The Witch Bridle

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Chapter 35

It was the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Trix called KC from Logan as soon as she got off the plane, exhausted after her long journey from Schiphol. KC looked forward to her former baby-sitter’s visit, and quickly departed to pick her friend up. She also looked forward to having the Dutch teenager living in Massachusetts, as she would be doing in a couple of months. Young Trixi had family issues across the Atlantic, and her visit would hopefully be a pleasant diversion for both of them, and particularly KC, from her usual bouts of burying herself in her work. It seemed there were so few days off for anyone this year. No breaks. Better news was that eighteen year old Trix would soon resume her college studies for the spring semester in Boston.

KC was soon on the highway, and drove north on the Expressway toward Logan. She arrived at the airport in good time, less than an hour later, though she grew tired. The two women had plenty to catch up on once Trixi passed through Customs and fetched her luggage.

Oona who remained home with the kids, greeted the two women at the breezeway once they arrived home. Charley and Louis helped with luggage and were greeted with hugs and kisses. Thankful remained in the living room when Trixi arrived, and once the others entered the kitchen, was heard playing with her Wii. When she appeared a moment later, Thankful stood quietly and respectfully. She smiled politely and finally gave Trixi a big hug, as if on cue, and then just as politely Thankful backed away, still smiled, and then stealthily returned to her Wii. The girl had no recollections of Trixi.

Oona anticipated that the “old baby sitter” would share the kids for a few days. Now that she saw the stunning young woman of exceptional beauty: that was then. Trixi babysat for the children when they lived in Virginia.

Now this one is a most welcome diversion. “And the hair! Your hair is beyond beautiful!” Oona gasped. “So much of it growing from your darling young head: lots and lots of gorgeous, untamed flaxen hair.”

“Thank you,” Trixi said with a smile. She extended her hand to Oona’s and they exchanged la bise.

It seemed young Charley was also quite appreciative of Trixi’s beauty. To the pubescent eighth grader, Trixi was perfect and perky, Like Taylor Swift with wild blonde hair. Charley took pause to collect his thoughts, and especially those instructions and remarks from Oona. He hadn’t seen his old baby-sitter in four years. Then he recalled Oona’s words on sincerity: “You needn’t be interested in what others are saying. You need only to look interested, and that’s all done with your eyes and your facial expression.”

“How are you?” Charlie finally asked.

“I am very well, thank you. My, how you have grown up, Charley. You are nearly as tall as me.”

Charley stared. Again, he recalled Oona’s lasting instructions: Passion comes from deeply within one’s self. You must reach down and pull it out. Speechless, the thirteen year old thought, “How can God improve upon such perfection?”

And all this time I thought it was Oona.

“You’re so…pretty,” Charley finally said and he quickly excused himself. “I have to go…help my sister,” he suddenly said, and the flushed teenager sped toward the living room.

Louis and Trixi exchanged similar rituals then he quickly took his leave. Young Louis also saw the attractiveness of Trixi as well as the time others took to appreciate her presence. Trixi was gorgeous in every way. And what’s with the hair and the bows? In comparison, everything else about Trixi seemed prim and proper. There were tons of hair; tons and tons of long, blonde hair. The boy rather liked it on her. The sight of it gave him a warm feeling. It was all pulled back unevenly, with cords and ribbons in all directions; an utterly lost cause.

With Charley and Louis gone, Trixi delivered herself into the welcoming embrace of Oona. “My, my, how you have grown…up,” she said. They exchanged a few words in French, and even fewer in Dutch which remained one language Oona did not speak. Few did.

The grown-ups moved next into the main hallway, and from arms’ length, KC could not help but notice the mischievous look on Oona’s face. KC had seen that look before. She stood motionless and took a deep breath, droopy from fatigue. KC said nothing. Oona’s long looks lingered. KC stared.

“And so beautiful,” Oona cheerily smiled. Once Oona’s coal-black eyes finished regarding Trixi, they coolly glided around the main hallway. Oona scanned over KC and Louis and her eyes quickly returned to Trixi.

“Isn’t that the old longcase pendulum clock you had in Fairfax?” Trixi asked KC.

KC nodded “Yes,” and smiled. “We call it the ‘grandfather clock’.”

Oona recalled meeting Trixi once or twice before, when she was just a schoolgirl, back when everyone lived in Virginia. “Yes,” she thought to herself, “this is one fine young woman, lusciously enshrined de rigueur in quite fashionable clothing.” Thin coverings, sheathed, as to sheen and to shimmer to airbrushed perfection. Then, finally, Oona motioned as if to usher the small group further into their home.

