Freja and Jeanie Ch. 01

Disclaimer: All people depicted having sex are at least 18 years of age. This story is part of my larger story cycle, commonly known as "The Alexaverse." As always, many thanks and gratuitous panty-shots courtesy of Freja and Jeanie are directed at my long-suffering editor and beta-reader, who makes sure my grammar is on point. Constructive reviews and critiques are welcome. Pointless flames and anonymous trolls will be snickered at and deleted. Enjoy!

Note: There are incest themes with a secondary couple in this story, same as in my Mike & Karen arc. Same secondary couple, for that matter. Just warning you now.

Chapter I -- Obvious Solutions

It was November, and the bracing chill of late autumn had gripped the city. High up on the thirtieth floor of the sumptuous downtown Toronto condominium tower, however, this was not a factor on anyone's mind. Something had shorted out somewhere, and the building's central heating had gone into overdrive. In the unit known as the Goldberg Suite, it was well over thirty degrees Celsius.

It might have been nine hundred for all the inhabitants cared.

Jeanette LeTourneau slouched on the huge chesterfield, almost puddled into it, her curly brown hair sticking to her neck and shoulders. She was wearing a very spare tank-top, which was already wet with sweat. She would have preferred to be naked, but she'd received some vague promises from the management that technicians would be along to help correct the issue.

She moaned miserably, lifting up the hem of her small, frilly skirt and letting an upright fan blow underneath it and cool off her sweltering vagina. While she was doing this, her wife Freja came back into the room, wrapped in a blanket she had stuffed in the freezer and tossing a cold pack to Jeanie on the couch.

"Guuuuuuuh ..." the brunette groused bitterly, not sure how the Hell this could possibly happen. They'd been instructed not to open the windows to cool the place off, but there was only so much she was willing to take. "How the fuck long're we s'posed to wait, Fre? This is givin' me the worst swamp crotch!"

"I am not knowings," replied the Danish girl, curling up on herself in a plush chair. She might just have to stand under a cold shower for hours at this rate. The problem was, everyone else seemed to have the same idea, and the water pressure available at the moment was pitiful at best.

She was also thankful that she didn't have long hair like Jeanie, either. Even so, her honey-blonde hair clung to her scalp and sides of her face wetly. "You know it is bad when the swamp crotch is so horrid that even I am not wanting to lick you. I was thinking that this is generally now how people die in Canada, ja? From overheating?"

"What am I, a climatologist?" Jeanie grumbled, trying not to shiver in revulsion as sweat drooled down the outside of her pussylips and onto the thick towel she was sitting on in a vain attempt to not ruin the couch. "Do I look like Liet Kynes to you?"

"Ingen," Freja said wearily, shaking her head. Against all odds, they'd managed to stash the most depraved and perverted items in their house out of sight in anticipation of the technician's arrival. Except for the seventy suction-cup dildos that festooned their shower stall. "You do not, my love. And I am thinking that the Fremen have nothing on us for heat."

"Gawwwwwd, this sucks big floppy donkey dick!" Jeanie complained, using her free hand to drag the cold pack Freja had given her around her torso under her tank top. She felt like she was melting. She was hot, and not the right type. "I need a distraction, Fre. Can we please, please, pleeeeeease fuck or something?"

"For you, yndling, I will try," mumbled the Dane, slowly ungluing herself from the chair and walking sluggishly over to her wife. "Come, we will bring the fans with us."

The pair picked up the fans spaced around the living room and brought them into the bedroom, where they planned to make love. The bedroom was even warmer than the living room, and both girls groaned in despair. Their silk sheets would do nothing to cool them down, so they were tossed aside, and the girls collapsed onto the bed like rag dolls.

"Gnnn, how can fucking be this much work?" Jeanie complained as she attempted to crawl over to her wife. "Fuck, we should've undressed when we were standing up ..."

"Too late now, my love," murmured Freja, pushing herself to her knees in the middle of the bed. They sluggishly pulled one another's clothes off, now naked in the center of the huge bed. They more or less leaned forward and put their arms around each other's waist in an attempt at a hug. The pressed their lips together, kissing feebly.

"Nnnnn, I don't like this upright stuff," Jeanie mumbled through the halfhearted kiss. "Let's lie down ..."

