I couldn’t help myself. I had a crush on Dianna Baxter from the day of my first interview. The woman had a stunning figure, long blonde hair, big blue eyes, and legs that just didn’t quit. At the time, I already suspected I had lesbian inclinations, so I fantasized about her a lot. She was a successful, sophisticated systems analyst, terribly intelligent; yet personable and warm. Dianna was a world apart from my mother, who was a fearful, repressed, religious tyrant, afraid of almost everything—which usually amused me—since she claimed to have ‘faith’. Understandably abandoned by our dad, mom was always scowling and seldom happy, except when back-biting and gossiping with her circle of old church biddies.

Before my last year of high school finished, I’d lucked out, getting employment with Ms. Baxter. That her acreage was walking distance from our family farm was a bonus since I didn’t have a car. When the woman was called away to deal with corporate computer issues, I was expected to be available, house-sitting and caring for Dom, her lovely, well-behaved German shepherd. That provided an escape from an intolerable home life. When Dianna was away, I slept in the guest room, generally kept house, leaving Dom in the back yard while finishing grade twelve.

Now, eighteen and finished with high school, I was looking forward to a delightful summer. We lived in a rural setting, so regular, full-time jobs were scarce, unless you were male, a ranch hand or farm labourer. The opportunity to earn money for college was welcome. My duties were light, and I didn’t mind housekeeping, preparing meals for myself, or dishing out kibbles for Dom.

Fortunately, my mother never ever came to check up on me. She was intimidated by my employer, along with being terrified of the German shepherd, even though he was very well trained. Dom was a medium-large dog, around seventy pounds, fun to play with, and quite loveable. On regular intervals, I’d let him into Mrs. Baxter’s fenced backyard to play, take a pee, or dump. If he left a deposit anywhere but in his latrine area, I was responsible for scooping up the poop and tossing it on a pile of doggie dung in the far back corner. Most of the time, DOM was clever enough to simply back up to the plank enclosure of his doggie latrine, aim his rear and do his business. Mostly, he tirelessly retrieved a rubber ball, a squeaky urchin, which I’d throw until my elbow felt strained—or until Dom destroyed the toy.

Ms. Baxter was away again, flying off to some remote industrial facility, possibly for up to a week. I’d settled in. The early summer day was hot, almost every day cloudless, so when I wasn’t busy with simple household chores, watering or cutting grass, I’d taken to spending some time playing in the small, in-ground pool or a half hour tanning on a chaise on the lawn. Fortunately, Dianna’s property was well out in the country, atop a wooded ridge, separated from the main road by a very long driveway. Additionally, there was an eight-foot-high solid board fence enclosing nearly a quarter-acre of back yard, so I usually indulged in a whim, stripping naked, skinny-dipping or slathering myself with SPF-30 and stretching out nude on a chaise to tan. With the fence and remote location, there was little risk of being spied on by one of my mother’s nosey church friends, or a wandering neighborhood boy.

Early in the afternoon, after cooking my naked backside for about fifteen minutes, I turned over. My chest was okay, but I hadn’t been able to apply an adequate coating of tanning lotion to parts of my back. Now, it was time to rub lotion into my front, a procedure that I thoroughly enjoyed.

Moments after I’d rolled over and started massaging lotion into my small breasts, Dom let out a happy ‘woof’, jumping up, tail wagging, a goofy doggie grin curling his lips. Shocked, instantly blushing from chest to cheeks, I found Mrs. Baxter stepping out of the patio sliding glass doors, heading towards us in a cream, skin-tone bikini. She hugged and kissed Dom, accepting doggie licks while staring beyond the German shepherd, scoping out every exposed inch of my nude body. My boobs were right there and she’d seen everything. I cringed, wondering if she would fire me on the spot. Instead, she just smiled and kept staring.

I’d quickly brought up an arm to hide my nipples while also covering my vulva. I blushed even more, certain she must have seen that I’d shaved off all of my pubic hair. Only then did I notice an intense, enigmatic look in her big, azure eyes. Her head shook, then she gave me a bright smile.

“Heather, with that cute little pussy of yours so vulnerable, I’m surprised DOM didn’t jump up and try humping you,” she said in a bantering tone.

I blushed, puzzling, blinking rapidly as the statement registered.

“Ms. Baxter?” I said uncertainly.

“Dianna, sweetie,” she said, grinning, gesturing at the hand cupped over my pubes. “We’re both girls, so no need for the modesty,” she told me casually, hooking thumbs in her bikini bottoms, bending and shoving them down to her ankles and off, tossing them onto a drink table. That really startled me, because her mons was also hairless, cleanly shaven or waxed, and glistening as though lightly oiled. Her bikini top followed, and I couldn’t help but stare up in open admiration. The woman had a gorgeous, tight figure and an enviable rack with firm, C-cup breasts that didn’t need the support of a bra. She must have noticed my staring at her large, dark pink nipples because she laughed softly.

