Time was, forty years ago, when even the average American household kept a maid. Most frequently she was of foreign origin, a youngish lady of good breeding who'd come to this country to work hard, learn the language, gain her citizenship and sponsor the immigration of her brothers and sisters and mother and father. She was invariably a superb cook and an immaculate housekeeper, willing to work twelve hours a day and sleep in a little room under the stairs. And she invariably inspired some erotic imagery on the part of the head of the household, and on the part of his growing sons, who thought of the virgin young lady so far removed from her lover, tossing on her lonely bed each night, too frightened in this foreign land to even go out in search of solace.
Of course, maids exist no longer, except in the homes of the rich. But their erotic imagery lives on, best exemplified by the tiny French maid in her tiny white cap and apron, and her tiny black skirt and heels. She is to be seen now in picture books, able to dust the coffee table and serve the
Champagne, and so brainlessly devoted to her master-or mistress-that she is willing to do absolutely anything for them, their friends, their sons and daughters, and the family collie. This maid-Yvette is invariably her name-is less a figment of wild erotic picture/fiction than she is the fanciful descendant of that hard-working immigrant of forty years past. The image endures, refined and cultivated by two generations of reflection on those simpler times, and Annie and Marie and Helga and Bertha and Hilda, women strong enough to brave the Atlantic Ocean, evolve into little Yvette.
But immigrant maids still exist, just as there exist wealthy families, and this story is the story of one of these. It is brought fully up to date. She no longer lives under the stairs, and thanks to modern appliances has no need to labor twelve hours each day. She is just as strong and determined as her real life counterparts of the '20's in Chicago and New York, but she dwells in solid comfort, with a telephone there to contact her loved ones left behind and with time enough to plot and scheme to bring them over, not in steerage in a wallowing rust bucket, but in a coach seat on a screaming silver jet.
The erotic imagery that the maid in the household evokes is still there, magnified indeed by the absence of work-reddened hands on her and the presence of shops that dispense those feminine artifices so well designed for catching the eye of the male. The maid lives on, brought to stirring life in the pages of this book.
You will find the Rated X books, along with their companions, the Surree Collectors Series and the HIS 69 gay titles at your favorite adult bookstore or newsstand each and every month. Series collectors of strictly adult reading will want them all, side by side on their private book shelves for definite re-reading and ready reference.
-THE PUBLISHERS
CHAPTER ONE
Charles sat in a desk chair at poolside in his wet trunks and jockstrap, leafing through a soggy magazine and trying not to keep looking at Erika, the Swedish maid. She was big and fat and old, and she spoke with an accent and he didn't much like her, but looking at her was better than looking at the pictures of the dumb weight-lifters in the dumb magazine his mother had bought for him. Erika was out behind the swimming pool cabana, tending to the really stupid vegetable garden she'd planted in a corner of his parents' big Palm Springs lot. It was just as hot as could be expected in July, and instead of being in the air-conditioned house she was out there sweating with her dumb tomatoes and carrots. He'd like to pull up a carrot and shove it up her big dumb ass and see what she'd do. He'd rather shove his damned dick in her, anywhere at all, because as usual it was just as hard as a carrot and itching for some fast action.
Charles was seventeen that year and he'd been plagued with an endless series of hard-ons since his fourteenth year. Although all the guys at the Ivanhoe School joked about how horny they were all the time, Charles Derek Goodson III knew he was the horniest one of all. Anything at all could give him a hard-on, even the dumb Swedish maid. He'd never joined in the midnight circle jerks at school; he'd never gone to New York City with the other seniors to spend his allowance on a whore and a dose of clap, and he'd never gotten in the pants of one of the girls from the Monroe Academy. He had shunned all that and suffered in solitary silence, knowing he was different than anybody else and that someday soon he'd snap and turn into a badly misunderstood rapist and sex criminal. There were times he hated his constantly troublesome prick and thought about amputating it with a meat cleaver, but on that morning he was very glad he had it nestling hard in the steamy hollow of his groin where he could rub it while he watched the movements of the fat dumb cook.
She was more big than fat. She was almost as tall as Charles' five foot ten, but of course much heavier, with thighs seemingly as big around as his waist and hips like a barrel, a huge set of tightly confined tits and an ass as big as the full moon. He was looking dead-on at her ass right now as she bent over to pull another carrot. She'd been sweating of course, and the back of her pale green nylon uniform dress was marked with a broad band of moisture down her spine. It stopped below her waist, at the swell of her big ass, but still it made her flimsy skirt cling more closely between her buttocks than Charles had ever noticed since the week he'd been at the Palm Springs house.
Erika was probably sweating very heavily through the crack of her ass. Her panties were probably soaked with sweat, if she had any on at all. He knew she wore panties, for he'd seen them in the wash, even touched them, even smelled them. But he'd heard stories about how Swedish women ran around naked in the snow, and there was a good chance that old Erika didn't have a stick on under her cook's uniform.
She didn't have any stockings on. Her thick legs were completely bare and, he had to admit, very shapely for a woman her age-thirty-five, he'd heard his father say. Her ankles were slim and her calves were heavily contoured, the backs of her knees looked great and what he could see of her thighs was smoothly tapered. Knock off some weight and she'd have good-looking legs, really. They were like one of his favorite Play mate's only doubled in size. He's sure like to crawl right up behind her and look up her skirt and see if she had any of her big, white nylon panties on. And when she caught him at it he'd just say, "I just came over to help you pick a carrot. Would you like me to stick it up your ass? Would you like it better if I stuck my big fat dick up your sweaty old cunt?" She'd freak out at that and go screaming down the street in search of his folks, and then, of course, Charles would successfully deny everything. But instead of doing that Charles sat there and rubbed his fiercely burning cock and licked his salty sweaty lips and went on gobbling up the Swedish cook with his eyes.
She straightened up and half turned and smiled at him, bunch of carrots in her hand. He looked straight at the profile of her huge tits and smiled back, quite calmly giving his hidden hard-on a terrifically satisfying and thrilling squeeze.
Now her ass and her tits were kept moving all the time, straining her uniform to the breaking point, while she picked tomatoes. The back yard show was coming to a close, and Charles had to admit it had been a damned good one. He knew exactly where he'd go to bring it to its inevitable conclusion in a few minutes, and this time he'd try to make it last.
She turned to face him now with a double armload of her dumb vegetables, tossing back a long hank of her braided blonde hair. It was quite a double armload she had, and Charles subdued a lascivious smirk and halted the sly movements of his hand as she came walking toward him with it.
"That's quite a lot you've got there," he said, nodding at her carrots and tomatoes and her big bulging titties.
"I am so proud of them!" she said, looking down at the smooth red spheres and dirty orange poles held clasped to her incredibly big white bosom.
One button of her bodice had come open. Charles could see more of her deep cleavage than he'd ever seen before, and he could have seen still more if it hadn't been for the dumb vegetables. "Yeah, you've got a lot," he said with a smile, casually rocking forward a little to coolly give his flaming cock a very necessary bit of pressure.
"The sun. It is so good here," she enthused. "It is like summertime all year long. I love it here!"
"Too hot," he said, and ventured a very bold look at her cunt, which lasted for perhaps a tenth of a second. "You ought to get in your suit and take a little swim. My folks wouldn't mind. I'll just sit here and watch."
"Oh, no! Here? In my employer's house? On my working days? Oh, no," she said, "I could never do that. They would forbid. They do enough for me by helping get my daughter to America."
She was just a yard away from Charles and his terrifically horny prick. He'd expected her to smell sweaty, but all his flaring nostrils could detect was the fecund aroma of damp earth, and perhaps a trace of flowery perfume. "They'd let you swim here," he said. "Any time you want. Do you have a bathing suit?" he said, and it gave him a chance to look at her again, all of her big old body that wasn't shaped too bad at all.
Her blue eyes sparkled. Her rosy cheeks bunched in a glistening smile. She said, "That would be so nice. To have a little swim in the pool sometimes. But, no. That is not right for me to ask."
"I'll ask. It'll be okay. I'll just tell them at lunch."
"That would be so good!" she said, hugging herself in her delight, and very nearly causing her big titties to jump out and join the vegetables in her arms.
He watched her go toward the house. How could any woman have an ass that big and still have it shaped so good? He watched till she reached the back door, rubbing his oozing prick in a most sensual fashion, and then he rose all hot and horny and sweaty and headed toward the cabana.
It was a flimsy little affair in comparison to the spacious ranch house that the Goodsons summered in. Made of redwood, it had a shade awning under which was Charles' weight-lifting equipment, and inside was a bathroom and a couple of showers, closets and drawers for guests' swim suits and for the cook's spare uniforms, one small room for resting and a wet bar that was never used.
None of it was ever used, really, except by Charles, for his folks never had swimming parties, and neither did he. But he had used the cabana since his graduation from Ivanhoe the week before, and he'd used it well. He went into the shadowy dimness how, hooked the door behind him, and reached under the linen closet for a magazine a whole lot more interesting than The Bar-Bell. It was a girlie magazine that sold on the stands for a dollar and a half, if you were eighteen. Charles had paid one of the guys at school five dollars for it.
He didn't complain. It was worth it to him and he had the money. Now he opened it up at random to a full page shot of a tawny-skinned brunette, smiling at him as she started taking off her white lace panties, and he stared at it on the counter-top and grinned while he loosened the tie of his trunks. He took his time. He was going to make it last. Feast his eyes on her while he got his hot trunks and jockstrap off, imagine her there with him in the stuffy little cabana, and then leave his now aching prick entirely alone until he was on the lounge in the next room and could at least look at a couple of other pictures.-
He looked at her, he drank her in, and he decided he'd marry her if he could. His trunks came loose and he pushed them down to his ankles. She had the prettiest, sexiest, most uplifting titties he'd ever seen, the most curvaceous ass, the most promising smile. He paused to bend and kiss her picture and felt even more sweetly dizzy as he straightened up. He knew he'd find a model of equal appeal on a following page, but just now she was the very best he'd ever seen. He pushed his jockstrap halfway down his thighs, stifling a moan as the warm air kissed his hot, hot prick. He'd resolved not to touch it till he was in the next room, comfortably lying down, but touch he did now, only to draw the fiendishly itching foreskin back, and when he did, the first of surely many subdued moans escaped his lips. And at the same time the door burst open and there was Erika framed in it.
"No! I'm in here! Get out! I'm in here!" he cried, simultaneously trying to hide the magazine and grab for his fallen trunks.
The look of shock on her face quickly transformed into one of deep concern, and she came forward at him, saying, "Poor boy! Oh, you poor boy!"
"Get out of here! Can't you see I'm IN here!" he shouted, close to tears, but not close to getting his trunks up, for they were all caught and tangled in his elastic jockstrap.
"It is all right," she said, still advancing. "I understand this. I help you," said she, and Charles slammed himself back against the counter-top as she reached right down and grabbed his prick!
"No! Don't! Go AWAY . . . ! " he cried, twisting and turning, to no avail, as she just smiled and held him captive against the counter with her bulk, and began to stroke his cock in her fist.
"Hold still now. It is all over soon. I help you to squirt. It is the best way," she said, hand working like a piston and a cow milker at the same time, rendering Charles helpless to hold back or to get away.
"No! Uh! UH-h-h-h!" he groaned. He might have actually been crying in his futile rage then, but he certainly was cumming.
"Squirt! Squirt! SQUIRT!" she enthusiastically said, in time with the long ropy jets of white that spurted halfway across the little room. "Yes! Squirt! Get it all out. What a good boy!" she said, hugging him hard to her soft, earth-smelling bosom, and still doing things with her hand that made his prick feel like it was squirting.
"I'm sorry," he panted. "You shouldn't have," he said, and then he fought down all those nearly overwhelming feelings and exclaimed, "You had no right to come in here like that!"
Her eyes filled with sadness. She backed off an inch. She said, "I came here for a shower and a new uniform. I have got this one dirty," and he winced when she took her hand from his still tingling prick to touch her earth-soiled bodice. "I saw you like that and I helped you. It is a natural thing. Do not be angry with me; I need my job here."
"It's okay," he muttered. "Just don't ever . . . It's okay," he said, and with the blood rushing out of his prick he started blushing furiously as he fumbled to disentangle his trunks from his jockstrap.
She smiled brilliantly and gave him a little hug. "I only do what is natural. I help you feel good, like a man." She gave him a pat on his naked ass. "Take a swim. Cool off now. Rest."
He had to get away from her . She'd helped him feel better cumming than he ever had before in his life, but he had to get away from her right away. He started out of the door, tripped on his trunks and fell, and kicked out of them and ran toward the pool with her tinkling laughter following behind him.
Charles' chest scraped the bottom of the pool and a trail of bubbles escaped him as he cried, "Goddamned sonofabitching woman!" He wanted to stay down there forever. He'd rather drown than to have to face her again, the fat, foreign pig. How could she have done that to him? How could he have let her? And how, how in the world could anything have felt so GOOD?!
He came up to the surface for air, surface dived, and ran his hands all over his prick and balls inside his jock strap. It still felt good! If a hand job from a woman felt that good, what did it feel like to fuck? He squirmed and porpoised through the cool blue water, swam like a snake with his hands on his nuts, still not over the force of delight he'd felt at her hands. Nobody'd believe it if he ever told them. Which he never would. He hardly believed it himself. He stayed down on the bottom till he couldn't stay there any longer, then let himself drift up to the rim of the pool where he could peep over the tile toward the cabana.
He was still panting from the exertion when she came out, looking monstrously big from this angle, an he slowly sank his head below the surface again. He counted to thirty slowly, and when he raised his head again, there she was, squatting down on the apron of the pool with a mournful look in her eyes and his trunks in her hand.
"I am sorry I laughed," she said. "It is not polite to laugh at one when he is falling."
"It's all right," he muttered. Christ, he could look right up her skirt, if he wanted to, and see the curves of her clasped legs like the two biggest asscheeks in the world.
"I want you to know I did not laugh at you, because of your need for squirting."
"I said it's all right! Just forget it. Okay?" he said, and reached for his trunks.
