcome sensation as I knelt at the toilet. Moaning and babbling incoherently. The police. I winced against the memory of hurling my guts up as my aunt watched and listened and asked questions, holding my hair.
Oh, fuck, it was all over. I groaned and rolled over, setting off a new wave of nausea. My stomach's natural state seemed to be upheaval. Fuck, what had I done? I'd destroyed everything, ruined all my plans for one stupid, regrettable night out.
"I guess you're awake then?" I heard, and felt a tender finger brush my tangled hair from my eyes, followed by a cool dampness. I sensed weight settling on the side of the bed. Aunt Janie stroked my bare upper arm tenderly. I whimpered at her touch, foggy memories of her taking care of me last night intruding on my struggling conscious thought. So understanding, caring for me even after the police dropped me off. I remembered the pile of trouble I was in.
"I've ruined everything!" I blurted weakly and started to cry.
"There, there, shush, dear," she soothed, stroking my arm. "It's gonna be okay, you'll see. Everything will turn out fine." She was still rubbing my arm when I fell back to sleep.
It was dark when I awoke again, early evening by the shadows visible through the closed curtains. My stomach had stopped roiling and my head was heavy, but not screaming at me. I was weak and grungy, and felt dirty all over. And dying of thirst. I reached for the bottle, fumbled it, then picked it up off its side and screwed off the cap. The nightstand clock read six-thirty-seven. I gulped the water down desperately, mindful of the feel in my stomach as the liquid invaded. A little queasiness, but it was staying down.
I forced myself to sit up and turn and hung my legs off the side of the bed. Fuck, I stank. I needed a toothbrush and a hot shower. And then maybe some food. My stomach grumbled at the thought of sustenance. I staggered to the bathroom and stripped off my clothes. Fuck, I was still wearing most of what I went out in last night. I grimaced and grabbed the toothbrush, starting the shower as I scrubbed out the fetid swamp in my mouth. I rinsed and stepped into the shower.
Oh, fucking hot water! It was incredible! I thought for a moment that there was no trouble that couldn't be washed away in a hot spray until I remembered everything I had thrown away last night. Unbidden, the tears came in a rush, and I cried uncontrollably under the water, shaking and sobbing until the water began cooling. Gulping breaths and quelling my sobs unsuccessfully, I washed my hair and scrubbed my body. Finally recovering but still despondent over my epic fail, I got out and dried off, wrapping the towel over my breasts, and stumbling back to my room, wet hair wrapped in a second towel.
Dressed in sweats I wandered the darkened house, looking for Julie and some food, and wondering why I hadn't seen Uncle Frank this afternoon. I found her in the den, led by the glow of the television. I treaded tentatively towards her until she looked up at me. The television volume was low and she put her phone down, raised her eyebrows and gave me a wan smile. I tried to return it, but instead I burst into new tears.
She patted the couch cushion next to her and I threw myself there, crying into her shoulder as her arms held me. She whispered soothing empty words as I blubbered about what an idiot I was in between lurching sobs until I was cried out. I let her hold me for a few more minutes until I felt I could speak. I lifted my head slowly to look at Julie.
She wasn't really my Aunt, and she was only about ten years older than I. She'd married Uncle Frank about five years ago, and she was a few years younger than he was. He was my mom’s little brother by two decades, an "accident" baby. So when she came into the family I had latched on to her, more of a friend than relative. We'd been close from the beginning, and I’d always called her just Julie.
"Is Uncle Frank here?" I asked.
"No, honey, I sent him home yesterday, after you left. He was going fishing today, early, and has to work tomorrow." Mom had asked Uncle Frank and Aunt Julie to stay with me at our house while they were away. They often looked after me when my parents took their trips.
"He- he doesn't know?" I stammered, grasping at hope beyond all reason.
"Well, he wasn't here," she began. "I mean, I did have to tell him that you were out late," she continued, brushing a hair back from my face and tucking it behind an ear. "But he doesn't know the... uh... ugly details."
I buried my face in my hands, shook my head. Julie stroked my hair while I made desperate sounds. When I pulled my hands away she was watching me carefully.
"What am I going to do, Julie?" I asked plaintively. "Mom and Dad are going to kill me!"
She hugged me, stroking my back as though I were a little child. "Let’s not get hysterical, Claire," she said confidently. "Really, there's no need to exaggerate." I heard her chuckle but there was no humor in it. "Its serious enough without the wild hyperbole."
"But Julie!" I insisted, pulling away and kneeling on the couch. "They're gonna freak! They won't let me study in Italy next semester! They said so!" I sat back, crestfallen and defeated. "I ruined everything! I really fucked up!"
