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All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old
Clementine woke, spooned snug to the bare back of her guardian, Royce Engel, a 30-year old attorney from GLQ, the distinguished Denver law firm retained by her father, Mitch McFee, years ago to prepare the path for her matriculation from the backwoods to modernity. She listened to him snore. The noise was neither loud nor irregular. She felt comforted and grateful for her father’s planning and his patient instruction during the month following her 18th birthday and preceding Engel’s arrival at the Cavern Mine.
Clementine ran her right hand lightly along the ridge of Royce’s hip, across his thigh to his slightly bent knee. She thought of Mitch and how alike, yet different, it was to lay with him compared with Royce. “Oh, Poppa!” She said to herself, “Thank you for teaching me how to fuck…” Sighing softly, Clementine rolled away from Engel and off the elegant canopied four-poster bed in the lavish Brown Palace suite. Her bare toes sunk into the thick rich carpet as she stood in the darkened room, letting her eyes adjust to the shadowed half-light filtering through the gauze window sheers from the city street lamps seven stories below and from the waxing last quarter moon. Gooseflesh popped and she rubbed her naked arms briskly before pulling her silk dressing gown from the back of the nearby armchair where Royce had tossed if after putting her to bed the previous evening. “Mmmmm, Chantilly…” she cooed, sotto voce, tasting the sweet cream again in her mind as her tongue pushed against her teeth and fluttered when she spoke the strange new word.
Walking to the window, Clementine wondered what time it might be. She was used to waking, naturally, about an hour or so before the McFee flock of ducks and geese began greeting the dawning twilight. Looking over the urban landscape of black buildings in a dark swath trapped between the glowing streets and the sparkling stars, she had no sense or bearings by which to judge. “Such a world!” she exclaimed, “Where do I fit now?”
Suddenly she felt a pair of strong hands on her waist, sliding along the silk, pulling her backward an inch until she was parked, back to front, against Royce. He leaned his chin on top of her golden hair, washed pale in the moonlight. “‘Such a world,’ indeed,” he whispered. “You fit where you are,” he answered her philosophically. “Right now you are in Denver, with me, on the 4th of July… the greatest day in America’s history… Independence Day…”
Startled by Engel’s warm strength, Clementine reflexively stiffened, then relaxed and sank back into his embrace. She bent her dropped arms back and held his hard muscular hams in her soft small hands. “I remember the history books Poppa gave me to read and his stories, but, you know, somehow the whole idea of breakin’ away and startin’ fresh never was as clear as you have made it for me in these past days.” Clementine smiled and scratched her nails along Royce’s thighs as she breathed her revelation.
“I’m glad for that,” Royce said, hugging his ward tighter and dividing the folds of Clementine’s gown with his hands. His left moved upward and covered her firm full right tit, squeezing it gently until he felt her nipple stiffen. He plucked the proud areola and tickled the nub’s indented tip. Meanwhile Engel’s right hand drifted south. His fingers grazed through Clementine’s thin patch of fine pubic fur and aligned with her plump cunny’s tight slice. It widened happily at his touch and, with a moist kiss, begged him enter.
“Mmmmm,” Clementine mewled softly. “I’m glad for YOU.” She spread her feet and widened her knees. Her pussy lips winked and watered his fingers, begging for still more attention.
Royce, too, was eager for greater contact. He spun the youngster in his arms and flattened her bosom on his hard chest. His thick stiff cock nestled between their stomachs as Clementine thrust her hips forward with the hug. They both dug their fingertips into each other’s butt cheeks and passionately crashed their mouths in a desperate deep kiss as if neither had ever known love before.
Dancing in the moonbeam, Royce heard a small muffled clicking sound as Clementine’s robe swirled. He grinned, realizing she had inadvertently donned his bathrobe and the four red Trojan tins were colliding in his pockets. He fumbled his right hand inside the robe’s left slash pocket and popped open a lid, retrieving a condom in its square paper packet. As they moved around the room, Royce lifted the condom to their locked mouths, broke the kiss and hissed, “Help me with the jimmy, Shortcake!”
Clementine answered by biting the paper and tearing it open while Royce held its bottom edge. He laughed at her spontaneous response, while he pulled the rubber away before she punctured it in her enthusiasm. His fingers worked away the packet’s remains as he parked Clementine’s bottom on the edge of the bed and stood proudly in front of her wide-eyed, expectantly open-mouthed face. He offered the rubber disc saying, “Try putting it on with your mouth, kiddo, but be careful not to bite!”
