Judging from some of the fan mail she has let us read, Grace Eddy is rapidly becoming one of the most popular writers at Surrey House, Inc. All of her many exciting novels have been very good sellers for Rated X and Surrey Collectors.
We feel very confident that Her Little Crew will be no exception to the following she has already established.
Her Little Crew comes on board, and we do mean comes, after she had been persuaded to take a few boys on an outing on her boat ... boys who might otherwise never have the experience of riding the waves on an exciting sailboat ... boys who might otherwise never have the experience or riding out the other special things she was destined to teach them, once she had them all to herself on the high seas and their little pants dropped down far enough for her to see the only mast she was interested in hoisting.
She kept each of them up longer than they expected, wearing their firm resolves down time after time, then forcing them through her exciting titillation to get it right back up there where she could use it again, emptying one after the other until she had her fill of hot, throbbing boylove.
Her Little Crew will sail on into ecstasy ...
-THE PUBLISHERS
CHAPTER ONE
It was a quiet life but she liked it. At thirty-nine Theodora often laughed at what she had thought being a dancer was like. What it was really like was hard work. Since she had been eight Ted's life had been a daily round of practice, exercises to twist her body into shapes nature had never intended a little girl's bones to go.
It was, she reflected, very like a nun's life except that it required more rigid vows and a greater dedication. A nun had to give up screwing. A dancer ... Ted had been a virgin till she was nearly twenty-eight, thanks to the still uninvented pill. Pregnancy for d dancer was not just a social embarrassment. It was The End. Nobody .in the world of ballet cared who fucked whom but if a dancer wanted to Make It she had to devote her whole body, every erg of energy to just one thing. There was no room for fucking. There was even less room for overeating.
Thinking back about it all, Ted knew it had been a waste. All those wonderful years ... When she had been fifteen and all her friends had been out in parked cars getting their stockings pulled down their thin legs she, Ted, had been bellying up to the practice bar, exercising, practicing, turning herself into some kind of machine that made old men in the twenty-five-dollar seats sigh. But in street clothes she had been unable to turn the head of any man of any age. They were interested in a girl with some meat on her bones-an ass to grab, some tits to nuzzle. She had often thought of what she could have done for a man if she had been willing to give up her career-all the interesting positions she could twist her slight body into. And she had always felt safe walking down dark streets at night, knowing her thin, almost nonexistent body was as muscular as a rattlesnake's and just about as deadly should any male try something she didn't want tried.
But it was all over now. She had been one of the lucky ones, able to see herself objectively and know that she was a good dancer. She had also known she would not be a great one. When, after wasting all the wonderful years from fifteen to twenty-five pursuing a career that never quite materialized, she had finally found The Man, she had known better than to hesitate.
Twenty-eight-year-old virgins with a body of a fifteen-year-old and the mind of a middle-aged adult are not easy to come by. She had, thinking back on it, sold herself. But it had not been all that much of a sacrifice. Virgil had possessed a hard-muscled body, still interesting at fifty. And he had known what he was doing too. She remembered the day he had proposed.
"Look," he said, "a man my age and with my money has had all the clean young cunt he needs. What I need is a woman who can run my house, wear clothes, entertain my friends, and who knows the difference between 'these' and 'them.' Also, I'd like her to like me enough not to make me go to sleep on the couch half the time. You willing?"
Looking toward dwindling talents, an aging body and fifty more years of virginity, Ted had been willing. And Virgil had kept his bargain, too. Most of his money was tied up in trusts, doled out to wives, sons and daughters from previous entanglements. But he had left her with ten thousand a year tax free. He had also left her the yacht.
At thirty-nine, Ted didn't know which she was most grateful for, the money or the yacht. Until she met Virgil she had never been on a boat in her life. Now she was firmly addicted to sailing. No matter what Nixon might do about selling the country to the oil companies, as long as she could keep the sails of her thirty-foot sloop in repair, Ted knew she would never be bored. It was small enough for her to sail single handed, large enough to go around the world if she felt like it.
She finished bagging the Dacron sails, thanking Neptune for the thousandth time that cotton was obsolete and that nobody had to worry about mildew from stowing damp sails any more: After a day's sailing all she had to do now was tie a couple of things down before she went up to the club house at the head of the dock and had a long, soul-satisfying shower.
She had just finished tying the boom in its crutch when the PA speaker blatted, "Telephone for Ted Stickles."
Now who, she wondered, could that be? Still clad in faded sailing denims, she jumped from the raised-deck sloop to the dock and walked toward the telephone.
"Mr. Stickles?"
Since Mr. Stickles had been dead for almost five years Ted knew immediately it was either somebody selling something she didn't need or begging something she couldn't really afford to give. "Not exactly," she said.
"Oh, you must be Mrs. Stickles." It was a woman's voice. "I'm calling for the Souterrain Hilltop Receiving Home."
Ted was tired. She wanted a shower and then a drink before she went back to watch TV in the small but extremely comfortable cabin of her sloop. "How much?" she asked.
"Oh dear, no," the voice protested. "We're not asking for money."
Ted sighed and wondered how much of this face-saving crap she would have to listen to before the woman got down to how much.
"Most of our children come from underprivileged homes," the woman continued. "Many of them have never seen the ocean, much less a boat."
"A boat," Ted said, "is something you use to get from the dock out to where a ship is anchored. On a sloop as small as mine you make do with an inflatable raft."
The woman's canned spiel continued right over Ted's acid commentary. "We're trying to see that each youngster gets an afternoon sailing. It may not sound like much but have you ever considered that a boy who's busy building a boat is too busy to be out stealing hub caps or robbing stores?"
Ted really hadn't considered it. Her own hub-cap-stealing years had been spent bending her ass out of shape at a ballet practice bar. But suddenly she knew she might as well give in. If she didn't this woman would never stop pestering her. And besides, she had never had a child. Maybe it was time she started paying her dues to the human race. "All right," she said. "I've only got room for maybe two. When?"
"Would tomorrow morning at nine be all right?"
"It would except the wind never comes up before noon. Try to have them here at eleven."
The woman's voice was hesitant. "I'm afraid we're a little crowded for transportation," she began.
"I have a ten-speed bicycle to get to the grocery." Ted said with a tone of finality. "Have them out here at eleven."
And that was how it had happened. The next morning a woman gone to fat had pulled up with a station wagon full of grubby children. While they did their best to destroy the car she had gotten out and looked around uncertainly. Ted appeared and the woman gone to fat had laid two boys on her. Leading them down the float of the marina Ted had not been impressed. "First," she began, "you take those shoes off before you mark up my deck."
"Why?" It was the larger boy. He seemed to be about fourteen, tall for his age and rather thin. Though white, he seemed more loaded with hostility than a carload of newly emancipated blacks.
"Three reasons," Ted explained. "First, those soles are slippery on a wet deck. You wear them and you'll be overboard before I'm past the first buoy. Second, you're not on land now, no nails or dirt to step on and plenty of clean white decks that have to be scrubbed dean every time somebody puts a scuff mark on them. And third, I'm the captain of this ship so you'll do what I say without argument. Is that understood?"
"Yes, ma'am." It was the smaller boy. He was maybe thirteen, with a mop of curly red hair that would look like an Afro if the boy had not been so thoroughly Irish in appearance.
Ted glanced at the older boy. He glared back, then realized this trim muscular woman was not going to be bullied. "Yeah," he said. They arrived at her berth and began taking off their shoes.
"Why don't you take yours off?" the older boy asked.
"Because they're boat shoes." She unbent a moment. "If you buy them in the expensive part of town they're boat shoes. In other parts of town they're sneakers or 'tennis shoes' and cost half as much."
"Sheeeeeeeiiiiit!" the older boy growled.
"Down forward next to where the mast is stepped," Ted said crisply. "And don't forget to flush it."
To her mild surprise the boy actually had to go. He finished removing his shoes and socks and went below. "There ain't no door on this crapper!" he complained a moment later.
Ted pulled the slide shut and began setting the jib. Normally she would have motored away from the dock but the wind was nearly nothing and she had a couple of extra hands to help push off so she guessed she might as well save fuel. She put the handle in the coffee grinder winch and taught the smaller boy how to wind it slowly as she fastened snaps to the forestay. The jib was hanging limp in the calm and they were setting the mains'l when the boy fumbled with the cabin slide and came back on deck.
"Ain't you got an engine?" he asked.
"There's one basic rule to remember about engines," Ted explained. "Never sail yourself into some kind of corner where you need an engine to get out because no matter how well you tune it, the damn thing never starts when you need it."
"Sounds like my old man's car," the boy growled.
Ted glanced at the sullen boy and felt a sudden flash of rut. A fine thing, she thought. Here I am thirty-nine, widowed, with just about everything I want in the world and suddenly I'm thinking screwy thoughts about some fourteen-year-old loser!
Covertly she studied the boy, wondering what accident had given her a sylph body that had brought her up out of the slums into the deeper dreariness of daily ballet practice. It was funny. Now that she was middle-aged and had given up dancing her body had finally filled out until at thirty-nine she had the kind of body most girls exercised and dieted for when they were eighteen. One of these days, she decided, she was going to fix her hair straight in some youthful style, put on a mini, and see just how many stiff pricked studs she could fool.
Not that she intended to do anything about it. If Ted had been a hot pants type she would never have sacrificed her best fucking years doing the splits for some usually queer ballet master. But still, this boy was-interesting.
He was taller than her own five-two. Probably when he was through growing the boy would be a football-player-sized giant. Right now he was slim, dark, with a Latin ... she studied the boy's face and decided he was not Latin. That nose had to be Greek. She caught herself speculating about the bulge in his too small Levi's. Idly, she counted the years since.
Virgil hadn't been half the cocksman his own PR network made him out to be. He had been mildly and pleasantly surprised to discover that Ted really
was a virgin. But he had made no effort to fill in the lost years. Once or twice a week Virgil had knocked on her door and if she had felt like it they had enjoyed a quiet friendly fuck. If she had been under the wrong phase of the moon, or not feeling quite up to it, her husband had said his polite good-night and gone off, leaving her in solitary peace. It had been a good life.
When Virgil had with dramatic suddenness taken ill and died of something mysterious to do with his lymph glands she had felt the loss keenly. But it had been the loss of a good and respected friend. Ted had now been a virgin for twenty-five, uncomplaining years. Just as uncomplainingly, she had accepted the fact that there would be no more semi-weekly visits to her bed chamber. She was thirty-nine, she had her health, a steady income, and a small yacht. Now what was she doing looking at the swollen crotch of this little bastard's Levi's?
She devoted her attention to the other younger boy. "That's the jib," she explained. "These two winches are called coffee grinders. They're to pull it in tight when the wind's blowing hard."
"You think it'll blow today?"
Ted glanced at the sky. "We ought to have a fair breeze in an hour or so," she guessed.
"Wish somebody'd blow me," the older boy grunted.
Ted decided to pretend she hadn't heard. "This's the main sheet," she continued. "And a sheet is a piece of rope to pull the sail in. It's never the sail and don't ask me why, that's just the way it is."
"Sheeeeeeeeeeeeet!" the older boy muttered.
"I sail this sloop all by myself nearly every day," Ted said. "Without the help of any males, chauvinist pig or otherwise. I'll be happy to teach either of you how to sail but if anybody wants off now's the time before I cast off this stern line."
The silence was absolute.
She considered the thousand ways the boys could fuck up casting off and decided to do it herself. Running bow and stem lines aft to the cockpit with a single turn around the bollards she waited until a gust of wind filled the sails. The yacht heeled and she cast off. For a moment nothing happened, then suddenly they were under way, tacking to windward up the crowded basin.
Once they were clear of the basin and headed
out toward the last buoy she started teaching the boys how to steer. It turned into a lovely day as the overcast burned off. Bright sun and a good sailing breeze made the sloop dance along, practically sailing itself. "Keep her pointed toward that buoy," she told the youngest boy, and went below. She was changing out of faded denims into shorts and halter when she saw the older boy frying to pretend he was not looking down into the cabin.
It was funny. All the years she had danced semi-nudity was so common nobody paid any attention to where they shed their tights or tutu. But then, most of the boys in ballet had been more interested in each other than in the girls. Suddenly Ted realized she was thirty-nine, with the body of a twenty-year-old capable of leading a bishop astray. And she was being looked at by a boy in the absolute prime of his sexual vigor. She wondered what it would be like to be male, to be fourteen, to be so obsessed with fucking that he was unable even to think about a woman without mentally calculating his chances, dreaming and fantasizing about how it would feel to slip his hot hard cock into the soft warmth between a woman's ... suddenly Ted realized the soft warmth between her own hard-muscled ballerina legs was tingling in a way she had not felt for years.
She finished getting into her shorts and halter. They were both of dark, almost navy blue and set off her long dancer's pony tail of blonde hair in a way that turned men's heads. She came back on deck and to her surprise the younger boy was still steering in the general direction of the buoy she had aimed him at.
"Would you like to steer for a while?" she asked the older boy.
"I sure would," he said. Something about his tone left no doubt that he was not talking about steering. She caught herself wondering what it would be like to ...
"You live here on this boat?" the younger boy asked.
Ted nodded.
"All alone?"
She nodded again.
"Ain't you got no husband or no kids?"
"No," Ted explained. "My husband's dead."
"You pretty," the thirteen-year-old said. "How come you ain't got a bunch of men hangin' 'round?"
"I don't know," Ted said. "Maybe they just got tired of hanging and dropped off."
"Sheeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiit!"
"Is that all you know how to say?" she asked the older boy. "By the way, what's your name?"
"Albert"
"Is that all?"
"Albert Warfield."
"I'm John O'Brien," the younger boy said.
"You can call be Ted," she said.
"That's a man's name."
"Do I look like a man? Anyway, Ted stands for Theodora."
The older boy volunteered something for the first time. "No," he said. "You sure don't look nothing like a man!"
Suddenly Ted wished she had worn slacks or at least something less revealing than shorts and halter. It was her own fault. She had never been around horny boys like this. The only boys she had ever known would have zipped her up without a second glance. It was the older girls she had had to be careful about.
The boy-now what had he said his name was?-Albert was doing as good a job as could be expected steering. But she knew it was hard for the boy to keep his eye on the buoy when it kept wanting to stray back to the firm line of her well-muscled thigh, to trace the curve of her defiantly skyward pointing tits. She still had a ballerina's body-but a ballerina's body that had filled out into full-blooming womanhood, with an ass made for grabbing, tits big enough for a man to get his hands on, and with a waist that still remembered those hours and years of constant exercise.
Ted was still a woman. She was reminded of it every time she stepped from her bath and-studied her naked body in the full-length mirror. She-was solid from head to toe-not an ounce of flab. She was, and she knew it was plain fact and not just wishful thinking or bragging. At thirty-nine she was in better shape, with a better body and even a better face than most of the bikini queens who lorded it over their tiny harems of a half dozen surfers. The only difference was Ted didn't have a man. Not because she couldn't trap one, but because she hadn't ever really needed or wanted one.
The jib fluttered. She glanced ahead and saw the boy was still steering properly. She wound the jib sheet around the coffee grinder and taught little John how to sheet it in. A moment later they took up slack in the main sheet and the Sloop settled down on her lines again. She had been afraid a day's sailing with a couple of inexperienced boys would be a nightmare but so far they were doing pretty well. "When we pass that buoy we're going to come about," she warned.
"What's that?" John asked.
"It's kind of exciting if you've never done it," she said. "Suddenly the boom slams over and sails are flapping and everything changes sides. The hull lays over the opposite way and then you settle down on the other tack." From the way the boys looked at her she knew they hadn't understood anything.
"I can think of something exciting," Albert muttered.
"I'm sure you could," Ted said. "But it takes both hands to steer and if somebody doesn't we'll tip over and all drown." Suddenly she realized neither of these boys would know how to put on a life jacket if there were an emergency. She showed them where the life jackets were under the cockpit seat and put one on. Albert's eyes never left the straps as they bit into the soft yielding flesh of her crotch. He sighed ecstatically.
She knew what the boy was suffering even if she had never experienced it herself. Some people, she guessed, needed it worse than others. When she had been Albert's age she had gone to bed so tired and sore each night she had never had time even to think about sexuality. She supposed it was the aimless dull nothingness of life in the ghetto that so obsessed these boys with fucking. More than ever she was feeling the same thing herself lately. It must be, she supposed, because she was retired, no longer working herself to death at the practice bar, and it had been now many years now since she had had the release of those long, slow, gentle and friendly fucks with Virgil? Suddenly she was assailed with a flash of rut as strong as the boy's.
She wondered what his reaction would be if he knew what she was thinking. Probably run, she guessed. She wondered if he had ever actually what kind of a thing did a boy that age have? A real boy, that is ... she had seen some of the boys' in dancing school. They had been athletic enough but somehow she had always suspected they should have been born girls. At least their cocks hadn't even been in the same league as Virgil's.
But this boy was not the type to end up in a ballet school. She wondered if what she had read about ghettos was true. Did they actually start fucking when they were only ten or twelve? Could this younger, curly headed boy with the look of a boyish saint who had managed to be born without original sin ... had he already stuck his little tally whacker into the girl next door? Ted wondered how much in life she had missed out on.
Plenty, she supposed. She had never had a date. During all those years she had been too busy dancing ever to think about going to what other girls her age called a 'dance.' But now those other girls were all fat and dowdy and lying awake nights worrying that their daughters might be out doing the same things they had done. Maybe Ted had come up winners after all ...
At least she knew none of the girls she had gone to school with would dare wear shorts and a halter any more. Nor could any of them coax a bulge in the Levi's of a fourteen-year-old boy who was going to put this sloop in stays in a minute if he didn't get his eyes off her tits and back on course. "You're pinching it," she warned, then realized she might as well be talking Greek. "Let it out a little," she explained. "Let it go the way the tiller keeps trying to go. That's right. Now hold it steady that way."
The sails stopped their warning flutter and the sloop settled down again. A moment later they rounded the buoy. She warned the boys to duck as the boom slammed across the cockpit. John worked for a moment winching the jib in with the other coffee grinder and they settled down for a long tack. "Now's your chance to get a tan," she said.
"Huh?"
"Go on up to the foredeck and take off your shirt if you want," she explained. "We won't have to move anything for an hour."
"Who's gonna steer?!" Albert said.
"Who wants to?"
"I do!" little John said.
Albert turned over the tiller to the smaller boy. He went forward, peeling off his shirt and lay down where he could keep his eyes on Ted's smooth hard muscled body. She felt her crotch tingle from the intensity of his gaze. God, she thought, what a torture to be young.
It was a novel sensation for Ted not to be working her sloop. She knew instinctively from the feel of wind and wave that the smaller boy was steering a proper course. She leaned against a stay soaking up sunshine, thinking idle goatish thoughts about what might happen if she had gone asea with only the one boy instead of two.
She remembered the odd look from the gone-to-fat lady in the station wagon. Served her right she guessed, going through some mailing list of boat owners and assuming Ted was a man. Ted had had problems from time to time with her masculine nickname but she wasn't about to change it. If for no other reason, at least a Ted Stickles didn't get the breathers and obscene phone calls that lay in wait for a Theodora.
She wondered what it would be like to get an obscene phone call. Funny. All the years she had been in show business and chances were the average nun had more of a sex life. People wrote erotic novels about the adventures of ballerinas. Why didn't somebody someday write about the manageress of each company, some fiftyish female with a face like a sackful of hammers who lurked in the lobby and could chill the hard-on from the most persistent of stage-door-johnnys?
The boy was staring at her crotch. He stopped staring at it only long enough to inventory her tits. Damn him! Ted was damned if she would go below and change into slacks. It was her yacht. She would wear whatever she damn well pleased, if the boy wanted to stare, let him. It would be his stone ache and not hers.
Somewhere a bell buoy tolled mournfully. A harbor seal sunned himself on the rocks a hundred yard-s windward. Miles to sea she saw the bulk of an aircraft carrier dwarfed by its mushroom-shaped cloud of black smoke. She glanced at the sky, at the sun. She could hold this course for another hour and a half. Then it would time to turn around and get rid of these boys. She wondered if they were enjoying their first sail.
From the corner of her eye she glanced at Albert. The older boy lay on the foredeck, head pillowed on his shirt. He was really a rather handsome boy when he forgot to keep looking angry and important. His slim body was well formed. Someday there would be hair on his chest but now there was only the same heavy fuzz that covered his chin. His chestnut hair was wavy and, thank the gods, he had not plastered it with greasy kid stuff.
He lay at a slight angle, trying not to show that he was looking at her. Even so, she could see the bulge in--his Levi's. What, she wondered, would it be like to be young and male, to suffer incessantly from that demanding drive-slave to six inches of cock that would never lie down and stay down? What, she wondered, would it be like to lie down flat on her back with all her clothes off and let the boy try himself out on her? Did he know how? Had he ever done it? Someday somebody would know. Ted knew she never would.
Too bad. It would be fun. And what could she lose? She lived alone and never took the pill and never seemed to need it. All the years old Virgil had been sticking it into her she had never caught an heir in her trap. She had no family to be outraged. And her friends ... if anybody from ballet days were to learn she was playing around with boys it would bring no more than a smile and a raised eyebrow. What could she lose?
One hell of a lot, she knew. Most of all Ted knew she could lose her freedom. She wasn't quite sure what they were but she knew there were laws about playing around with underage boys. She had a nice quiet life on this boat, enough money so she would never have to twist her ass into a pretzel again. She had everything she needed-until lately. She wondered if being thirty-nine and maturing late had anything to do with it. Suddenly she was beginning to feel all the urges that had bothered other girls-girls who were now fat and flabby grandmothers while she was still built like the proverbial brick pagoda.
She was going to have to do something about it, Ted knew. It just wasn't healthy to bottle up something like this. Either she would have to enter into some working relationship with one of the lonely graying men who lived aboard their boats at the marina-or she was going to end up doing something foolish with some boy entirely too young. She wondered what it would feel like to have this boy on top of her, struggling to push his hot, throbbing maleness into the opening she had kept intact for twenty-five years. Good God, she thought, I was a virgin, stiffening thousands of cocks in the twenty-five dollar seats for more years than this boy's been alive!
She squinted into the sun and wind. The younger boy was steering well enough. It didn't really make any difference if he drifted off a couple of points. There was nothing to hit any closer than Hawaii. She looked through squinted eyes at the other boy. He lay face up on the foredeck now, his cock making a prodigious bulge in the crotch of his tight stretched Levi's. What would happen if she were to go over and pull down his zipper, let all that straining masculinity spring free?
It was unhealthy to dwell on that kind of thoughts. She guessed she'd better go below and see about rustling up some lunch for these kids. She was about to step down into the cockpit when she felt a hand close over her bare ankle.
CHAPTER TWO
Ted glanced down startled. It was the big one, Albert. While she had been looking the other way he had scooted closer. "Thought you were going to fall overboard," he muttered and let go of her ankle.
I'll just bet you did, she thought, but she didn't say it. Instead, she gave John's course a final check and went down the cabin scuttle, feeling the boy's eyes on her every step. She wished she had never put on shorts and halter but she had and it was her boat and she was damned if she was going to let a fourteen-year-old discomfit her. If there was to be any squirming and embarrassment, let him do it.
She had had her share during auditions. God, those auditions! When she had been a little girl trying to make a place for herself in the world of ballet it had seemed to Ted that the entire theatrical world was one big cock-and aimed straight at her. She remembered one day when she had been twelve, just starting to sprout those tiny bulges ballerinas wore behind their nipples. Mr. Sprague, her manager, had somehow managed to shunt Momma off on some fool's errand while he arranged the interview with Mr. Hammel who was casting an extravaganza. Since she was only twelve Ted had supposed she was going to dance. Not that she didn't know about casting couches and all that jazz, but twelve-year-old virgins walk around encased in an armor of "it can't happen to me." Ted knew it only happened to older girls. Mr. Hammel, it turned out, was not exactly connected with the world of ballet. But he had a lot of money and be was surrounded by people actively engaged in making some of it rub off on them. Mr. Hammel, somewhat to his own amazement, found himself producing a show. He had been totally immune to the boys in the company. He had shared a laugh with his wife when the girls tried various shortcuts to opulence. In desperation, the promoter decided to see if there weren't some hidden trigger he could pull in Mr. Hammel's psyche.
Ted had worn street clothes for the interview. As a matter of fact, they had not been the clothes she would have chosen. She wore a straw boater hat, patent "little girl" shoes with a single buckle, a skirt shorter than her tutu which required that she stand very straight unless she wanted to show her pink rayon panties. Over it all she wore a middle blouse which, though loose, had been cut somehow to reveal the just-rising buds of her inchoate breasts. In an oversized handbag she carried her dancing costume.
Mr. Sprague had had a few final words of wisdom. "You want a big part, don't you?"
Ted had nodded. After all, what had she been twisting her ass into a pretzel these last seven years for?
"Well, Mr. Hammel is the man with the money. Whether the show gets produced depends on how much he likes you. If I were twelve and wanted a big part I'd do everything I could to make Mr. Hammel like me." And with this advice Mr. Sprague had abruptly disappeared.
Mr. Hammel was old. Thinking back on it now, she supposed he had been maybe forty. His hair was thinning and he had a small mustache. He wore a suit like everybody else she knew and he sat behind an immense desk. In the corner of his office was a couch of the type she was in later life to associate with psychoanalysis.
Mr. Hammel had pushed a button on his desk and in reply to a squawky female voice had said, "Miss Burton, please see that I'm not disturbed until I call you again."
"Well," he said with artificial joviality to the little girl who sat primly in front of him, "I suppose you're a veteran in show business."
"I've been dancing seven years," Ted said.
"Hmmmmm. Would you mind standing up?"
Ted had been standing up for ballet masters as long as she could remember.
"Do you have your costume with you?" Ted nodded toward her oversized handbag.
The man behind the desk thought a moment. He seemed to be having trouble with his breathing. "Uh, I suppose in show business you get used to undressing in front of people ... " He left it dangling.
"I guess so," Ted said. It seemed to her that in practice somebody's tights were always ripping.
"Well," Mr. Hammel said, still having some kind of trouble with his breathing, "I've seen plenty of ballet costumes." He forced an artificial laugh. "See one and you've seen them all. The problem in casting this show is, are you mature enough?"
"I don't wear a bra yet if that's what you mean," Ted said.
That was exactly what Mr. Hammel had meant but he hadn't expected it from a twelve-year-old. Somehow his whole blueprint for seduction was going wrong. A twelve-year-old virgin was supposed to be timid and, above all, ignorant. He guessed it must be show business. "Uh," he tried again. "Uh, perhaps we could save a lot of time if you just got out of your street clothes so we can see your figure. No use wasting time getting into a costume."
If all he wanted was for her to take off this silly middy blouse and the too-short skirt Ted didn't mind. After all, she showed more every time she went swimming. "Unbutton me, please," she said, and turned her back.
Mr. Hammel seemed all thumbs as he fiddled with buttons at the back of her neck-which wouldn't have been there in a real middy blouse but this was something out of the wardrobe department and the front and neckerchief and all the rest were actually one piece all sewed together. Finally she swirled away from, him and removed the blouse herself with one fluid motion. Beneath it she wore a white rayon slip which covered her body down to the too-short skirt.
While Mr. Hammel breathed harder and seemed almost ready to have an attack of asthma she folded the middy blouse neatly and put it over the back of the chair. Then before he could waste more time fiddling with her skirt she undid its single button and lowered the zipper. When she stepped out of it Mr. Hammel gasped.
Ted couldn't guest why. The rayon slip covered her almost as thoroughly as her outer clothes had. She had listened to the boys and some of the older girls in the studio talk about fetishists-whatever they were-and some of the other weirdoes encountered in the confusing and sometimes terrifying world outside the studio. Mr. Hammel had asked her to undress so she was going to undress. Without any of the coaxing or long, slow buildup he had engineered in his dream production of this incident, she crossed her hands and whipped her slip off over her head with a minimum of hair-mussing.
Mr. Hammel's face was very red. He was breathing as if he had a chicken bone lodged in his throat. Ted posed before him in single-buckle, black patent leather "little girl" shoes. She wore white ankle length socks and pink rayon panties. From the waist up she wore only a ribbon in her hair. Her tiny breast buds were just sprouting, making her nipples stand out a half inch from her thin muscular chest. Her small, slight body was as trim as seven years of constant exercise could make it. She was still a virgin.