"You are not angry?" She was holding onto the other end of his trunks, smiling a little now.
"Naw. Just forget it."
She leaned forward so that her tits almost fell out of the fresh uniform she'd put on. She looked younger, somehow, with her hair all wet and drawn back from the fast shower she'd taken. "You do not forget it," she said. "I understand these things. We do in Sweden. The woman helps the boy. It is the way of things. And when you need help some more, you come to me. Yes?"
"Yes," he muttered, when she still wouldn't let go of his trunks. "Okay!" he said, and jerked them out of her hand.
He put them on in the water, scarcely pausing to look at the big sweeping curves and the heavy lilting sway of her hips and bottom as she headed back toward the house again. What a woman. What a place Scandinavia must be, Charles thought, and heaved his lanky body up out of the pool and went to bench press a fifty-pound bar bell forty or fifty times.
CHAPTER TWO
Charles' folks came home from the Racquet Club at about one o'clock, pretty sloshed but not really in the bag. They had Erika serve them one more martini before they could sit down for another of the stupid family meals they always insisted on whenever they were at home. This one was a little better than the others. At least he had old Erika to look at and think about as she fetched and carried. What a trip, having her around to jerk him off whenever he felt like it. Which was all the time. He'd have to ask her about fucking her between her big fat tits sometime, he thought, as he smiled and thanked her for bringing him his poached salmon and vegetables.
But instead of that, he asked his parents if it would be okay if Erika could take a swim in the pool on hot days, whether it was her day off or not. "It's awri.. . it's perfectly all right with me," said his father, a white-haired, emaciated man with perpetually drooping eyelids, as he took another sip from his wine glass.
"Why, of course our Erika can use the pool, whenever she wants to," said Charles' mother, quite the opposite of her husband in girth and in hair coloration, for her hair was dyed an auburn red, and her stomach bulged as if she was always seven months pregnant, even at her age. She gestured with her wine glass, spilling a bit which no one noticed, and said in a louder voice, "Erika? Oh, Erika! Ah, there you are, dear. Feel perfectly free to use the pool whenever you care to. It's so un-godly hot here I don't see how a nice Norwegian lady like you can stand it. What do you hear from your daughter, by the way? Niece? Is it daughter or niece who's coming? No matter. Oh dear, I've made a spill," she said, and dabbed at her plate with a linen napkin.
"There is more in the kitchen," said Erika. "I will make you another plate."
"Yes, do," said Alice Townsend Goodson. "Please do. Soggy Salmon? Ugh."
"You don't want any more," said Charles Derek
Goodson II. "She don't want any more," he explained to Erika. And back to his wife of thirty-eight years, "Hell, you never eatchyer lunch anyway."
"Charles! Don't curse at the table! Or in front of the servants."
"May I be excused?" said Charles Derek Goodson III.
"Din' curse. All's I said was damn."
"In front of the servants? At the dinner table? In front of Charles? In front of me?! "
"Aw, fuck it," said the elder Goodson, and went for his wineglass.
"Charles!" said his wife.
"May I please be excused?" said Charles, rising in his chair, beet-red beneath his new tan from this latest performance of his parents.
His father's eyes opened nearly all the way. "Inna middle of a family meal? You may not be excused."
"Finish your lunchie, dear," said his mother, and resumed the dabbling of her fork in her plate.
Charles saw Erika bite her plump lower lip in mute sympathy for him as she left the room, and that made it all the worse.
Only the dull clatter of the elder Goodson's knife and fork against bone china sounded in the room now until at length he laboriously cleared his throat and said, "Good hot day today. Gotta . . . we've got to go into that rotten old smoggy L.A. tomorrow or the nex' day. Business," he said, though he was long since retired from what he called the "Insurance Game" and the only business he engaged in now was cashing stock dividend checks and getting loaded at the Racquet Club. "Wanna come along this time?" he said, swiveling his beaky face toward Charles on his turkey's neck.
"No, thanks." Charles wasn't hungry any more. He wasn't even horny at the moment. Why did they have to make such assholes of themselves? Why did they have to drink so much? "I've got a lot to do here. I haven't even put my new telescope together yet, and I've barely gotten started on the TV set."
Charles II chuckled and shook his head over his uplifted wineglass. "Knew you'd like the color TV set kit. Complicated sonofagun. But not for a certified ee-lectronic genius like my boy. Our boy. Eh, Alice. Genius. Gee-eye-onius! Heh-heh-heh. Butchyer never. . . but you're never going to get your private pilot's license unless you start flying with us and log some more hours, boy. Ins'rument flying, night hops, multi-engine, you gotta get 'em all in before you get that ol' license, and I'm not talking about some single engine license, I'm talking about the real thing. Why, I remember when I took my flight training at Luke Field in '43. Your mother was there. Back then we had nothing but.. . "
He launched into the start of the History of World War II again and Charles let his mind drift to the tawny-skinned brunette in his girlie mag and how he'd hardly had a chance to make it with her before Old Erika had come barging in on him. Old Erika. Wow! What a hand job! She could teach the girls at Monroe Academy a thing or two if she had a credential. Was that really the way they did things in Sweden? If so, he was being brought up in the wrong country. Then again, some of that country-the best part-was living right in the same house with him. It might be a crazy summer. His dick might hang down to his knees before he was fully enrolled at the old man's Alma Mater in the fall, good old UCLA. Yes, it could be an interesting summer if his fucking parents didn't bore him to death before then. Or embarrass him to death. To act like this and then wonder why he didn't have any friends in Palm Springs was simply incredible. His father got to the Battle of the Coral Sea before his yawning mother said it was time for their nap, and Charles rose to help her out of her chair.
Charles carried some of the dishes into the kitchen. "Oh, you should not do that!" said Erika, and tried to take them from him, causing a near disaster as he grimly went on to place them on the sink.
"I do what I want around here," he told her. "If I feel like clearing some dishes, I do it. If I want you to swim in our pool, it gets done. Now get out of my way so I can get the rest of that stuff in there."
He cleared the table, every bit of it, while Erika meekly scraped the largely uneaten food into the garbage disposal and loaded up the washer with all that remained of another wasted midday meal. He snatched a coke from the refrigerator and guzzled it down, and when he turned to glare at her, she said, "I thank you."
"What for?" he flared. "Clearing the damned dishes or get you into the dumb pool that nobody uses except me? Forget it."
She glanced at his loins, primly encased in shorts and white flared pants now. It was only a glance of the shortest kind, but it threatened to melt away his fury until she said, "I hope you do not do these things for me because I do something for you. It is only a nat.. . "
"God-DAMNIT!" he shouted, and threw his coke can at the door. "That's got nothing to do with anything! I had a hard-on and you jacked me off! It was . . . natural! It didn't have anything to do with clearing off the stupid dishes or getting their stupid permission for you to use the pool when you want to! Christ's sake! Even a damned dog ought to be able to cool off in this lousy hot place!"
He waved his arms wildly as he said it, and she nodded her flaxen head and returned to her dishes and said, "Ya. Even a dog."
"Oh, Erika, Erika," he implored, coming to her and touching her firm bulk, laying his cheek against her shoulder. "I didn't mean that. WHY DO I ALWAYS SAY THE WRONG THING?? ? " He turned her to face him, almost wept then he saw the sadness in her lovely smooth face. But through it he grinned his best boyish grin and said, "Hey, how about a swim? Huh? Let's take a swim. You and me. It's so darned hot. The dishes can wait. Let's take a swim. Okay? Come on, Erika. Get your suit on. Let's go!"
When she slowly nodded his spirit soared. When she brushed at what could be a tear he gave her a swat on the butt and said, "LET'S GO!"
Charles had all the makings of a hard-on as he rushed from his luncheon clothes into his jock and cut-offs. There was no way he could make it through a swim with her without having a terrible need to be jerked off, and no way he could impose that on her now. At least not today. But suck up to her, do dumb little things for her, and it would be a hand job summer all summer long! Was he that heartless?, he asked himself. That horny? YES!, he replied, and tiptoed through the house toward the pool.
His parents were already asleep. He could hear his father snoring and his mother mumbling as he paused outside their door. He longer to peep through the keyhole on Erika's door and watch her getting into her suit but instead he went to the pool and anxiously waited for her there.
At last she came out, tucking the last of her thick golden hair into one of those tan, gum rubber bathing caps that male swimmers wear. And she had on that ridiculous dark gray tank bathing suit, baggy and drab, making her skin look even whiter as she came smiling toward him at the pool. She stopped right beside him. Old and big as she was, she sure did have a heckuva figure, and it was only just then that Charles realized how little support her tits needed for their great size.
"I thank you again for letting this happen," she murmured, and she brushed his cheek with her full lips and made a perfect dive into the water.
She surfaced laughing and facing him in the deep end. Already Charles was getting a hard-on as he dove toward her, swam on his back under her, looking up at her big white legs treading water and the narrow strip of dark cloth between them. Looking up at her he banged his head against the other side of the pool, but by the time he surfaced his prick was fully hard.
As he came up she went under. All he saw of her was her big round ass followed by her heavy white legs as she plunged downward. He watched her move like a seal through the water, and then he had to follow her. He caught her by the foot and swam away. She was after him at once, immediately taking up the game of water tag. She was a very powerful swimmer, and for the next ten minutes it was all Charles could do to keep up with her, while in the process of this he touched her feet and legs, and on one crazy occasion her ass. They wound up the game clinging to the ladder and puffing and shaking water and grinning at each other.
"Ah! This feels so good!" she said.
Her smooth leg brushed against his under water and he said, "Yeah!"
"I will swim many times now. With you, perhaps. But not so many that your parents disapprove."
"Aw, they don't care." She really had a beautiful face, even as wide as it was. 'They're sound asleep now. Passed out." Her big tits looked like they were trying to float out of her suit, and it seemed the sexiest thing in the world when she hiked a fallen shoulder strap back into place. "They wouldn't wake up now if there was a pool party going on."
"We have our party," she said, and for a moment he feared she was going to kiss him, but then she brushed the tip of his nose with hers and climbed out of the pool, leaving him to look straight up between her legs to where the water gushed out of the sagging crotch band of her knit suit.
They stood in the shade by his bar bell equipment to dry off. There was so much of her to look at, and yet no way he could stare. Was this the woman who'd offered him hand jobs? And how did you go about taking her up on it?
"In the kitchen," he said, "I didn't mean anything when I said that about a dog. You're really a good-looking woman. A really nice woman."
She grinned and said, "And you are a very nice boy." And she stroked his wet hair, and once again she leaned forward with pursed lips, and if Charles hadn't turned his head a fraction he might have had to kiss her on the lips.
She snapped off her cap and shook out her thick yellow hair, for once unbraided and making her look younger, almost wildly younger. She said, "And what is this you say in the kitchen about.. . hard-on? And jacking off?"
He blushed in an instant and muttered, "I dunno. It's sort of slang. It's . . . Never mind. Forget it."
"Is it this?" she said, and her hand went down to his front, and as light as her touch was, he felt it through every part of his body.
He nodded his head quickly. She smiled and gave his cock a squeeze, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise as Charles nearly jumped out of his skin. "It is a hard-on now? It wants to be . . . jacked off again so soon?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Please. Please, Erika!"
"Mmmmmmmm. Yes-s-s-s-s. It does make you feel so nice," she said, frankly stroking the long bulge in his cut-offs now as he swayed and panted and feared he might pass out from feeling so good. "I would like to do it for you if your parents were not here."
"They won't wake up! You could do it right here and nobody'd see!"
"Oh? Right here?" she said, and pop, pop, pop! the buttons of his cut-offs came open. She dared him on with her smile. Without a backward glance at the house she shucked his cut-offs down and stood beside her in his bulging jockstrap. She pursed her lips and stroked his thinly covered cock and said, "Oh, you look so nice in this. Such a sexy boy, but with such a big need. Come with me now," she said, and pecked him on the lips, and now he pushed his lips against hers before following after the big shifting buttocks that led the way to the cabana.
She kissed him again inside the shadowy warm little house. She was so big and soft, and her body was still all cool from their swim. He clung to the kiss now, wanting to feel more of her big tits against his chest and her hand stroking his fiendishly itching cock, and she was almost chuckling when she backed away from the kiss.
She snapped the straps of his jock, ran her hand inside its pouch to feel of his bare cock and around behind to squeeze his tensed and trembling buttocks, all the while murmuring softly and offering her big soft lips for him to kiss and pant against. He didn't know what to do with his hands. They fluttered feebly against her damp suit and heavy curves while hers glided over him in thrilling fashion and her lips and even her tongue tip worked all around his panting mouth.
She backed away a bit, still lightly fondling his cock. In this light, with her golden hair in waves about her face, she was absolutely beautiful. She pulled down the waistband of his jock and looked down as the flaming, flame-red head of his cock pushed out above it, and whispered, "So pretty, your hard-on." She kneaded it with excruciating delicacy between thumb and forefinger, and murmured, "This is what you call it here? A hard-on?"
"Yes," he panted, looking down with her. "That's my penis," he said. "My penis, my prick, my dick, my cock!"
"And this?" she said, drawing burning circles on his cockhead with the ball of her forefinger, spreading the sticky wetness around.
"Jizz," he managed to say. "Sperm. Semen. Cum!"
She nodded. "I have heard of cum. Such a pretty cock. Such a pretty prick," she said. "I must see all of it. And your-your balls? -your balls, too."
He let out a long whistling sigh as she crouched down in the stifling dimness and pulled down the straps of his jock. His dick flopped right out and his balls tried to crawl up inside him at her touch, and then he loudly moaned as, quite unbelievably, she kissed the head of his cock, took it in her mouth and actually sucked it. and then let it rub all against her body, tits and belly and everything, as she stood up smiling to face him again!
"Such a pretty cock. Such nice big balls. What a beautiful young man, and how badly he needs his help from me," she said, and somehow Charles' cock was up inside the leg hole of her swimming suit and he was kissing her wildly, just as wildly as he was cumming.
