by Felix Baron
Affectionately, your new Sis, Kitty-Kat.
P.S. Destroy this note.
Wanda tore it up and flushed it. ‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ as Alice would have said.
Come morning, she did as she was bid. The moms needed retail therapy, so they’d be driving to the nearest shopping mall, which was an hour and a half away. Taking that into consideration, Wanda took her new vibrator up with her. That’d help further Kitty’s ‘devious plot’ most likely, and, in any case, there was something about being watched while masturbating that was quite appealing. Would whoever it was masturbate while spying? It seemed likely. If he or she didn’t, it’d be a bit of an insult, wouldn’t it?
On the roof, in her ‘slingshot’ one-piece, Wanda blocked the door as Kitty had shown her how to do. She was wearing sunglasses so she could secretly watch the tower but no flashes showed so far. Her swimsuit, that wouldn’t be safe to swim in, was little more than a pouch for her pubes and two straps, each about two inches wide, to stretch over her nipples and link behind her neck. It was secured by a thin tape around her waist, tied with a bow. Striptease music would have been appropriate but she’d manage to put on a show without it. Kitty was fun! Wanda had never realised how good it would be to have a partner in crime. At least, not one who was a girl.
She arranged her lounger to give the best view to anyone in the tower and set the vibrator close at hand in an unspoken promise to her secret observer. There was a bar-sized fridge in the corner. She bent to search it, aiming her bum at any potential Peeping Tom. From behind, she’d look naked. There was wine, pop, water and ice in the fridge. Wanda filled a small plastic bucket with ice and selected a Lime Perrier.
Sprawled on her lounger, Wanda contrived to ‘accidentally’ brush the strap over her right breast aside. She pulled it back up but so sloppily that it slid off again.
Was the Peeper watching? He’d likely be a tall cowboy, his Stetson pushed back out of the way, his shirt off because he’d been working so hard. He’d have a rangy body, all whipcord and leather, with broad flat pectorals that bore tiny dark, and hard, nipples. There’d be a thin line of black curls from his navel down to his pubic hair. Pubic hair? Oh yes, he’d have pushed his jeans down to his knees. As he gazed through the telescope at her, he’d be slowly stroking up and down the full length of an erection that was so hard it quivered.
Wanda licked her lips. Her right hand fumbled an ice cube from the bucket. Its chill bit into her naked nipple, making hard flesh even harder. Exaggerating her response, Wanda arched up from the lounger and bit her lip. Another cube. Brush the other strap aside. Torment both nipples at once. Gasp! Pant a little. Now both cubes to her right nipple, pinching it between them. By then, it was so chilled it barely felt the torment but Wanda’s face showed as much lust as she could contrive.
What next? Should she use the vibrator? Was the unknown voyeur ready for that, or should she tease some more? One thing was sure. If he was watching, as she and Kitty suspected, she’d give him his money’s worth and for long enough that his stroking would become frantic and he’d come hard and strong.
Teasing was so much fun!
More ice in each hand. The right covered her right breast and massaged the fistful of cold into her skin. Her left …? Her left hand dripped ice-water in a trail down to her pubes and dug under the tiny pouch that barely covered her mound. When she poked a melting cube between the lips of her sex, Wanda jerked for real. That was cold!
She was hotter. Wanda could feel the ice melting and cold water filling her until it overflowed and saturated her slingshot where it held her most delicate flesh. It felt weird, but nice, even though her clit was chilled to total numbness.
She’d remember this for when she finally got to play with Henry. ‘Darling, please chill my clit with ice, till I can’t feel it, then warm it up with your mouth and tongue.’ Frozen fingers always tingled painfully when they defrosted. It’d likely be twice as bad when it was her poor clit that felt the blood-flow return.
There she was, imagining the perverted pleasure of pain again. What was wrong with you, Wanda? What would Dr Sullivan think of this?
What was she? Fantasist? Masochist? Both voyeur and exhibitionist. Bisexual? And she’d enjoyed being laced up tightly in that waspie. Was that another kink? And her Teddy? Damn, she was a one-woman catalogue of perversion. How could she stand to live with herself?
