Chapter 23: Ruth’s House

It didn’t take long to pick up a package from a courier and take the package to a house in Irvine—a suburb of Dallas. Texas. Billie and I wore tennis dresses without underwear and tennis shoes with ankle socks. We didn’t have tennis rackets, of course. Didn’t matter—we weren’t there to play tennis.

“I’ll be back at three to collect my girls,” Joe said from his green Chevy. “Have fun, girls!”

“Come in,” Ruth was trembling in excitement. I could smell her arousal, thanks to enhanced senses and experience with sexually excited women. “What did you bring me??”

“Other than ourselves, I don’t know,” I said. “Just that his box is labeled ‘ruth.’ What did you order?”

“Some 16mm film,” Ruth said as she took the box from me. “This is heavy!”

` “Did you order books?” Billie asked. “Paper is heavy.”

“I’ll get to them later,” Ruth said. “Come in and get naked.”

“I like naked,” Billie said as we both shucked shoes and dresses. “I would rather not wear clothes. Too bad that nude is lewd.”

“Oh, you two are so cute!” Ruth gushed. “Close the door. The neighbors are nosey.”

Within minutes we were writhing on the floor. Oddly enough, Ruth was still bare down there. Very bare. Billie introduced me to ‘fisting’ and Ruth went into sensory overload and passed out.

“Let her sleep,” Billie said. “I’ll stay with her. Bring a damp towel.”

While I wetted a towel, someone began moaning and shrieking. I hurried back with the towel to see that Billie was playing Ruth as if Ruth were a musical instrument. When Ruth passed out again, Billie grabbed the towel and wiped secretions off her face and body. Wiping down Ruth revived her.

“No more,” Ruth gasped. “Please, enough already.”

“I’ll make some coffee,” I said. The cannister with coffee stymied me for a moment. I filled the percolator basket half-way, then poured in water. I set out coffee cups, sugar and milk. Billie brought Ruth into the kitchen and seated her at the table. “How do you want your coffee, Ruth?”

Black with brandy. Half brandy, half coffee. Billie and I took our coffee black, no sugar. I began massaging Billie’s neck and shoulders, offered to do the same for Ruth. She shook her head, but changed her mind when Billie purred in blissful pleasure. I switched over to Ruth’s shoulders.

“Pleasure doesn’t have to mean wild monkey sex,” Billie commented. “That’s fun, but there’s more. You like being in control, don’t you? Shy girls turn you on. You prefer sex with women because it’s easier to control submissive women. Mark is your husband, right?”

Ruth nodded.

“You wear the pants in your family but it’s not working out because Mark isn’t submissive enough,” Billie continued, “and also because you’re able to push Mark around you feel that he’s not a real man.”

“It’s not like that,” Ruth weakly objected.

“Ruth,” Billie said, “I’m submissive. The wrong person will destroy me because I won’t be able to refuse. Jackie won’t let me do that. She will take care of me, protect me. My biggest danger is myself. Jackie is anything but submissive.”

“But you boss her around,” Ruth was beginning to feel the brandy and the post-sex glow and total relaxation as I worked the knots from her muscles.

“It does look that way,” I admitted. “I’m secure in the knowledge that I can stop things before someone gets hurt. When Billie wants a more intense session than I am comfortable with I recruit a referee. That way, if I’m caught up in the moment, someone else can keep our lovemaking safe.”

“Besides, I’m the one with all the experience,” Billie bragged. “Until January of this year, Jackie didn’t even pleasure herself. It was those nuns at her schools. Pleasure was sin—they kept Jackie sin-free.”

We continued the conversation in Ruth’s bathtub. Ruth didn’t like bubble baths—too girly—but with Billie and I taking turns, we persuaded her. While doing this, Billie and I continued interrogating Ruth. She was inebriated, sexually sated, and so relaxed that we poured her into the tub. Ruth had short hair but her hair was longer than ours. Still, the act of washing her hair and applying conditioner, then drying and brushing it out rendered Ruth putty in our hands. Ruth was astonished that we cleaned up—laundry (towels), mopped up the place where Billie inflicted a series of unbearably shattering orgasms on our victim, and washed and put away the few dishes.