the words of miss antonia

Antonia was a sweet girl who loved to wear pleated skirts and put ribbons in her hair, who read poetry under the huge oak tree in her backyard. She lived in a huge Victorian-esque home on the outskirts of town; her bedroom was something out of a Jane Austen novel, complete with a window seat which, on cold winter nights, she would sit on and scribble short stories and fanciful lyrics in her notebook, which she kept in a secret compartment in her bedside table.

Not that she was afraid anyone would read it and make fun of her writing style, or dismiss the words as uneducated and poorly-written --- for they were not, Antonia being probably one of the best young amateur writers in the Midwest. No, it was the kinds of stories she wrote, like the following passage:

Enya and Patricia were alone and together now, and completely naked, hot and bothered by the sight of each other. It was simply arousing -- just looking at her best friend's nude form stirred Enya's loins into a frenzy, turning her cunt damp with excitement. She ran her tongue, pink and small and sweet, over one of Patricia's nipples; it turned hard like a pebble in her mouth, prompting her to suck on it greedily -- Patricia moaned and clumsily rubbed at the opening of her soaking, sore cunt with her hand. Enya kept on licking and sucking at her friend's nipples, then moving on to her whole breasts, smooth and warm in her mouth. She massaged one breast in her hand while she kept the other in her mouth, and reached down to feel Patricia's cunt, which was now sopping wet and leaking fluids. Enya wanted to go between Patricia's legs and lap them up so badly -- so she let go of the girl's tit and lowered her head between Patricia's legs. The scent of Patricia's cunt was both strange and arousing; it made Enya want her even more. Ever since that day in gym, in the girl's locker room, when Enya looked truly for the first time at Patricia's naked body -- the curves of her breasts and stiff peaks of her nipples, the round firm buttocks, the damp patch of hair between her legs -- all Enya wanted to do was to claim it with her hands, her mouth, make it hers.

Enya prodded gently at Patricia's cunt with her fingertips, making the girl moan even louder. Would her uncle hear them, she wondered, knowing full well he was probably in the bathroom next door listening in. Her uncle, the minister -- how embarrassing it would be if Enya revealed the magazines stashed under his bed with pictures of young boys being plowed from behind by older men, white women covered in the cum of black men (a biracial bukkake, in most cases), all stained with the fluids of his sin - of sitting in the bathroom and ejaculating to his favorite pull-out, fantasizing about being the man fucking the young boy from behind, his cock pumping in and out of his anus, his balls slapping harshly against the boy's cheeks, all while he ran his hands up and down the shota's cock, pulling frantically until the boy's face was covered in his own cum. Even now, he was probably listening in, pushing his stiff cock in and out of his cupped hands as he tried to picture the scene. [Sometimes, Enya would imagine walking in on him masturbating -- "Were you thinking of me?" -- and, naked, putting the gleaming head of his cock into her mouth, running her tongue over the ridges of his cock, pushing him into her cunt and riding him until they both came once, twice, his face buried deep in her breasts to catch his sigh of contentment.]

Enya ran her tongue over the ridge of Patricia's cunt, tasting her juices flow into her mouth. The ridge hardened, only urging Enya to suckle deeper until her face was buried in Patricia's cunt, her tongue darting in and out of her folds. Patricia shuddered, cried out, and released her warm liquid into Enya's mouth, which she drank up as if she were thirsty for more than just water. Soon, Enya was pumping one, two fingers in and out of Patricia's cunt, relishing the feeling of the girl's muscles contracting on her digits so much her other hand began servicing herself. In a matter of minutes, both girls came, spilling out onto the bedsheets their cum.

Patricia grabbed Enya's hips and pulled them two of them together until their cunts and tits were rubbing together in a tandem hug and didn't stop until she fucked Enya with her own cunt, driving it deep between Enya's legs until she screamed her name as she came a third time.

There was a knock at the door, but Antonia could not hear it at first, so concentrated was she on rereading his Sappho stories, one hand holding the book open while the other rubbed frantically at the front of her rose-print panties, the material growing wetter every second. If one were to peek through her bedroom window, they'd see a young girl with golden curls spread around her head, lying on her bed while holding a book in the air and, except for her flowered panties, completely naked {her pink budding nipples matched the pink roses on her underwear, her golden curls matching the tiny wisps of goldenrod pubic hair that bloomed faintly from the girl's crotch}.

Except that, someone was looking through her bedroom window. Using a pair of binoculars, a young man was crouching in a nearby oak tree, keeping his eyes on lovely Antonia even as his fevered masturbation threatened to knock him from his perch.