While there was still ice in her pouch, Wanda put the plastic toy down there. With her clit so numb, it felt kind of weird. She felt the vibrations in her pubic bone more than anywhere, and yet her horniness level was rising. She bore down harder, right on her clit, which she wouldn’t have been able to stand if not for the ice. It still felt like almost nothing was happening but suddenly Wanda experienced flow and release, just like a climax but without the jolt of joy. Interesting. Live and learn. Experiment and experience. She resolved to never turn down trying new ways to enjoy sex, except for the yucky ones, of course.
What next? How to hold the voyeur’s interest now that she’d already climaxed? Fake something? Somehow, that seemed distasteful.
There was a series of knocks, two, one, two. Kitty! That solved her problem. Wanda unbarred and opened the door. Kitty slipped in wearing a man’s shirt that she was holding together. Wanda spread her arms for a hug but her friend shrugged her shirt off first, leaving herself in just a pair of the stretch denim shorts that Wanda had treated her to.
Kitty closed the hug before Wanda had a chance to adjust, with lots of skin-on-skin and some unnecessary wriggling.
‘We should kiss,’ Kitty whispered into Wanda’s ear. ‘You know, for the watcher.’
‘Uh-uh. I’m being faithful to Henry, remember.’
‘Until you marry him, at least. Fair enough. It’s a complicated line you are drawing between what’s “allowed” and what’s “taboo”, but it’s your line. Let me be straight with you, Wanda, sweetheart, sooner or later I’m going to get into your panties, so resign yourself to it.’
‘Que sera sera.’ Wanda had qualms. She was hetero, right? Mainly? Being so horny and doing without for these past months had made her vulnerable, and Kitty was a very attractive young woman. Perhaps Wanda had led the girl on, just a bit? When it came down to it, though, she was in love with a wonderful, if frustrating, man. Once their marriage was being consummated on a regular basis she wouldn’t need or even be interested in sex with other people. Right? Right! She’d better redraw that line. It’d be fairer to Kitty, who seemed to be crushing on her.
‘Do you think it worked?’ she asked. ‘Was my performance fruitful or in vain?’
‘Oh, you were watched, all right.’
‘How do you know?’
‘The door to the tower is locked, from the inside.’
‘Tell me, then! Who is it?’
‘I don’t know yet, but we’ll soon find out.’
‘Grrrr! You are so frustrating, Kitty.’
‘If you’re frustrated …’ Kitty reached for Wanda.
Wanda skipped back a step. ‘Lookee, lookee but no touchee, no feelee, remember?’
‘And you call me frustrating?’ The girl looked at the wet patch on Wanda’s lounger. ‘Oh boy, did you ever –’
‘It’s ice. Melted ice, that’s all.’
‘Of course it is.’
‘I don’t do that … squirting thing.’
‘I could teach you how,’ Kitty offered, ‘but I’m a “hands on” teacher.’
‘Will you stop it? Now, do you or do you not know who the Peeper is?’
‘I don’t know who it is but I soon will, all being well.’ Kitty skinned out of her shorts and lay down, vibrator in hand. ‘That’s all I’m going to tell you for now, so don’t be a bug, please, OK?’
‘I can be patient,’ Wanda lied. ‘When will you know?’
‘Soon.’ Kitty turned the base of her toy to ‘on’ and parted her thighs. ‘Now, if you don’t want to play, I have some pent-up lust to discharge. You’re welcome to w
atch me, or our Peeper can get an exclusive.’
‘Fuck!’ Wanda, uncharacteristically, said. She sat on her own lounger, avoiding the wet spot, and said, ‘As I’m already here, carry on then. Do it.’
Chapter Twelve
Lunch was a surprisingly tasty cream of carrot soup, game pie and an anise salad, with apricot crêpes for dessert. As it was just Kitty and Wanda at the table, Consuela didn’t offer any alternatives. Wanda was dubious about the game pie’s cold jelly-set contents but her first bite sufficed to dismiss her reservations. Pheasant, venison and hare? She’d never tasted any of those before but she certainly would again. And the rich jelly was ‘to die for’. She resolved to ride Blondie that afternoon. If she didn’t start exercising more, she’d blimp up, for sure.
There was a message from the moms. They’d scored theatre tickets and would be sleeping over in town for a couple of nights. They could be reached at the Hilton, suite 1112. Kitty giggled. Wanda threw her friend a ‘look’ but couldn’t help giggling herself. Just one suite for the two of them? That was a dead giveaway, if ever there was one.
Wanda was contemplating a second crêpe when they heard raised voices from the kitchen.