Clementine seized his cock in both hands and took the jimmy between her lips. Aksaray Escort Royce pressed forward. His dick bumped her nose before she pulled it down into her mouth. “This is hard,” she thought, then laughed in her head at her double-entendre. At last she managed, somehow, to center the rubber on Royce’s bulb. He pushed against the barrier and she pursed her lips tight around the plum just in front of the Trojan’s thick collar. Amazingly, she felt it unroll and snap around the helmet’s rim as Engel pushed and she held firm. Clementine, however, was impatient. She backed her mouth off the partly protected penis and completed the job with her fingers, gleefully feeling the pounding blood in the stalk as her hands slid to its root.
Falling back onto the rumpled bed covers, Clementine stuck her heels high in the air as far apart as her hips allowed. “Come to me, Jimmy!” She giggled. “COME INSIDE and PLAY!”
Royce fell upon the open cunt and pressed his anxious dick home in a single long plunge. The rubber grabbed at the separating lips then slipped smoothly as their slick juice lubricated the jacketed joint. Clementine’s tight tunnel collapsed and grabbed his dick again, squeezing and teasing as Royce rocked forward and back. He braced her boobs in his grasping hands, mauling them and madly thumbing her stiff aching nipples.
“Nnyyyaaahh!” Clementine squealed with pleasure as her tits fired hot electric bolts through her gut. Her cunny was in flames and her fluids boiled while her climax built.
Royce was an animal. His loins raged. His mind fled. He snarled and growled with every thrust and squeeze. His balls slapped Clementine’s upraised ass on his deepest drives. His dick’s head all but popped from her pussy on his furthest retreats. “Hyuuuhhn!” He grunted with each returning push.
“YiiiIIII!” Clementine screamed, shattering the early morning air. Her orgasm upon her, she tossed her head and shoulders and wailed as wave upon wave crashed in her cunt and shook her belly and heart. “Oh POPPA! Oh, ROYCE! Oh, JIMMY!” she cried nonsensically in her rapture.
Royce boiled over with a bellow. “HRRAANNNH” He felt his ejaculation so strongly he feared he blew the cover from his cock. He did not pause his piston’s plunges for a moment, however. “What is, is,” he thought to himself, gritting his teeth and grinding his hips against Clementine’s pubis while he mulched her breasts in his claws.
Clementine flailed and floundered in her throes until, at last, her hands landed on and dug into Royce’s lats while he continued pounding her. She grasped and squeezed, contracting every fiber of her being. Finally the ecstasy ebbed and she flopped, fulfilled and faint, away from Engel. He withdrew from her grotto and saw, with relief, the Trojan had held and his full load of spunk, easily and ounce or more, was a bobbing blob in the stretched balloon. He stood and carefully rolled the collar back along his shrinking dick and tugged the filled prophylactic off his purple-brown mushroom.
Royce looked down at his prostrate ward, spread-eagled on the bed, feet on the floor with her calves flat to the bed’s edge. Overcome by impulse, he upended the sack of cum and squeezed the grey greasy goop onto Clementine’s erect nipples and puffed halos. “It’s not Chantilly, Shortcake,” he said, chortling, “but it is CREAM.”
Clementine raised her head and giggled. “My goodness! I get your goodness, after all!” She declared. Propping herself on her left elbow, she craned her bent neck and brought her right breast to her mouth, stabbing it with her tongue and gathering the salty tangy jism. When her boob was clean, glistening with her saliva, she released it and rolled to her right. Repeating for her left tit, she slurped Royce’s entire product and grinned as she swallowed the last gob. “Thank you for savin’ that,” she laughed. “I’ll take all you got any time you give it… but now I’m sleepy again.”
Royce walked into the bathroom where his jeans and shirt remained from when he stripped following check-in. He pulled his watch from his pocket and opened its cover as he returned to the bedroom. “Well, kiddo, that’s no wonder,” he observed, “and it’s only just after 2 in the morning. Let’s tuck ourselves back under the sheets and let the sun wake us… what do you think?”
Clementine nodded, then, still wearing Royce’s robe, crawled up to the pillows and curled up. Engel disturbed her only enough remove the four metal boxes from his pockets and place them, beside his watch and chain, on the small table on his side of the bed. Climbing under the covers, he cuddled Clementine. She shifted as he settled in, bumping her bottom and pussy gently against his warm dick as he bent his right arm under his pillow and collected her compressed bosom in his left hand.
It was not the sun that woke Royce and Clementine at 7:30 a.m. It was Stella Stone, Engel’s 22-year old assistant, or, as she preferred to be called, his ‘Man Friday.’ Stella let herself into the GLQ suite and saw the leavings on the dessert cart. “No doubt the cream is sour,” she thought, “but the berries look tasty.” Indeed, the strawberry she plucked from the Aksaray Escort Bayan uncut side of the shortcake round was delicious when she popped it in her mouth. Licking her lips and fingers, after pinching and kissing another slice, she meandered around, taking note of the disarray, particularly observing the wrinkled hotel towel saturated with pink stains. Picking it up from the couch she saw blotches and streaks where the terry material was stiff with Royce’s starchy cum. She held the cloth briefly to her face. Her sensitive nose confirmed what her eyes beheld.