Mr. Hammel just stared. Ted waited for him to say something. When he didn't she paused another moment, then grasped the back of the chair and twisted her slight, muscular body into the First Position. Still Mr. Hammel stared.
Slowly, Ted worked through all the classic positions, showing off her expertise to a man who would not have known a ballerina from a B-girl. When she was finished he still sat red-faced and gasping behind his desk. Ted wondered what she ought to do next. Mr. Sprague had told her to be nice to him. Was she supposed to make him fudge ... ?
The man behind the desk finally found his voice. "Uh," he began, "how old are you?"
"Twelve. I'll be thirteen in June."
Clearly, Mr. Hammel was undecided about something. "I, uh-" He cleared his throat and tried again. "I've heard you people in show business look at things differently, from the rest of us."
"What things?"
"Oh, uh-" He paused and swallowed again. "Things like taking your clothes off."
Ted wondered what he meant. "Do you want me to take off my shoes and socks?" she asked.
Apparently that was not exactly what Mr. Hammel had had in mind.
Ted was used to shedding her panties. They made a line and bulged in the wrong places if she left them on under a ballet costume. But nobody in the studio had ever asked her to take them off in front of everybody. Still ... Mr. Sprague had told her to be nice to Mr. Hammel. Maybe he wanted to check up on how mature she was.
Mr. Hammel had finally found his voice again. "This show may run several years," he explained. "And we can't have any sixteen-year-old twelve-year-olds turning matronly in the middle of the season."
"You want to see if I have any hair down there," Ted translated. Before he could answer she matter-of-factly peeled down her pink rayon panties. Bent over, she thought a moment, then took them the rest of the way off from around her ankles. Clad only in her black patent leather "little girl" shoes, white ankle socks, and a pink hair ribbon, she went through the ballet positions again.
Mr. Hammel's asthma seemed to be getting worse. His face was pink and he was breathing with great difficulty. Ted finished twisting her slight nude body through the positions and asked, "Is there anything else you want to see?"
There wasn't. Mr. Hammel had been dreaming and wanting to see something very like what he was seeing at this moment ever since he had been twelve himself and very close to seeing it until the neighbor girl's mother had come home at an inopportune moment. He couldn't trust himself to speak. Choking, trying to control his breathing, he gestured toward the couch.
Still clad only in white anklets, black patent leather shoes, and a hair ribbon, Ted sat on the edge of the couch. After a moment Mr. Hammel came to sit beside her. He didn't sit very close. He seemed almost afraid to touch her. "Uh," he began, "uh, you want this part real bad?"
"I guess so," Ted said. "It could help start my career."
Mr. Hammel put a timid hand on her thigh. Ted had felt so many men's hands on her body twisting her this way and that, pushing her ass in, pulling it out, making her suck in her tummy that another man's hand on her leg was no big deal. But she was twelve and not totally stupid. She began to suspect what was on Mr. Hammel's mind. It didn't shock her. It only surprised her somewhat. She was twelve-just starting to sprout and there were other girls in the company with very nice little bodies, girls sixteen, eighteen, even in their-twenties. "Did you know," she asked, "that girls who want to be really good dancers have to be virgins?"
Mr. Hammel's hand came off her thigh. "Why?" he asked.
"I don't know. It's something to do with stretching your bones out of shape or getting pregnant or something. But I know it's true. Everybody tells me."
"Isn't it awfully hard to live up to?" Mr. Hammel asked.
Ted shrugged. "Maybe someday. Not now. I don't really care about it that much." To her mild surprise she found she was starting to care more than she ever had before. Something about sitting here naked on the couch beside Mr. Hammel was more wickedly exciting than anything she had ever experienced in all her twelve years. She wondered what it would feel like it Mr. Hammel were to take off his clothes too and lie down on top of her and stick his thing inside that little slit that had never had anything inside it except dust from the practice floor and lint from her ballet tights whenever she half tore herself in two doing the splits.
She thought about how it felt when she let her legs spread wide apart, so wide that the hairless lips of her vulva spread wide apart and her tiny, still-unlicked clitoris rubbed against the seam that ran up the middle of tights. It tickled and made her feel warm and giggly all over. She had often wondered if the other girls had experienced the same sensation when their cunts opened. She had heard stories from other girls her age about putting a finger down there and tickling until Something Nice happened.
Ted had always intended to try it herself some day but six hours at the bar were enough to send her home ready for bed every night. Somehow she had never gotten around to it. Being a dancer, no matter what aging satyrs like Mr. Hammel might think, was hard work.
"It must be an exacting profession," he said.
Ted didn't understand what exacting meant.
"Hard work," Mr. Hammel explained. "Why don't you just lie down and take a little rest on the couch and I'll do some nice things to make you feel better."
"I was a virgin when I came in here," Ted said.
"Don't worry," Mr. Hammel consoled. "You'll still be one when you walk out with a contract for that part."
Ted swung her thin muscular legs up onto the couch and lay back. Though she had never been fucked, she knew how it was done. Mr. Hammel was a grown man but he was also flabby. If he tried to climb between her legs he just might find his neck in a scissors grip he would never forget.
But she soon discovered she didn't have to worry. Mr. Hammel didn't try to get on top of her and force his way between her legs. Instead, he knelt on the floor beside the couch and began kissing her tiny, hard-muscled belly.
Ted sighed at the memory. It had been twenty-seven years since poor Mr. Hammel had buried his face in her immature belly and ... At thirty-nine her body had finally made it to what most girls had at twenty. Standing in shorts and halter bracing herself at the windward sidestay she knew she could stiffen every prick in the yacht basin-and especially the fourteen-year-old's who was steering. She wondered if the other boy was grown up enough to think about girls.
Anyhow, it was cruel and unusual punishment to make the boy look at her superb and eminently fuckable body when he knew he would never get into it. She had gone below to fix lunch.
Ted thought a moment, trying to guess what boys this age and from this background might like. She had a few real goodies aboard-some Iranian caviar among other things. Chances were a ghetto boy would take half a taste and spit. Suddenly she remembered. That asshole of a marlin fisherman in the next slip who had decided she would be a quick and easy lay ... He had brought over a load of garbage one night. She had tossed it in the refrigerator without-looking.
She opened the reefer and tore the bag down the side. It was full of hot dog makin's. She gave a mental sneer at the he-man fisherman who had retired in precipitate confusion when she had lifted a hundred-pound anchor with one hand rather than scratch a freshly varnished deck. She hoped he had found a girl somewhere mentally and physically equipped for hot dogs.
But this, she realized, was ideal for these two boys. She started making hot dogs, trying to ignore the fourteen-year-old at the tiller whose eyes alternated between his course and her ass. Then abruptly the boy was in the cabin with her. "Can I help?" he asked.
Ted gave a quick look topside. Thirteen-year-old John was steering. From the heel of the hull and feel of the seas she guessed he was holding a fair course "Why not?" she said and handed Albert a jar of mustard.
The boy surprised her by washing his hands before he started smearing mustard on buns. Hope for the masses yet, she thought. She tried to think of something they could talk about. "Do you think you'd like to be a sailor?" she asked.
"If you mean go in the Navy the answer is no."
"I mean just to get a job of some kind around boats," she said. "Lots of young people work their way around the world."
"What's there?"
Ted shrugged. "Adventure, I guess."
Albert surveyed her shorts and halter-clad body from fourteen-year-old eyes. "I wouldn't have to go off clear 'round the world for what I want," he said.
Ted felt herself blushing. Not just her face. To her annoyance she knew her whole body-acres and acres of smooth, white skin was flushing beneath the boy's avid gaze.
She supposed she ought to slap him. She was nearly forty. This fourteen-year-old snot had no business talking that way to her. But ... she tried to be honest. She could have worn something else a little less revealing. She knew damn well her body was still better than plenty of twenty-year-olds. She had asked for it. She shouldn't penalize the boy for doing what comes naturally. Besides ... it felt good to stand here and be wanted. How long had it been since she had been wanted by any man she could stand thinking about?
Mostly she got dipshits and gone-to-seed rumpots like that marlin fisherman who still carried a mental image of himself twenty years younger and twenty pounds lighter. She didn't need fucking that bad. She didn't need it at all. But it would be fun to ... she wondered if in her old age she was turning into the same kind of lecher old Mr. Hammel had been that day when she was twelve and had taken off her clothes and laid down on his casting couch.
With his face buried in the firm muscularity of her little gently-rounded belly Mr. Hammel had breathed so hard and fast she had feared for a moment he was having some kind of attack. "Oooohhhh!" he moaned, and nuzzled her, ploughing gentle furrows back and forth, up and down her soft smooth belly with his nose.
Ted didn't mind. It was easier work than stretching her ass out of shape at the exercise bar. She wondered how long he would keep it up, or if he would want her to do anything else. She knew from whispered commentary that the boys were in the habit of putting their mouths in all sorts of unusual places but she had never heard of men doing that to girls. Mostly men seemed to want to put their thing between a girl's legs and ruin her figure and fix it so she could never dance again.
But Mr. Hammel didn't seem to be trying to do that. His hands were caressing her now, running softly up and down her firm thighs, memorizing the gentle contours of her incipient breasts. His hand felt funny running over the tender new swelling behind her nipple. To her surprise, her tiny virginal nipples had risen to pebble-hard rigidity under the touch of his hand. She could feel an odd warm tingle inside her belly too as he kissed and nuzzled his way up and down it. She had never felt anything quite like it before. It felt good.
She decided just to lie back and let him do what he wanted, providing he didn't try to put his thing inside her. She closed her eyes and it was just like old Miss Jacques rubbing out a cramp.
Like hell it was. Ma'mselle Jacques had possessed a pair of arms like a wrestler and what the ballet bar couldn't tear loose she could. Mr. Hammel on the other hand was soft, smooth and gentle the way things always were in her dreams when she went home dead tired after six hours of practice and fell exhausted in her bed to dream of soft gentle hands soothing her tired body. His mouth and nose tickled a little bit on her belly but she didn't mind. It felt nice to feel a man's warm mouth go up and down, back and forth kissing the ache away.
Gradually she realized he wasn't kissing back and forth. Mr. Hammel seemed to have established a home base in her navel. From there he was kissing his way outward in ascending spirals that tickled her flanks, led nearly up her midriff to where the flesh was growing and swelling behind her nipples. But his nuzzling and kissing seemed to grow more intense each time he approached the bottom of one of his swings, approaching ever nearer the bare Sony prominence of her mons veneris.
Actually it wasn't bare. Down between her legs were a half dozen long coarse hairs and the outer surface of her crotch was already downy with the fuzz that within months would become a luxuriant mat of fur she would have to trim lest it create too much of a bulge inside her nearly transparent tights. Ted wondered if she should have trimmed those half dozen coarse hairs before this interview. But ... how could she have known she was going to have to undress? She wondered why Momma or Mr. Sprague hadn't warned her.
Meanwhile it felt nice to he back naked on the couch and let Mr. Hammel kiss away. He wasn't doing her virginity any harm and he seemed to be enjoying it though she couldn't imagine why and if this was what it took to get the part well.
She tried to relax and ignore the tickle each time his mouth wandered away from her crotch to kiss her skittish flanks. It felt nice. Almost as nice as when he wandered upward to kiss the place where someday she would have tits. But it felt even nicer when he stayed down there to kiss the bony prominence of her crotch.
She felt a sudden scare when his hands pulled her knees apart but she was reassured when he made no effort to climb in between them. Instead he began kissing her legs, working slowly up one and down the other, kissing the tender inner surface of her thighs, working his way down to her knees and ankles, then back up to thigh again. From the way he dodged from thigh to belly and back again Ted gained a sudden suspicion. She had heard the older girls talk about it so she guessed such things actually happened. But she had never thought they would happen to her!
Ted caught her breath. Would he actually do it? She didn't know whether she wanted him to or not. She knew enough to realize it wouldn't make any real difference, she would still be a virgin even if he went at her with a spoon arid a fork. But was it true? Did men actually eat pussy?
Mr. Hammel sure acted like he was working up to it. He was kissing her belly, kissing her legs, nuzzling the soft tender skin of her inner thighs as he circled ever closer to her secret slit.
Ted didn't know whether she wanted him to do it or not. But abruptly she realized she was letting her legs fan wider apart, drawing her heels up and bending her knees to make it easier for him to find his tender target. She could feel the cool air of the office on the open lips of her vulva. It felt just as if she were doing the splits without any tights on-except that she wasn't stretching and straining and hurting and going to need an hour in a hot bath afterward. Instead, this felt good. It felt so good she knew she wouldn't mind lying here all afternoon and letting Mr. Hammel kiss his leisurely way up, down and around her naked little body. It sure beat dancing.
But would it get her the part? She put a hand on the back of his neck and asked him.
"Yes!" he assured her. "It's yours. You'll be the prima ballerina for as long as you want it."
Ted thought it was crazy. She wouldn't do it even if she was paid for it and here he was doing it for nothing. But even if it was crazy and kind of dirty, it felt-interesting. She lay back and let her flexed knees fall wider apart.
Mr. Hammel lost no time in accepting her invitation. Both of his hands grabbed her muscular little dancer's ass and drew her to him. His face penetrated hitherto unplumbed depths between her thighs. Ted felt a funny tingling in her belly. It felt good. It felt like something nice was going to happen soon but she couldn't guess what. She wondered what would happen if she were to close her thighs in a scissors over Mr. Hammel's head. Chances were this florid middle-aged man had no idea of the strength in a pair of legs that had spent six hours a day for the last seven years at the practice bar. But then, Ted decided she'd better not let him find out.
It was much nicer just to lie back on Mr. Hammel's couch, clad only in black patent leather shoes, white ankle socks, and a pink hair ribbon. She wondered what Mr. Hammel was going to try next. Surely there couldn't be much fun in what he was doing. All he was doing was to put his head between her legs and kiss the soft inner surfaces of her thighs, working ever closer to her pee hole but never quite making it. She wondered if he ever would.
What would it feel like to have somebody's mouth on her pee hole? She had heard the boys talk about doing things like that and she knew some of the older girls in the troupe did some very odd things among themselves. But boys and girls alike had always been nice to her. She was the youngest. Maybe that had something to do with it.
She tried to relax and just let it happen. If Mr. Hammel wanted to lick her pee hole it wasn't as if he wanted to fuck her and destroy her virginity. It might feel funny but she was sure it would be nicer than six hours practice. And it couldn't hurt half as much as the first time she had spent two hours doing the splits.
She wondered ... Ted had seen the boys' cocks often enough as they shed street clothes and hurried into tights. She had seen the older 'girls' cunts too and it had always been a puzzlement how anything as big as a boy's cock could go into a hole as small as ... maybe, she guessed, that was why it ruined girls for dancing. Something that big might start a split that-once a girl spread her legs and settled to the dusty practice floor, maybe she would just keep right on splitting ...
Mr. Hammel was moaning and crooning as he nuzzled her crotch. His hands left her ass and she saw him struggle with his belt. A tiny spurt of worry shot through her. If he was going to take off his pants maybe he was thinking about ... Ted knew she didn't really have to worry. If Mr. Hammel tried to put his thing into her she could break his arm.
But he didn't seem to be trying. He managed by super-human effort to get out of his trousers and shorts without removing his face from her crotch. But he didn't try to climb on tap of her. Instead, still kneeling beside the couch with his head buried in her crotch, he captured her hand and guided it to the hot hardness of his throbbing cock.
Ted didn't know what to do. Was she supposed to squeeze it, rub it, or just hold it? She closed her tiny fist around it the way he seemed to want her to do. Meanwhile, Mr. Hammel was diving deeper into her crotch. She could feel his breathing quicken, feel the warm dampness of his breath in her open lips. Then suddenly his wide open mouth closed over the gaping hairless lips of her vulva, shutting out the cold air and enveloping her with a soft damp glowing warmth. It felt good.
After a moment she felt his tongue begin its first timid exploration of the tender territory between the lips of her cunt. It tickled but it tickled so nice she liked it. She didn't care how long Mr. Hammel kept his mouth down there as long as he was as soft and gentle as he was now. But what was she supposed to do with his cock?
Suddenly and unexpectedly she felt one of his hands on her ankle.
CHAPTER THREE
Ted roused from her reverie of those dear dead days. There wasn't any mouth on her cunt. But there was a hand on her ankle. Fourteen-year-old Albert who had been slathering mustard on hot dog buns had somehow managed to drop the spoon. On hands and knees ostensibly, cleaning up the mess, he had a hand around her ankle.
"There's no need to hang on," Ted said. "I can't very well fall overboard from inside the, cabin."
Reluctantly, the boy let go. "I'm sorry," he said and she knew be really was-sorry he had to let go. She felt a tingle in her belly and a premonitory trickling sensation as she thought of the possibilities in this eager untried male. But what could she do? She knew better than to get involved with an underage boy. Besides, there were two of them. Even if she should throw caution to the winds, drop anchor and spend the day milking the virility from this indefatigable young cocksman, what about the other boy? It was impossible.
"Why don't you go up and steer for a while and let John come down and help me?" she asked.
The boy was glassy-eyed from passion and she knew the slightest touch would make him cum right in his skintight Levi's. He gave an unintelligible croak and went out up the cabin scuttle. A moment later the curly-headed thirteen-year-old came down. "What do you want me to do?" he asked.
Ted still wore the revealing shorts and halter. She wondered if this boy was old enough to notice things like that. One wild corner of her mind wondered what he would do if she were to say, "I want you to take off your clothes and get in the bunk up forward of the mast and fuck me."
But she knew she would never say it. She wasn't as crazy as poor Mr. Hammel. At least she hoped she wasn't. She was thirty-nine. How old had he been?
Older than she was now, she guessed. She felt a fleeting sympathy for Mr. Hammel. The poor man had been a slave to urges he could not control. She was luckier. She was on a small boat with two boys-the kind of situation middle-aged spinsters dreamed and fantasized about. But there were no two ways about it. Ted was going to give them an afternoon's sail. Nothing else!
She could just imagine the consequences if she were to give in to the tingling urge in her belly. Let either of these hardcocked boys ever fuck her or even get the idea that someday he might and she would never be rid of them. Night and day they would be hanging around the docks, trying to sneak aboard her sloop, making her the laughing stock of the whole marina. No way was she going to spread her well-turned muscular legs for these young snots. But it was interesting to think about it.
She wondered. Two of them. Somehow the young curly-headed one who was fixing hot dogs with her would have to be temporarily disposed of. How? Suddenly she noticed the boy. Curly-headed little John O'Brien was only thirteen and small for his age but already he was more interested in her legs than he was in the hot dog he was squeezing to death.
Perversely, she felt a flash of rut. What was wrong with her? She had never been a highly sexed woman. Oh, she was no hypocrite, a nice friendly fuck once in a while was the greatest thing since Swedish massage. But she had lived months and years without suffering from the lack. Now suddenly these two immature boys with their awkward needs were turning her on like no man ever, had in all her years of fending off stage-door-johnnies. Suddenly she wished Virgil were still alive, feeding it to her, with long slow strokes in one of those all afternoon bouts of fucking they used to indulge in every month or so.
Life with Virgil had been so-comfortable. They had understood each other so well that neither had needed anybody else. But now Virgil was gone. She was alone. She was thirty-nine.
And she was still built just, like a brick shithouse--not a line on her smooth olive-skinned face! And she was wearing brief shorts and a practically obscene halter in front of these two sex-starved adolescents. She should have known better. It would serve her right if they ganged up on her and raped her.
"What are you looking at?" she asked, knowing damn well what the thirteen-year-old was looking at.
To her surprise he didn't blush and try to lie.
"Your legs," he said.
"Oh?" She tried to keep it impersonal, clinical. "Why?"
This time the boy was startled. "You don't know?" he asked.
Solemnly, Ted shook her head.
"Don't you-didn't you-?" Obviously the boy could not find the proper words to ask if grownups fucked or if this was just a brief phase to be outgrown like acne. Ted decided to continue playing innocent. Remembering the years of strained muscles it had cost her, she imperceptibly shifted until her superb body was in a pose that had been known to stiffen the pricks of marble statues. It was such a simple thing, once one knew how. Twist a foot here, cock a knee these, shoulders back and the first thing you knew every male in braying distance was panting at the line of firmly skyward pointing tit, the exposed surface of soft, kiss-inviting inner thigh, the long perfect curve of neck, back, ass, thighs all posed for the greatest erotic effect.
She saw the boy from the corner of her eye, his Levi's bulging even more precariously than the older boy's, his eyes glassy and his breathing ragged. She wondered if she could make him cum in his pants without touching him. Probably. But why be cruel? If she was going to make little boys cum it would be nicer for them to cum in.
"What is it I don't or didn't?" she probed.
"Uh-awwwww." He sighed. "You wouldn't know about it."
"Why?" Ted asked. "Is it something only boys your age know about?"
"Yeah," he said dispiritedly.
"Do girls your age know about it too?"
"I guess so."
"I guess I was born old like this," Ted said and sighed. "I don't suppose I was ever your age."
The boy gave her a sharp look. "You know about it?" he asked.
"I don't know whether I do or not," Ted said. "You still haven't told me what it is."
"I'm gonna hit that thing you told me to steer at!" Albert called from the cockpit.
Ted clambered up the scuttle and checked their position. The sloop was nearing the last buoy. She warned the boys to keep their heads down as the boom swung overhead, then threw the sloop over on the opposite tack. When it had settled down she got Albert's eyes off her legs long enough to learn how to steer a compass course. Then she went below again and back to making sandwiches with John.
"You know," he said.
Ted had forgotten what they were talking about.
"Know what?" she asked.
"You know why men look at girls' legs."
Suddenly she felt her whole belly turn to jelly, melt and flow into strange new shapes at the thought of this little boy touching ...
"I've never been a man," she said carefully. "Tell me, why-are you looking at my legs?"
"Because they're nice."
"Flowers are nice too." She pointed at the gimbaled vase on the bulkhead.
"Yeah, but you can't-"
"Can't what?"
But John wasn't saying.
They finished making the hot dogs. She rummaged through the fridge and found cokes and they went on deck. She even managed to eat one of the hot dogs lest the boys think she was putting on unnecessary airs. "Where we going?" Albert asked.
"Well," she said, "to be honest there isn't anywhere closer than Hawaii if you keep heading the way were going. And at sundown the wind nearly always dies so I thought we'd just head out to sea for another couple of hours, then turn around and run before the wind. We'll get home in about one third of the time it takes to get out."
"Why do people do it?"
"I don't know," Ted said. "I suppose everybody has different reasons."
"How about you?" John asked.
"I worked very hard when I was a little girl," Ted said. "I was always surrounded by people. This yacht is the first time in my life I've ever been able to get off and be alone."
"What's so great about that?" Albert wanted to know.
Ted shrugged.
"What kind of work did you do?" John asked.
"I was a dancer."
"In the movies?"
"A couple," she admitted.
Neither boy spoke. When she looked up they were both looking at her legs.
Without thinking she stood and posed in the first position. While the boys watched openmouthed she went through the basic ballet positions, holding onto a sidestay as her arms and legs pointed in unexpectedly cock stiffening directions. "Jeez!" Albert said.
The jib fluttered. Just in time she jumped down beside him and grabbed the tiller. When the sloop had settled down again she warned, "You can get into real-trouble not watching the compass."
"Yeeeeeeaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!" Albert agreed.
They finished lunch and suddenly it was chilly. She thought about going below and changing back into slacks but both boys would be peeking and they'd surely forget about steering and there would be loud flapping noises and general unpleasantness as the sloop drifted off course. She compromised by slipping a parka on over her shorts and halter. Somehow the warm bulk of the hip length garment seemed to emphasize the bare length of her-legs.
Suddenly she felt the motion change and knew the boy was falling off his course. Then she looked up and saw it was not his fault. The wind had died until they no longer had steerageway.
"What now?" Albert asked. "You gonna start the motor?"
Ted shook her head. "It's only a little motor for docking. We'd be out of fuel in half an hour."
"So what do we do?"
"Wait."
"How long?"
"Until the wind decides to blow again. Don't worry," she consoled. "We'll have a breeze within an hour or two."
The sloop had worked around into the trough and was rocking with a sickening motion, mast and rigging creaking and cracking with each wave. She hoped the boys wouldn't get sick. They would, sure as hell, if they had time to sit around and think about it.
"Was you really in the movies?" John asked.
"Yes."
"What was it like?"
"Getting up real early, driving miles across town to a sound stage, and ten hours of hard work," she said.
"Hard work?" Plainly Albert didn't believe her.
"Try this," Ted said. She did the first three positions and tried to hide her amusement as the boys twisted and strained to imitate her.
"Ow!" In extending his leg Albert had caught the head of his hot throbbing cock in a fold of his Levi's. What, she wondered, would it be like to let him soak that hard-on inside her just long enough to remove the ache?
I've got to stop thinking crazy thoughts like this, she told herself. What had gotten into her anyway? She was a grown woman-thirty-nine. All that foolishness ought to be behind her. She sympathized with the two love-hungry boys but it was not her role to relieve their needs. Let them go find some girl their own age to experiment on.
She remembered her first experiments with Mr. Hammel. Thinking back, it was amazing how quickly and easily he had gotten her to undress and lie down on the couch in his office. She wondered if these boys would undress for her as quickly as she had for the impresario. Even now after all these years she remembered the odd tickle of his mustache between her thighs in the moment before his mouth had gaped wide to lock his lips against the wide-spread hairless lips of her gaping vulva.
Mr. Hammel had gone back to caressing her slim muscular body with both hands, running one over her incipient tits, the other tracing the gentle contours of her twelve-year-old ass. His mouth stayed glued to the hairless lips of her cunt. At first she had felt nothing. Only curiosity.
Then Mr. Hammel's tongue had darted out to touch the tip of her clit, retreated, sallied forth again to tickle the tender membrane of her virginity. Ted had understood for the first time that this could be not just another experience. It could be an enjoyable experience. If Mr. Hammel was going to keep doing that with his tongue she guessed she'd give him a couple of hours to quit it.
She still held his hot throbbing cock loosely in her hand. What was she supposed to do with it? Squeeze it? Caress it? She wondered if she was supposed to put her mouth to it the way Mr. Hammel was doing to her. But that couldn't be right because she couldn't reach it without twisting clear down off the couch. She decided to worry about it later. Right now it felt nice just to lie here and let Mr. Hammel's tongue do all the work. Each time his tongue darted out to touch her hard throbbing little clit it felt like something inside her was going to swell up and burst. It felt so goooooood!
CHAPTER FOUR
Ted jerked back to reality. She felt a puff of wind but it was from the wrong direction. She glanced seaward. "Oh, shit!" she muttered. A solid wall of fog was drifting in. The wind had shifted. She wondered if she dared run for the mouth of the harbor. She might make it. And with wind and currents gone funny she just might pile up on the rocks to one side of the harbor entrance.
"Are we in trouble?" Albert asked.
Ted shook her head. "We're out of the shipping lane. Not much danger of getting run down. The only thing is we have to play safe and wait here till the fog lifts."
"When'll that be?"
Ted shrugged. "An hour, maybe a week."
"A week!" the boys chorused.
"Not really. But I wouldn't be surprised if we had to spend the night out here."
"Oh, shit!" It was the smallest boy. Already there was a speculative look on the older boy's face. Suddenly Ted was acutely uncomfortable. She had only been playing with those ideas. She didn't really want to have to fend off a couple of horny boys while she tried to sleep.
"We'll have to stand watches," she said. "First we lower sail and drop the anchor. Then we'll take turns staying on deck."
"Why?" John asked.
"Maritime law. See that bell?"
The boys nodded.
"Somebody has to ring it at least once a minute. Besides-" She pointed at a switch. "If you hear another boat's engines or whistle, flip this and it lights us up so we don't get run over."
The boys did their clumsy best to help her take in sail. Finally everything was tied down. "Two hours," she said and pointed at little John. She peeled off the parka and helped him put it on. Then she went below, and began closing the cabin slide. Albert slipped in behind her. "Wish I'd brought a heavier jacket," he mumbled.
"It would help," she agreed.
"But there are other ways of getting warm," Albert continued.