Consuela said, ‘I don’t care if that’s some sort of crazy new fashion, go and wash your silly face.’
A masculine voice replied, ‘Why, Ma? I showered this morning, like always. I’m clean.’
Kitty’s foot nudged Wanda’s under the table.
Consuela continued, with steel in her voice, ‘Don’t argue with me, boy, go do it, now.’
Chuck, Consuela’s youngest, trudged through the eating room, head bowed and shoulders slouching. He glanced quickly at the women, then away, his face crimson with shame.
Once he’d left, Kitty said, ‘See, Wanda? When I set a trap for a man, he’s caught.’
Wanda asked, ‘What? How on earth did you do that?’
‘I ringed the eyepiece of the telescope with eyeliner.’
‘So that’s why he looks like a raccoon! Kitty, you are one crafty little bitch!’
‘Aren’t I now! You saw how red his face was when he realised we’d heard his mom give him hell? How red do you think it’ll be after he looks in the mirror and finds out why?’
‘So you’ve caught our Peeper. Now what are you going to do with him?’
‘Let the punishment fit the crime.’
‘Meaning?’
‘You’ll see.’
When Chuck came back through, he tried to be invisible, which is hard for six-foot two of lanky ranch-hand.
Kitty stopped him in his tracks with a sharp: ‘Chuck, we need to talk. On the side veranda, twenty minutes, got it?’
He nodded and swallowed hard.
When he got to his unwelcome appointment with Kitty and Wanda, he was full of false bravado. ‘You can’t tell Mr Henry on me,’ he said. ‘I’d tell him what you two was up to.’
Kitty replied, ‘Mr Henry? I wasn’t thinking of telling him. He wouldn’t care, anyway, but he’d sure fire your ass, young man.’
‘What then?’
‘How would you like your mom to know that you spy on Mr Henry’s lady guests?’
The boy went paper-white and clutched the hitching rail. ‘Y-you wouldn’t!’
Kitty narrowed her eyes. ‘Maybe, maybe not. It depends. Chuck, if you want to save your miserable skin, I own you. You got that?’
‘W-what do you mean?’
‘You’ll see. I say “frog”, you jump, got it?’
He nodded.
‘Frog.’
He did a little jump.
‘More enthusiasm, next time. Now, these are my instructions. Tomorrow morning, nine o’clock, report to the roof sundeck. Don’t be late.’
‘I ain’t allowed out there.’
‘Only the three of us will know. No excuses. Be there.’
‘Yes, Miss,’ he told Kitty. ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ to Wanda.
‘You may leave us.’
He actually bowed as he backed away.
‘Got him!’ Kitty said.
‘So, what will you do with him?’
‘You’ll see, my sister in conspiracy. You’ll see, tomorrow morning.’
‘I don’t get even a tiny hint?’
Kitty mused. ‘Very well, just one.’
‘And that is?’
‘There will be ice involved.’
That gave Wanda food for thought as she rode Blondie that afternoon. Some of the ideas she came up with she hoped weren’t what Kitty had in mind for Chuck, but who knew? The girl had a wicked streak as wide as a football field. She might be capable of just about anything, given a helpless male slave to torment. Being someone’s slave could be very dangerous, with the wrong mistress – or master. With the right one, on the other hand … Wanda shivered deliciously, despite the warmth of the day. The words ‘To love, honour and obey’ echoed in her mind. She and Henry hadn’t discussed their vows yet. She somehow thought they never would. Henry didn’t seem the ‘discussing’ kind of man. He seemed more the arbitrary-decision type. She’d heard it said that the best possible form of government would be a truly benevolent dictatorship. It made sense to her.
Then again, there’d been no mention of a prenuptial agreement. The day they married, she’d become a very rich woman, not that the money was relevant. Of course not. No way. She’d still marry him if he was broke, for sure. Not to disrespect wealth, though.
She nudged Blondie into a gallop so that she’d have to concentrate on riding and force her imagination to rest. Wanda rode hard until her thighs were as stretched and stiff as she hoped they’d get on her honeymoon, or even sooner, Henry willing.
At a quarter to nine the next morning, Wanda, wearing a brief summer play dress and ballet flats, made her way through the ranch’s formal dining room. Its furnishings were antique mahogany. She thought they were Duncan Phyfe, but she wasn’t sure. The table had ten chairs along each side, so, with Henry at the head and her at the foot, it’d seat twenty-two. Most likely it was only used for high days and holidays. There was a floor-to-ceiling serpentine breakfront that was really impressive, if a little overbearing.
