Supergirl and Powergirl Snob s Pleasure
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How To Wash A Girl Guide free porn video
How to Wash a Girl Guide
Jo comes into the kitchen, her sandalsundone, and as she walks they slap against the stone floor, the buckles ringinglike little bells. She is in her Girl Guide uniform — brown shorts,yellow shirt, and a blue neck-scarf tucked inside her collar.
'Ooh, biscuits!' is the first thingshe says. She makes straight for the chocolate bourbons and crams one intoher mouth. Then she pours herself a mug of tea from the pot.
'That'll be cold,' says her sister,Helena, sitting at the table. 'I can put the kettle on.'
'No time,' says Jo indistinctly, hermouth full of biscuit. 'I don't suppose you've seen my cap, have you?'
'Your what?'
'Cap , 'says Jo, patting the top of her head.
'No.'
'Bugger.'
She takes another biscuit, eats halfof it, and takes a gulp of tea.
'When did you last have it?' asksHelena.
'Saturday.'
'It's not in your room?'
'No.'
'The coat-rack?'
'No.'
'Did you look?'
'Obviously I looked.'
'How about in the back hall?'
'It doesn't matter.'
'It does matter.'
Helena watches her sister finish thesecond biscuit and reach for a third. There's chocolate on her face. Hershirt is rumpled, the collar sticking up at an angle.
'You're a complete mess,' says Helena.'Why do you bother being a Guide at all, if you make such a poor job of it?'
'You know precisely why.'
Jo is seventeen — nearly eighteen — andin her last year at school. Whereas most of her friends left the Girl Guidesseveral years ago — if they were ever Guides at all — Jo continues,every Wednesday evening and Saturday morning, to put on her uniform and presentherself at a community hall the other side of Chiswick, where she squats,bare-legged and ridiculous, and promises to do her best; and then goes topaint a community fence, or mow a community lawn, or tidy the living-roomof a housebound old man, who is often not too old to put a papery hand onher thigh and call her a good girl. She suffers this because her parentsinsist upon it. Liberal in most ways, they are inflexible on this point.Helena, three years older than Jo, was a member of the Guides until the veryweek she went off to university. And when Helena left the Guides, Jo beggedand pleaded to be allowed to leave too. For two whole days she sulked, reasoned,proposed alternatives, but met a wall of resistance. It's putting somethingback into the community, said her parents, and it's character building. If I hadto do it until university, said Helena, it's only fair you do as well. Thedifference is that you enjoyed it, said Jo bitterly, as once again she wassent upstairs to change into the hateful uniform.
That was all three years ago. If shestill resents it now, it doesn't show. It's now Wednesday, and although herparents are abroad for the week, at six o'clock Jo dutifully goes up to herroom, takes off her school clothes, and puts on her Girl Guide uniform. Andnow she is standing in the middle of the kitchen, her face alive with gaiety,cramming biscuit after biscuit into her mouth, drinking tea, laughing andchattering.
'Right!' she says, when she has eatenthe last of the bourbons. 'I'm outta here.'
'Wipe your mouth at least. There'schocolate all round it.'
Jo wipes her mouth with the back ofone bare arm. Helena rolls her eyes.
'Not like that!' she says. 'You reallyare a disgrace.'
She fetches a cloth. Jo puts out ahand to take it, but Helena ignores her.
'I'll do it. Face up.'
Jo grimaces and holds her face out.Helena roughly wipes away the chocolate.
'Arm!' she says.
'Uh?'
Helena pulls Jo's hand up, and wipesthe chocolate-smeared arm.
'Mucky, mucky pup. There you go.'
'Thanks, Sis,' says Jo, and is aboutto turn and go when Helena's hand grips her wrist again.
'Jo — your fingernails! They'refilthy!'
'Oh, don't start...'
'You are not goingout with fingernails like that. They're positively black .'
'No-one'll notice.'
'Go and clean them!'
'I'm not going to go and clean them,I'll be late. Let go!'
She pries Helena's fingers off herwrist. 'I'll clean them tonight, okay?'
From upstairs comes the sound of atoilet flushing. The lock clicks. There are footsteps on the landing.