How I love to un-wrap pretty girls wrapped in nylon assortments. “One of my favorite things,” she mused. Oona was indeed smitten by the presence of the young woman. There are those who love to be worshipped. Some others love to be loved. Not staring, but noticing. “Witch powers do have a way of giving an unfair advantage over ungifted people.” Natural charms, only. “I will not disappoint her.” Apparent propriety. “Before this night is ended, this girl will be singing my praises.”

Finally seated in their nearly refurbished and now informal living room, Oona quickly took leave to check on the kitchen, and returned with a long list of food and drink options for everyone. And before anyone noticed, it was quite late. Thankful said her goodbyes, followed by Louis. Once past midnight, KC urged her son Charley to go to bed. The boy whined a bit but finally took his leave like a true gentleman. He bowed slightly and kissed Trixi on the hand and bid everyone good night. This action left KC in an oddly awkward circumstance. How do I politely pry these two apart? Trixi would sleep in the loft, a newly created guest room in the attic which was part of the renovation project.

Both Trixi and Oona showed no sign of letting up in their discussions of the world and politics, of people and cultures and college. KC was very much a part of the conversation though once past midnight she lost her steam completely and was dead-tired. She needed to take to the covers. Not jealous, but concerned. Oona had been drinking quite a bit of wine and seemed quite giddy and dizzy with pleasure. Trix was not drinking…yet. She was only eighteen. For Trixi, who was still on European time and who should have been suffering from jet lag, KC found it amazing that after such a long day Trixi was still going so strong.

It was soon after KC retired that Trixi announced her imminent departure for the guest quarters upstairs. She would follow the trail of her luggage, she said with a smile. Oona rose and offered her a slightly lingering embrace. She said she too would soon depart for her ground floor suite, once she straightened up the room a bit. When Trixi offered to help clean up, Oona politely insisted that she just go to bed and “sleep tight.”

Only a few minutes later, Trixi reappeared in the doorway of the kitchen. She told Oona she had a small second wind. She was still fully clothed, as when she first arrived, and still looked pleasant and fresh enough from the long day which started in Holland.

“I am was not quite ready to relax my mind,” she asserted. “It is far too comforting in the loft. I am afraid I may never rise from that bed,” she softly joked to Oona.

“Wine, perhaps?” Oona asked, as she took her own glass up to her mouth. The living room and the kitchen were practically back to normal, and the two returned to the former.

“No thank you.” Trixi smiled a soft smile and added, “I’m only eighteen.”

“Of course you are ma chère.” Oona’s eyes spoke volumes.

Trixi was struck with the times the two had met in Virginia. Long ago. She was left with a strange impression that Oona had somehow been waiting for her to “grow up.”

“And do you not drink wine in Holland? Or beer? I recall the age there is quite a bit lower than here in the states; sixteen I believe.”

A bit giddily, Trixi replied, “Sometimes.”

Oona smiled softly and took a sip of her wine. “Laws in Europe are quite different, ma chère.”

“They are indeed,” answered Trixi. She smiled back at Oona as her full blonde tresses beautifully framed her fresh, young face. Trixi’s budding, young breasts pressed hard against the stretch of her clingy blouse. They seemed selfishly trapped beneath the cottony pink fabric. And as the two walked the few steps back to their places in the family room, their wide ranging topics of conversation resumed, covering subjects from European customs to Virginia and Boston histories, and finally on to the Age of Enlightenment and philosophy. At times they spoke in French. They quoted Voltaire. They talked about Andy’s unexpected death, KC’s and their children’s sudden loss. Oona talked about her recent resettlement, and Trixi spoke fondly of her times in Fairfax and how she looked forward to her stay in Boston. And there was small talk as well, and predictions for the New Year, 2011, which took the pair well into the early morning hours.

Trixi’s plans for the future were fully vetted and she felt as though she spoke with a dear old friend; a dear old, brilliant, and beautiful friend. Oona was indeed a natural magnet for welcomed conversation and insight. . The two spoke on and on with all manner of high-brow discussion. And American politics were not immune from the rolling conversation. As foreign born residents, both spoke pointedly of arrogant and ill-informed Americans, and especially their leaders; those in positions of power who were responsible for the mood of its people, and the “dumbing down” way these so-called “leaders” extended their arrogance and stupidity to others. Still, they agreed, there were so many good and virtuous things about Americans which they both so dearly loved.

“It has been quite a while since my mind has been so utterly exercised,” Oona said with her most inviting French accented English.

