Date: Tue, 29 Dec 2015 22:00:22 +0000 (UTC) From: Angela Adamson <angela_adamson@yahoo.com> Subject: The Revenge Gillian's window I'm watching her from outside her house hidden in the night, stooped outside her window. Although it is well past sunset her curtains are open and I can see her sitting in her arm-chair reading. This is the first time that I have dared to come so close to this mysterious compelling woman. She knows me only as the assistant at her local library and has no idea that when she comes into the library my knees turn to jelly and it is all I can do to appear calm and professional as I process her books. For months now she has filled my thoughts: assured, beautiful, majestic - all qualities that send me into a frenzy of longing for her. She does not know how I moon over her photograph like a love-sick teenager. She does not know how I whisper her name as I go to bed at night: "Gillian, Gillian". She does not know how my fingers probe for my pussy when I wake in the dark reaches of the night thinking of her. I've found out where she lives, I've followed her home, I've discovered she lives alone. And tonight I have been unable to resist walking to her house, entering her garden, and peeping into her window. She is absorbed in her book, an occasional frown, an occasional smile on her face as she turns the pages. I watch my Gillian, rapt in my adoration of her, captivated by her loveliness. I see her chest rising and falling as she breathes. I see her hair falling down over her eyes and the quick flick of her fingers as she brushes it away. She is wearing an off the shoulder dress and her skin glows with vitality. Occasionally she will move in her chair, sensuously stretching. I feel myself reacting to her in the most physical and intimate way. My lips swell, my eyes widen, my breasts feel so exquisitely sensitive - and down between my legs a wetness is building. I can smell my arousal on the night air so powerfully am I affected. After a few minutes as I stand rooted to the spot lost to my bodily passions I see Gillian suddenly tense. She sniffs the air and a puzzled look comes across her face. She is suddenly very still as though thinking. Then with a faint smile she looks up and straight at the window. Surely she cannot see me - from a lighted room into a dark garden? But then she rises from the chair and comes to the window. She raises her hand and her fingers beckon. I am still frozen. But then she motions to the door by the window, an impatient gesture that brooks no argument. I know I am discovered and with a beating heart I open the door and step into her living room. Gillian sniffs the air again. I know what she can smell because the scent of my arousal hangs heavy in the air. I blush with shame knowing that my secret is laid bare. "Angela?" she asks. She knows me! I am unsure whether I should be even more ashamed or elated that she knows my name. I nod, whispering "Yes". I stand defenseless. Gillian circles me, appraising me, occasionally sniffing. Then she comes to stand before me. "Tell me, Angela" and the words are spoken with quiet authority. I have no excuses. I have no lies to justify myself. I cannot conceal anything. I have to lay bare my soul. Stammering, haltingly, I admit to my infatuation. I apologize. I supplicate. I entreat. And over and over I tell Gillian of my adoration. These are not splendid words, not the stuff of romantic drama. They are the broken confessions of a love-lorn woman, and I utter them with tears running from my eyes. Eventually I fall silent. There is nothing more to say. I am spent and I look fearfully towards Gillian. Astonishingly this welling up of anguish in me has in no way diminished my arousal. Far from it - the opening up of my soul has caused an even greater flood of warm moisture to flood from me in my secret place. Dampening my panties. Filling the air with its pungency. Telling the world of my desire. Gillian now speaks. "Stay absolutely still, Angela". She extends her hand. She lifts up my skirt. Her fingers slide up my leg. I gasp, involuntarily pressing my leg against her fingers. Gillian withdraws her hand. "Oh no, Angela, you didn't listen. Shall we try again? Now, completely still." Her hand returns to the inside of my thighs. I moan, yearning to respond, longing for greater contact. But Gillian's fingers do not move further upwards. She continues to play around my upper thighs, tormenting me, teasing me. "What do you want, Angela" she inquires archly. "Oh please, please". I am panting hard now. "Oh please, touch my pussy, I need that so badly. Please Gillian." Gillian smiles faintly. "But naughty girls can't have what they need, can they Angela? Naughty intruders have to learn their lesson, don't they? In any case," she continues "naughty girls don't have pussies, do they, Angela? They