Amy

byParis Waterman©

Chapter One

Amy stood rising and falling on the balls of her feet, staring at her nude reflection in the full-length mirror with confidence. She was still basking in the glow of the adulation she'd received from singing at her high school graduation earlier that afternoon. She smiled radiantly at her likeness, and congratulated herself on having several encores ready, and the facile manner she'd rendered them. All in all, it had gone better than expected. But then, she was a star.

Correction, she chided herself, you're going to be a star. And her mouth curved up into a smile as she continued primping for the party at Donna's later that evening.

This was it, she thought and sighed, my last day in Seegerville. She caught herself about to bite her fingernail and stopped. Nasty habit nail biting,' she thought. Ah, well, tomorrow morning I'm boarding the train and heading for New York City, Broadway and stardom.

Amy glanced down at the two new sets of lingerie she'd purchased at Victoria's Secret several days before for this occasion, still undecided on which set to wear to the party. Frowning slightly, she placed several other flimsy items alongside them on the bed and thoughtfully examined each one in turn.

She still hadn't settled another more important matter, and walked in a circle around her room, her young, buoyant breasts flouncing with each stride.

Was Darren was going to get laid tonight?

Pouting, she put a finger to her lip, and pondered this decision in much the same way she was selecting her underwear.

He's been wonderful this year, and I have teased him so . . . but I'm still cherry intacto, and maybe, just maybe I should stay that way for a while longer.

But then, still undecided on the retention of her virginity, Amy yawned and stretched; then turned to the bed and selected a black satin thong-panty and bra set from the pile of lingerie. And humming her favorite tune from "Showboat," the school play that had gotten her unprecedented attention in the area, she sat down in a chair to draw the thong on. Getting up, she walked over to face the mirror, turning this way and that, all the while admiring her petite, trim, firm but pliant body.

Amy was indeed a true beauty. Tall, she stood 5'5" without heels, and had raven-colored hair cut in a cute pageboy style, with soft curls turned under at the ends to frame her beautiful face. People constantly told her she resembled a young Elizabeth Taylor. Amy had been forced to find this woman on the internet and had reluctantly seen what a strong resemblance she had to the world famous actress.

But I'm prettier than she, Amy thought, and smiled as she realized that even in thinking she was using correct grammar these days. Once again she glanced in the full-length mirror. Well, maybe, she thought, Liz was considered the most beautiful woman in the world at her peak, so if folks want to compare me with her I'll take it as a complement.

Fortunately for Amy, she kept these thoughts to herself, having been raised by a good Christian family and possessing a good deal of old fashioned common sense. She knew that others would not appreciate her vanity and in fact, being less attractive than she, would probably resent her for them.

For the party that evening, she'd swept her hair up behind her ears and held it in place with her favorite antique comb clip  from there it cascaded down in a fall to her shoulders. Amy's eyes were a smoldering green thanks to the contact lenses her father had surprised her with at the beginning of her final semester, and if one looked closely the first stirrings of desire were smoldering there as she reminded herself that her pussy needed a trim. She allowed her long fingers to dawdle over her mons, but as soon as she detected the rising heat from her little furnace, she quickly withdrew them. "I'll do that when I get to New York," she said aloud, and then returned to admiring her taut, flat stomach, and her natural olive skin that glowed with an almost perpetual tan.

Glancing into the mirror again, Amy's hands cupped her high, firm breasts as she appraised them, thinking, Shannon or Terry can kiss my butt if they think they have a better set of boobs than I do.

Then her lips parted in a wicked grin. Now that's silly, she told herself. But as Amy hefted her breasts again, an inquiring look registered briefly on her face, then she closed her eyes and nodded, as if her question had been answered. Her fingers began tracing a series of ever narrowing circles on her breasts until they circled and rubbed the quickly stiffening nipples.

God, that felt good, she thought, and the mirror echoed her joy. With a sudden inspiration, she crossed the room and grabbed the chair and tugged it to the side of her bed and sat facing the mirror.

Amy shivered in anticipation. Could she seduce the mirror? She asked herself. Wasn't she an actress? Of course she could.