“Are you leaving for Boston later?” Trixi timidly asked her. “KC tells me you travel there quite often.”

“Oh, no; I do not think so,” she demurred. “And certainly not at this hour,” she jibed. “I believe I said I was going to bed, but for now I would much rather stay right here on this couch. At least for a while.” And she winked.

Trixi studied Oona’s visage. She found her simply irresistible in a very unfamiliar way. “So, as you were saying?” she absently asked. What were the strange feelings that lured her to the charming beauty who sat on the couch only a few feet away?

“Ah, yes,” Oona acknowledged. “‘Love is a force that draws all things to itself.’ And this my darling makes women their own worst enemies, for the opposite of love is hate.” Oona drew in her breath, and then continued. “One is the relentless enemy of the other, and these are the poles to which all women are drawn and divided.”

Such a sylph.

Oona quoted several poems of the ancient Greek Sappho. She looked directly at Trix as she spoke each word, then she quietly remarked how her poems intensified her own attraction to women.

Trixi was suddenly and thoroughly doused with intense waves of curiosity. She impatiently anticipated what the woman would say next. She is…mesmerizing. Oona had the rich voice of a mischievous angel and stirred a singular desire in her. And a part of Trixi wanted to flee. What will she say next? She listened for more. What will she ask me?

There was only silence and harmony.

“For the first time tonight, I am speechless,” Trixi finally offered. “I think I need to retire. Old World time is finally catching up to me.”

Oona did not protest. Instead she poured herself another glass of wine. The bottle was almost gone and Oona silently motioned to Trix who wordlessly declined (again). Oona rose from the couch.

“At my age it is forbidden here in the States. My father would kill me.” Trixi remained seated and smiled broadly at Oona. She thought of her father, Loek. “It was enough for my dad to trust me to make this trip to Boston alone, and without my parents.” The young woman debated whether she should in fact rise and call it a night. She simply could not leave just now; she watched Oona for some sign of dismissal which would make her own departure a whole lot easier. Then Trixi softly said, “Nonetheless my adulthood cannot be put off forever.” She smiled childishly at Oona, and even offered her a small wink. “Just not now; I am truly sorry.”

Oona smiled and winked herself. How she thoroughly enjoyed the slow and steady seduction. “Would she?” she wondered. “I think she would.” And she recalled a certain girl she knew in her past.

“I knew a Dutch girl when I attended preparatory school in Switzerland. She was lovely, and so bright.” Oona locked eyes with Trixi. “She was beautiful as the sunrise. We were friends; just friends, really. You remind me of her.”

Trixi suddenly felt strangely rejected. She would not allow the night to end with a wounded heart. “What was her name?” she asked.

“I do not remember…and it is not important.” Oona winked her wink. “I am only thinking of you.”

Trixi stayed in her seat, looked away politely and said nothing.

“Darling, do you believe people are attracted to those they are drawn to, or that people are drawn to those they are attracted to?” Oona took a place on the couch, right beside Trixi.

“Well…yes I do believe that either could be true.” The young woman struggled to speak measuredly. “For me, it is the person I am drawn to, not their job…and not their gender that matters.” I cannot believe I just said that!

Oona the enchantress took another sip of her red wine and wryly stated, “I prefer both.” She winked and rose again, and turned in the direction of the kitchen.

“I think the dog, Stinkly, wants to go outside. Have you met Stinkly?”

With no hesitation, Trixi rose and followed Oona through the kitchen and on to the porch. It was quite cool but normal for the time of year. Stinkly departed and they watched her do her business in the shadows of early morning. She rather quickly returned to the pair and everyone went back inside. Stinkly headed upstairs to bed with one of the kids, while Oona and Trix looked at each other and, without words, took their seats back on the couch.

With a little cleverness, Oona leaned toward Trixi and gently slipped an UGG boot off Trixi’s foot, which was perched atop her right knee. It thudded harmlessly onto the wood floor between the two of them. Her shoeless foot looked vulnerable, encased as it was in luscious pink hose. Trixi adjusted herself and placed her legs gently over Oona’s lap. She silently encouraged her to remove her other boot, which Oona did without hesitation. Oona beheld ten perfectly shaped toes, gently bound and perfectly tapered and trapped under the rich hued nylon. The sight of them, so evenly arranged, compared to a doll’s feet and offered an overpowering attraction. Perfect, as if they are glued together. The girl’s toes, beautifully arranged in descending heights, now stiff with anticipation for all the attention given them. Just perfect.