His cock was sandwiched tight between their bodies and he was uncontrollably humping it up between her silken firm skin and the knit bathing suit she wore. It was spurting against her, again and again and again, and she was pulling him harder against her and letting him kiss her as hard as he wanted. She sucked his tongue in her mouth and swirled her tongue all around it, and still he kept on shooting. The ecstasy was so great he was moaning through the deep, deep kisses and clutching two handfuls of her bathing suit as if to rip it right off her wonderful big body. He was sweating heavily; she was still as cool as the pool water, and with her fingers digging deeply into his spasming buttocks, she held him hard against her till the really heavy spurting stopped and he was left with just the wonderful tingling all over his body. He went on kissing her, letting go of her bathing suit to clasp her round cheeks in his hands until he thought he was going to faint, and then he swayed backward and his cock came out from under her bathing suit and he saw the big drool of pearly white jism that ran down her leg.
She saw it, too. She looked down and laughed and scooped up a dollop on her finger, licked it off and said, "Good! And now we swim a quick time more," she said, and kissed him and went laughing off toward the pool.
CHAPTER THREE
It did not take Charles long to follow Erika into the pool. At the sound of her splash he pulled up his jockstrap and bounded out after her, dove in on the run and swam in her direction.
She was swimming the length of the pool, blonde hair streaming behind her, and he boldly swam right into her, tried to wrestle her down for an underwater kiss, and she slithered away like a wet bulky seal. He went after her again. They were playing serious tag now, and he got his hands on her ass and her legs and even her tits as she eluded him again and again. She was tireless, ever eluding him, always laughing, and when with effortless grace she heaved herself up on the edge of the pool it was all he could do to paddle up to her and cling to her knees.
"You feel better now, Charles?"
"Never better," he panted, "in my life! Wow! I never felt so good. . . . "
She interrupted him by bending down, taking his cheeks in her hands, kissing him hard but all too short on the mouth. When she straightened up again she was smiling as broadly as ever and both of her shoulder straps hung down over her arms in that sexy, sexy way. "Nice boy. Handsome young man," she said, and rumpled his hair.
"You're sure a . . . good swimmer," he said, and glanced right straight ahead at her twat for an instant, hidden behind that band of dark gray cloth, water dripping from it, blonde hairs peeping out against the big roundnesses of her thighs. "I'm sure glad you came to work for my folks."
She rubbed his sides with her bare feet. Ever smiling, she said, "Because you like my cooking or because you like the jacking off?"
"No! Neither one. I mean, because I like you. You're really nice. And I'll do everything I can to see my folks get your daughter over here."
"That would be so good," she said, and gave him her mouth again, her tongue too, and then got up and headed for the house, tugging her floppy bathing suit down over her great big asscheeks, leaving him with still another hard-on in the water.
In the afternoon he took the Seville to the shopping center and there he went to the sporting goods store. He didn't find anything suitable there and with some trepidation went on to a ladies' wear store. It was an embarrassing experience, though he knew it certainly shouldn't have been. His intended purchase was ordinary enough in Palm Springs and it was probably only embarrassing because of the presence of the almost smirking sales girl. He wasn't sure at all of the size or the style of what he was after and he fought against anxiety, sweating in the air-conditioned store while the sales girl brought out bathing suit after bathing suit till the showcase was covered with them. At last he picked one out, muttering for the third time that it was "for his aunt" as the girl handed it over to him and he paid cash for it. He drove toward the house with his right hand resting on the rustling bag beside him and his brain and body seething with the knowledge that he'd had a blow job that very day and survived it. My God, her mouth on his cock, simply incredible! And she'd do it again! Probably all he had to do was ask her. And the swimming suit he'd bought for her was nothing at all in the way of a bribe. He just wanted to do something nice for the poor dumb woman. And he wanted to see her in it. Old as she was, she'd probably look pretty good in it. He could almost see her in it already. He turned around and went to the camera store for several rolls of 35-mm film and some fresh developing chemicals.
That evening at dinner he brought up the subject of getting Erika's daughter over for a visit. With some difficulty he learned from his parents that there were visitor's visas and immigrant's visas, and that Erika was there on a visitor's visa, working slightly illegally. Her daughter might come on a visitor's visa, too. Visitor's visas were good for three months, although they could be extended. Immigrant's visas were difficult to obtain but led eventually to citizenship status. Professing great interest in aliens' rights, he managed to get his parents to impart their little knowledge of this to him while their cock fetched and carried yet another splendid meal, beaming special smiles at him over his parents' heads. If he'd been granted one wish in his life then, it would be that she'd come over and open his pants and give him another blow job right there at the table in front of his parents. After dinner, while his parents sipped brandy and looked at television, Charles cleaned all the equipment in his dark room, did a little work on a CB transmitter he was building, and jacked off in his bathroom before going to bed.
In the morning his parents talked about taking the Cessna to L.A. He wished they would. It would give him two or even three days alone in the house with Erika, and there was no telling how many hand jobs and blow jobs would take place in the cabana during that time. But, as usual, after a couple of bloody marys his parents opted for the Racquet Club for a little relaxation before their usual late lunch. Charles would have at least two hours alone with Erika.
As soon as they were gone he brought his gift to Erika as she worked in the kitchen. Somehow she looked even sexy in her green uniform dress that morning, but she'd be looking a whole lot sexier soon.
"It is for me?" she said, holding it up by its thin black shoulder straps.
"Sure it is. You'll look good in it." Why in hell hadn't he had it gift-wrapped? "It's a whole lot better than that funky old suit you've been wearing. Try it on. Let's take a swim," he said, cool as could be, heart thumping wildly.
"But it is too small for me. No?" she said, turning it over and over in her hands, poking her fingers through the holes in it.
"It stretches. See?" He showed her, drawing the shiny black fabric so tight he could see the white balls of his fingers through it. "You'll look great in it. Try it on. Let's go."
"A gift for me. How very nice you are," she said, and she kissed his cheek, squeezed his hand through the bathing suit, and he wanted to rip off her clothes and put it on her right then and there in the middle of the kitchen.
He practically had to push her out of the kitchen toward her room. Her gratitude was as embarrassing as when he'd made the purchase. He rushed to his room and got into his jockstrap and his best trunks, hurriedly checked over his Nikon and went to listen outside her door. He went to the back yard and took a couple of random shots around the pool. Why was she taking so long? What if it really was too small for her? If it didn't stretch enough to cover her big tits and big ass, he'd go back and see that salesgirl fired. He was about to go and listen at her door again, perhaps knock and see if she was all right, when she appeared at the back door, absolutely magnificent.
If the suit had been half a size smaller she never would have made it into it. It was all black, of course, with crisscrossing lacing clear down its sides and several inches down between her barely contained tits. Its leg holes rose high on her thighs to meet the lacings and its supremely taut front panel formed a broad black vee that led right on down to her crotch. She turned to show him more, how the thin strong straps cut through her soft back to join the very low back of the suit, how the seat of it managed to contain much of her big and very beautiful ass. She turned and posed for him there on the back porch while he giggled and gaped, too enthralled and shocked by what he had created to even think of the camera for the moment. And then she came toward him, moving with the grace of a model despite her heavy bulk.
"I take so long to fix my hair for you," she softly said, raising big, gleaming white arms to touch her hands to her intricately braided and interwoven hair.
"You look . . . just great!" he said, stepping back from her with difficulty to look at more of her.
"It is so tight," she said, running her hands up and down her sveltely indented waist, her flat belly, her smoothly curving hips and her absolutely jutting tits. "It is too . . . sexy for me."
"No it isn't! It's beautiful on you. You're beautiful!"
She shook her lovely head. "Much much too sexy. Your cock is probably hard already from looking at me like this, and this is no way to be."
"What's wrong with that?" He grinned and rubbed himself there. "So I've got a hard-on. So what?"
She glided close and brushed a kiss on his lips. "I cannot see you sexy, and that is wrong," she said, and plucked at his trunks. "Maybe take those off, then I let you take a picture of me."
He'd forgotten all about the camera. It thumped against his thumping chest as he quickly took off trunks and jockstrap, unashamedly letting his stiff cock stand up to look with him at the great sexy beauty he'd created out of a dumb Swedish cook.
She struck pose after pose for him. She was a perfect photographer's model. He got her in profile and from front and rear, bending over and lifting her arms on high, sometimes smiling and sometimes looking sulky, but all the time looking sexy as could be. He shot her from every angle, even squatting down so that his balls were scraped by the hot concrete, and she did everything he suggested. She was even cooperative when he suggested she pose with his barbells. He took some weights off till it was down to thirty pounds, where she could lift it, and then he caught her straining upward with his apparatus in her hands, arching backward, looking like some sort of Viking goddess. He was down to his last two rolls of film before he got up the courage to say, "Why don't you pull one shoulder strap down a little? Huh?"
One blonde eyebrow arched and she said, "Oh, so you want even more sexy pictures now. Should not those be in the house? Nice and cool there, with a cold drink for my young man who is looking so hot."
He rubbed his aching cock. "Yeah. I sure am hot. Let's go inside."
They took a fast swim first. Cool water had never felt so good against his prick and balls. She twined her fingers through his as they walked toward the house, him with his dick up hard and drying off fast. She turned on the hi-fi while he very quickly poured lemonade for them. He found her dancing by herself in the sumptuous living room, bare feet moving lightly over the thick carpeting, black elastic clad body gleaming even more sexily in the wet. He wanted to click the shutter as fast as it would go as she peeled down a thin black shoulder strap, but now he was too much aware of how little film he had left.
Down it came. She even wriggled her arm out of it and he felt sure she must have glue on her nipple to keep the cup in place. His voice was a feeble croak as he said, "How about the other one, too?"
"But I would fall out," she said, sensuously stroking that shoulder still bearing the black strap. "Wouldn't I?" she said, and Charles' camera snapped three times before she'd peeled it down to her elbow.
She let it hang with the other and she laughed as she tugged upward at the precariously held bra cups of her wet swim suit. "I think the pictures are getting too sexy now. Soon you will have me with no clothes on at all, and then what?"
"Please, Erika. Please," he said, and fell down on his knees, letting the camera bang against his chest as he held his hands in prayerful attitude. "Just let me see your t-titties. I won't even take any pictures if you don't want. Lemme look once, Erika," he said, rubbing hard at his bare thighs, anything to keep his hands off his incredibly big, hard cock.
She came toward him and bent forward, still holding her bra cups up. Her shoulder straps had made vivid pink lines deep through her soft white shoulders. "You young men," she said, "always thinking of nothing but a woman's titties. There is more, you know," she said, and straightened up and smoothed a hand over her belly and that broad, deep vee of her crotch, and Charles quickly roused himself to take two close-up shots of that bulging black vee with the graceful white hand playing over it. Then he dropped the camera on its strap and held up his hands in pleading and said, "Just let me see 'em. Please. Just let me see your tits one time, and I promise, I promise I'll do everything I can to help you get your daughter over here for a visit. Erika, please!"
"Do not cry about it, Charles." She bent down again and pinched his cheek and ruffled his hair. Nothing but the tightness of the suit he'd bought her held it up now, and her tits bulged beautifully over its top and between the center lacings. Her smile was warm and her voice was soft as she said, "Sometimes a young man must take matters into his own hands."
His hands. They shook like his father's on a Sunday morning as they reached toward the top of that beautiful black bathing suit he'd bought for this beautiful blonde woman. He very gingerly took the cups between thumbs and forefingers, pulled them down half an inch, and her gorgeous big tits were bare before his eyes. "Oh, LOOK at 'em! Just LOOK at 'em!" he said, hands still trembling and held before him as she laughed and shook the big white globes before his goggling eyes.
Her nipples looked as big as saucers. They were a lovely delicate shade of pink. Her tits themselves were so big and round they hung almost to her waist, and their alabaster whiteness was finely marked with pale blue veins. He would have grabbed them but she took them in hand herself, lifting and kneading them in the most sensuous fashion imaginable as she straightened up and took them out of his reach. Luckily he had enough of his wits about him to take some pictures of her as she played with them with frankly expressed enjoyment, and as she did he saw those big flat nipples pucker and elongate and swell till they stood an inch out from her unbelievably big tits.
Even the dangling top of her swim suit added to her supreme sexiness. Even the new pink marks the suit had left heightened Charles' excitement. He was up on his knees, cock sticking up at her, taking picture after picture as she did her wonderful thing for him.
The camera stopped and he muttered a curse and took it from around his neck. She asked him what was wrong and he said, "End of the roll of film, darn it."
"But you have another?"
"Yes, but I'll save it. Right now I need . . . something else," he said, and he looked down at his rampant prick, and he rubbed it and squeezed his balls, and he looked back at her with pleading in his eyes.
She waggled her eyebrows and licked her lovely lips, and still playing with her gorgeous big tits, she said, "Please load it again. I must have a picture of you, too."
"Oh, no," he said. "Nothing doing."
"But I must have my scrapbook, too," she said, looking coy as she could under those circumstances and driving him further crazy with the way she was plucking at her erect nipples with her fingers and thumbs.
"Pictures of me? Naked? With a hard-on? Come on, Erika!"
She tried to pout like a child, and that wasn't successful either. "For me?" she said. "Not a chance," he said.
She heaved a heavy sigh and began to shrug into her shoulder straps again, and Charles said, "Wait a minute! Here, I'll load the camera. It's all set. What do you want me to do?"
"Why, just have fun. As I did."
He made a big joke of it, rolling around on the floor, pretending he was beating off. She seemed to like it, though. She followed him around, shooting down on him, big naked tits swaying over him. She directed him then, as he had her, and got him up on the couch where he sat like a froggy with his legs drawn up and his balls and even his asshole exposed to the camera as she knelt before him and took shot after shot, closer and closer. And when the thirty-sixth exposure was made, she took the camera strap from around her neck and set the Nikon aside and moved in on him.
"You are a good model. You have a handsome cock," she said. She already had it in her hand, and now she licked it, took it in her mouth, gave it one little suck that almost flipped him over the back of the couch. "But where do we get the pictures made?"
"I have a lab. A darkroom. I'll take care of it," he panted, prick throbbing hard in her hand.
