Scissor Link by Georgette Kaplan (good books to read for adults .TXT) 📕

wouldn’t take the hint. Wendy flapped it wildly in the air before she realized, barring yoga, a beaver shot wouldn’t include her feet.

“You know, you’re just like Keith. You don’t appreciate me. I bring you groceries, I bring you wine—”

At this rate, anything I take a picture of is going to be sealed up like an airlock. “Regan, come on,let me wipe in peace!”

Regan grumbled, but Wendy heard her moving off. Very quickly, Wendy spread herself, tried not to think about it, positioned the camera, tried to think of something sexy, tried to center herself to give her crotch at least the appearance of belonging to a poised and dignified lady, and made a duckface just because. The camera flashed, Wendy sent it, and was struggling into her lower garments as the little letter icon shot off into the ether.

This is why dick pics are a thing and not vag pics, she thought to herself. Men had it easy. They could just unzip, whip it out, and there you were. Wasn’t like the things could look any weirder. Her, she had to think about lighting. She hadn’t even put a filter on it. She should’ve used a filter! Everyone used filters! Cat pictures had filters!

Despondent about being a filterless vagina in a filter world, Wendy stepped out of the bathroom and saw Regan turning away from the front door, opening a box in her hands.

The last box Wendy had gotten hadn’t been a bad sex toy, for a GoBot, but it was still a GoBot sex toy thing too far for her to want her sister to find. “Regan, Regan, I think that’s mine—”

“It should be, it was on your doorstep.” Regan reached into her package.

Wendy prepared herself to have to explain what Ben Wa balls were.

“One glove? Who’d send you one glove? Are you getting Michael Jackson’s mail by mistake?”

Wendy snatched it from her. It was one glove. One black, leather glove. Janet’s. “Hey, Regan, you think we could do this some other time? Work’s been buzzing me all night, I need to get on my computer, yeah, let’s do this tomorrow.”

“What about Keith?” Regan protested as Wendy worked her toward the door.

“Yeah, sure, he’s an awful husband, you should divorce him.”

“I’m not going to divorce him, I love him!”

Wendy got the door for her. “Then you should forgive him.”

Regan crossed her arms. “Don’t take his side!”

Wendy pushed her out the door.

Her phone was buzzing. Even that was pleasant. Only Janet wasn’t texting her. Janet was calling her. Wendy walked back to her bed, picked up her wine off the floor, and swigged before she answered.

“You did as you were told,” Janet’s voice said at a steady clip, every word measured, considered, precisely cut. And drippingwith sin. “That’s good. I find it very pleasing when you do that.”

“You should see me put together an IKEA desk,” Wendy said, then regretted saying. “You know, you kinda picked a bad time for this.”

“It was good for me,” Janet replied. Her voice licked through the phone, nibbled at Wendy’s ear. “That’s the important thing. Now, is it still a ‘bad time’, or would you like to play another game?”

Wendy’s lips clung together wetly as she opened her mouth to answer. “I’d like to play another game, Ms. Lace.”

Wendy could hear Janet’s smile like a switchblade flicking out. “I’m so happy to hear that, Ms. Cedar. This game is very simple. I know you liked the picture you got of me—I could see it in how eager you were to show yourself spread—so that will be your reward. Every picture I send, I’ll remove one item of clothing. And I’ll send one picture for every finger you take. You’ll be wearing the glove, of course.”

Wendy locked her door, then threw the chain up. She started struggling out of her skirt and panties again, flopping down onto her bed, the phone nestled against her ear. Shorts. She definitely had to wear shorts to work. “And how many items of clothing are you wearing?”

“In the pictures? Well, that depends, Ms. Cedar. You saw me at the office today. How much did you think I was wearing?”

Wendy set the phone to speaker mode and dropped it beside her pillow. “I know you’re wearing a bra.”

“For now,” Janet retorted. “Are you touching yourself?”

“Not yet,” Wendy said, trying to keep her voice from trembling. She didn’t want to admit that the sudden volume of air on her lower extremities, between her thighs and on her ass and pressing in on her sex, was already more intense than she thought she could bear. It just wasn’t like thiswhen she touched herself without Janet. And she thought she needed a vibrator…

“That’s all right. I’ll wait. I’m a very patient woman. I can spend…hours…making sure something is done right.”

Wendy groaned. She knew that Janet knew what that had made her think. Didn’t matter if she had a filthy mind or not. Carol fucking Brady would think dirty with the way Janet had said it.

Hours, Christ, she didn’t know if she could survive one minute!

Wendy slid her right hand into the glove. It fit like, well… She reached downward, stopped herself, heard Janet’s breath over the phone—was it a little strained or was that her imagination?—used her left hand to cup her breast through her clothes. It didn’t matter that she still had a blouse on, didn’t matter that she still had a bra on. Right through both of them, her nipple responded to the touch. It was almost painfully hard, her nipple pebbling right under her fingers, grinding with just the slightest bit of pain and so much more pleasure against its confines.

“I’m…touching now,” she said, barely breathing as her hand rolled between her thighs, over her sex. She had to hold herself back from penetrating herself—it felt like her pussy was burning and her fingers were ice water making it just cool enough to bear—but she didn’t want to hurt herself, she knew Janet wouldn’t want that. The cool leather felt magnificent on