“Could she?” Oona wondered. She looked on and on at Trixi, but was careful not to stare at any particular attribute. Oona scanned the entire landscape, not staring, but noticing. Look but do not stare. Notice, but do not linger. “I believe she thinks she is ready,” Oona decided. “But should she?”

Oona edged a few centimeters closer to Trixi. She took a close and sultry breath. “I love your perfume. Chanel?”

“Yes.”

I think she should, but I shall leave that to her. Oona whispered something in Trixi’s ear. Awkward, if not unintelligible, Dutch.

“I don’t know what that means,” Trixi said.

“It is not important,” said Oona. “You are most beautiful,” she whispered. And an encounter may have lasting consequences for this young, fragile girl.

They drew closer still. There were gentle wandering touches amid soft laughter, carefree as friends can have it. For Trixi, she shivered when Oona’s fingers gently grazed her cheek. “Have you ever been this close to a woman?” Oona asked her.

After a pause, Trix whispered unevenly, “I have hardly ever been this close to a boy.” She struggled now to contain her jitters.

Oona’s index finger traced lightly over the girl’s high cheekbones, and she said quietly, “What do you think ma chère?”

“I think I like it.”

“I wish not to unduly influence your opinion, my dear.” Then Oona leant over and softly kissed Trixi’s ear, through the wild tangle of pure blonde hair. Long and even strokes replaced the scattered and innocent touches.

Trixi did not respond directly, though the splendid feelings which arose from deep inside her body, spoke volumes, and her mind flushed with luxuriant visuals.

“You are still a maiden, are you not?”

Trixi slowly nodded and turned to face the raven haired beauty. Her mouth opened slightly.

Closer again and finally their lips touched. And after what seemed like an eternity of soft, thoughtful, and soulful kisses, Oona drew back. A moment later, there were more long and ever more thoughtful kisses. Oona delivered a tender squeeze of her arm and Trixi finally placed a hand upon Oona’s knee and felt her shimmery black leggings that descended into the shadows of her small matching ankle boots.

“I want to make love with you,” Trixi finally said. The last word ended with the softest sigh.

“The language of love is soft, ma chère.” she said. Oona fully subscribed to the unwritten and unspoken language of love that included the eyes, the looks, and the soft touches.

“Please don’t make me beg.”

“Do you not know what you are asking for, ma chère?” She waited only briefly for an answer which did not come. “An encounter, especially a first encounter, in the company of a skillful woman par excellence; may be too much.” My prowess sets the bar too high to ever match.

“Don’t stop,” she begged.

“Are you sure, ma chère?” The girl was so majestic; so pure, so innocent. And for all her height, she was almost dainty. Her voice was most eloquent now. “There are ways of talking about love in language rather than making love; there are ways to convey feelings directly into another’s heart.”

“You are driving me mad,” she whispered forcefully.

“Our welcoming bed shall be this oversized leather couch on which we are seated,” assured Oona. There will be no need for us to remove to my quarters; no need to transfer into my room.

Trixi was certain she had found all she would ever need in Oona. Still her words froze in her mouth.

“Touch your words to your voice and cast it out now!” Oona insisted. “The spoken word, child.”

Trixi finally whispered, “Please let us make love. I want to make love…with you.”

“Yes, yes my darling.” How I crave this one. “But not just yet.”

And the two were not the only ones who stirred in the house that morning. Like a gathering storm, dark and ominous, Lucia had strengthened sufficiently enough to keep those who would disturb the lovers, asleep and content in their beds.

Oona glided a hand up the girl’s leg and down the other, and then stayed for a moment on the nylon covered toes and feet. How the hose kept Oona away from the ultimate prize. I shall not conquer her yet.

“Let us just leave these in place for a while longer, shall we?” she suggested. I am free to see and feel. Oona repeated her hand’s movements, and could feel more than a drop of moist passion on the fine fabric of Trixi’s hose. Cool, damp sweetness seeped through. Not quite ready yet. “There is no need for nudity…yet, ma chère.”

“You are torturing me,” Trixi finally said.

“I know ma chère. I know.” We have all…day. Oona was not concerned in the least.

“It is nearly morning,” she responded.

“It is morning,” Oona smiled, deliciously torn and quite unsure where to go next with the intoxicating tryst. Then, judging from the soft purrs and low murmurs, Oona was certain that her captive was thoroughly enthralled, but not quite ready to share in all the pleasures. There were more soft kisses, and then Oona slowly moved her hand onto the girl’s breasts and then down again onto her legs, kneading her rhythmically. “I sense you are…shy. Tense. Relax ma chère. Relax.”