have cunts - naughty cunts that have to learn discipline." I have never uttered the word that she just used. That secret place of mine is just that: my secret place, and I hardly ever even use the word "pussy". And now Gillian has named it with that most humiliating label. What can I do? My need for her to touch my secret place, my cunt - yes that is its name - is unbearable. I will say anything to be released from this torture. Words tumble from my lips. "Yes, Gillian, my naughty cunt needs discipline. Oh please, take it, use it. I so need you to touch my cunt". Gillian laughed and withdraws her hand again. "Well, naughty girl, that's not going to happen" she says sweetly and mockingly. I moan again, eyes wide with pleading, and I bring my own hand to between my legs. Gillian swiftly reaches out and slaps it stingingly. "Oh no, Angela, that's a privilege you now have to earn." My needy cunt, my smarting hand, my utter humiliation, my confusion all merge together and I querulously whisper "What, what do you mean, Gillian; tell me what you mean." Again I am commanded to be still and Gillian begins to explain the true extent of my predicament. "I shall tell you a little story" she begins. "You think you are an attractive woman? You think I might desire you? No, be silent. You are nothing but a means to an end for me. Do you know what I really want? Can you possibly imagine? Keep silent! My pleasure is the seduction of 18 year old girls, Angela - so you see, you can abandon any hopes you might have that I could care for you. But you may serve me and by serving me obtain a reward: the reward is that I shall allow you to pleasure yourself in my company. But mark this: you will never again touch that needy cunt of yours without my permission and I will not give permission until you have done my bidding." I listen, numb with fear and amazement as Gillian continues. "There is a woman, Martha, who cheated me of some money a few years ago - and you shall be the instrument of my revenge. She spent my money - $300,000 - on her spoilt daughter, Karen, who turned 18 this month and I have been waiting for that day. I shall have Karen, Angela, and I shall ruin her. I shall turn her into the most perverted little dyke girl in the world - and Martha will know it." I am now badly frightened. Gillian is a fearsome woman albeit with a beautiful body, lustrous long black hair, and the face of a goddess. But I am so compromised that I can only stand mutely as she goes on. "You will befriend Karen, Angela. I know she visits your library frequently so it will not be difficult - and then you will introduce her to your friend - me. You may watch as I beguile her, woo her, awaken her young body, lead her, lure her, entrance her - until she is so under my sway that I can begin her corruption." I shake my head. I cannot do this thing. Gillian sees my uncertainty. "No, Angela? Think again. Contemplate your cunt. Can you really bear never to experience the craving that I have imbued in you? No you cannot. You will comply. You know it already, don't you?" And I looked at Gillian, at her imperial beauty, felt her dominion over me, and I knew. I knew. I knew that I would be Gillian's intermediary. I knew that I would stand silently by while Gillian wove her dark web around Karen. For the itch in my secret place, my cunt, called out to me. It would never be stilled and so, day by day, I would do Gillian's bidding in order to receive her boon of touching myself to climax. My response was a formality. We both knew it but I made it anyway. A quiet "Yes, Mistress" was all that was required. Before sending me away Gillian gave me some comfort. I would receive my rewards, my relief from the longing in my cunt, on occasions when I had brought Karen to Gillian or when Karen fell ever more under Gillian's spell. She even gave me cause to hope that once Karen had been completely debased and discarded I might hope for some kindness from Gillian. I walked slowly home realizing that my life had changed forever. Over the next few weeks I made every effort to engage Karen in conversation when she came in to the library. She was a lovely girl making the transition from little girl to young woman - but Gillian had been right: she was a spoilt brat. She was pert-breasted, long slim legs, glowing skin, long blonde hair and a bubbling enthusiasm for life. I felt sick at what I had to do but my cunt was burning up and it compelled me to keep working for Gillian. My opportunity to bring Karen to meet Gillian arose because Karen had been saying how much her muscles were aching after a swimming lesson. Slyly I told her that I had a friend who was a superb masseuse who surely could help. So that evening we found ourselves knocking on Gillian's door. Of course I had telephoned Gillian to say I was bringing Karen so I was