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Introduction:

The story continues.
Chapter Thirty-Five

“So—how did the dinner run go last night?” asked Suzy.  

She and Jane were unpacking and hanging a shipment of baby clothes at the back of the store while Mrs. Jorgenson minded the register.  It was a rainy day, and there were no customers in the store.

“Oh, fine,” replied Jane.  “I just brought him some sandwiches and stuff.  He works at The Word Works—you know, the bookstore?”

“Oh sure.”  Suzy concentrated for a moment on a tiny dress that wouldn’t stay on its hanger.  Then she asked, with a sly smile,  “Did he show his appreciation?” and when Jane looked quizzically at her explained, “Did he, you know, kiss you or anything?”

Jane made a show of being shocked, then snorted in derision.  “Oh, sure, Suzy—right in the middle of the store.  They had to pull us apart.”

Suzy guffawed.  Well, I’m sorry I missed it.”  Then, irrepressibly, she went on, “Is he a good kisser?”

Su-zy...!”  Jane couldn’t help but be amused by her frank curiosity.

“Well, is he?”

Jane smiled down at the dress she was holding as if she could see Peter’s face there, then nodded and said, as if to herself, “Oh yes.”

“Well thank goodness for that,” Suzy exclaimed.  “My last boyfriend thought that kisses had to be really wet so he was always slobbering all over my mouth.  Ugh!”  

She made a disgusted face and shook her head as if to rid herself of the memory.  “Well, he seems very nice.  Peter, I mean.”

“He is.”

“But not too nice, I hope,” said Suzy, with a sideways glance.

Jane put her hands on her hips in a show of mock outrage.  “Why, Suzy Jorgenson, whatever do you mean?”  They looked at each other for a moment, then collapsed into giggles.

“You know very well what I mean,” Suzy persisted, still smiling.  “How long have you been going out with him?”

Going out? Just once, at your party...and we had to pretend we didn’t know each other, thought Jane, a little ruefully.  

“A couple of months,” she replied, surprised, even as she said it, that it had only been that long.

Suzy raised her eyebrows in disbelief.  “Two months?  And you kept it a secret that whole time? “  Jane nodded, and Suzy said, “Wow,” shaking her head.  “If I had a boyfriend like that I’d tell everybody.”  Jane couldn’t keep a proud smile from spreading across her face at this.

Then Suzy quirked her mouth impishly and went on, “So I guess if you’ve been together all that time...it’s more than kissing, isn’t it?”  And when Jane hesitated instead of denying it outright, crowed, “Ah-ha!  I knew it!”

She must have spoken a little too enthusiastically, because her exclamation drew an inquisitive look from Mrs. Jorgenson.  “I knew they’d gotten the sizes all mixed up in here,” Suzy said, pointing to the box of dresses.  “Well, let’s sort ‘em out before we hang any more.”  

She knelt on the floor next to the box and Jane followed suit.  They pretended to be sorting through the dresses—which were, of course, perfectly in order—until Suzy’s mother returned her attention to the catalog she was looking at by the register.  Then Suzy looked up at Jane and whispered, “C’mon, spill.  How far have you gone?”

Jane was sure that Suzy wouldn’t be able to handle the entire truth.  Well, she imagined herself saying, last night after I brought Peter his dinner I unzipped his pants and put his cock in my mouth while he was running the register.    

No.  Instead she whispered back, “Now wait a minute.  How come I’m the only one telling secrets?  How far have you gone?”  She figured that Suzy’s answer would give her a clue how much to reveal.

Suzy, taken aback, looked down.  “Well...”  

She glanced over at her mother to make sure she wasn’t paying attention, then leaned forward conspiratorially and said, “I let Joe Haworth—you know, from the football team?”  Jane nodded and Suzy went on, “He’s the sloppy kisser I told you about.”  

She took another anxious glance at her mother before continuing, “Well, one night when we were, you know, making out in his car I let him...touch me here,” indicating her chest with a nervous flutter of her fingers.  She looked down and added in an undertone, “Well, I...I let him take off my...my blouse too.”  She looked up from under her eyebrows at Jane as if gauging whether Jane had been shocked.

Jane simply nodded as if it was about what she’d expected—which it was—and asked, “Did you like it?”

Suzy looked doubtful.  “Well, at first.  It’s really kind of neat when a boy’s all excited because of you, you know?”  

Jane smiled knowingly and nodded, and Suzy continued,  “I really liked that, and at first he was really gentle and it felt nice. That’s why I let him...you know.”  Jane nodded again.  “And it felt so...sexy to let him see me like that.  But then he started...you know, grabbing them and squeezing so hard that it hurt, and I told him to stop and he wouldn’t and he started trying to put his hand under my skirt and...”  

She trailed off, her face shadowed by the memory.  “I had to slap him to get him to stop...and that was my last date with Mr. Sloppy Joe.”  She tried to smile but her expression was rueful.  “Are they all like that?  Peter’s not, is he?”