"Actually, Claire, to be honest, it's a little worse than that." She reached for my hair again, brushing the locks off my forehead. "I think what they said was that you wouldn't go abroad and they wouldn't pay for your college at all." She made a conciliatory face and took my hands, holding them. "That they wouldn't pay for your last two semesters, and that you'd have to pay them back for the first two." She studied my face as she wrinkled her nose and I looked back at her, feeling even lower and more lost than ever.
She stood, pulled me to my feet. "Come on, Claire, let’s get some food in you." I followed her numbly to the kitchen. "I made spaghetti, an empty stomach is no way to face your fuck-ups, hmm?" she stated matter-of-factly. "Let’s get you fed, and not talk about this now." She sat me at the table and I stared silently as she spooned out spaghetti, thick with sauce. The scent of it tantalized me, but I looked up with my best puppy-dog eyes.
"Do you have to tell them?"
She didn't answer right away, and hope sparked in my chest. "You don't, do you? It can be our secret? Please, Julie, please, please say you won't tell?"
She hushed me, handed me a fork. "Eat, sweetie, you'll feel better after." She sat across the table and watched me. "We can talk about all that tomorrow, okay? Eat."
After the first forkful burst over my taste buds I nearly forgot my troubles and devoured the meal ravenously. She stared at me as I ate. From time to time I actually lifted my eyes to look back at her. A couple of times she looked as hungry as I did.
We stayed up a while after and she and I watched some television. She went to bed before me. I stayed up another hour or so, ignoring the TV and wallowing in my regrets. If only I could convince Julie not to tell, everything would be fine, I just knew it. But in the back of my mind was the real truth, and images of my parents fury swirled through me. Getting a job. Community college, living at home. Taking away my car. No Italy. No returning to school with my roommates from last year.
I was ruined. One stupid night, and I was ruined. I flicked off the set and slumped off to bed, not to sleep, but to stare at the ceiling and decry my own stupidity.
The next morning, Julie was already awake when I stumbled into the kitchen resignedly. She gave me a silent smile and set breakfast down on the table for me, complete with coffee and juice. She sat next to me.
"I was thinking,” she began. “About your situation." I looked at her, curious at her tone. "After you finish, take a shower. I'll come get you when you're done and we'll talk." She reached across the table for the hand that wasn't shoveling eggs into my mouth. "Maybe there's a way out of this," she said with a squeeze of my fingers.
My mouth dropped open as my spirits soared. I swallowed the mouthful of food, forcing it down to speak. "Oh, shit, Julie!" I choked out. "Really?"
"Easy," she said, and stood and gave me a hug. "We'll talk after, okay? I'm gonna jump in the shower. She straightened and gave me a look that made me feel like she saw me the way I saw my breakfast. I blinked at her. Sudden hope was surging through me like a storm. I nodded, and she left.
I was turning off the shower when the bathroom door opened. Julie was there, wearing a tee shirt and cotton lounge shorts. She dropped a towel and a robe on the counter as I peeked around the curtain.
"Put this on," she stated dismissively, "meet me in my room." She exited and pulled the door shut behind her. My body was charged with excitement, eager to hear her plan for my salvation. She was going to help me! Cover for me! I towelled my hair damp, dried myself mostly and scampered into the big terry cloth robe, anxious to hear her solution.
She was seated on the bed, but stood as I entered and steered me to where she'd been sitting. I was practically leaping out of my skin, hoping beyond hope that she would agree to pull my sorry butt out of the fire I'd set. My fingers wrestled nervously in my lap as she began to pace while she spoke, not looking at me.
"I've thought about it, Claire," she began, her long legs striding nervously back and forth the length of the room. "Your uncle knows you went out, and I told him you came home late, but we can explain that away, I think. Get him on board. He'll have nothing to tell your mom, then," she prattled. "The neighbors could be a problem, for sure, one of them may have seen the police car. If we say nothing and your mom finds out later she’ll really go ballistic and think you're hiding something." She turned to look at me. "Which, of course, we are." She smiled, but the mirth never reached her eyes, and she continued pacing. She was holding her phone, shuffling it from one hand to another as she walked. She was making me more antsy than I already was.
"No, I think we'll have to make up a reasonable story as to why they were here. I don't know, maybe say that you called them, trying to stop your friends from driving drunk, whatever, something like that," she continued. "Contain as much as we can, explain what we can't contain. You with me so far?"
I nodded, shifting excitedly on the bed, allowing myself to dream that my future wouldn't disappear.
