Lesbian Pulp Fiction. Katherine V. Forrest

that clung to her milky thighs, her rounded and velvety hips. Even these garments annoyed Peggy. She fussed with them until they were off. Beth lay unclad at last—breathtakingly seductive, her voluptuous charms wholly revealed, wholly accessible.

      “Beth?”

      “Yes, honey.”

      “Which am I, the aggressive partner, or the passive?”

      Beth laughed. “Where did you hear of such things?”

      “Read about ’em in a book, once,” Peggy said.

      “Well, don’t you know which you are?”

      “Guess I’m both,” Peggy confided mischievously, blushing.

      “Little minx. In that case—let’s take turns. You make love to me—then, well, I’ll do the honors.”

      Peggy joyously threw herself into the nurse’s arms. But passion was so strong upon her that she quickly withdrew her mouth from Beth’s, filled her hands with Beth’s heavy, delicately textured bosom. In her palms Peggy felt the nipples, in rosy glory, swell and stir. Beth squirmed with delight. Peggy boldly probed lower. Her fingers, with a timeless knowledge of their own, seemed to home unerringly on the unutterably secret nerve clusters that bestowed on Beth the sharpest bliss.

      The effect was to evoke in Peggy a feeling of power, of mastery. She controlled Beth. Beth was her slave. She pushed buttons, and Beth danced. Lust came down on Peggy like a red cloud, and in her new wild power, she viciously pinched Beth’s soft thigh. “Oh!” groaned Beth. Peggy gritted her teeth and with one heave turned Beth over on the bed. She sent a stinging slap to Beth’s quaking buttocks. “Oh!” gasped Beth.

      “Please. Please, Peggy?”

      “You pretty bitch. Tell me you love me. Tell me, or—”

      “No! Don’t hit me again. I love you, Peggy. I love you.”

      Peggy thrust her forearms under Beth’s armpits, cupped the big breasts. She wrestled the nurse into a supine position, then threw herself upon her.

      Wildly, the girls locked to each other. Their bodies were gleaming now with sweat. Lip to lip, breast to breast, thigh to slippery thigh, they heaved and gyrated, ecstasy rising like a lava wave. Eyes rolled, fingers clutched, light hair mingled with darker. Skin slithered slickly and long legs kicked. Murmuring endearments, panting like beasts, the counselor and the nurse felt the white-hot wave engulf them, drown them in fiery exaltation while their very guts shook and convulsed.

      “God!” intoned Peggy, limply falling back on the bed.

      “Leave God out of it,” whispered Beth. “This is devil’s work, pure and simple.”

      “Pure and simple?”

      They both laughed. But Beth, perhaps because of exhaustion, nevertheless seemed somber, even sad.

      For many minutes they lay side by side, Peggy curled up, her hand resting affectionately on Beth’s breast. After a time, she felt Beth’s nipple alive again in her palm.

      “Oh, Beth, you do want me don’t you? You didn’t mind my being a little rough—”

      “No, dear. I understand about that.” She drew Peggy’s hand away from her breast, raised it to her lips and kissed the fingers.

      “Beth,” whispered Peggy, eyes shining, “it’s your turn now. Do everything. Teach me all about what lesbians do.”

      The nurse could not help smiling at Peggy’s ingenuous eagerness. She sat up. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You’re a hussy. A shameless hussy.”

      “A delicious hussy! Try me.”

      Beth bent breathlessly to minister to Peggy, who now was the one lying supinely on the bed.

      But unlike the prior wooing of the younger girl, the attentions of Beth seemed deliberately void of fondling, of stroking, of any bodily contact at all, save that established by the nurse’s fragrant, tender kisses. First they were devoted to Peggy’s mouth, sucked and savored like a crushed red berry under Beth’s lips, probed and wickedly eased by Beth’s flicking tongue.

      Then the lips nibbled delicately at Peggy’s earlobe, sending the softest of sensations coursing through the girl, sensations building and broadening as the nurse kissed her neck, her shoulders—and then, as Peggy stiffened in taut response, her passion-swollen breasts. Each nipple was moistly enfolded, wetly warmed. Beth’s lips artfully tormented. The tip of her tongue rasped and tweaked. Then when Peggy thought she could stand this cruel titillation no longer, when she thought her bosom was about to burst with bliss and she pleaded for mercy, for respite, Beth’s mouth moved on.

      Peggy felt the brush of Beth’s cheek on her navel. She flamed as Beth’s hair trailed a prickling caress along the sensitive skin of the torso. “Damn it, Beth. Please,” she pleaded, as Beth had pleaded before. “Oh, please, Beth!” Beth kissed on. Her lips were wet and lined with silk. Her tongue fluttered like a butterfly…

      Later—much later—when the heavy breathing of the two unclad forms on the bed had quieted to normal, when only the sounds of the night were to be heard in the room—the crickets’ chirping, the rustling of the warm night breeze, the trees, the soft lapping from the lakeshore—Peggy spoke up. “People are an education, all right.” Beth shifted, propped herself on an elbow.

      “I hope by the end of the summer you’ll have learned more than that from me,” she said.

      Peggy lay against the coolness of the fluffy pillow, her blond hair rumpled, her eyes closed. A look of complete satisfaction etched her face.

      “I’ve learned enough for two summers,” she murmured, but on opening her eyes to look at Beth, she noted the gravity of the woman’s expression. She said, “I hope you know what I mean, Beth. I’ve learned what happiness is.”

      Beth said nothing, nor did her face become less grave. Her eyes bored into Peggy, studying her, weighing her, and—so Peggy felt—accusing her.

      “Look,” Peggy burst out, “none of this is anyone’s fault. And we—we enjoyed it, didn’t we”?

      “Too much, maybe. Peggy, don’t you realize you may be marking yourself for life? Don’t you think you should make some effort to fight it?”

      “Oh, if it will make you feel any better,” Peggy retorted, “I’ll go with Kirby the next time he asks.”

      “Promise?”

      Exasperated, Peggy said, “I promise.” And then, with a grin: “Always worrying about me, aren’t you?”

      “Always,” Beth answered.

      “Well, don’t. This is my off time. I don’t have to show up at my bunk until morning.”

      Beth moved closer. Kirby and everything else were forgotten for the remainder of the night.