not surprised to find that Gillian was ready for us. The two of them looked like Hollywood stars. Gillian resplendent and queenly in a long close-fitting black dress, Karen radiant and innocent in jeans, her hair tied in a pony-tail. I looked at my mistress with heart melting, the throbbing in my cunt telling me that my servitude was as intense as ever. Gillian greeted us warmly, hugging Karen and led her to a padded table. She told Karen to strip down to her underwear and lie on the table. Then she took a bottle of massaging oil and gently began to apply it to Karen's skin. Oh I was so envious. There was no doubt that Gillian was a skillful masseuse and Karen obviously found the whole experience very comfortable and relaxing. Meanwhile, behind a curtain, I sat with my eye to a peephole in the curtain. The moment had come at long last and Gillian was allowing me to play with myself. While Gillian was applying oil to Karen's young body, I was frantically rubbing my needy little cunt. Oh so long had it been! I was desperate to climax and, with the sight of my mistress in that clinging black dress I was soon lost in lust. When I climaxed I had to suppress a scream and I collapsed on the floor, my body slick with sweat and my fingers reeking of my love juices. Returning to the peephole I could see that Karen was now so relaxed she was almost asleep. I had expected that Gillian might then touch her more erotically but my mistress was using that first session to win Karen's trust so that she would return for more massage in the days to come. The only thing that Gillian permitted herself in that first session was to whisper encouraging words such as "There, there, doesn't that feel good, little one; don't you love the touch of my fingers". As Gillian bade us farewell at her door I could tell she was elated. She even looked at me with a smile - and did my heart respond! Of course Gillian knew my dirty little secret - my furtive climax behind the curtain and she smiled a little to herself as she let us out with an invitation to return the next day. As we walked away I could see that Karen was almost floating with relaxation, full of Gillian's praises. So began a daily routine. We would arrive when Karen finished school at Gillian's door and stay any where between 90 minutes and two hours. Karen was becoming increasingly hooked on the sensual pleasures of massage relaxation. And I? Oh, I was using my cunt. The pleasure of it never diminished because I was there so close to my mistress, imagining my fingers to be hers, imagining her whispers to Karen to be for my ears alone. It would have been imperceptible had I not known of Gillian's intentions. But I knew that Gillian was very gradually becoming more forward in her ministrations to Karen. Each day her fingers wandered a little closer to Karen's intimate regions, remained a little longer between her upper thighs or near her nipples. Each day Gillian's murmurs became just that little bit more risqué. I doubt that Karen noticed what was happening. I also doubt that she first noticed when her body began to respond as only a woman's body can respond. Little frissons of excitement as Gillian probed near her pubic areas. And more and more, and greater and greater, deeper and deeper. More excited, greater pleasure, deeper dependence. There must have come a moment when Karen woke up in the morning aware that her body had awoken as a woman - and that the feelings she was experiencing on Gillian's massage table were no longer simply the restful feelings of relaxation. And then there must have been a later moment when Karen found herself looking forward to those feelings that Gillian's touch engendered in her. And a still later moment when she could hardly wait to be at Gillian's. I watched it all unfold. One part of me was disgusted with myself - but it was insufficient. For this was the only way I could obtain the release I craved, it was my way of being close to Gillian. Perverted? Yes. But also irresistible. Do you, reader, remember your own first strong physical arousal? Does it not also play with your mind. No matter who the arouser is, you become enamored of them in every way. You live for their presence, their approval, their praise and their pleasure. So it was with Karen. She utterly adored Gillian. I think she would have died for her. And Gillian herself? Oh, she knew and she was preparing for ... what? Stay with me reader, and you will learn the truth. There came a day when Karen must have felt particularly needy. I watched her through the peephole, fingers in my cunt, as she writhed beneath Gillian's touch. It was obvious what she craved: for Gillian's fingers to enter her sweet virgin pussy. Yet at 18 she was too shy to ask directly. So she thrust her pelvis repeatedly towards Gillian's expert fingers hoping, hoping, hoping