3

A lesbian who-done-it.

Chapters Two and Three.

This is the second and third chapters of "Girl in a Box." Don't start reading here, go back and read chapter one first. Failure to do so will cause confusion; loss of erotic impact, and the Center for the Public Health warns that it might cause your dick to fall off.

Into the Pit

"Did Ms. Wesson try to seduce you during the two days you spent at her home?"

"It wasn't like that at all," Julie said.

"Really. Did you seduce her?"

"Objection, your Honor."

"I'll allow it," Judge Katherine Pool said.

"We didn't have sex, and neither of us tried to seduce the other," Julie said.

"Did you sleep in the same bed both nights?"

"Yes."

"Did you both sleep in the nude?"

"Yes."

"Isn't it true that there are eight bedrooms in the Wesson home?"

"I wouldn't be much company on the other side of the house."

"Was it unusually warm that February night?"

"No," Julie said, "It was colder than a witch's… chest."

The prosecutor waited for the sparse chuckles to die down, "Yet on this very cold night, both of you elected to sleep in the nude, in the same bed."

"It was hot in the house."

"Obviously," the prosecutor said, getting his own chuckles.

"So you claim your friendship didn't become intimate until much later, that you were still just 'experimenting' when Mr. Wesson was murdered."

"We had done it, if that's what you mean," Julie said.

"By 'done it,' do you mean that you and Mrs. Wesson had made love to each other?"

"Yes."

"Did your husbands know about this?"

"No."

"What if they had? What if Mr. Wesson had found out? What if he was so angry…"

"Objection."

"Sustained."

"Dave knows all about it, and he's sitting right there helping to defend her."

"Strike, your honor," the prosecutor said.

"The jury will disregard the last statement. When I sustain an objection, don't answer the question, Ms. Crenshaw."

"Sorry, ma'am."

"The defendant claims that she was with you on the night of March 12th, between the hours of six and nine in the evening. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And we've shown beyond a shadow of a doubt that the bomb was planted at nine-o-seven."

"Objection. A shadow of a doubt is for the jury to decide."

"Sustained."

"How far is it from the beach house to the hangar where the plane was kept?"

"It takes about an hour."

"So if she was with you, sixty miles away, and she didn't leave until nine, it would be pretty hard for her to get there in seven minutes, wouldn't it?"

"That's right. She has a perfect alibi. She didn't do it," Julie said.

"Let's look at this 'just experimenting' relationship, and this 'perfect alibi,' shall we?"

"Go right ahead," Julie said.

"What were the two of you doing for three hours at a beach house in the middle of winter?"

"Hanging out, talking, playing games," Julie said, "We probably made out a little, too."

"We all appreciate that bit of candor, Ms. Crenshaw. Let's look at this a little closer, shall we? Hanging out, that pretty much covers everything else, doesn't it? Talking? Why you could be doing that while you were 'making out,' couldn't you? Games. What kind of games? Monopoly? Nintendo? Card games? War?"

Julie sat bolt upright in her chair.

"War. You seem to recognize that one. Did you play war?"

"Yes."

"You'll have to speak up. Did you play war that night?"

"Yes," Julie said.

"I've played war," the prosecutor said, "Incredibly boring game. Seems to go on forever. Can't imagine an adult playing it for hours, can you?"

"I guess not," Julie said softly.

"You weren't playing the card game though, were you? That was just your pet name for a sex game, wasn't it?"

"I said we made out some."

"In fact, your little game of war is also called a "sex fight," isn't it? It's a game where each of you tries to make the other one have an orgasm first. I understand that even normal lesbians find this game too intense for them. It sounds like you got a long way down the lesbian road, considering you were only having pajama parties the month before. Oh, I'm sorry, you weren't wearing any pajamas, were you?"

"Obb-jeck-tion, your honor."

Julie looked over at the jury. Most of the men were squirming in their seats, and a couple of the women were slightly flushed. One girl, in the front, was staring into Julie's eyes with her lips slightly parted. Julie knew what that look meant. She'd seen it on Laura's face two weeks after she'd brought her to climax in her sleep.

The two weeks had been torture for Julie. The missing money had brought armies of pinch-faced men to Polytech, and Julie's bookkeeping knowledge kept her by Jim and Dave's side till the wee hours of the morning. On the final night, she left the two men to pull another all-nighter, and went directly to Laura's house. Laura been sleeping alone for fourteen nights, while their husbands slept at the headquarters building, and the last one who had shared her bed had been Julie.