"You have everything," she said, and then she gave him more than he'd ever had by coming closer, burying his prick and balls and entire crotch in her soft, warm tits, and kissing him on the mouth, sucking on his tongue as only she could.
Charles no longer knew what he was doing. She was up on the couch beside him, lightly but excruciatingly playing with his cock, guiding his hand to her tits so he could feel of them all he wanted to. They kissed a thousand times. A thousand times he felt her warm, soft mouth on his, licking and sucking and further driving him wonderfully mad, and at least half that many times he felt her mouth and saw it on his prick, licking and kissing as if that part of him was the most delectable thing in the world.
They turned and rolled together on the couch, him panting in his ever-mounting passion, her tinkling out laughter with the very freedom of it all. For the hundredth time his face brushed against a wondrously soft big tit, but this time she stopped in their slow contortions, extruded the big nipple through her hand, and said, "Oh? He wants to suckle?"
Her nipple was weird, but it was beautiful to feel in his mouth. She purred and cooed and fed him more and more as he got his hands on it himself as well as his mouth and sucked and licked like a starving madman. The textures were wonderful. The living warmth intoxicating. But the most thrilling part of all was the way she responded to it.
"Oh. He tickles with his mouth. Mmmmm. He tries to get me excited, hot like he is. What a nice boy. What a beautiful big baby to suck on mama's titty like this. But look, here is another one. Ah-h-h-h-h. So nice! Pretty mouth. Sweet mouth. Give me more kisses now before I get the hard-on, too."
He returned to her mouth in such a frenzy of passion that his aching prick and balls were all but forgotten. It was a wild, completely illogical thrill to know he was exciting this dumb old Swedish cook who usually stank of onions and yeast, but as he kissed her open mouth he kept pulling and pawing at her kiss-wet tits to keep her that aroused.
Now Charles tore away from her mouth to descend on her tits with renewed voracity, and now in return a very real shudder and sigh escaped her and she guided his hand down between her legs. It was soft yet very firm under the deep black vee of her very tight bathing suit. The inner sides of her thighs felt exquisitely silken in contrast to the very smooth fabric of her suit. For one wild moment he was sucking tit and groping pussy at the same time, but then she shuddered again and pushed him away. There was no more laughter in her, not even in her eyes, as she said, "I suck you off now. I suck you off very good. Lay over on your back."
Her body over his blocked out everything else in the room. He'd heard about sixty-nine and now he feared he was in for it himself as she took the position on hands and knees over him on the couch. But then all that was forgotten as the ecstasy flooded through him again at the warm touch of her enveloping mouth on his cock.
Up and down she went, sucking and licking simultaneously, with Charles in such a position that he couldn't even thrash about in the overwhelming sensations that were flooding everywhere through him. All he could do was moan and cling to her naked sides and rock his head back and forth on the couch cushion. He couldn't even let go of her sides and grab her tits as she hung over him, sucking his cock and rolling his balls in her hand and tickling all around his asshole with her fingers.
"Uh!" Charles thought he was cumming. His naked body gave a huge jerk, thrusting his face up between Erika's legs. When he fell back the sensations were still mounting in him, and he was more aware than ever of her big pussy directly over his grimacing face.
The crotch band of her suit was jet black and drum tight. It was concave on both sides with the curvature of her thighs, and once again he could see stray cunt hairs peeping out. It was like a modern sculpture, in its way, and with very little if any of that rank fishy smell the clods at school joked about. Now he clung to her heavy thighs with both arms as he gazed up at her pussy, looking at it as an objet dyart, for Christ's sakes, while he was going out of his mind from her tits on his belly and her mouth on his cock.
"Uh! OH! OH-H-H-H-H, ERIKA-A-A-A-A-A!! ! " This time he was cumming, in a very big way. It came gushing out of him and into her hot mouth, propelled by her hand on his balls, drawn on by the slurping suction of her mouth.
He went crazy with it. He'd been waiting too long for it and now that it was happening it was almost too much for him. In fact, it was too much for him for it had his thrashing like a wounded snake, clinging to her big hips for all he was worth, trying to beg her to stop for a moment but unable to speak for now his face was thrust hard up between her legs.
It wasn't going to stop! He could neither see nor hear because of the sheer intensity of his ecstasy, but he could certainly feel, and he could smell her now, too, and the smell of her was sickeningly delicious. He mouthed and even gnawed at her bulging full crotch band as his cock spurted and spurted, torrents of hot jism which she sucked up and swallowed with unrelenting gusto. He was limp as a wet paper towel when at last her mouth came off his cock, yet tingling all over. He felt good, he felt wonderful all over, and yet he was disgusted with himself for so totally losing control, and disgusted with her for making it happen to him.
She turned around on the couch to face him, looming like a great grinning blonde harpy, and she said, "That is so good to have your cock sucked. Good for me, too."
"Lemme up. Jesus, what happened? Erika, get off me and let me get up."
"Right away? This is the time to relax. Rest."
"I gotta get up. My folks. They could come home early today. Erika, get off me! Jesus, let a guy breathe."
She sighed and rolled off the couch, somehow got her blubbery big tits inside her bathing suit and walked away, saying, "As you wish. I must go shop for lunch now."
CHAPTER FOUR
Charles went to his room and showered for five minutes and brushed hit teeth for ten. Eating it. My God, what ever had possessed him to even come close to eating a box? Especially that fat old cook's! He could see maybe kissing your bride down there a little while you were on your honeymoon, but to do it in broad daylight to a dopey old bag like Erika was something else. He didn't know how it had happened with her, but he knew it wasn't going to happen again. He shouldn't have gotten her that bathing suit. That was the first mistake. Christ's sake, get a girl a little something and she was all over you, expecting more and more all the time. The bathing suit was a waste anyway. He'd probably have gotten just as good a blow job from her if he'd given her a box of candy. She'd open her legs for him if he wanted her to. He hadn't any doubt about that. But who in hell wanted to fuck a fat old slob with a stinking old cunt like hers?
And it sure had stunk. He didn't see how professional cunt-lappers stood it. He doubted if anybody ever did it on a regular basis unless they were tied hand and foot and forced to keep their face deep in a woman's crotch until they finally ate her. Charles Goodson III wasn't going to be a cunt-lapper. Oh, he might try it some time under the right circumstances, for he owed it to himself to try a little of everything in life, but he'd never be known as a muff-diver. "I just can't stand the smell of it, that's all," he told his reflection in the mirror, and washed away the tooth paste from his mouth and went to gather up his strewn photography equipment.
The pictures would be a real laugh. He wished he had someone to show them to. He probably ought to destroy them, because his parents wouldn't like it at all if they came across them in his room, but they were always so bombed they probably wouldn't even recognize the model as Erika, and with all his projects going, they never went into his room anyway. He'd develop the film someday when he got around to it. Someday when he was about thirty-five he'd run across the rolls and develop them and smile in fond remembrance of his seventeenth summer, that summer of hand jobs and strip teases and sensational blow jobs from the Swedish cook.
He heard the Chevy start up and opened the curtain on his window enough to see Erika taking off for her shopping trip. She wasn't all that bad. He might fuck her anyhow. But no, that was out of the question. It wouldn't be fair to her. Christ, first thing you know she'd fall in love with him and next thing you know he'd get her knocked up and wouldn't his folks love having his little Swedish bastard son playing naked around the house. He'd just play things cool with Erika. Real cool.
He strolled about the house and backyard, looking for any telltale evidence of the near-orgy they'd had. Everything looked in order. He really was too smart for his folks to catch him dallying with the cook. He went to her room and eased the door open, half expecting to find her waiting naked on the bed for him.
Erika was gone, of course, but her swim suit was there in a crumpled black and white ball on the bed. It certainly did look too small for her now. He picked it up between thumb and forefinger, chuckling at the things women did, the things they wore to try to make themselves attractive to men.
It had a little white liner, like panties, sewn into the bottom of the suit. The crotch looked stained, as if she'd gotten so excited at the height of things she'd pissed in her pants a little. It didn't smell like piss, though. It smelled like pussy, and Charles wrinkled his nose in disgust and smelled it again, not understanding at all how anyone could ever get used to such a smell.
He held the suit against his cheek. It was still warm from her body. Holding it up in front of him, it didn't seem like the darned thing would even fit a body as slender as his. It didn't even look as if his leg would go through a leg hole, but the black material was very, very stretchy. It had to be to handle tits and hips like Erika's. All Charles had on was a towel. He left it around his waist as he put his finger through the leg holes of Erika's new bathing suit and gingerly pulled it up his legs. Weird what women wore. It made him snicker to do a knee bend and hitch the dumb thing up about his loins, where it fit surprisingly well considering it also fit Erika's huge ass.
With the straps and top dangling down under the towel, he took a look around her little room. Radio and alarm clock, books in Swedish, country scenes framed on the walls, picture of her daughter on her night stand, blonde and not bad looking at all. There was stuff hanging in her closet and more stuff in her chest of drawers. She had about a ton of plain white panties and brassieres. The brassieres looked big enough to hold a couple of cantaloupes. The panties smelled sweet, even in the crotch when he held that part of a pair to his nose, not at all the funky smell of the crotch of the swimsuit he'd tried on.
He found her laundry hamper in her closet. The crotch of panties there smelled a little funky. Not really dirty, but certainly not sweet like the fresh clean ones in her drawer. He looked around a little more, under the bed and in her writing drawer, and then he almost pissed in his pants at the sound of a car door closing.
It had to be his parents, come home early. Panic seized him and he ducked into Erika's closet, closed the door behind him and stood trembling in the dark with her clothes brushing his goose-pimpled back and a box of shoes or something falling down on his head. They'd find him there! He quickly fucked off the bathing suit and shucked it behind him on the floor. "Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. I was just. . . checking the dimensions of the house. I'm planning on wiring hi-fi speakers to each of the rooms. It was going to be a surprise for you." They'd believe it, if they'd had their usual quota of sociable drinks at the club. Or they wouldn't even think to look for him, and he could soon leave qui.. .
What if it was Erika, back from the store?? ? "Boo! I hid here to scare you. It's an old American custom." She was dumb enough to believe that, and if she didnt he'd tell her to keep her fat mouth shut or she'd never get her kid over here. And he'd get himself another blow job on top of it.
He had to get out of there, no matter who was in the house. But what if it were burglars? Better to be caught by them in the maid's room than by a member of the household.
He eased the door open and heard not a sound. He tiptoed to the hall door, picking up his towel as he went and wrapping it around his waist and his hard-on. Still not a sound and he was about to slip out of the room when he remembered her bathing suit, hurried back and got it and carefully arranged it just where it had been on the bed, with the cups all plumped out like they were full of tit. Then as quiet as a snake he eased out into the hall and down it toward his room, scooting past the kitchen doorway just as Erika came through the back door with a load of groceries. He was sure he'd been too quick for her, but then her voice called out, "Hellooo, there. Who is that little naked imp I see?"
He got to his door, stood panting against it with the hot remembrance of her hands on his body tingling all over him, and then he returned, faced her with a sappy grin in the kitchen, and said, "I'm not naked. See?"
She flipped the towel up and looked at his cock. "Almost," she said, and gave it a spine-tingling little flip. "Come. Help me put these things away. Then if we have time I show you surprise I buy for you."
"A . . . a surprise?"
"Just for you."
"You, uh, sure weren't gone long," he said, throwing things into cupboards and drawers, his dick as hard as it could be under the towel and his body feeling more naked than if he'd been nude, while her big shapeliness moved with quick efficiency beside him.
"Simple shopping today. And I know just what it is I get for my handsome young man, the weight-lifter."
She produced a small flat package, tied with ribbon, and again he mentally kicked himself for not gift-wrapping her swim suit. Charles received presents all the time and was blase about that sort of thing, but now he was leaping and reaching for this one as she held it over her head and, laughing, let him into the hall.
"No, no," she said. "There is no time to see it properly now. I put it away now, and you see it this afternoon."
"What is it? Aw, come on, what is it?" he said, laughing with her and getting several good feels of her tits as she kept it away from him all the way to her room.
And there she stopped, and knit her smooth brow first at her new swim suit on the bed, then at her open closet door, with one box of her shoes spilled down on the floor. "What is this?" she said. "Has some little mouse been playing in my room and left a mess?"
She turned to Charles for an answer, and he said, "I don't know anything about it. I mean, why would I come in here? I've got no reason to come in here. I don't know what you're talking about. I was in my room, all the time you were gone, almost."
She took his nose between her thumb and forefinger, tweaked it and then pulled it till his eyes were watering, as she said, "Have you ever heard the story of the puppet Pinocchio? Each time he told his lies his nose grew, and grew, and grew!"
"Ouch! Ouch!" he said, and then "O-W-W-W!", as she took his ear in hand now and twisted it cruelly.
"You have made a mess of my room!" said she. "I'm sorry!" he whined. "I didn't mean to."
"Didn't mean to!" she said, and he didn't know when in his life he'd been more frightened. "What if your parents know you have been coming in my room and making a mess of it? Eh? What then?"
"Don't tell! I'm sorry! O-W-W! I'll never do it again, Erika, I promise! I was only p-playing around."
"Playing around! In Sweden do you know what we do with playful puppies who leave a mess?" she said. "We rub their noses in it!" she said, and proceeded to do just that, dragging him by the ear to her closet and forcing him down till his nose had been pushed into each of her fallen high-heeled shoes, then to the open drawer where it was pushed into the pile of her panties and bras, and then to the bed where she pushed his nose right down hard against the crotch of her new black bathing suit.
Charles howled, he pled, and he was weeping when she at last released him. She wiped his cheeks and made him blow his nose on a lacy, perfumed hankie, and she said, "Come, come, I didn't hurt you. And I won't tell your parents. You have been punished and that is done with." She laughed and said, "I cannot even blame you for coming in here to touch the swimming suit you buy for me. It is so pretty. It is so sexy," she said, picking it up and holding it up before her, and then turning it about and holding it up in front of him. "Why, it even looks sexy on you. Though of course it needs something in it, someone in it to be truly a sexy swimming suit."
There was a glint in her eye and before she could say more, Charles said, "Oh, no. You're not going to get me to put that thing on!"
