Chapter 4

Circular logic with a tacit endorsement from Mom plus a very sincere insistence on equality! This candid peek into the minds of my sisters was quite revealing but, in retrospect, not entirely surprising. It was apparent that Mom, perhaps because of her own past cravings, could not bring herself to rein them in and gave them to me so nature could take its inevitable course.

With those unasked questions answered, I moved on to the next issue. “OK. This is how it will be, girls. I will punish you if you disappoint me. Your task is to figure out what that entails.”

“That sounds fair.” The sisters said in unison.

“Good. Now, tell me what you have extrapolated about Aarti. Begin with what you know.”

In no particular order, the girls responded:

“She already knew how to get to Priscilla’s.”

“And did some personal shopping while there.”

“It is an ‘adult’ oriented store.” I added. “All shopping is personal.”

“She brought those personal items to a stranger’s home.”

“She let Molly and Alana help her strip naked in that same stranger’s business with neither complaint nor resistance.”

“Aarti left her discarded clothes in the lobby, on the floor, when Molly and Alana took her upstairs.”

“She cannot get dressed again without strutting her boobs and cunt to anyone on the ground floor.”

Me again. “She seemed be no more concerned than a person asked to take off their shoes at the entrance to any home. Your thoughts?”

“Telling herself it is customary was probably a convenient excuse to show you her body.”

“Aarti can still tell herself getting naked wasn’t voluntary but following the ‘house rules’.”

“She needs rules to obey, just like us.”

“She watched you watch her stripping naked.”

“She hesitated an extra second or two as she passed the office door, making sure you got a good look at her smooth pussy and perky, but modestly sized, titties.”

“I looked and liked what I saw. So, girls, I’m not convinced she needed an excuse. This was more like Aarti looking for an opportunity.”

I believed my naked sibs were projecting their own wishes on Aarti. I doubt if they had some special insight into Ms Toor’s head. I could be wrong. Maybe all teenaged girls had the same kinks and urges to some degree floating just beneath the surface.

“What conclusions can you draw given the known or extrapolated information?”

“She will let you become her disciplinarian because she needs direction in life as well as on stage.” Debra began the sisters’ summation.

They blew past my ‘opportunity versus excuse’ theory with a spin of their own.

“Now, Bro, I think she stripped because Barbie, Molly and Alana were naked. Peer pressure, not wanting to stand out from the crowd, was her motivation.” Dawn chimed in with her opinion. “Then, when she saw Deb and I, she ‘chose’ to decide it was the rule that girls could not wear clothes in this house, therefore she had no choice but to remain naked.”

“Outwardly, she is willing to demonstrate her professionalism and true dedication to the thespian arts by surrendering her virginity, in front of an audience, if the part requires it.” Debby wrapped up her evaluation. “In reality, she simply wants to get fucked in public but has to have an excuse, no matter how flimsy. The stage is just the most ‘acceptable’ location currently available.”

“Really? That from the little we know?”

If they were projecting their own desires into the evaluation of Aarti, then it was a mixed message. My sisters made no secret of their desire to be naked for me and let me fuck them as often as possible yet they never openly yearned to get naked in public. And I could have missed a transition or two. It happens sometimes when a guy is distracted. They had already gotten their cherries popped with Molly and Barbie’s help, participation and encouragement. That incident, with the cat book project, may have erased the public fucking taboo.

“Yes.” Debra giggled. “What we’ve seen first hand plus what Alana said about her housemate plus what we know about teen girls can be interpreted one way. The verdict is in and it is inescapable.”

“And we do not even know how much Alana said when she called to arrange the pick-ups.” Dawn agreed with her sister. “She knows you are Alana’s boss and therefore the director of this house. She did get naked and preen for you. She not only wants to get her first dick in public, she wants that dick to be yours that stretches her cunt.”

My sisters were not ones for euphemisms. But they were honors graduates of the Marilyn Chambers School for Young Ladies.

