Upstanding Young Women

When Marjorie saw the roommate list for the state competition, her stomach dropped. They'd be out of town for a night, and she'd be stuck with Diane. Diane, whom she hadn't spoken to since the afternoon in the library. Diane, whose soft curl of hair escaped the tight bun she wore and caught the light. Diane, who leaned forward imperceptibly, her eyes warm and bright. Marjorie had been so surprised by the kiss, so surprised by the sudden warmth that curled between her legs, that she'd jumped up and ran from the library.

As the day grew closer, Marjorie became a jumble of nerves, barely able to focus on the upcoming competition. She stumbled practicing her curtsies, dribbled vichyssoise down her blouse, got lipstick on her gloves. She noticed Diane studying her, arms crossed, from the back of the studio as her class practiced the foxtrot. Marjorie gulped and did her best to focus, reminding herself that it was just one night away. She would be back home Saturday, and things would have to be resolved, one way or another. She just hoped she could once more feel the way she felt that afternoon in the library, like she'd touched a live wire.

Before she and her teammates loaded onto the bus, their instructor and chaperone, Ms. Minchon, spoke briefly, reminding them of their duty to their school, their county, and their sex. She arched an eyebrow as she intoned, "I dearly hope some of you will show improved performance tomorrow, or it will be a sad homecoming for us all." She made direct eye contact with Marjorie, who did her best not to wither under the stern glare.

Their arrival at the lodge was boisterous and joyful, despite Ms. Minchon's best efforts. Plans were made, new friends included, and secret nips of schnapps promised to those who could be trusted. Marjorie stood alone, key in hand, wondering how long she could put off going to her room. She felt an arm slide around her shoulder, and turned to see Diane, standing with a smirk on her face. "Well, we'd best be getting on, shouldn't we?" she whispered. Marjorie nodded and she shivered, and followed her.

They had scarcely entered the room when Diane turned to face her. "Marjorie, we have something important to discuss. Set your bags down and prepare yourself."

Marjorie was grateful for the chair that sat in front of the correspondence desk. Her legs threatened to collapse under her as she sank into it.

Diane straightened her skirts as she perched, perfectly poised, on the edge of the desk. "Your performance lately has been atrocious. You are distracted, awkward, and ungainly. If you don't improve, the whole school will suffer. Do you understand?" she asked, using her index finger to tilt Marjorie's chin up. Up close, she smelled like honeysuckle. Being so close to her, Marjorie felt like swooning. Unable to speak, she nodded. "Luckily, you have me to help you. I find that it works best to go back to the beginning, to the building blocks of what we've learned. That will help you regain your confidence."

Thus began Diane's lessons. She had Marjorie practice sitting ramrod-straight in the chair, walking in her competition heels, enunciating tongue-twisters. Whenever she made an error, Diane tapped her gently on the back of the wrist. With each tap, Marjorie grew more confident and, to her dismay, more heated. She wasn't nervous about the competition. She was nervous about the feeling she got, an ache in her heart, when she caught a glimpse of Diane, face intent and serious, watching her.

After a short break for a mixer and dinner, they returned to their room. Marjorie was flushed with the conversations she'd had downstairs, and with the two sips of schnapps she'd taken in the ladies' lounge. She felt bold and brave. She'd worked up the nerve to talk, really talk, to Diane, when she was handed a copy of Emily Post's Etiquette. "We're not finished yet," said Diane, with a slow smile. "Ms. Post has a task for you."

Diane instructed Marjorie to back up to the wall, then laid the book flat on top of her head. "I noticed you slouching at dinner. We can't have that happening tomorrow. You'll need to keep the book from falling, no matter what. Do you understand?"

"No matter what," said Marjorie. "Diane, I'd like to talk to you."

"We can talk later, it's important that you practice this now. We wouldn't want to disappoint Ms. Post." Diane had a new glint in her eye, and bit her lower lip. "First, you need to walk from the wall to the desk." She was once again perched on the edge, skirt wrinkled now.

Marjorie did, feeling a bit foolish but also relishing the feeling of Diane's eyes on her. She fidgeted with an itchy seam in her blouse. "Here, let me help," said Diane, unbuttoning the little pearl buttons that ran to her breasts. Marjorie felt a flush across her chest.