"Ah, but I am," she purred. "You will put this on for me once, or I will have to go to your parents, very upset. I will have to tell them how I came home to find my room in a mess, like this," she said, and took the step to the dresser and dipped in her drawer and flung handfuls of her panties and bras all over the room.
"Erika, no! You said you wouldn't tell them!" he cried.
She came to him smiling, wrapped the black swim suit about his neck and drew his feverish lips against her cool mouth. She kissed them and nibbled them and tickled them with her tongue tip, laughing and breathing perfume up his nostrils, and she said, "It is the privilege of the woman to change her mind. Put it on, darling. So very sexy. I want to see you in it, dear boy. For me? Slip into it, my handsome little man, and see how good it feels, how sexy it will be."
She threatened him again with telling his folks before he angrily threw his towel aside and snatched the swim suit from her, jammed his feet through its leg holes and yanked it over his stiff prick and fevered loins. "There!" he angrily said. "Now are you satisfied? Now can I take it off?"
"No," said she, and while he gnashed his teeth and writhed in his anger she put his fists through the shoulder straps and drew them up in place, stepped back to smile at her handiwork, and then gathered up a big bunch of her brassieres and panties and stuffed the cups of her swim suit full of them.
"Oh, my ga-w-w-wd," he said, gazing about the ceiling for help that would not come, not to him, the biggest fool in the whole damned world.
She stood back smiling again, rubbing her arms with her hands, and said, "Very, very nice. It stretches to fit you well. Now turn around. Let me see all of you."
"Oh, my gawd!" said Charles, and he very woodenly turned about once, while she pulled and tugged at the black stretch suit to snap it all into a better fit.
"May I please take this damned thing off now?" he sarcastically said when he faced her again. "Please, may I?"
She laughed and said, "No." And she sat on the bed and pulled him down on her lap, put her arms about him and began kissing and hugging him and he was immediately doing it right back to her.
Madness! They'd kissed before, but never quite like this, with her hot mouth all over his face and throat and shoulders and her tongue in his ears and licking back and forth across his chest. Her hands were all over him, too, inside his swimsuit and out, even feeling of the mounds of crumpled lingerie against his chest as she kissed him and kissed him and murmured, "He's such a sexy girl. Oh, how I love to make him feel so good like this, and me, too. Sexy little girl. Sexy little boy. Oh, how I could just eat you up!"
He was delirious with feeling so good. He sat on her lap and he straddled it, kissing her wildly and panting into her mouth. He squirmed his fiendishly tickling body against her moving, squeezing hands, and even his entirely unreal breasts seemed responsive when she squeezed him there. And then when he thought he could stand no more of these wholly fantastic sensations she reached well inside the leg hole of his swimsuit again and this time drew out his terrifically stiff boner.
"Ahhh," she purred. "And what have we here? My sexy girl has one of these, too, does she? Hmm? And does she like to have it sucked by her girl friend? Does she like the blow job, my Charles?"
"Yes!" said he, and got up on his knees straddling her lap, helped by her hands on his quivering ass, and watched while she held his dick in her hand and curved her spine till her kiss-bruised lips could encircle its reaching knob.
"Oh, suck it for me, Erika!" he panted. "Please! Oh, it feels so good, so crazy! Oh, I love you! Suck me off! It feels so good!"
"Mmmmmm." She gave it another lick and straightened up. Her eyes were shining brilliantly as she looked him over, patted his padded tits into shape again, while he remained trembling, twitching before her. "It looks good, too," she said. "Come to the mirror and you will see, while I suck you off some more."
There was a mirror on the inside of the closet door. She arranged him before it most lovingly, pacifying him with kisses and caresses, and tucking his hair inside the leg hole of one of her pairs of panties to add to the illusion of a bathing suited girl with a turban on her head, and a stiff pink prick sticking out of her jet black suit.
"Now I suck you off good. All the way," she said, with her hot, hot breath against his mouth, and then she knelt and proceeded to do just that.
He couldn't believe how good it felt, nor how good it looked. Her brows were knit. She was really concentrating on his pleasures now. And in the fevers of his towering pleasures even he looked so good to himself that it might have been one of his Playmates of the Month swaying there in the mirror in her superbly filled out swim suit. Erika was taking his dick clear inside her mouth, so he couldn't see any of it at times, clutching his thighs and running her hands up inside the back of his swimsuit and going right on ahead as promised toward the biggest fucking creamer the world had ever known when once again he heard a car door slam shut.
"It's your parents!" she said, on her feet at once and pushing her blonde hair out of her face and propelling him toward her door. "Go! Quickly! I will see you later, finish you later!"
"They won't come in here!" he whispered. "And I can't wait till later!"
"Yes, you can. GO!" she said, and shoved him forcefully out in the hall.
CHAPTER FIVE
Charles ran down the hall tucking his aching dick inside the maid's new swimsuit. He made it to his room and slammed the door behind him, threw the three bolts on it and leaned against it panting for a moment, then frantically reopened it and checked the hall, scurried back down it and snatched up the big white brassiere that had fallen out of the black bathing suit he had on. Now when the triple lock was in place on his bedroom door he added to his security by locking himself in his bathroom, and from its window he breathlessly looked as his parents unsteadily struggled with something in the trunk of the Mercedes, calling over their shoulders, "Erika! Oh, Erika!"
She came striding into Charles' view, utterly beautiful, big tits bobbing, magnificently poised, and she easily lifted out the case of wine they'd brought home with them.
Charles collapsed on the toilet seat gasping for breath. How could he possibly have gone through seventeen years of life without knowing about the fantastic things one could do with a woman? He felt all those years had been wasted, and he vowed that he wouldn't waste one more day of his future life.
He took out his dick and looked at it. It was half limp from his fright and flight, but even as he gazed at it and thought about where it had jus been it thickened and elongated and pushed its way farther out the leg hole of the swimsuit he'd so wisely bought for her, and that he had on now.
He tucked it back inside. No more childish beating off for him in the future. He stood up and looked himself over in the bigger full length mirror there, simpering smiles at himself and striking girly poses, digging it a lot but only recapturing a small part of the really wild beauty he'd seen in the mirror when that big, gorgeous blonde beauty had been down on her knees sucking him off.
But he could see her again. And right now. He even tried to walk like a girl, and each step he too chafed the suit hotly against his horny dick as he went into his dark room and set to work on his precious films.
He was clumsy as hell that day but he got some done, one roll developed into negatives and made into contact prints. With one hand inside his swim suit and stroking his prick, he looked at the tiny prints through his big magnifying glass to select the ones for enlargement, maybe to life size. Erika photographed even better than she looked! She was really sexy in one of them. Not enough so the picture would be saleable at any place but Ivanhoe, but awfully damned sexy for an older broad. He'd take some more soon. Even better ones. Maybe one of her blowing him, if he could hold the camera still. She'd go for it, especially if he said he loved her.
He started to destroy the roll she'd taken of him and then changed his mind. What was good for the goose was good for the gander, his father all too frequently said, and now it made a little sense. What the hell, he thought, rapidly scanning, then dwelling on each of the tiny pictures of her, he might even let her take a picture of him in this swim suit he had on, and then he went a little too far, and all at once he was doubled up in his dark room, gasping and cursing himself and creaming through his tightly clenched fist and all inside her damned bathing suit.
The damned stuff was hard to get out of the white liner of the suit. It clotted there and even on the stretched black fabric as, naked, he washed it and washed it in his bathroom sink. He certainly hadn't meant to beat off all the way but it had certainly cleared his head, and now as he labored with work that should rightfully be hers he very positively made up his mind that there'd be no more of that crap about dressing up in her clothes. It had been his punishment and it wouldn't happen again. Once was enough, and besides, he had half her bras and panties hidden there in his room, plus the bathing suit in his hand, so there'd be no need to go on hunting expeditions to her room again.
She acted conspiratorially giggly at lunch. She simpered and winked at him behind his droning parents' heads, and he, Heaven help him, slyly winked back at her. Why not? Give her a thrill. Better men than he had had domestics fall in love with them, and had survived it with a better understanding of the social interplay between the servant and the aristocrat. He'd play her game for a while. And he'd sure as hell play with those tits again before the day was out.
Charles II and Alice once again talked about their flying trip to L.A., once again finished the luncheon bottle of wine, and once again toddled off for their afternoon nap. Charles III, democratic aristocrat, began to help in the clearing of the dishes. Erika caught him at the kitchen door, rosy-cheeked face filled with secret delight.
"Are they gone to sleep? Good! I have the surprise for you. Oh, you will like it so! And so will I. Here. Take it. Put it on. And put this new roll of film in your camera so that I can take some pictures of my handsome young weight-lifter!"
"Uh. What is it?" he said, fumbling with the ribbons on the small, flat box.
"It is just for you! It is what the weight-lifters wear!" she said, as he hald up a bright pink latex men's bikini bathing suit, something he wouldn't be caught dead wearing at the bottom of the damned ocean.
"It's too small. Erika, you shouldn't have. It's way too small."
"It is just right! Look how it stretches," she said, and she drew it across her tits, hardly flattening them at all. "You try it on. For me. Please. I meet you in the back yard. You bring the camera. "Oh, please. I must see you like this."
"No, Erika. Nothing doing. I couldn't.. . . "
"Oh, ple-e-ease," she purred, big pink lips pursed close to his, warm soft hand smoothing over the growing bulge in his pants. "You will, I know. I meet you there in ten minutes. Good times for we two. Please, my handsome young man."
"What the hell," he muttered, and went off toward his room with his new hard-on and his new bathing suit.
The thing didn't look all that bad on him. It just barely covered his buns, and his prick and balls showed clearly through the diminutive front of it. The color was all wrong of course, and a guy really needed a true weight lifter's build to wear it right. But it didn't look all that bad on him, skinny though he was. At least Erika would like it. He'd wear it for a little while if it meant getting another of her fantastic blow jobs. He loaded his camera and headed for the back yard.
She was already there. He'd naturally expected that she'd be in something real sexy and it was a disappointment to see her in her frumpy old cook's uniform. He didn't say anything, though. He just stood straight and tall while she snapped off a few shots of him, bubbling with enthusiasm. She wanted pictures of him with his weights and he gave them to her. He posed in the clean and jerk position with a hundred pounds on the bar and no real strain on his face. Then he posed in his specialty, the bench press.
Charles bench was eight inches wide and six feet long, with a leather pad for his head at one end of it. From it he could press upwards of a hundred and twenty pounds. This he did for her, and then she helped him down with the barbell and he lay on the bench smiling up at her. She stood over his head. The bench was low enough that he could look under her skirt a little way, but he was looking up at her as she stood over him with her hands cupped under her tits. His prick already felt swollen but now it grew more quickly as she squeezed her big tits together and said, "I have some very heavy weights here. Could you lift these?"
He grinned like a fox and reached up his hands and said, "Let me at 'em!"
She grinned more broadly and bent over him. He didn't know why in the hell it was so sexy to get his hands on those big soft pillows, but he knew that it sure as hell was. She leaned her weight against his hands and they squashed her tits all over her chest, threatening to either spill them out over the top of her uniform or burst the buttons of it. She opened the topmost button of her dress and he more quickly opened the next three, and then there was only her mammoth brassiere between his hands and her tits. He was pulling the cups down trying to get at those huge pink nipples when she straightened up and massaged them herself, saying, "This is good exercise for a young man, too. It makes him grow strong. Are you strong now?"
She went around to the side of the bench and smoothed her hand over the very prominent bulge in his tight pink trunks. It was already fully hard and oozing a little on the end, and Erika used a fingertip with deliciously exciting effect to spread wetness seeping through his trunks. "You have a nice hard-on," she said. "Yeah. You did it."
"I have, too," said she, and drew down a bra cup to show him a most erectile nipple, which he quickly went to, sitting up on his bench and sucking on to get it harder still.
"Lie back. Easy, after your hard work with the weights." She pushed him back down on the bench. With a tug at his trunks' waistband she had the bulbous head of his cock out. He rocked from side to side on the bench in dreamlike rapture while she worked the tight trunks down over his slender hips. Then his cock was standing straight and tall, and then she stepped over him, ever smiling, and straddled his thighs while she opened each button down the front of her uniform dress and cast it back off her shoulders to fall across his shins.
She took a small step forward and his reaching cock was almost touching the well-filled crotch band of her white nylon panties. His cock was throbbing steadily and visibly, moving with his heartbeat, but he was unable to grab her by the hips and pull her down on it, unable to move to make any contact with her for the moment save to lightly clasp her outer calves with his trembling hands.
Erika could move, though. Her smile was highly sensuous as she took another small step forward and began to undulate her hips forward and back, brushing her soft warm pussy slowly and repeatedly over the wet and throbbing head of Charles' rock-hard cock.
"You like this?" she said. "How do you call it in this country? Fucking?"
"Yeah," he said, and managed a slow upward movement of his hips, pushing his cockhead up against that softness and wetness and warmth in a hugely satisfying yet even more frustrating way.
She reached down and took his cock in her hand, moved it all around against her nylon-covered cunt and said, "Have you fucked before?"
He shook his head and gulped and said, "Never. Not yet."
'This, too, will come if you are good," said she, and bent over and gave him her lips, and his hands left her calves to go to her cheeks and hold her right there, riveted together like that, forever.
She straightened up and pulled away from him with a lovely wet smacking sound. He was so insanely hot and afraid, he didn't know what to do, but she did. She laughed and moved forward, still straddling his body, until he was looking straight up at her, past her foreshortened cuntal area and past the soft bulge of her belly, past her big tits to her smiling face.
"And what do you call this?" she said, and she touched two fingers to her cunt, and she moved them around there while she waited for his answer.
"Cunt," he said. "Pussy," he whispered. "Cunt."
"Cunt," she said, still moving her fingers there, right directly before his eyes. "Do you like cunt?"
"I love it," he croaked. "I just love it."
"You do? And you have never fucked it? How do you know? You have tasted it?"
Charles shook his head, tremulously careful that he shouldn't even brush her thighs with his cheeks at this time.
"But you do want to," she stated, and she curled one finger around under the stained crotch band of her panties and drew it aside a bit.