Jane shook her head and tried to reassure her. “He never tries to make me do anything I don’t want to do with him.”  

Because there isn’t anything, she thought to herself with a smile. 

She found that she wanted to share a little more about Peter with Suzy, and decided to describe one of her favorite memories—in a heavily revised and censored version, of course.  She leaned forward and whispered, “But he loves it when I do things to get him excited.  One time when he was outside my house and my parents were gone I stood in front of the window and took off everything...” She made a quick editing decision and finished, “...but my underwear.”

Suzy’s eyes went completely round and Jane thought she’d overdone it after all.  Then Suzy broke out in what appeared to be a smile of admiration and said, “Really?  Wow, Janey, you’re really something!  Ooo, I’ll bet he liked that!”

Jane nodded as she smiled at the memory of what had actually happened.  Then, unable to resist icing the cake, whispered, “And he touched himself while I did it!”

Suzy’s mouth was now as round as her eyes.  “No!  You mean...”

She gestured toward her lap, and when Jane nodded, whispered, “Wow!  He actually...took it out?  And he knew you could see him?”  Jane nodded again and Suzy repeated, “Wow,” and hugged herself with glee at the naughtiness of it, saying with a grin, “Ooo, I wish I could have seen that!  Tell me when you’re going to do it again so I can hide in the bushes and watch!”

This made them both burst into laughter, which of course drew Mrs. Jorgenson’s attention, so they went back to work, but not before exchanging the looks and smiles of friends who had shared secrets.

All the rest of that day Suzy took every opportunity to pester Jane for more details.  What did Peter’s penis look like?  (She was astonished to learn about erections.)  How did he touch it? (For obvious reasons Jane chose not to mention that Peter had used a pair of her panties.) What kind of underwear had Jane been wearing?  (Jane substituted something more glamorous than the plain whites she’d actually worn.) How had he reacted when Jane started taking off her clothes, and what did it feel like to do it?  (Jane related those details with relish: how Peter had been nearly hypnotized by her; how powerful and sexy she’d felt.) 

In her enthusiasm she even showed Suzy her favorite pose—after first making sure that Mrs. Jorgenson wasn’t looking—and tried to describe how it felt to have Peter look at her when she was in it.

By the end of the day Suzy was looking dazed.  “Gosh, I wish I had a boyfriend now!” she said to Jane. 

They were retrieving Jane’s bicycle from the back room, where Mrs. Jorgenson had suggested she store it that day because of the rain.  “I’d almost go out with Joe again, just to drive him crazy.”  She put her hands behind her head and struck the pose Jane had shown her, then made a fashion-model pout and wiggled her hips before breaking into giggles.  “I’d have to tie him to a chair or something first, though.”

Jane pretended to take the idea seriously and said, “Well, that might be fun.”

It was still pouring outside, and Mrs. Jorgenson kindly suggested that Jane put her bike in the trunk of the car and get a ride home with them.  Jane was more than happy to accept.  

She carried her bike through the store, so as not to soil the carpet, then, with Suzy holding the front door open for her, dashed out into the rain.  Mrs. Jorgenson was already there, huddled under an umbrella and standing next to the open trunk of her car.  Between them they managed to wrestle the bike into the trunk and shut the lid while Suzy was locking the shop door.  Mrs. Jorgenson then hustled Jane around to the driver’s side of the car and opened the back door for her then got in herself while Suzy ran to get into the front seat on the other side.

As Jane started to climb in she suddenly saw, out of the corner of her eye, a ghostly face peering at her through the rain-drenched windshield of the car behind her. 

 Chrissy.  

Of course.  She wouldn’t let a little thing like a downpour get in the way of finding out what she wanted to know.  Jane didn’t know what to do; she didn’t want to ask Mrs. Jorgenson to wait and she knew it would make Chrissy more nervous, if that was possible.  So she tried to meet Chrissy’s eye as well as she could through the rain and the water rippling down the front of the windshield between them.  Then she nodded, once, twice.

Chrissy’s pale face behind the windshield looked to Jane like that of a drowned person, and the illusion was reinforced when she made no gesture to acknowledge that she had seen and understood Jane.  Jane looked at her for a moment longer, then climbed into the car and pulled the door shut.

“I saw Chrissy again today,” she told Peter when he called.  “It was pouring rain and she was still waiting for me in her car.”

Peter made an amused noise and said, “She needs to get a hobby or something.”

“You mean, besides Father Brian?”

“Yeah.  So did you talk to her?”

“No, I couldn’t.  I was with Suzy and her mom.  I tried to kind of signal her but it was like she couldn’t see me.”

“Well, you are the Invisible Girl...”

“Very funny.  No, it was kind of spooky.  Well, maybe her windshield was fogged up or something, I don’t know.

“Well, she’ll probably be waiting for you tomorrow—same time, same place, same station.  You can tell her then.”

“I guess.”

“And speaking of tomorrow...are you coming to watch me graduate?”

“Gee, you mean your boss actually gave you the night off so you can graduate?”

