On the Far Side of Darkness (7 page)

So my first hypothesis still seems the most likely.

Paging back to Mandy’s records, I check her address. This raises my eyebrows slightly. It’s the house I had been offered when I first arrived. It’s a domicile for visiting dignitaries such as myself. That Mandy, and Ms. Coburn as another check reveals, are accommodated there seems another example of Ms. Richardson’s ‘influence’.

I erase the history I’ve created as well as the précis and then shut the computer down.
It’s time for a personal reconnoissance,
I decide.

* * * *

The place I want to check out isn’t far. So I walk there. I’m one street away when a feminine voice catches my attention. “Excuse me?”

I turn to the woman who spoke and survey her quickly. She is in her mid-thirties I estimate, of medium height and almost heavy set. Hazel eyes look at me from under a mane of black hair. She is busty and the plum colored blouse she wears displays that fact. Her nipples are poking visibly at the material of her garment. A short, night hued skirt is wrapped around her wide hips. Dark stockings with a green vine pattern running up the inseam encase her shapely legs. Her shoes match the hosiery in shade and have five inch stiletto heels. The third finger of her left hand shows depressions where rings have been.

There’s a dichotomy to her. The woman strikes me as being dressed for an assignation, but there is an air of discomfort surrounding her. Somehow she reminds me of Helen. She seems torn by an internal struggle.

I reply with a heavy German accent, “
Ja
, can I help you?” It’s habit when speaking to a stranger. I often misdirect. It’s safer that way.

The woman takes a deep breath and then asks, “Do you know where 75 Elm Street is?”

A piece snaps into place. That is where Ms. Richardson currently resides. A woman visiting her is not likely to be going for tea. It seems Mandy has quite a string of lovers.

“
Ja
,” I tell her then. “It is the next street up. I am going that way. You will accompany me.” My tone is almost commanding. The woman falls into step beside me without hesitation. This give me yet more insight to Mandy’s victims.

“I am Heinz Guderian,” I tell my companion, “I teach physics here. And you?”

“Cyn…Cynthia Moran. I’m visiting a, a friend,” she answers back. I can catch what is becoming a common scent coming from her. Cynthia is getting aroused.

We come to Elm Street and I check the number on the street sign. “Four houses that way, on this side.” I point in the direction she needs to go.

“Thank you, Mr. Guderian,” she tells me and heads where I’ve directed.

“
Bittë, Fraü
Moran,” I echo to her. She doesn’t pick up on the fact that I know part of her secret.

I cross the road, continuing past Elm Street, then double back. Keeping to the opposite side of the avenue I stay about ten meters behind Mrs. Moran and follow her, using the trees that line this urban boulevard for cover. She soon heads up the walk to the rather large house Ms. Richardson and her chief bed warmer reside in. I stay in the lee of a trunk to watch.

Mandy answers the door. “Hey, teach,” I hear from her, “right on time. And you walked here, just as you were told. I bet my neighbors liked the show.”

Another morsel of knowledge floats to the surface. Mrs. Moran had been Mandy’s English teacher in her final year of high school. It would appear my opponent has been at this game for some time.

Cynthia enters the house and the front door closes behind her. I slip from my cover, cross 75 Elm Street’s lawn and place myself against the wall of the house, away from the streetlights. With a small power expenditure I wrap a veil of shadows around myself.

I can hear people moving inside, going up the stairs. As I slip from window to window of the ground floor, I check rooms, just glancing over each sill. All are dark and empty. The furniture in each is very good, both tasteful and comfortable. The university treats its guests well.

There is a back deck, with a sliding glass door leading into the kitchen. Just as I peek in the light comes on. I duck back, then ease my head so one eye can peer into the room. Not much illumination falls on me so my cloak should hold.

A trio of women enters the room, Mandy first, trailed by Cynthia and then Christy. Mandy is dressed in her usual T-shirt and jeans. The shirt is loose and covers her crotch. It almost hides that there is something in Ms. Richardson’s pants, something that makes a shape similar to a large erection. Christy is wearing only a short, clingy and transparent blue robe. As all her clothes are it’s very feminine and display her attributes to good effect. If I were still a man my reaction would be instant and extreme.

