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Marcie, Marcie by Sally KA

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    Marcie, Marcie by Sally KA

    Marcie, Marcie 1

    Marcie slid out of bed and picked up her robe. Wrapping its warm towelling folds around
    her naked body she hurried into the ensuite bathroom.

    Marcie hurried to most places. She was a busy young woman, kept on the go by her high-
    pressure marketing job.

    She stood under the shower, thinking of her latest assignment as she soaped herself.

    As usual, she also thought about her constant diet and fitness campaign as she showered,
    trying to assess with her soapy fingers whether the troublesome little bulge of her tummy
    was in fact disappearing. She had recently changed her exercise routine to deal with that
    particular flaw in her appearance, although in truth, nobody but Marcie was aware of it.

    Marcie dressed carefully as always. She had always favored skimpy underwear, but had
    recently bought some white, full cut briefs. The purchase was a bit of a departure for her,
    but she had decided that comfort came ahead of sexy looks, and who was looking anyway?
    Her last boyfriend had departed a few months ago, and she found the new briefs warm and
    comfortable in the brisk winter weather.

    After pulling on a pair of tan slacks and a knitted top over her bra, and tidying her long
    blond hair, she checked herself in the big mirror in the bedroom, said goodbye to Tommy,
    her tortoiseshell cat, and stepped into the hall.

    Mrs Blavatsky, the old lady who lived in the back apartment at the end of the passage, was
    returning from her morning walk, and smiled at Marcie as the young woman emerged from
    her apartment.

    Marcie stopped in mid-rush, and smiled back at the old woman, then followed her into her
    musty apartment as she had for the last few mornings. She emerged a few minutes later,
    blinking in the relatively bright light of the hallway.

    It was unlike Marcie to allow a break in her carefully timed progress to her office, but she
    had begun to allow a few extra minutes for her brief sojourns in Mrs Blavatsky's dim
    apartment. Marcie never missed the few minutes, nor in fact did she remember her visits
    to the elderly woman's apartment. All she thought of on this particular morning, as she
    stood in the hallway looking at her watch, was that she had no time to lose. She adjusted
    the top of her slacks, and discovered that the zipper at the side of the garment was
    undone. She pulled up the zipper, and with her thumb and forefinger snugged both her
    underwear and her slacks up around her loins, and hurried to the carpark.

    In her dark rooms, Mrs Blavatsky smiled again. She was glad the pretty young woman was
    taking her advice, and was gratified by the pleasure Marcie had taken in slipping down her
    slacks and showing her that she had bought and was wearing her new, white full briefs.

    Returning that evening to her home, Marcie made herself dinner, watched a little TV, and
    retired to bed.

    She decided, for a change, to wear another pair of white briefs to bed. Slipping between
    the sheets, she got comfortable and picked up her bedtime reading from the little table
    beside the big bed. She rolled onto her side, and felt something cold against her hip.

    Wondering, Marcie pulled back the bedclothes, and looked at the bottom sheet. There was
    a plate-sized dark, damp patch there.

    Marcie furrowed her brow, and looked through the doorway at her plump cat, now asleep
    as usual in his basket in the living area.

    She didn't wake the cat, but felt annoyed that he had taken to getting into her bed during
    the day, and wetting it, what's more. Damn cat, she thought, as she removed the stained
    sheet, why can't he use his tray? Marcie swabbed the damp mattress with the powder she
    soaked her underwear in, and turned the mattress. Damn cat.
    Choronzon: I am Anti-Life, the Beast of Judgment. I am the dark at the end of everything. The end of universes, gods, worlds… of everything. Sss. And what will you be then, Dreamlord?

    Morpheus: I am hope.

    -Neil Gaiman’s Sandman Vol. 2 Issue 4

    Marcie, Marcie by Sally KA

    Marcie, Marcie Ch 2
    March 12 2004


    Somewhat short as well, sorry - but I don't have a lot of time at present.

    Marcie work the next morning from a sound sleep. She took time in the shower to shave
    her underarms and legs, and to trim her pubic hair. She had been in the habit, when her
    boyfriend Mike had been around, of having a regular bikini line wax. Since his departure,
    she hadn't bothered, but this morning, as she looked down at the stubbly hairs renewing
    themselves at the top of her thighs, she decided to shave a little there as well. After a few
    minutes careful shaving, she washed away the soap and inspected her work. Her mons
    looked very nice, she thought – maybe a little more could go. Soaping herself up again, she
    made a few more passes with the razor, spreading her legs slightly and pulling the razor
    gently up between her legs. This time, a rinse revealed only a small tuft of hair at the top
    of her lips. That's a lot better, she thought.

    Marcie dressed carefully as always, putting on a pair of light grey pants which she felt she
    could wear now that her little tummy bulge seemed less prominent. It was cold, so she put
    a pair of sheer pantyhose over her briefs before pulling on her pants. The grey slacks were
    quite sheer themselves. Although she was proud of her figure, and loved tight-fitting
    clothes, Marcie had never really liked the way the centre seam of pants made a sort of
    cleft, and spent some time tugging her legwear this way and that to achieve a nice,
    smooth look in front. She was interested to notice how sensitive her genital area was after
    her thorough shave, and in truth spent a little longer than she would otherwise have at her
    adjustments. As it was, as soon as she took a few steps, she felt her clothing tightening
    into her crotch anyway. Oh well, she thought, and after making sure that Tommy the cat
    had no access to the bedroom for the day, she left her apartment.