Women and men worshipped Oona’s prowess. How virtually anyone of her choosing would gladly be selected. Oona instantly wiped creeping thoughts of KC from her mind, and her mind forced to return fully to the young woman who swathed her. It would not take long to find her sweetest pleasure centers. With her hands she gently unhinged the catch on the back of Trixi’s skirt and smoothly slid it off her body and onto the floor.

“What if someone comes?” Trixi asked. She breathed heavily now.

“Only we shall come, ma chère.” Oona could now see the faint outline of Trixi’s pubic lips. They beckoned her in the dim light of the living room. Then, slowly, Oona moved her face down toward the salty-sweet triangle of love; she could faintly taste her sex through the fine micro thin layer of fabric that steadfastly kept her tongue away from the girl’s netherworld, and the girl from Oona’s more overtly persuasive skills. There was nothing more to keep her hand and mouth and tongue in check, than that darkened sheath of nylon. Otherwise, it offered only scant protection from Oona’s charm and skills. She passed her open palm gently and repeatedly over the outstretched fabric of Trixi’s hose, in a slow and patient rhythm.

Trixi’s back rose and within seconds her back arched as wave upon wave of pleasure gushed through her young body. She grasped alternately at Oona’s rich, flowing indigo hair and at her shoulders. She heaved without words. Oona’s head nestled deeply and hungrily onto the nest of the Dutch girl’s very being.

Trixi struggled to properly position herself and reciprocate. All over her were Oona’s mouth and hands. She begged Oona to let her give. How Trixi wanted Oona’s naked vulvae; how she struggled to put her hands and her intensely thankful mouth onto her, and as she continued to receive Oona’s hands and mouth on herself. And as if their persistent hand and mouth actions were not enough, and before she would go any further, Trixi tugged and pulled and finally removed Oona’s distinctly Caribbean styled dress which overlaid her black leggings. How she wanted to peel it all away, every stitch of clothing which covered her caramel skin, and heap everything she wore on to the floor. Trixi removed her own blouse and bra. Oona removed her own leggings for her overzealous though ineffectual partner. Oona finally rolled Trixi’s hose down her legs and finally off her lovely feet. They positioned their near-naked bodies so that everything, finally, was peeled away and discarded on the floor around the couch. Their squeezes grew deeper and more intense.

Oona varied the intensity of her teasing. Palm strokes turned to a long and steady run of her fingers along Trixi’s virginal, vaginal lips. Then with her tongue carefully positioned between her labials majora and minora, and finally in the heat of their passion Oona touched Trixi more purposely and began a slow and methodic grinding motion accompanied by a slow and loudening tempo.

“You are truly a virgin still.” Oona reflected how she lost her own so much earlier in life.

“Yes,” was all Trixi could say.

Proceed with caution. “Do you ride, ma chère?” Penetrate with the utmost of care.

“Horses? Yes; once in a while,” Trixi timidly replied. “There is no issue there.”

Gently Oona rolled Trixi onto her belly and, with her right hand, parted her legs just enough to give free movement to her hands and mouth. She mounted her partner’s buttocks, repositioned herself, and resumed a rhythm. And as her own passion rose, Oona lowered her head onto the rich, blonde tangle of Trixi’s hair and navigated through her tresses with her mouth and tongue. With her lips she sought out and found the lovely girl’s neck, her shoulders and then her tingling spine. Shivers poured over Trixi and Oona opened the girl’s blonde apex from behind, and placed her thumb firmly upon Trixi’s anus.

Perhaps this first time, I shall settle for this creature’s anal virginity.

“Bind me Oona. Gag me. Anything,” she said in short breaths. “It is maddening and I’m afraid I will scream,” she said desperately into the pillow. Flushed. “Restrain me, please, before I go completely out of control.” Still on her belly, Trixi heaved more violently now as she convulsed with pleasure. She muffled her screams into the soft couch cushions.

Oona was far from finished. And after days and weeks of frustration concerning KC – that by now they would be lovers as well as friends – master and servant. Oona would take all pleasures with this girl. How she left everything to transition so willingly from her customary jaunts in Virginia. How she would need now to build new relationships and rekindle school days’ relationships in Massachusetts and Boston and Cambridge. She changed everything for KC. And now her life was on hold, as she waited for something, anything from KC to take them both to where Oona wanted things to be. How she had turned her world aside to pursue KC.

