Ms. Beale and Donna

by Abe

Ms. Beale, recently divorced, trolled the bars looking for Mr. Right

until, after too many drinks, a bar tender called a cab for her.  The cab dropped her off across the street from her small ranch-style house.  As she paid the driver, she saw a young man walk down the front walk, turn at the sidewalk, and disappear into the night.

Ms. Beale made her way across the street and up the walk to her front door.  She fumbled with the key for several seconds, before she got the door open and closed behind her.  “Donna?  Donna!” she called.

There was the sound of a toilet flushing, and Donna, all 96 pounds of her, opened the bathroom door.  One hand held the unbuttoned waistband of her jeans, while the other tucked in her tee shirt.  “You slut,” said Ms. Beale, “you had your boyfriend here in my house, and you were fucking with him, with my innocent little girl just behind that door.”

“No, Ms. Beale,” replied the confused babysitter, “there was no boy here.  I wouldn't open the door for anyone.”

“I saw him, leaving by the front door.  You were having sex, and you are not even dressed yet.”  She grasped the waistband of Donna's jeans and yanked them down.

“I went to the bathroom.  I had to pee,” said Donna.  “You heard the toilet flush.”

“Yes,” said Ms. Beale triumphantly, “you flushed the used condom so I wouldn't find it.”  She pulled Donna's white cotton panties down to her knees.  With both hands Ms. Beale steered Donna to a black vinyl upholstered reclining arm chair.  Her jeans and panties were around her ankles, so it was all Donna could do to keep from falling.  “Plant your ass in that chair.”  She pushed the girl down.  Before Donna could fight back, Ms. Beale pulled off shoes, jeans, and panties.

“No, Ms. Beale.  Stop it.  You mustn't treat me like this.  I didn't do anything.”

Ms. Beale put her hand on Donna's right breast and pushed her back in the chair.  “We'll see about that.  I'll bet your cunt is dripping wet.”  Donna struggled to get up.  “You sit back, you slut, or I'll hurt you.”  She pulled Donna's tee shirt up, exposing a simple white bra.  With both hands, she dragged the bra up over Donna's breasts, while Donna complained that they hurt. “Then shut up and sit back,” said Ms. Beale.  She clutched Donna's right breast with her left hand.  It was more than a handful, and Ms. Beale's fingers, fortunately with short nails, dug into the soft flesh.  Donna whimpered and said it hurt, but Ms. Beale reminded her to shut up and sit back.

Donna had her knees clamped together, but Ms. Beale made her put  each leg over an arm of the chair, under penalty of pain.  Ms. Beale kneeled in front of Donna and looked between the now widespread thighs.                         Donna was the only natural blonde in her class, and the wispy blonde pubic hairs did not conceal her genital cleft, with plump labia pressed together, looking much like Ms. Beale's little girl's childish cunt.  With her left hand gripping Donna's right breast, Ms. Beale ran the index finger of her right hand up and down the downy lips and then she pushed the labia apart to reveal some pink.  “You must have wiped yourself pretty well, Slut.  After sex you should be wet.”

“Please, Ms. Beale, I didn't do anything.  There was no boyfriend.”

Ms. Beale just growled and began to finger the little ridge at the top of the cleft, where the inner lips converged.  Donna squirmed and asked her to stop.  Ms. Beale renewed her efforts.  She pinched the labia together at the top and pushed them up and down.  Then she explored between the labia, exposing the inner lips, tracing their edges with a finger tip.  Between the inner lips was smooth pink, but with effort Ms. Beale discovered the almost hidden entrance to the vagina.  She inserted a finger tip.  Donna squealed and pleaded for her to stop, but any attempt to get up from the chair was met with pain in her breast as Ms. Beale clawed it in retaliation.

With some effort, Ms. Beale forced her finger into the vagina, which became easier as the mucosa dampened.  She curled her finger toward the pubic bone, feeling for a G-spot.  Donna was quiet.  In time, Ms. Beale found she could insert two fingers, and she moved them in and out while her thumb, between the loosened labia, pressed the clitoris.  Donna's head lolled back, and her mouth hung open.  Two fingers fucked her cunt, then three.  Donna started vocalizing: “Uh, uh, Ah.”  With a vicious push, Ms. Beale pushed four fingers into the girl, and Donna called out, a long, drawn out moan, followed, seconds later, with giggle.

“Oh, shit!” said Ms. Beale, “there's blood  all over my chair.”  She looked down at her bloody hand.  “Oh, well, it's plastic.  I can clean it up.”

Donna sighed.  “I don't think I'm a virgin any more,” she said.

Just then Ms. Beale heard a small voice behind her: “Mommy, what is a virgin?”