Placing two fingers in her mouth, she carefully licked them until both were covered with her saliva. An instant later as those same moist fingers danced over her skin, she had to shiver as the thrills they caused began to materialize throughout her body.

With a knowing grin, Amy inched forward until she sat on the edge of the chair, then leaned back, smiling lasciviously at her reflection.

Can you see it?

She widened her legs.

Can you see it better?

Her legs opened still further.

Now? Yes, now, she snickered anxiously and a nervous smirk appeared on her face as she watched her clit emerge from its hiding place.

It's amazing, she thought, it almost never fails to come forth at the earliest signs of arousal.

Then with a seemingly reckless move that was actually carefully calculated, she spread her labia apart with the fingers of her left hand, placed her right forefinger back in her mouth and sucked on it, readying herself.

What a seductive wench I am, she thought. Have you no shame? She said, speaking to the mirror. No, none, at least not any more I don't. Did I ever have any shame?

A puzzled light glimmered in her eyes for just a fraction of a second, before she knew the answer. Never, she'd never really known shame. She'd practiced it from infancy and perfected it as part of her acting studies; but she'd never really experienced it.

Just then the finger came out of her mouth with a pop, and Amy calmly positioned it at the opened folds of her pussy.

Her eyes questioned the mirror. Now?

Now! She answered herself. Both eyes widened as her mouth opened revealing the erotic eagerness with which she looked forward to in anticipation of the pleasure that was to come.

Amy looked down to see the finger slowly embedding itself within her dampened pussy. The faint smile on her face grew larger as her finger gradually worked its way in and out, and larger yet until it could expand no further, but remained fixed in place, as if it were a grimacing death rictus. A moment passed, then her tongue unhurriedly moved across her upper teeth, then back, touching, tickling her gums, but she didn't feel it.

Now in an almost trance-like state, Amy reached for a hand-mirror on the floor beside her, and leaning back in the chair positioned it so that she could see her ass as well as her pussy.

How is it possible to get so horny so easily, she wondered.

How is it that I'm still a virgin? Is no one good enough for me?

At the last thought, Amy grinned lewdly at the mirror, and reaching behind her, lightly touched her rectum. Her hips were beginning to rock of their own volition, and soft moans escaped her throat. Then with eyes closed, and head moving in slow languid circles, Amy slipped deeper and deeper into her own private world -- her world in front of the mirror, her silent lover.

Her finger delicately crisscrossed her clit, leaving a searing memory of feather-like touches in its wake. She jerked a bit at this, and let out an involuntary gasp.

Her eyes were wide open now, watching intently as her fingers circled fasterrubbed hardersent a searing conflagration cascading through her belly to her nipples.

God, it feels good, she thought, breathing unevenly, and with the next touch of her fingers, a long, ragged moan left her throat.

The light knock on the door startled Amy, but she quickly collected herself and reached quickly for her bra a split second before the door opened, and her mother stuck her head inside.

"Are you all right?" she asked, a mother's concern in her voice.

"Yes, mother. I'm just having a problem with this darn bra that's all." Her mother entered the room, and helped fasten it in place, then looked sternly at Amy.

"That looks more like honeymoon attire than for a graduation party. I hope you're not going out with some preconceptions Amy."

"I haven't had any thoughts whatsoever about conception, Mother. Everyone wears this kind of underwear now."

"I don't know dear..." Her mother's mind raced back twenty years to her graduation party. No, she recalled, it was my prom. David and I... But her reverie was interrupted by Amy's voice.

"Mother! I'm going off into the world tomorrow. Please don't make a scene on my last night at home."

"It's just that..."

"Mother!"

"Oh, all right dear. I suppose you're all grown up now. Or so you think. Can I help you with anything else?"

"No, I don't think so. I'm wearing my black cocktail dress with the spaghetti straps and those pumps," she said, indicating a pair of black shoes on the floor next to the bed.

"And jewelry?"

"Not too much," Amy shrugged. "Just my charm bracelet and that gold necklace Dad bought me for my birthday." She thought for a moment and added, "And a ring or two. That should do it."

"It sounds like you've thought it through," her mother said with some restraint. "Let me see you before you go okay?"

"Sure Mother. And Mother?"

"Yes Amy?"

"Please don't wait up for me."

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