Oona ran her hard, long nails over Trixi’s silky smooth body, before finally digging them purposefully into the girl’s firm buttocks. Trixi swooned. Had she done the right thing in moving to Massachusetts? Had she really done the right thing? Oona defied her mistress and showed her displeasure and frustration with KC as she took pleasure with her former baby-sitter who was positioned beneath her now. She knew Trixi loved her touches, even beyond Oona’s own expectations. How this symbol of purity and innocence who always aspired to goodliness desired now to serve her, the godliness which Oona had shone on her.

Still the emptiness which consumed Oona’s heart could not be ignored. The one person who resisted her still slept but a few feet away from her, alone in her widow’s bed. Oona refused to understand why someone could resist her. Here is a married mother, a widow, an older woman. And Oona thought of that padlock she left at the Pont des Artes, her last time in Paris. How she pined for KC’s company after they left Virginia and moved back to Massachusetts. How Oona had carved their initials onto the lock before throwing the key into the Seine. That was two years ago; before Drew perished. And still nothing has changed. How then, as now, Oona wished for a way to love KC.

Wet with passion, Trixi cried, “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.” Then she whispered, “Please don’t stop.”

“Of course not, ma chère.” Oona turned young Trixi back onto her back and instructively assumed a scissor-like position with her, as only an expert at such a position can lead, legs entwined just so. There were more thrusts and moves and motions, to what became a seamlessly endless pulse of their bodies. Oona’s head soon drew back from the forward motion of their pelvises. “The rhythm of love is endless,” she said.

At times, Trix pulled back as if to stifle a scream. How she worshipped this woman! I shall become an artist; an imaginative and expressive artist for her. Where she had never been with a woman before and had hardly been intimate with men, she had never gone nearly so far with anyone. Trixi was already certain she knew true love now, and would remember it always. Strange feelings. Too soon? How with her parents’ restraints and rules, with their conservative Dutch Protestant mores, they had stifled her for so long. Those rules should all be damned! Trixi would never see things in the same way again. And she loved Oona for it and everything else!

As their encounter continued, Oona was pleasantly surprised with Trixi’s inventiveness, her creativity, and her initiative. She enjoyed her soft lips on her. She is such a beauty; so unspoiled and so fresh. Still Oona hoped through her haze of blinding passion, she had not permanently scarred the girl. She liked Trixi just the way she was, with just the right measure of innocence and curiosity, and pent up sexuality.

They reversed their scissoring motion. Oona’s distractions returned as she pined for KC’s intimate touch, the touch she had never known. She pined for KC since she first arrived at her home in Westbridge. She wanted her from the moment they met in Virginia. And still now, even with this lovely and gorgeous young woman. Especially now. With KC’s former baby sitter who thoroughly enjoyed all the pleasures which Oona would so wantonly heap upon KC in her stead, Oona’s mouth now found through the blindness of her passion, the thirsty lips and the willing mouth of Trix. And with their meandering tongues, they further electrified their entangled bodies.

Trixi adored every second she was with her; their movements and positions were sometimes quick, sometimes slow. She convulsed with uncontrollable spasms and Oona was not done with her yet. She must never be done with me. She most deliberately pushed Oona onto her back and climbed on top of her. Theirs were a gaggle of black and blonde-white hair. She smothered her partner with kisses before collapsing onto her own back, soaked in sweat, drenched in passion.

Seconds later, after what seemed like an eternity, Oona’s hair brushed against Trixi’s mid-section; her lips and fingers were again busy at work. Oona performed limitless magic there.

Trixi was helpless, exhausted, and still anticipated more. Her heart drowned with passion. They jousted for a while longer, and alternated their passions and their deliveries. It was as if Trixi’s whole body were about to explode. One came then the other followed.

The young woman could barely catch her breath as she rolled from one orgasm to the next. “No more,” Trixi finally gasped. Enough!”

Still Oona would not relent. “I’m not done with you yet, ma chère.”

“Oh God: No!”

“I will tell you when you have had enough,” Oona said sternly.

Their hearts beat speedily in unison, and as they neared the end of their lovemaking, Oona greedily fulfilled her needs again and again as she grinded deeply against Trixi’s lower half. She squeezed the girls’ shoulders, as the intense waves suddenly pounded her with extreme pleasure. Her nails dug deeply into Trixi’s fair skin. Her thighs tightened. There were strong and powerful spasms of ecstasy which filled Oona’s body, quick and intense, spasms of lust – and love – for KC whose airbrushed images returned again and finished the job for her. Oona’s longing body finally gave way to enormous fulfillment. Then even she was exhausted.

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