In the bathroom, Stella pulled the plug in the tub and watched pensively as the draining fragrant water sank, leaving a filmy ring high on the walls. With a wry smile, she collected the torn Trojan wrappers from the black marble counter and dropped them in the wastebasket, on top of the stretched balloons they had formerly contained and Clementine’s discarded sundress and knickers. She draped Royce’s jeans and shirt over her left arm and picked up his dusty boots.
Nodding knowingly, Stella proceeded into the bedroom, not surprised to see her boss and his young client wrapped in a cocoon of linen and thin summer weight blankets. She set the boots down in front of the closet and laid Royce’s clothes on top of them. Walking toward the window, she spied the third rubber, curled on the Persian rug like a salted garden slug, with a trailing thick spunk strand drooling from its mouth. Stella stepped back into the bathroom, pulled a Kleenex tissue from its box, and returned to the dead jimmy, picking it up and wiping the goo from the rug, leaving no trace. “Royce, Royce, Royce,” she clucked under her breath, “You HAVE been a busy boy, haven’t you.” She tossed the tissue wrapped condom in the wastebasket with its brothers, walked to the bed and shook Royce’s shoulder.
“Rise and shine!” Stella commanded crisply. As soon as Engel moved his head, she pivoted and left the bedroom, calling over her shoulder as she went, “Coffee, juice and croissants are on their way!” She was sure they were both naked and Royce had a hard-on. In her experience, men usually did get morning boners and she had fucked this one often enough to know he was not exceptional in that regard.
Stella efficiently removed the dinner dishes from the table and had them well balanced on the used dessert trolley when a there was a knock at the suite door and a small woman’s voice announced, “Room Service.” Stella answered the door smiling and ushered the waitress in with the continental breakfast.
“I’ll take that,” Stella said, matter-of-factly. “And swap you for last night’s service.” She pointed to the piled china and silver.
“Yes, ma’am, of course,” replied the waitress, accepting the fifty-cent piece Stella held out.
In a flash, Stella had the juice poured into stemware, the coffee cups filled, and the rolls and butter on the table by the front window. She saw Clementine poke her frazzled blonde hair through the bedroom doorway first, with Royce just behind, still rubbing the sleep from the corner of his eyes. As they stepped through to a much more orderly main room than they remembered, Stella greeted them, “Good Morning, Sleepy-heads!” She smiled warmly and indicated the table. “Breakfast is served. Set to it… we have oodles to do!”
Royce, by now fully awake, guided Clementine to the food. “Clementine, this is Stella Stone, my indispensable Man Friday. Stella, meet our client, Clementine McFee.”
Clementine was still a bit groggy and lacked the literary background to understand Royce’s reference to Defoe, however she certainly could see the 5′ 7″ Stella, proportionately filling her blouse and belted calf-length skirt, was no ‘man’. The disrupted schedule, the new environment with all its incredible trappings, and the chain of sexual interludes had her further discombobulated. “Will I wake and find I’m dreamin’?” she asked herself, answering with a fervent “Oh God, I HOPE NOT!” Aloud, she mumbled, “Nice to meet you, Miss Stone.”
“Oh QUIT that!” Stone quickly said, beaming at Clementine. “Call me ‘Stella’… we’re just meeting, but I am looking forward to being your girlfriend!”
“Umm, alright… Stella,” Clementine said, admiring the young woman’s peaches-and-cream complexion and short, curly red hair. She sat and broke a croissant in half, marveling at its flaky texture. “This is strange, but sweet and tasty!” She exclaimed after her first sip orange juice. “What is it?”
Stella, knowing Clementine’s history, repressed a snort and answered, evenly, ” That’s orange juice. It’s from a tree-fruit called an ‘orange.’ The hotel brings them in specially from California.”
“Oh,” Clementine said, once again feeling awe-struck by even these small bits of information. She remembered the place name, ‘California’, from her father’s stories, but had somehow gotten the impression it was a legendary unreal world.
Royce sipped his coffee as he watched his ward’s face cloud while she processed Stella’s comment. “Don’t worry, kiddo,” he encouraged, “Ask, absorb, learn… you’ll be caught up with the world quicker than you can imagine!” He smiled and Escort Aksaray looked at his assistant. “So… what’s the plan?” He asked.
“Well,” Stella replied, “As soon as you’ve finished breakfast, you should go to the lobby, find a Post and catch up on the news of the last month…”
“You mean ‘get out of my hair?'” Interrupted Engel, with a laugh.