He'd already seen some hairs there. Now he saw a lot more, and he caught the full fetid odor of her cunt, that big fat old hairy cunt scarcely covered with white nylon and right before his eyes. And his mouth. It was the grossest thing he'd ever seen or done or even fantasized in his life, but his hands went behind her legs to close on her buttocks and his mouth went up to displace the fingers on her cunt.
He kissed the crotch band of her panties till it was very wet. And the wetness didn't altogether come from his kisses. He held onto her ass more firmly as he did this, astounded at himself for being able to stand the stench of it, even more astounded that he was really, really digging it.
He was a cunt-lapper and there was no doubt about it. She most obligingly moved forward and back to give him all the access to her twat he could have asked for, if he'd been able, but Charles would have gotten it anyway, pulling and pushing at her hips the way he was, covering every square millimeter of her crotch band and some sweet portions of her thigh hollows with the hottest kisses he'd ever bestowed on anyone. He was just about to yank her sodden crotch band aside when she did it for him, and when he finally got to slippery wet naked cunt to kiss she finally gave him some instructions toward furthering his natural talent.
"My little darling, that is so nice! You do like pussy, don't you? Ah-h-h-h. So good, your kisses. But use your tongue, too, my angel, just as I have shown you."
It came perfectly clear to young Charles then. Even here at the very height of his passions he flashed with the recognition that all of the hot French kisses he'd exchanged with the Swedish cook had been subtle and delightful instructional practice for the kissing of her cunt, the tonguing of it, the lapping of any woman's cunt.
Charles thrust his tongue straight up, deep into the slippery wet mass of flesh that was Erika's cunt and wriggled it all around. The taste was just awful, but to a natural born cunt-lapper like himself, it was ambrosia. And it was getting better, because it was getting wetter.
"Oooh!" She laughed and drew her crotch band farther aside, wriggled her buttery soft cunt forward to give him more of it. "That feels so very nice! But you make me so very wet!" She laughed again. "I should get a towel and dry off a bit before you kiss my cunt some more, no?"
"Huh-unh!" said Charles, and took better purchase on her ass with his hands to pull her squashy old delicious cunt down harder on his mouth.
She stretched the crotch band to its breaking point. She did a little shimmy, shaking her tits for his eyes and her cunt for his probing tongue, and she said, "Oooh! You are getting me most excited. Yes, you are! What a lovely boy you are indeed! Ooh-h-h, my. You are making my clitoris stand up like your prick does. You see? Your sweet kisses have gotten me hard, too."
She backed her hips off a few inches and he gazed up through glazed eyes to see as she pulled the crotch band up and aside now, showing him still more of her mammoth cunt. Her cunt itself, that livid wet part of her body that he'd been licking with total abandon, loomed as a broad gorge of pink in the tangled blonde hair of her crotch. And there at the top of it, between two of her fingers that extruded it out toward him, was a small but most prominent part of it all that did indeed bear a resemblance to a guy's dick, in vast miniature. The sight of this thing made him completely disgusted with himself once again. All that sodden pink flesh was bad enough, but having that little penis-like projection in the middle of it was just too much. It got even worse when she twiddled it between her fingers and said, "Yes, this is where the kisses are the sweetest. You kiss some more now? And then I suck you off so good?"
"No, I. . . " How had he been able to stand the smell of her there? The taste of her?! ? "I gotta rest for a minute. I feel sorta faint. I think I better go inside."
"Oo-o-oh." She made a child's sulky mouth. She let go of the leg hole of her panties and instead pushed the waistband down till her clitoris was showing again, and she said, "Touch once with your tongue. Then you will soon feel better."
His head bobbed up and his tongue thrust out and he touched her there. It sent such an electric jolt through her big body that Charles hands' clutched her big butt more firmly and he stabbed it again with his tongue. It was softer than he'd thought it would be. He'd feared it would be as hard as his cock, and that eating it and liking it would lead him on towards being some kind of a cocksucker. As it was the thing turned out to be just a firmer spot in the softness of her cunt, a place where he could pucker his lips and suck on to very best effect.
"Oh!" she said. "Oh, darling boy." She wasn't laughing any more. "So long, it has been so long," she said, almost moaning out the words, and moving her grand big body in a luxuriously thrilling manner. A sharper tremor rippled through her, one that she caught and cut off in midstream. And then she pushed away from his reaching lips and dancing tongue and thrust his hands off her ass and backed away, still straddling his body.
She took his dick in her hand and drew her crotch band aside and touched his cockhead against her cunt, all hot and wet and velvety slick and soft. She made little faces, wrinkling her nose and pursing her open lips, and she said, "You like to fuck me, Charles? You like to really fuck me good?"
"Yes!" he said. "More than anything else in the world!"
She laughed and came forward on him big tits mashed against his chest and pantied loins squirming against his fiery wet cock. She kissed him and sucked on his lips, purring, "Mm-m-m, he tastes so good now. You really want to fuck an old woman like me?"
"Yes! I'd do anything for that! I told you that! I promised you that!"
"You would suck my cunt any time it pleases me? Just as I would suck your pretty cock?"
"Yes! Any time at all! I.. . I love sucking your beautiful cunt!"
"And you would dress up as I say? In pretty things? And be my pretty girl friend when it pleases me? Would you do that to fuck me now?"
"Well . . . yes. Yes, I would."
"Even in public? Our side the house? Where people might see you?"
He closed his eyes tight against the most beautiful face in the world, grimaced and turned his head from those sweetest lips, that sexiest of mouths, and he said, "I don't know. I couldn't do that."
"So? You do not want to fuck me now?"
He gazed imploringly at her again and said, "Oh, Erika, yes! But . . . but you couldn't expect me to go out dressed up like that! Could you?"
She raised the corners of her mouth and her eyebrows, and she said, "Yes. Yes, Charles, I could." And then she laughed and he knew she'd been joking, and she held his face in her hands and kissed him and she wriggled her titties and her cunt against him, so very sexily, and she said, "Say it. Say you'll do anything in the world to fuck me. Then I know you really love me, as you said before to me. Just say it, dear. Say it."
She had to stop kissing him before he could blurt it out, and then say it clearly and with all sincerity. "I'll do anything in the world for you, any time you want, if you'll just let me fuck you! Okay?"
"Okay. Oh. And one more thing. You will help me get my daughter into this country, no?"
"Yes! I'll do everything I can. I'll talk to my parents. I'll do anything if you let me fuck you, Erika, anything at all!"
"Why, then, come into the cabana and fuck me!" she said, and off she went.
CHAPTER SIX
Charles stumbled and stepped out of his new trunks and followed quickly after Erika. The seat of her big white panties had crawled up in the crack of her ass, so that her big white butts quivered briskly and nakedly before him. She faced him in the stuffy dimness of the cabana and said, "I'll need some kisses to be ready for that big hard cock of yours. Many of them. Give me some now, while you help me off with this brassiere of mine."
She slung her arms about his neck and sucked and smacked on his mouth and tongue, while he reached around her big soft torso and fumbled with the snaps of her bra. He was trembling all over. Her tits pushed heavily against his chest, and he held his hips arched back in fear of touching her with his prick too soon. He didn't know the first thing about fucking her and he was desperately hoping he wouldn't screw it up. How could he possibly fuck her right when he couldn't even get her brassiere off her?
He struggled and pulled, making no progress at all, even though he'd been easily able to work the snaps on the bras in her clothes hamper. At last she took her lips from his and said, "Can't you do it, Charles?"
"I'm trying! I. . . "
"Here. Let me this time," she said, and reached back behind her. "But you're going to have to learn soon," she said, and in moments she'd undone the three snaps and was peeling the shoulder straps down her smooth round arms. Her enormous tits swung free, and she lifted them and squeezed them together and said, "I'll need some kisses here, too."
Charles fell to his knees and reached up with both trembling hands for one of the big beauties, held it and sucked on its nipple. Panting, he went back and forth between them as she thrust one after the other at his upturned face, urging him further on with softly purring words. "Aren't they nice big ones! And all for my handsome Charles.
Mmmmmm-m-m. Yes-s-s. Make the nipples nice and hard. They will all be yours forever, even when my daughter Ingrid is come to live with us here. But you are getting me so wet! My cunt is just sopped!" She bent and kissed him on the mouth, held his cheeks in her hands and rubbed their noses together and said, "And it is still all covered up inside my panties. Can you take my panties off for me? Do you think you can do that, Charles?"
"Yes, I. . . ! I just couldn't . . . work the snaps on your bra! I can take your panties . . . right off!"
"Oh? That is so easy?" she said, and turned her back on him and bent double at the waist.
Charles pulled the seat of her panties down, down over the huge white globes of her ass, and there they stuck in the crevices of her loins. He tugged and pulled but there they remained, and he remained on his knees behind her, gazing closely at her huge bare ass and almost weeping with his frustration.
"Is he having trouble?" she asked. She laughed and said, "Oh, why must I tease you so? It is something my Ingrid would never do to you. One look at you and she would have her little panties off like that!" she said, with a snap of her fingers. And then she straightened up and turned about again.
His head was reeling with the steamy smells of her-perfume and sex and he didn't know what else-as now he rapidly pulled down her panties and helped her step her bare feet out of them. Her pussy loomed as a huge triangle of curly blonde hair in the center of smoothly rounded tanned thighs and white belly, but he only saw it clearly for a moment as she snapped her fingers again and asked for her panties.
"Yes, I'm sopped," she said, spreading her legs and wiping between them with her panties. "Just see how wet I am," she said, and she rubbed her very damp panties over Charles mouth and nose, smiling down on him as he fought to keep from fainting at the overpowering odor of mature cunt in heat. Then she pulled them on down over his head till he was staring at her cunt through one of their leg holes and breathing deeply of her smell with every breath he took.
She laughed and said, "Oh, you look so funny. You must leave them right there while you come and fuck me, and eat me a little bit first."
She went to the lounge in the other room and laid down, a beautiful, passionate mouniain of female flesh that was all his. He pulled her panties down around his neck as he unsteadily rose and followed her again. Her fingers splayed open the upper reaches of her fleshy pink cuntlips, exposing that little button that did such wild things to her when it was kissed. "Come suck my clitty for me before you fuck me so good," she said. "It is such a nice thing for a man to do; and it makes me feel so nice." Her sensuous smile and her lolling tits were enough to make him leap the Grand Canyon, but it was that small beckoning finger in the midst of that hairy pink flesh that drew him on, and to his knees.
"Dar-ling!" she gasped, as his mouth centered down on her clitty and his hands dug deep in her hips. "Already you know just what to do, just how to suck my cunt for me. That is because you love it so. Because you love to suck the cunt of a woman or a pretty girl, no?"
"I love you!" he blurted from between his feverish kisses. "I'll be your own . . . private cunt-lapper! Forever!" he said, and fastened his lips on her clitty again and lashed it with his tongue.
"Oh, there will be others. I will see to that. You will not spend all your fucking time with an old woman like me. There will be young girls for you, too. Sexy girls. Like my Ingrid," she said, twining her fingers in his hair and slowly thrusting her clitty against his sucking lips.
"You're all I want! Ever!" she said, and went back to the sucking that she so loved.
"Ah-h-h," she sighed, as she leaned back on the lounge and hooked her hands under her thighs and drew her legs up. "Ah-h-h, so good," she said, as Charles' eager mouth found more of her cunt to kiss. "Kiss my cunt all over it," she instructed. "Kiss my pretty lips and nibble on them. Oh, yes-s-s. And kiss all over it and put your tongue in my hole. Oh! Oh, yes-s-s-s."
She held her cuntlips open, the better for him to get his fill of that weird but wonderful part of her. He got so carried away with it that he kissed almost down to that other hole of hers as he crouched below the couch with his dick up hard and throbbing, but still not knowing if it could do the job.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" She was churning around now, really pushing back at him, and though he held her harder she took a grip on his hair as she lowered her legs and drew his mouth back to her clitty.
"Suck! Oh, suck!" she cried, bucking her hips at him all of a sudden, big tits lolling on her chest, little clitty getting longer, sexier in his mouth.
"Now make me cum!" she demanded. "Suck me good and make me cum and then you can fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME!" she shouted, dragging him up by his hair then and mashing his mouth down on hers, while down below he fearfully touched his prick against warm, wet flesh. He didn't know what he was doing down there, didn't know where he was going, and then she reached down and with one deft movement of her hand it was in her, he was inside her and fucking her!
"Uh! Oh-h-h-h!" she moaned, still churning her big body as madly as she had been when he was sucking her clitty, and now he joined her in this, quite unable to keep from it as his prick gushed and squirted and shot in a real live cunt. It was in her and out of her and doing its squirting all over her, and then when it was deep inside her again she suddenly pushed her finger up Charles' asshole, ensuring that it wouldn't get away again.
"UH! NO! OHHHH!" he cried, for it felt as if he was cumming all over again, and he didn't know if he could stand another whopper like that.
But she kept burrowing her finger up his ass, forcing him right on, and gasping, "A little more! Just a little more! Yes! UH!" Here she lapsed into a torrent of Swedish. The alien words exploded about his ears as he writhed and screwed and creamed his brains out, until at last she subsided with a deep sigh. Her finger slipped out of his ass, his prick slipped out of her cunt, and he slid down between her legs till he was on his knees on the floor again.
There was no energy left at all in him now. He'd never felt so exhausted nor so unconcerned about it in his life, lying there on her as he was with his pulsing belly up against her big wet cunt and his dick dripping their juices on the floor. It took an effort for him to stop panting and say, "Did I do it right?"
"Darling, you did it perfect" she said, "for your very first try at it. I cum so hard I almost pee. I'll make the perfect lover out of you. And if my Ingrid was only here you could prove it with her."
"Your . . . your daughter? Oh, I couldn't," he said, and the strangest feeling came over him at the thought of fucking someone who'd come out of the hole he'd just fucked.
"Oh, but you could," said she, sitting up, "if only she was here. And it wouldn't take much to bring her here, at least for a visit. Only eight hundred dollars air fare. Nothing at all for your dear parents, but a fortune for you or me."