“As much as I am enjoying this little chat, girls, we have to get upstairs and do the preps for supper. The menu is New York strip steaks, grilled to order as long as the order is rare, baked potatoes with sour cream and steamed broccoli with a creamy cheese sauce.” It was time to get the show on the road. “I’ll start the charcoal and prep the brocs. Debby, wrap seven medium potatoes in aluminum foil and bake for 45 minutes at 375º. The taters are in the pantry and the foil is in the cabinet by the refrigerator. Dawn, you make sweet tea and coffee. Tea and coffee beans are in the pantry with the sugar. The grinder is on the counter next to the microwave. You can figure out the rest.”

In the kitchen, I had Barbie and Aarti take the necessary implements of cookery to the roof and the followed them up to get the fire started. Meanwhile, Debby put the spuds in the oven and set the timer. Dawn sent Molly to the roof fridge with the steaks, flour, sour cream and sharp cheddar cheese. Alana carried the heavy cream, butter, fresh button mushrooms and the broccoli right behind her.

The continually naked girls, using the furniture, the kiddie pool, the wall and the sprayer, practiced their cat poses, taking turns shooting photos with my high-end point and shoot cameras. Aarti acted as though she had found a place explore her exhibitionist nature. She, incidentally, asked us to call her ‘Arty’. To her it sounded more American and edgy actress-ish. I thought Aarti sounded more exotic but knew enough not to say a word when a teenaged girl was rebranding herself.

Guess who did most of the work. In truth, I enjoy fixing things people like so it’s not that onerous. Debra did retrieve the baked potatoes and Dawn did the tea, but I charcoaled the steaks, sautéed the mushrooms, steamed the broccoli and made the cheese sauce. Having the four-burner propane cook top at Club Med Aerie made life easier and let me watch the girls frolic.

An hour later, close to 7:30, we settled down to eat. The food, if I do say so myself, was first-rate. Even the iced tea was outstanding. Dawn saved the coffee for later. The scenery was exceptional:

Name Hgt. Age Shape Wgt. Eyes Hair Cup Sisters: Debra 5’02” 15 33-22-31 90 Green Red B Dawn 5’00” 16 35-22-34 90 Green Lt. Red B+ From Point Romain: Molly 5’09” 16 34-22-32 115 Pale Blue D. Blonde B Barbie 4’09” 16 35-21-31 85 Ice Green Red C+ From Chapel Hill: Alana 5’01” 19 36-22-33 95 Green White C+ Aarti 5’08” 18 34-21-31 105 Brown Black A+

The girls acted as if they had not eaten in weeks. There were no leftovers so I asked them to take the dirty dishes and cookware down to the kitchen. Molly brought the panna cotta back to the ‘patio’ for dessert.

In the waning light and residual heat, it hit the spot. Miss Leona is a genius. While the golden late light lasted I photographed the naked girls as they savored the cold sweet wonderfulness. It was quite the show. At some point in the next day or so, we would get around to selecting and editing the best of the bunch if the photo opportunities stopped coming one after the other. Maybe I would get the chance tonight after sleepy time. Maybe never.

Later, when the teens were busy washing up the supper detritus, I made a ‘do’ list for Saturday. We definitely needed to buy real clothes for everyone. Arty and Alana had stuff at their house in Chapel Hill, but I wanted them to have plenty to wear when staying here. I had a feeling overnights would be frequent. The other girls had nothing

The supermarkets, specialty shops and pharmacies made the list, as did supplies for the studio. Monday, I had to open for business and had publicity brochures to shoot for a women-only heath spa. The spa combined the usual small gymnasium full of fitness equipment, but had a pool, Jacuzzis, sauna and sports wear boutique. It was seriously plush and expensive.

My models and working staff were in the kitchen, putting away the dishes.

The spa management wanted to use the photos to promote all their services and the shop, too. They agreed to provide whatever the models needed to wear. The girls would keep the clothes as part of my fee. The spa’s ‘style coordinator’ would arrange for of the printing.

I could be in and out in one day, barring interference from the ‘style pretender’, with an extra day to select the best before the presentation to the client. Fortunately, the coordinator was merely an uppity employee and not all that talented, photo-wise, but she could design an effective advertising campaign, given pretty tools. Pretty pictures were my responsibility and I was good at it.