Julie knew her victory was complete the moment the door opened. The woman before her was about to explode with pent up lust. Julie simply walked in and closed the door without saying a word.

She then kissed her square on the mouth, and the trail of clothes only went halfway to the bedroom before reaching their writhing bodies on the floor. Once Julie dragged the goddess down from her cloister, she had become a lust filled beast.

Laura was the one who came up with war. She always lost, but she loved to play it anyway. Julie was always the attacker, and Laura always defended.

The beach house had been so cold that night that they had played it with their sweaters on.

"You're going down, Laura," Julie had said.

"Glad to, but you have to win first."

"Assume the position, loser."

Laura laid down on her back, put her feet on the floor, and spread her legs. She was wearing a big, bulky sweater, and nothing else.

"Mind if I give you a little kiss first?"

"No cheating," Laura said, snapping her legs together.

"Just a little smooch?" Julie said, wiggling her tongue.

"That's cheating," Laura said, starting to get up.

"Okay, okay. You don't have a chance anyway."

Laura opened her legs again, and Julie knelt down between them. Carefully lining up their pussies, she leaned forward and pinned Laura's wrists to the floor with her hands. The war was on.

Laura was not allowed to move her hands or feet; any other movement was okay. Julie had to keep her hands pinning Laura's wrists, and wasn't allowed to put either leg outside Laura's.

"You didn't say go," Laura complained as Julie's pussy found hers and ground away on it.

"Go," Julie said, and pumped at triple time.

Laura twisted to the side, but Julie got a good hip drag into the soft flesh and forced an early gasp out of Laura. Their pussies were lined up perfectly again, so Julie used her patented machine gun thrusts to push Laura closer.

"No," Laura moaned, twisting and straining.

"No? Don't say no to me, bitch. Beg me to fuck you. Come on, beg."

"Stop it! Oww!"

"Come on, you little cunt. I can see it. You're my bitch, aren't you?"

"Arrr, fuck, no," Laura said, trying to get the pussy rubbing hers off with all her might. Her struggles were so wild, she actually bounced Julie into the air several times, but her feet never left the spot on the floor.

"You lose again."

"Not yet, I haven't," Laura said, straining.

"You've had it, slut. I can see it in your face. Come on; let's hear that moaning you do. Gonna' whimper for me bitch? Gonna beg? Atta-girl, let it out. You can do better than that, let me hear you scream."

"Wait, stop. Julie, you're hurting me."

"Hurts so good. Let it out, baby. That's the only way to make it go away."

"Noooo," Laura moaned, turning her head.

Julie pounced with her lips, getting Laura's sensitive neck. She tried to defend the sneak attack by moving her head back, but Julie's mouth found hers, and the battle was lost.

Laura moaned endlessly into Julie's sealing lips. Her feet flew out from their game spots, and thrashed around as she came.

Julie didn't slow down. She never did. Though she'd already won, she kept Laura pinned and kept grinding their pussies together, bruising her captives lips. She came a short time later.

"You're not done yet," Julie said later from the couch, "I feel like having my toes sucked tonight."

"Aw, Julie, do I have to?"

"Sure do, loser. Get between the toes, I still found dirt there last time."

"Julie, you are a total pig."

Julie sat on the couch, flipping thru TV Guide, Laura kneeling in front of her, holding her foot in both hands, her mouth over the end of it, and her tongue going in and out of the toes.

"You look very good like that. Those cute little puppy-dog eyes looking up at me. You're a perfect little slave."

Laura lifted her middle finger off Julie's foot.

"Are you still with us, Ms. Crenshaw?" the prosecutor said.

"Yes," Julie said, looking around shyly.

"Taking a little trip down memory lane, were we?"

Julie glared at him.

"While your mind is still in that neighborhood, let's skip ahead to the next day, March 13th, the day after Mr. Wesson's plane exploded and plunged him to his death. Would you read the highlighted portion of the interview you gave police that day, please?"

Julie started reading as they put up a large board behind her with the same section printed out in six-inch tall letters.

Officer Brooks: "How is it that you remember the time Ms. Wesson left?"

Ms. Crenshaw: "I watch reruns of "Tip of the Iceberg" on Cable 27 every chance it get.

"Laura hates that show, and she had to leave anyway."

Officer Brooks: "Which one was it?"