“Nice of him, wasn’t it?”

“I’ll say.  Well, in that case I’ll be there.”

They talked a little more, then said good night.  

Oh, I’ll be there all right, thought Jane, grinning wickedly to herself.  I’ve got plans for you, Peter McIlvray…

Chapter Thirty-Six

Jane had, in fact, been making plans for Peter’s graduation night for some time, and was eagerly looking forward to carrying them out.

She was glad that the store was busy most of the next day, because it made the time go by more quickly—and because Suzy had apparently spent the night thinking of more things to ask Jane.  

Lunchtime in particular had been something of a trial as Jane had had to spend most of it either giving tactfully evasive answers to Suzy’s sometimes less-than-tactful questions  (“I don’t know how far we’re going to go, Suzy—it’s not like we’ve planned it out or anything.”) or pretending to be equally uninformed (“I don’t think you can get pregnant just from touching it.”).

Then there was Chrissy.  Jane had expected her to be waiting that evening but not to find her right outside the back door of the shop.  She was standing against the wall where she wouldn’t be seen from the doorway, and startled Jane more than a little by touching her arm the moment Mrs. Jorgenson had let Jane out and closed the door again.

Jane whirled around to face her.  Unnerved by Chrissy’s sudden appearance, and more than a little exasperated, she spoke a little sharply.  “What?  I told you last night, he’ll come, didn’t you see me?”

Chrissy, although looking right at Jane, seemed not to hear her—or even, somehow, to see her.  And although her clothing and grooming were, as always, immaculate she seemed unwell; her hands were shaking slightly and she looked even paler than before.  And when she finally spoke it was with a visible effort.  

“When?” was all she said, but it seemed to Jane that that one word was heavy with desperation.  And again she found herself stirred by pity for Chrissy, and wished she could make her understand that what she really wanted wasn’t what she thought it was.  But Jane had tried before and had been called a little whore for her trouble, so she wasn’t inclined to try again.  She decided that she just wanted to get it over with and get Chrissy out of her hair.

“I don’t know when,” she replied.  “We have to figure out where, first.  We can’t use my house this time, my parents are home.  Don’t your parents ever go away?”

Chrissy shook her head.  Then her eyes seemed to focus on Jane for the first time.  “Find a place.  Soon,” she said, then turned and walked quickly up the alley to the street.

Jane watched Chrissy’s retreating figure and blew out her breath in annoyance.  She felt sorry for Chrissy, but if it wasn’t for the threat against Peter...  Well, she wasn’t going to think about it anymore tonight—she had better things to do.

The graduation ceremony was held, as always, in the main hall where the dance had been.  Metal folding chairs for the graduating students had been arranged in a semi-circle on the stage behind the podium and more chairs for the audience in rows on the floor

Jane arrived a little bit early in order to stash a few things in her locker, and then found herself a seat near the front row; she wanted to be able to reach Peter the moment the ceremony was over.  She was wearing the rose-print blouse and red skirt she had worn the day ‘Mr. Peters’ had summoned her to the yearbook room; she hoped Peter would see her and remember.

When the school band lurched into “Pomp and Circumstance” and the seniors filed in, looking simultaneously dignified and silly in their black robes and mortarboards.  Jane rose to her feet and applauded along with the rest of the audience.  

Then her eyes found Peter and she felt a momentary sadness, realizing that this ceremony was bringing Peter another step closer to the day when he would be leaving Ridgeton—and her—for Ohio.  Then she shook it off; they still had the rest of the summer, and she planned to make the most of it.

The ceremony itself was a droning bore, of course.  The president of the school spouted a number of platitudes about the younger generation’s responsibilities for the future, how the ladder of success is only crowded at the bottom, and so on.  Then came the handing out of diplomas, another dull ritual enlivened only by the variations in applause as each graduate’s name was called: huge swells with cheers and whistles for the most popular; small family smatterings for the lesser-known.  Peter received a good-sized cheer when his name was called—not the thundering ovation given to sports heroes but the recognition accorded to someone who was known and liked by a large number of his fellow students—and Jane added her loudest cheers.

When Peter had shaken the principal’s hand and received his diploma he turned and looked out at the audience.  He waved briefly at someone Jane assumed to be his father.  Then his gaze found Jane.  He smiled.  Then right in front of the entire assembly raised his hand and blew her a kiss.  The crowd oohed and laughed and Jane felt herself turning bright red as people sitting nearby turned to look at her and smile.  So much for that secret, she thought.  Whatever happened to the Invisible Girl, anyway?

When at last all the diplomas had been handed out the seniors moved the tassels on their mortarboards from one side to the other to signify their new status—a somewhat pointless exercise as a moment later when the seniors were officially declared graduates the mortarboards were immediately and vigorously tossed into the air, accompanied by loud cheers from everyone in the gymnasium.  

The principal’s closing remarks went largely unheard as the audience began rushing onto the stage to congratulate the graduates.  Jane hurried to reach Peter first and gave him a big hug.  Then she pulled his head down close to her mouth and whispered, “Girls’ bathroom,” gave him a quick kiss, not caring who might be watching, and hurried off.