"Good. You know," she finally stopped, and stood before me, a grave expression on her face. "You're asking a lot of me. Asking me to lie to your mother. To lie to my husband. You know that, right?"
I nodded dumbly.
"So what are you going to do for me, huh, Claire?" she asked, her voice suddenly quieter. "I mean, yeah, I can keep this incident to myself, but what about you?" She stepped to me, standing about a foot from me, looking down. "How are you going to earn this? I mean, I'm putting myself at risk here, lying for you, covering up for you. Sure, you have a lot to lose if your mom and dad find out, but you've already lost that. If I lie," she said, a note of gravity entering her voice, "you only lose what you would have lost anyway. But then I lose too. You see what I mean?"
I had visions of cleaning her house, doing her grocery shopping, washing her car. "Whatever you want, Julie, anything, I swear, just name it."
She looked at her phone, poked the screen. She aimed it at me. "You asked me not to tell your mom?"
I looked at the phone. She was recording me! I couldn't blame her, I guess. She was just trying to cover her ass, in case it all blew up later.
"Yes, I asked you. Begged you."
"And you'll do whatever I want for me to lie for you?"
"Yes, I swear it."
She nodded, swiped the screen and turned it off. She heaved a nervous sigh, then straightened her shoulders. "Okay then," she said. "I guess we have a deal."
I started to leap to my feet but my squeal caught in my throat when she held out her hand to stop me. Her face was deadly serious. "The robe," she said.
I looked down at myself, thinking maybe I had nervously pulled it open or something. "The robe, Claire." Her voice took on an icy chill. "Take off the robe and stand up."
I blinked at her, not understanding.
"What, did you turn deaf? Up," she ordered, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet. I was confused, bewildered, but I stood. She stepped back. "Now, take it off. I want to see you."
I felt the heat rise in my face. "But... but I'm not wearing any-"
"I know," she cut off, and reached for my shoulder. I trembled as she pulled it off my shoulder. "I want to see what you look like." She leaned into me. "Or did you want to go back on the deal?"
My mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Visions of my mom berating me, destroying my future, watching my friends leave for Italy without me... my head swam. I felt dizzy.
"Lets go!" Julie suddenly barked. My breath hitched as I felt my hands pulling the robe open and letting it slip off me into a pile at my feet. The flush instantly spread from my face to my exposed chest. I felt tears welling in my eyes and steeled my nerve, or tried to.
"Humph," she coughed, pointing at my dark curls beneath my belly. "That'll have to go." My confused brain wondered, incorrectly, how she expected me to get rid of my vagina. Then her hand cupped under my breast and I gasped. "These are nice enough, though," she related, eyeing me as though I were a roast in the supermarket and she was assessing the servings. "Firm and pert. Cute. A little small," she added, looking into my eyes, and I felt the shame of the small-breasted girl I'd always seen myself as. Her thumb and finger gripped my nipple, and I wondered why they were erect. "But these are adorable." She smiled. And pinched.
I howled, and suddenly my face exploded in pain and I was looking at the wall. I turned back to her, shocked and terrified, my palm touching the heated spot where she'd slapped me.
"Y- you... you slapped me!"
"Shut up, or I'll do it again, Claire." She laughed at me then, a full, throaty mocking sound that reached into my heart and clutched it tightly.
"But," I stammered, shaking and beginning to cry. "You... sex?" I couldn't even form the question, I was so shocked, so scared. "Have sex with me?" Unbidden, the memory of her hand cupping my breast returned to me.
"With me. With my friends." She smirked with disbelief. "What did you think? I was going to have you weed my flower beds?" She laughed again and a chill took me and I started shaking and tears spilled from my eyes, amplifying my shame. Naked and scared and cornered. An animal trapped by my own deceit. "I'm going to turn you out, Claire. Make you my little slut." Her words stung as though they had physical weight. I staggered and then she quickly closed the gap between us.
"And you know what, little Claire?" she added, her voice low and sinister at my ear. "You're going to love it!" There was suddenly pressure between my legs as she jammed a hand under my mound. I gasped out loud as I felt her fingers slip inside me. "Fuck, you're already wet!"
I heard a low moan squeak into the room as I realized she was right, that my naked body had betrayed me and lubricated itself. I felt her fingers burrow into me hard, lifting me to my toes. There was a second moan and I realized it was mine.
She pulled her hand away suddenly. "That fucking hair has to go, though," she spat. She held up her hand in my face and I was instantly ashamed as I saw her two middle fingers, slick spidery webs connecting them.
From me. My juices. On Julie's fingers. I was mortified, but couldn't look away. I felt my eyes talking to my vagina and wondered what was wrong with me.