Once she sits down in a chair at the kitchen table Mandy asks, “So? What do you think of my new digs, teach?” Christy stands just behind her and to one side, eyes down in a submissive posture.

Mrs. Moran leans against the counter, arms holding her torso as if for warmth. Her face is a light red of embarrassment. “It’s very nice.”

Mandy snickers. “Yeah, it’s good to have friends.

“So how long’s it been, teach? A month?”

Cynthia licks her lips and shivers. “Twenty seven days.”

“Mommy’s little girl has been counting the days. How sweet. I guess you missed me.” Ms. Richardson’s mouth twists in a wicked smile. “Have you been using the toy I gave you?”

Her victim closes her eyes and a bigger shiver passes through her. “Every day, like you ordered.”

I can see Christy’s skin flush a little and she rocks on her feet. Her ass clenches. I guess this is a game played before. One that all the participants enjoy.

“But you only come once, on Sundays, the Lord’s Day, right?” Mandy asks with mild contempt in her voice.

Shame crosses the face of the femme leaning on the counter. Her eyes also slit in pleasure at a sweet memory. She nods her head in confirmation.

“You must be just gagging for it now, aren’t you?” presses Ms. Richardson.

Cynthia’s lips part in a silent gasp. Her nod is barely noticeable. She squeezes her eyes shut and I suspect that if I were closer, I would see tears would glisten at the edges of them.

Mandy picks her lovers with skill. So far all are rent between intense humiliation and just as extreme lust. That must make for an fascinating melange of emotions.

“Well,” announces Mandy, “mommy’s little girl has been good. So she gets a treat.

“Bitch,” she orders, turning her head in Christy’s direction, “get naked and loosen my little girl up. She needs to be relaxed before she gets her reward.”

Without a word, Christy sheds her garb and pads on bare feet to Mrs. Moran. In an instant they’re in each other’s arms and their mouths are working ravenously. I can see Cynthia squeezing the nude woman’s ass, all hesitation gone from her now.

“Enough!” orders Mandy. “Get my little girl out of her clothes, bitch.”

Christy’s hands move to the buttons of the plum blouse. She plucks them loose quickly and pulls the garment open. Cynthia’s large breasts appear, shoved up and displayed by a black underwire bra. The panting blonde undoes the front hook and the luscious orbs fall free, jiggling with the deep, rapid breaths of the chest they rise from. Mrs. Moran shrugs her shoulders back and her upper garments fall from her. Christy pulls the shirt free and both pieces of clothing hit the counter.

A babbling moan sounds from both women as the blonde takes one of her dark haired playmate’s nipples in her lips. Cynthia’s eyes roll back, her mouth opens and closes as bliss runs out from her sensitive peak.

“Hurry it up!” Mandy demands. “I’m not waiting all night.”

Christy’s shaking hands pull down t
he zipper of Mrs. Moran's black skirt. Kneeling, she draws the soft fabric over silk encased legs. Mrs. Moran’s mound is full, meaty and shaved bare. I can see it glisten and trails of her lubrication have run down her thighs, soaking the tops of her hold up stockings.

Mandy coos at the erotic sight. “I see mommy’s little girl has gotten tired of washing her panties.” She laughs softly.

Cynthia’s reaction is again mixed. Her face quirks with a mixture of debasement and passion. Then her eyes start and her mouth gapes as Christy places her lips on the older femme’s wet womanhood and starts to work. Random moans, grunts and sighs tremble from Mrs. Moran. They grow louder as the golden blonde plays with her. The standing woman’s hands wrap in the yellow mane between her legs and pull that tireless mouth close.

Mrs. Moran screams as she falls over the edge. The shout is shrill and piercing, letting everyone within earshot know how utterly overwhelming her orgasm is. Her legs buckle and she moves her arms to the counter to hold herself in position. Her head jerks back and forth, left and right as muscles trigger in haphazard patterns under the onslaught of her rapture.