'Rob!' calls Helena. 'Come down here!'
Rob, Helena's boyfriend, comes downthe stairs and sees them in the kitchen. Some sort of dispute, obviously.Jo is in uniform, he sees, and he quickly looks her up and down. Her hairis pulled back in an elastic grip at the back of her head, making her facelook very round and innocent. A blue scarf nestles under her chin. Her armsand legs are bare. Her calves disappear into soft white socks which hug herankles. Her brown sandals are undone. There is a last trace of puppy-fatabout her, which the uniform emphasises. The light catches a few tiny hairson her forearms.
'Hey there, li'il Girl Scout!'
'I'm a Girl Guide ,you dumb-ass American,' says Jo. 'OW!' she adds, as Helena pinches the softskin above her elbow, and gives her a black look. 'Why, what did I say?'she asks innocently, rubbing her arm.
'I've got something to show you, Rob,'says Helena. She picks up Jo's hand, straightening the fingers and presentingthem to him. 'Look!'
He peers closely, like a scientistover a petrie dish.
'Euww!'
'Gross, right?'
'Revolting.'
'See?' Helena looks sternly at Jo.'Don't move,' she says, and goes to the sink and begins filling the washing-upbowl with water.
'Helena, I said I'd do it tonight,okay.'
'Tonight is too late.'
'I'm also going to be late now.'
She makes for the kitchen door, butRob is too quick for her. He closes it and leans against it, arms folded,smiling at her.
She growls, exasperated, and stampsher foot.
'It'll be my third "late" in a row.'
'Serves you right. Come here.'
'I'll be on double chores!'
'Whose fault is that?'
'Yours.'
'The more you stand and whinge ...'
'Rob, let me out!'
He shakes his head at her. She blowsher breath out, rolls her eyes to the ceiling, groans — and surrenders.
'Make it quick, okay?'
Helena puts the washing-up bowl inthe middle of the bench. The two girls sit down either side of it, straddlingthe bench, facing each other. Helena takes Jo's right hand, dips in the water,and sets to work on the thumbnail.
'Sit closer,' she says. Jo wrigglesup the bench until their legs meet, Jo's bare knees contrasting with theblue of Helena's jeans.
Helena dips, scrubs, rinses, and Joissues a barrage of complaint: 'This is hurting! The brush is too hard! Whydon't you let me do it? This is so humiliating!Ow! Ow! Ow! You don't have to scrub the skin away too, you know.'
Helena ignores her. Meanwhile Robleaves his post by the door and comes to lean on the counter, fascinated.Jo's breasts — rather large, he never noticed before — pressagainst the regulation yellow shirt. Her lips are very red, and her teethare uneven and not very white. He sees the soft darkness of her mouth, widewith laughter and complaint, and the pink of her tongue.
One hand is finished and presentedto him. 'Very nice', he says. 'She's halfway to becoming a human being.'
'Well, thank you ,'says Jo.
'... A vital first step to becomingthe perfect accompaniment to a man — a woman.'
'What are youbabbling on about, you incomprehensible Yank? OWW!! '
This time Helena has stamped on herfoot, rather hard.
'That hurt!'
'Yes, it was meant to.'
She grasps Jo's thumb and sets towork again, more vigourously than before. There is something a little punitiveabout it now. Suddenly Jo's eyes are moist and she has jerked her hand away.
'Stop being a baby!' says Helena.
'That hurts ,Helena, okay?' cries Jo, looking at her thumb. 'You've scrubbed all the skinaway! Look!'
She holds it up. The scrubbed areais indeed paler than the surrounding skin.
Helena inspects it, and laughs.
'That's not skin, it's dirt!'
She raises the brush, and Jo flinches.
'I'm not going to hurt you!'
She gently scrubs the back of Jo'shand. Dirt comes away.
'Jo! You're absolutely revolting!When did you last have a bath?'
Jo, grinning now, counts silentlyon her fingers.
'Five days ago.'
' Fivedays ?'
'What's wrong with that?'
'You know perfectly well what's wrongwith that. You've not had a bath since Mum and Dad left?'