"It should look like this," I heard her say, and watched her hand join the other at her shorts, pushing them down off her hips. The loose cotton slid easily down her slender legs and my eyes glued themselves to the hairless juncture of her thighs. "Just like that, got it?" she confirmed, then added, "In fact, maybe you should get a closer look." She pulled my hand, turning me around as she stepped past me to sit on the bed and scooted back. She bunched her tee shirt up under her breasts exposing her trim belly. She lifted her knees, placing her feet at the edge of the bed.
Hypnotized, I watched as her legs parted and her shaved vagina came into full view. I knew I should turn my head and look away. Girls shouldn't look at other girl's vaginas! That was, like, lesbian perversion. But like her fingers, I found I could not shield my eyes or turn aside and was instead staring at the hairless area displayed between her legs. Thin, almost flat outer lips shone white beneath her pronounced mound. As she dropped her knees wide they parted slightly, showing a hint of glistening pink inside. Nestled at the top of her slender slit her clit hood stood up proudly.
It was different from mine, I thought. And why was I staring at it?
Her words stunned me from my mental comparison. "Get closer," she told me, "Get a good look, up close and personal." I flicked my view to her face and saw her grinning with malice and was suddenly afraid again.
"I can see from here," I defended stupidly. What did she want from me? I was standing naked in her room, looking at her vagina.
"See what?" she challenged.
"Your... vagina," I whispered.
She barked out a derisive laugh and it chilled me. I felt humiliated and powerless. But if this was the price of her silence I could withstand the embarrassment.
"Oh, Claire, you're priceless! Vagina!" she chortled, then stopped. "It's a pussy, you silly little bitch." I felt slapped by the coarseness of her language and my hand involuntarily touched my face where she'd hit me previously. "My cunt," she added with a snarl. "Now get your face down there and lick it, you little shit, or I'll tell your mommy all about your little escapade!"
"No!" I screeched. "I can't do that! It's... Oh, God, that's... that's just sick!"
She sat up suddenly. "Can't? Or won't?" She reached for the phone that was next to her on the bed, poked at the screen. "Maybe mommy would like to see this!" She pushed the phone at me and I steeled myself to watch the recording of me begging her to lie for me, but gasped in shock when I saw the screen. I took the phone with trembling hands.
On the tiny screen I raved and ranted between bouts of vomiting, calling my own mother vile names, saying I didn't care what she wanted, what her threats were. At Julie's off-camera prompting I confessed to drinking too much, not caring about being brought home by the cops. I claimed my mother was so stupid she'd never know. The screen went suddenly blurry but the thin phone audio continued until my sobs drowned it out. Panic and fear and defeat swept me. I heard laughing.
"I've already made copies, so don't bother," she stated, and I realized with dismay that I'd never even thought of deleting the file. "You're mine, Claire. My little toy," she sneered, and laughed again, hostile and derisive. She leaned forward, put a hand on my head and added, "Now be a good toy, and get over here and lick my cunt!"
I cried out as she pulled my hair, tears spilling down my face. Pulled off balance as she reclined and parted her legs again, I fell forward on my knees, my head following the hand fisted in my hair and my wails of sorrow and regret were suddenly smothered in her shaved crotch. My tears mingled with her juices as her hips pushed up, pulsing into my face, crushing my nose and mouth into her musky wetness. My hands flailed at her thighs, trying to push away. My muffled cries turned to pleas of rescue, rising in pitch as I fought for air. Her sing-song taunt drowned them out even in my own ears.
"Cla-ire licked my pus-sy," she chanted, "I'm tel-ling Mom-my!" Over and over she repeated them while I flailed for air, face in her wet shaved vagina. My mouth opened, struggling for air and filling with her juices. I felt her labia in my mouth, tasted her... her... oh, God, her pussy!
Finally she let go and I fell away from her, gasping for oxygen, swallowing huge gulps of air and sobbing them out, frantic with despair and defeat. Memories of my video image battled with the impression of her pussy lips in my mouth, the taste of her. Her hips humping my face. My entire body was on fire and my skin itched and a building pressure was bubbling low in my stomach. I looked up at her, blinking away my tears.
"Now do it right," she whispered hoarsely. "Don't make me force you again." The threat in her words was clear. Timidly, breath still hitching, I crawled towards her. "Get that tongue out, Claire, I want to see it." I winced as my hands settled on her thighs. She took them in her own hands and placed them on her shaved sex, making me spread her ... pussy open. It gaped pink and wet before my eyes as her scent refilled my nostrils. "I want to see your tongue in my cunt, baby," she added softly. "Come on, baby, lick Auntie Julie's hot pussy!"