“Exactly!” Stella laughed in return. “We girls need some time to get ready. The hotel has put up a picnic for us and I thought the park would be a perfect first outing for Clementine.” As she spoke, Stella dropped an affectionate arm around Clementine’s shoulders and casually slid the silk dressing gown back and forth over the girl’s smooth bare skin.
“Understood, Miss Stone!” Engel declared with mock formality. He finished his orange juice in a single long quaff and stood, cup and saucer in hand. “I’ll just throw on some clean clothes and leave you to it.” He stepped between Stella and Clementine, bent his head and kissed the teen’s hair. “You’ll be in good hands, kiddo. You may rely 100% on Stella.” He left the table and disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door. Fifteen minutes later Royce reappeared, neatly shaved and dapper, in white flannel slacks, a double-breasted navy linen blazer, two-toned shoes and a crisp white shirt with a red-and-white striped tie coordinated with the colorful grosgrain band on his cream straw fedora. “I’ll find something to keep me busy, ladies,” he assured as he crossed the main room to leave the suite. “Come and get me when you’re ready,” he concluded with a cheery wave.
When the door was closed, Stella said, “Follow me. Our first order of business is to get you freshened up!” She smiled and walked to the bathroom. She was already drawing water in the claw-foot tub when Clementine entered the room. “OK, honey,” Stella directed, “take off your robe and stand still for me.”
“‘OK’?” Clementine wondered, “What does THAT mean?” She understood the rest of the instruction, however, and relying on Engel’s judgement, she pushed the dark green dressing gown off her shoulders and watched it fall about her nude form.
Stella gave a soft low whistle. “You are beautiful, honey,” she said sincerely. “No wonder Royce is keen on getting into THAT” she added silently to herself. Out loud she continued, “Royce called me and guessed you were about my size… which just goes to show what men don’t know about size!” She laughed aloud, acknowledging the obvious fact that Clementine was an inch taller and at least ten pounds heavier.
Stella reached into her purse and pulled out a cloth tape measure. “I brought some things along which you should be able to wear today. Tomorrow we’ll get you a whole new wardrobe!” Stella walked around Clementine’s body while she spoke and ended standing behind the young girl, looking over her shoulder at their reflections in the mirror. She felt her pussy tingle as she scanned Clementine and smelled the mixed scent of lavender soap, strawberries, stale sweat and raw sex which clung tenaciously to her shoulders, neck and hair. Inhaling deeply and allowing herself a personal moment of sensual enjoyment, Stella raised the tape and wrapped it around Clementine’s torso across her breasts. “36 inches,” she announced, noting the fulsome girl’s bust was two inches greater than her own. Slipping the tape down to Clementine’s tummy and hips, Stella declared, “23 inches, the same as mine, and 35″, only one more than me.” She tossed the measure onto the black marble counter and laid her hands lightly on the teen’s waist. “Looks like Royce wasn’t all that far off,” she begrudgingly conceded. “Anyway, the underwear I brought will fit and the dress will be loose enough not to bind you and tight enough to let folks know you’re a woman.” She grinned broadly and winked at Clementine in the mirror as she raised her hands and gently bounced her breasts. “Nothing wrong with letting the boys see these bob and weave, anyway,” she snickered.
Clementine was nonplussed by the familiarity, yet she could not deny the pleasure she got from Stella’s touch. “You brought me clothes?” She asked. “I wondered why Royce said I wouldn’t need my old dress and drawers, but I thought he just meant… you know… temporarily…” her voice trailed off as she pondered the import of Stella’s promised ‘whole new wardrobe.’
“OK, honey, get in the tub.” Stella said, abruptly removing her hands from Clementine’s tits and chiding herself, “Slow down! Don’t scare the sweet thing!” She shut off the faucets and then pulled the stool to the end of the tub as Clementine stepped in and sat in the hot water. “You scrubby-dubby yourself real good with that soap and I’ll wash your hair, OK?” Without pausing, Stella tugged her puff-sleeved cotton blouse from her waist, unbuttoned it and hung it on a hook behind the bathroom door, following it with her bias-cut silk crepe chemise. Lifting her black and red flower print dress to her belt she sat on the stool behind Clementine’s head. Stella leaned forward, dipped her arms into the tub beside Clementine and scooped handfuls of water onto the girl’s scalp until all of her pale hair was thoroughly wet. So, too, were Stella’s breasts, housed in her Warner ‘C-cup’ soft rayon bra. She did not mind in the least. “Hand me the soap bar, honey,” Stella said softly, reaching past Clementine’s chest and intentionally skidding her right wrist across the slick pink-brown halo perking up through the white lather.
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