According to the owner, I had the final artistic word. Hanna Banannah could write a killer contract. Which reminded me to have her set up bank accounts for Molly and Barbie. I could add my sisters to mine and I assumed Alana and Arty were good to go. Income taxes, deductions, social security and the rest of the governmental extortion had to be dealt with.

Thora Magnuson, Hanna Karras’ part-time assistant, would probably be in the office a few days a before we got everyone’s employment status sorted out. Thora was about my age, quite cute, and all business when she came to the studio. She was affianced to a nice guy named Bjørn Toulouse. Really. He was a wizard mechanic and owned a motorcycle dealership near the James River in Richmond. Bjørn looked like a giant Dolph Lundgren.

He sold me the customized Ducati I keep in the basement. It was big and scary fast, way too much for the local Interstates. It was a speeding ticket magnet. Simply owning it showed intent to break the law.

It was a hell of a lot of fun. I took it out every chance I got.

Recently, and after a lot of discussion, Rachael, Hanna’s sixteen-year-old daughter, got permission from her Mom to go with me to VIR, near Danville, to ride the crotch rocket. I had been there before and knew the course reasonably well, which is why Hanna caved and said ‘yes’. That, and the fact that Rachael whined to no end. Teen girls are a force of nature. Hanna the Hun was toast from the beginning.

To this day, I think she allowed her kid to make the trip just so she could have a glass of wine in peace and quiet with her current beau. Hanna lost her Athenian husband in a botched carjacking when they lived in Raleigh. Rachael, too young to remember him, looked more like her second-generation Danish Mom’s family than her Mediterranean Dad.

At the time, after Sue’s departure and before the appearance of Molly, I had access to my Dad’s E-350 and used it to carry the Ducati and Rachael up to the road track. Her idea of proper protective gear was denim short-shorts, a well-filled, white bikini top and blue leather knee boots. A blatant case of fashion before function, but at least I supplied a helmet.

Picture a girl, sixteen, 5’03” tall, maybe 110 pounds, 36C-22-33, with blue eyes and red hair. Yes, Rachael Karras was a biker’s wet dream.

There were spare leathers in the van. She never asked and I never offered.

I paid for the day at the gate. The day manager checked my license endorsements, looked up my course history, grinned at my companion and assigned us a station in the pits. He let me know that several race teams were tuning sports cars for the rally coming up next weekend. “Be careful, Mr. Bailey. Some of these people are a little full of themselves. Ignore them if you can. Better to stay out of their way if you can figure where their way is.”

Rach helped me drop the ramp and unload the Ducati. “I’ll warm up the beast at the first break and then you can ride with me for a few laps.”

“OK, Dan. I’ll sit on the retaining wall and keep out of the way. Hurry back.”

We talked about nothing in general until the track was empty and our red light changed to green. I eased out onto the course and took the first lap at a moderate pace. Satisfied with the performance, I opened the throttle and let her rip for a few more rounds.

I returned to the pits as the lights went red. Four laps, perfect timing. In the meantime, Rachael had removed her shorts and boots, leaving in place the tie-on panties that matched the bikini top. In a miracle of self-control I managed to act as if her lack of appropriate clothing was normal. She had loosened all four bows, neck, back and sides. She had to know that it would be another miracle if the bikini lasted more than one lap in the wind. She would soon be naked with no place to hide, on purpose, on an exotic motorcycle and on a road course a long way from home.

I suspected she had her own agenda.

“We have to wait for the ‘all clear’, right?” She was bouncing with excitement. “Our light is still red. Will it be long?”

“It’ll be just a few minutes. The practice teams are leaving and we’ll have the track to ourselves soon. The last group is on the track now. It won’t be long.”

The track steward had posted that very tidbit on the announcement board just as I pulled in. I confirmed it on my helmet radio. “When this bunch finishes, you can have the next two hours, Mr. Bailey. Team Ferrari America has the evening reserved to test new engine designs for the Sebring endurance trials in Florida.”

