Kitten Ch. 01

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This story is definitely not for fans of “slam, bang, thank you ma’am.” Fans of incest will also have to wait for that. Sibling incest is only alluded to in this chapter, why it is listed under “lesbian sex.” In a Swiss finishing school, the French sister seduces the American girl, then wanting her to accept and share in what she does with her brother. In the second and third chapters there will be plenty of that.

The story is from the perspective of the young American girl, sometime long before internet.

There is a longer sequel with her, which will be submitted soon. Of course, all are over eighteen.


Catherine was lying in bed in her room in the Swiss finishing school her parents had agreed to let her attend – “agreed” with each other because they were divorced, why Catherine had gone to a small girls’ prep school. They had thought that she wasn’t yet ready for college, even though she had been accepted by the two of “seven sister” colleges she had applied to. She had accepted her parent’s decision, appreciating their idea that she could perfect her school French and do even better in college. Actually, she had been delighted when her father had told her and told that he would pay for a trip to Europe with her mother. He was well-off, inherited money.

In the school in Switzerland, she had a single room and had enjoyed the first weeks, pleased that her French was better than that of some of the other girls for whom it was also their second language, also pleased that she had quickly found a good girlfriend, a French girl who corrected her grammar and pronunciation without being superior. She had been warned that the French often could be, pretending not to understand a foreigner’s trying to speak their language. Marie-Louise, “Marlie”, wasn’t like that.

Catherine was lying in her bed. Her hand was where it often was, also often had been in prep school. That had hardly been a secret among the classmates she knew better. It wasn’t doing anything yet, just comfortably there on her pee-jays between her thighs.

Suddenly it struck her, the connection between her word for where it was and her father’s nickname for her, “Kitten.” He had always used it. Not always, but as long as she could remember, then remembering that her mother never had, always calling her “Cathy” or using her full name if she was serious about something.

She held it, just held it, wondering why that had never occurred to her before, then recalling that her dad had stopped using “Kitten” when her mother was around. Had he made that connection? She blushed in her bed. Had he realized that he could be referring to where her hand was, thinking about her – his daughter – that way?! He almost always used his nickname when she had visited him after the separation. Had her mother avoided using it, because she had always realized that it could be a suggestive nickname for a girl? Had she just now made the connection because Marlie had told her the French word for it: “chatte”, the same euphemism – cat, kitten, pussy?

Catherine’s fingers moved, alternating pressure on the lips of her chatte, kitten, pussy. She blushed even more deeply at the sensations. Had she been trying to forget that she had felt them that afternoon? Too late, how could she have? It hadn’t been her fingers there. She moaned softly, not so much from what her fingers were doing as from the recollection of feeling Marlie’s fingers, and they hadn’t been on her pee-jays, like hers were, on her panties, but only at first. How had she let her do that?! Her hand slid up and back inside her bottom.

How had she let her do that? And then it wasn’t just Marlie’s fingers there! She had let her do that too! And she then had!! With her fingers and then like Marlie had!! And kissing her and kissing her nipples too, not just kissing them! It had felt so good when Marlie had licked and sucked hers. Catherine’s other hand slid up inside her top and held her breast, squeezing her aroused nipple between her fingers.

They had both really done that?! They had, and then done it again, both of them. Was it sixty-nine when two girls did that? Oooh! Sixty-nine with a boy, his … in her mouth?! She couldn’t use a word for it, knew a couple, but had never seen one, let alone, touched one.

But she had with Marlie, if that was also sixty-nine, been shocked, but had let it happen, let her do it, but then she had wanted to, too! And been shocked again, that she did, but what Marlie had done had been so good, so much better than what her fingers were trying to do, than what they had done in the past. Maybe, she hoped, it would be better now, knowing that it could be.

How had Marlie talked her into it all? Oh, they had been talking about clothes a couple of days before, Marlie’s saying that she would like to try on one of her polo shirts with the little alligator, and they had joked about how they would fit her, since she was a little smaller. After lunch, they had gone to Catherine’s room. She had been surprised when Marlie had immediately taken bursa escort off her blouse, before she had could hand her one of her shirts, and was more surprised that Marlie wasn’t wearing a bra. Back at prep school, all girls wore one, even those who hardly needed one, but then one that let it look like they had more.