She stopped by her locker to retrieve the things she’d brought then hurried to the bathroom.  She knew it would be at least ten or fifteen minutes before Peter could get free, and that was just fine with her, as she needed time to prepare.  She thought that this could well be the last time Peter saw the inside of Ridgeton High for quite a while, and she wanted to make it memorable.

When Peter cautiously stuck his head in the door he found Jane standing at the sink with her back to him.  Jane immediately turned and pretended to gasp at the sight of him.  Peter’s gasp, however, was genuine: Jane had wiped off all her make-up and brushed her hair into a semblance of the mousy look it had when they first met in this same spot and she was wearing the same gray jumper and white turtleneck and penny loafers she’d had on that day.  She was also wearing her glasses.  There was something different about the way she was dressed but she was sure Peter wouldn’t notice...yet.

Peter stepped into the bathroom and allowed the door to close behind him, a bewildered look on his face.  He had gotten rid of his cap and gown and was wearing a white shirt and tie.  Before he could react Jane went and stood before him and, trying very hard not to smile, clasped her hands in front of her and began to plead, “Oh, please don’t tell anyone you saw me in the coatroom!  I don’t want to go to jail!  Please...I’ll—I’ll do anything you want.”  She resisted the urge to flutter her eyelashes at him.

Peter caught on immediately.  “Anything?” he asked, with mock-meaningfulness.

Jane pretended not to understand and looked down, nodding.  “Yes.  Anything.”

Peter took her by the chin and raised her head until she was looking at him again.  “Will you be my slave?  And do exactly as you’re told?”

Jane could see that he too was trying not to smile.  She pretended to be frightened. 

 “All...all right.”

“Say it.”

“I’ll be your slave...and do exactly as I’m told.”

Now he did allow himself to smile.  “Take off your glasses.”  

She did so and slipped them into her pocket as she had that first day.  Then Peter said, “Follow me,” and led the way into the stall.

She followed him and closed and latched the door behind her while he sat down on the lid of the toilet.  She pressed her back to the door and waited as he looked at her.  The memories of their first encounter were rushing back; she felt herself becoming excited and was sure Peter was too.

“All right slave—lean forward and grab the bottom of your skirt.”  She did so.  “Now straighten up.”

She pretended shock, and let go of her skirt.  “Oh no!” she cried.  “What if somebody comes in and—and sees us?  They’ll think...”

“Think what?”

“They’ll think I’m a...” She feigned great distress.  “...a little slut!”

He got up and stood close to her.  “Would you rather go to jail?” 

He was trying to be fierce but his gaze was so adoring that it was all Jane could do not to throw her arms around him.  Then suddenly he spared her the temptation by seizing her and hugging her tightly to himself.  “God, I love you,” he murmured.

They stood like that for a while, swaying gently back and forth.  Then Jane kissed him tenderly and, placing her hands on his shoulders, eased him back into a sitting position.  

She straightened and stood with her back against the door, smiling down at him.  Then she said, “Please...may I show you my panties?” and without waiting for his reply reached down and lifted her skirt, revealing first the tops of the white thigh-high stockings she’d bought and saved for just this moment.  

She saw him staring, wide-eyed, and waited a few moments before raising her skirt further...to show her valentine panties.

Peter let out a small “Ohhh...” that sounded like a groan.  Jane let him look for a few seconds then dropped her skirt and quickly reached behind her back to unzip her dress and let it fall to the floor.  Then she crossed her hands in front of her and stripped away her turtleneck sweater and dropped it to the floor as well, revealing that she had chosen not to wear a bra—a touch that Jane had found deliciously wicked—and that her nipples were already erect.  She quickly smoothed her hair back into place.  Then placing her arms behind her head she struck her favorite pose...and waited. 

 If only Suzy could see me now, she thought.

“My god,” Peter breathed, and then fell silent, staring at her as if at a vision. 

Jane returned his gaze...and once again felt the electricity passing between them and the heat beginning to build in her loins.  She could feel herself becoming moist there and her breath became ragged.  Slowly, very slowly, she began walking toward Peter, still holding his gaze.  She continued forward, her legs on either side of his thighs, until she was directly in front of him.

Peter’s head was tilted back to see her eyes and his mouth hung slightly open with desire.  Jane slowly lowered her arms and caressed his hair for a moment.  Then, unable to wait any longer, gently tilted his head forward and pressed his mouth against the mound between her legs.  Peter made a small “Mmm” noise and began to kiss and nuzzle her there, his hands reaching up to caress the backs of her thighs and fondle her behind as he did so.

Jane stood with her head back, gasping, her hands still pressing him against her.  When she felt his tongue there, separating the lips and pushing the already sodden fabric of her panties inside her she had to quickly reach up to cover her mouth with her hands as she cried out.