“Thanks, Mr. Steward. I appreciate the heads up.” Courtesy always pays dividends.

I got Rach fitted into the helmet and ran through the passenger spiel. “Keep your feet on the pegs at all times. If you touch the mufflers, you will get burned, probably blistered. Hold onto my waist lightly and lean when I do. Otherwise, you’ll make me work harder and I will end the ride. Relax as much as you can. When I feel like you are ready, I’ll speed up.”

“Are you taking one of your cameras?” She smiled. “I would love some pictures on your bike. But only if you want to and have time.”

“I always have a camera at hand. There is a digital with a remote control and regular slide film in another, in the storage compartment on the bike.” My turn to smile. “We will have the joint to ourselves. Time will not be an issue. Nor will I.”

“When you were riding, sometimes you were mostly out of sight.” Rach reddened from her red hairline to the tops of her firm, teen-aged tits, barely contained by the loose bra. “Are there places we can stop without being seen?”

“The grandstands are empty and the manager ought to be in his office with the steward. They can see the finish line and the pit stop lane, but that is about all.” I answered as casually as I could. “I’ll tell them on the radio that we might stop for a picnic. As long as everyone knows where we are, no one will worry unless we call for assistance.”

“So, we will be alone?” Rachael was full of questions. “Do we have to come by here every lap?”

“The safety squad uses a cut through that avoids the pit area and office. We can do ¾ laps and bypass this whole area if we go that route. Is that what you want?”

“Kinda. Yes.” She blushed even brighter. “I’ll ride by here if I have to, but more private is better. I just want to feel the wind and hear noise.”

“That’s not all, Rachael. You’ll enjoy the way the noise feels, too, sitting in the little rear saddle.” She was in for a pleasant surprise. Bjørn, unashamedly a real guy, had modified the bracing on the second seat to magnify and concentrate the engine vibrations. Guess where the vibrations were concentrated.

As the day progressed, I found out she was not the only person in for surprises. The bikini was part of her not-so-secret agenda.

Just then, my radio clicked. “Dan Bailey, this is Emerson, your friendly neighborhood business manager. Bob says I can give you the green light until 6:00 PM. Ferrari is running late and will not arrive on time. You and your friend are good to go.”

The end of the public formality was welcomed. “Em, after a few laps, we might pull over for a while and grab a bite or rest for a while. If you don’t see us, not to worry. The helmet radio will be on or I’ll call in if we need help.”

“No prob. It’s a beautiful day to be out. Enjoy the ride.” Dividends.

The green light lit and we mounted up. “Rach, I’m going to do a full lap slow while you get acclimated. When we come by here, I’ll let the guys know that we’re taking the cross country route, so they don’t expect to see us at all.”

“Thank you, Dan. Don’t forget the cameras.” Again with the heated blushing.

“I have one handy all the time. I never know when the perfect picture will happen. Don’t worry. You’ll look great.”

We took the first lap easy as Rachael got used to the machine’s handling. By the time we passed the finish line, she was riding like a veteran biker babe. And looking 1000% prettier. The bikini survived the slow ride but its days were numbered.

We radioed our plans to the office, received clearance and were assured that the entire road course was ours. Her helmet radio was on my channel 2, so I switched mine from channel 1 to 2. We could talk and the guys in the office could not listen.

As soon as we were out of sight of the office, I let the Ducati scream. Rachael squealed in shocked excitement as her clit made solid contact with the ‘custom’ part of the seat when she slid forward to put her arms around my waist. The ‘saddle horn’ modification was working as designed.

“I can’t believe how much fun this is! Can we do it again, Dan?”

“Sure, sweetie. That’s why we are here. Hold on for a moment.” I stopped and stripped to the waist, tossing the jacket and shirt to the roadside. behind a short hill, in a good place to stop for a ‘picnic’ later. “I like the way the wind feels, too.”

Her premeditated agenda was revealed. So was she. Within half a lap, her bikini bra and panties were long gone, blown away, lost on the track forever and the naked teen was coming constantly with her bare tits pressed against my back. Two laps later, Rachael was screaming as loudly as the bike.