Ms. Crenshaw: "The one where the old Oriental woman wouldn't press charges against

the young hooligans."

Officer Brooks: "Yeh, that was a tricky one."

"Thank you Ms. Crenshaw. Would you now read the item I circled in this issue of TV Guide?"

He replaced the board behind her with another. It had a blown up picture of a page from TV Guide.

"9:00 PM, Ch. 27, Tip of the Iceberg

Bart and Jen find a Chinese shopkeeper has more to hide than the youth gang

that terrorizes her."

"Thank you. Would you read the date at the top of that page for me?"

"That can't be right," Julie said.

"Could you speak up, please? What date is at the top of that page?"

"That can't be right," said Julie, louder.

"What is the date at the top of that page, Ms. Crenshaw? You can look up here if the type is too small for you."

"March 11th," Julie said.

"So the show you remember the very next day actually played two days earlier, is that correct?"

"No. It played that night."

"Could you have watched it a day earlier and gotten confused?"

"No," Julie said.

"Oh yes, that's right. You were at a cozy little night spot the night before, weren't you?"

Julie's mouth dropped open, and she stared at him.

"Dinner for two, soft lights, slow dancing," he took a couple steps to a silent tune. "Let's see, whom did you have that heavy date with?" he flipped a sheet of paper. "Ah yes, here it is."

He looked up from the paper, looked directly at Laura, then Julie, and then Laura again.

"Did they have 'Tip of the Iceberg' on the TV at this gay and lesbian bar? Were you catching a peek over Mrs. Wesson's shoulder while she shoved her tongue down your throat?"

"Objection."

"Sustained."

"I have witnesses," he turned and looked at a man in the second row, "who'll say that there was not only no television at that club,…"

Laura looked at the man in the second row. She hadn't recognized him. He was the same cocky stud who had tried to parley them into a threesome. He wasn't cocky any more. He had a strange haunted look. He had called himself Tex, but Laura had heard better Texas drawls from the Brits.

"…but a marching band could have stomped past without either of you noticing. Isn't it true Mrs. Crenshaw, that you were doing everything short of making love on the table when that episode of 'Tip of the Iceberg' was on?"

"Objection, your honor," Laura's lawyer said as he checked his watch.

Instead of ruling, Judge Pool simply watched Laura's lawyer, until he finally looked up. She started to say; "sustained," but a low giggling was starting from the back of the courtroom.

Heads were starting to swivel, when the giggles erupted into maniacal laughter. A scrawny figure rose from the back and filled the court with his booming voice.

"Your sins have made you blind," he bellowed, climbing over a bench to avoid the converging bailiffs, "You must face the truth. Seek forgiveness and grant it, or you will face eternal damnation."

Laura stared in shock, as the small form of Bobby Thompson was pulled down from the benches, and dragged out of the courtroom. What was the crazy little homeless man doing here?

Bobby the Preacher, she called him, because everything he said sounded like it came from the Bible. She'd been overpaying him for odd jobs for close to a year now, and had always thought he was harmless. The visage that had just been ranting and raving was a far more frightening Bobby the Preacher than she had ever seen.

Laura's blood ran cold as she remembered some of the more recent odd jobs she'd given him. She had even dropped him off at the beach house, to clean it, the night before she took Julie there. Was he the one who'd been telling the police so much? Was he somehow involved in this nightmare?

"Eternal damnation," his voice echoed from the hall.

Chapter Three

Velvet Traps

Bobby the Preacher was still struggling when they got him to a side door. He was demanding to talk to "God's fist" when one of his own fists connected with a bailiff's jaw.

"That's it. Book this asshole."

"Blind! You're all blind! The truth shall set you free!" he raved as they dragged him out the door.

Bobby was thrown in the drunk tank. All the voices in his head argued over the significance of this. He fought to silence them, and sat drained by the effort.

"What are you in for?" a fat, black man asked.

"Shining the light of truth. Saving the lost from damnation," Bobby said in his booming voice.

The yellowed whites of the black man's eyes rolled and he went to the far corner of the cell, "Amen, brother," he said softly, a sardonic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Good luck."

"The truth will set you free. Hellfire and damnation without forgiveness. Shut up, all of you," Bobby kept mumbling as he sat.

If only the voices would stop. If only they'd let him think. They hadn't been so bad that night in February.