After a moment she decided she could wait no longer.  She stepped back and toed off her shoes...then let Peter watch as she slowly pulled her panties down to her knees and let them fall to her ankles.  She stepped out of them, kicked them aside, and struck her pose again—now naked except for her white stockings.

Peter stared for a second, then quickly rose to his feet.  Jane pulled him to her and began kissing him hungrily, her hands dropping to fumble at his belt.  When she had pulled his pants and underwear down she wasted no time pushing him back into his seat, then straddling him and lowering herself onto his erect cock.

At the moment of penetration she felt a small orgasm ripple through her, seeming to take all the air out of her lungs in a long gasping sigh, and she rested her head on Peter’s shoulder for a moment.  Then, not wanting to keep Peter waiting, she kissed him again, her mouth open, and began to raise and lower herself on him.

It was fortunate that they hadn’t had time to get too carried away—otherwise they might not have heard the bathroom door opening.

They froze, trying not to breathe.  Then Peter quickly reached down and grasped Jane’s ankles, lifting her feet off the floor and placing them against the wall on either side of him.  So if anyone looks under the door they’ll only see one pair of feet, Jane realized, amazed at Peter’s quick thinking.  She held onto his shoulders to keep from falling backwards.

They heard footsteps approaching the stalls and suddenly looked at each other—both having the same thought—then looked at the floor, Jane twisting her neck to do so.  Jane’s clothing was still lying scattered around there, and some of it would be visible beneath the door.  Peter quickly stuck out his feet, pants and underwear still around his ankles, and raked it all back out of the line of vision.

All except her panties.  When Jane had kicked them aside they had landed beyond where Peter could reach, halfway underneath the partition between their stall and the next one.  The one to which they now heard the door opening.  Jane, holding onto Peter with one hand, just barely managed to swoop down and snag them from the floor with the other as the door swung wide.  They held their breath.

The new arrival apparently found nothing amiss, and Jane was relieved to hear the slithering sound of pantyhose being lowered, followed soon after by a tired sigh as the woman lowered herself onto the toilet seat   A moment later the high ring of pee hitting the bowl assured them that everything was all right so far.

They grinned at each other in the shadowy light.  

Peter’s cock was still hard inside her, and Jane found the idea of having sex while a complete stranger (she hoped) was sitting in the stall next door exciting.  But how to do it silently?  Any of the usual up and down motions would create all-too-easily recognizable noises, and Jane did not want the woman to look over the partition and discover her, all but naked and straddling Peter.

Peter had apparently been having similar thoughts because he bent his head down and began teasing her right nipple with his tongue before going on to slowly lick her entire breast.  A tingling shot through her and she felt the area between her legs throb slightly in response, squeezing Peter’s cock.  Noticing that, Jane wondered if she could do it voluntarily.  She focussed her attention there and...squeezed...and felt herself contracting around his cock.  

Wow, she thought.  It felt wonderful.

Peter obviously had felt it too, and he raised his head and looked at her, eyes wide.  Now looking straight at him she did it again...and felt him throb in return, as his eyes went slightly out of focus.  

Ooo...  

She smiled at him.  And did it again.  And again, gradually falling into a slow, tortuous rhythm.  She still had her panties in one hand, and she put one end into her mouth and let them dangle there as she grinned at him and continued to squeeze.

But what was he doing?  He had taken his hands from behind her back and was running them up her thighs...now he was stroking between her legs with his thumbs, just above where his cock was inside her.  There seemed to be some little fleshy button there that Jane had never noticed before, and Peter was giving it a slow stroke, first with the pad of one thumb and then the other, with every squeeze she gave his cock.  Each stroke sent a wave of pleasure shuddering through her.  Her mouth fell open and her panties fell into their laps.

The woman next door suddenly stood up, flushed the toilet and began pulling up her underwear and pantyhose, but they paid no attention:  in absolute silence and almost complete stillness, eyes locked together, they were driving each other into a frenzy.

They were like one organism, pacing each other—holding back while the woman washed her hands at the sink and finished adjusting herself—but inexorably building toward the climax they finally gave into at the moment the woman left and the door swung closed behind her.  

At that same instant Jane dropped her feet to the floor and began bucking uncontrollably up and down on him, gasping.  They both came within seconds.

“Nice stockings,” Peter said a little later.  They were still joined together.   Jane’s head had been resting on his shoulder but now she sat up and smiled at him.  He crooked a finger under one of the bands of lacy elastic and stretched it experimentally.  “I wondered how they stayed up.”  Then he looked at her and smiled.  “How long have you been planning this?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  I got these...” indicating the stockings, “...a little while after you said how much you liked them, but I’ve been saving them for a special occasion.  Then I thought it would be fun to dress the way I did that first day so we could, you know, do it over again the same way.  For your last day.”  

She broke into a grin.  “That didn’t work out quite the way I planned it.”  She kissed him.

“Well, I guess not,” Peter replied, grinning back.  “But somehow I don’t mind.”  He kissed her.  “Thanks for thinking of all this.”  His gaze softened.  “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Me too.”  They kissed again, and held each other for a while.  Then Jane said, “Aren’t you going to your party?  You’re late.”  