'Uh-huh!'
'You don't have to look so pleasedabout it.'
She wipes some more dirt off, andshows the arm to Rob.
'So that's how folk get a tan in London,'he says.
'Unbelievable. Mum and Dad go awayand she thinks that means she can stop washing.'
'Actually it's an experiment. HelenBarker said if you don't wash for a while, then after a while you don't haveto.'
'That's your hair, and it's not true.'
'No, all over.'
Now Helena is busily scrubbing Jo'sforearm. 'Rob, get me a cloth, will you, and the washing-liquid.'
Jo heaves a great sigh. 'I'm goingto be so late,'she says, but she makes no effort to move, watching the operation insteadwith a certain interest. '"Why are you late, Jo?" "Oh, my sister insistedupon washing my arms .She's like that."'
'And your face,' said Helena. 'Everyvisible part of you.'
'Even my knees?'
Helena paused to look briefly at Jo'sknees.
'Yes,' she said.
'I hope you realise I'm probably goingto end the evening scrubbing Mr Pritchett's toilet, or something,' says Jo.'I mean, how clean do you need to be for that?'
'You need to be clean when you arrive.'
She takes the cloth from Rob, wetsit, puts a drop of washing up liquid on it, and roughly scrubs Jo's arm.It's difficult to do sitting down, she finds. She orders Jo to her feet.Jo stands patiently, like a little girl having her hair brushed. Rob watchesfrom the other side of the table. When the first arm is finished, Jo holdsboth of her arms out in front of her, turning them around. One arm is clean,glistening, flecked with bubbles; the other sallow.
'No difference at all,' she says.
'Rob,' said Helena. 'Want to dry her?Grab a tea-towel.'
While she gets to work on the otherarm, he dries the first, holding it loosely by the elbow. Jo grins, happyto be the centre of attention. A change of water, and Helena starts on Jo'sface, forehead first, holding the hair back. They unwind and remove her scarf.Helena does her ears, right inside with a cloth, and behind as well, exclaimingat the filth she finds. Water runs down Jo's collar, and still her neck isn'tclean. Rob scratches at it with a fingernail. 'I don't know,' he says doubtfully.'We could try the brush again.'
'Her shirt's getting soaked. Why don'twe take it off for a sec, Jo?'
'No.'
'Come on. You are wearinga bra, aren't you?'
Jo hesitates, just for a second, butit's enough. Helena undoes the top button. 'Over your head,' she says. 'Armsup.' Jo raises her arms obediently, and the shirt comes off.
'Now we can see what's what,' saysHelena.
Jo stands half-naked in her bra andshorts. Her breasts are plump, with a little bulge of skin at the edges ofher bra. Her shoulders are round and smooth. Every curve is graceful andgirlish.
'Want me to do your neck then?' saysRob. He is behind her with the scrubbing brush. He adds in a stage-whisper,'I've much softer hands than your sister.'
'Okay,' says Jo.
So Rob does the back of her neck,and Helena does her face and her chin. Jo is silent now, enjoying the trickleof water down her back and the feel of the soapy cloths as Helena and Robslowly work down to her shoulders. The only sound is the splashing of water,and the whirring of the fridge, and the occasional grunt. Jo shuts her eyes.She imagines she is a statue in a museum. Something Greek, a goddess in whitemarble; a new acquisition being restored to its full glory by a team of experts,before the doors open and ten thousand people come crowding in to stare ather loveliness — her perfect arms, her smooth white belly. A littleshudder of pleasure passes through her.
One arm is gently raised, and a clothdamply dabs her armpit. Then the other. The skin above her breasts is soapedand scrubbed and dried. Drops of water run down her body, into the waistbandof her shorts.
She feels a wet prickle between herlegs.
Rob is soaping her back. He has abandonedthe scrubbing brush for a cloth, which he works in between the straps ofher bra. The bra tightens as he tries to do underneath the straps. He stops.It tightens again, there is a fumbling. And suddenly the tension disappearsaltogether. He has undone it. He pushes the straps off her back and shoulders,towards the front.
She takes a long, slow breath.