The pair eased onto their sides, needing to hold one another to make love, but also frustrated about their combined body heat. Still kissing uselessly, they dragged their hands over each other's sweaty bodies, trying to initiate arousal.

Nothing.

"Niogtres, maybe?" Freja managed to say. Jeanie nodded and slowly got up while the Danish girl slumped onto her back, spreading her legs. Jeanie, now on all fours, moved to straddle her wife's body, facing her feet. But the heat was sapping all her strength, and she felt weak as a kitten. Her knees were on either side of Freja's head when they gave out, spreading wide and dropping her down.

Her pussy smacked into the unready Freja's face with a disturbingly squishy slap!

"Ow ..." Freja grunted, turning her head to the side in an attempt to breathe, while Jeanie sluggishly moved to right herself. Her chin had thumped into Freja's crotch when she'd fallen, but the Dane seemed to not notice. Then again, she was an amateur full-contact martial artist, so her private parts had no doubt been on the receiving end of worse punishment.

They pressed their mouths against each other's pussies and began lapping tiredly, trying to instigate the least bit of arousal. Freja's face, already shining and sticky from getting slapped by Jeanie's vagina, wrinkled in distress as the rivulets of sweat trickled off her lover. Dutifully, though, she pressed the tip of her tongue against Jeanie's clit, still eliciting no response.

Jeanie, for her part, lolled her head around slowly, dragging her tongue over Freja's shaved slit, doing her paltry best to make her cum. She could feel her wife attempting to pleasure her, but if it was happening, the sensations hadn't reached her brainstem yet. All she could feel was the unwelcome sweat that coated her body like a second skin.

"Keep tryin', Fre," she mumbled while her fingers strummed gently over her wife's pussylips. "I know we'll manage to ... Fre? Fre?"

Her inquiry was greeted by snoring. Jeanie scowled.

"Thanks," she muttered, squirming her womanhood all over Freja's face grumpily and coating it with her sweat and grease. "Brat ..."

She slumped off to the side of the bed, fumbling wearily for her cellphone. She pulled her hair from beneath her head as she lay on her back, intent on texting, but the handset slipped between her sweaty fingers and bopped her on the nose.

"Fuuuuuuuck ..." she moaned miserably as she wiped at her nose and picked up her phone again, starting a mass text to her mother's prayer group back home in Collingwood.

Home?

She pondered that as she texted, wondering if it really was home to her anymore. What was home for her? Toronto? This condo her parents paid for? Was home wherever she happened to be with her wife?

Home was where she was happy. So at the moment, anywhere that wasn't this sweathouse she was trapped in, waiting for mythical repairmen that probably wouldn't show until the very last possible moment. Uuuuuugh.

"Pray for us," she keyed into her phone, her eyes fluttering as she tried to not close them and fall into a swoon. "It's sweltering here and we need all the good wishes we can get. Love to you all!"

No soon had she hit 'Send' than she drifted off into sweat-slicked dreams, the drone of the fans propelling her toward cool blue skies and rainbow unicorns ...

***

Collingwood, Ontario, on the shores of Georgian Bay ...

Jocelyn LeTourneau was sitting in her study, reading a fashion magazine, smoking an herbal lemongrass cigarette. Nobody smoked tobacco anymore, even if her inner teenager still yearned for it on occasion. Polite society was above such things, and she was polite society now, not some rough girl from the slums of Barrie. You didn't smoke tobacco, and you read the Robb Report.

Whatever it took. She was not going back to the way things were before she married Vince. She'd left poverty behind forever, married a man who owned a farm just outside Collingwood before he got lucky on the stock market, had a daughter to cement their new respectability, and become a fixture among the social elite of central Ontario.

She was reading about the best boating areas just off Blue Mountain Resort when her cellphone buzzed. She frowned at it for a moment before returning to her magazine. Vince was golfing; whatever it was could wait. It was probably some investor or business partner of his, so no concern of hers. That, or it was their daughter, no doubt asking some banal question that could easily wait.

She loved her daughter, but she could only take the girl in small doses now that she was an adult. Jeanie was ... not smart. She was downright dumb, in fact. Very well-intentioned, but dumber than a stone. It was slightly embarrassing, in fact, when she accompanied them to church. When Jeanie was five, another congregation member had mentioned that their child's pet bird had died, and the parent had needed to explain that the birdy was with Jesus now.