"Oh dear, you're getting a bit red, aren't you?" said Diane, tracing a finger across her collarbones, dipping it down between her breasts. Sweat broke out on Marjorie's upper lip, and she gripped the table to still her body's quaking. She felt light-headed as it seemed all the blood in her body rushed between her legs.

She hardly realized that Diane had eased off her shirt and brassiere, so focused was she on keeping her body still. When a thumb brushed across her nipple, she barely caught herself from jolting. "Please," she said, "please."

"Would you like me to stop?" asked Diane, pulling her hand away. Marjorie didn't answer. "Perhaps that's your problem. You can't decide what you want."

Marjorie swallowed hard, her mouth dry. "I can't take anymore, I'll drop the book, it's not fair."

Diane chuckled. "We won't know unless we keep going, will we? If you stop now," she said, leaning close to Marjorie's ear, "you'll never know how far you could have made it."

They were still a moment, as Marjorie worked her options. She noticed that Diane's hair had tumbled, once again, out of the tight bun. The lamplight caught it, and it seemed to glow. Her whole body felt taught and tense. "Please, don't stop," she panted. With that, Diane moved her back to the wall, pinning her in place.

"The wall should help keep the book on your head. I can at least give you a handicap, since you're doing so well," said Diane, her hands intertwined with Marjorie's. "Don't make me regret it," she said, releasing Marjorie's hands. "Close your eyes," she said, trailing her fingers down Marjorie's rib cage.

Marjorie's senses were focused entirely on touch, on what those fingers were doing to her. She felt goosebumps rise in the trail of the fingers. Up and down her skin they ran, igniting flames in her body. When one idle finger slid between her underwear and skin, she jumped. The electricity ran up and down her body, lodging as heat between her legs. "What do you think I'll find here?" asked Diane, a slight edge to her tone. She drew the finger down to lightly rest just on the outside of Marjorie's underwear. "Why Marjorie," she said, mocking, "You're just soaking wet," as she dragged the finger back and forth, teasing the lips there. Marjorie felt a hot rush of blood to her face.

"Diane, Diane," she found herself babbling, reaching for words she couldn't say, for things she couldn't ask for. The book wobbled as she tightened her legs together, trying to contain the scrambled feelings that ran through her.

"Enough," said Diane, simmering, swiping the book to the floor. She crushed her lips against Marjorie's and directed her back to the table. She bent Marjorie over it to lay her on her back. "A new task," she said, pulling away with a growl. "Do your recitations. Now. Don't stop them."

Marjorie's head swam, trying to remember them. She could barely think. The room was the whole world. She had been born here, grown here, was on the edge of expiring here. She knew nothing but the wetness and heat between her legs, her skirt being pushed up, the cool air on her thighs.

"I ... I can't remember any," she said, her voice desperate. Diane's hands pulled off her underwear, tossing it in a corner.

"License my roving hands," hissed Diane, reminding her of the poem they'd read in poetry class, running her fingers over Marjorie's pubis, watching as she bucked against the table.

"And let them go," breathed Marjorie. "Before, behind, ooh!" she said, as a finger slid into her wetness, direct as a brand. "Between above, below." The finger traced a firm line up and down her slit. "Oh, Diane!" she squealed, as the finger landed on a small dot at the top of her slit. The finger was relentless, nudging the spot. She felt something massive building. She was climbing, crawling.

All at once, all movement stopped. Diane drew her hands away. She stood up, unbuttoned her blouse slowly, slipped off her bra, eased off her pumps, wriggled out of her skirt. Marjorie, panting, lifted her head up at her in wonder. "Diane, where did you ever learn...?"

Diane held a finger to her lips. "Spread your legs," she said, gruffly. "Do not allow them to close." She hooked each of Marjorie's feet behind the thin legs of the desk. She stood above her. As she leaned over to help Marjorie grab the other two legs with her hands, Marjorie caught one of her nipples between her lips. Diane shivered, lifting up. "Not yet," she said, twitching her finger. "I've got more to teach you."

She angled the chair to wear Marjorie could see it without craning her head. Diane spread her legs. Marjorie gasped. Diane was a bright, livid red between her legs. "This is what happens to women like us, Marjorie, when we see or feel something we like." She closed her eyes and dipped a finger to the flesh that opened with ease. Marjorie felt like she was seeing art for the first time. "You see the shininess? That's what happens. Our bodies make it, to make everything slippery. They say it makes sex easier, but I've never," her breath hitched as she slid her finger deeper within her vulva, "I've never tried it." Diane taught her about that spot at the top of her slit, she called it a clitoris. When she touched it, her body jolted and her breath came in little gasps. She looked amazing, and Marjorie couldn't get enough of watching her. She wriggled on the desk, mindful of her orders but desperate to sate the feelings between her legs.