    As she had for the last few mornings, Marcie turned towards the elevator, stopped,
    blinked, and turned towards Mrs Blavatsky's door at the end of the hall. As she looked at
    the old lady's door, she saw the handle turning, and a moment later Mrs Blavatsky
    emerged in her heavy shawls and long dark dress.

    Marcie smiled, turned on her heel and walked towards the woman.

    Mrs Blavatsky sat as she had before on the large Arabian-looking sofa in the largest room
    of her apartment.

    'You look very nice this morning dear,' the old woman said with a thin smile.

    Mrs Blavatsky's accent was hard to place. Somewhere in Eastern Europe, Marcie had
    thought the first time they had met. Her age was hard to pin down, too. Old, Marcie had decided.

    'Thank you,' said Marcie in her quiet voice, looking down at the extravagant colors and wild
    patterns of the thick rug she stood on.

    'Are you wearing your nice panties?' asked Mrs Blavatsky.

    'Yes,' replied Marcie.

    'Show me,' said Mrs Blavatsky.

    Marcie reached back and undid the button at the back of her slacks, and slid down the
    short zipper beneath it. She had to wiggle her legs to get the slacks over her hips, then let
    them drop to her ankles. She stood in front of Mrs Blavatsky in her briefs and pantyhose.

    'Did you shave, dear?' asked Mrs Blavatsky.

    'Yes,' replied Marcie.

    'Let me see,' the old woman said, peering forward in the low light.

    Marcie peeled her pantyhose downwards, and pulled down her briefs. The tiny patch of
    blond hair was all but invisible above the gentle topography of her vulva.

    'You've left some hair there,' Mrs Blavatskly said shortly. 'Come with me.'

    Marcie nodded, and waddled after the woman who led her to her bathroom. The room was
    almost dark, and Marcie could just make out ranks of candles on the various flat surfaces.

    'Pull your tights and panties right down and sit there with your legs apart,' said Mrs Blavatsky.

    Marcie sat as requested on a low box upholstered in a thick brocade, and spread her
    smooth thighs.

    Mrs Blavatsky applied some foamy substance from a small jar to Marcie's crotch and took a
    cut-throat razor from an inlaid box.

    The job was soon done, and Mrs Blavatsky took Marcie's hand and led her back to the big
    sofa in the living area. Marcie nodded but said nothing as Mrs Blavatsky explained that she
    was to keep her privates well-shaven.

    She let Mrs Blavatsky pull her briefs and pantyhose back up.

    'Your panties are damp,' Mrs Blavatsky said, fingering the thick cotton crotch of Marcie's
    briefs. 'Did you wet your pants, dear?'

    'No, it was when I put them on after my shower,' Marcie said, still looking down.

    'I think you had better go and put on a dry pair of panties,' said Mrs Blavatsky, taking off
    the young woman's shoes and removing her panties and pantyhose entirely. 'Please go
    and get another pair,' she added, opening Marcie's handbag and handing her the keys to
    her apartment.

    Marcie turned silently and left Mrs Blavatsky's rooms. She walked half naked the few steps
    to her own apartment, found another pair of briefs in her bedroom dresser and put them
    on. She dropped the soiled pair to soak in the bucket of she had put in the bathroom, then
    returned and stood in front of Mrs Blavatsky.

    'Good girl,' said Mrs Blavatsky with another of her thin smiles.

    The old woman made Marcie turn around in front of her. The girl certainly had a trim
    bottom, thought Mrs Blavatsky.

    'Do you think you will wet this pair too?' she asked Marcie.

    'I hope not,' said Marcie.

    Mrs Blavatsky was gratified to hear that Marcie considered it at least to be a possibility.

    'Good,' she said. 'Now, let's get you dressed.'

    Marcie stood still while Mrs Blavatsky dressed her lower half.

    'Breath in,' said Mrs Blavatsky as she pulled the waistband of the slacks tight. She fastened
    the waist on the second, tighter button.

    'If they are a little tight it will remind you not to eat so much,' said Mrs Blavatsky as she
    admired again the girl's trim figure.

    The old woman traced her thin fingers across Marcie's tummy, and ran her index finger
    lightly down the now obvious indent between her vaginal lips.

    'You look lovely,' announced Mrs Blavatsky, 'Especially here,' she added, running her finger
    upwards with slightly more pressure. 'That shows that you're young and feminine, doesn't

    'Yes,' said Marcie, and breathed in sharply.

    Marcie's hand trembled as Mrs Blavatsky took one of Marcie's own fingers and with it
    traced the same path.

    Mrs Blavatsky felt the girl's soft, warm breath as she sat Marcie down on the sofa.

    'Now I want you to listen to some more music.'

    Marcie left Mrs Blavatsky's apartment a few minutes later. She was thinking about work
    again as she made herself comfortable in the leather seat of her small BMW and drove out
    of the carpark towards the freeway. Her pants felt pleasantly tight against her denuded groin.

    Marcie felt very young and feminine as she walked into her corner office, conscious of the
    keen looks she attracted from the sales guys in the outer office. She kicked her shoes off
    under the desk, and settled into her chair. She opened her diary, and pushed her hips
    forward slightly to increase the pressure on her genitalia. She began to hum the folk tune
    or whatever it was she had picked up somewhere as she made her first phone calls of the day.
    Choronzon: I am Anti-Life, the Beast of Judgment. I am the dark at the end of everything. The end of universes, gods, worlds… of everything. Sss. And what will you be then, Dreamlord?

    Morpheus: I am hope.

    -Neil Gaiman’s Sandman Vol. 2 Issue 4