“Boob envy, honey?” she said teasingly. “You’re eighteen now, so your tits probably won’t develop much more, but that’s okay. Your figure is trim and lovely. Perfectly suited to your petite frame.”

That made me take in a breath. I tore my eyes from her breasts. I’d seen myriad nude pin-ups in my older brother’s secret stash of porn magazines, but never had I seen an adult woman naked—not even my own mother. Even during my years of high school and showers after physical ed, I always stripped, showered, and dressed in one of the several private cubicles rather than risk exposing myself in the larger, common shower.

While I shaved, hoping that would eventually encourage a thicker growth of my sparse bush of silky black pubic hair, I couldn’t fathom why Mrs. Baxter was shaved bare, too. She chuckled, obviously catching me staring at her prominent mons. She grinned, stepped up beside the lounger, shook back golden hair that fell past her shoulder blades, then closely examined me. She spread her feet and stretched languorously. Free of the bikini restraint, her breasts jiggled, immediately jutting in my direction, her back arched, and her slit parted, revealing glistening, crimson and pink depths of a mature woman’s pussy. I was envious, recalling furtive looks I’d taken at my own sex with a hand mirror. However sensitive, my clit always seemed tiny, and the rest was nothing to compare with Dianna’s mature form.

Cheeks going even hotter, I tore my eyes from the sight.

“What ... what did you mean? About DOM?”

“You know he’s obedient, dear,” she replied off-handedly. “He also had special training, just for me.”

“Special? Just for you? Like, protection? As a guard dog?”

She laughed, her breasts bouncing slightly. “No Heather. His basic training included that. I needed him for special ... tasks. I had ... needs ... my ex ... and girlfriends simply couldn’t satisfy.”

My blush intensified. I wasn’t stupid and knew what she meant with that last statement about needs, but her associating that with DOM still puzzled me.

She must have read the confusion in my face. With a sigh, she sank onto the grass at my side. After a sweeping glance over my naked body, she huffed out a breath, grasped my wrist, and pulled the arm away from my small breasts, pushing it down on my left side. As quickly, she swept my right hand away from my shaved pubic mound.

“You have a lovely pussy, so don’t try hiding it,” she murmured, grinning up at me. “So, Heather, why are you shaved? Is there a boyfriend who doesn’t like you with pubic hair?”

I colored, my cheeks going hot again as I shook my head.

“Don’t have a boyfriend,” I muttered, embarrassed by the admission. “I’m trying to make my hair grow thicker.”

She snorted. “Why, sweetie? More pussy hair just means more sweaty smell.” She gave a shrug. “As for your little breasts, dear, you shouldn’t be ashamed. Your girls are perfect,” she teased, giving my achingly small, A-cup breasts a studied look. We both have a pussy, so no need trying to hide yours,” she added, giving my vulva lips an appreciative examination. “You have a lovely body. Be proud of it.”

“You ... ummm ... said girlfriends?” I murmured.

She laughed. “Heather, sweetie, I’m bi, so yes, real girlfriends. Been indulging lesbian sex since I was ten. Boys and men were ... experiments in pleasure.”

My eyes strayed back to her chest. Where her nipples were a dark pink, mine were a lighter hue, my areola a very light rose. Hers were almost red, a marked contrast with her nipples. Somehow, they kept drawing my eyes.

“I guess you’re still a virgin then, yes?” She asked, sounding casual as can be, her question flooring me.

I blinked, my mouth dropping open. After a moment, I managed a silent nod.

“Well, sweetie, once you have sex, most women develop the need to get fucked regular by a nice, hard cock. Unfortunately, a lot of men are unfaithful, or infected with an STD. They also talk too much, don’t give a shit about your feelings, or providing satisfaction. My ex managed all of those and a couple other transgressions, which really twisted me up inside ... which is why I divorced the jerk.”

“But Dom?”

“A woman friend gave me the perfect solution,” she replied frankly. “A companion who was faithful, disease-free, and who wouldn’t talk about our sex life with drinking buddies or other women. A lover who has a big, hard cock, endless stamina, who enjoys fucking me and provides multiple orgasms.”

I blushed even more, understanding if not believing. I covered my mouth, letting out an astonished “Oh my God!”

I looked from her to DOM, who had returned to happily snoozing not far away in dappled shade under a big cherry tree.

“You don’t mean, you, and DOM?”

For a minute, she regarded me in silence, a different, assessing look coming into her eyes. She gave a quick nod, saying quietly, “Heather, if you want to continue house-sitting, and taking care of Dom, making college money all summer, I’d suggest you keep that delicious tidbit to yourself.”