Helena, who by now is on her knees,scrubbing above Jo's belly button, sees it.
'Ah yes,' she murmurs, 'Much better.'
She gently eases the bra away. Jokeeps her eyes shut. She feels Helena's cloth work its way back up towardsher breasts, slowly, as if to give the impression that when it reaches them,it will do so entirely by accident. She hears a splash of water, a squirtof the detergent bottle, and then, tenderly, the cloth touches her breast.Jo gives a quiet gasp. The water is cold. The cloth lies still for a fewseconds, as if to let her acclimatise to it. Then, somewhat brusquely — ina rough, sisterly fashion — her breast is scrubbed. Top, sides, bottom,and — more gently — the front. But Helena, it seems, is dissatisfiedwith the results. Jo hears her stand up, and rinse out the cloth, and putmore detergent on it. Then (Jo keeps her eyes tight shut), a hand gentlytakes hold of her breast from underneath, cupping it. The cloth is broughtinto action again, rubbing more firmly now against the soft skin. Now andthen there is just a hint of pain, and once, Jo gives a squeak. Finally thecloth approaches the nipple again, which Jo knows is erect. Delicately thesensitive skin around the nipple is washed, then the nipple itself. Sensationsshoot through her entire body. She feels her legs go weak, and wills herselfto keep them from shaking. She tries to keep control of her breath too, althoughshe can't help inhaling in a series of little gasps. Then the cloth touchesthe very tip of the nipple, and makes a tiny circle, like someone tryingto remove a stain from a window. Jo gives a moan, instantly suppressed. Therubbing immediately stops, and the cloth is taken away. There is the soundof splashing.
Rob meanwhile is soaping around herwaist. Jo puts her hands on her head, out of the way. She takes a deep breathand straightens her back.
They're only washing, she tells herself.That's all it is. Don't make a fool of yourself.
She feels Helena's hand on her otherbreast, and then the soft soapy cloth, sliding over her skin, scrubbing herwith a mixture of gentleness and matronly efficiency. Again she silentlygasps when the cloth first touches the nipple. She forces herself to breathecalmly, trying to inhale and exhale evenly. Her body goes rigid, as she attemptsto suppress the excitement rising in her belly, the shivers that run downher legs.
There is wetness in her knickers now,cold against her skin, and she feels ashamed. She thinks, I'll have to goupstairs and change them before I leave. Make some excuse. And just as sheis thinking that, she feels her belt being unfastened.
'Not my shorts,' she says at once.'Don't take my shorts off, please.'
She drops her hands from her head,and puts them in her pockets, clutching the material.
'Why no, Jo?'
'Just don't.'
'We want to do your legs.'
'You can do them like this.'
Somebody gets up. Jo feels gentlehands placed lightly on her upper arms.
'Open your eyes for a moment, Jo.Look at me.'
Jo opens her eyes. Helena's face isclose to hers. She looks tenderly at Jo, and runs her fingers lightly upand down Jo's bare arms.
'Let's do this properly, eh?' shesays.
Her hands slowly slide down Jo's forearms,and into the pockets of her shorts. Her fingers caress Jo's, gently tryingto prise them open.
'Come on,' says Helena, looking appealinglyinto Jo's eyes.
Jo sighs, shuts her eyes, and takesher hands out of her pockets.
'There's a good girl.'
Her shorts are unbuttoned and loweredto her feet. She steps out of them. She hears the chink of the belt as theyare placed on the table.
Then there's an interlude while theold water is tipped away, the bowl refilled, soap added, and the cloths rinsedunder the tap.
Jo waits, standing in her socks andknickers, getting cold, and horribly aware of the damp patch in her knickers.How big is it? she wonders. Will they see it? Perhaps it won't show.
But there is no chance of them missingit, however. When they return with the washing-up bowl, they place it ather feet and kneel down in front of her to begin on her legs. She squirmswith shame, thinking of the sight she must present to them — her damp,sticky excitement, inches away from their eyes. Perhaps they can smell hertoo! How disgusting it must be. Her face grows hot with embarrassment.