That shout fades in a panting groan as Cynthia’s climax recedes. Her tits bobble as her chest works like a bellows. Mrs. Moran’s eyes are slit to shield them against the lurid afterglow filling her. Sweat drips along her pale skin.

Christy keeps at her work. Even over distance and through glass, the faint sound of her mouth at play reaches me. The soft slurping informs me of her greedy appetite for the morsel stuffed in her mouth.

I can see Mrs. Moran’s stomach start to quiver once more. She locks her legs and grasps the blonde head, her knuckles white. Her shoulders heave as she pants. In a very short time, another shriek bursts out. This one is ragged, less forceful. Her lungs are too weak from delight to push hard. Cynthia’s mouth falls open and her eyes glaze as ecstasy fills her.

“Enough,” orders Mandy. Christy immediately pulls her mouth away.

“It’s time for mommy’s little girl’s treat,” announces the domme as she stands. She undoes her jeans and they fall to the floor. Mandy is wearing a harness around her hips and a piece of latex, flesh colored and in the shape of a man’s member, springs out. It’s very large.

Cynthia shudders as she looks at it. I can tell she is no stranger to the dildo and looks forward to having it pushed inside her.

Mandy taunts the older woman. “How does mommy’s little girl want it?”

Emotions cross Mrs. Moran’s face in quick waves. First, shame crimsons her features. Her face hardens next as she tries to gather the strength to deny her dominant. Cynthia’s expression then relaxes in acceptance as she finds she wants what Mandy offers. Finally, lust shows as her eyes sparkle and her body tremors. She pushes away from the counter and on quivering legs crosses to the table. On reaching it, she climbs up and rolls on her back, hips at the edge. Grabbing a stockinged thigh in each hand Mrs. Moran spreads herself wide to her Mistress’s smirking eyes.

“Right here, right now?” mocks Mandy. “What a kinky slut mommy’s little girl is.” The butch places herself between the older woman’s legs and shoves her rubber penis in with a single, quick motion. She reaches up to take her victim’s breasts in her hands, uses them as handles to pull her gasping trull towards her. Mandy’s hips pump vigorously, driving in and out with a hard, steady rhythm.

Cynthia croons a hymn to the wild emotions filling her. Her voice trills, moans and gasps. “Oh God, God!” she sputters. “Fuck me harder! Fuck me good!”

The staccato song ends with another shriek. Mrs. Moran’s fingernails tear her stockings and her hips stutter under the force of her orgasm. Mandy’s motions never cease and neither does her slave’s climax.

“Bitch,” gasps the now sweaty dominant, “get over here and shut this horny slut up.”

Christy has remained kneeling on the floor throughout this tableau. At her Mistress’s orders she stands, mounts the table and straddles Cynthia’s face. The prone woman instantly grabs the yellow tressed girl’s soft buttocks and pulls the lightly thatched vulva to her mouth. She works as hard to please Christy as the blonde girl had pleased her.

It seems Ms. Coburn has been at the edge all along for her eyes roll in their sockets and her lungs sound a guttering growl. Her spending shines on Mrs. Moran’s cheeks.

That’s enough,
I decide. I slip away from the minor orgy I’ve been watching and return to the street.

As I head back the way I came I drop my veil and ruminate. It seems my conjecture is correct. Ms. Richardson is a dominant with a fine instinctive skill at seduction. She apparently can spot lesbian submissives, plus bisexuals so minded, and take great advantage of that.

I find that Mandy could do such a thing to the Dean odd. Dr. Metaxas certainly didn’t strike me as that sort, but in spite of all my experience I could have overlooked something.

An unconscious shrug moves my shoulders. I told Helen I would see what I could do and have decided that is nothing. I don’t care a jot for how badly she wants to keep her young lover, I only want my students to learn.

With that decision out of the way I notice I have become a bit peckish. I haven’t fed for two nights. It’s wise for me to keep a nearly full belly. What I am breaks out of my control more easily the hungrier I am.

I turn in a particular direction and head for the part of town outside the university grounds.
I’m sure Diane’s free tonight.