Marlie had just shrugged. Her darker nipples stuck out, but there wasn’t as much behind them as Catherine had, who had instinctively drawn her shoulders back, thrusting out her breasts.

As Marlie pulled on the polo shirt, she had murmured in French:

“I know, yours are bigger. I don’t need a bra, think it’s cheating to wear one that suggests more than there is.”

“Still nice,” Catherine had heard herself reply, then remarked:

“All girls in the States wear one, even if they don’t need to.”

Marlie had pulled down the shirt and rubbed her hands down over her breasts. Catherine had seen that her nipples still stuck out, wondering if she had ever seen girls’ in the States show through their bra and blouse or sweater. She had also suddenly felt her nipples pop out. Marlie rubbed her hands down again, glancing down at the little bumps, and said:

“You don’t need to wear one here, unless the head mistress says something. She hasn’t about me.”

Catherine had been surprised that she had taken that as an invitation, a challenge to show her own breasts. Sure, she had seen her classmates naked after sports, those with bigger and smaller breasts, bigger and smaller nipples, pale to almost tan ones, and they had seen hers. When she had started to unbutton her blouse, Marlie had said:

“Here, you try it on without your bra,” and began to pull the shirt up.

Catherine had thought nothing about it, taking off her blouse and then her bra, even when they both were bare breasted. She had pulled the shirt down, glancing down, pleased that her breasts were bigger than Marlie’s, her nipples just slightly evident, until Marlie had smiled and slid her hands down over them. They had then popped out, very evident bulges, and Catherine had been terribly surprised, blushing at feeling someone’s else hands on her breasts, arousing her nipples.

Marlie had smiled again and repeated that Catherine didn’t have to wear a bra, but then her hands had slid back up, under her breasts, her thumbs and fingers cupped up under them. Catherine had been shocked; Marlie wasn’t just talking about whether or not she had to wear a bra, she was holding her her breasts, squeezing them slightly! What was she doing, Catherine had thought, but it felt good, and then Marlie’s fingers had rubbed up over her aroused nipples. Her thighs had twitched, and she had seen that Marlie’s bare nipples were also aroused. Marlie’s fingers had rubbed her nipples again.

What was going on, Catherine had wondered, vaguely thinking that she shouldn’t be letting Marlie touch her that way, but feeling her own fingers twitching, their wanting to touch Marlie’s stiff nipples. Was that what Marlie wanted? Her fingers were rubbing over her nipples, now all of them, rippling over her nipples.

Catherine’s thighs had twitched again. Tentatively, her hands had touched Marlie’s sides. She had nodded, and her fingers had caught Catherine’s stiff nipples between them. Whatever was going on, she had thought, Marlie’s nipples must want – had – to be aroused the same way, and her fingers wanted to feel them.

Marlie had moaned in response, her fingers making Catherine moan, then one and the other of her hands was sliding down and back up under her shirt. Catherine had moaned again, appreciating now better what her own fingers were doing on Marlie’s bare nipples. When they both moaned, their eyes meeting, Marlie had leaned forward, tilting her head, licking her lips. In a reflex, Catherine had licked hers, hardly realizing that she was returning the suggestion that they kiss; she had only kissed a couple of boys.

Marlie had moaned again, and her hands had shoved Catherine’s shirt up passed her breasts, then drawing her closer, her stiff nipples touching the backs of Catherine’s hands, as her lips found Catherine’s. Her first kiss, she had thought, and with another girl – and then! Marlie’s tongue had been between her lips, moving on hers! French kissing? Not just lips, like with those boys. Did girls do that together? All of them in France, she had asked herself, but her tongue had then been just as eager.

It had been so good, so arousing. When her hands had left Marlie’s breasts and slid around to embrace her, feeling their breasts squashed together, she had thought that all girls – not just French ones – should kiss like that, then wondering, when Marlie had moaned loader and sucked her tongue, if she had been thinking that only a French girl would want to kiss her like that. It couldn’t be the first time Marlie had kissed a girl, wanting it to be as good for her as she was finding it to be – and arousing, their hips rocking up together. Anything she wanted, she had been thinking.

