Quinn’s parents, both prominent attorneys, were quite active in their church; and every summer they went on a mission trip to some third-world location, taking Quinn with them. That summer, Quinn left as a gangly, boyish-looking brace-face. But, whatever country they went to that summer, there must have been something in the water. Quinn came back for the fall semester with no braces, and curves that made the older girls jealous; and she wasn’t shy about flaunting her new look. It seemed that no matter what the weather, she had to appear for rehearsals in tight-fitting tap pants and a sports bra.
She now had every boy’s attention, and made the best of it. I can’t tell you if it was intentional or not, but it seemed like over the next two years she made a point of stealing the boyfriend of every girl in the troupe. The conquest was patented in its effectiveness and simplicity: lots of touching with her hands in places close to but not quite “there”, “accidental” brushing up against arms and backs, hip movements that had every guy following her with their eyes whenever she walked out of a room, and lots of hugging and cheek-kissing. But it wasn’t that she was “putting out”; as a man I was within earshot when more than one boy complained of Quinn’s “No sex, No way, No how!” policy and the blue balls that resulted. She just wanted to put another notch in her lipstick case. By the time she turned eighteen and went away to school, everyone was glad to see her go.
It was that same summer that I lost my wife Leslie and daughter Gretchen in an accident with a drunk driver. Leigh and I were already moderately wealthy, having both inherited substantial sums atop lucrative professional salaries. The life insurance and liability settlements, combined with my wife’s estate and investments left solely to me, allowed me to retire to a consultancy position and establish a charitable fund dedicated to the performing arts in Leslie’s and Gretchen’s memory. Which was a good thing, in a way, because the major financial benefactor of the theatre group, Quinn’s parents, substantially scaled back their contribution once Quinn was at school. I was able to step in and not only equal, but surpass, their support. Such it was that the group decided to designate their Christmas fund-raising revue to Leigh and Grace, which is why I was at the show when things came to a head.
Rehearsals for the event where in full swing at the Thanksgiving break when Quinn showed up at the theater, home for the holiday. After a good hour of hinting, she finally came out and asked what role she would have for the show. The two directors were kind of stunned, and made some remarks that made it sound as if the exact role was still under consideration. Absolutely no one but the directors thought that Quinn should be anything but in the audience, but it wasn’t until half the parents threatened to pull their kids that common sense prevailed.
Quinn showed up the night of the review clearly miffed, and dressed to the nines. Her family was always well turned out, but that evening she was wearing “red carpet” clothes; in this case a shimmery black cocktail dress that was so tight that it left little to the imagination, and a pair of stiletto heels that accentuated what the dress encased. She was certainly the center of attention, which was her plan all along. And to every discreet inquiry as to why she wasn’t on stage, she had a sotto voce response that sounded gracious but was actually rather snarky.
The show went off without a hitch. The applause was thunderous, with a standing ovation for Quinn’s younger sister, Amanda, which was more than I guess the girl could take. While Amanda was backstage changing, Quinn set sights on her boyfriend. By the time Amada came out, she had the poor boy panting like a puppy in heat, rubbing everything she had up against him in full view of her younger sibling. Terse recriminations were exchanged between the sisters, followed by Amanda storming out, her hapless beau in tow.
Nonplussed, Quinn began making the rounds, clearly planning to not be stuck leaving alone. But despite her obvious attempts to hook up with someone, anyone, and preferably someone who could snag her an invite to the cast party, she came up dry. As the crowds in the lobby thinned, she was suddenly nowhere to be seen.
Now it was just me and Kirsten, one of the directors, left. She gave me the same smile almost everyone else had that evening, but in the end all she could say was a choking “I hope you liked it.”
“I did,” I replied back. “I think I’ll just hang out a bit longer. I have a key. I’ll lock up.”
“Okay,” she said, clearly feeling uncomfortable. Then she left.
I went over and locked the door behind her. I’m not sure why, but as I roamed listlessly through the facility, I somehow ended up back-stage. I saw that the house and stage lights were still on. I killed the house lights, and was about to kill the stage lights, when I heard someone call out, “Hey! Who’s there?”
I stepped out onto the stage, and saw Quinn standing behind the prop sofa that was in the center. The final number of the show, in keeping with the holiday season, was an ensemble rendition of “The Christmas Song”. As each cast-member came onstage singing their part, they placed a present under the tree, and then joined the others. The boys were seated on the sofa, and the girls (who always outnumbered the boys) stood alongside and behind. The stage was now bare except for the sofa, which was bathed by a soft spot.
I walked over and stood next to Quinn. After a moment of silence, I turned to her and said, “You need to go. I’m closing up now.”
She looked at me for a minute, a petulant look on her face, and asked, “What is wrong with these people, Mr. Apiary? Why do they treat me so badly?”
“What’s wrong with them!?” I exclaimed. “What’s wrong with you!?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me!” she retorted.
“Yeah, nothing that a good hard spanking and a good hard fuck wouldn’t cure!” Did I really just say that out loud?
“What was that?”
The dam was broken. “You’re an eighteen-year old major bitch, and a first-class prick-tease, and you don’t even see it, do you?”
Her brilliant reply? “Fuck you! And for your information, I’m nineteen now.”
I shoved her face-first over the back of the couch and delivered five hard swats; WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! to her upturned rump, then pulled her back up.
At first she just glared at me with that “Is that all you’ve got?” look. But as I glared back, the look in her eyes changed from her initial defiance to a different look, one that said, “Is that all there is?”
I took off my coat and tie and draped them over the arm of the sofa. “Lose the dress,” I said. She stared at me; for the first time a look of uncertainty crossed her face. “Take it off, or go home. The choice is yours.”
She slowly reached behind her neck and unfastened the collar holding up the halter-style top part. I had assumed that she was going braless, because her nipples had been sticking through the fabric all night long. So, I wasn’t surprised that as the top fell to her waist, her naked breasts popped into view. What did surprise me was how exquisite they were. Each was about the size of a large orange, pale and firm with a slight upturn. There wasn’t a bit of sag. Each was capped with a puffy coral colored areola; and, of course, a hard, protruding nipple which looked practically the size of tire valve stem.
With the dress still hanging from her hips, she started to reach down to undo the straps to her heels. Doing a quick mental calculation of her height to the back of the sofa, I said to her, “Leave them on. Just lose the dress,” as I took off my dress shirt and folded it over the coat and tie. She looked at me puzzled, then stood back up, reached behind, unzipped the dress, and let it fall to the ground. Now I was surprised again. She wasn’t wearing any panties.
I gazed over her naked body. She was incredibly beautiful. Her pale skin was flawless, and she had just the hint of a bush of blonde hair on her mound. Now, I must admit that I hadn’t seen a naked female body in a long time. My wife and I didn’t exactly have a great sex-life when we were younger, and it was practically non-existent the last few years before her death. So, naturally, my cock was now noticeably tenting the front of my dress pants, and I could tell from the look in her eye that Quinn was aware of it.
“Bend over the back of the sofa, facing out into the audience, and place your hands on the cushion” I barked. She quickly complied. The difference in the height between the sofa back and her height in those heels caused her ass to jut up and out, just as I suspected it would. I stood behind her, taking in the sight of her perfectly formed butt cheeks, slightly reddened from the hasty spanks I had just administered; while her hairless slit peeked out from between as she held her legs tight together.