for the penetration she needed. But Gillian always withdrew her hand, just out of reach of the touch Karen so desperately needed. And now Gillian revealed herself. "My dear, I know what you want, and I want it too, but I just can't be the one who takes your beautiful cherry. It wouldn't be right." To which Karen, now lost to lust, responded "Oh please, Gillian, I want it so much". And so she begged and entreated for minutes upon end while Gillian pretended to consider. Eventually Gillian gave her prepared response. "Well now, my darling. If only a man had taken you first. Then I wouldn't feel as though I was robbing you of your innocence." Karen screamed in frustration. "There's no man, Gillian and it's you I want. Please, please." Thoughtfully Gillian answered. "I could arrange that right now, my darling. My gardener is working outside. If he were to ...". Her voice trailed off but it was obvious what she was suggesting. Karen was beyond caring. "Yes, yes" she screamed again. "And then you can give me what I really need. Just let him be quick." Events now moved very quickly and I realized that Gillian was prepared for this moment. Her peremptory call "Hardwick - now please" brought a stout middle-aged man into the room. He stunk of sweat, his teeth were rotten, and his eyes rolled vacantly. But, goodness me, he was well-endowed. As he dropped his filthy breeches a monstrous cock, already erect and straining purple, sprang into view. "Take her from behind, Hardwick" commanded Gillian and the ugly man mounted the beautiful virgin. There was no finesse, no gentleness, no words spoken. This was a brutal rape except that the victim was compliant. Thrust, thrust, thrust and Karen screamed but now in agony. It seemed to be for an age that Hardwick violated the young girl. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. But he eventually grunted with satisfaction and subsided. There was much blood as he withdrew but Gillian merely flicked her fingers in dismissal and he quickly left the room. Karen lay on the massage table, weeping and broken. Apart from the sounds of her sobbing there were no others. Gillian stood still, calmly regarding the girl below her. Behind the curtain I was frozen with fear. It was a tableau that must have lasted for around 10 minutes as Karen gradually lapsed into silence. She turned over, met Gillian's eyes, and I was amazed to see that she now appeared to be ready for Gillian's caresses once again. Then occurred the cruelest act I have ever witnessed, the like of which I never want to see again. Gillian's voice was hard. "Go to your mother, slut. Tell Martha what has happened if you wish - it was your own will after all. I wanted her daughter to be ruined. In all likelihood you are pregnant. My revenge is complete." Karen flinched. She caught her breath. She tried to rise from the table but fell to the floor. Gillian gently kicked her then left the room. I remained behind the curtain for a few more minutes not daring to make a sound. Eventually, I heard the racking sobs of a tremendous grief. Karen staggered to her feet, went to the door and stepped outside. I still didn't move. I could hardly believe what I had seen and all erotic thoughts had certainly fled. I sat in the darkness for what seemed like hours. Then, hardly audible at first, I heard a piano playing somewhere in the house. It was a Chopin nocturne - wistful and contemplative. I listened for a few moments and then rose in search of the sound. Eventually I found Gillian. She had come to the end of the piece and was idly playing with the keys. Her face was flushed and I could see that she had been crying. It was hardly credible after the scene in the living room. Gillian looked up. "It was necessary, you know" she said quietly. "I was truly evil, wasn't I, but you don't know the full extent of how Martha wronged me." No, that I would never know, but the catharsis of that day had changed Gillian. Never again would I see that so dominant side to her. I think it had all withered away, shriveled and gone. I sat beside the piano and eventually Gillian began to play again. She was a beautiful player and played until the night drew cold and the fires died down. Then she rose, she took me by the hand, and she led me upstairs. At first I thought she was just going to use me for her pleasure. It wouldn't have mattered; I had come so far in complicity with her that I felt a bondage too strong to loosen. But no, it was much more than that and it became even more. I had shared something with Gillian - yes, a shameful dark, horrible thing - but it had bound her to me as well. That night we lay quietly in each other's arms, neither of us sleeping. And in the morning all the raging of my cunt, my pussy, found solace as we made gentle love. And now, 15 years later, I am with her still.