It was a graduates-only party, which was another reason why Jane had lured him into the bathroom right after the ceremony.

“Oh yeah,” Peter said, and shrugged.  “Pretty soon.  But this is more fun.  Stand up and let me look at you again.”

Jane stood up slowly, feeling Peter’s cock, now much diminished, slide out of her as she did so.  She grabbed her panties before they could fall out of her lap and held them behind her head as she struck her pose.  Even now, when she had just been satisfied, she was amazed at how much of a charge she still got from posing for Peter.  She loved to watch him looking at her.  She loved the way his gaze made her feel like, not just the most beautiful and sexy girl in the world, but the only girl in the world.

After a while she said, “Which is better?  This?”  Then she lowered her arms, stepped into her panties and pulled them up snugly before posing again.  “Or this?”  

She watched him staring at her loins...at the contrast between the womanly stockings and the girlish panties, already wet with their combined juices...and saw that his cock was beginning to stir again.  

That answers [i]that question[/i], she thought.

She smiled at him.  “Remember how you made me turn around...” she murmured, slowly turning her back to him, “and bend over...like this?”  

She slowly bent down and grasped her ankles, her legs apart.  She was sure this would inflame him again, and she was right.

She heard him groan softly and felt his hands fondling her behind for a moment.  Then suddenly she felt her panties being yanked down...then his hands on her hips as in one continuous motion he stood and entered her again—roughly, moaning aloud and thrusting so hard that her shoulders and back banged against the door. 

 Her position was extremely uncomfortable and the blood was already rushing to her head—and she loved it.  And even though she didn’t reach another climax it still thrilled her when Peter reached his and she felt him spurting inside her, his last few thrusts going deep within her.

She waited as long as she could before straightening up, only doing so when her back began to ache.  Peter’s cock slipped out of her and he half-sat, half-collapsed back onto the toilet seat.  

She quickly pulled up her panties and threw her jumper over her head, not even bothering with the turtleneck.  She told Peter she’d be right back and hurried out to retrieve her other clothes from her locker, stopping there only long enough to touch and smile at the little cloth heart glued to the door as she always did.

Peter had recovered by the time she returned and helped her to dress.  When she was fully clothed she lifted her skirt and showed him her yellow cotton panties, saying, “Remember these...Mr. Peters?”

It was getting dark and the school was deserted but for a few people folding up chairs and cleaning up the main hall as they passed.  

Peter took her by the hand and led her out to the parking lot, saying, “I want to show you something.”  He stopped and pointed.  “You know what that is?”

Jane looked, then looked back at Peter, puzzled.  “Your father’s car.”

Peter grinned at her.  “Nope.  My car!  Not to mention my graduation present.  Dad’s getting a new one.”

Jane was impressed.  “Wow!  That is so cool!”  She slipped an arm around him and hugged him, happy for him.

Peter stared lovingly at his new possession, then back at Jane, his eyes bright.  “And you know what I’m going to use it for?”

“Well...to go away to college, I guess.”  Jane hadn’t meant to say anything about it but it just popped out.  She hoped Peter wouldn’t notice the sadness in her voice.

He blinked a couple of times at her as if taken aback, then said, “Well, yeah, eventually, but that’s not what I meant.”

“What, then?”

“Well, besides kidnapping you on a regular basis,” he replied, waggling his eyebrows, “I thought if you were interested I could teach you to drive.”

Jane was stunned.  She’d figured she’d learn someday, but her chances of having a car of her own in the foreseeable future had been so minuscule that she hadn’t thought about it in any kind of serious way.  And now, suddenly... 

 “Really?  You mean it?” she said.

“Sure.  Be fun, don’t you think?”

“Oh yes!  Peter, that’s so great!”

They kissed.  Then Peter, still holding her, drew back, smiled and said, “Besides, just think of all the things I can do to you while you’re driving!”

They loaded Jane’s bike and extra clothes into the trunk and Peter dropped her off at Lucia’s house, where she, Lucia and Suzy and a few other girls had planned to get together while the seniors were having their private bash.  

Peter got out and helped her retrieve her bike and clothes from the trunk. He told Jane he had to work the next day but would pick her up tomorrow evening.  He got back in the car and Jane leaned down and kissed him and stood waving until he’d driven off.  Then she turned and headed for Lucia’s front door.

And saw Lucia, Suzy and several other girls watching her from the living room window.  

Well, after Peter’s performance at graduation I guess we’re not much of a secret anymore, she thought, and shrugged mentally.  She quickly folded up her jumper and turtleneck and stuffed them into one of the bike baskets and parked her bike near the door.

As soon as she was inside the house she was set upon by Lucia and the others, laughing and chattering and demanding to know when she’d started going out with Peter, and Suzy crowing that she had known before anybody else.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chrissy lay on her back in the dark, her hands pressed to the mattress.  The night was humid and even with her window open and the noisy old fan blowing directly over her she felt as if she were suffocating.  Her hair felt sticky and lay damp on her forehead.  Her nightgown, the lightest one she owned, was already soaked with sweat and clung to her and twisted around her limbs and wouldn’t let her get comfortable.