Confused, Jeanie had asked why Jesus lived in the trash bin.

Jocy shook her head again, trying to purge the memory from her mind. She might have preferred that Jeanie not cause controversy by marrying a man instead of a woman, but at least now she and her foreign wife were living in Toronto. As long as Jeanie kept up with her studies and worked toward a career, they'd pay for her to live in the city with her wife.

The phone buzzed again. She ignored it.

The house phone began ringing. It was silent for mere seconds before it rang again.

Frowning, Jocy put down her magazine and went to the phone. She didn't pick it up, but merely looked at the log of incoming calls. They were from members of her prayer group at church, and they were all leaving messages. She walked back to the study, where her cellphone was almost vibrating apart as calls came pouring in.

What the Hell was going on?

She picked up her phone and glanced at it. More calls and voicemails. And a few minutes before that, a text from Jeanie.

The colour drained from Jocy's face and her hands shook in horror as she read the message from her child.

***

Toronto ...

Jeanie and Freja sat beside one another on the loveseat quietly, their hands folded in their laps, not saying anything. Jeanie's cheeks were flush with embarrassment. Across from them, Vincent and Jocelyn LeTourneau were sitting on the chesterfield, looking at their daughter intently, clearly unimpressed and bordering on furious. They'd never driven to the city so quickly.

Freja quietly observed the older couple sitting across from them -- she'd met them before, of course, but she still felt like she did not really know them. They'd been rather closed off to her. Vincent was in his early forties, she figured, with an average build, maybe a little hefty from life on a farm. His brownish hair was greying at the temples, and he kept it in a smart business cut. He was wearing beige slacks and a polo shirt. He looked at his daughter, his fingertips pressed together.

Jeanie's mom, Jocelyn, had dark brown hair, and rather thick, like her daughter's, but Freja suspected she was dyeing it now, not that it mattered. She just thought it was rather pretentious to worry about keeping up appearances. According to Jeanie, Jocelyn was a few years younger than he husband, placing her in her late thirties. She was apparently from some small, blue-collar industrial town called Barrie, and her background was a poor one, but Jeanie had been instructed by her mother to never mention this fact to anyone. Ever. The older woman's brown eyes flashed indignantly as she glowered at her daughter.

Jeanie shifted uncomfortably, because her parents hadn't said a single thing since they'd arrived. She knew why they were here, but she had no idea what to do about it. She'd fucked up. Bad. Freja reached over and clasped her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze to remind her she was not alone. Not now, not ever.

Jeanie took a deep breath and started to get this over with. "I ... well, obviously, I'm sorry, first of all."

"Gee, y'think?" Jocy replied tersely, giving her daughter a look. "Do you have any idea what you've done, young lady?"

"Not ... specifically, no, but it can't be good," Jeanie admitted. "I --"

"Nearly got us excommunicated from a church that doesn't even have excommunication?" Jocy asked snidely, while her husband flushed angrily at the memory of the texts and phone calls that had interrupted his round of golf. "Yes, Jeanie, even for you, quite the accomplishment."

Jeanie stopped talking, bit her lip and looked at the floor. She'd just have to ride this out.

"Seriously, girl, what were you thinking?" Jocy proceeded, trying to not lose her temper. "Within moments of that ... blasphemous text of yours going out, I was bombarded by calls and messages from distraught and enraged members of the congregation! One member's sixteen-year-old daughter was using their phone when your message reached them! The pastor's wife saw it, for God's sake!"

"Jeanette," Vincent interjected, taking over before Jocy went into a meltdown. "We tolerate your unusually libertine ways, because you're our daughter, but this crosses a line that shouldn't have been crossed. What were you doing, sending out an obscene text to your mother's prayer group? How could you think that was okay? It's not a joke, it's not edgy, it's not funny. Even for you, this is disrespectful of propriety. Well?"

Jeanie squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to articulate her thoughts. She felt Freja's hand on hers and found the courage to proceed.

"I ... remember I said that the central heating for the building broke and went into overdrive, turning this apartment into a sauna?"

Her parents said nothing, but just nodded.

"Well, we had to wait for the repairmen, so we couldn't leave. It was awful in here. Took us all night to air the place out after the situation was fixed. At one point, we --"

"Jeanie ..." Jocelyn said sternly, giving her a look.