Helena, as if to tell her it doesn'tmatter, begins chatting away in a breezy, nurse-like manner:
'Honestly, look at this dirt! Isn'tthere something in the Girl Guide's Law about keeping clean?'
'The Girl Guide's what?' said Rob.
'Isn't there, Jo?'
'Probably,' says Jo.
'"Probably!"'
'What is the Girl's Guide's Law?'
'Ask the Girl Guide!'
'Jo? What's the Girl Guide's Law?'
Jo is beginning to shiver. They haveforgotten about drying her off. She folds her arms over her breasts. Thenipples are big and hard.
'It's what we have to say every week,'she says, and her teeth chatter.
'Are you cold, Jo?'
'Yes.'
'Well, we're almost done, and thenyou can put your clothes back on.'
'How does it go?' asks Rob.
'Tell him how it goes,' says Helena.'It'll keep you warm.'
Jo begins: 'A Guide is honest, reliable,and can be trusted.'
'Uh-huh?'
'Er ... A Guide is helpful, and usesher time and abilities wisely.'
'Well done her.'
'Don't take the piss, Rob,' says Helena.'It's important to some people.'
'A Guide ...'
Jo forgets what comes next, becauseat that moment she feels a cloth moving up her inner thigh.
'... Faces challenges and learns fromher experiences,' says Helena.
'Yes,' says Jo, as the cloth caressesthe tender, sensitive skin, tracing around the edge of her knickers. Shegives a shudder, and doesn't try to hide it now, because she can pretendit's a shiver instead. Her breathing grows laboured and heavy again.
The cloth moves on to the other thigh.She feels it approaching her groin again, delicately washing the skin. Sheknows it's her sister. She can feel herself producing more wetness. Her pantsmust be full of it by now. Once or twice Helena's hand brushes against thecrotch of her pants.
She hears the cloth being rinsed.
'Is that it?' says Rob.
There is a brief silence. Nothingseems to be happening. And then, without warning, two thumbs hook into theelastic of her knickers on either side, and they are pulled down, somewhatabruptly.
She knew this was going to happen,of course, and she makes no protest now. The knickers are carefully lowereddown her legs, although once or twice she feels the sticky cold wetness ofthem graze her skin.
'Foot up', says Helena, tapping anankle, as though Jo is a pony at a blacksmiths. And she meekly lifts firstone then the other foot out of her knickers. She hears Helena put them straightinto the bin. Beyond redemption, obviously.
She stands naked, her arms still overher breasts. Then Helena is kneeling in front of her again, puts one handon Jo's thigh and the cloth between her legs, properly this time.
'Is that it?' says Rob again.
Helena said: 'We'd got to "A Guidefaces challenges and learns from her experiences."'
'A Guide faces challenges and learnsfrom her experience,' says Jo, and gasps. The warm cloth is in among herpubic hair, dabbing at the stickiness, and gently tugging the clumps of hairaway from the skin, teasing them apart, cleaning them off. She hears thecloth being rinsed, and in the meantime feels the great fire in her groin,a burning, and when Helena returns to the task there is a new wave of wetnessfor her to deal with.
'A Guide is a good friend and a sisterto all Guides,' says Jo.
'Is she?' says Rob. 'Are you?"
'I try to be,' says Jo, and then shebegins breathing very heavily, because the cloth has found the lips of hervagina and is tenderly stroking them. She gives a whimper — almostas though she is crying — and her breath comes in judders. She feelswarmth around her neck and breasts, a prickling in the skin, almost likea rash, and she knows what will shortly happen.
Helena eases the lips of her vaginaapart. Jo feels the cloth go in, just a little at first. Another wave ofexcitement sweeps through her. Wetness drips from her. Her knees quake violently.
Her hands, still over her breasts,suddenly and involuntarily begin playing with them. She runs her fingersover the sides of her nipples, and then the very tips. The feeling is themost wonderful feeling in the world. She never wants it to stop. She willdo anything to get more of it.
'Two more to go,' says Helena.
'A Guide,' gasps Jo joyously 'is politeand considerate.'
