Punishment with Kisses by Diane Anderson-Minshall Page B

entire body until even my teeth were chattering along. To keep from falling off, I wrapped my arms tightly under her breasts and held on for dear life. The ride was exciting enough. I could have stayed behind her on that bike for hours, but before I knew it we were at a park fumbling around in the darkness.
    I felt a bit foolish at first, until we smoked a bowl of weed, and soon we were lying in each other’s arms on the banks of Lake Oswego, talking and kissing for so long that we were still there hours later when the sun began to rise.
    Everything about Shane was fascinating. She was beautiful and smart and dark and sarcastic. A poet and performance artist with a rebellious streak and a sensitive side. Shane’s mother and father, both drug addicts, split when she was two. She bounced back and forth between them until running away at fourteen. She’d been on her own since then, sometimes selling drugs to get by. She’d had a number of lovers but never a real girlfriend. Her number one goal in life, she said, was to find true love.
    I’m not sure if I was a sucker for a romantic story or if it was just the rush of feelings from that evening, but I wanted Shane so badly. She waited for me, just talking, drawing me out, never making a move until I was practically begging for it. After a couple of hours of talk, my body was just aching for that first kiss, and by the time I leaned in for it, I wanted to explode. The kiss was warm, soft, wet, unforgiving. I melted into it as though Shane was a part of me, and before I knew it I had taken her hand and shoved it inside my panties. I was wet and full and she parted me with her fingers like a locksmith with a deadbolt. She was in and out of my cunt, twisting me up in passion before I could think, and soon her head was down there too, her tongue lapping at the sides of my clit, teasing me for what seemed like hours before giving in to my desire. I couldn’t wait for her though. I tore at my own shirt, pulling my bra straps aside and pointing my nipples into the early morning air. I would have lapped them up myself if my tongue could reach, but instead I used my fingers to twist and massage them while Shane licked and lapped, all the while still moving her hand in and out of me.
    Just thinking about it in retrospect makes me want to orgasm like I did that night, over and over, each time crying out and pushing her back, unsure whether I could take yet another la petite mort.
    It was nearing sunup when we finished, too exhausted to go on but still eager for each other’s bodies. Shane wanted me to come back to her place, but I couldn’t. I already knew I’d incur Father’s wrath over our mandatory “family” breakfast by staying out all night, and suddenly I felt awkwardness too. A bit of embarrassment at having let this relative stranger inside me so much, literally and metaphorically. As my body was flushed and weak, almost heightened from being stimulated for hours, my mind was racing with a mixture of emotions—excitement and guilt tops among them. I had Shane rush me back to my car in hopes I could make it back to the estate before Father was up for his usual coffee, half grapefruit, and Wall Street Journal breakfast ritual.
    I was successful, to a point. When I got to the house, I ran to the door and discovered the house was still relatively dark. Unfortunately, my keys were missing. My whole bag was missing, actually. Thinking I left it at the lake, I began looking for some other way to get into the house without alerting the inhabitants. I tried the other doors, the windows, even the back gate, all of which were locked. Probably because Father is a security freak who thinks people are trying to steal our stuff at all times. Fortunately, as I started to hunch down by the front door, frustration welling up in the corner of my eyes, Maria opened the door.
    “Oh, Miss Caulfield, you scare me,” Maria said in startled, broken English. “Are you all right?”
    “Oh,