Chapter 1

Author’s Note: This story has been posted to Literotica.Com with the full knowledge of the original author, JimBob44. No part or whole of this story may be reprinted in any other format or on any other web site without the express written consent of the original author.

Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.

Celeste Clay climbed out of the pool, breathing hard from her vigorous paddling. She briskly rubbed her body with a towel then draped the towel over the railing of the stained redwood deck. She then lay on the padded chaise lounge, allowing the Arkansas sun to beat down on her wet flesh.

The sun was slowly drying her skin and blonde hair. Celeste could feel her exposed areolae crinkling tight as she lay, young breasts thrust toward the pale blue sky. She did not open her eyes when she heard Ashley take the chaise lounge right next to her.

“I swear, Celeste, you are so lucky,” Ashley enthused.

“Mm?” Celeste asked, opening one eye.

She watched as the extremely pale Ashley Clinton made sure she was fully covered by the chaise lounge’s umbrella. And, even though shielded from the harmful UV rays, Ashley sprayed some more sunscreen onto her exposed flesh.

Celeste knew she should feel fortunate to have her own home. At eighteen years of age, most of her peers were either still living at home with their parents or were struggling to afford an overpriced apartment or crammed into a single wide trailer with five or six other people.

Celeste had been an only child of two parents that had been only children themselves. Brian Clay, Celeste’s father was not only an only child; he was an orphan and Celeste had grown up in the home Brian had inherited when his parents were killed in a terrorist attack while on vacation in France.

Celeste was also an orphan; Brian had a love of alcohol. Her mother was a teetotaler and Celeste could remember several arguments over Brian’s drunken antics. In a twist of irony, it had been Allison Clay behind the wheel when a drunk ran a red light and killed Allison and Brian.

From age thirteen, Celeste had lived with her only relative, her widowed grandmother, Clara East. The large in-ground swimming pool had been a gift to Celeste; Celeste had not thought it much of a gift since the upkeep of the pool fell to her. Before she could enjoy a dip in her pool, Celeste had to check the salinity level of the salt water pool, grab the long handled net and scoop out any debris. Then after the use of the pool, Celeste had to make sure there were no items left about; towels, her cover-up, bottle of sunscreen. Owning a pool was a lot of work for just a few minutes of splashing about.

She had also not thought living under her grandmother’s hard-nosed, no-nonsense religious rule to be much reason to be grateful. She had a swimming pool and her own bedroom, was fed three square meals a day and was encouraged to pursue her own interests. BUT… She had to wear modest swimsuits. There was no sugar with those meals. Her interests were approved only if they met the dictates of the religious leaders of Clara’s church. And there was no door on her bedroom. As a woman, Clara knew all too well the illicit thoughts of a teenaged girl. There would be no privacy for Celeste to give into temptation to touch herself.

Clara had been thirty eight years old when she’d given birth to Allison Faye East. And, being a somewhat homely girl with flat chest, thick middle and wide hips, it took an extremely inebriated twenty year old Brian Clay to impregnate the thirty year old Allison East.

Celeste had never met Theodore East; he’d passed away ten years before Celeste was born. He’d had a study, a ‘man-cave’ of sorts that Clara never went into. Celeste was also forbidden to enter the sanctuary to Clara’s memory of her beloved Theo. So, on the evening of burying Clara Alice East, Celeste pushed the bi-fold louvered doors apart and entered the dusty room.

There was a very comfortable recliner. The living room of Clara’s home had uncomfortable couch and two matching whingback chairs, all covered in plastic. Celeste had learned long ago to avoid sitting on the living room furniture should she be wearing shorts.

There was a large console television wedged into a corner of the room; Celeste had not seen a television since moving into Clara’s home; Clara believed that television programming was sinful and deviant so forbade television in her good Christian home.

There was also a very comfortable, overstuffed couch with a feather pillow on one end and a fleece blanket draped over the arm on the other end. Celeste deduced that Grandpa spent more than one night in this room. The pillow still held the faint aroma of Old Spice after shave.

“Grandpa!” Celeste gasped; truly shocked when she read the titles of the videocassettes that sat on the top shelf of the bookcase nest to the large console television.

There was a beautiful wood bar to the right of the television. Stepping behind the bar, Celeste saw that Grandpa kept a very well stocked bar. She wondered how many pleasant afternoons Grandpa may have spent in his domain, away from the sharp eye and sharp tongue of his wife and his daughter.

For a long moment, Celeste stared at the bottles, wondering what she should try. With the help of her cell phone, a luxury she’d had to beg and beg for, Celeste looked up the recipe for a whiskey sour. In a book she’d discovered in her bedroom, which had been her mother’s bedroom until Allison married Brian, Celeste had read ‘Of Rather Peculiar Tastes’ by Rod Coxsway. The male protagonist in the quite salacious tale drank whiskey sours.

Thankfully, Theo had all the ingredients in his bar. Celeste had no way of knowing that Theo was quite fond of whiskey sours. This was why there was a pillow and a blanket on the couch. Clara sternly rebuked her husband for his drunkenness.

Clara certainly had no patience for his peculiar desires; sex was for procreation only. The things Theo suggested certainly were not for procreation. Thus, the numerous videocassettes of young, fresh faced teenaged girls being sodomized, sucking cock, and receiving facials of copious amounts of semen.