An enormous orgasm sweeps her away,as if she is a surfer, and it an enormous wave that lifts her to the skyand down again, tumbles her into the sea where there is no up or down, andthe world ceases to exist, and the only sound is the moaning of some animal,that goes on for a very long time, and only afterwards does she realise thatit was her own moans she could hear.
Time has also ceased to exist. Aslong as the cloth is between her legs, playing with her, teasing her, inflamingher, reaching inside her and turning her inside out, and her own fingerson her breasts, then wave after wave arrives, one after another, to lifther up and spin her around. She hears a stream of babble coming from hermouth — disconnected phrases, meaningless words — but all connectedwith the Guides in some way she can't understand.
And after a while she realises thecloth is gone and Helena's own fingers are inside here — deep insideher this time. Two fingers, perhaps three, working their way in. All theway in. Jo leaves her nipples alone now, and puts her hands, crossed, onher shoulders, her head tilted to the ceiling. She feels Helena's fingersslide in and out of her.
A burst of heat, in her groin, inher breasts, in her stomach. She comes again, an immense orgasm. And suddenlyher eyes pop open. She sees the kitchen again, and is amazed to be stillin it. Rob is sitting at the other end of the table, watching her. She looksat him, and as another great orgasm shakes her body, she cannot drag hereyes from his. She moans and whimpers, her mouth hanging open, her chin wet,helpless as a baby. And for perhaps five minutes, this is how they stay.He doesn't move a muscle, while every muscle in her body spasms, and shewrithes like a snake, and the sobs keep on coming from deep within her.
And then she realises that Helena'sfingers are not inside her any more. Instead, Helena lays her hand gentlyon Jo's mound — just leaves it there for a minute, as if to keep Jowarm. Then she leans forward and gives Jo a quick kiss on the belly, andslowly gets to her feet. She stands close to Jo, looking into her face, hereyes full of tenderness and sympathy. Jo at this moment feels more transparentand tender than she has ever felt in her life. The two girls gaze at eachother, and love flows between them. Then Helena wraps her arms around Jo'sneck, and puts her head against Jo's. And Jo stands, arms at her side, lettingher breath slowly return to normal.
'You're cold,' says Helena at last.
'Yes.'
'Come on then. Let's get you dressed.'
She lets go of Jo, takes the shortsoff the table, and hands them to her. Then she briefly glances down.
'Wait a sec,' she says. She picksup the cloth, gives it a quick rinse, and in a no-nonsense manner wipes Joone last time between the legs.
'That'll do, anyway,' she says.
Jo puts the shorts on. Helena helpsher on with the bra, and then the shirt. Jo stands like a little girl whileHelena does up the buttons. Finally there is the scarf to be wound aroundher neck, and Jo is a Girl Guide once more.
Helena steps back to admire her.
'There,' she says. 'Amazing what abit of soap and water can do.'
'Thank you,' says Jo quietly.
Helena kisses her on the cheek.
'Haven't you got something to sayto Rob, too?' she says.
'Thank you, Rob.'
'Well, yes .... but I meant, you neverfinished telling him the Girl Guide Law. What's the last one?'
'I'm really not that fussed,' saysRob, but Jo is frowning at the floor in concentration. And finally she getsit.
'A Guide respects all living thingsand takes care of the world around her,' she says. 'Helena, there isn't oneabout keeping clean!'
'I know.'
'And to think we went to all thatbother,' says Rob.
'Well, if I don't go now,' says Jo,looking at the clock, 'It'll be all be over before I get there.'
She goes into the hall and puts onher duffel coat. 'Bye!' she calls.
'Jo!' cries Helena.
Jo reappears in the doorway, lookingsweet and fragile, her bare legs emerging — somewhat ridiculously — fromthe heavy coat.
'Mmm?'
'Shoes.'
'Yuh?'
'Do them up properly.'
'I can't do them up. They pinch.'
A brief silence, as the two girlslook at each other. Then Helena raises her eyebrows.
'Okay,' says Jo. She kneels, restsher chin on a bare knee, and buckles one sandal. Then she swaps sides anddoes the other.
'And now I really am going,' she says,and runs out into the chilly October evening.
Mckenna
- 22.10.2022
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