I took my first tentative lick, tasted her. Not pushed now I felt the smooth texture of her labia on my tongue, flexible and malleable, traced the seam between them. I sucked her flesh into my mouth experimentally and pulled, stretching her. I released it and pushed my tongue to the top of her slit, pushing the hood back and feeling the pearly button beneath. An electrical jolt shot from my tongue to my own vagina as she gasped. Her juices coated my tongue and spilled into my mouth, a tangy sweet and musky flavor. My body shook uncontrollably as my mind whirled, dazzled.
And then I was licking her.
Once again her hips lifted to my face, not smothering me now but rising to meet my tongue, urging my mouth to please her. In the back of my mind my hesitance and confusion lingered, telling me this was wrong, it was blackmail, I didn't have to do it. Stand up for yourself, take your punishment, it cajoled. But my body shouted it down to a whisper as I thrilled to the pleasure of licking Julie's sexy cunt.
I was no stranger to sex, but not very experienced, and never with another woman, but I dove in, licking and sucking and wanting, against all my sensible judgment, to make her cum. My own nipples were so hard they ached, and I looked up to see her pulling hers. Beneath her view I slipped a hand to my own chest and pulled at my tiny brown pebbles, feeling the sensation shoot through my torso to my groin, spilling juices down my thighs.
"Fingers," she gasped between sharp breaths, "use your fingers." She writhed under my mouth as my hand slipped down to slide through my pubic hair and find my opening, wet and waiting. I slid a finger inside myself, astounded at the feeling, and wondering why I had never done it before. And now, doing it while licking Julie! She squirmed under my mouth, hips rising and falling, her cries coming louder, less focused, more intense. I slid up to her clit, took it between pursed lips and sucked, tickling the tip inside my mouth with the end of my pointed tongue.
She screamed, and came. Hard. Into my mouth. Her juices practically exploded into me and I sucked and swallowed and drank her deeply. Between my legs a second finger joined the first and the heel of my hand pressed hard on my own mound. I rubbed furiously as I mouthed her cunt and she panted and jerked and writhed until her body settled and she pushed my head away.
"Fuck," she gasped, then laughed lightly. "Pretty good, you slut. But next time," she said from her back, speaking to the ceiling, "when I say 'use your fingers' you do what you're told, got it?" I looked up at her in confusion, my hand still working my own va... Pussy. I could feel my orgasm building and was unable to answer.
"Did you hear me?" she asked indignantly, and sat up. She looked at me incredulously. "What are you doing? Oh, fuck," she sneered. "Are you fingering yourself?"
Panic tore through me but I was unable to stop, the need to cum too strong, too close. My mouth opened and only gasps and squeaks emerged, shameful and embarrassing. Laughing, she pushed my shoulder, tipping me backwards onto the carpet.
"Show me, you cunt licking slut!" I flushed deeply scarlet, feeling the heat rise in my face as my other hand joined the first at my pussy, reaching for my clit, hard and eager as the first pushed the fingers deeper inside me. I watched her eyes travel between my legs as she pushed my knees apart with her feet, exposing my hairy pussy, ashamed of how awful and ugly it must seem to her, and suddenly wanting her to like the way my pussy looked, to make her happy.
Unable to do anything about my grooming just this second, I did the next best thing to please her. Having never masturbated before but getting off on her watching me, I dropped my head and closed my eyes and jammed a third finger into my aching cunt, fucking myself hard and deep, hurting, stretching. My other hand flew at my nubbin which felt suddenly larger than my nipple. I squeezed it between my thumb and forefinger and stroked it like I had with my chest.
"Fuck," I heard her mutter in amazement, "your fucking clit is gigantic! Look at that fucking thing!" A shudder of excitement and fulfillment shot through me, pushing my climax closer. She liked my clit! For some reason the idea made me delirious. "Pull it, slut!" she ordered, "jerk it like a cock!"
Unable to disobey and not really wanting to, I did as she ordered and stroked my little shaft. The sensation made me cry out and I came, suddenly and screaming, my body torn to shreds in an orgasm so strong that my pussy pushed my fingers out. I felt like I was turning inside out and sensed my limbs flailing wildly for what felt like days until, exhausted and drained, I collapsed in a wet heap on the carpet, heaving deep breaths and collecting the scattered fragments of my brain.
Julie was there, then stroking my hair. "Oh, Claire, you awful slut," she whispered softly, and my eyes blinked open to see her looking at me with wonder, delight and an evil, evil grin. "I'm going to have so much fun with you!"
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