On deck she heard John ring the bell. The fog closed in and the portholes began misting over. The boy on deck could not see in, she knew. And as long as he rang the bell regularly ... She wondered what she really intended to do. It was insane to think about anything like this with two boys on her boat, both under aged, and both probably ready to shoot their mouths off to every stud and probation officer in the ghetto the instant they stepped ashore. It was crazy. And here she was in shorts and halter in a cabin so small it was impossible to sit beyond the fourteen-year-old's reach. He sat on the settee berth across from her and their knees touched. "Is it all the dancing that makes your legs so nice?" he asked.
What's wrong with me? she asked herself. If I had a dime for every time some stiff pricked male admired my legs, why I'd own several yachts.
Nevertheless, this awkward fourteen-year-old was making her whole body tingle as if she had never heard of fucking. They sat facing each other in the crowded cabin and she cursed herself for not having maneuvered somehow to get more clothes on before the boy came below. And she was going to have to put up with two hours of this before Albert went topside and was replaced by a chilled but equally horny thirteen-year-old. The bell rang again.
The boy was waiting for an answer. "I'm old enough to be your mother. Stretching a point or two, maybe even your grandmother," she said.
"You've still got nice legs."
"Yes, I suppose I have. It's partly what you're born with and partly what you do with your body. Eat right, plenty of exercise, and don't abuse it."
"Abuse," the boy said in a mocking tone.
Ted knew what he was thinking. She remembered her youth when whole cities had been plastered with pamphlets warning of everything from beri beri to feeble-mindedness resulting from self abuse-whatever that was. Was it self abuse to get a drink of water or go pee when you had to? She wondered who ever made up all those crazy rules. Surely it had not been some fourteen-year-old in the prime of his sexual vigor and with no release in sight.
But Ted knew her body well enough to understand that it had been exercise-plain hard work that had kept her too exhausted for 'self abuse' or whatever anybody wanted to call it back when she had been struggling to make a career for herself. But now she was thirty-nine, still young and healthy. And she wasn't twisting herself to panting exhaustion at the exercise bar every day any more. Probably that was why she had energy to spare-energy to lavish on this hot-blooded fourteen-year-old who sat across from her and kept alternating his stare from her tits to her crotch.
What would happen if she let him do what he wanted? Would she ever see him again? After all, he couldn't have much money. His part of town was a long bus ride from here. And this was a locked marina. The guard wouldn't even let him on the dock. She could probably give the boy a night to remember and never suffer any consequences. After all, boys were, inclined to brag and exaggerate. If he said he had screwed her, would anybody believe him?
You're damn right they would! She was a retired dancer and everybody knew what dancers were! And she was a woman who lived alone on a boat so she had to be some kind of a weirdo and every son of a bitch from one end of the waterfront to the other would be hanging around, his bifocals all fogged with passion if he thought she was putting out. "I'm sorry," she said.
"For what?" Albert asked.
"I'm afraid I let you think something that just isn't possible."
"Like what?"
Ted shrugged. "Oh, forget it. I'll make some coffee."
"Don't make it for me."
Still they sat facing one another. Ted could feel her whole body blush under the boy's scrutiny. Why in hell had she put on a baiter and shorts?
Outside the bell rang again. Somehow the boy's knee had gotten further between hers. She tried to sit farther back in the settee but it didn't do any good. This is crazy, she thought. All I have to do is get up and start cooking something. But she couldn't. She wondered if this was how a bird felt staring at a snake. The boy was wearing a T-shirt and tight-fitting, faded Levi's. She could see the bulge at his crotch. It was less than a foot from her own crotch. She could feel her crotch tingle and ache. How long had it been since ...
It had been three years since Virgil died. And he had been sick for nearly a year. My god, she thought. I'm thirty-nine and I haven't had a man in me for four years! No wonder I feel funny when I get close to this concentrated essence of horniness.
Was there anything on earth more randy in its rampant male need than a fourteen-year-old boy? She wondered how many times the boy could cum-how many times he could get it up in a twenty-four-hour period. She suspected something had been irretrievably lost from her life. All those years she had been twisting her ass into a pretzel at the practice bar-those were the years her schoolmates had been finding out how many times a fourteen-year-old boy could cum. And what had she been learning apart from how to flick her legs in an entrechat? The only interesting thing she could remember at all from that period had been the feel of Mr. Hammel's eager tongue darting around her twelve-year-old virginal clitoris.
She remembered the day on his casting couch when she had lain back clad only in black patent leather shoes, white ankle socks, and a pink hair ribbon. Mr. Hammel was surprisingly delicate for so large a man. Like butterfly kisses, his hands ranged over her thin muscular body, inventorying her thighs, her ass, her tiny waist, the just growing swell of tits behind her tiny virginal nipples. But mostly, his tongue was memorizing her cunt, lapping gently up and down her thick hairless lips, stopping to lick a lascivious circle around the swollen hump of her clit, tickling her till she was ready to dissolve into giggles, then sliding its lubricious way down past her hymeneal membrane to dart its tip through the tiny virginal opening and give her a titillating preview of what it would be like someday when she hung up her slippers and settled down to a life of fucking.
His hands had been so soft, so gentle in their caresses that Ted seemed actually to be floating right up off the couch. His mouth was locked firmly over her gaping cunt, sealing the cold air away, leaving-room for his tongue to tickle her to the edge of ecstasy. One hand crept over her breast until a thumb covered one tiny tender nipple and a finger the other. Tenderly, he teased her nascent tits into rock-hard rigidity. Ted felt warm waves of passion radiate from her tits, from her cunt where suddenly he had stopped licking and was gently nibbling at the swollen throbbing knot of her clitoris. She felt something strange inside her belly, a growing building tension as if a rubber band were being stretched and twisted, stretched and twisted farther and farther until soon now it would snap and she would flutter and run down like some broken toy.
The way he was nibbling ever so gently around the knob of her clit felt so good she could feel herself starting to melt, to deliquesce and flow into unfamiliar shapes. She couldn't remember ever having felt so good. Not even the hottest bath after the longest session at the practice bar had ever loosened her tired body the way his marvelous tongue was doing it. She wondered if it would be possible to have Mr. Hammel do this for her every afternoon before she put on her street clothes and went home from the dusty practice hall. It seemed such a wonderful way to end the day.
She could feel her legs moving as her thighs clasped and unclasped. Abruptly she realized that her body-the thing she had spent all these years perfecting-was suddenly out of control. She was not moving her body, her body was moving her. She felt her thin muscual thighs close tight over Mr. Hammel's ears. The warmth of her thighs over his ears provoked some extra spurt of activity from him. She felt his agile tongue dart deeper under the edge of her maidenhead. It felt so good it made her close her legs tighter around Mr. Hammel's ears and her legs over his ears made Mr. Hammel drive his tongue in deeper and faster and harder and ...
She shook herself from her reverie and tried to decide what she was going to do now. She was no longer twelve. Now she was thirty-nine, built like a brick pagoda with more tits, more ass, more sheer sex appeal than she had ever had in her dancing days. And she was clad in only shorts and halter, sitting on a settee berth facing a fourteen-year-old who was thinking what all the fourteen-year-old males think twenty-four hours out of every day. What was she going to do?
Ted knew what she wanted to do. But she was not quite insane yet. She wondered though, what it would be like if she just let him touch ... the boy was so hair-triggered all he needed was a suggestion of fulfillment and he would, explode and that wonderful lump in the crotch of his Levi's would dissolve into ignominious ejaculation. She was tempted to reach out and touch it. It would be one way to put an end to this crazy situation. The boy would be so humiliated he would not bother her again. Outside little John rang the bell again. She toyed with the idea. It was so outrageous she wanted to laugh. She knew the boy would be more outraged than she. It would serve him right too. Twice now he had managed to grab her ankle under some pretext. What kind of an excuse could she offer for grabbing his cock, holding it long enough, squeezing it maybe, milking it a couple of times until she felt him exploding into gallons of goo? She needed some kind of an excuse so she could draw back horrified, all prim and every inch the uncomprehending lady as the little bastard came all over his pants.
Somehow he was slouching down in the berth, getting his knees ever deeper between her own. Damn him! He was only fourteen. What business did he have fooling around this way with a grown woman? She wondered if this was the way they did things in the ghetto. She supposed it must be awfully crowded in those small apartments. Life must be very like it had been around the studio with everybody undressing in front of everybody else. Or was it? She supposed people had to share the same bed long after time to go their separate ways. Was that why 'mother fucker' was the deepest, darkest insult among ghetto dwellers? Somehow this boy had gotten the idea in his head that he was going to fuck a woman twice as old as he was. She wondered where.
Twice as old hell! She was only three years short of being three times as old as this boy. But ... she supposed ghetto women aged sooner. Did the boy believe her. "Do you know how old I am?" she asked.
The boy across from her shook his head.
"How old is your mother?" she persisted.
"Thirty."
"I'm nine years older than your mother," Ted said.
"Sheeeiiiiitttt!" the boy said. "You ain't even old's I am."
Suddenly somewhere deep inside her Ted knew the boy was right. She had lived a sheltered life even if the boys around the studio had been possessed of unusual appetites. Even in spite of Mr. Hammel Ted had managed to keep her virginity until she was twenty-five. She wondered how many adventures were already behind this virile fourteen-year-old product of an urban jungle.
"You ready?" he asked.
Outside the bell rang again.
"Ready for what?" she asked in a strained voice.
"Ready to fuck?" he said. "What the hell you sittin' around half naked for?"
Ted didn't know. Or rather, she suspected that her body had known hours ago something her mind was still unwilling to admit. This was only a boy-only fourteen. But she knew with a sinking feeling that if he were to reach over and untie the bow of her halter she would be helpless. She would just stand there and let him expose the superb contours of her late-grown tits. If this boy were to stand her up and peel off her shorts she knew she would be helpless to resist. She had never felt-that way before.
Fucking with Virgil had been fun. But it had been a shared fun. She had never felt owned. This boy, she knew instinctively, could do whatever he wanted with her and she would be powerless to resist his will. She wondered if he knew it. Probably he did. She had never seen a fourteen-year-old with this masculine assurance before. Chances were this boy had dominated every woman within blocks of his own standing ground. He had the touch. She could feel it. She knew what he would feel like even before he touched her.
But my God, she thought, in this little cabin, with another boy up there who could come bursting in any minute! The bell rang again. She glanced at the portholes. Socked in solid. How long would this fog last, she wondered. Probably all night. Wouldn't burn off till near noon tomorrow. She wondered if these boys' parents were going to get all shook up and have the Coast Guard choppers out whacking around. Probably somebody at the marina would be able to talk them out of that. But meanwhile, what was she going to do? The boy reached across and slipped a finger under the cloth of her halter. He pulled her toward him.
It was-just like a bad dream. Ted knew she was stronger than the boy. With her dancer's body she could twist him into a pretzel if she wanted to. She wanted to. Why couldn't she? Helpless, she felt herself move toward him until she could feel the warmth of his body against her. He put his other arm around her, then she felt both hands fiddling with the knot where her halter tied.
"Hey, Missus Stickles!"
The boy's voice from the topside broke the spell. Ted pulled away. She gave her halter a quick check and darted up through the scuttle. "What's wrong?" she asked. Then before the boy could answer she sensed it. There was a different feel to the water. At first she thought the anchor was dragging. Then dimly through the mist she saw the shadowy bulk of an aircraft carrier clipping past less than a hundred yards away. "Jesus!" she muttered.
"Doesn't sail have the right of way?" John asked.
"Theoretically, yes," she said. "But this sloop is twenty-five feet long. That flat top is nearly a thousand. Which one do you suppose could run the other down and never even notice?"
The boys were both wise in the ways of the ghetto. They needed no further explanation.
"What do we do now?" John asked.
Ted wondered. The flat top must have some shitheaded pilot to be this close to the edge of the channel. Chances were a pack of destroyers would be coming through here any minute now. If she got under way it would be just as easy to run into one as to avoid it. "You boys go below and rest," she said. "I'll stand the next watch."
She repossessed the parka from John and rang the bell. It was still early afternoon but the fog had turned every-thing to darkness. All she could do was ring the bell and pray. She had never been very good a praying. In a way she supposed though that she had been saved by that goddamn bell. Another minute and fourteen-year-old Albert would have had her spread-eagled on the bunk, shoving his fid up her grommet.
Abruptly both boys appeared on deck again, each wrapped in a blanket. "Cold down there," Albert explained.
"Colder up here," she said.
"Not if we all sit close together." It was the younger boy with curly hair. She was suddenly ashamed of her suspicion. This boy didn't know the score. He just wanted to cuddle up to somebody warm. Ted had never considered herself the motherly type but she, wouldn't mind the warmth of his body next to her.
John sat on her left and Albert scooted down the cockpit bench to her right. They opened out their blankets until the three of them were enclosed in a bubble of warmth. Ted could feel the burning maleness of Albert's hard young body through his tight-fitting Levi's. Both boys scooted closer until the outer surface of each of her bare thighs lay hard-pressed against Levi's-clad male flesh. Inside the blanket she felt Albert's arm struggle up from its confinement between them to drape itself naturally over her parka clad shoulders. Ted guessed she couldn't complain. After all, it was a natural thing to do.
Little John kept wriggling closer. She supposed he must have taken a real chill standing watch alone up here. Then abruptly she sensed that his hand on her bare thigh had lain there too long to be accidental. Sonofabitch! she thought. While she had been preparing defenses against the older boy the young one had already grabbed himself a handful. She supposed she ought to slap him but it would stir up the blanket and let the cold in and besides, it wasn't the first tune she'd had somebody's band on her leg. It felt rather nice after all these years alone. And she was curious to see just how far the boy would go if she pursued a strict policy of non-intervention.
Boys' minds worked in weird ways, she knew. Probably he was so befogged with lust that he could believe anything. At the moment the boy seemed convinced that she didn't know where he had his hand, or how he was creeping slow as an hour hand around to get his probing hand between her legs, savoring the feel of her soft inner thigh as he explored his cautious way toward her crotch.
If she hadn't been so scrunched up between the two of them she would have let her thighs fall open to help him. But the boys had her boxed in till she could hardly move. Albert's arm slid off her shoulder and a moment later began snaking its way back up-this time underneath her parka. Sonofabitch! she thought. This must be what every other girl my age was learning how to handle in high school while I was off twisting my ass into a pretzel for some bull dyke of a ballet teacher! She wondered what she was supposed to do now.
This whole maneuver, she suspected, was as formalized as any other ritual. She was supposed to struggle, to resist, but not too much. And there would be a certain point at which she would draw the line and the game would be over. What, she wondered, would happen if she violated the rules of the game by doing something outrageous like grabbing their cocks? Probably scare them both shitless. She wondered what kind of an idealized dream situation these boys were creating in their minds. Probably each was heartily wishing the other would fall overboard. There was safety in numbers, she guessed. Or did thirteen and fourteen-year-old ghetto boys go for gang bangs? The hell of it was, she didn't know.
Her education, Ted decided, had been sadly neglected. Apart from Mr. Hammel when she was twelve, and a few other aging stage door types all prepared to respect her virginity, Ted had a lived a life as empty as a nun's. She remembered that first time on the casting couch in Mr. Hammel's office when she had been twelve and he had been anything-maybe even a hundred-with his mustache wedged firmly into the cleft of her still hairless crotch.
She had held his cock in her hand, not knowing what to do with it. Mr. Hammel on the other band had seemed to know exactly what to do, where to lick, where to kiss, where to stick his tongue in places that would reduce a trim, hard-muscled twelve-year-old ballerina's budding body to giggling Jell-O.
It had felt so good she couldn't do anything except just lay back on the couch and enjoy the wonderful warm feel of his mouth over her cunt licking, sucking, nibbling at her clit until it swelled to rock hardness. Warm waves of passion radiated from her cunt, through her belly through her just curving breast to turn her whole body pink with passion. She could imagine herself, clad only in black patent leather shoes, white anklets and a pink hair ribbon, flat on her back, knees flexed and thighs spread wide to make room for Mr. Hammel's head. She felt so nice, so warm she was willing to bet her whole body was pink as her hair ribbon-pink as the tiny areolas of her just-sprouting tits.
His tongue was running up the tender inner surface of one hairless cunt lip and down the other, stopping occasionally to touch her clit, then to dart unexpectedly into the tiny opening at the bottom of her hymeneal membrane. It was the first time Ted had ever felt anything inside her virgin vagina. It felt-she couldn't find words to describe how warm and soft and cuddly wonderful it felt. It was like a hot bath after hours at the practice bar-only ten thousand times better, warmer, more relaxing.
She couldn't understand how anything that was twisting and tearing, tying her in passionate knots could be relaxing but at the same time she could feel opposing forces within her slight taut body struggling for control. One half of her wanted to lock thighs over Mr. Hammel's head in a scissors, pull him in deeper, harder, faster. The other half of her struggled to do nothing-to relax and let it happen-let Mr. Hammel do it all.
His wonderfully knowledgeable tongue seemed to know every secret of her inner being. He was tickling her, delighting her, turning her on, melting her down into a puddle of girlish giggles as he touched triggers she hadn't even known her twelve-year-old body possessed. It felt so gooood!
Gentle as kissing butterflies, his hands caressed her tits and ass. Ted was used to hands on her body pushing, pulling twisting her this way and that. But she had never before experienced soft caressing hands that were there for pleasure and not to twist her into some new and painfully aesthetic shape.
She felt him moving, gently insinuating his body closer to hers. She didn't have to worry. He was still kneeling on the couch beside her. As long as he didn't try to get up on top of her-so long as he didn't get between her legs ... Finally she realized he was taking off his clothes, working blindly as he kept his face buried in her crotch, never missing a stroke as his wonderfully supple tongue pushed and probed its knowledgeable way up and down the seething slot between her legs. How, she wondered, had she gotten through twelve years without ever discovering the capacities for joy within her body? She wondered what it would be like nights alone when she couldn't sleep to experiment with her own gentle finger down there trying out all the nice things Mr. Hammel's tongue was doing ...
But Ted knew that as long as she lived in the world of ballet she would go to bed each night far too exhausted to have time for fun and games. If she hadn't missed practice this morning ... if she hadn't spent the morning waiting in Mr. Hammel's outer office ... She wondered if ever there would be a day in her life when she would not be so bone tired she was beyond thinking of anything but sleep.
And now twenty-seven years later the day had come. She sat on the narrow cockpit bench of her sloop, crowded between a thirteen and a fourteen-year-old boy. Which one, she wondered, would grab for her crotch first? She wore shorts and halter, with a parka over all. Each of the boys had brought a blanket against the chill fog. Little John's hand was already creeping slow as an hour hand around to the inner surface of her thigh. Albert's had dropped from her shoulders and was creeping up under her parka.
She felt the older boy's hand encounter the knot of her halter. She wanted to move, slap him or something but she was jammed so close between them that any move would send the blankets flying and what would it look like if Albert saw John's hand between her legs. Something had to be done. But what? Ted suddenly realized she had let herself drift into something that was going to prove exceedingly awkward getting out of.
It was even more awkward deciding whether she wanted out. She considered the alternatives. Were they armed. Ghetto boys might carry switchblades but she really didn't know. So far neither had threatened her. If the two decided to gang up on her and she decided to resist, what would happen? She knew the boat, knew every possible purchase for hand and foot. She was still hard as a bridegroom's pecker from a life of dancing. If it came to a free-for-all Ted knew she could probably dump one boy overboard, deal with the other, and fish out the first one at her leisure if he hadn't drowned first. But why was she thinking about fighting and resisting when actually it was quite warm under these blankets and she had firm male flesh pressing against her from both sides?
The real problem, she guessed, was an abundance of boys. Alone with either one of them Ted knew she could have an enjoyable hour of dalliance. But two together? She had heard about such things. In show business one heard about everything sooner or later. But though she was widowed and thirty-nine, Ted had never learned to consider sex as a spectator sport. Somehow she had to ... She wondered if either of these boys was suggestible to seasickness.
Forget it! With her luck if she started talking about greasy food or the usual nauseous subjects they would both get sick on her. Albert's hand was creeping farther up under her parka. Instead of going around in front to grab for a tit he, was fiddling once more with the knot to her halter. She tried to contain her annoyance when he managed to get one end through a loop of the bow and pull the works into a hard knot. While fourteen-year-old Albert muttered to himself and struggled one handedly to unfasten the hard knot she dedicated herself to what the other boy was up to.
Thirteen-year-old John was still playing possum, trying to convince her and himself that his hand was not really between her legs, that he was not reveling in the sensation of soft feminine skin sliding beneath the smooth glide of his palm up her thigh toward the 'no trespassing' sign of her shorts. She wondered what he would do when be got there.
The boy was so excited at his boldness that he was breathing raggedly. She glanced covertly from the corner of her eye at his curly head. The boy's eyes were almost glazed as he stiffened with the effort to control himself. Looking down she could see the magnificent bulge in the crotch of his Levi's. The boy needed only the slightest touch or tickle to set off that Roman candle in his pants.
She kept her gaze straight forward, pretending not to notice what either of the close crowding boys were trying to do. But as she leaned forward slightly to catch the bell rope she managed to get a good look at the fourteen-year-old who was still struggling with the knot of her halter. It was hard telling which of these Would-be studs was going to cum first.
CHAPTER FIVE
Should she help one of them along the road to ruin? If she were 'accidentally' to rub against either boy in just the right way she knew he would explode immediately and ignominiously. Also, she was sure whichever boy it happened to would be so embarrassed he would immediately invent some excuse to go below and clean up, leaving her alone with the other. Which one did she want.
Albert was a year older, several inches taller and more grown up in every respect. He was almost a man. But he was still a boy so far as staying power went. The other boy, younger and smaller, might be less endowed with an imagination. Maybe he would last longer.
Good God, she thought. Here I'm actually thinking that far ahead, making plans to let one of these grubby little boys get between my legs and stick his stabber right into me! And after she had survived twenty-five years in show business without once letting it happen!
Little John used the opportunity of her slight movement when she rang the bell to move an inch closer to home plate. Albert still struggled with his botched knot. She remembered his sullenness when he first came aboard. The fourteen-year-old was feeling his oats, helpless under the first full flush of masculinity which wracked his body. But, she decided, having a stiff prick was not that much of an excuse for being a prick.
Little John's eager hands were doing their thing down there. But he wasn't so foul-mouthed as Albert. Albert-mouth. Now what was she thinking about? She remembered that first day with Mr. Hammel and wondered what these boys could be taught to do. It was hard to tell. Boys that age were so delicate in their psychological contradictions. They needed a woman so badly and were so angry at being aware of that need that they couldn't be civil to any woman. But little John hadn't insulted her yet ...
Ted leaned forward and caught the bell rope again. John's hand inched closer to the hem of her short shorts. She gave thanks they were the tight kind and that he wouldn't be able to get a teasing finger inside.
Albert struggled with the knot. As she leaned forward he tossed caution to the winds and got both hands up under her parka. She saw the throbbing bulge in his crotch. As the finished ringing the bell she let the lanyard fall in such a way that it dropped squarely atop the bulge. Albert winced and gasped, stopping for a moment his struggle with the fractious knot.
"Sorry," she murmured, and picked up the bell lanyard from his lap. The palm of her hand in grasping the line fell warm and soft over the bulge in Albert's trousers.
"Ssssshit!" he hissed in a voice so low she could hardly hear.
She let the lanyard slip from her fingers and had to pick it up again. She wondered if Albert knew he was being had. Probably not, she guessed. Each generation thought it had discovered set, that old people knew nothing about it. Probably he thought she was busy thinking those abstruse thoughts reserved to the over-thirty crowd and totally unaware of his busy hands trying to undo her halter knot. She let her hand fall warm and soft over his cock again.
The boy stiffened. She felt his fingernails dig into her bare back. His whole body galvanized with the effort not to cum. She was tempted to give him another good squeeze but it would be hard to explain dropping the lanyard three times in a row. Besides, the boy was suffering. He had growled and snapped at her. Now he might as well find out who needed whom worst.
As long as little John with the curly head was so eager to get his hand between her legs Ted knew she had no need of a surly fourteen-year-old who didn't know how to keep his mouth shut. She felt him still stiff, cataleptic in his effort not to come. He had been frozen for nearly half a minute.
Meanwhile John's creeping hand had reached the hem of her shorts. Instead of trying to get under the impossibly tight leg he contented himself with exploring every contour of her crotch through the tight-stretched cloth. Imperceptibly, she forced the boys farther apart and opened her legs slightly to facilitate John's reconnaissance.
Why, she wondered, did it feel so wonderful just to have a boy's hand feeling her crotch? Forbidden fruit, she guessed, the element of excitement and danger with Albert glowering only inches away. Probably it wouldn't be nearly as exciting if she and little John were both naked and in bed with uninterrupted hours to work out their fantasies.
But this was so frustrating. She couldn't actually do anything with either boy-not so long as the other was around to glower, to interrupt, to tell tales ashore. Truly there was safety in numbers. She remembered the first doubtful look when the lady gone-to-far with a stationwagon full of kids had learned that Ted was not a man. Obviously Miss Stationwagon of 1941 had known there was safety in numbers. She had not hesitated to entrust the souls and bodies of these would-be studs to Ted. If only she knew!
She would know, Ted suddenly knew. The whole world would know if she didn't give Albert, the sullen fourteen-year-old enough forbidden fruit and enough hope for more next time ... Boys liked to talk and brag. And Ted had lived long enough to know that when it comes to gossip, some women can keep a secret but no man can ever.
Albert was just beginning to relax after nearly a minute of gritting his teeth and straining with the effort not to cum. She was tempted to touch his cock again and force him into another spasm or better still, make him cum. But if he retired from the competition in disgrace-if he were to learn that even now the younger boy was out pointing him in every way. If Albert's fourteen-year-old pride were hurt there would be no silencing him. Somehow she had to bind him to her. And there was only one thing she had that he wanted. How could she give him a free sample without running the same risk with the little boy? A disappointed thirteen-year-old's reaction would be even more childish.
Damn! she thought. Why had she ever let herself in for this? It was still not too late. All she had to do was stand up and go below for a minute, leaving the pair stiff-pricked and empty handed. Maybe it would be best that way. But that soft warm hand in her crotch felt-so nice.
Suddenly she felt another hand. Little John had turned and devoted his full attention to her. Swathed in blankets, she wondered if either boy knew or guessed what the other was up to. What, she wondered, would happen if their hands met under the blanket?
Albert was still fumbling with her halter. At that moment she finally felt the knot slip loose. He gave a relieved sigh and twisted back into a more natural position, one hand at his side as the other finished untangling her halter straps. Meanwhile, little John's hand had abandoned her crotch. Both his hands were struggling with the waistband button of her shorts.
Little John's lightning maneuver had so surprised her that Ted had not managed to let her hand fall on Albert's straining crotch again. One mad corner of her mind wondered what would happen if she were to drop all this pretense and just plain unzip their pants, grab their cocks and squeeze until the boys were both empty gasping wrecks.
It would all be over in seconds, she knew. And afterward ... She didn't know. Would they be shamed? Would they be relieved? It was hard telling what lengths a boy would go to in the effort to salvage his pride. Probably they would convince themselves she was some kind of degenerate. Sure as hell they would talk about it. God, would they ever talk.
Little John's hand went down into her halfmasted shorts searching for her crotch. She knew from his sudden hesitation that the curly-headed thirteen-year-old had not expected to find panties. He had thought he was home free, ready to romp in the elysian fields of her pubic patch. She now felt almost sorry for his disappointment.
Meanwhile Albert had finally arrived in tit territory. His hand under her parka crept around her midriff and crept slowly up until he was cupping the bottom side of one of her firm, upward pointing tits. Gently, as if he hoped she was still unaware of his presence, his fingers crept toward her nipple.
Ted leaned forward and caught the bell rope again. The fog was thick but at the masthead she could see a pearly luminescence that meant sunlight was only thirty feet away. The fog could burn off or blow away any minute. She pointed upward and explained this fact to the boys.
Albert took advantage of her upraised arm to cup, her full firm tit in his hand. Ted wondered how many times in her life she had felt somebody else's hand on her tit. Mostly she wondered why it had never felt this good before. But this had to end. In another minute they'd have her naked. And the name of the game was to get them to take their clothes off first. That way she would gain some sort of psychological advantage. Somehow she suspected that it would not be in her best interests to be anchored in the middle of nowhere with a couple of ghetto boys who knew they could get away with undressing her. The solution was amazingly simple once she thought of it.