But bursa ucuz escort she had been surprised, when Marlie’s hands had slid down, holding her ass, clasping their hips together, rocking hers up again, more arousing, suddenly aware that she was all moist down there. She had never felt that before, except when her hand had been there. Marlie’s hands had then found the waistband of her skirt. What did she want to do? Then her hands had slid up, finding her breasts again, loosing their embrace, and her tongue had left her mouth, and Marlie had stooped down, her mouth sliding down from her chin, down her neck and down further, her hand raising her breast, and then her lips finding her aroused nipple.

She wanted to do that? Catherine had asked herself, but only for a moment; she wanted her to! Better than what her fingers had been doing, making her moan. If French girls did that, she had thought, she knew why, and wanted to, too. It would be so nice to lick and suck and nibble one of Marlie’s nipples! She could really nibble on her larger nipples. And she must want her to, if she knew how good it was feeling for her. She moaned and murmured: “I want to, too:”

Marlie had immediately let her, standing up as Catherine stooped down. It couldn’t have been better than she had anticipated, she had thought, licking and nibbling and sucking Marlie’s nipple, just wondering a little about her delight at arousing another girl, but then was surprised again that Marlie’s hands had slid down and were fumbling at the back of her skirt, finding the zipper and the hooks at the waistband. She had asked herself what else Marlie could have in mind, by then, however, too aroused to question whatever she did, even when Marlie had murmured: “Mine too.”

Now in her bed, rubbing her pussy, Catherine wondered what she had done, that she had done what she had. Her hands had been just as eager to loose Marlie’s skirt, who had waited to let them both drop down at the same time.

When they did, Marlie had grasped Catherine’s ass and drawn them closer, urging her to stand up again. They had kissed again, their hips pressed together, as they shuffled out of their loafers and stepped out of their skirts. Catherine had followed Marlie’s lead, too aroused to question anything Marlie did, even when her hands grasped her ass, and she grasped hers in response. Just for a moment, it occurred to her that girls always held their hips apart, the few she had embraced, not kissing, but she and Marlie were, and she wanted to feel their hips – their pelvises – pressed together, locked together by their hands, and rocking, rubbing. Were they both moaning from the same arousing sensation she was feeling between her thighs, she had wondered.

She had thought that Marlie couldn’t surprise her again, but she did. She had slid her hand around from her ass and pressed her hips back, and her hand had slid between them, her fingers sliding down between her thighs, right on her …, right on her “chatte.”

Catherine hadn’t known if she should be chagrined or pleased that she had remembered the word Marlie had taught her when they had been in adjacent shower stalls. But her hips rocked up, her “chatte” couldn’t help but want to feel what Marlie’s fingers were doing, and they obviously knew what they were doing.

Catherine had moaned, then recognizing that Marlie’s fingers knew what her own “chatte” would want to feel – but now not her own – now wanting Catherine’s to enjoy it, her fingers wanted to enjoy rubbing hers?! Had Marlie’s fingers been on another girl’s aroused “cat”? She had moaned and thrust her tongue in Marlie’s mouth. She had sucked and caressed it with hers, and then released it and murmured:

“I want to; all French girls do it.”

“All French girls do what, Catherine had asked herself, unable to deny that she wanted Marlie to do whatever she had meant. Marlie had murmured that she should lie down on her bed. She had, where she was now lying with her own fingers trying to do what Marlie’s had done.

Was that what all French girls did? To themselves, of course, like she and her friends in school had done, even though they all had to go to church on Sunday and the morning assembly was still called “chapel,” even though only the head mistress read a Bible verse. But had Marlie meant that all French girls did what she was doing, doing it to each other?!

Marlie’s had joined her on her on her bed, her fingers immediately back where they had been, rubbing on her panties, then creeping under them. When Catherine’s hips had twitched, and Marlie had grasped the elastic of her panties, she had raised her hips and let her jerk them down past her hips, not hesitating to let her slide them off her legs. Marlie’s fingers had then been back on her, rubbing as knowingly as her own did, and then probing in her vagina. Catherine was pleased, a little proud, that she had deflowered herself, that Marlie’s finger – just one – could do what it wanted in her tight opening. It did, at least bursa elit escort as well as one of her own fingers could.