Settling into the very comfortable recliner, Celeste took her first sip of alcohol. Just like her father and her paternal and maternal grandfathers, the moment the alcohol burned its way past her esophagus and coursed into her belly, Celeste felt a sense of ease and comfort and well-being that had eluded her for her entire life. For a long moment, she eased back in the chair, shuddered with pleasure, then let out a soft, satisfied sigh of contentment.

Unlike her father and two grandfathers, Celeste stopped after the second drink. She did want a third drink. She wanted to double to whiskey; she’d read in another of her mother’s lascivious books about a well-hung cock’s man that drank doubles. Instead, she called it quits and made herself a supper of fried chicken and stovetop macaroni & cheese.

The moment the sun set on the long, uncomfortable day, Celeste went to her bedroom, removed her shorts and tee shirt, serviceable bra and full briefs. She resolved that she would purchase some much more flattering clothes for herself now that her grandmother was not there to monitor her clothing choices. For a long moment, no longer mindful that her grandmother might catch her in the sinful act of conceit, Celeste admired her nude form in the full-length mirror.

“Maybe even get some clothes from Vokine’s,” Celeste giggled, naming the exclusive department store Clara had always denounced because of their exorbitant prices.

Celeste had 32C teardrop shaped breasts dotted with half-dollar coin sized light brown areolae and thick nipples. Both areolae were crinkled tightly and her nipples stuck out simply from the rebellious act of standing nude. Her waist was 26 inches; Clara often playfully fussed at Celeste for having such a perfect waistline.

“Oh, but just you wait,” Clara would prophesize. “Minute you have a baby? Oh well!”

Her hips flared out to thirty inches then tapered into her muscular thighs. Celeste had enjoyed running track and that had been heartily approved of by Clara. So, her legs were sleek and muscled.

Celeste’s sex was barely covered by sparse tendrils of straw covered hair. In the mirror, Celeste could see the groove that bisected her crotch. Turning and glancing over her shoulder, Celeste admired her firm buttocks. Running track had kept them quite firm and defined. With a naughty giggle, Celeste gave a little shimmy of her buttocks.

Then, she marched out of her bedroom, across the hallway to her bathroom. Even leaving her bedroom unclothed felt exhilarating. Clara would have fussed at her; a lady never leaves her bedroom without being properly attired.

She certainly would not travel down the stairs, towel draped over her bare shoulder, wearing nothing but a smile and flip flops. Celeste giggled at her brazenness, her daring as she approached the rear sliding glass doors of her grandmother’s home.

“My home now, I guess,” she said, wondering why she did not feel more somber, more devastated over the loss of her last living relative.

“Because she was a bitch,” Celeste decided, hand automatically reaching for the switch for the pool light.

“She wasn’t a bitch; she just didn’t know how to express love,” Celeste chided herself, hurriedly turning the light off.

Stepping outside, Celeste did glance about worriedly. Seeing and hearing nothing, she continued on her path toward the pool. The half-moon cast enough light for her to see the chaise lounge. The moon reflected off of the still waters of the pool and Celeste dropped the towel onto the chaise lounge before jumping into the pool.

“Oh! Oh my God, yes!” Celeste giggled, elated with the feeling of the cool water caressing her bare skin.

She lost track of time as she swam the pool. When she tired of swimming, she sat on the steps, half-submerged in the rippling waters.

“This is the ONLY way to swim,” Celeste giggled, finally dragging her water-logged flesh from the pool.

Even drying her nude body in the cool night air was a tittilating experience. Looking around, Celeste determined that no one could spy into her back yard, unless they were on a ladder and peering over her fence. Clara had put the fence up twenty nine years earlier when a black family had moved into their previously lily-white neighborhood. Throughout the years, the fence had been well-maintained, affording them privacy.

“So, if I wanted to…” Celeste said to herself as she let herself into the home. “No reason to wait until dark.”

Celeste returned to school the day after burying her grandmother. The vice-principal had assured her, she could take as long as she needed; after all, Clara East had been Celeste’s last known relative. But Celeste saw no reason to miss any more days than absolutely necessary. Not when she was this close to graduation.

Arriving home from school, driving the small, inexpensive seventeen year old car her grandmother had allowed her to buy, Celeste found the Reverend C. Thomas Little and Jamie Tismann waiting for her. She was not fully out of the car and the Reverend was demanding the keys to the home and to the two vehicles. Celeste wisely locked herself in her vehicle and called 911.

The police arrived; one of the officers was a member of the non-denominational church the Reverend headed. Celeste smirked as the police officer’s disapproval was blatantly apparent on the man’s face.

“I had the traffic detail for Mrs. East’s funeral,” the officer said, voice hard as he faced minister and attorney.

“Oh, oh well, thank you,” Reverend Little said.

“You just buried her momma yesterday?” the officer spat. “And here you are today? Telling her she needs to get out of her house?”

“I, she, we have a legally binding document,” the man blustered. “She, she bequeathed her estate to the church and…”

“And rather than doing the Christian thing? Letting her stay in her home, least ’til she graduate’s on out of high school? You over here, ready to throw her out? On the street?” the officer snarled.