"I'm going to show you what happens, so you won't be scared when it happens to you," said Diane, the same flush spreading across her chest. She directed her finger back down to her lips, while her other hand grasped her breast. Diane's body bucked as she worked that spot, her clitoris. Her face was glowing the lamplight, a fine sheen of sweat covering her neck and chest. Her face twisted, a look of intense concentration. Her voice came in short little whines. "Once you get to a certain point, you can stop, like," she said, taking a few deep breaths and stilling her hands, "Like I did with you, or you can keep going," she said with a deep moan, resuming with renewed strength.

Marjorie could smell the shiny liquid, same as hers. Her body felt impossibly warm, watching what Diane was doing to herself. Her pelvis was lifting out of the chair as she worked her hands. Her voice pitched higher and higher as she moved the finger furiously, her whole body writhing, the chair creaking under the effort. At all once she let out a throaty yell as her pelvis pumped in the air, one, two, three times. With a sigh she collapsed in the chair, panting.

When Diane recovered, she looked at Marjorie with a grin on her face. "So, would you like to continue your lessons?"

"Please, Diane, whatever that was, I want it too," said Marjorie, surprised to feel a tear in her eye.

Diane pulled the chair back in front of the table. "I think we can skip the review and go straight to the application," she said. "You're still awfully wet. That's good, it means your body liked what it saw," she said, with a shy grin.

She drew her hands back to Marjorie's inner thighs, slick and hot. "When you start, start with light touches out around here," she said, reminding Marjorie of her earlier lesson with the book. "Keep taking breaths, it makes it better." She slid her finger back into Marjorie's weeping slit. "No moving now," she said, with pretend sternness, placing a firm hand on Marjorie's public bone. This new command further inflamed Marjorie, who was soon back to her earlier desperate state.

"You can stay here almost forever," said Diane, slowing her movements, "I've spent almost two hours on the edge before I finally gave in." Marjorie couldn't imagine and hoped it wouldn't happen to her. She was a firework with a short fuse, a grenade with the pin pulled.

"Of course, that's not always the goal," said Diane, resuming her finger movement on Marjorie's clitoris. She slit another finger from the other hand inside Marjorie, who tightened her calves at the intrusion. "Good girl," said, Diana, "You barely moved." She began working the finger just inside Marjorie's opening, dipping it in and out. "Keep breathing," she reminded her. Marjorie wanted to catch the finger inside her, wished she could move her hips to capture the feeling. Diane leaned down to gently kiss her. "Be patient," she whispered. "It's worth it." She added another finger and Marjorie felt some surprise that it didn't hurt. She tightened her muscles inside and gripped the fingers.

"I can feel you pushing," said Diane, "You're getting very close, aren't you?" Marjorie nodded, unable to speak or do anything beyond focusing on the fingers working on her. "Would you like to climax?" she asked, her voice breathy in Marjorie's ear.

"Oh, please," managed Marjorie, on an exhale. "Please please please," she said as Diane pressed her thumb to Marjorie's clitoris, igniting a new fire in her belly. Diane stared directly into Marjorie's eyes, her expression serious. Marjorie's legs were sore from staying open, her back sweaty on the table. She gripped the table legs with her hands. "Please please please," she whimpered as the feeling grew, impossibly large. She turned her head from side to side, trying to deny it, to refuse it, it was too big, it would ruin her, it would ...

"Marjorie," Diane said, with firmness in her voice, "You need to climax now, do you understand? This is very important," she said, working her fingers."You need to let this happen." Marjorie's pelvis wrenched up, and Diane slammed it back down on the desk. "Damn it, climax for me now!" she yelled.

At that, Marjorie let loose. Her chest heaving, she cried out and sat up, grabbing Diane in her arms. She held her tight as the spasms shook her, her muscles squeezing Diane's fingers. Diane was gasping, her voice caught. She thrust her pelvis into the air, finally free to move and extend her hips. She bucked against Diane, pulling her tight to her. Gradually, her body stilled and she sat up, her legs watery.

"Congratulations," said Diane, her eyes wet, "You've passed your lessons."