She had been looking forward to Marlie’s doing it that good, resigned then completely to whatever she wanted to do, but she was again surprised. Marlie had also been sucking her nipple, but then raised her head and murmured: “I want to.”

Before Catherine could imagine what else Marlie could want to do, she was kissing and licking down her body, raising her hips and moving around. Then her mouth had been on her pubic hair, and her finger had slipped out of her “pussy.” Catherine admitted to herself that she had thought that word, suddenly realizing what – the only thing – Marlie could do with her mouth down there.

She really wanted to do that, Catherine had asked herself. Was that what Marlie had really meant: “all French girls do it”?!

Marlie did, her head down between Catherine’s thighs, her hands grasping the base of her thighs. She had moaned: it felt too good to worry about whether she should be surprised, upset, or wondering that another girl wanted to lick her there. If it was that good, and Marlie wanted to do it, she must also really like to do it. Hadn’t there been gossip about a couple of girls in prep school? They must also have known what was good – that good?! Marlie must also know how good it was; she must want it too – want her to do it to her?!

It had been better than what Catherine’s fingers were doing, and when her other hand slid over to pinch her other nipple, she remembered that she had then been holding her breasts with both hands. Yes, she had completely given herself up to enjoying what Marlie had been doing, too aroused, more aroused than ever before, just wanting it to be even more arousing, however that could be. And Marlie had been moaning almost as much as she had been; she had been enjoying it too. She had really wanted to do that to her; she must be expecting her to do it now. Did she want to – like all French girls – dare to? If Marlie had liked doing it, …?

She had! Catherine did a mental fast-forward, skipping over what had happened before she was moving down to lick Marlie’s chatte, remembering that she had thought that her soft hair made the expressions chatte and pussy so appropriate, and then her face had been down between her thighs, smelling her musky odor. Her misgivings had been suddenly dispelled; she had wanted to lick and taste Marlie’s pussy, wanted it to enjoy it as much as she had hers, recalling that when Marlie had turned around and kissed her again, she had said how much she loved to do it and had kissed her again with that strange flavor.

She had then known why Marlie’s kiss had tasted like that, it had tasted like her pussy did. She had moaned, liking it, and Marlie had moaned, and it had been so exciting – arousing – to discover with her tongue what her pussy was like.

Her fingers in her own pussy could only try to make it feel as good as Marlie’s tongue had, but they couldn’t enjoy what her tongue had enjoyed in Marlie’s bitter-sweet pussy, and then it had been just sweet, so juicy and sweet, and then Marlie had wanted to kiss her. That had been so good, embracing each other, naked skin, breasts and bodies, their thighs interlocked – so good!

When Marlie had said that she wanted to – just had to – do it again, and turned around, she had then also wanted to just as much, and it had been even better, their both doing the same thing, licking the same places, knowing exactly what it was feeling for each other.

Why couldn’t her fingers make it feel that good? They made it feel better than they ever had before, but not by far that good. She rolled on her side, pressing her thighs together. She and Marlie had to do that again! Did improving her French include learning what all French girls did? She had heard that one gained a new, different character with the mastery of a new language. If wanting to kiss another girl and lick her chatte was part of her new, French character, she was delighted, “soixante-neuf.”

Then she remembered that she had heard that French girls were also said to do that with boys. If one wanted to do it to her, fine, but would she want to do it to him, however that would be? Maybe she didn’t want to master French that much.

Oh, her father’s nickname for her, Kitten, another word for chatte or pussy. It sounded more affectionate, especially when he said it. If he connected it with that part of her, did he – could he – imagine wanting to do that to her, imagine wanting to do it at all? Had he with her mother? That was very hard for her to imagine, to even envision their having conceived her, but of course, they had. But did he want his Kitten’s “kitten”? She fell asleep, rather liking the idea that he could.

The next morning, when Catherine met Marlie, she smirked slightly with a nod and whispered:

“That was good; I want to again,” and Marlie nodded with a smile.

They did, of course! When Catherine told Marlie that her nickname back home was “Kitten,” she immediately made the connection, grinning and saying that she loved Catherine’s kitten, and thereafter they both used it when talking about their pussies – often enough, whenever they could. She didn’t tell Marlie that just her father used it and her thoughts about that.

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