She grasped the waistband of her shorts firmly. "You boys stay here and keep ringing the bell," she said. Before they could prepare themselves she stood. The hip length parka concealed the loose waistband of her shorts. From the waist up she was fully covered now that Albert's hand had come out. "I'm going below to put on something warmer," she said. Before either boy could move she had cleared the cabin scuttle with one magnificent arabesque. She slammed the slide shut behind her and latched it from the inside.
She drew curtains across the portholes, made sure the fore hatch was bolted from inside, and only then did she peel off the parka. Her unlatched bra came off with it, leaving her clad only in bikini panties since her unzipped shorts had settled to her ankles the instant she let go of them.
Despite her hurry she stopped an instant before the full length mirror on the door to the head. Her body really was something! Her tits stood proud and firm. Full contoured, but they hadn't even started growing until she was almost nineteen. Her tiny waisted, ballerina body was still hard muscled but she had filled out until she was no longer a dancer. Now the was a woman, fully developed, with long straight legs capable of tempting a cardinal. Her ass was well rounded but firmly muscular, without an ounce of flab. Her late-grown tits were big enough now but still pointed defiantly skyward as if she were twenty instead of thirty nine. Her hair grew long and straight, braided now to keep it out of the way when sailing. She knew if she were to peel down her bikini panties the hair down there would match the glossy almost black of her waist-length braid. Definitely, her body was built to be used. She toyed with the idea of tossing one of these little brats overboard.
No use. She couldn't do it. Even, if she were capable of such a beastly idea she knew it would take all the bulge out of the other boy's' crotch if she were to start acting like some mate-devouring mama spider. What was she going to do? Nothing, she guessed. Sadly, she found a pair of jeans and began pulling them on.
She found an old jersey then remembered she had lost her bra. Rummaging through drawers, the first she found was a full-cut bra with the hooks in front between the cups. She grinned at the thought of Albert going slowly insane trying to find them. If the boy was from the ghetto, chances were he had never even heard of a front latching bra. She put it on, hurriedly pulled on a jersey, found some socks and boat shoes and was puffing her parka back on as she opened the cabin scuttle to go back on deck.
The boys still sat where she had left them, each glowering into the fog thinking long thoughts. It was cruel, she supposed, to interrupt but she had no intention of being stripped naked out here in the fog by a couple of would-be studs who didn't even start taking their own clothes off first. What, she wondered, would have happened if she had let them get away with what they had been starting?
She caught the lanyard and rang the fog bell again. Somewhere in the distance. she heard the deep booooo of a fog horn.
"What's that?" little John asked.
Ted explained about foghorns and lighthouses.
Albert still glowered at the fog.
Fuck him! she thought. He wants to fuck me but he isn't gentleman enough even to be polite.
Let him spend the next five years growing hair on his palms and maybe he'll appreciate the next woman who gives him a free feel. If he wanted to give her the silent treatment she was perfectly used to living alone without even a seal or seagull to talk to.
"How long we gonna be here?" Albert asked unexpectedly.
Ted shrugged. She sat across from the boys on the opposite side of the cockpit, just out of reach of their roping hands. She wondered if either of them would have enough gall to come over and sit beside her. Probably each of the boys was consumed with projects to get the other out of the way. She almost laughed.
The combined air of charged sexuality and the veneer of innocent I-don't-know-what's-going-on reminded her of that halcyon day on the casting couch in Mr. Hammel's office. She had been relaxing as best she could under the stimulus of that tongue between her legs, those busy hands caressing tits and ass when suddenly Mr. Hammel had writhed out of his clothes and before she quite realized it he was on the couch too, kneeling between her thighs.
Now how, she wondered, did he manage that without me knowing it? Suddenly, despite her twelve-year-old virginal innocence she had known what was going to happen next. Mr. Hammel was going to slip his thing into her. He was going to fuck her. And that would be the end of her career as a dancer.
Ted didn't want to dance all that bad but her mother did and Ted had long ago accepted that she was to be sold into a life of bondage to satisfy a whim her mother had been too busy fucking to gratify. Like any obedient child, she had accepted her mother's will as divinely ordained. Now Mr. Hammel was going to spoil it all.
Ted didn't know what her mother would say if Ted were to lose her virginity at this age. But she knew, perfectly well what would happen if she were no longer able to dance. Firmly, she closed her thighs.
Mr. Hammel was in between and she couldn't close them all the way. Before he could react she performed a back somersault and, legs tight together, rolled off the couch and onto the floor. Red faced and pantsless, Mr. Hammel was thoroughly ridiculous. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"I'm a virgin," Ted said firmly. "I'm going to be a prima ballerina in your next production. You promised. If I let you do what you're trying to do I won't be able to dance as well."
"You'll be good enough," Mr. Hammel reassured her. "Besides, you'll still be a virgin when I'm through."
Ted, like any child, had been deceived by broken promises before. She remembered her mother in a bargaining mood. "I want to talk to Momma first," she said.
For a moment it looked like Mr. Hammel would have a heart attack. Then, wiser than Ted in the ways of show business mommas, he finally picked up the phone and instructed his secretary to get Momma on the interoffice telephone. While Ted listened he said, "The audition's going very well. You've signed and received your copy of the contract, haven't you?"
There were scratchy noises on the other end.
"Yes, yes, that's fine. The audition my take another hour in case, you'd like to do some shopping," Mr. Hammel hinted. "By the way, would you like to give little Teddie the good news?" He handed Ted the phone.
From the outer office Momma said, "Ted, just be nice to Mr. Hammel now. Everything's all arranged so do whatever he tells you. I'll be back in about an hour."
And thus did Ted cease being a little girl and enter the grownup world of lying, deceit, and all the usual sins of omission and commission which give rise to the relationship between such words as adult and adultery. "All right, Mr. Hammel," she said, and climbed back onto the couch. She was still clad only in black patent leather shoes, white ankle socks, and a pink hair ribbon. Mr. Hammel wore shoes, socks, undershirt, shirt, vest, tie, stickpin-everything the well-dressed impresario of twenty-seven years ago wore-except his trousers. He climbed back up between her legs.
At twelve Ted had never heard of a stoic. But stoical was her attitude as the red-faced man knelt between her thighs. Her dancing days were over. Maybe lacking would be more fun. Either way, she was being a good girl, doing what Momma told her to do.
"You'll still be a virgin when we're through," Mr. Hammel whispered.
The only other person Ted had heard of who had accomplished this feat was God. With his pants off Mr. Hammel somehow really didn't fit her preconception of God. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"I'm not going to put it-in you there."
Ted didn't know whether to be relieved, or annoyed. Alter all the trouble she had gone to shedding her attitudes about virginity ... besides, if he wasn't going to fuck her, what was he doing between her legs?
She discovered what he was doing when abruptly Mr. Hammel grasped her knees. He lifted and hooked them over the rough tweed shoulders of his jacket. Ted's nude twelve-year-old body hung suspended from her knees and the nape of her neck. She felt the blood rush to her head and to the nipples of her tiny just budding tits. Then his large hands grasped her waist and took most of the weight off the back of her neck. Then he arched his neck and put his tongue back into the gaping hairless lips between her legs.
It felt so nice Ted didn't care if she hung upside down from her knees all day. His warm strong hands around her waist squeezed and she felt warm waves of passion surge from waist and cunt to meet in a tiny explosion in mid belly. She could feel her tender breast buds throb with hot rushing blood, aching for the feel of those hands, that mouth.
She wondered if it would be possible for Mr. Hammel to grow two mouths so he could kiss her tits and pussy at the same time. Then she wondered about the more practical solution. What would it be like to lie down naked on this couch and let one man kiss her hairless, virginal cunt while the other took care of the rest of her burning body?
She stored away the idea for future reference and somehow it managed to remain in storage for twenty-seven years until now she was aboard the yacht, fully dressed, sitting across from these two ghetto boys. There was a sudden warming of her insides at the thought. She had been concentrating so hard on getting rid of one of the boys ...
What would it be like to try it with two at once? What, she wondered, could they really do? Her mind reeled at the possibilities. Or were they impossibilities. She guessed they had to be possible. Nobody could write all those things in the magazines-none of the moralists could get so totally bent out of shape about group sex unless somewhere somebody was doing it. But who? Where? Did thirteen and fourteen-year-olds go for it?
The two boys both sat across from her in the cockpit. Despite the parka Ted felt the chill. She suspected that the boys each wrapped in a blanket, would feel the chill too if they could stop burning for a moment. Moments ago before her precipitate flight each had been close to explosion, each with his handful of flesh and hopeful of more and more handsful. Now they sat bereft and alone, not even able to sympathize with each other because neither was willing to admit that the other might have been doing the same thing he was.
"I'm cold," Ted said. "I think I'll go below."
"Who stays up here and rings the bell?" Albert asked.
Ted smiled. "This yacht's rigged for single-handing," she explained. She flipped a switch and the electric timer took over.
"Why didn't you tell me about that before?" Albert growled.
"You didn't ask." She gave another look around. Actually the fog was lifting. In another hour there would be no excuse for anchoring. It was her escape hatch. She had one hour to play around and do whatever she wanted with these boys. And when that hour was up neither would be able to argue against her explanation that a boat anchored in bright sunlight was an invitation for everybody from Harbor Police to Coast Guard to come prying. She went below. The boys didn't look at each other. After a moment Albert got to his feet and went below.
Little John followed and after a couple of fumbles managed to close the cabin scuttle behind him. The arrangement below decks was practically a duplication of the cockpit, with two narrow settee berths facing each other. Forward of the mast the berths converged into a wide, roughly triangular mattressed space.
Ted sat on one of the berths. The boys sat across from her. There was a charged air of expectation as each waited for somebody else to make the first move. Slowly it began warming up inside the closed cabin. Topside the bell clanged. The boys still huddled each inside a blanket.
"I think," Ted began, "that it's time we started being honest with one another."
The boys looked at her in wary surprise. For a moment Albert's surly veneer cracked and he became an unsure fourteen-year-old. Little John's curly hair surrounded his face, making him look like some child angel who had managed to be forn without original sin.
"Let's start by admitting where everybody had his hands a moment ago."
The boys looked at each other in mutual surprise. Ted tried not to laugh as she discovered that really, neither of them had suspected the other.
"I suppose," she continued dryly, "that everybody would like to get his hands back there again."
After a moment's shocked silence the boys gave wary nods. Topside the bell clanged again.
"And just where," Ted continued, "are my hands supposed to be all this while?"
From the open-mouthed stares it was obvious that the boys had never considered this side of the question.
"I suppose," Ted continued with just a trace of snappishness in her voice, "that you thought I was going to just sit there and let you undress me."
She tried not to smile, knowing each of these would-be studs had hoped and prayed for exactly that. She sat lacing them fully dressed now in boat shoes, socks, bikini panties, a front latching bra, jeans, a jersey, a watch cap and a parka. She wondered if the boys had the slightest idea what she had in mind, if they were doing frantic sums in their heads trying to figure out how many articles of clothing each wore.
Albert was so overcome by the vistas opening before him that he couldn't trust himself to speak. Little John, at thirteen, was more of a pragmatist. "You want us to undress first?" he asked.
Ted let a wintry smile flit across her face.
"Sheeeeiiiit!" Albert growled.
"If you don't wish to participate, feel perfectly free to go back on deck and ring the bell," Ted said. "It'll save running down the batteries."
"How do I know you will?" he asked.
"How do you know I'll what?" Ted asked.
Though he wished to remain aloof from such things, Albert could not avoid being drawn into this conversation. Albert gulped and searched for words. "How do I know you will if we do?" he finally managed.
"You don't," Ted said. "But on the other hand, you know perfectly well that, if you don't, I won't."
From his silence she guessed Albert found this argument convincing. He glanced at John. The younger boy glanced back. Without speaking both boys let fall their blankets and began untying their sneakers. Topside the fog bell clanged. Down below the cabin was growing warmer.
Ted regarded her own emotions with wry amusement. Moments ago both boys had had their hands on her, busily probing for home plate. And she had not felt the erotic excitement she was feeling now with this delicious sense of charged expectation as everybody knew something wonderful was going to happen, but nobody knew exactly when or how. She glanced through a porthole at the thin fog. There was time for play. There was time for foreplay.
She whipped the parka off and noted the sudden brightened expectation in the boys, followed immediately by disappointment when they learned she now wore a jersey underneath.
The boys sat across from her, each clad in Levi's, shirt, and a light jacket. She wondered if ghetto boys bothered with underwear. They sat tensely, looking at one another, each waiting for the next move. Ted thought a moment, then, stretching in ways known only to tomcats and ballerinas, she extended her feet one to each of the boys. After a moment's discombobulating, Albert managed to tie another hard knot, this time in the lace of her rubber-soled boat shoe. He opened his mouth, then hastily closed it again. He breathed deeply and began picking at the knot. After a moment it yielded to his patience. Covered warmly from head to ankle, she sat with a naked foot in each boy's lap, her preternaturally sensitive heels absorbing warmth from the hot throbbing mounds of maleness in each crotch. She knew all it would take was the slightest wiggle of foot and each boy would erupt like some miniature volcano of eroticism, unable to withstand the assault of his own imagination so far she had not exposed a single inch of controversial skin. "Now you," she murmured.
Without hesitation little John peeled off his jacket. Albert hastened to do the same. Doing hasty mental arithmetic, Ted wondered why she had let the boys take off her socks too. She wondered how this game was going to come out but her mind was so filled with vistas of wonderful things to come that she could not work it out ahead. The boys each still wore shirt and Levi's-and Christ only knew how much else underneath. Ted still had her jeans, her jersey, bikini panties, and bra. Then suddenly she remembered her watch cap. She peeled it off, still leaving her bare feet one in each boy's lap.
The boys were momentarily nonplussed. But little John was quick enough to see this was a game in which it would be hard to separate winners from losers. He peeled off his T-shirt. Albert, after an almost imperceptible hesitation, did the same.
Ted tried on her Mona Lisa smile. "Your choice," she said, and left it to the boys whether she would remove jeans or jersey first. Little John was plainly neutral. As long as he got some article of clothing off her taut ballerina body the smaller boy didn't care much which came first. But, looking at Albert she could almost see the wheels spinning inside his head. She knew exactly what the older boy was thinking. He had unlatched her bra. Maybe he had even managed to catch a glimpse of her peeling it off with the parka in the moment before she had drawn the curtains. He would assume she was bare-titted under the jersey. "Your top," he said, and glared, daring the smaller boy to disagree.
Ted obligingly peeled off her jersey, revealing her smooth-skinned torso clad only in jeans and a snug front-latching bra sincularly free of the Irish pennants and dangling hardware of so many American brassieres. It looked more like a generously cut bikini top than a bra. She was amused at the boys' disappointment.
Face-fallen, they faced her in their bulging crotched Levi's. Without exactly planning it that way, she knew she had come out winners in this crazy game. "Don't take it so hard," she sad. "I'll spot you both five points." While the boys watched wide-eyed she unfastened the waist of her jeans. Each boy still had one of her bare feet in his lap. "Pull," she commanded.
The boys pulled with such concerted enthusiasm that they nearly pulled her off the settee. She managed to hang on and felt her jeans slip down past her ass, down past her bikini panties.
CHAPTER SIX
As her jeans slipped down past her well-muscled thighs both boys released involuntary 'aaahhhhhs'. Then Ted noted with secret amusement how their faces fell again as they discovered she was still not technically naked. She wore bra and panties-actually she was covering more skin than she normally would on the beach.
But, she realized, nakedness was relative and was largely a matter of intent. She knew she could turn these boys on far more by letting them sneak an unexpected look at some cleavage than was possible with total exposure. The whole theory of costume designed was based on the skirt or bodice that almost but never quite made it. She wondered what the boys' reaction would be once they managed to get a glimpse of her whole exposed body.
The moment of truth had come for the boys, she realized. Even the doubting Albert must by now be convinced of her sincerity for even a fourteen-year-old had instinctively to know that a woman felt more ridiculous, more vulnerable in her underwear than she did totally nude. Little John fiddled with the button of his Levi's. A moment later he half turned to peel them off. From behind she could see the curly headed boy with the angelic face wore nothing underneath.
Blushing furiously, he turned to face her. He sat across from her, pointing a tremendous hard-on straight at the latch of her bra. She tried not to stare because she didn't want to make Albert any more nervous than he was. Albert was not blushing. He was pale, eyes glazed and for a moment she was afraid he might faint. At fourteen his body needed a woman far worse that he was willing to accept or admit. Abruptly he broke from his trance. Without turning away, he peeled his Levi's down and exposed a hard-on a year older and bigger than little John's.
Neither boy had been circumcised. Both had long, well-formed cocks with tremendous flanging heads beneath tight-stretched foreskins. Albert's hard-on was so close to explosion she could see the purple tip of his cock peeping wetly from his straining foreskin. Albert had a full crop of pubic hair-even sported a tiny brush exactly between the nipples of his otherwise hairless chest.
The younger boy was just starting to grow a crop of hair. His scrotum was well-filled and fully visible instead of being concealed in a dense pubic tangle like Albert's. She wondered what would happen if she were to reach out and capture a cock in each hand. Which boy would cum first? Both, she knew, were so close to explosion that the slightest touch would set them off.
What, she wondered, was she going to do? She must have been insane to start this crazy game. She had no real idea what to do next. Fuck? Both at once? How? The boys were becoming impatient. Suddenly she realized why. They were both naked awaiting her pleasure and she was queening it over them still clad in both bikini panties and bra. Ted put on her Mona Lisa smile again. Looking at Albert, she said, "This time let's let John choose."
Albert was so wrought up with internal problems that he could only turn pale and gasp. Finally he nodded. Ted turned to the younger curly headed boy.
John couldn't trust himself to speak. She remembered that each boy had gone instinctively for a different target. Target of opportunity or preference? To her surprise, the younger boy whose attention had been dedicated to her panties pointed to the luscious bulge concealed only by her bra.
"Do you want to or do you want me to?" she asked.
"Oooohhh, wooowww!" the younger boy said. He leaned forward and put his arms around her, nearly burying his face in her tits. Then he recoiled in surprise. She caught his hands and guided them to the hooks in front. With surprising skill the boy had her undone instantly.
The bra fell back like an opened jacket instead of forward like the usual back latching brassiere. She shrugged it off and caught the curly head, pulling him back into her tits before the boy had time to be bashful. "Ooooohhhhh!" came a muffled moan from between her tits.
And from the sidelines Albert finally decided to get into the act. She felt his hands, then could see him slowly unveiling the wonder of her pubic patch. He stared in frozen ecstasy as his hands slowly revealed one crisp springy hair after another. She moved her thighs slightly and the panties slid downward in a silken billow about her ankles. Albert's hands remained locked around the bulge of her thighs. She wondered if he knew they were there. Then slowly, as if hypnotized, he began moving closer, closer until she felt his warm breath bathe the gentle swell of her belly. Then abruptly Albert buried his face in her belly. He clasped his hands around the cheeks of her ass and drew himself to her harder, deeper, moaning his joy as he finally, after fourteen years of desperately wondering if it would ever happen-at last he had his hands on a real live woman!
And Ted had her hands on two boys! She cuddled little John's curly head as he nuzzled her tits. She got her other hand on the nape of Albert's neck and encouraged his exploration as his hot panting mouth began memorizing the contours of her waist, her navel, her mons veneris. His hands cupped her ass, caressed her thighs, running gently over soft tender skin, memorizing the feel of what it was like to handle a woman for the first time.
Ted felt her belly begin to twist and wind up as tension increased inside her. It felt so warmly and wonderfully good to have a man's face in her tits, a man's face nuzzling her belly, four male hands doing their best to cover her whole body with caresses, tingles and tickles. Slowly she felt herself collapsing backward onto the settee as the two boys pressed forward seeking to bury their faces in the warm softnesses of her body.
She sat, fell gently sideways, drew her legs up until she lay supine on the settee. It was narrow, a comfortable seat, but with scarcely room for one body to lie down. Without removing their faces from belly and tits, the boys followed her as she made the transition from standing to lying down. Each knelt, little John still nuzzling between her tits and Albert rooting his nose in her deep navel. Ted felt that old familiar roiling in her belly and knew she was going to cum, ready or not. She felt the tension build as her insides churned from the multiple stimuli of these two boys' wonderful hands caressing her body, their faces rooting about in the tender sensitive skin of tits and belly.
Albert's exploring hand wormed its soft way from her knee upward tracing the tender contour of her inner thigh. The tip of his finger came into her crotch and barely touched the hairy surface of her vulval lip. It was enough. Without warning the roiling building tension released. She felt herself melting, flowing, her brains turning to peanut butter and oozing right out her cunt as the boy nuzzled down from her navel, exploring the upper edge of her pubic patch with his lips. Albert, she suspected, was going to turn out better than she had thought. His hands were so gentle in contrast to his angry manner. She wondered what life had done to him.
Fourteen years in the ghetto could do things to anyone. But to hell with that. Ted was more interested in the next fourteen minutes. She was melting, flowing, deliquescing as all the tension and loneliness oozed away. Little John was still nuzzling her tits. Now suddenly his hands were in there too, caressing the soft undersides of her tits, feeling gently around her nipples.
Ted tried to relax, just take it all in. John had finally stopped his aimless nuzzling between her tits. Now he was caressing them with some professionalism. Suddenly his mouth came down over one rock-hard nipple. Ted shuddered with delight and deep within her she felt that ratcheting spring take its first turn winding her up once more for the long slow twisting climb toward the unbearable tension that could only end with another orgasm. And she had cum only seconds ago!
His mouth switched rapidly to her other nipple. His tongue began running round the rock hardness of her nipple, tickling her areola with delicate lascivious circles. She felt a great warm wave of passion radiate from her tits, filling her whole body with a delicious sense of anticipation for all the wonderful things to come. How long, she wondered, would these boys be content to pleasure her before they became inured to the sight and feel of a naked female body and started demanding some gratification of their own?
She decided to accept with gratitude whatever the gods of love might give. At the moment they were giving her a soft warm mouth and two tender hands doing their best to stimulate her tits, licking her until the hardness of her nipples rivaled that of the-thirteen-year-old's hard-on.
And sullen fourteen-year-old Albert was surprisingly coy as he made his initial exploration into the hairy jungle of cunt country. His hand still fluttered its hesitant way up and down her thigh, sending sensual tremors up and down her spine until Ted wanted to shriek and yodel her delight. She didn't know whether it was the long abstinence that was turning her on so or if ... suddenly Ted wondered if she had always been this way, with this hidden appetite for young boys in pairs, in trios, by the half dozen ...
Somewhere half hidden in her memory was a thought ... something had happened once when she was a little girl. But who cared what had happened way back then when right now at this minute she lay here naked with two boys kissing her, both eager to prove their manhood. She was going to get fucked. Royally. Over and over!
But it was still Ted's first try at a threesome. She didn't have the slightest idea of how to go about it. Would the boys take turns? Or did she have to devise some method to gratify or delay one while the other was performing? She tried to ignore the multiple sensations of hands and tongues working over her titillated body long enough to think. She couldn't think of anything except how nice it felt.
Little John was kissing dainty circles around her tits, zeroing in on her areolas, licking her nipples. Finally he learned how to plug one nipple into an ear while sucking the other in a game of 'telephone'.
The older boy was busy exploring cunt country. From the timid sorties of his tongue she knew what he wanted to do. But the boy was afraid to test the strength of his own convictions. She felt sympathy for him. Any ghetto boy who had spent fourteen years hearing epithets like cuntlapper and muffdiver would be hesitant. How could he know the proportion of sour grapes that went into these bitter titles, grapes squeezed from the soured empty lives of those unfortunate enough not to find a suitable partner and learn the capacity for joy within their own deprived bodies?
Albert was kissing and nuzzling her belly, plowing his nose into her navel, darting out for timid forays of kissing to the edge of her abundant black pubic patch. She could sense the way he was drawn toward her secret slit, torn between the memory of all those 'dirty' words-he had heard and his sudden discovery of the erotic possibilities. His band caressed her thighs, running gently up and down their tender inner surfaces but apart from one gentle flick which she guessed must have been accidental the older boy had not actually gotten even a finger into her cunt.
Suddenly she knew what was wrong. She remembered the crude stick figures drawn on toilet walls along with more pungent graffiti. Invariably they represented a woman's machinery as a crude slit amid her pubic hair-something in the direct front of her body situated so that a man with a hard-on could walk casually forward and stick it in without missing a step in the waltz. Albert was looking for her cunt in the wrong place. He was afraid to display his abysmal ignorance of the female form by exploring any more in the wrong places.
Ted opened her thighs slightly as his hand came upward in its tender peregrination along her soft inner thigh. The boy's hand once more contacted the fringe of hair on her vulval lips and shied off. His face was buried in her belly just short of the upper border of her pubic patch.
Ted didn't know what to do. Naked, with two naked boys kissing her secret, parts, it was no time for false modesty. She knew Albert's instincts were leading him in the right direction. But how could she help him out? How could she let him know what he was contemplating would not cause thunderclaps and an abrupt end to the world? How could she tell him where it was, that he was a welcome visitor, that all kinds of wonderful things would stem from the junction of her cunt with his mouth? She thought fleetingly of that first time on Mr. Hammel's casting couch. The bald-headed producer hadn't needed anyone to tell him where to put his mouth.
But that was twenty-seven years ago and the middle-aged man had known where he was going and his target had not been obscured with a forest of glossy black pubic hair. Ted's problem was now, with a stiff-pricked fourteen-year-old who was unwilling to admit he couldn't find her ass with both hands.
If she were to grab his head and push him down into where he couldn't help but make contact ... Too risky, she decided. The boy would remember all the pejorative terms invented by those too deprived or too timid to do what comes naturally.
If she were subtly to guide his hand?
There were practical difficulties here too, she knew. Children were natural born conservatives, unwilling to experiment even with strange foods. Ted had just cum. She knew her seething slit would be damp. If he got his hand in first he would be revolted by the very naturalness of nature. Salvation came to her with a flash of blinding inspiration.
Reaching behind her on the narrow settee bunk, she found the jersey she had just shed. With her right hand she captured the nape of Albert's neck in what she hoped he would take as a sudden excess of passion. While she was holding his face pressed deep into the smooth softness of her belly she hastily passed the wadded jersey through her crotch, wiping love's juices away and leaving him a fresh beginning.
She tossed the jersey behind her where it could be handy again then, still holding the boy blinded with his face buried in her belly, she snaked her hand down off the settee until she found the hot throbbing tip of his tool.
Ted closed her fist over it snugly, squeezing just enough to drive the virgin boy into a frenzy of lust. When he bucked and shuddered she was ready. Opening wide her thighs, she drew his panting mouth across her glossy black pubic patch down into the warm softness-of her secret slit. She felt the warm breath of his surprised gasp as he felt his lips mate with the gaping hairy lips of her vulva. Before he could recoil she locked her thighs over his ears imprisoning the boy with his mouth squarely over her cunt. She gave his cock another squeeze.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The boy's warm mouth over her pussy felt so wondrously finger-lickin' good that for an instant Ted was transported back to that first time twenty-seven years ago on Mr. Hammel's casting couch when she had been a tight-bodied, hairless pussied twelve and the bald-headed producer had been fifty going on a hundred.
Mr. Hammel had grabbed her legs and hooked her knees over the tweedy roughness of his shoulders. Then he had bent his head into the hairless gape of her crotch and resumed that kissing and licking that made her feel all funny inside. It was the oddest sensation Ted had ever experienced, this simultaneous tightening and loosening that made her feel as if she had to pee, that made her feel all tight and twisted up inside, yet seemed fraught with the promise of a warm soft release more relaxing than a hundred hot baths.
His hands gripped her waist, sustaining most of her weight so that the awkward posture hanging by her knees from his shoulders was not all that uncomfortable. His wonderfully knowledgeable mouth found the secret triggers that started that delicious tightening once more. Slowly, his tongue rasped up the tender inner, side of one hairless vulval lip and down the other. His tongue darted in to touch her clit, to lick a lascivious circle around it before going down to invade her vagina through the tiny opening at the bottom of her hymeneal curtain. With her maidenhead still intact, Ted was being thoroughly tongue fucked by this skilled practitioner. It felt so good she was unable to worry about the consequences. After all, momma had told her to do what Mr. Hammel said so she might as well enjoy it.
Only gradually did Ted realize that she was being gently lowered and positioned on the couch again. Her knees were still hooked over Mr. Hammel's shoulders and if she had not been practicing at twisting her into a pretzel for years already the position might have been exquisitely painful.
