She wanted him to touch her there.
Instead, when he reached the point where her thigh met the chair and could go no further, she felt him withdraw.
A moment passed. She held her breath. And then felt his tongue again, now at the top of her other thigh. Again, the glacially slow descent.
Oh god, no…please…
Halfway down her thigh she felt him slip his tongue under the elastic of her panties, just long enough to disturb the patch of curly hairs there–causing her to take a sudden sharp breath through her nose, and the quivering between her legs to take on a greater intensity than she could have imagined. And still he continued, taking his time, making her wait.
When he finally reached the lowest point, and again withdrew, she thought: Now. Please…now.
A moment passed. Another. Another.
No! You can’t!
Another moment. She felt as though she were hanging from a cliff by her fingernails. She wanted to grab the back of his head and push his face between her legs. She felt her hips bucking slightly, asking…begging…
She heard him inhale, slowly, through his mouth. A big breath.
Another pause…and then she felt it: his breath–hot, focused–and just strong enough to press her panties against her skin there.
Oh god, this was making the quivering even worse…this was torture…
She felt his hand close over hers, the one holding up her skirt.
She watched in her mind’s eye as her fingers were gently unfolded so that the skirt was released. She saw her hand being drawn slowly downward between her thighs…and then pressed firmly against the wet fabric of her panties. Oh god, he was making her touch herself there–right in front of his face!
His hand still covered hers and began slowly to move it up and down between her legs, applying and releasing pressure as he did so. She allowed herself to be guided into his rhythm. And even when he took his hand away, she continued, finding her own rhythm, knowing that this was what he wanted.
She was beyond embarrassment now, even when she pictured herself with her legs wide apart, her hand touching herself through those silly valentine panties; and with him watching not six inches away. In fact, she found that thinking about it made it more pleasurable, especially when she tried to picture the expression on his face as he watched. Oh god….
Her reverie was shattered when she suddenly felt him reach both his hands up under her skirt on either side of her hips, hook his fingers into the elastic of her panties…and pull.
She had just enough presence of mind to raise her hips slightly off her chair. And a good thing, as otherwise she would have been pulled right to the floor. Fortunate, too, that she had been forcing herself to breathe through her nose, as she would have let out a gasp that dwarfed the first one. As it was, it just sounded like a big sniffle.
She made a grab for her panties with the hand that was under the table but was too late. She felt her legs pulled together as her panties slid down her thighs and over her knees, then down to her feet, which were lifted, first one then the other…and then her panties were gone.
Oh god, she was sitting in the school library with no panties on, and a boy sitting right there looking at her. If they were discovered…if her parents…if the whole school…
She didn’t dare move or make the slightest sound, even, especially, when she felt her thighs being gently separated again, felt him edging close again, felt him…ohhhhh, god…nuzzling the mound of curly hair there, smelling it, burying his nose in it, kissing all around it.
And then at last his tongue: just the tip of it, slowly feeling its way along the lips there. Up…then down…up…then down.
Jane felt herself opening there like a flower, his tongue seeking nectar and then finding her.
Her whole being concentrated into a pinpoint of fire that grew hotter, and hotter…and still hotter…and then suddenly flared and burst, completely consuming her.
When she again became aware of her surroundings and opened her eyes, she was astonished that apparently so little time had passed. She had half-expected to find herself alone, school over, the room deserted and dark. But no, as near as she could tell these were the same people who had been here the last time she looked.
And none of them were staring at her. So she hadn’t screamed, as she’d thought.
She became aware of herself–still slumped in her chair, her legs wide apart–and quickly sat up, pulling her skirt down over her knees.
And froze. Oh god, he was down there! And he’d…and she’d let… Oh god, right here in the library!
Again, the now familiar feeling of deep humiliation.
Along with it, however, was an awareness of her body: drained, exhausted even, but filled with a kind of humming sensation, as if her body was a tuning fork that someone had struck. It felt wonderful. She wanted to just sit with her eyes closed and bathe in it. And he had done this–this was her ‘reward’.
A voice then, in her head. It was hers: Yes, I’m your little slut.
Her eyes flew open, and she looked at the wall-clock. It was almost time for her next class–her last of the day, thank god. The bell was going to ring any second and she had to go; he had to let her go. She couldn’t bear the thought of letting him see her face so soon after she’d… Her hand, pulling up her skirt…her hips sliding forward…Yes, I’m your little… Oh god, but she had to!
She glanced quickly around, then, steeling herself, leaned over and looked under the table, bracing herself for the sight of his face, the knowing look in his blue, blue eyes.
On the floor, next to her feet: A shoe. A crumpled white knee-sock.
He was gone.
And he’d taken her panties with him.
Chapter Three
“‘Bye, honey. We should be back by 9:30 or so.” Jane’s mother bent down, slipped an arm around her shoulder and gave her a quick hug, accompanied by a kiss on top of the head, before continuing down the porch steps and down the flagstone walk to where Jane’s father was waiting in the car, the engine running, in the late afternoon sunlight.
They were off to his Saturday night A.A. meeting. Jane’s mother had originally started going along “to be supportive”, as she’d explained to Jane at the time. Also to make sure he got there, Jane thought. But her mother had come to, if not enjoy the meetings exactly, look forward to them somewhat; to sitting and talking with the other wives and husbands in the same situation.
This of course meant that, between A.A., the counseling sessions and her parents’ other commitments, many nights Jane was left on her own. She didn’t mind; it wasn’t that much different for the Invisible Girl, really, except that she could play her records on the big stereo in the living room instead of the tinny portable in her bedroom or watch whatever she wanted on the color TV. Right now she was sitting on the porch steps, a magazine in her lap, comfortably barefoot in a pair of old red gym shorts and a gray t-shirt on this warm spring night.
She watched the car make its way down the gravel drive and disappear into the woods that surrounded their property. She loved where they lived: a large, ivy-covered brick house with a covered, white-railed wooden porch that ran the length of it in front.