It had been bitter cold, and Bobby was chilled to the bone. He went to the big house, the one where the beautiful rich lady lived. The one with the hot tub. The hot tub had saved him that winter. They were seldom home, and the tub was hidden from view.

The accident had brought the mixed blessings of the voices, but part of the price was the loss of his sense of smell. He could tell if he smelled bad from the reactions of the people he tried to bum money off, and they didn't wrinkle their noses for days after he soaked in the life-giving warmth of the hot tub.

He needed the tub that night, but the woman was home. He worked his way up into his Angel tree, the one that overlooked her bedroom. She had that other woman with her. They were putting on evening gowns. They were going out. He could wait.

He was easing in as they click-clacked down the driveway to the car, but waited till he heard the engine fade before he turned on the jets. He sighed and let the warmth seep clear down to his soul.

He had just got the cover back on when he heard the car, and was back in the Angel tree by the time they got in the house.

He had just laid out his bedroll on the makeshift platform when loud squealing froze him. They burst into Laura's bedroom as he watched, and they were both naked.

Bobby was Laura's guardian angel. What good was a guardian angel if he didn't watch over her?

The voices started as soon as Julie rested her nakedness on Laura. She might be fooling Laura, but Bobby could see the lust on her face as she rubbed her nastiness on Laura's innocent back. The voices were telling him to warn them, but the evil one had taken possession of his loins and held him motionless.

The evil one lost his grip when they finally settled down and drifted off to sleep, but roused again, with a vengeance, when Julie started committing her foul acts on Laura's sleeping form.

The voices were crying out urgently that he must do something, and he thought he was answering their call as he shimmied out on the tree's branch. The evil one, however, was in full control of his body. His voice kept still, and his eyes were forced wide as he clung to the branch scant inches from her bedroom window.

Julie looked like a spider, hovering over her prey. Her head dipped down, and the gap between lips and neck disappeared. She was holding her hair so it wouldn't tickle the sleeping woman, and her feather light kisses only caused the slightest of stirs.

Pain grew in Bobby's loins as the evil one forced blood into the devils wand. Even the bitter cold couldn't damp the fever that was gripping him.

Laura rolled to her back, and Julie froze above her. She waited motionless, hovering, waiting. Her head started to lower. Below the predator lips, Laura's nipple lay in ignorant repose. Slowly, painfully slowly, the lips drew nearer. A sigh froze the stalker for a moment, and then the descent resumed.

Tree bark suffered silently as Bobby's claws dug into it. The evil one obviously possessed Julie. No normal human could descend that slowly, take the nipple into its mouth that gently, or suckle that long without waking the victim.

Bobby saw the glint of white fingers in the shadow between Julie's legs. They were moving in a blur as she sucked on Laura's breast.

It ended an eternity later, and panic gripped Bobby when he tried to move. He couldn't move the fingers that gripped the branch, nor the legs that scissored it. Only his head and eyes had movement, and they were being pulled back to the sight beyond the window.

Julie had curled up behind Laura, with one hand lifted in the air. She curled all but one of her fingers, and brought the single finger to Laura's face. She didn't touch the befouled finger to Laura's face; she simply held it close under her nose. Bobby understood her evil design. She was imprinting her scent on Laura, preparing the sleeping woman for the final conquest. She planned to grasp Laura's auburn hair some day, and draw her innocent face to the foulness between her legs. Even now, the stench of her lust was wrapping its tendrils around the feelings of pleasure the cunning hands were gently stroking into her. When the time came, she wouldn't cry out with revulsion as she was drawn down, nor struggle as her face was pressed to the wet dankness.

Control of his body returned, and the voices argued as he worked his way back to the platform. Which power had wanted him to see that? The good, so he could craft ways to set things right? Or evil, so the Devil's wand throbbing between his legs could rule his life and drag him down to damnation?

The part of his mind that was still his grew silent. He didn't know what to think. The voices would figure it out and tell him in the morning. He curled up in his pack and listened to them argue late into the night.

"Get your stuff, freak," a burly guard said.

"They say you hit an officer," his social worker said, but Bobby didn't answer.

The voices were telling him his hands were dirty, but he couldn't see the dirt. She led him outside, and he could see more and more dirt on his hands as she led him to her car. He kept trying to wipe it off on the seat, but the dirt kept getting thicker all the way to the hospital. They were going to let him stay in one of the nice, white rooms tonight. He'd be warm, and they'd feed him. He liked this place, but he wished they'd let him wash his hands again.