Slowly, Mr. Hammel came up out of her cunt, kissing a steady stream of fire up across her hairless mons veneris, across belly and waist until his tongue was teasing her tiny just sprouting tits. He still knelt between her thighs. As he moved slowly into position atop her Ted felt her knees slip off his shoulders. She tried to lock her ankles behind his back but it was too far around. Then she felt it-felt the hot throbbing tip of his tool pressing against her hard-muscled little ass.
It was a first time for everything. Since she had never felt a cock between her legs before Ted had no way of knowing what Mr. Hammel was up to. Fucking she supposed. What else? There was a sudden sharp pain as he thrust. It hurt more that she had ever believed anything could hurt. And it went right on hurting. He sensed her agony and stopped pushing. "You said you wouldn't!" she gasped between tears.
"I'm not," he murmured. "You're still a virgin."
Ted felt the pain abate as he stopped pushing. He had it halfway in already, she knew. She didn't know what to say. It was only much later when she was a year or two older and wiser in the ways of the world that she fully understood what Mr. Hammel had done. Wise in the ways of lawsuits, he had covered himself perfectly. Should anybody blow the whistle, a medical examination would reveal twelve-year-old Ted was still a virgo intacta. He hadn't slipped it into her cunt. Mr. Hammel was buggering her!
"Just relax," he soothed, "Let it happen. You don't have to do anything. Just relax and I'll do it all."
While he soft-talked her Ted remained acutely aware of that tremendous bargepole sliding into her. Even as he talked he resumed a gentle pressure. But to her surprise it wasn't hurting any more. Slowly she felt it slide in, in, deep until she felt full-like she had to go to the bathroom.
He stopped, rested for a moment, then very slowly began pulling it back out. At first it felt as if he was turning her inside out along with it as he pulled out. Her anus clasped convulsively over this invader and released it with little shuddering jerks. He stopped again with the tremendous knobby head of his hammer just barely inside her. Slowly he began sliding it back in. To her delighted amazement, Ted found her little ass rising to meet him.
Having never been fucked before, she had no way of telling whether she liked this way better or not. But she could tell now that she was going to like it well enough. Love's lubrication was smoothing the path as his honker slid slowly in and out of her. She tried to relax, let her body go and surrender herself fully to this new sensation. It felt so odd, this alternating fullness and emptiness as his great thumping tally whacker first stuffed her full unto bursting, then slowly came out with a feel very like the soul satisfying relaxation that came with a healthy shit. And it was happening over and over faster and faster.
She wanted to let go and savor the new sensation to its fullest but he was kissing and licking her tiny tits and it felt so good. She wanted to relax, let go completely but her traitorous body was responding to Mr. Hammel's impassioned poking, rising halfway to meet him each time his pelvis slammed into the twin cushions of her hard-muscled little ass.
She could feel her insides twisting and turning in reaction to this alternating fullness and emptiness. She sensed that something cosmic was about to happen but she didn't know what. Mr. Hammel seemed to be aware of something imminent too. He was licking and kissing faster, slamming his cock into her harder, faster, deeper, filling and emptying her tiny belly with a regularity that built and stretched until she knew she was going to burst, to melt, to come apart in great-shimmering shards of shattered passion.
Then suddenly it was happening. She felt great gobs of goo come spurting from Mr. Hammel's hammer, softening and easing the blow each time his pelvis slammed into her ass. He was hanging on for all he was worth, twisting and screwing his pelvis against her as he augured his cock in deeper harder, searching for the final sensation.
Then abruptly Ted was melting too. She could actually feel liquid sloshing and spurting inside her and she knew it wasn't all Mr. Hammel's. For a minute she thought she was peeing then she knew it was something else. Her whole body had responded to Mr. Hammel's probing prod and now she was aswim in love's elixir, floating away on a joyous sea of cum.
She was reminded now, twenty-seven years later, of that first and joyous orgasm. Now she had two boys doing their eager best, little John caressing, licking, kissing her tits. Albert had done his timid best to find his way into cunt country. But she had had to help him, grab his cock and simultaneously capture his head between her thighs. She felt the fevered warmth of his tight pressed ears. Then she felt the first timid probe as his tongue began exploring this strange warm soft wetness he had encountered. She gave his cock another squeeze and was rewarded when the boy's whole body stiffened, quivered, held stiff for a galvanized instant. Then finally as he relaxed Albert began gobbling in earnest, licking her seething pussy, running his tongue up and down indiscriminately between her hairy lips, baptizing clitoris and vagina with the chrisms of his virgin tongue.
Using muscles known only to dancers, she twisted her firm body until she could get her other hand down off the, settee. She captured little John's hot throbbing hammer and was rewarded by a moment of galvanized stasis while the boy gasped and struggled not to cum. A moment passed and he expressed his appreciation with a redoubled kissing and licking of her, firm well-rounded tits. She gave his cock another squeeze, stopping just short of hurting him. The boy gasped but she knew she had stopped him from bumming.
What was she going to do? She had both boys by the cock. Easy enough, she knew, to squeeze and caress them until she had twin handsful of joy juice. But what was the good of that? She wanted these boys to fuck her, as long as things had come this far it was pointless to take precautions. But ... she only had one cunt. Belatedly, she realized she also had one mouth. Slowly, she began oozing forward on the narrow settee berth, working her way past the mast where the twin bunks converged in a vast triangular play pen.
Without really paying attention, the passion fogged boys allowed themselves to be drawn along with her until finally all three were on the triangular pad.
Ted lay in the middle, face up, her thighs still locked firmly around Albert whose feet extended away from her, damn near into the chain locker. Little John still knelt to one side, devoting himself to her tits. The younger boy had not made the slightest move toward her ass. She wondered if it was some Freudian lack of breast feeding or if the boys had divided her up in accordance with some unspoken agreement.
Gradually she realized she no longer had to hang onto Albert's ears with her thighs. Once he discovered what to do and where to do it the boy's attention to detail was phenomenal. He lay prone between her legs, face buried in her emit, arms gripping her ass to draw himself in deeper, harder as his eager tongue sought out all her secret places, auguring its way in, screwing around to assault her tender tissues from unexpected angles, turning her on with a passion almost as great as his own.
She had lost her grip on his cock and couldn't reach it any more without throwing off the younger boy. She guessed one squeeze had been enough for the boy's untried tool. From his ardent kissing and licking she was sure he hadn't cum yet. Maybe there would be a chance to get that wonderful hammer of his into her-maybe even two or three good strokes before the boy's hair-trigger virginity exploded and filled her with the juices of joy.
She still had little John's cock in her hand. She squeezed it and was rewarded with a renewed flurry of kissing, licking, nibbling around the rock-hard nipples of her firm full tits. She squeezed again and the boy groaned. She gave his cock another squeeze and suddenly she realized she had gone too far. Little John was out of the game, moaning, groaning, biting and kicking as his outraged cock fired its load into Ted's hand. He gasped and fastened his mouth over her tits for a final time, wheezing and moaning "Oooohhhhh!"
Ted pulled the boy's head upward and fastened her lips over his. As the boy quivered and shot the final drop of his cum they kissed for the first time. Mouth to mouth resuscitation she guessed for already there was a hint of renewing vigor in the thirteen-year-old's dwindling dick.
Little John apparently didn't know much about kissing. She taught him how to swap tongues and they enjoyed a lazy minute of dying passion while Albert lapped steadily at her cunt. Little John finally sighed and fell away. She guessed he was asleep. She really didn't care for all at once Albert was kissing his eager way up out of her secret slit, up across her belly to her deepsunk navel, across her waist, across the invisible boundary of little John's territory until he was licking and kissing her tits.
Wordlessly, Albert worked his way up on top of her until he was kissing her mouth too. He was even less experienced that the younger boy. Ted taught him how to kiss. They exchanged long, soulful kisses and when the boy was relaxing and beginning to enjoy his new craft she shot her tongue suddenly into his mouth.
She felt his wildly waving cock suddenly turn even harder as it rubbed against the inner surface of her thigh. Before it could go astray again she got a hand down there and captured it. Still swapping tongues with the fourteen-year-old, she spread her thighs wide, cocked her knees, and guided the tip of his eager tool into her soft dampness.
For an instant the boy stiffened in frozen delighted ecstasy. She still-held onto his cock. Only the tip was buried in the soft warm yielding flesh of her vulval lips. She squeezed the shank of his cock until she felt the. boy stiffen with pain. There was a frozen moment when anything could have happened, then slowly the boy's stiffened body relaxed. He began pushing.
Slowly she felt the massive head of his cock part her cunt, slide slowly past the lips of her vulva and up the warm slick wetness of her vagina.
Not since a year before Virgil had treacherously gone and died on her had Ted felt anything warmer and more male than the cannula of her douche slide up that secret tunnel. She gasped with sheer unfettered delight as the sensation renewed old memories of happier times when fucking had been spur of the moment and every day. What would it be like to spend every day with these two apprentice studs, she wondered. Exhausting, she supposed. But at the moment she could not think of a nicer way to exhaustion.
Albert's dry foreskin caught on the lips of her vulva, exposing his ready rod which slipped smoothly and easily into her. The boy had it halfway in before he actually realized it had happened: after fourteen years of waiting, hoping, praying, fantasizing, fucking his fist, he was finally actually and really getting it into a woman!
He almost came right at that moment of realization but Ted's full-fisted squeeze saved the day. After a moment of frozen horror, wondering if he would cum or not, the boy finally resumed his slow steady push into her. Ted felt so gooood she knew she would cum in another moment. She wanted to keep the boy's hard-on alive for another minute or two-at least until John was ready to pick up the torch but she knew in her bones by now that this was Albert's first piece no matter how tough and knowledgeable he might pose. If he did explode ignominiously before he ever bottomed out the first time, she could hardly blame him. After all, how many times had she cum already?
Entirely too many, she knew. She ought to be fucked out, ready to collapse of raddled weak knead satiation. Instead, she was hoping and praying for just one more push, one good solid lunge from all that male meat to make her cum again and again and maybe once more after that.
Slowly she felt the boy's prodigious prod settle into her, moving slow as an hour hand as he gritted his teeth and tried not to cum, tried not to think about the juicily delicious culmination of all his dreaming and scheming. Finally she felt his bony pelvis settle against her as he bottomed out. The boy was teetering over the ragged edge of a chasm of orgasm. She couldn't get any hand between their tight-pressed bodies to squeeze. She held her, breath. The boy held his. After a moment he began carefully relaxing.
She didn't dare move her ass. A wiggle and it was all over. Gently, she put her arms over his head and drew his face down into her tits. Maybe if she could get him interested in something else for a moment ...
With his face buried deep in her tits, the boy dung to her waist, holding his body close to hers. Deep inside her she could feel each hot throb as his pulse raced through his cock thrilling her with the rush of hot young blood. It felt so gooooood!
Slowly the boy began exploring the marvelous twin peaks of tit territory. Slowly he began transferring his weight to his elbows so he could back off and get his first good look at what he had striven so mightily to grasp up on deck-beneath her parka.
His first close range look at her matched set nearly made the boy explode right then and there.
Deep in her cunt she felt the dangerous accelerating throb and jerk of his hyper excited hammer. He lowered his face back into the cushiony softness of her twin peaks and closed his eyes. Still she felt his cock throbbing dangerously, rock-hard, ready at any instant to explode and end it all.
Ted was ready to cum too. But she wanted to cum again and again and over a couple more times after that. How many times, she wondered, could she coax a hard-on from these studs? Boys that age were indefatigable. But they were also so hair-trigger as to be practically useless. She wondered what she could do to preserve this boy's magnificent specimen long enough to get some use from it.
Gently, he pulled his face from her tits. This time he began nuzzling and kissing, memorizing their soft femininity for the lonely nights to come.
His lips closed over one of her nipples and the sudden thrill of eroticism sent shimmering waves of warmth through her thrilling body, down to mix with the fiery waves of joy that radiated from the tip of his throbbing tool. Very slowly, the boy began pulling it out. His mouth came down over the nipple of her other tit.
It was too much. Ted felt her insides twist, melt, flow from twin stimuli at cunt and tit. "Oooobhh!" she moaned. She twisted, grinding her ass upward against him, driving his dong back into her deeper, harder, faster. The boy hissed with the effort to control himself, then abruptly he knew it was too late.
"Oooohhhh, wooooww!" he howled, and rammed it to her. They galloped frantically, ram slamming, pouring forth the juices of love in the abandonment of full and complete orgasm, gasping, panting in uncontrollable ecstasy. "Oooohh, ow, wow, ooohhh!" the boy moaned. "OooOohhhh!"
She felt her cunt c-losing in great contractile waves, squeezing and milking the tip of the boy's throbbing tool. She felt the spurt of his cum mixing with her own, then suddenly they fell apart on their sides. She guessed she must have fallen asleep for a moment. When she opened her eyes Albert looked sleepily at her. "That was great," he murmured. She felt a hand caress her ass.
It was little John. Sleepily, she was about to let him do it when she suddenly came awake "No," she said.
"Why?" the younger boy was outraged.
"First we clean up. It's ten times more fun when we're not all sticky." She slid from between the boys back to the head and performed the necessary ablutions. Finished, she tried to make up her mind whether it would be easier to teach the boys the complicated routine with pumps and valves or to wash them off herself. The latter might not be easier, she guessed, but it ought to be more fun. After a moment's thought she decided to start with Albert-get him clean and tidy before his appetite revived and became hair-trigger again. She grabbed him unceremoniously by the cock and led him to the head where she washed him. Then she beckoned to little John.
The curly headed thirteen-year-old was already afflicted with another raging hard-on. She wondered how to handle it. She had held his cock before while he was kissing her tits. She guessed she dared try again. First she sponged off all the sticky bits o cum that had adhered to his-angelic body-some in the strangest places. Finally she began pouring warm water over that pristine second-winded hard-on. The boy was already quivering with excitement, grabbing at her tits and ass every time he could get a hand past her guard. She tossed caution to the winds and grabbed his cock, peeling it back with one swift motion. "Oooohhhh!" he gasped. She squeezed hard and saw it begin to wilt. Quickly, she finished washing it off.
As they returned to the triangular play pen forward of the mast she saw Albert was reviving already. Instantly she knew he was jealous, that he didn't want the younger boy to fuck her. She knew she had to scotch that instinct instantly. "Just wait," she said. Albert glowered but when she grabbed his cock and squeezed she felt his will turn to water. She scooted back up where she had been in the middle of the pad.
Little John squeezed in beside her. He began climbing immediately atop her, kneeing his eager way between her thighs. "Not so fast," she murmured. She pushed downward on the boy's shoulders until he slid down between her legs. "If you think you're old enough to get in there," she said putting a hand over her crotch, "You'll have to work your way up to it just like Albert did."
The curly-headed thirteen-year-old neither argued nor complained. He scooted farther down until his face was between her thighs. Joyously, he began kissing his eager way toward cunt country. To one side of her Albert put out a lazy hand atop her tits.
Good God, Ted thought. I came only minutes ago and here I'm so turned-on I'm ready to howl and yell and kick my heels and cum all over again! She had not realized there was that much energy left in her thirty-nine-year-old body. Then she realized that as little John hunched upward to bury his face in her pubic patch she could feel the original fountain of youth thumping against her shins.
Dreamily, she realized little John was going through the same doggedly misdirected path of discovery, looking for her snatch iii a place where no woman had ever had it. Gently, she opened her thighs and tilted her ass upward, simultaneously grabbing a handful of curls and aiming the boy's face downward. There was an instant's surprised and delighted 'aaahhhh' before she felt his nose plunk squarely atop her clitoris.
She felt her clit swell rock hard and start throbbing. The boy moved cautiously, exploring this new erotic environment. He opened his mouth and she felt his warm breath flow between the swollen pulsating lips of her vulva. He stuck out his tongue experimentally and it entered her vagina. Unable to control herself she felt her thighs open and close, clasping over the boy's ears, pulling him in deeper, harder!
Out of my skull, she mused. This all happened once only minutes ago and now it's all going to happen again and I feel like I hadn't had any at all. It feels so gooood! It feels so wonderful I can't imagine why I've spent more than a year without it when I could have had some any time I was willing to give the nod to any of those half dozen studs but they're all old bastards, older than I am and I never ha-d anything half so good as a fourteen-year-old boy unless it's a thirteen-year-old and both of them together are about ten-thousand per cent better than anything else I can even think of.
The younger boy was rapidly learning his trade as his lips and tongue did their apprentice work around, in and out, up and down her warming cunt. Albert lay to one side with a lazy hand caressing her tits. She gave his cock a friendly squeeze then began caressing the back of little John's head, guiding him subtly from clit to vagina and back again until she felt she was going to twist and turn and churn and melt and flow all over the pad in a joyous puddle of sensual satiation.
It felt so good she surrendered completely to sensuality. With her thought processes turned off she reveled in the feel of a hard-muscled thirteen-year-old achieving his lifetime's ambition between her legs. To one side Albert still lazily caressed her tits, running his finger delicately around her areolas, tickling her nipples to throbbing erection, exploring the cleavage between her twin mountains, titillating their tender, sensitive under sides until she wanted to flop over and grab him and kiss him and ...
But she didn't. Not really. She didn't want to spoil the wonderful feel of little John's trial run down there in cunt country. The curly-headed thirteen-year-old was licking lustily now that he had finally discovered his true vocation. She closed her soft inner thighs over his ears and was gratified when the boy dived in deeper, darting his tongue in lightning feints from vagina to clit and back again. She wondered how the boy had so quickly discovered the secret triggers to her emotions then abruptly she realized.
She had so lost control of her body as she sunk into a pool of sensuality that each time the boy's tongue ticked her clitoris Ted found her thighs closing over his ears, her ass thrusting upward to meet his darting tongue. He was, she decided, a very intelligent little boy. As soon as possible she intended to do something equally delightful for him. But for now it felt so nice just to lie back and let the boy lick her pussy while the older Albert still played lazily with her throbbing tits.
How long, she wondered, could this idyll continue, Not very long, she supposed. But she resolved to accept each moment gratefully. If she showed her gratitude in the proper ways, she was sure there would be other times before the boys were willing to call it a day. Topside she heard the fog bell toll again.
Suddenly she sensed that little John was seeking new worlds to conquer. A moment later in response to her instinct the boy began climbing slowly upward atop her body, kissing his way along the path pioneered minutes ago by Albert-who still lazed to one side, contenting himself with a one-handed stroking of her tits that was leaving Ted very contented indeed. She felt warm waves of passion radiate from Albert's casual tickling hand.
Little John had kissed his way up to her navel now, stopping to plow his way through her pubic patch and dry his face. He continued the now blazed trail across her waist, detouring to kiss his way up and down her ticklish flanks before continuing upward to start licking the tender undersides of her full, upright tits.
She was afraid for a moment that trouble might erupt over some territorial dispute but Albert quietly took his hand away as the smaller boy moved up into firing position. Instead of tickling her tits Albert now stroked her flanks. It was, if anything, even more sensually exciting than his tit-rubbing of a moment ago. Anyhow, little John's tongue was substituting very nicely now for Albert's hand. She got a hand free to give the older boy's cock a friendly squeeze.
Immediately she wished she hadn't. The boy's virility grew in bounding leaps and she felt the sudden surge of renewed desire in him. Hastily she let go of his cock. She tried to concentrate on little John. It was his turn on the firing line. She wondered if he knew how to.
While she was wondering she felt the tip of his cock probing blindly for the portals to her play pen. Before she could get her hand down to guide it she felt the tip of his tool penetrate the lick-slicked lips of her cunt. Unlike Albert, little John was not one to hesitate. He gave her his all.
She felt it going in, in deep. Deeper, it seemed even than Albert had though she was sure the younger boy's cock was slightly smaller. But he didn't hesitate to use it to full advantage. She shuddered with joy as she felt what seemed like endless yards of rod sliding endlessly into her, deeper, harder, poking and probing for the entrance to her womb. In a moment he was going to bottom out and hurt her.
But it was hurting so goooood! She felt her cunt stretch to accommodate the wide flaring head of little John's hammer, then felt her vagina stretching in a delightfully different direction as he went in deep as she expected him to go, then kept right on going until her eyes flew wide open in startled joy. She gasped and held her breath, trying not to cum, trying to devote her full attention to the boy's magic wand. How deep would he go?
Finally, with a mixed feeling of joy and relief she felt his scant-haired pubis grind against her mons veneris. The boy's cock lay vibrant within her buried full length, throbbing as he strained, stretching her to the precarious border between pleasure and pain.
The boy rested, struggled a moment for self control, then began slowly pulling it out. Suddenly it happened. Ted felt great rockets of fire shoot up her spine to explode in her skull. A tremendous contractile wave passed through her belly, her cunt, squeezing-and milking, struggling to pull back in the head--of the boy's withdrawing cock.
He resisted, pulling it out to full length, resting a moment, then starting to slide it slowly back down in again. Then abruptly the boy lost control too. The ram slammed together, rocking back and forth, galloping with wild abandon, moaning like two baboons in the sand pit. Ted felt her insides melting, twisting, flowing, deliquescing. She felt her brains melting and flowing down her backbone, out her cunt in a puddle of cum. It felt so gooood!
She felt the head of little John's cock swell prodigiously inside her until it was pulling her whole cunt along with it, turning her half inside out each time he withdrew. The boy was ramming, smacking his hairless pelvis against her ass with a joyous abandon in total contrast to his caution of a moment ago.
Suddenly she felt the first great jet as the boy's cock erupted with the violence of a fire hose. Her raddled cunt relaxed as it felt the blessed slippery chrism of his cum. The boy still rammed and slammed, banging his ass frantically against hers, trying for one more stroke before his treacherous tool collapsed and he could no longer perform. Ted suspected when she had time to settle down and think things over, considering that this was the first time he had ever fucked anything more exciting than his fist, for a first effort little John had done very well. But, that was for afterwards. Right now her whole body was shimmering in a warm glow of passion as she felt her soul's essence concentrate on the wonderful hot throbbing feel of the boy's dying dong. She rose eagerly to meet his whomping and thumping. Then suddenly the universe spun crazily and the lights went out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I'll be goddamned! she thought when she opened her eyes some moments later. She had a slight headache and a bad taste in her mouth. For a confused moment she remembered once years ago when she had drunk too much. Then abruptly she realized she had been overdoing it in another and, she decided, far more delightful way. If it came to a choice between too much drinking or too much fucking, Ted decided drinking wouldn't even come in fifth.
She stretched and felt the headache go away. Topside the .fog bell tolled. She pulled a curtain from a porthole. The fog was thinning but it was still there. Somewhere around the edge of her attention she heard the boys talking. "Really great!" Albert was saying with no trace of his former sullen machismo. "Just wait till you see what I do this time!"
She heard water splash and guessed they had figured out from watching her how to use the head and wash off. Moments later the two naked Adonis's hove into view. They began oozing in, one on each side of her in the triangular area before the mast. "Be with you in a minute," Ted said. She scooted out of the bunk, evading the hands that grabbed for tits and ass.
The most amazing thing, she guessed, was that her smooth muscular body was still as perfect as it had been this morning. Nothing like keeping in good shape, she guessed. Any other woman who had undergone all the thumping she had taken would be showing bruises by now. She maneuvered her way into the tiny head and douched, sluicing her body off with warm water and flushing a fantastic amount of love's memory from her satiated cunt. Suddenly she realized she had had enough. Good God, she thought. I fainted! She had been licked, kissed, sucked, rubbed and tickled until she lost count of the times she had cum. Only then had the willing boys been allowed to slip it to her in the old-fashioned way.
Now she had ... she tried to remember. They had been grab-assing so long things tended to fuse together in a single erotic montage of young male bodies assaulting her from every angle. Finally she sorted it out. The boys had each cum once, quickly and explosively in her knowledgeable bands. Then each had slipped it to her once, managing a quite respectable fuck for an inexperienced thirteen and fourteen-year-old virgin.
And now, she realized, they were already making bets, planning strategy for the next round. She sighed and gave her immaculate body a final check in the mirror on the head door. She was still a ballerina at thirty-nine--not an ounce of flab or fat on her. She wondered how many girls of twenty could compete.
She was tired, sated, didn't really want to do anything but just lie down in a soft comfortable bed and sleep forever. But ... she had led the boys on.
It wouldn't be fair to deprive them now. Besides ... once she got going again maybe she could build up some enthusiasm. Even if she couldn't, they were only boys. What could they know about whether she was enjoying it or not? More importantly, would they even care? She gave a wry grin. This particular pair of male chauvinist pigs just wanted to stick it in her again. And she might as well accept whatever they had to offer with humble gratitude.
Slowly, shoulders back and bare tits standing proud like twin headlights, she approached the triangular bunk where the boys waited in silent expectation. Making as much of a production of it as she could in the confined space, she twisted her graceful body about and begin oozing in between to hot throbbing young bodies full of male joy, willing to spend their machismo upon her.
She turned and lay face upward between them. Without warning Albert was atop her, kneeing her thighs apart. Before she could protest he had threaded her needle. She felt the hot length of his throbbing hammer slide smoothly up her cunt. Good God, she thought, why did I even bother cleaning up? But ... Albert was only a boy. He was hot to trot. She decided the best thing to do was just lay back, relax, and let him hump and thump until he had spilled another hair-trigger load.
But once more Albert--surprised her. "Sorry," he muttered.
"For what?" Ted asked in some surprise.
"I had to get it in in a hurry."
"Why?"
The boy stiffened for a moment, pushing his ass against hers. There was a tense moment while they both waited to see if he was going to cum. Finally Albert released a heavy breath. "I don't know," he said. "I guess just thinking about how I was going to do it next time. And then that funny snaky way you come walking back here."
Ted smiled a secret inner smile. At least she still knew how to turn a man on. All those years stretching her ass into a pretzel at the practice bar were worth something. "Just what were you planning on doing this time?" she asked.
Albert wasn't saying. After an instant's reflection she knew he hadn't better. Despite having cum twice already, once in her hand and once in her cock pocket, the boy was still so keyed up at the realization that after all these lonely desperate years he was actually lying here naked atop a real live woman, with his cock in a real warm soft wet cunt, that to say or even think what he was planning to do to this naked woman beneath him would be enough to end it all right now and he might never get another chance at fucking.
Ted closed her eyes. She let her whole body relax. She concentrated on the feel of the boy's hot throbbing maleness spiked deep as he could get it within her. She could feel the beat of his racing heart transmitted through the throb of his knob. Overlaid was the slower, heavier rhythm of his breathing. She could feel the convulsive contractions of the complicated sphincter musculature as the boy squeezed, trying spasmodically to resist the overwhelming desire to cum.
She tried to concentrate, to inventory the simply physical sensation of what it was like to have a hot young cock inside her. First of all, there was the pressure of his hard young body pressing down on her as she lay supine, thighs spread and knees flexed to make room for him.
The boy's fourteen-year-old body was tall as it would ever be. But he still hadn't grown up yet except for the length of his magnificent cock. He was slim, just hairing at crotch and chest, and bore a magnificent framework for the muscles that would someday be there. At the moment he was slim, smooth, with the wondrous male grace of some pre-Christian statue. But the part of him she was most aware of was his stiff, hard, hot throbbing cock.
She was aware of its length, its flared head. But she had to get her thoughts in order, make an. inventory if she was to remember this golden moment during the years of solitude that were sure to come.
First, there was the slightly stretched feel of her vulva as its hairy lips were parted to make room for this visitor. It felt ... good. She didn't know how else to describe the stretched flexion of that swollen, well-haired lip. She supposed she would be more aware, more sensitive if somebody were patting, rubbing or licking the lips of her cunt. But she could think of nothing else one half so satisfying as the feel of her vulva stretched around a hot throbbing cock.
Then there were the difficult to describe feelings inside as her cunt stretched its marvelously flexible lining to accommodate this throbbing invader. His cock was hot, as if the boy were running a temperature. She felt its warm pulsating length inside her, pushing everything this way and that to make room for its rampant male chauvinism.
Albert's whole body was stiff as his cock as he struggled not to cum. She marveled at the fourteen-year-old's vitality. This would be his-third? She guessed so. How many times would the boy explode before he could settle down and do a-man's job of fucking?
Gradually, one muscle at a time, she felt the boy's body relax. She tried to let her own body go loose, doing nothing at all that would provoke an explosion from this wonderful hair-triggered boy. Finally, cautiously as if he were defusing a bomb, the boy began pulling his rock-hard cock out.