"Heck, I've got that much in my checking account," he said. "But what did I do wrong when I . . . fucked you? How could I do it better?"
"You do?"
"I do what?"
"Why, have eight hundred dollars in your checking account. Do you really have that much, that you could spend all on your own?"
"Sure I do. I've got more than that. But what did I do wrong?"
She sat up all the way to hug him and kiss him and draw him up on her lap, and there he felt like a puppet, but a very happy one, with tits to play with as he would and warm lips to kiss his face. Laughing, always merry, she said, "You did nothing really wrong, my Charles. All you need is practice. Practice, practice, practice," she said, squeezing his limp dick possessively, hugging him hard. "I will teach you. I will teach you everything. Things you've never dreamed of, and all of them such fun! Even my panties, eh?" she said, plucking their crotch up from around his neck and rubbing it against his lips. "If only I could charge you for lessons, I would have my Ingrid over here in no time. And, oh, if you could only see that one!"
Charles grinned and said, "I thought of something like that once. I thought if you could teach the girls at Monroe Academy-that's right close to where I used to go to school-how to give just hand jobs, there wouldn't be a boy left at my school after dark. Will you really teach me how to . . . do all those things?"
She waggled her eyebrows at him and said, "Would you really study hard at it?"
"I sure would! Just try me!"
She rolled his balls in her hand, introducing him to a nice new sensation, and she said, "Good teachers are harder to find than good students. I'll bet they are paid a lot at your Ivanhoe School.
And how much do you pay to go there?"
"Dad and Mom pay about twelve thousand a year."
"So much! And what have you learned there?" she said, and she took his prick in hand again, and there was life to be felt in it. "Have you learned as much fun as you have with me?"
"Heck, no! You're worth more than all of them put together."
"Eight hundred dollars worth?" she said, pinching his cheek.
"Huh? Sure! I guess so. Do you . . . really want some money?"
"But of course not," she said, and eased him off her lap. She stood up and stretched, magnificent, and said, "There is nothing I want in the world besides you, dear, and of course the chance to see my darling daughter again. But I will work. I will save. And someday she will be here to see me. Now no more talk of money," said she, and though she was smiling as she bent and kissed his cheek, there was the hint of tragic sadness in her eyes. "We just have fun. You and I. And now we have a nice shower. Wait. Rest here while I make the water right."
He lay on the couch all sweaty and hot, enjoying the greatest view in the world. The shower was more than big enough for two, and its doorway provided the perfect picture frame for a living beauty of such statuesque dimensions as Erika. He could have sold seats for this show at eight hundred dollars apiece at Ivan hoe, but he had it all to himself and it wasn't costing him a dime.
The water poured down on her to make her body look as slick as a seal's. She grinned and winked at him, knowing just how much he was enjoying the show, and she picked up the soap and began lathering up her lovely body. Slippery white suds formed all over her swinging tits and her belly. She turned her blonde hair into a foamy froth and spread her legs to soap her thighs. Her hand returned to her cunt, working the lather in so very thoroughly that Charles' dick began to itch a little. When she turned to rinse the suds from the front of her he took the opportunity to squeeze and pull his prick until some of its itching stopped, but now it was pulsing harder as he watched her wash her back.
Her back was a lovely broad vee, and her ass was absolutely beautiful. When pulling down her panties, he'd been too close to fully appreciate it, but now he could, so perfectly white and round, so deeply cleft with the crack in it. She shook it for him and grinned at him from over his shoulder, and he quickly let go of his cock. But she'd seen, and she said, "You jack yourself off? Good! It's okay."
"No, I was just.. . It just itched."
"I itch all over-for you!" she said, and shook her lovely ass so hard the soap suds flew. His prick was fully hard again when his hand returned to it. She was the sexiest woman in the whole damned world, and he was the horniest guy.
She faced the shower head in profile to him to lather up her face and show him how perfectly her ass and her tits balanced themselves out. He couldn't help but start stroking his dick again. She'd said it was okay with her. She rinsed and faced him again and said, "The water feels so good. Come in with me when you feel like it. But first I have to pee."
She did it right there in the shower. He'd peed in the shower himself before, but his eyes felt bulged out of his head as he watched her do it. She didn't squat down or anything. She just stood there with her legs apart and the water beating down on her shoulder, and spread her cuntlips as she had for his kisses and let the yellow stream go. It melded with the shower water before it hit the tile floor. It was such a shock to him to see her doing it so openly that he even forgot about stroking his dick. And then she truly shocked him, producing those truly strange feelings in him again when she cupped her hand under the golden stream and rubbed it all around her big wet pussy. Her face took on a wicked expression. He squirmed and sweated on the lounge. She rubbed it in good, then stepped back in the shower stall and caught water in her cupped hand and washed her cunt so clean with it that he knew it would squeak if he shoved his dick in her now.
Charles' sex goddess turned her back on him and began to lather her ass again. She had it practically sticking out of the doorway at him, and though it was all covered with suds, he could clearly see her asshole now, looking like nothing more than a tightly puckered pair of lips. She was washing it just as good as she'd washed her cunt. He was watching it all. And then his own asshole cringed in vivid recollection as she slipped a soapy finger in hers and eased it in and out.
"Will you never come in here with me?" she said.
"Uh-h-h, yeah," he said, and moved in very dreamlike quality from the lounge to the shower.
She did his soaping for him. She turned him 'round and round in the shower while she washed him from head to toe, in his ears and between his toes and all over his prick and balls and even inside his asshole, too. He didn't know if he was drowning or in heaven as the water poured down and her hands were all over him and her naked body was right there to be touched wherever he so desired. By the time she was done with him, there was no way in the world his prick could have been cleaner or harder. But she washed it again, making a thick rich lather on it, and then turned her back on him and squirmed her big ass right up against it.
"What are you doing? What are you going to do with that thing of yours now?" She laughed at him from her shoulder.
His stiff dick was pushing and slipping all up that deep crack between her big round buttocks. He didn't know what to do or what to say, all backed up against the shower handles.
She giggled and squirmed against him and said, "What is this thing I feel, so hard and stiff? What is it my naughty boy wants to learn now? Oh, my, the things an unpaid teacher must do," she said, and reached down between her legs, she took his prick in her hand and popped its knob right up inside her asshole!
It had to be her asshole because as it happened Charles clutched convulsively around her and grabbed her hairy pussy, and that part of her was empty. And this new sheath for his cock was tight, and her big buns were right up against his loins. He was disgusted and he would have pulled it out, but she had him backed up against those shower handles, and she was saying, "Oh! Oh, that is nice! Some new way to fuck, eh? And it feels so good!"
He grabbed her by the hips and gave a couple of tentative shoves. She wriggled her ass like a happy puppy and she bent at the waist, and Charles hauled back and gave her half a dozen deep jabs there and grinned like a fox at his handiwork. "More! Oh yes, I like that!" she said. Her big glistening white ass had never been more beautiful, and he was splitting it right up the middle with his dick.
"Yes, fuck me there! Fuck me really good!" she said. In this position he could really do it. Feet planted foursquare on the tile, hands with good purchase on her hips, he could fuck away like mad, driving his dick into that tight, tight hole with coordination as good as when he jacked off, and she could take it and like it, nay, love it!
"Oh, you are so big back there! Oh! Oh, Charles!" she cried. He was making her go nuts back there, and he was going right along with her. This was how he'd imagined fucking would be. Not just one touch of dick against cunt and then cumming, but endless screwing in a tight warm hole, massaging his prick in a woman's body while she swooned with happiness. But Erika wasn't exactly swooning.
"OH! OH, YES, FUCK ME! OH, how I wish Ingrid was here! DARLING BOY, FUCK ME GOOD, FUCK ME HARDER! RIGHT IN MY
BIG . . . AH-H-H-H-H . . . FAT . . . UR-R-R-RGH . . . ASS!! ! " she shouted, and her skin felt hot even in the warm water as, shuddering and shaking, she slowly straightened up, with Charles still fucking her for all he was worth.
"Cum in me now!" she commanded. "Uh! Yes! Fuck me and cum in me and finger-fuck me, too!" she said, and he made two out of three as she jammed his fingers against her slit and he jammed his cock up her butt with continued mad frenzy. He was well on the way to obeying her third command, too, when in her wild cumming she leaned back against him jamming his back very hard against the shower handles.
She was of considerable weight, and all of it seemed pressed back against him as she squealed and wriggled and came. The handles dug deep in his back. He could feel them making a big letter X on each of his kidneys, but as painful as that was he was still fucking away like mad because his prick and balls wouldn't let him stop now. He was exploding inside her again! And now it was happening very clearly, as if in slow motion. He could feel each of his ejaculations as a separate sensation, and he could feel her fast-shaking buttocks against him and her firm little clitty under his fingers. He could feel the warm water beating down on them and hear each of her joyous outcries and he could easily stand the deep ache in his back along with each of those long, wonderful spurts of his hot jism up her butt. Everything she showed him was a great new wonder to him, but this was the greatest wonder of them all. So far.
She tottered forward and his dick slipped out. She fell against the opposite wall and slipped down it. Only that day he'd learned that women could cum as hard as a guy could, and now he was learning that he could do it to Erika in a way that just about knocked her out. He was proud as a peacock that he was needed to help her out of the shower and over to the lounge.
For several minutes they lay there just breathing, and smiling. Then she brushed back his wet hair and looked at him wistfully and said, "Your parents will be home soon. We must go."
"Screw 'em. I can do what I want to around here. And so can you, if I say so."
She chuckled sadly and said, "If that were true we would have our Ingrid here with us. No?"
"She might be here sooner than you expect."
She pinched his cheek, that motherly gesture to a little boy again, and she said, "Silly boy. I must just be content with what I have. You. Now no more talk about my little girl. No more talk about the money I slowly save for her. We get dressed now and go back to the things we must do. Thank you, Charles. Thank you for boy."
"Gee. Thank you," he said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
But Charles was no longer a boy. He'd fucked a woman till her knees had sagged, and that made a man out of him. He mulled over his new status over lunch, and while his parents babbled and boozed he settled on a plan of action worthy of the best men of action like himself. And that afternoon while his parents were taking their nap he drove the Seville into Palm Springs instead of just fooling around with Drika some more.
He went to his bank first, and withdrew eight hundred dollars in hundred dollar bills. Then he went to the lingerie shop with the sexiest wares in town to go shopping. He knew this had the sexiest things in town because he'd checked them all out, at least through their showroom windows, before Erika had fallen for him. And now, in his new manhood, he boldly entered the store and looked for a salesgirl from whom he might buy pretty things for his lady love.
"I want some of those in black, a pair of those, a set like that in red, and I want to see everything else you've got," he declared. The girl looked at him from under one raised eyebrow, and he said, "They're , uh, for my aunt. She's getting married. These are shower presents. My mother's in the hospital, dying of cancer, or she would have come down here to buy this stuff."
"Oh, I'm sorry," said the girl in all contrition.
"Yeah," said Charles. "Me, too. Now show me some real sexy stuff. That's what Mom said I should get for her."
He wrote a check for over a hundred and fifty dollars to cover it. His checking account was low now, but he couldn't think of a better way to spend the money than he had that day. Each of the gifts for Erika was carefully gift-wrapped this time, and he gloated over them on the car seat beside him as he drove back home.
He got his packages inside the house unnoticed. Erika was out in her garden and his folks were back at the club. The three bolts were shot on his door and he dumped his eight gift boxes on his bed to open them each in turn and insert a crisp new hundred dollar bill inside each nylon wisp and satin pretty that he'd bought for his Erika. It took a long time, because he couldn't help but dally around about it and admire his excellent taste in ladies' lingerie and sleepwear. He stripped naked to do it but he didn't try any of the things on, for that wouldn't have been manly at all.
Dinner was the longest, most tedious meal he'd ever suffered through in his life. His parents had asked a couple from the club to join them, another man retired from the Insurance Game, and his wife. They laughed over high premiums and profits and low benefits while they worked their way through several bottles of wine and a little food and Charles gnashed his teeth impatiently and waited for them all to pass out. They kept on gabbing, on into the living room where poor Erika had to serve them coffee and brandy and clean up their spills and empty their ashtrays. Charles couldn't stand the waiting. He politely excused himself, gave Erika an all-too-brief embrace in the kitchen, and went to his dark room to develop some more pictures of her instead of opening all her presents again as he wanted to.
At last he heard the sodden farewells in the driveway and the sound of a Cadillac motor starting up. Back in his bedroom he saw it was past two o'clock in the morning. He wasn't sleepy at all. His presents were still on his bed and in his head was a montage of pictures he'd taken of Erika in all her sexy poses, but none so sexy as he'd see when she had on one of the outfits he'd bought for her that day. He gave his parents ten excruciatingly long minutes to get to bed and pass out before he gathered up his gifts, deposited them in the strewn living room, and tiptoed into the kitchen where his magnificently feminine woman was working away in her old green uniform dress.
He smoothed his hand over her big rump as she was bending over the dishwasher, and he said, "Have I ever got something you'll like."
She brushed his hand from her and said, "If it is a bed I will like it. Alone."
"It's something lots better than that." He was following her around the kitchen, almost too excited to touch her. And she, still the dutiful servant, was going right on with her work. She kept fending him off, saying, "They are almost too much for me. If only I had my working papers. And now I must make a lunch for them tomorrow because they will fly to Los Angeles with those others."
"They are?! ? How long will they be gone?"
"Who knows? I hope a long, long time. Out of my way, Charles!" she hissed. "I must get to the bread to make sandwiches."
"I'll help you," he said, and he did anything to get her to his surprises quicker, and to him.
The boiled ham reminded him of the color of her pussy, and the lettuce reminded him of the color of one of the nighties he'd bought for her. The mayonnaise made him think of the jism building in his balls and the peaches she put in the box lunches made him think of those two mammoth peaches inside her brassiere. Anticipatory excitement vied with sexual excitement in him as he did his best to help her, and to get her a little excited too.
"You're going to like my surprises."
"Good. In the morning."
"I'll eat your pussy if you look at them tonight. I'll lap your cunt."