The next room held linen chests and shelves of flatware and glasses, handy for the dining room. In the far-left corner there was the wrought-iron spiral staircase that Kitty had told her led up into the tower. The next floor was for storage, mainly plain, handmade pine furniture. It had to be from the original ranch house. Wanda couldn’t imagine how the heavy pieces could be manoeuvred down the spiral stairs, but that wasn’t her problem.
The top floor had big round windows on all four sides. There were a couple of armchairs and a bookcase that was full of dusty old books. A side table held a humidor that was empty. Close at hand was an ashtray stand and a small cabinet that had likely held booze at one time. This room had to have been Henry’s grandpa’s private retreat. What had he used the telescope for? Star-gazing or peeping at lady guests? She’d never know. Some of each, maybe?
The telescope was more modern than she expected. It was thick, with two barrels, and it wasn’t ‘telescopic’. It had no brass rings. That silly boy, Chuck, had left it aimed at the sunbathing roof. Well, that saved her from adjusting its position. Wanda tore open a wet-wipe pack and very carefully cleaned off the make-up Kitty had smeared around the eyepiece. The lad had moved an armchair to the perfect position. Wanda sank into it and put her eye to the ’scope. Half a turn of the lens brought the rooftop into perfect focus, just in time for her to see Kitty, in a minute crocheted pink bikini, let Chuck into the men-forbidden area and wedge the chair under the door’s handle.
Wanda couldn’t hear what was being said on the rooftop but Kitty seemed to be accommodating her for that with theatrical hand gestures and movements. With one hand fisted on her hip, she pointed to Chuck’s boots. He kicked out of them sheepishly. Kitty wagged a finger under his nose. He stood at attention and went red as she unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it down off his broad shoulders. Kitty walked around hi
m, inspecting his chest, shoulders and back, like he was livestock she might be persuaded to buy, if the price was right. Chuck’s lower lip quivered with embarrassment. Showing no mercy, the girl took pincer-grips of both his nipples and twisted them, hard. His knees almost buckled but he endured the humiliating torment. Wanda almost felt sorry for him. That Kitty, she was something else! Wanda could never have brought herself to treat a man like that. Now, if a man was to treat her that way, that’d be different. Hard to bear, maybe, but different.
Kitty pointed at Chuck’s jeans. He shook his head. She said something threatening. He very slowly unbuckled his belt. Kitty, showing impatience, gripped his pants on each side of his lean hips and yanked them down to mid-thigh. Defeated, he skinned them down the rest of the way and kicked out of them in just his boxers. Kitty fisted both of her own hips and made her demands. She pulled his shoulder to face him more directly at the tower, and at Wanda. Crimson-faced, the ranch-hand pushed his underwear down and stood with his hands covering his genitals. The muscles in his thighs were quivering with shame.
Kitty shook her head. She said something forceful. Chuck, as slowly as he dared, moved his hands to link behind his naked bottom. Kitty waggled a finger, telling the lad to revolve, which he did, shuffling. His cock wasn’t erect. It stood out at its base but curved down to dangle. Kitty pointed at it and gave a command. Chuck took hold of its shaft between a thumb and his fingers and gave it a long slow stroke, then another. His face was berry-red. He looked on the point of tears. If he’d fantasised about sex with Kitty in the past, which he surely had, this certainly wasn’t what he’d imagined it would be like. What was he – nineteen? He’d expect to be the seducer, not the abject sex slave. Wanda had to wonder if he’d be able to perform, sexually, under the circumstances.
His penis answered her question. It had risen to jut up at forty-five degrees, and it looked both thicker and longer.
Kitty nodded to show her approval. She pointed to Wanda’s lounger and gave his shoulder a shove. He sank back onto the long seat. Kitty gave more instructions. He raised both hands above his head to grip the top bar of the chaise. Kitty put her hands on his and squeezed, obviously telling him he wasn’t allowed to let go of the chaise. She squatted beside him and arranged the poor boy’s legs, feet flat on the ground to either side, calves straight up, knees spread wide. With his limbs parted like that, his genitals were totally unprotected, despite the way his thighs twitched from time to time. The urge to cover himself must have been hard to resist, but Kitty had the upper hand. He apparently dared not disobey her.