She felt her insides move and flow back into place, felt the sudden warm glow that meant in another minute she was going to cum again. The boy was still puffing it out, slow as an hour hand. He reached the end of his stroke and hovered, the tip of his cock barely inside her love-slicked vulval lips. Then, even more slowly than before, the boy began sliding it back into her.
Ted thought she had never experienced anything one half so delicious as the feel of that long slow stroke. She wished it would go on forever, that the boy would keep feeding slow miles of maleness into her, until it came out her mouth, out of her ears!
Albert's ended only some six inches from where it began. Before Ted had time to regret it he was pulling out again, moving a little faster now as he gained confidence.
She felt her cunt clenching, clutching at his cock, trying to pull it back inside her deeper, faster, harder. But if the boy felt he gave no sign. He pulled his cock slowly out, hovered once more over her, supporting his weight on his elbows to each side of her rib cage, enclosing her in his maleness, bare bouncing his smooth muscled chest against the pneumatic firmness of her proudly upstanding tits. Each time his body touched her throbbing nipples she felt a rush of fire up through her belly.
He hovered, cock tip barely inside her, started to put it back in, hesitated, gritted his teeth for a hair-raising moment, then feinted once more. Ted gritted his own teeth as she waited, wondering if this bliss could continue or if it would end with another ignominious explosion. Finally the boy was sliding it deep down into her again. Ted released a happy sigh. "Aaaahhhh!"
Albert concentrated on his fucking, rubbing his smooth hard body gently up and down, sideways across her until the whole front of her body from thighs to tits was super sensitized to the slightest movement of his hard-throbbing maleness against her. His chest touching and tickling her nipples turned her on with a totality so complete that for seconds at a time she actually forgot all about the wonderful maleness that was sliding in and out, in and out with a gradually increasing rhythm.
But Albert didn't forget. Gradually gaining confidence, he began experimenting. At first he had been so filled with breathless delight at merely being able to get it into her before coming that he had been able to do little else. But now that Ted lay totally passive and motionless, doing nothing to help, the boy started branching out, searching out odd sensations in her passive body.
He pulled out, hesitated, feinted two or three times before suddenly driving it back in with a magnificent slam. He stopped at the bottom of his stroke, holding for a moment, straining for another silly millimeter of penetration before beginning his long slow stroke out. Halfway out he hesitated, poked in and out a couple of times, then bottomed again instead of coming all the way out.
Ted tried to relax, to take it all without reacting. But it was hard to make her cunt relax when it wanted to cuddle and squeeze this wonderful warm maleness. She felt her insides tensing and gathering forces for another orgasm. Please, she prayed, not yet. Don't make me squirm and wiggle and twist until the poor boy can't control himself! Let him get his fill of fucking at least once!
Albert's dedication was noble and complete. He still hovered atop her, rubbing his smooth hard body over hers, rubbing his smooth hard cock inside her soft warm cunt. He stopped, twisted, poking his cock into her from odd angles that stretched her vagina in delightfully different directions, awakening memories far older than Albert.
Suddenly she was back on the casting couch in Mr. Hammel's office, a twelve-year-old virgin getting buggered by an impresario too smart to take her maidenhead. What a day that had been!
Mr. Hammel's bald spot turned flaming red as he slipped his thing up her asshole. And after the surprise and the first bright flame of agony Ted had managed to relax and discover it was not all that bad. There was something kind of nice about the feel of Mr. Hammel's hot male body over her. She had been handled before by men-by faggot ballet instructors who twisted and manipulated her with no more feeling than if she had been a lump of clay being twisted into some new erotic statue. But Mr. Hammel was different. In some basic way she knew that even though he was hurting her almost as much as some of the ballet masters had, he was hurting her in an entirely different way-a personal way.
The knowledge that Mr. Hammel was enjoying himself as he enjoyed her made a great difference to twelve-year-old Ted. She tried to relax, to let him put it in deeper and harder if that was what he wanted. If that was what she was going to have to do to get the part ... Mother had warned her there would be sacrifices.
And it wasn't all that much of a sacrifice. At least she was lying down, relaxing as Mr. Hammel did all the work. And it felt so funny. Good kind of funny-like a long slow tickle from somebody who really loved her. Each time his cock went up her ass she felt filled unto bursting with the desire to shit. Each time it came out she felt the blessed relief that came after a healthy evacuation. And she could feel the brush of crisp hair around his cock banging into the half open lips of her smooth hairless vulva, tickling that funny little part inside where the pee came out. It felt so funny. It felt so gooood!
Each time he came down against her tight-stretched little ass she felt that tickle of hair against clitoris. There was a growing feel of tension, of something building. She didn't know what but somewhere in the back of her mind was the growing expectation that soon now any minute something wonderful was going to happen.
As Mr. Hammel continued pouring his cock to her she felt her asshole slowly loosen and lubricate. Soon he was doing all sorts of delightful little feints, stopping halfway in, pulling out, changing direction unexpectedly. Then he was abruptly twisting himself with unexpected agility until his mouth was fastened over one of the just-swelling buds of her soon-to-be breasts.
Ted had never known their swollen tenderness could feel so delightful until his mouth fastened over one tiny nipple and began sucking, kissing, licking until her virginal areola framed a nipple swollen to rock-hard erection. He took his mouth away and she was almost in tears. Then he put his mouth down on her other tit and everything was wonderful again.
His hands were caressing her ass, slipping between their straining bodies to rub her belly, running smoothly up and down her ribs, enfolding her in a warm glow of eroticism. As Mr. Hammel accelerated his pumping she felt her tiny hard-muscled ass begin bobbing, rising each time to meet his thrust. He was still kissing her tiny tits and she could see the top of his head getting pinker and pinker, until she was sure it must be as flushed as her own soft inner thighs. Everything felt so warm, so soft, so wonderful, except for Mr. Hammel's cock and that was most wondrously hard, seemingly able to maintain its steadfast erection indefinitely.
She put out a tentative hand and touched the nape of Mr. Hammel's neck. It must have been the right thing to do for. Mr. Hammel was suddenly driving it into her deeper, harder, faster. He got his hand down there too and between plunges he was twinking her tiny virginal clit. "Aaaahhh!" he moaned.
Ted felt it happening. It was like she was coming apart, melting and flowing into strange new shapes under the force of Mr. Hammel's busy body working on hers. Waves of joy flooded her still unfucked cunt, making her feel wet and sloppy but happier and more fulfilled, more rested and relaxed than she had ever been before. It was as if she had just taken a sudden and impossibly hot bath and all the sweat, all the aches and pains of a week's hard practice at the ballet bar had been flushed from her aching body in one giant and instantaneous expulsion.
She felt great jets of warm softness flow abruptly up her ass and wondered if she or Mr. Hammel was responsible. Suddenly it seemed as if they were both swimming in a pool of the joyous juices of love. "Oooohhhh!" Mr. Hammel moaned.
Ted felt herself melt and flow until it felt as if she would dribble through the cracks in the cushions and end up on the floor. For a moment Mr. Hammel was immobile atop her. Then he gave a tremendous sigh and rolled slightly. His flaccid cock came out of her ass with an audible 'thuck' like a cork from a bottle of champagne. And Ted felt herself empty, drained, totally and completely used up. She wondered if she would ever find the strength to walk again.
"You're wonderful," Mr. Hammel gasped. "Best I've ever ... " He didn't finish saying it.
"Is that all?" Ted asked sleepily. "Don't you want to do anything more?"
Mr. Hammel kissed her and said no, maybe tomorrow and took her into his own private toilet where, surprisingly, there was a shower and bidet. Ted was American but every ballet studio had a bidet somewhere so she scrubbed her ass professionally under Mr. Hammel's benevolent gaze. "Really wonderful," he repeated.
"Do I get the part?" Ted had asked.
"At least once a day for the duration of the run I promise you'll get that part," Mr. Hammel promised, and thus twelve-year-old and still virginal Ted went home without understanding exactly what Mr. Hammel's promise had meant.
She found out in the next few months though, and learned several refinements in the art of love which can become complicated enough if a girl intends to remain a virgin.
But all that was years ago. At thirty-nine Ted was no virgin. Nor, as of something like an hour now, was fourteen-year-old Albert. While she had been dreaming of the dear dead days with Mr. Hammel the boy had sneaked in a rest. He lay, half supporting his weight atop her, deliberately cooling out his cock, letting it soak in the comforting warmth of her cunt. She felt its solid bulk still stretching her to the painful precipice of prurient pleasure. She clenched her cunt muscles and gave him a friendly squeeze.
Abruptly Albert was through resting. He pulled out, out, out until she was sure she would lose her tenuous grip on the tip of his tool, then without warning WHAM! She felt his hard-muscled pelvis slam against her ass as he drove ft in up to the hilt, hitting her with a solid smack that threatened to drive it in up to her lungs.
And without warning Ted came. Came explosively, finally, melting, shrieking, flowing, deliquescing into a puddle of spent passion. "Ooohhh!" she moaned, and closed her eyes. The bunk tilted suddenly as if they had struck heavy weather and she felt herself slipping, sliding, corkscrewing way down into some deepening, blackening hole.
When she woke she didn't believe it.
It was bard to believe that anything could have happened that would make her cum so hard, with such a total burst of passion that she couldn't even remember passing out. But she knew she must have fainted because she was in a different position now. The boys had moved her around and gotten her in between them. Albert must have cum the same moment she did for he no longer had his cock inside her. She must have been out for some time, she guessed, for he had washed off. She felt herself and realized the boys must have done their best to clean her up too. Only now she lay on her side and little thirteen-year-old John's curly head was nuzzling her tits. He had his cock in her and was fucking away like a frantic rabbit.
I'll kill myself if I keep this up, she knew. She had to do something before these boys wore her out. Good God, she'd fainted twice now. How much more of this could she take? She wondered what was wrong with her. Whores took on fifty or more men in a night and were none the worse for wear. But ... whores didn't get involved in their work. Ted knew what she had to do. She had to get a grip on herself and not cum every time one of these teenage studs got his wand into her magic box. It was her own fault she guessed, for holding out so long. Now her body was taking its revenge and making up for lost time.
She closed her eyes and tried not to think about the curly-headed thirteen-year-old who had his cock in full erection, his full erection filling her cunt, alternately stuffing and emptying her belly as he ram slammed his lust into her, whamming and bamming like some animated toy or a rabbit on speed.
He was trying to get it all together before he came. She guessed the best thing she could do to help was nothing at all. If she were to open her eyes or move or evince the slightest interest in what this boy was doing to her passive body she knew that tiny added element of excitement would be enough to set him off. And if he came now he would recover in a few minutes and want to fuck her again-and again, and again! Christ, she was tired!
Ted was sorry she had ever even considered the idea of letting these two untried studs prove their virility on her. Then, unbelieving, she felt her body begin to react to the stimulus of a hot young cock pounding away at her as hard, as fast, as deep as a hairless thirteen-year-old could pour it to her.
His curly head was still buried in her tits. Then abruptly he surfaced, breathed raggedly, and dived back down into her tits again. Only this time he fastened his mouth over her nipple and began sucking. Ted felt that old familiar feeling in her belly, felt herself starting to turn on under the relentless assault of this thirteen-year-old's mouth and prick. She wondered what the boy was feeling-if his first-time sensations had anything in common with what she had experienced that memorable day when she had been twelve and Mr. Hammel had been anywhere between fifty and a hundred.
The boy was still pounding away at her pussy, giving her his all, neither pacing himself nor making any effort to hold anything back. She wondered how long he could get away with it before his immature body betrayed him with another hair-trigger orgasm.
She felt her raddled body gather forces for another orgasm of her own and knew she had to stop it. If she came again this soon ... Maybe if she opened her eyes and cooperated ... Ted put her arms around the boy and drew him deeper into her. She wrapped her legs around his lean muscular ass and pulled him toward her. She caressed the nape of his neck and moaned encouragement.
Abruptly the boy stopped pumping. And just as abruptly Ted knew what her mistake had been. She should have known better. After all, little girls had the same fantasies too, didn't they? She guessed it must be a part of developing sexuality-this secret feeling that each little boy and girl on earth was the first one ever to discover the joys of fucking.
And since each hard-throbbing hot little body knew that it alone possessed the secret of this immense and unholy joy, it stood to reason that fucking could never be a cooperative affair. Fucking could never be as much fun for the other person as for oneself. By all the rules of logic and everything a boy or girl had been taught all his life, fucking was something dirty-vaguely related to bathroom functions and certainly not the kind of thing one's parents or any really nice people did.
Therefore fucking was something that had to be attained by stealth, by trickery, by any hook or crook means, but never by the simple expedient of simply asking cooperation in a venture between equal partners.
All of which is just another way of saying that little John had been getting his jollies with Ted's body as long as he thought she was unconscious of asleep. Once he learned she was awake and as eager as he all the fun went out of it. She felt the boy's cock dwindling within her newly throbbing cunt. Ted didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
She was grateful for the rest but abruptly she knew there was life in the thirty-nine-year-old cunt yet. If she could just relax and enjoy a gentle turn-on without letting herself get worked up into these body wracking uncontrollable orgasms, Ted knew she was still willing to put up with a few hours of gentle joy.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
The boy muttered something into her tits and she wondered if now she was going to have a new problem with this one going sullen instead of the fourteen-year-old.
"Didn't anybody ever tell you that girls like to do it too?" she probed.
"Huh?" The idea was so alien to little John that he surfaced and stared into her eyes.
"Really," Ted said. "Just about anybody likes to do it if you ask us right and be nice. It's just as much fun for us as it is for you."
"Why didn't nobody ever tell me?" the boy asked in a doubtful voice.
"Did you, ever ask?"
While the boy was trying to think up an answer she gave his cock a cunt-squeeze. To her mild surprise she found it growing again.
"No kidding?" the boy finally said. "Do you really like it?"
"Would I be letting you do it if I didn't?"
Obviously this thought had never entered the boy's mind. "Golly!" he finally exclaimed. "What do you like best?"
"What do you like best?" Ted countered.
"Well, damn, I don't know." The boy suddenly discovered his revivified rod. He gave an experimental shove and discovered he could still get it in and out of her without its bending double. "Just doin' that, I guess," he said, and began pumping.
"Take it easy," Ted cautioned. "You don't have to hurry."
"No?"
"I'm not going to disappear or turn into a pumpkin. You can do it as long as you want to. But if you'll just relax and take it slow you might end up doing it a lot longer."
"Yeaaahhh!" little John agreed. He slowed and began feeding her lazy penetrations, stopping at the bottom of each plunge to savor the warm goodness at the bottom of her newly throbbing cunt. Ted sighed and relaxed, savoring the warmth of a gentle turn-on. How long, she wondered, could she hold out this way, just relaxing, letting the boy do all the work, enjoying the gentle joy of a slow fuck, never quite letting herself cum again?
"What about me?" Albert asked.
"What?"
"Me! You tell him he can go on forever and take all the time he wants. When do I get my turn again?"
"Oh dear!" Ted sighed. "I hadn't thought about that." Actually, she had thought about it but it had only been minutes since Albert had cum explosively inside her-cum with a virulent passion that had made her faint with the intensity of her own response. She had thought he would be out of action for at least an hour if not forever. And here only moments later the boy wanted to get it into her again!
"Are you really ready so soon?" she asked.
"I'm always ready," Albert growled with a hint of his former sullenness.
Ted tried to look at the boy but with little John pumping steadily away between her legs, head buried between her tits as he rapidly switched from one to another, keeping both her nipples hard as marbles, she really didn't have too much freedom of movement. She put out an exploring hand and bumped Albert's hard-muscled belly where he lay alongside her. She wondered if the boy was even aware of bow he was unconsciously slipping higher in the bunk so she could ...
Ted's hand encountered the crisp patch of his pubic hair, then closed around his cock. It was hard, throbbing, ready once more for action. "Oh, dear!" she murmured. "We'll have to work something out."
CHAPTER NINE
"You already did it that way," Albert protested. For an instant Ted didn't know what the boy meant, then she realized he had taken her last words literally. Having once tasted the joys of fucking, Albert wasn't about to accept second best again and let her work off a batch by hand.
She wondered what she ought to do. She could moan and wriggle and maybe finish off the thirteen-year-old before he had planned. But she really didn't want to. What was the percentage for her in provoking needlessly another cock-softening orgasm and switching to reserve manpower before absolutely necessary? Besides, it felt so gooood to have little John giving her his unreserved all as he pumped away with the indefatigable steadiness of an oil well rig.
But it would never do to have Albert go into one of his sulks again. "You'll get your chance," she promised the older boy. She gave his cock another affectionate squeeze. "It'll really be better if you rest a while first."
"Why?"
"Well," she began. It was very difficult to concentrate on explanations with little John's thirteen-year-old mouth and cock doing their level best to force her over the precipice into a bottomless chasm of orgasm. She tried to shut out the feel of his mouth on her swollen nipples, of his hard young cock sliding firmly in and out, in and out. But it felt so gooood!
She forced herself back to Albert's question. "Well," she repeated, "Don't you want to go on doing this for the rest of your life? After I'm long gone there'll still be other girls, you know."
"No!"
Abruptly she realized the fourteen-year-old had gotten himself entrapped in the toils of the differences between love and fucking.
"There will be," Ted said firmly. "Just as there'll be other boys for me. And if you were yourself out now, just think of all the years of fun you'll be missing."
"Wear myself out?"
Ted really didn't know whether she was talking nonsense or not but it seemed logical to her that a boy could overfuck just as he could overeat or anything else. "You'll strain yourself," she said. "It'll only hurt a little bit now but later it'll hurt a lot worse and then someday it'll hurt so bad you won't be able to do it at all."
From the sudden slackening of tension in the boy's throbbing cock she knew she had struck a responsive chord. She tried to imagine what it must be like to be a boy, to be fourteen, just discovering the joys of sex, to fuck one's fist so many times that finally orgasm was attained only at the expense of flogging a dead horse unmercifully until it gave a final spurting drop and subsided to the miseries of a stone ache. Probably, she guessed, it would feel even worse that she had felt at twelve after four hours of twisting her ass into ballet positions. She was doubly glad she had not been a boy, knowing that if their positions had been reversed-if she had been a virile young man attempting to satisfy two demanding women it would all have been over hours ago, leaving her exhausted and two women angry and unsatisfied. It was much nicer, Ted knew, to be a woman. A woman could just relax and let a man fuck her. Whenever she felt like it she could fuck back but she didn't have to. There was no penalty attached to poor performance. These boys, she knew, would someday be troubled to get it up even once. Definitely, it was nicer to be a woman.
But her womanly guise was turning on dangerously under the sustained pumping of this indefatigable thirteen-year-old who still buried his curly head in her tits, giving her almost as much of a turn-on with his eager tongue as he was doing with his hot throbbing cock pumping away at her revived vagina. She had to do something. She didn't want to come again. It would be all right just to lie here and enjoy being fucked but she didn't want to feel herself scale the heights of passion's mountain again, didn't want to tumble once more into the chasm or orgasm that would make her faint, make her come to weak and shaken, with a bad taste in her mouth and an incipient headache. Ted didn't want that at all.
She felt Albert oozing imperceptibly higher where she could get a firmer grip on his cock. For a boy who didn't want a hand job he was amazingly cooperative. Then suddenly she realized what the fourteen-year-old was aiming for. She wondered if he knew himself what his body was straining toward. Maybe he did. Maybe he was just hoping, wishing, wanting to trick her just as little John had hoped to sneak a quick one into her while she was asleep. Boys, she guessed, would be boys.
She gave his cock another squeeze and Albert stiffened, gritting his teeth. Amazed, Ted relaxed her friendly grip. She had known from Albert's erection that he was hot to trot but she hadn't realized how much difference one year could make in a boy's development. Albert's active imagination combined with his healthy fourteen-year-old body had him in such a state of constant sexual excitement that he was still hair-trigger despite having fucked her as many times as little John. She wondered how many more times the fourteen-year-old would have to cum before be developed any real staying power. And then she realized that must be what Albert was wondering too. Subconsciously or otherwise, he must be contrasting his jackrabbit performance with the indefatigable thirteen-year-old's who still pumped confidently away atop her, licking her tits and kissing her nipples with a one-two rhythm in time to the inexorable prodding of his prodigious prick.
"Don't worry," she murmured into Albert's ear. "It's just because you're older and stronger. You'll be able to do it hours after he's fallen asleep." She wondered if she was talking nonsense.
If she was, at any rate it was comforting nonsense. She felt Albert's confidence grow. He scooted an inch higher on the bunk, managing to rub his hard young body against any part of her not already in possession of the thumping thirteen-year-old. Ted began to worry. She knew what, sooner or later, she was going to have to do. But how? Maybe if she rolled over onto one side.
She feinted a couple of times but little John was having none of it. He was firmly in the saddle, riding her in classic missionary position, driving his insatiable cock deep into her gaping cunt with each thrust between her flexed knees. She felt her thighs clasp in involuntarily, reveling in the feel of firm young masculinity performing between her legs. The boy's face was still buried in her tits as he played 'telephone' plugging one nipple into an ear while he kissed and licked the other. Ted guessed as long as the boy was performing this way there was little point in making him change position. After all, she had wanted a long spell of plain straight fucking so she could just relax and hover halfway up the slope of an orgasm. Little John was doing just fine.
But Albert? While she had been considering ways and means the boy had managed to scoot higher alongside her supine body. His hands caressed her flanks, the cheeks of her ass, the sides of her tits, every part of her that was not occupied by the younger boy.
Ted caught Albert's head and pulled his face down to hers. Their lips touched, and before the boy could protest she had her tongue in his mouth. Albert responded with enthusiasm, swapping tongues with her a* he arched his back, bringing his pelvis higher where she could caress his hot throbbing cock without stretching.
She felt his renewed vigor, felt the thump of heart and cock in unison, sensed the squirm of his balls as they readied a new charge for firing. She tried to maneuver her one unoccupied hand around too but she couldn't reach. With his mouth still glued to hers, swapping tongues like a veteran, the fourteen-year-old twisted his body in a way she could admire with professional detachment. Thighs gaping as wide as hers under the prolonged pounding of little John, he presented his crotch to her two handed caress.
Ted tickled his balls, making an erotic ritual of it as she counted hairs. Her other hand still gripped loosely the head of his cock and she could tell from the sudden surge of hot blood and the increasing throb that she was getting close to home. She put out a probing finger, careful not to hurt him as she traced the ticklish outline of his anal sphincter, then trekked a single fingernail safari up and down his perineum, gently tickling that tender strip of skin between asshole and balls until the boy's thighs were closing convulsively over her hand just as her thighs were disobeying her and locking about the steady rise and fall of little John's pelvis as he poured his thirteen-year-old cock to her raddled pussy.
It all felt so gooood! Ted tried not to think of all the lean years-the wasted years when she could have been doing wonderful things like fucking two boys at once instead of twisting her little ass out of shape at the practice bar. It was funny. During that one run of a month's one-a-day shows she had let Mr. Hammel do all sorts of wonderful things to her. Yet it had never occurred to her to experiment with anyone else after the production was over and Mr. Hammel had gone on his happy way toward some other budding Lolita. It had remained in her mind as a fond memory but there had been another show to practice for and all the boys in that cast had been more interested in each other than in her and the prima ballerina had been a kindly veteran of thirty-five whose only interest in Ted had been to knit her a. nice sweater. By the time, she was rested enough to be bored and curious again her interlude with Mr. Hammel had become rather hazy and, she suspected, the sort of thing only little girls of twelve did. And she was now thirteen.
And now she was thirty-nine, widowed, retired, with nothing to do but sail and fuck. Since her husband had died it had been all sailing. She guessed it was time for a turnabout. Somewhere topside the fog bell tolled. The yacht rocked gently at anchor and little John was timing his thrust so that the motion of the boat helped him slam into her deep each time she came up and he came whamming down.
And Albert was hovering anxiously in the wings, waiting for his turn once little John was fucked out. Ted guessed she could be in worse fixes-like alone! She caressed Albert's fourteen-year-old erection. She ran a gentle, tickling finger around the base of his cock, stirring the pubic bush with her fingernail. The boy's cock throbbed and pulsated. She focused her eyes and turned her head. Only inches away the boy's erection of perfection pointed straight at her. As she watched a tiny drop of crystal fluid formed at its tip.
She ran her titillating fingernail around Albert's balls, tickled their squirming hairiness, ran that gentle loving finger up the sensitive underside of his cock and stopped momentarily, to pat the bottom of his cockhead. The boy lunged uncontrollably and nearly poked her eye out.
It was the first time she had been able to get, a really good close look at the boy's equipment. His cock was long and straight, with a beautifully formed head that came to a rather sharp point, then flared magnificently to a glans penis that she still remembered for the way it had gone into her like a whaler's harpoon, hooking deep inside and trying its rigid best to turn her inside out each time the boy pulled it out. As she studied this magnificent cock only inches away the angry purple tip of the head peeped one-eyedly from the boy's tight-stretched foreskin.
She ran a testing finger around the taut foreskin and was rewarded with a throbbing jerk of renewed passion. The boy's pelvis reacted involuntarily under passion's stimulus and he lunged until she had to move her head away. Meanwhile little John was pumping away steadily between her legs, filling her whole body with a warm and gentle fullness. The curly-headed thirteen-year-old still played a frantic game of telephone, plugging one nipple into an ear, licking his message of love into the opposite tit, then switching rapidly to listen to his message transmitted through the vibrant nerves of her passion-flushed body.
Ted's tiring body was so assaulted with fresh and lovely sensation she hardly knew how to appreciate all the wonderful things that were happening to her. Her slack cunt had once more tightened as the boy's relentless prodding reawakened desire in her flat-muscled belly. Her tender inner thighs glowed from the friction of that wonderful hard-muscled little ass working so valiantly between them. Her vagina's flushed inner surface filled with fresh throbbing juices to lubricate the boy's tireless thrill drill. She felt her womb quiver with anticipation as it stirred and struggled to open and receive the boy's precious load. Under the boy's constant licking and kissing and sucking her tiny, still virginal nipples swelled and throbbed with the desire to suckle a child she had never had. She felt her insides twist and chum, gathering strength for a new assault on the slopes of Mount Orgasm and wondered what she could do to stop it.
She had to stop thinking about what little John was doing to her. No matter how delightful it felt to lie here and let the curly-headed thirteen-year-old pimp himself to exhaustion as be ministered to her need, she had to shut him out and think of something else unless she wanted to scale those heights and once more plunge into an abyss of uncontrollable, gut-wrenching passion that would leave her weak and trembling, without will or control. She had to get her mind off what the wonderful little boy was doing to her.
Suddenly she realized that, boxed in as she was between two passionate and immature studs there was only one way she could divert her awareness from what the younger boy was doing to her, all the wonderful ways he was trying to wear out her cunt. She knew now it was time to devote herself to giving the older boy his moment of joy too. There was, she new, more blessedness in giving than in receiving.
Ted took a deep breath, focused her eyes on the throbbing gently waving tip of Albert's hot throbbing tool. Moving gently toward it, she saw it go out of focus. Then she could feel the passionate warmth of it radiating toward he cheeks and lips. She opened her mouth wide, moved resolutely forward until she felt that throbbing warmth inside her. Then, very carefully she began closing her mouth.
CHAPTER TEN
The boy's reaction was one of mixed delight, surprise, and disbelief. She wondered why the boy should be so surprised. After all, he had paid his entry fee into her cunt by licking it, kissing it, nibbling on her clit until she had been swimming in a sea of passion so storm tossed she would have cheerfully admitted a bargepole into her seething slit. Now she was just returning the compliment. If it did nothing else, at least this exercise would help her get her mind off all the wonderful ways little John was trying to make her cum again.
She let her lips close rightly around the shank of Albert's flagpole. She felt the great throbbing head of his thrill drill thumping wildly atop her tongue, filling her whole mouth with a warm vibrant maleness as the boy struggled not to cum. She heard him grit his teeth and felt him stiffen with the effort to contain himself.
Meanwhile little John pumped indefatigably, wearing away at her cunt, filling her with a delicious tiredness interrupted occasionally by wild flashes of flaming passion that brought her nearly to the edge of orgasm. She tried not to think about what was going on down below, the lovely in and out, in and out of the thirteen-year-old's fabulous six inches, the passionate dedication of his nonstop game of "telephone" on her firmly upstanding tits.