Please let me sleep tonight...I’m so tired, she prayed.  But she knew that tonight, as on so many previous nights, her thoughts would continue to chase each other endlessly around and around in her head, and what little sleep she might finally get in the small hours of the morning would bring her no rest.

She would not touch herself.  She would not, even if it helped her sleep. Father...Brian was coming.  Father Brian would give her peace.  And then she would sleep.

She climbed wearily out of bed and stood.  It was nearly midnight.  The house was silent, her parents and her four younger brothers and sisters apparently more fortunate in seeking sleep.  She opened her door, stuck her head out and listened for a moment before padding downstairs in her bare feet.

She went into the kitchen, thinking to get herself some ice-water from the jug in the refrigerator.  The refrigerator’s white enameled door seemed phosphorescent in the faint light that came through the kitchen windows.  She grasped the handle to open the door and as she did so noticed the metal’s coolness in her hand.  She released it and placed her palm against the enameled surface.  So smooth, and even cooler.  She placed both palms on the door and leaned forward, pressing her forehead against it.  Mmm...  She rolled her face slowly back and forth across the enamel.

She pulled away and listened for several seconds.  Nothing.  She stood unmoving in the dark kitchen as if lost in thought.  She shook her head once.  Then again, more emphatically, a few seconds later.  Her hands twisted together.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  Then, quickly she bent down and pulled her nightgown over her head, throwing it over the back of a chair.  And then, naked, she pressed herself against the front of the refrigerator, her arms on either side.  Embracing it.  

It felt wonderfully soothing for a few moments.  But all too soon the refrigerator door had absorbed her body’s heat and was no longer cool against her skin.  She turned around and stood with her back against it, hoping there might be a cool spot she had missed, but to no avail.

She looked down and saw that her nipples had become erect from their contact with the refrigerator.  She flushed with shame and reached for her nightgown...but her hand hesitated a few inches away from touching it.  It was too hot, and there was no one to see her.  

She let her hand fall to her side.  Then she began to walk around the kitchen, timidly at first but then beginning to enjoy the dreamlike quality of being naked in the place where she and her family sat and ate and talked.  She was sure she was being wicked—but it didn’t feel wicked.  She stopped in front of one of the windows that looked out on their back yard and stood in the dim light of the new moon.  She looked down and watched the play of light on her skin.  So beautiful...

She had taken ballet for several years until her parents had decided that it was too frivolous and was interfering with her schoolwork.  She had been heartbroken when the lessons stopped.  She hadn’t even tried to dance in years, although her hours with the kindly teacher in the old run-down dance studio were a refuge to which her mind often returned.  But now, feeling as though she were filling up with cool moonlight, she rose up on her toes and extended her arms gracefully.  

Then she began to dance.

Humming to herself, she spun slowly in place, like the ballerina on the music box she kept on her bureau.  As she began to hear the music more clearly she surrendered to it, and began to move around the kitchen doing small leaps and pirouettes.  She extended one leg to the side...and sent one of the kitchen chairs scraping across the linoleum.  It only moved an inch or two but it sounded to her like a screeching tire.  

She stopped dead.  Listened.  Waited.  She heard nothing...but it was hard to be sure because the music was becoming so loud.  Demanding that she dance.

She waited as long as she could but finally the music became irresistible.  And she was ready now... She opened the door of her dressing room, walked out onto the magically lit stage and danced for hours for her delighted audience.

She awoke just before dawn, curled up on the grass in her back yard—naked, shivering and covered with insect bites.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

“Jane, do you think Mrs. Jorgenson would let you have some time off in about two weeks?”

Jane looked up from her hamburger. Her father had rummaged around in the garage and dragged the barbecue grill out into the driveway that morning, and they were all sitting on a tablecloth in the shade of a nearby tree. 

“I guess so, why?”  Then she remembered the plans they’d talked about.  “Oh!  Are we going on our vacation?”

Her mother smiled.  “Yes.  We weren’t sure we could afford to go at all this year, but then my editor at the Ledger offered to let us use his cottage in Cape Cod for a week.  Isn’t that nice?”

“And,” her father added, pulling a pickle spear out of the jar, “he wants your Mom to write about it.”

“That’s right,” said her mother.  “He wants a whole series: history, what it’s like now, how popular it’s becoming...” She smiled, a little sourly.  “I think he just wants to build up the property value on his cottage by getting more people to go to the Cape.  Still, I can‘t complain about a paid vacation.”

“No, ma’am!” her father enthused, catching a drop of pickle juice running down his chin with a napkin.  “So we’re figuring on driving down the weekend after next, okay?”

Jane nodded.  “I’ll check with Mrs. Jorgenson, but I’m pretty sure it’ll be okay.”