"Sorry," Jeanie said hastily. "Anyway, it was horrible in here, must've been well over thirty. Both our brains had turned to mush. I sent out a text to your prayer group, asking for prayers in enduring the heat, because we were miserable."

"No, you didn't," Jocy snapped in irritation, picking up her phone and almost thrusting it forward to present the offending text message as cold, hard evidence. "You sent out that obscene message. It's on my phone, not this mythical one you're insisting you sent! And everyone else got it too. The evidence speaks for itself."

"I know, I know," Jeanie said, holding up her hands, trying to stall the tantrum. "What I'm saying is that the message I meant to send and what everyone received are totally different things. It was a ... a technical error on my part."

"Oh, do tell," her mother said sarcastically, resting her chin on her hand while leaning forward to listen. "I'd love to hear about this malfunction."

Jeanie sighed. "I have an app on my phone, and it ... changes words to be naughty. It's called Naughtycorrect, like autocorrect, but perverted."

"Naughtycorrect," Jocy said sourly, clearly not convinced. "Who the Hell would create an app like that? They should be sued for every penny they're worth."

There is an interesting notion, Freja mused to herself, not seeing how that could possibly end well for Jeanie's parents.

"No, really," Jeanie insisted, pulling out her phone and keying into it before standing and heading over to give it to her mother. "Here, I pulled up dad's number so you can text him. That'll prove it."

She turned to go back to her seat before pausing and looking at her mother rather nervously. "Just ... don't open up the photo gallery, okay?"

"Not for a trillion dollars ..." Jocy muttered dryly before sending a quick message to her husband. His phone buzzed and he checked it, his eyes going wide. He showed it to his wife, who blinked in disbelief before looking back at the device she'd texted from.

"There's something we haven't done before ..." Vince commented.

"Shut up!" Jocy hissed, swatting his arm and tossing Jeanie's phone back to her with distaste. "Why would you send that message, girl? If your phone does this now, why would you inflict in on my church peers?"

"I ..." Jeanie tried to explain before fusing with her hands and then just sagging. "I just forgot to turn it off," she confessed. "It was sweltering hot, my brain was turned to glue, and I just forgot, okay? I never would've sent a text like that to anyone you know."

"Even if we chose to believe you, there's the question of the damage you've done, Jeanie," her mother said, clearly not satisfied with the explanation. "What am I supposed to tell everyone? 'Ha ha, it was a mistake, my daughter uses an app that makes everything obscene and she forgot to turn it off?' That fixes nothing!"

"I know," Jeanie said, trying to not tear up. "I don't know what to say. I promise you, mom, it was an accident."

"Understatement of the year," Jocy said bitterly. "I spent hours on the phone with the minister and his wife, pleading with them to not kick us out of the church until we got to the bottom of this."

"I'm sorry ..." Jeanie murmured.

"You need to tell us the name of the company that makes this app," Jocy pressed, determined to find some angle she could use as an excuse to keep from getting kicked out of the church and the genteel society she had been working for over two decades to insert herself into. Her dim-witted daughter was not going to blow this for her. "Our lawyer will be contacting them immediately and insisting they --"

"It wasn't a company, mom," Jeanie interjected. "It was someone I know from university who is tech-savvy. They ... made the app for me, because they thought I'd enjoy it."

"Someone made it for you?!" Jocy almost hissed, leaning forward and glaring. "Because this is funny? Who did it, Jeanie? Tell me who did this, and our lawyer can impress upon them the need to not do anything like this again! If they refuse, they'll be sued!"

Jeanie trembled and squeezed her eyes shut before taking another deep breath and opening her eyes to look at her parents. "No, mom," she said in a quiet, calm voice. "I won't tell you who. This was my fault, not theirs. I forgot to turn the app off and sent the message. If I hadn't forgotten, you wouldn't be any the wiser about its existence and threatening to sue everyone under Heaven. I'm sorry, I love you, but ... I won't tell you who. Blame me."

Jocy was absolutely seething at her daughter's defiance, but Vincent held up his hand, meaning his wife was to stand down. He looked at his daughter levelly. "Normally I'd be proud of you for taking a stand, Jeanie, but not this time. You've done possibly irreparable harm to your mother's and my social standing in a community we'd integrated ourselves into before you were even born."