Instead, she concentrated on the skin flute which Albert had presented for her to play, trying to remember what it reminded her of to have that hot throbbing hammer filling her mouth.
Today seemed to be a day for memories. She hadn't thought about Mr. Hammel and his approach to virginity for years. It was funny. She had always thought she was just a little less interested in sex than most people. After all, she had managed to remain a virgin until she was in her late twenties. And the various abortive experiences during her years as a demi vierge had all retreated into some, limbo where they had moldered in forgotten neglect until this afternoon when her body had finally wrought its vengeance against her and rebelled. Now she was remembering all sorts of things. Like the time after Mr. Hammel.
Reflecting now, she supposed the impresarios must have each possessed his little black book of complaisant mothers of Lolita-ballerinas. In any event, she had never lacked for a job after that month with Mr. Hammel. She remembered Mr. Hughes, lean and tweedy, who had produced the next show she was in. He had opened a new dimension in her life. He had taught her to love the great outdoors.
At first Momma had been doubtful but some secret sign had passed between them and the next thing Ted knew she was being driven out into the country by Mr. Hughes who had scared her nearly out of her wits with his warnings about snakes.
Ted had never seen a snake outside of a zoo. And in those dear dead days before TV she was fair game for any wild story from hoop snakes to the kind that sucked cows. Mr. Hughes had not led her down the garden path with any such tall tales. Instead, he had given her a more or less factual account of the number and variety of snakes in this part of California.
"Actually," he reassured her, "we'll probably never even see one. But it's best that you know what to do just in case."
"What's that?" Ted wondered. She was wise by now in the ways of producers and when Mr. Hughes had pulled her over next to him in the coupe and draped an arm over her shoulders she had not stiffened or struggled. Actually, she had suspected something or other was going to happen. She didn't mind. She was just curious about when and how.
"Well," Mr. Hughes said, "they make snake kits. They're a little thing with a piece of razor blade and rubber gadget for sucking but they're not much good and you never seem to have one when you need it."
"Oh?"
"So the best thing to do," he continued, letting his hand slip a little lower down the front of her middy blouse, "is to learn how to use the old-fashioned tools."
"What are they?"
"Well, in the unlikely event that a snake should ever bite you or a companion," he said, "use a knife or anything you have handy to make a cut right across the fang marks. Then you have to suck out the poison."
"Suck it out?"
"Otherwise it can actually get serious. People can die if it doesn't get sucked out before it gets into the blood stream."
"Golly!" Ted had marveled.
They continued along the winding mountain road and finally through a gate in a barbed wire fence which Mr. Hughes closed carefully behind him. They they drove a ways past a well-kept ranch house and Mr. Hughes stopped the car. "What are we going to do now?" Ted asked.
Mr. Hughes pulled two knapsacks from the car. He gave her the biggest one and explained that it was full of all kinds of light things. Then after she had hefted both knapsacks he slipped on the heavier one. They began climbing a grassy mountain. "We'll be able to see hundreds of miles once we get to the top," he said.
Ted didn't know what was particularly exciting about that but if it turned Mr. Hughes on and if this was what it took to get a part in his show ...
She was dressed in a faded pair of gym shorts that were growing too tight for her. A loose middy blouse nearly concealed the tight-fitting shorts. She wore ankle socks and sneakers. Mr. Hughes was also attired only in shorts, sneakers, and a knit shirt. The day was warm and sunny. She climbed beside him, wishing she had worn something bigger and looser than these shorts which were cutting into her thighs, binding around her cunt with each straining step up the mountainside. She had been afraid Mr. Hughes might go too fast and she would become tired but he was already puffing. His face was turning redder with each yard they climbed up the mountain. "I hope we don't see any snakes," he muttered.
Ted was of two minds about the subject. She thought it might be real interesting to see one-providing she didn't see it too close. Gradually she found herself ahead of Mr. Hughes as her well-muscled little ballerina body trotted nimbly uphill. Finally she realized he was lagging behind deliberately so he could admire the play of muscle as her perfect legs and taut little ass strained in the too-tight shorts.
She glanced back down past the red-faced and glassy-eyed Mr. Hughes and saw the roof of the ranch house far below and only slightly closer the coupe Mr. Hughes had driven. She thought it was a Packard. Or was it a Pierce-Arrow? Mr. Hughes had eyes only for her crotch outlined in the too-tight shorts.
Ted glanced around. They were completely alone, save for an athletic cow that grazed a half mile to one side and a buzzard which regarded them incuriously as it soared back and forth overhead. She wondered what Mr. Hughes would say if she were to take off the offending shorts and finish this climb in her panties. After a moment's thought she decided she'd better not. Though her panties were perfectly serviceable and covered nearly as much as the tight shorts, even at twelve Ted had noticed that men were odd about certain things. And from the fixed way Mr. Hughes eyes remained on her crotch she knew instinctively that he was not like the boys in the company-all very kind boys and all very motherly toward her, but not at all interested in her that way.
She turned back and continued climbing. Ten minutes later they were abruptly in a little flat place on the mountainside, invisible to anyone without an airplane. Mr. Hughes unpacked her knapsack and spread out blankets. Beside the blankets he spread a table cloth. Then he began unpacking his own heavier pack.
Ted marveled at the number of goodies he had managed to stow. There were sandwiches of a hitherto unknown succulence. There was fried chicken. There was caviar and little crackers which she had learned to like from previous opening night parties. There was a magnum of champagne which she, didn't like at all. Finally, there was a bottle of cream soda beside it in the insulated container. "How did you know?" Ted blurted, then realized he must have researched the subject with Momma.
She sank gratefully onto the blanket as Mr. Hughes spread the feast. Finally he was sitting cross-legged beside her, puffing only slightly less, eyeing her crotch with the same slightly glassy stare. "Hope we don't run into any snakes," he murmured as he poured himself champagne and a paper cup of cream soda for Ted.
They ate leisurely and as Mr. Hughes pointed out various landmarks which he claimed were fifty and a hundred or maybe if was a hundred and fifty miles away. She guessed a busy man might enjoy getting this far away from it all once in a while. "Do you come up here alone?" she asked.
Mr. Hughes gave her an odd look. "Yes," he finally said. After a moment he finally added, "Sometimes I bring up a friend. But it has to be somebody very special-somebody I like a lot."
"Has anybody ever been bit by a snake?" she asked.
Mr. Hughes gave her that odd look again, wondering just where lay the line between innocence and sophistication. Ted gave a satiated sigh and put down her plate. She took a final sip of cream soda and gave a lady-like little burp. She lay back on the blanket, unconsciously twisting her ass into the position countless ballet masters assured her was most attractive.
Mr. Hughes finished too. He lay down beside her. Ted wondered how he would begin. She had no doubt that he would.
But Mr. Hughes was apparently in no hurry. They lay side by side not touching one another gazing into the blue sky at a circling buzzard. Mr. Hughes' hand did not creep out to touch her. She wondered if he had changed his mind. Maybe, she thought in sudden fright, be didn't like her after all and she wouldn't get the part and then Momma would be very cross.
"You must be growing awfully fast," he finally said.
"Yeah," Ted agreed. "But how can you tell?"
"How long ago did those gym shorts fit you?"
"Last year," she said in sudden comprehension. "I saw you straining and struggling all the way up," he said. "A couple of times I almost asked you to take them off. Providing you had something on underneath," be hastened.
"I do," she said. "I wanted to take them off too but I was afraid you might get the wrong idea."
"Wrong idea?"
"You know-"
"Know what?"
"The kind of things men do with girls sometimes," Ted explained.
"Oh. Have you ever done things like that?"
"I'm a virgin," Ted laid, evading the question.
"But you know all about what boys and girls do together?"
"I know most of it, I guess."
"You don't sound very sure."
"Well, golly," Ted protested, "after all I'm a virgin!"
"So you are," Mr. Hughes said musingly. He got slowly to his feet.
"Are we leaving already?"
"No. Just got to step over behind the bushes for a minute. While I'm gone you might as well take off those tight shorts if you want to. No use getting your legs all sore and marked up." He strolled leisurely away into the bushes and a moment later Ted thought she heard him taking a leak. Alone, she guessed she might just as well take off the shorts. The darned old things were killing her and if she came home with deep crease lines in her legs Momma would dust off that old lecture about how she was an artist and her body must be perfect, without bruises or scratches and a girl who was going to be a prima ballerina someday had no business dorking around like some neighborhood tomboy and ...
She sat up on the blanket and struggled with the button of her shorts. They were too tight. She stood and sucked in her belly as much as she could. Finally she felt the button come open and the zipper start sliding down by itself. "Aaaaahhhh," she sighed, and let the offending gym shorts fall between her legs.
Without thinking she rose en point and the shorts slipped past her heels. Turning slowly, she stepped out of the shorts first her right foot, then her left. She caught them on her left toe and tossed the old shorts over on top of her knapsack. Now she was clad only in her loose-fitting middy blouse, a pair of serviceable rayon panties, white socks and sneakers. She wondered what Mr. Hughes would say if when he came back she had removed not just the shorts but maybe her gym blouse too. If she was going to stay out in this sun much longer she had better get if off or the makeup lady would have kittens trying to powder over an uneven suntan.
Mr. Hughes seemed to be taking an awfully long time over in the bushes. She wondered if he was going number two or if he was hiding somewhere waiting to see if she was going to undress any more.
"Mr. Hughes," she called.
"Yes?"
"Do you mind if I take off my blouse too so my shoulders'll be the same as my neck?"
"Not at all, my dear. Go right ahead."
With one smooth motion she whipped off the middy blouse. She tossed it atop her shorts on the knapsack. She stood posing for a moment in first position, then sank gracefully to the blanket, clad only in white soaks, sneakers, and her snug-fitting rayon panties. She thought momentarily about taking them off too but ... With Mr. Hammel it had been all right. But she didn't know whether Mr. Hughes ... anything could happen. But if Mr. Hughes wanted to take her panties off he might as well do it himself. What on earth was taking him so long over in the bushes? She wondered if he was constipated.
"Ow!"
"Mr. Hughes, what's wrong?" she called.
"Ow!" Mr. Hughes repeated. "A snake just bit me!"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Ow!" Mr. Hughes repeated.
Oh crips! Ted thought. What am I going to do now? She sat up on the blanket, still clad solely in rayon panties, white socks and sneakers. Maybe she ought to put her middy blouse back on again. But ... if Mr. Hughes had been bitten by a snake there was no time to fiddle around. She began poking through the picnic things and found the knife he had used to cut cheese. Mr. Hughes did not come right away. She wondered if she ought to go to him. Then she realized he might have been bitten in some unlikely spot if he'd been crouched bare assed in the weeds doing number two. Maybe the poor man was struggling either to get his pants back up or all the way off. Maybe she ought to go help him. She was still undecided when Mr. Hughes resolved her problem by appearing himself.
Mr. Hughes had removed his pants completely. He had also removed his under drawers. He was parading solemnly toward her, fully dressed from the waist up, naked and barefoot from the waist down. Suddenly Ted was fully aware of where he had been bitten. She could see his cock already starting to swell.
At twelve Ted was a little girl's usual mixture of innocence and sophistication. She wondered if Mr. Hughes had really been bitten by a snake. She remembered how Mr. Hammel's cock had managed to swell even bigger without any snakebite. But ... little girls are pretty much conditioned to believe what adults tell them. If Mr. Hughes said a snake had caused the swelling ... Clad in socks, sneakers and pink panties, she sat on the blanket and waited. Seconds later the producer stood before her. "Where did it bite you?" Ted asked.
Wordlessly, the producer pointed at his cock. He was red-faced and even more glassy-eyed than when he had studied her crotch in tight-fitting shorts on the. way up.
"Does it hurt a lot?" she asked.
The producer nodded, gritting his teeth.
"Where do you want me to cut it?" Ted asked as she produced the knife.
The producer took a hasty step backward and his magnificent hard-on began shrinking. "Oh, no!" he hastened. "I already did that. That's what took me so long. I made the cut myself. See right in the end?"
Ted stared at his dwindling hard-on. The wet purple head of his hammer peeped from his tight-stretched foreskin. She saw the hole the peepee comes from. Nothing else. "Where's the cut?" she asked.
Mr. Hughes pointed at the hole in the end. Ted wasn't sure. It didn't look like any cut to her. It looked like the place where the white stuff used to come out of Mr. Hammel. But ... Mr. Hughes was an adult and he was a producer. If be said so ... Then she realized. "If you cut it, why isn't it bleeding?" she insisted.
"Poison," Mr. Hughes said in a funny choked voice. "Getting into my- bloodstream, spreading through my system. Got to suck it out quick or I'll die."
Ted was of two minds about the whole thing. She looked dubiously at Mr. Hughes and suspected the poor man was close to dying one way or another. She remembered all sorts of nice things Mr. Hammel had done to her down there. She had never considered that it might work both ways. "Do you want to lie down?" she asked.
Mr. Hughes let himself down carefully beside her on the blanket. His cock was bigger and harder now, pointing straight up. She could see the purple swollen head standing half out of his tight-stretched foreskin. "You .want me to suck it?" she asked.
Mr. Hughes made a strangling noise and nodded. Ted sighed. She really didn't believe Mr. Hughes had been snakebite at all but he was a grownup and if he said so. Besides, what if it was true? What if be really had been bitten and if she didn't hurry up and do her job right he would die and she would be up on this mountain top all alone and even if she went down again to the car she didn't know how to drive and ... She guessed she'd better get busy.
Ted knelt beside Mr. Hughes. She bent over his colossal cock, opening her mouth. She smelled the peculiar male smell, not unpleasant but-different. She wondered what it would taste like. An instant later she found out when Mr. Hughes' impatient hands captured the nape of her neck and pulled her down like a glove over the hot throbbing length of his cock.
She felt it slide into her mouth-in much deeper than she had intended. The thick blunt head of Mr. Hughes' cock slid smoothly through her lips, over her tongue, past her-soft palate, and with only the slightest hesitation proceeded down her throat.
Ted felt as if she had tried to swallow a whole potato. Then an instant later she felt as if she had tried to swallow a whole potato but that it had gotten stuck somehow and hung up in her throat, willing to go neither down nor back up. She felt her throat muscles squeeze convulsively. Her stomach rebelled and she tried her best to vomit.
Nothing worked. Mr. Hughes still pressed down on the nape of her neck and she could not back off this tremendous blunt spike of masculinity on which the producer had impaled her. Ted struggled to free herself but he was pressing so hard that she couldn't move. And that, she reflected in later years, was the moment in which she stopped being a little girl. In less than a second she made several important decisions and grew up.
First, she bit. Not hard, but hard enough to let Mr. Hughes know she meant business. Then she relaxed, totally and completely, limp as a rag doll, incapable of giving the producer's throbbing prick the slightest sensation. She sensed the uncertainty in his hands pressing down on the nape of her neck when it finally occurred to him that he might have done her some real damage. His cock shrunk and came out of her mouth. Slowly, Ted allowed herself to "revive." Turning to face him, she said, "Mr. Hughes, you play too rough."
There was a petulant, angry little boy look to the pink-faced producer. He glared at her but said nothing. Ted waited another moment until his disappointment was full and complete. "Besides," she added, "while you were gone off in the bushes a funny thing happened to me."
"What?" Mr. Hughes grumped. "A snake bit me too."
"Yeah? Where?"
Silently Ted pointed at the crotch of her pink panties.
"Ooohhh, yeeeaaah?" Mr. Hughes said after a moment of incredulous staring. Slowly, he reached for her slight body. Ted moved away from his grasping hands. She stood, then, using every trick she had ever learned at the practice bar, she made a production of shedding her panties
Finished, she posed before the producer, nude now except for the sneakers and white socks. She knew how perfect was the promise of her just developing twelve-year-old body, the long graceful curve of thigh, the flat, hard belly, tiny waist, her still slightly scrawny rib cage with its just-budding tits surmounted with tiny virginal nipples. She continued posing while Mr. Hughes' eyes threatened to burn off the faint fuzz of blonde hair that outlined her prominent bony mons veneris, accentuating the hairless pouting lips of her still-unfucked twat. Then, very slowly, she began moving back within grabbing distance. "No rough stuff now," she cautioned. "You treat my snakebite nice and I'll do the same for you." She paused and gave him a Mona Lisa smile. "Otherwise we might just die, both of us."
Mr. Hughes still stared unbelieving at this vision of erotic loveliness. Ted pirouetted and did an entrechat, fully aware of the attention this called to her vibrating legs and crotch. Then she settled to the blanket with a dying swan gesture, coming gently down on her side with one leg pointing gracefully skyward.
Mr. Hughes' eyes singed her gaping crotch until she could actually feel the heat on her tight-stretched maidenhead. She remembered how wee it had felt when Mr. Hammel licked it and wondered if Mr. Hughes would be capable of learning his technique.
The producer settled beside her to the blanket.
His hands captured her skyward pointing leg and he began nuzzling and kissing the inside of her ankle. Ted relaxed with a happy sigh and waited to see what he would think of next.
As he slowly kissed his way up the inside of her leg from ankle to knee, Mr. Hughes imperceptibly moved his body around until they were facing each other, lying on their sides, but end to end. The angry purple tip of his deprived dong pointed accusingly at her face. She put forth a caressing hand, not to his over-excited cock, but to his well-haired balls. As her hand touched his scrotum his balls squirmed with anticipatory delight and he began kissing his way upward from her knee, tickling her tender inner thigh until she could not stop giggling.
Mr. Hughes slowly worked his way upward until she could feel the warmth of his face against the open inner surface of her tiny cunt. But he did not direct himself toward home plate. Instead, he kissed tender tantalizing circles around her cunt, pecking away at the cheeks of her muscular little ass, across both of her sensitive inner thighs, across the bony prominence of her hairless mons veneris, but never quite zeroing in on her prime target. It felt so goooooood!
Ted lay relaxed, enjoying the feel of a slow gentle turn-on, reveling in the feel of Mr. Hughes' busy mouth pleasuring her secret parts. It felt so good she was willing to lie here all afternoon just like this. But as she thought it, she gradually realized she was not. Even the finest of pleasures can pall. She was ready for better things. When was he going to stop this silly kissing around and around and get his tongue in there where it would do some good?
It took her a moment to realize that he was not going to. Mr. Hughes, she finally understood, was waiting for her to do something. She looked at the hot throbbing head of his cock still pointing accusing at her face. It was so big. Yet, she had managed to stretch her mouth over larger lollipops. Ted guessed she could do it-providing he didn't try to make her swallow it again. She opened her mouth and moved forward.
She felt the hot maleness of his cock warm her lips, her cheeks. She stretched her mouth wider, trying to engulf it totally before she touched it. When she guessed the whole head of his cock was inside her mouth she let her lips close softly but firmly over the head of Mr. Hughes' cock.
Mr. Hughes' reaction was predictable but delightful. Abruptly he stopped kissing loving circles around her virginal cunt. He reared back and emitted a long-held, heart-felt and tremendous "Aaaahhhh!" which abruptly changed into mumbling humming "Mmmmmmm!" as he buried his face in Ted's crotch.
Ted had never in her twelve years, not even during her month idyll with Mr. Hammel, never had she experienced anything one half so titillatingly delightful as the tickling, tantalizing, almost numbing feel of that prolonged hummmm as Mr. Hughes' vocal cords elicited a harmonic buzz from the tight-stretched membrane of her hymen.
That funny rush-blush feeling was growing in her belly, spreading upward to suffuse her tiny waist. She felt her nipples also fill with blood and grow marble-hard with the need for Mr. Hughes' kisses.
But most of all she felt his mouth locked securely over her honey pot, puffing and sucking in and out, making her feel as if she had to go pee, then as if she had been holding it all night and only now could look forward to a long, soul-satisfying emptying that would relax all the tensely complicated musculature of her sphincters.
He was still humming, humming her into heaven with his hymn to passion. But while he hummed and turned her whole belly to jellied lust his busy tongue was licking the inner sides of her cunt lips, darting out to tickle her tiny clit until it was as hard as her virginal nipples. Just as she could no longer stand any more of this he would switch targets and touch his tongue to her maidenhead just long enough to momentarily still the vibrant hum. Then before she could recover his agile tongue darted down to the edge of her hymen and augured its way through the tiny opening to explore the virgin territory of her vagina.
One corner of her mind wondered what it would be like to have a man's cock sliding in there, hot, hard, tireless. But that would be years in the future when she was ready to retire from dancing. Right now she was too busy enjoying to wonder about alternatives. The tip of his tongue touching the threshold of her play pen was enough to do what all the rest of it put together had not quite accomplished. With her mouth still surrounding Mr. Hughes' cock she abruptly realized that rush-blush was getting out of control. Her body was rebelling, all her insides twisting and knotting in funny ways, filling her with a tension that would kill her if she didn't know that soon, somehow it would all be over.
Then abruptly it was over as she felt all the twisted nerve endings loosen and unravel, felt her insides melt, flow, deliquesce into new patterns of passion. She wanted to lie back and relax, just let it happen but some tiny corner of her and warned her that the hot throbbing maleness in her mouth would not take no for an answer. She began moving her head back and forth rapidly, sliding her lips over the head of Mr. Hughes' cock. She felt the foreskin pop back, exposing the whole sensitive surface of his hot throbbing hammer.
He began thrusting and for a moment she was afraid he would go too deep again. Their passion grew and she knew she was rocking and humping, thumping her little ass as vigorously against Mr. Hughes' face as he was thrusting toward hers. She grasped his thighs and managed to syncopate her rhythm with his own, thus transforming his monumental dick burying shoves into a gentle in and out movement that kept her lips and tongue working gently on the sensitive head of his hammer.
Then she felt a tiny preliminary squirt and a moment later her mouth was filling with the hot sweetness of Mr. Hughes' spurting maleness. It felt so gooooooood!
CHAPTER TWELVE
It felt so good that twenty-eight years later, suffering twin assaults from a cock in her cunt and another in her mouth, she still remembered the joy of that sun-dappled afternoon atop the mountain when she and Mr. Hughes had treated each other's snake bite.
But she was thirty-nine now. It was no time to dwell on the past-not when she had a curly-locked thirteen-year-old pumping steadily away between her legs, not believing his good fortune at finally being able to keep it up for more than one hair triggered explosive plunge at a time. The boy had been thrusting steadily, with long, slow strokes as regular as an oil pumping rig, stuffing her cunt to joyous satiation, filling the gaps with a prolonged game of "telephone" as he plugged one nipple of her firm upstanding tits into an ear and talked, licked, kissed and sucked his messages of love into the other. Now was no time to dwell in the past-not as long as little John could give her this kind of a present.
She had been so close to cumming again and explosively, with a gut-wrenching destruction that would make her faint again and leave her drawn and faint that her only salvation had been to get her mind on something else.
She didn't have her mind on it but she had her mouth around it: six solid thumping inches of Albert's fourteen-year-old cock. It was almost enough to make her forget the wonderful things little John was doing to her down below.
The boy's delighted surprise when she had first wrapped her warm lips around his thudding thumper was still evident. He was stiff, straining with his effort not to cum. She waited, her mouth soft and warm around the tip of his tool, but not doing anything to provoke an orgasm in this eager boy. Finally she felt his lean, hard-muscled loins relaxing.
She wondered what she ought to do first. If she did the usual things she knew the boy's raging rod would surrender immediately, would tremble and shudder and spurt its precious load into her mouth before she had time to get used to the taste of a man's cock after all these long lonely years of deprivation, and before the boy had time to learn of the infinite variety of oral delights in store for the dedicated player of the skin flute.
Then she remembered that halcyon day atop the mountain when she and Mr. Hughes had cured each other of snake bite. Carefully, she took her mouth from around the throbbing head of Albert's eager hammer. She sensed his outraged surprise, his mystification as she drew him closer, forced his thighs farther apart and kissed her way up the sensitive underside of his hot throbbing hammer. Then, moving with exaggerated care, she opened her mouth wide and captured his squirming balls. With his just-hairing scrotum enclosed inside her
mouth, Ted took-a deep breath and then began the same long sustained droning hummmmmmm that had driven her crackers the day Mr. Hughes had vibrated his lust against her warm cherry. Hummmmmmm!
Albert's thighs closed convulsively over her ears. He squirmed and twisted, throwing her every way but off as he struggled not to spill his seed under the sustained buzzing tickle of Ted's humming. She felt the throbbing shank of his cock thump where it lay sandwiched between his belly and her face, fucked snugly alongside her nose with its hot thumping head touching her forehead. She felt the warning flutter that meant he would soon flood her with cum. She didn't want to end it that soon. She stopped humming for a moment and managed to get a hand in between their straining bodies.
She squeezed the bead of the fourteen-year-old's cock until his fluttering rush to cum subsided. They lay stiff, intensely aware of each others bodies, feeling the tension build as their minds struggled to prolong pleasure, working in opposition to their bodies which struggled to cum right then!
And little John still played "telephone," switching his mouth and ear from one magnificent tit to the other, switching tits without missing a stroke of his steadfast pumping, feeding long deep steady strokes into her seething snatch, in and out, in and out with a rhythm as dependable as a grandfather dock's.
She felt her belly warm and swirl as her insides loomed over a chasm of orgasm, threatening to melt and overflow with each wonderful plunge. Resolutely, she turned her mind away from the constant in and out, in and out. She pursed her lips once more tightly around Albert's scrotum. With his balls in her mouth, she took another deep breath, wriggled about until she was comfortable, moved the boy's clasping thighs apart a moment to relieve the pressure on her ears, then took another breath and braced herself for action. The boy seemed to sense that something was coming. He scooted closer to her, tried to get a hand on the nape of her neck and draw her in closer, deeper. Ted closed her eyes and went "Hummmmmm."
Down between her tits little John wet his lips, took a breath and, mouth tight over one of her rock hard little virginal nipples, went "Hummmmmm."
It excited Ted with its unexpectedness. She hummed harder and louder about Albert's balls. Little John hummed over both of her nipples, never missing a stroke as his faithful phallus fucked away. She felt her belly churn and gather forces for another orgasm. No! she told herself. Not now! It'll tear me apart, kill me, I've got to get my mind off how good it feels or I'll wail and yodel and shriek and flop around like a fresh-caught fish and I'll scare both these wonderful boys to death. Not now, she pleaded. Just let me relax and enjoy it. I don't want to cum again!
She struggled, shivered, and finally managed to outlast the spasm. Carefully, she relaxed, trying to accept the steady slide of little John's cock in and out of her seething pussy as another of life's rhythms, normal as breathing or circulation. But it was not normal, she knew, to be enjoying two cocks at once. It was blessedly super-normal and she resolved to accept life's gifts gratefully, making the most of each passing day. If life had given her two stiff young pricks today, it was up to her to stay awake, conscious, and enjoy them. She couldn't go fainting from cunt fever every five minutes.
She took a fresh breath and began her heavy voiced hummmmmmm again. From the strenuous squirming she knew she was getting to the older boy. Alongside her nose and forehead she felt the sudden spurting growth, the rock harness of his cock strained for release. She pursed her lips around his balls and hummmmmm longer, harder, louder.
Meanwhile, little John was returning the compliment on her nipples until she felt her whole torso blush pink from the joyous stimulation of his busy mouth. And down below in cant country his cock pumped tirelessly, never missing a stroke in its rhythm of pull out, hesitate, feint twice, pull nearly all the way out, then push long, slow and steady inward, displacing her thrilling innards with its firmness, making her tremble on the edge of a chasm or orgasm until finally he bottomed. Bottomed out, the boy clung to her for a soul-tearing second, maleness straining against feminity. Then, slow as an hour hand he would begin his withdrawal, stopping halfway out to plunge it home again, pulling out to screw it around at odd angles, stretching her vagina in delightfully unexpected ways before he pulled the head of his massive hammer out far enough to stretch and relax her clit a half dozen times with his in-and-out feints. Ted had never been in heaven but until she experienced something better she knew this was going to be her idea of bliss.
She struggled not to cum, to relax and enjoy to the fullest little John's pumping, in a tranquility that would give leisure to appreciate its finesse. But meanwhile the same curly-headed thirteen-year-old was kissing her tits, licking her nipples, playing "telephone," humming over her areolas with his open mouth until, even if he had not been fucking her into dry-bagged giggles, she was ready to shriek and yodel her good fortune to the seagulls, the seals, foghorns and buoys. She glanced at a porthole and saw fog outside. Topside the automatic foghorn sounded again.