She continued to chat with her parents as if she was as pleased as they were—and in a way she was, of course.  She was just conscious of time hurrying by and the thought of a whole precious week away from Peter made her want to cry.  Plus there was this whole situation with Chrissy that needed to be resolved, and soon.  Chrissy wouldn’t be put off forever; Jane was sure of that.

Peter, despite his lascivious promises, turned out to be all business as a driving teacher.  After picking her up he drove her way out into the country until they were on a dirt road surrounded by farmland, “So there’s nothing for you to hit,” he explained.  Then he stopped, turned off the ignition, and switched places with her.

The first lesson proceeded without any serious mishap, other than a near-encounter with a passing tractor.  The car was an automatic and so, as Peter pointed out, “Pretty much all you have to do is step on the gas and keep it pointed where you want to go.”  

She practiced until it was nearly dark, then Peter had her drive back towards town until they began to encounter traffic, then had her pull over and switch places.  He gave her his old “Rules of the Road” book and explained how to get her learner’s permit so they could practice driving in town without fear of getting arrested.

Then to her surprise he drove her home.  Not only that but he made no response to any of her flirtatious overtures and when she abandoned subtlety in favor of running her hand up the inside of his thigh he merely grabbed her wrist and returned her hand to her lap, saying nothing but turning his head and grinning wickedly at her.  

Jane realized that something was up and desisted, and they rode the rest of the way home simply holding hands in a companionable silence—which contained a sharp tang of anticipation.

When they arrived at her house, Peter left the motor running as he leaned over and kissed her good night.  “You go right to bed and get a good night’s sleep,” he said softly.  “And tomorrow morning be at the end of your driveway by nine-thirty.”

Jane smiled and asked, “Are you kidnapping me again?”

“No.”  Then his voice changed and became delightfully creepy.  “...But Mr. Bad Man is.” 

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Oh sweet Mother of God, I’m naked, thought Chrissy.  I’m in church and I’m standing naked in front of everyone—why don’t they see?  Why don’t they notice?

Chrissy was in fact wearing some of her nicer church clothes, and over them a white choir robe, and in one part of her mind she was aware that this was true.  But as she stepped forward to sing the opening of “Ave Maria” she knew that no amount of clothing could conceal her nakedness and that it was only a matter of time before she was discovered.

She had been naked since yesterday morning when she’d awoken in her back yard with no memory of how she’d gotten there.  Horrified, she had dashed back inside the house and covered herself with her nightgown before tiptoeing—stopping and holding her breath with every tiny creak of the wood beneath her feet—up the stairs and into her bedroom.

As she hurried to her bed she had caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and had been startled to see that she was still naked.  She thought she remembered putting her nightgown back on in the kitchen...but maybe she had dreamed it.

She had been too tired to care.  She’d crawled into bed and slept fitfully for a few hours—her mysteriously aching leg muscles and the itching of her insect bites keeping her from getting much rest.

When she heard her family stirring she had dragged herself from her bed, showered, dressed and gone downstairs to breakfast.  She had eaten quietly, leaning over her plate so that her hair would fall forward to disguise any insect bites on her face, and not taking part in the family chatter beyond answering when spoken to.  Afterwards she had excused herself, saying she had a great deal of homework, and hurried back to her room.  

And discovered that she was still naked.

She had stood in front of the mirror, gaping, her mind dull.  She had gotten dressed...she had!  She must have—wouldn’t her parents or brothers and sisters have said something?   She’d looked down at herself: there were her feet in their fuzzy slippers, her legs in blue jeans, her upper body in a white blouse.  But there she was in the mirror without a stitch on.  She had stared, bewildered, for several minutes—could it be the mirror?  She’d tried to think it through:  if her family hadn’t said anything she must have been dressed, mustn’t she?

She’d turned and carefully walked downstairs again, listening to be sure her family was still in the kitchen.  At the bottom of the stairs, on the wall near the front door, was a large oval mirror.  Holding her breath she’d stepped in front of it...then covered her face with her hands.  

God was showing her that He knew her true nature, she was sure of it: her sinful pride and disgusting sensuality could not be hidden from Him.  She’d hunched over, sobbing, then dashed back up the stairs to her room and closed the door.

She’d stayed there all that day and night, claiming illness when called for meals.  Her mother had indulged her by bringing her food on trays—Chrissy diving under the covers when her mother knocked.  But on Sunday morning her mother, after taking Chrissy’s temperature, had insisted that she was fine and made her accompany the family to church.

...And now here she was, exposed to the whole community.   Her legs were shaking and she was amazed that she was able to sing at all, but her voice was strangely steady.  And although all the nicely dressed people in the pews were looking at her none of them seemed to be actually staring in shock.  No one was whispering or pointing.  



Maybe... 
Her exhausted mind seemed to move sluggishly onto a new thought, like a wind-up toy that was nearly run down.  Maybe God is only showing me, as a warning.

That explained everything, she thought.  So far only she was aware of her nakedness, but if she wasn’t purified, and soon...
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