Down below fourteen-year-old Albert still had his cock sandwiched between his belly and her tight-pressing face. She had his just-hairing balls in her mouth and was driving the older boy up the wall with her gentle ceaseless hummmmmm.
Albert's hands were groping restlessly over every inch of her nude body not covered by the lustily pumping thirteen-year-old. He caressed her neck and back, tickled her flanks, ran loving hands up and down the outside of her legs, ran hands over every part of her ass not occupied by the pumping thirteen-year-old. Which didn't leave him with much to do since he couldn't kiss her and get blown at the same time. And the smaller boy had fully occupied cunt, belly and tits.
Albert was rapidly going mad under the assault of her mouth sucking, licking, humming around his balls. He was straddling the ragged edge of cum, unable to move in either direction. Ted sensed his desperation in the ever more eager search of his hands for some part of her body he could fondle or grab. He was massaging her ass with eager hands, running a tickling finger up her crack until it was blocked by little John's balls. She was enjoying a gentle turn-on each time his questing finger passed over her thrumming asshole.
Then her attention drifted back to little John's steady pumping. It was hard to tell but she thought he was going a little faster now, coming down just a faint whap harder each time his pelvis slammed into her gaping crotch. She tried to relax, to savor the feel of his eager young cock ram slamming into her seething slit. How many years, she tried to remember, had it been since a man had ram slammed into her with joyous abandon?
Albert's cock was thumping and throbbing in its confined space between his belly and her face. In a minute, if she weren't careful, she would have an eyeful of cum. She wanted to quit and give the over stimulated boy a rest but the way little John was ram slamming his cock up her cunt and the way he hummed and tried to swallow her tits was not leaving Ted in the most judicious of moods. She felt herself licking and hummmmming the older boy's balls, thickling his asshole and the tender strip of perineum between asshole and balls.
Abruptly Albert bucked mightily and threw himself away from her. When he came back cock-first the only thing she could do to keep from getting stabbed vas open her mouth. This time Albert's six superb inches did not stop with their well-flanged head atop her tongue. Instead, she felt the boy's six solid inches once more slide past her palate and down her throat.
Instinctively she swallowed, trying to let this indigestible morsel slide the rest of the way down. And naturally it stayed right there. She swallowed again, not really thinking what she was doing.
But Albert was vividly aware of what she was doing. Each time she swallowed her throat muscles milked his cock outward toward the head, squeezing softly and wetly, giving him the most intensely erotic feeling he had ever experienced. Nothing. Licking, sucking, fucking, fingering-nothing else on earth was half as nice as the wonderful feel of this mature woman's throat squeezing, milking and massaging as she swallowed trying to get his cock the rest of the way down.
Albert moaned and grabbed her ears, pulling her onto his cock like a glove. Ted was already on his cock as deep as she could go. She moaned and swallowed some more, wrapping Albert's ass in her arms and drawing him closer, tighter, deeper. Albert moaned again and bucked. She was already as deep as she could go but if it gave him pleasure to thrust and try to go deeper ...
Ted tried to relax and get used to the tremendous bulk in her throat. Alter a while she learned how to breathe around it. The boy's cock felt hard, hot. She could feel the eager thump of his heartbeat transmitted through the raging blood of his swollen skewer. She wondered if it was possible for the other boy to sense her heartbeat through her cunt. Suddenly she realized her own pulse was racing as bad as Albert's. She wondered which of them would cum first. After a moment she wondered which of them had cum the most times.
No contest, she realized alter a moment's reflection. She had cu more than both boys put together. And if she didn't watch it she was going to cum again soon.
She could feel the premonitory flutter in her belly that meant soon she would melt, flow, deliquesce into a puddle of passion beneath the ceaseless churning of little John's assjammer. The younger boy still fucked tirelessly, licking, kissing and humming the nipples of her still virginal tits to rock hardness. And she had six inches of Albert down her throat!
She had to do something. If she let herself cum she knew she would be played out for good. She had fainted twice now from the intensity of her orgasm. What would happen if she let herself cum now under the multiple stimuli of a cock up her cunt, a mouth on her tits, a pair of hands working over every inch of her sides and flanks, another cock in her mouth and that cock's owner busily stroking the crack of her ass, patting a prurient finger over the fluttering rosette of her asshole?
It was all too much for a girl of simple tastes. Ted knew she had to stop it-to spread it out some more. There were so many things happening to her at once that she didn't know how she had managed to resist this long. She didn't want to cum. Didn't dare cum unless she was ready to abandon the field.
And, thinking it over, Ted knew she had nurtured this secret vision of boy after boy, cocks unlimited, she had kept this situation in her subconscious too many barren years to give up now that actuality was within her grasp. She was wide awake. She was only thirty-nine. She had a boy fucking her and sucking her tits. She had another boy grabbing every inch of undisputed territory and she had his six solid inches in her mouth. Ted didn't want to stop now. She started swallowing harder and faster.
It was like that day back-on top of the mountain when she had been twelve and a half and Mr. Hughes had been half a hundred and they had both been bitten by imaginary snakes. She had known Mr. Hughes was lying and the producer had known she wasn't exactly telling the truth, but what difference did it make? Each wanted a-blow-job by the other and each had gotten it. If the snakes didn't like being blamed for it they could sue for libel.
They had lain facing each other, on the blanket, side by side and end for end in classic sixty-nine position, each pillowing his head on the other's wide-gaping crotch. She had had Mr. Hughes' cock as deep down her twelve-year throat as she could take it and he had been doing all kinds of wonderful things to her virginal twat. He had kissed her, licked her cunt lips inside and out, run his prehensile tongue around her clit, had darted its knowing tip up her vagina past the bottom of her hymeneal curtain. In short, the producer had showed her every form of pleasure short of a full-fledged fuck.
She had supposed at first that he was going to bugger her like Mr. Hammel had done but Mr. Hughes' tastes were oral After a while Ted guessed she liked it better. At least it was easier to clean up and she knew if she had been buggered with the thoroughness Mr. Hammel always dedicated to that noble calling, her asshole would have been tender and twittery for hours and sometimes even days afterward. Then abruptly and simultaneously each had crumbled in the throes of orgasm.
Now they lay, still side by side and end to end, satiated and happy, but still unwilling to call it quits. Mr. Hughes lazily kissed and caressed her taut, hairless little crotch. Ted's throat had disgorged his half-flaccid cock and she was surprisingly free of cum, having swallowed it while his hammerhead was buried somewhere in the region of her collar bones. By the time his dwindled dick had emerged from her mouth his cum was spent and his shriveled cock clean. She lay with her ear cushioned on his hairy thigh, studying the cock she had just been trying to swallow.
Mr. Hammel had always been funny about that kind of thing: perfectly willing to stuff his stabber up her twelve-year-old ass, but he had always turned and twisted and managed his affairs in such a way that she had never gotten a clear view of his cock.
Now, satiated and relaxed, she was free to indulge her curiosity. She captured the flaccid appendage in her hand. At rest it was still more than a twelve-year-old's handful. As her fist closed around the shank the half-covered head of his hammer peeped wetly at her. She squeezed and the head of his cock emerged completely from its foreskin. She studied its purple-grayness, marveling at the magnificent flare of glans penis. "What's that funny thing along the bottom that looks like a string?" she asked.
"Search me," Mr. Hughes said. "That's just the way men are made." He hesitated, then added, "I can tell you one thing about it though. That string-thing along the underside is just about the most sensitive part."
"What does that mean?" Ted asked.
"This," Mr. Hughes said, and drew his fingertip leisurely down her backbone, through the cleft of her ass, across her twittering anus, along her suddenly supersensitive perineum until his finger was tickling its leisurely way across the taut membrane of her cherry. Finally he arrived at her tiny virginal clitoris. He ran a loving finger round and round the slickness, then continued his gentle tickling way up across her prominent, hairless mons veneris, up across the hard-muscled smoothness of her belly until his finger was auguring its way into her navel for another gentle turn-on. "That's what I mean by sensitivity," Mr. Hughes explained, hugging her squirming body until she could stop wiggling and giggling. "I'll bet you never realized one finger could feel that nice."
"No," Ted admitted when she was able to speak again. "Does it feel like that when I do it to you?"
"Why don't you try it and find out," Mr. Hughes said.
Ted reached around through his crotch until she was touching his backbone. Slowly, she tickled her way down through his ass, across anus and perineum until she was all but lost in the impenetrable jungle of hair around his scrotum.
Mr. Hughes reacted by caressing the back of her neck, closing his thighs gently over her ears, and by kissing her taut cherry. It felt so good Ted was encouraged to experiment. She began twiddling the hairs on Mr. Hughes' scrotum, trying to count them. Suddenly she realized the producer's cock was starting to swell again.
She wondered if she was going to have to swallow it all over again so soon. To heck with that, she decided. There had to be other ways to keep him amused-amused enough to keep on doing all the nice things he was doing to her. She took a deep breath and blew warm air on the head of his thumping hammer. Immediately it swelled harder and she could see the faint pulsation in time to his heartbeat quicken. She continued her slow gentle hair count on his scrotum.
Mr. Hughes was licking her pussy again, running his tongue over the pouting hairless lips of her virginal vulva, twiddling her clit until she wanted to giggle and scream. Instead, she clasped her slim muscular thighs over his ears and squeezed. She was rewarded by his arms around her ass hugging, pulling her in closer until his face was buried in her crotch. It felt so wondrously warm and gooood.
Ted was willing to lie here like this forever, just letting the lawsuit-conscious producer lick her cherry, turning her on without damage, without any evidence that could stand up in a court of law. She tried to focus her eyes on the hot throbbing cock that pointed at her but it was so close she could see it no better than she could see her own nose. She relaxed, head loosely clamped between Mr. Hughes' hairy thighs, clasping his head between the milky whitenesses of her own soft sensitive inner thighs. The producer's tongue darted out to touch her twittery anal sphincter.
Ted's slight, half grown body had already been conditioned by a month with Mr. Hammel to react to this stimulus. She felt herself going all soft and quivery. She wished he would do it again but Mr. Hughes seemed to be in no hurry. He was hugging her tiny ass to him, caressing her whole body, holding her close as he endeavored to perfect his method for reciprocal snake bite treatment.
She wondered what she had to do to make him lick her asshole again. Finally the obvious solution occurred to her. She had long since given up trying to focus her eyes on the blob of male meat that loomed-so close she could feel its heat warming her nose and face. She opened her mouth in what she hoped was a lady-like gesture and began licking the underside of Mr. Hughes' cock, running her tongue from the base where it nested in scrotal hair, running her tongue slowly up its tender sensitive underside until she reached the sudden burgeoning swell of his glans penis.
There she hesitated for a moment, then ran her tongue slowly around his cock in a loving circle. Mr. Hughes rewarded her with a sudden almost convulsive squeeze of his arms around her trim little ass, drawing her around his face like a glove as he struggled to lick and kiss every part of her at the same time. It felt so gooooooooood! Abruptly he stopped holding her close to him. Powerful hands grasped her ass and pulled her away from him. He pulled her slowly back toward him but this time his tongue was auguring into her tiny navel.
At twelve Ted wouldn't have known an erogenous zone from the Canal Zone but she knew what it felt like when Mr. Hughes stuck his tongue in her belly button. She didn't have words to describe the shimmery waves of delight that coursed through her small hard-muscled body but she knew what she liked. And this was it. As the producer withdrew and began kissing and licking lazy circles around her belly button she held her breath, waiting and praying he would do it again.
Slowly he kissed his way around her belly in widening circles until he was working his way across the hairless bony prominence of her mons veneris. He darted in for a quick peck at her clit, a quick lick of hymen, then back out to kiss his way around her belly, up and down the tender inner surfaces of her sensitive thighs.
Ted tried to relax and enjoy it but She couldn't. It felt so good she wanted to wiggle and giggle and kick and scream. She tried to lick the underside of Mr. Hughes' cock, to run a loving tongue around its head but Mr. Hughes was doing so many nice things to her that she was starting to jerk and tremble all over and she didn't know if she could control herself enough to ...
It felt so gooooooooo! It felt so good she wanted it to stop, to end. But she didn't want it ever to end. She could feel her body building tension, getting ready to explode, to twist and tear itself to pieces. She didn't know what to do about it. She supposed she ought to make Mr. Hughes stop it but the things he was doing felt so nice that even if she had wanted to Ted knew she would never have the will power to make the hairy man stop all the lovely-, things he was doing to her cunt and asshole.
She wondered if he would stop it if she were to capture the tip of his trip hammer in her mouth and lick and suck another jet out of him. That would cool him off-soon enough, she guessed. But did she really want him to stop? It felt so goooooooo! She tried to relax, just let it happen.
He was licking her cunt, licking lazy circles around her hairless ups, darting his tongue into the inner circle in lightning forays to clit and hymen, auguring the prehensile tip of his tongue up through the narrow opening at the bottom of her cherry to tickle the inside of her virgin vagina.
His hands clasped her ass, holding her to him, filling her with a warmth she had never known existed. She was straining and pushing to get closer to his--knowledgeable mouth but it was not the back-breaking, ass-twisting kind of strain she had known at ballet practice. Instead, this kind of exercise seemed to bring its own reward-and not in some distant and future heaven, but right now each time his face left her crotch long enough to lick her flat little belly, to auger into her navel and provoke a fresh attack of the giggles.
She wished it could go on forever but a month of fun and games with Mr. Hammel had taught her the danger signals. She knew from the way she, was trembling and giggling uncontrollably that soon that internal cataclysm would strike again, making her laugh and cry, push and embrace, making her do all kinds of self-contradictory and uncontrollable things in the throes of love's fulfillment.
She sensed that Mr. Hughes was, growing more excited too. He was licking her legs, her belly, her cunt, even arching his back occasionally to scoot upward along the smooth hairless length of her body to lock the tiny bulges that would someday be tits. Each time his tongue touched one of her virginal nipples Ted felt her insides turn to water. Each time he kissed and licked his way back down to her waist, running his rough hands along her ribs she giggled more.
When his tongue augured into her navel it felt so good Ted couldn't even giggle for a moment. She lay tense and straining while he kissed and licked his way in meandering circles around her belly, up and down her tender inner thighs, gradually working his way back toward cunt country.
Finally his peregrinations ended and once more he was licking the swollen pouting lips of her hairless twelve-year-old pussy. She still lay unable to move, unable to believe anything could feel one half so good as that warm wet tongue laying her secret slit. It gave her such a warm wonderful feeling she hoped it would never end.
But she knew it couldn't last forever. Soon it would happen: that funny twisting, melting peeing feel that had always happened just before Mr. Hammel had given his final lunge and filled her ass with cum. But Mr. Hughes didn't have his cock up her ass. It was out in the open right in front of her face, swollen to full length, rock hard, foreskin peeled back. She tried to focus her eyes on its length but it was too close. She could smell the pleasant maleness, could feel the heat radiating from his raging rod. She wondered if she ought to kiss it or lick it. It was hard to decide.
If she did, maybe he would explode right away and that would be the end of it-. Already she had noted one important difference between this producer and the buggering Mr. Hammel. This one had cum once and was still going strong. After that first day when they had gotten acquainted Mr. Hammel had never been good for more than one orgasm. How many times was Mr. Hughes good for?
She guessed the best thing to do was play it safe, let him do whatever he wanted as long as it felt nice. Whenever he got bored she could always give his cock another lick and a promise and the hairy man would be sufficiently gratified to lick her into another terminal case of giggles.
Right now he was kissing her tits again, driving their tiny nipples into a state of rock hardness. It felt so good she wanted to thank him by wrapping her mouth around the hot throbbing tip of his cock, but ...
She tried to control herself, tried to relax as she pillowed her head on one hairy thigh. Then he started kissing his way back down over her midriff to her belly button. She tensed and strained, trying not to give way to the giggles. He screwed his tongue into her navel from odd angles, wriggling and twisting until Ted knew she couldn't stand it another second. Then abruptly she knew she had reached her limit. Not really understanding the forces that drove her, abruptly she found Mr. Hughes' cock in her mouth.
Her head was bobbing rapidly back and forth, sliding her lips up and down his slickened slammer as her tongue and palate slid smoothly up and down over the head of his hammer. Mr. Hughes grabbed her by the ears--and helping her rhythm, sliding her up and down his flute like some berserk musician.
Meanwhile he had abandoned tits and belly. His face was buried deep in her crotch. He was licking, kissing. He put his lips over her clit and sucked, relaxed, sucked and blew with a rapidity that was fluttering her right out of her mind, out of her body. Ted felt herself melting, twisting, dissolving, flowing ...
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
And now she was thirty-nine, aboard her own yacht, doing for a couple of inexperienced boys what Mr. Hammel and Mr. Hughes had done for her when she was twelve. She wondered if she had experienced more intense orgasms when she was twelve or if they were better now that she was older, more experienced, and knew what to expect.
Little John was still pumping away between her legs. Albert's six solid inches were pumping valiantly away trying to reach her stomach from the opposite end. It felt good. But she was still-just barely-in control of the situation. She tried to relax her throat, to stop swallowing. It didn't make any difference. The boy had reached the point of no return. She felt the first tiny preliminary spurt that meant moments from now she would be flooded with gallons of cum.
She thought about spitting it out but she knew Albert wouldn't like it. Besides, if she let him cum this way it would all go cleanly down into her stomach and be digested away. If she retreated and left his naked cock exposed there would be another puddle of cum to sponge up from the mattress of their triangular play pen. Topside the fog horn hooted. Down below little John's rhythm had increased. Abruptly she realized both boys were going to cum together. "What the hell?" she murmured, and relaxed.
Great shimmering coruscations of fire ran up and down her spine, exploding like Roman candles in her brain as she felt her body surrender to multiple assaults on her sensuality. Two hard, young, hairless bodies were enough, she decided, to make any woman cum. Gone was her resolve not to cum again, washed overboard in a cascade of eroticism as cock in mouth, cock in cunt, mouths on lips and tits, hands everywhere all contributed to the avalanche of lascivious joy that overwhelmed her tiring body.
"I'm cumming!" she shrieked soundlessly, and knew it was going to kill her, knew she didn't care if it killed her, knew only that once more that wonderful fire in her belly was spreading uncontrollably, surging through her with a wall of flame that was going to burn her out and leave her a gibbering mindless wreck. But what a way to go!
She felt little John's cock ram slamming inside her, felt her cunt suddenly brimming with her own juices, felt the jetting cascade of his own cum mixed with hers. Hands were playing over her body, caressing her ass, her clit, her legs, touching every possible inch of skin. And Albert's cock was still in her mouth, sliding easily past her palate as it pushed down her throat striving for her stomach. Then she realized it was sliding so smoothly and easily down her throat because its passage was being lubricated by a blurting, hurting, squirting sea of cum.
"Aaaahhhh!" Albert howled in a full-voiced yodel.
"Oh, boooooooyyy!" little John harmonized.
"Oooohhhh," Ted moaned as she felt her insides melt, shift, deliquesce in the dance of love. She was reminded of earlier times with other partners but there was no time for memory. This was living, breathing, fucking flesh here and now. She struggled to stay awake, stay conscious, to savor the final drop of joy from twin fountains.
Then abruptly they were finished. All three of them lay panting and exhausted, each alone in his own private post coital tristesse. Ted supposed she ought to be thinking of something practical, like how to end this or do it again without getting caught. But all she could think of was how nice it had been. And only moments ago, she reflected ruefully, she had not wanted to cum again. Here she had done it and she wasn't dead. Only half dead and filled with a delicious languor as if she had spent hours in a steam bath and then been worked over by thousands of little people whose very lives depended on pleasing her. She closed her eyes and fried to ignore the fog bell clanging overhead.
Moments later she was awake. She was confused for an instant, then glanced at the ship's clock on the bulkhead and was reassured. The boys still drowsed where they had cum, little John between her legs and Albert's flaccid cock hanging limply a few inches from her face.
Quietly, she oozed from between them and went to the shower to repair the ravages of love. She knew that if she had not spent a lifetime hardening her muscles in ballet classes she would be a mass of bruises by now-not because the boys had mistreated her in any way, but merely because she had ram slammed harder and faster against more male flesh in the last hour than many women did in a lifetime. She wondered if the boys had had enough. Then, looking at Albert and little John, both still asleep, she saw their cocks rise in response to some dream of love. Smiling a quiet little smile, she began preparing an eggnog.
Moments later the boys had recovered and gone to the shower to remove the traces of cum from their hard-muscled bodies. She gave them each a glass of eggnog. "What's this for?" Albert asked, and insisted he didn't need any when she told him. Ted smiled again and stood before the two boys, posing her superb ballerina body in pristine nakedness until both boys' cocks were rigid again. It was amazing, she knew, how boys of this age could recover in next to no time.
"What would like to do this time?" she asked.
"Fuck!" both boys chorused.
Ted sighed. She might as well have expected it. Neither of these boys had ever gotten it into a woman before. They had fucked their Lists enough in the past. A blow-job was nice but they were not jaded enough, or experienced enough to savor such refinements. What she wondered, was she going to do? Then inspiration struck her. She remembered those halcyon days when she had been twelve, when producers had vied to fill her tiny body with the fruits of love.
Smiling a Mona Lisa smile, Ted said, "Well, John, you were last so I guess it's Albert's turn this time. We'll let him try and see how long he can keep it up." Nothing like a little competition to develop staying power, she thought with a secret wry smile. Put it that way, she knew the fourteen-year-old would rather die than cum sooner than little John. And the smaller boy alone would have been sufficient to comfort any ordinary woman during a long summer's afternoon. But what, she wondered, could she do with the younger boy? She had just blown Albert. Her mouth and throat were tired. She really didn't want to do it again. Then she remembered what she had been thinking about.
Making a production of it, she paraded her naked body forward, around the mast and onto the triangular bunk in the forward portion of the cabin. She lay supine, facing the low overhead and watched the boys.
Albert glared at little John. Little John shrugged. Finally the older boy oozed in and carefully positioned himself atop her.
Ted opened her thighs and he scooted forward until she could feel the heat of his hot throbbing cock poking blindly at her crotch. She knew she really ought to be tired, not to want to do this any more but she seemed to have gotten a second, or was it a third or fourth wind and was hot to trot again.
She marveled. How many times had the boys cum? She had lost track. As for herself, she estimated conservatively that she must have cum at least ten times for each immature hair-trigger explosion she had provoked in this pair of teenage studs. She ought to be tired, satiated, fed up. Instead, she was ready to go again. So too, apparently, was Albert who seethed none the worse for his gut busting explosion down her throat only moments ago.
Could he get it all the way up this soon? She felt it thud blindly against one tender inner thigh and her question was answered. A moment later the boy rested his weight partly on her, nearly mashing her superbly upstanding tits as he put one hand down to guide the tip of his cock. She felt it touch the waiting wetness of her gaping snatch. The boy brought his hand back up and rested his weight on his elbows. He took a deep breath, held it, then began slowly pushing his cock in. Abruptly, Ted realized she had been holding her breath too. They both released slow happy sighs.
She felt the length of Albert's fourteen-year-old phallus slide deep into her, deep, deep, deeper until finally his bony pelvis touched hers. He stopped for a moment, ground around atop her, pushing and stretching, ramming his cock into-her raddled cunt from unexpected angles. It felt so gooooooooooood! It felt so good she wanted to go on forever just letting the boy do all the work as he fucked himself to death but there was still another curly-headed thirteen-year-old with a thirteen--year-old cock pristine in its insatiable stiffness to satisfy.
Ted sighed and wrapped her thighs around Albert so they would not come disconnected. Then, using the perfectly trained ballerina muscles in her ass and legs, she flopped on her side still holding the boy's cock tightly plugged into her. They wriggled and squirmed for a few minutes, then she was laying on her left side with Albert still fucking energetically away, ram slamming into her cunt for all the world as if it were a piece of soap which he was trying to use up as fast as possible.
She smiled a secret smile, secure in the knowledge that she would still have a cunt ready for other cocks long after this one was fucked out. That was one of the nicest things, she guessed, about being a woman.
Little John hovered impatiently on the sidelines. She supposed he had expected a blow-job just as she had given Albert while the curly-headed younger boy was pouring his tireless cock to her. But the boy couldn't work out the mechanics of connecting his crotch to her mouth while she and Albert lay on their sides. Finally Ted took pity and waved the boy in the opposite direction.
Puzzled, little John began insinuating his hairless thirteen-year-old body in onto the triangular-shaped mattress behind her.
Ted lay on her left side with Albert between her thighs, fucking away with the kind of energy one seldom sees after fourteen. Ted began slowly positioning him for the maneuver she had in mind, slowly forcing this flexed knees from between her thighs, gradually straightening and closing her own legs. At first Albert was unwilling to surrender any body contact. Then gradually he learned the difference, the heightened sensation when her legs were closed, helping to squeeze her cunt dosed tight around his throbbing tally whacker until he felt like he was achieving a famous first with a tight ten-year-old. "Aaaahhhh!" the boy gloated. He held his breath for a moment, struggled with the temptation to cum right then and there, and finally managed to control his eager fourteen-year-old body. Ted smiled a secret little smile. She opened her arms and drew his head in between her tits, subtly guiding him until the, fourteen-year-old was giving her almost as much of a turn-on licking, kissing and sucking her tits as he was with his hot throbbing rod sliding in and out of her newly tightened cunt.
Meanwhile little John huddled disconsolate behind them, unable even to get a handful of tit. Ted reached back to touch his firm, hairless body. Slowly, she let her hand slide down the front of his body with a smooth tickling gesture. By the time she found his cock it was standing firmly at ready. She squeezed it and the boy moaned and buried his face in the nape of her neck.
She squeezed and caressed it again and the boy pushed against her moaning his need into her ear. Meanwhile Albert was fucking her as steadily and energetically as the smaller boy had been doing moments ago. Had it only been moments since the three of them had exploded and cum? Ted marveled at the recuperative powers of her thirty-nine year-old body.
She held the thirteen-year-old's hairless cock in her hand and guided it toward her, pulling the willing boy closer. She wondered how much he knew about anatomy-if he had ever experimented in this particular way with boys or girls of his own age. Probably not, she guessed. From the way the boy was acting he seemed to expect her to clasp his cock between her thighs and squeeze him into dry-bagged oblivion. But Ted had better uses than that for a stiff thirteen-year-old cock.
Moving slowly and carefully so as not to break the rhythm of Albert's powerful drive up her well-slicked cunt, she guided the younger boy by the most convenient handle. She could feel her whole body atwitter at the memory of the last time-had it really been twenty-eight years?-when Mr. Hammel had introduced her to this cherry conserving form of eroticism.
Finally she felt the younger boy's cock tip pushing at the appropriate spot. She tried to relax, to let herself go all loose. She put her hand around behind little John's ass and gave him an encouraging pat. The boy shoved.
It hurt like blazing sin. Ted had forgotten how it could hurt to try to start a cock, no matter how willing, up a dry asshole. She hesitated, got her finger down there and brought a little of the copious lubrication from Albert's relentless entry and exit from her well-slicked cunt back where it could help little John. Then she patted the boy's ass again.
This time when he pushed it was like breaking a maidenhead. He pushed hard and steady against an insurmountable pressure, hurting like the seven deadly sins, and then suddenly the obstruction was no longer there and the boy was in, in IN!
She felt his straight hard cock sliding seemingly miles up her asshole. His entry was timed with one of Albert's full length thrusts and the sudden ingress of two cocks filled her unto bursting. Ted had never felt so good in her life until an instant later when both cocks started coming out of her at once and the sudden blessed emptiness was so comforting that it felt almost as if she had cum. She relaxed, surrendered, gave up. From now on it was up to the boys. She would let them do whatever they wanted. Now their rhythm had broken, one going in as the other came out. It felt so wondrously and curiously odd to have her whole insides pushed rhythmically back and forth under the alternating displacement of first one cock and then the other that she could almost detach her mind from the saturated eroticism to analyze the feel that was driving her to the edge of orgasm with every stroke.
Then once more the boys were momentarily synchronized, both cocks sliding in and out of her at once, stuffing her full, leaving her empty with the most totally erotic satiation she had ever experienced.
"Aaaahhhh!" Albert sighed.
"Yeaaaahhhh!" little John replied.
"Oooohhhh!" Ted moaned. She supposed there was probably a more intellectual way of putting it but that was just what it felt like: Oooohhhh!