"As soon as this is done with, I shall be asleep."
"Oh, no. I'm gonna fuck you yet tonight. I'm going to surprise you with something nice and then fuck you in the front and in the back, too."
"Go to your room, Charles. Jack off your hard-on yourself."
"Oh, yeah? It sc happens I don't do that any more," he righteously said, and she looked at him in grim amusement.
She went right back to her work. It irked him. He wasn't used to being ignored by her. And he said, "Well, if you don't want to see my surprises tonight I guess you don't want to spend Christmas with your daughter in Palm Springs."
That, at last stopped her. She leaned wearily against the sink and said, "Christmas with Ingrid here? Nice and warm and sunny. Swimming naked in the pool. That would make my life complete."
"Come on in the living room," he said, placing an arm about her shoulders. "Come on. You're tired. Come on, Erika."
She sat down on the couch, right between the two piles of packages he'd placed there, and Charles sat facing her in his father's favorite chair, grinning and saying, "Well? Aren't you going to open them?"
"What?" She looked around her, befuddled for the moment, and said, "Oh, Charles. I have no time for games now. Maybe tomorrow. Tonight I want only to sleep."
He jumped up and sorted through the boxes, thought he had the right one and ripped off the ribbons, saying, "You can't sleep right without one of these."
The long green nightgown shimmered down from Charles' hands as he held it up. She looked at it with only mild interest, but considerably more of that elusive substance sparked in her eyes at the sight of the bank note fluttering down from it to the floor. "A hundred dollars!" she said, picking it up, then looking around her at the other seven packages there. "Is there . . . more?" she fearfully asked.
"Open 'em up," he smugly said. "Find out for yourself. I'll just watch, if you don't mind."
"And you take off your clothes " she said, beaming her smile on him, fondling the packages at each of her sides. "You watch me much better with no clothes on."
"Good idea," he said, and he stripped to the buff in about three and a half seconds. "And I'll just take care of this for you while I watch you open the packages and try the stuff on," he said, and he settled back in the master's chair with Erika's gauzy green nightgown draped across his lap and tented up by his stiff, young dick.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Charles learned three more positions for fucking that night and still he was able to walk when he bade his parents goodbye. Erika was right there too, placing their lunches in the Mercedes and telling them to be careful, to have a good time, that she would look after Charles quite properly. They waved them goodbye down the palm lined street, then strolled together into the nice friendly house and did a whooping, hand-holding dance of joy together.
Of course she immediately slipped off her uniform dress, presenting herself in the black bra and panties and garter belt and hose that he hadn't seen nearly enough of the night before and that he had seen outline through her dress that morning. He stripped naked and went to his knees at once, mouthing hungrily through the bulging black crotch band at the cunt he'd been fucking all night, and Erika laughed and drew away, kissing him and saying, "Wait for a minute while I make a telephone call, and then I teach you still more, more handsome."
He took off all his clothes while she called the operator. He nuzzled her nyloned legs kissed behind her knees, nibbled at her garter clips and licked the creamy flesh of her thighs as she sat on the piano bench and jabbered away in Swedish. It was terrific to hear her so happy, even though he didn't know what she was saying, and it was even more terrific to know he had her all to himself in the house, just her and him and all the things he'd bought for her.
She had her legs crossed. He was burrowing his way to her cunt, nose first, trying to get to that delightful spot without the use of his hands. His nose was the perfect guidance system on that fine, free morning for she smelled so wonderfully funky and womanly that he could have found her cherished cunt in the dark. But this was broad daylight, and he could see as well as smell all of this, the sexiest darned woman in the whole world!
He flicked out his tongue, probing the way with that now over smoothest, tautest of flesh that was starting to take on a fine young healthy tan from their out-of-doors experiences together. She continued to jabber Swedish on the phone, her usually throaty voice rising in pitch in her happy excitement. And Charles continued too, right up to the this lace trim round the elasticized leg hole of her sexy black panties, and then within that leg hole toward where the really succulent goodies lay.
He burrowed deeper and blew a mouth fart in the curving crevice of her crossed legs, and she most obligingly opened them while she spoke on in that totally incomprehensible language. Now he had a good clear view of the crotch band of her new panties as he crouched on the floor on hands and knees, nostrils flaring, and inhaled deeply of the rich, good scent of her. That crotch band was simply packed with goodness! There was so much there for him that it was even overflowing, with tendrils of her fair hair curling and peeping out from the edges of the black. He caught some in his lips and pulled them, tasted for the first time that day her cunt juice, and went back for more. She was laughing gaily now, still talking, and that was fine with him for he was having the time of his life, nuzzling and sniffing all through her luscious fat crotch and beating off a little to make it all the better. He was diligently working at the displacement of her crotch band with his tongue when she hung up the phone sighed very deeply, and drew him upright on his knees to give him a hug that very nearly cracked a couple of ribs.
"Ingrid will be here so soon!" she said, pelting him, near blinding him with wet, smacking kisses "It will be like Christmas to me, and all thanks to you!"
"Nothing to it," he said, now with the warmth of her bulging big tits wafting up in his face as he grinned down at their attempted escape from her bra.
"Skvoerski doernskin Ingrid!" she exclaimed, and almost suffocated him now, in a most delightful way, by burying his face in between the big pillows of her tits and holding him there while she hugged him and shook all over like a happy wet puppy. "Christmas in July!" he heard her say, as he burrowed deeper in that satiny warmth with his nose and mouth and cheeks.
His hair was down over his face and his eyes felt crossed when she let him up for air. Still he was grinning like Santa Claus himself, with his gifts for good kids all dispensed and him all ready for the reward of a year in bed with Mrs. Claus.
She babbled on about all the things she was going to show her little girl-Disneyland and Knott's Berry Farm, the Wax Museum and most important of all, the fabled Hollywood. He just let her rave in her happiness, happy enough himself to rove his hands at will over her thighs and inside them, to pluck at her lovely new panties and fit them just right over her spacious hips. He felt of the soft indentations of her waist, too, and he ran his hands up under her arms, reminding himself of the steamy hollows of her groins, all his until December at least. He straightened her brassiere for her too, for it wasn't sitting just perfectly right on her great, big milk bags, and then as she babbled and laughed he brought his hand boldly down to her cunt, and gave it a nice big squeeze.
She cocked an eyebrow at him and said, "Oh? The rich young master wants to play, does he?"
"Not if you're not . . . you know . . . in the mood," he said, feeling all around that humid big bulging curve, so thinly covered with damp black satin that he could very clearly discern the big fleshy cuntlips that he hadn't tasted for about a year and a half. With his rapidly growing knowledge about all matters sexual he found her clitty, or he thought he did, and he massaged that through the satin with his middle finger as he said; "Maybe you'd just sort of like to try on some of that other stuff I brought you first. I mean, just 'cause I made it possible for you to see your daughter again, that's no reason for you to think you have to let me fuck you all the time and f-feel you up and get down and lick your cunt and suck on your clitty till you're feeling so good you just have to cum right in my face. Is it, Erika? Is it?"
"No. No reason at all," she said, and reached a warm hand down and took his dick in it, his flaming hard dick that would always and forever be ready for any new delights she might even suggest. "But what does he think about this? Eh?" she said, and she hooked a leg about him and used her bare heel like a spur on his bare ass, and touched his oozing cockhead to her lovely big black bulge.
"He cannot even see," she said, "but he can feel," she went on, and proved that most emphatically by rubbing the very tip of it over her crotch bulge, and it felt like soft sand paper to his dick no matter how satiny smooth it had been for his finger.
Looking down at the slow ballet of the pink and black that her hand was directing, Charles stammered and said, "He thinks whatever you think is best, always. If you wanted to . . . If you wanted to, you know, dress him up in soe of the things I brought you, that'd be okay with him. He'd wait. Gee, he's waited this long for you." She was moving his cockhead through the broad shallow hollows of her groins now, on each side of that perfectly fitting pair of panties' crotch band, brushing her tendrils of hair with it while heat waves of sweetest musk rose up in his slack face. "And he'd wait if you said I should lick you first too," he said. "I'd just make him wait," he said, crazy with desire for all or any part of her. "I'd tie him up in something and just make him wait while I lapped your cunt and sucked your clitty. Maybe those red panties I got you. The ones with lace up the sides. He'd wait. He'd still do anything you say, no matter what I did for you."
"You are so sweet," she said, and kissed him, almost chastely, though chastity is a hard commodity to come by for a woman scarcely dressed in wicked black with a seventeen-year-old boy's hard prick in her hand. "And I have teased you so unmercifully till now. Your poor cock must ache for the fucking," she said, stroking it softly, kissing him sweetly.
"It aches! It burns!" he admitted.
"And your fine young balls must be bursting with the need to cum, even after all we did last night," she said, taking these in her hand and rolling them together.
"They're ready to explode!" he confessed.
"But still you know so little about fucking," she sadly said. And then she brightened, and with the warmest of smiles said, "And I know so much. I show you more now. Right here on this bench. The position number five," she said, and got up to shuck her clinging black satins down over the swells of her big white hips.
"I'd do that for you," he blurted. "I'd take 'em off with my teeth if you said so!"
With her pants at half mast she bent over, touched her finger to the tip of his nose, and said, "Such things as that are for naughty boys, boys who peep up the maid's skirt when she is out in her little garden. But good boys, such as you have become, they deserve all the rewards that heaven can offer. And there is some heaven on earth," she said, and she kissed him with such fondness he felt close to weeping, and when she straightened up and slithered her panties all the way off of her and he saw that big cunt all bare for him he knew she was right. A bit of heaven, hairy as it was, existed just for him and his horny prick, and as long as he was good they could have all they wanted of it.
"Number five," she announced, and sat right down on the piano bench again and drew him right up into her.
It was the most perfect of fits, the most comfortable of positions, with him on his knees before her and her cunt on the exact level of his prick, with her lips there to kiss and her tits there to play with and her legs wrapped around him to help him right along.
But in spite of all the fucking they'd done the night before he was already far too ready to cum. How could a guy learn all about rhythm and technique and position changing when he was possessed with a hair triggered dick like Charles had? He did his level best to prolong it, did his best to banish thoughts of sucking what he was fucking and licking what he was dicking. He closed his eyes lest the sight of her big black bra remind him further of all the other hot stuff he'd bought her and he tried to get his knee of her discarded panties lest he dwell too long on how they'd feel snugged up about his balls. And this did little good. His balls were just too full, his ejaculation was starting just too soon, and with wild inspiration he tried to bring her up with him by panting in her ear, "Your Ingrid will be here at Christmas! Christmas with your little girl!"
"INGRI-I-I-I-I-D!" she suddenly cried, and just as suddenly her legs locked hard about his waist and her cunt closed down like a Vaselined fist, gushing and creaming right along with him while her arms nearly broke his neck and they came together in a wonderful shuddering rush.
CHAPTER NINE
While his parents were off in Los Angeles Charles learned that there were forty-two different positions for fucking. He tried them all of course, under the bubbling tutelage of big blonde Erika, once a maid and now a mistress. Except for her shopping trips to town, her uniform remained in her closet, and now she ran the household dressed in a fashion far more becoming to the likes of young Charles.
He remained naked all the time. She wouldn't let him put a stitch of clothes on, the better to have him ready for her next demonstrative lesson in fucking at the first sight of a hard-on jutting from between his legs. The hard-ons came often. for she did her dusting and vacuuming and cooking dressed in wispy panties and bras, with dark hose on her legs, or in nighties long or short, but always very sheer. She pampered him constantly, forever popping succulent tidbits of food in his mouth. He walked around with a constant grin on his face, and with his dick hanging down like a boiled knockwurst, but always ready to swell to full attention yet again. It was an idyllic time, like a highly educational honeymoon, but oddly enough Charles was not especially disappointed when his parents returned to the house. Something, it seemed, was lacking in his love-making with old Erika and he felt it was the element of danger involved in their possible discovery of his affair with the maid.
He suffered through a tediously long luncheon with them as they recounted the tale of their sodden journey to the big city and back. He knew it had been sodden because they looked like bleached mummies with red, weeping eyes, and their speech was slurred and their hands shook as they drank and tried to eat. But he stayed right there at the table, trying to nod his head at the right times, and the moment they were out the back door he was on his knees stalking Erika in the kitchen.
Charles got right up behind her legs as she stood at the sink. They were shaven smooth and bare, for a change of late, and he blew his warm, tickling breath against their calves and said, "We're alone again."
"No!" She danced away, looked out the window with concern, and said, "They are still in the driveway. If they should discover us now I may be deported."
He crawled right after her, fastened his hands and his lips at her ankle, and said, "If they haven't found us out yet they never will." He raised up face first with his head under her skirt, saw that she had on her old white panties, and nevertheless felt that giddy old excitement as in days of yore with her. "How's your cunt?" he said. "How's your clitty? Does it want to get licked?"
"They're coming back!" she said, and leaped away, leaving him to sprawl on the floor. She helped him up and returned to her dishes, and he stalked off to his room and threw himself on his bed to shuffle through the pictures he had of Erika. Lots of them were new ones, taken of her in the new outfits he'd gotten her, shot between his fucking lessons. They were all terrific, especially when he used his vivid imagination on them. There were new pictures of himself too, all stark naked shots that she'd wanted, and these he tossed aside. He looked at the pictures of her till he heard the car start up, and when he opened his door there was Erika outside in the hall in her red bikini and half-bra set. She took him straight to her room and they did number twenty-eight, one of Charles' favorites, and as usual it felt just fine, just fine. It was great, but Charles was in the mood for something more. He didn't know what it might be, but just then the sound of Erika's water tinkling in the bathroom sent him off in that direction in search of it.
He slipped off the bed and got down on the floor and headed for her bathroom. It was the second time that afternoon he'd been down on his hands and knees, and it made him feel good, like a little kid again. He poked his head around the door jamb and from his worm's eye view said, "Hi ya. Whatcha doin?"
What a sight she was! He'd seen her naked and in her lingerie so much of late, but this view of her was excitingly different, with her just about halfway out of her undies. Her enormous tits, of course, were as always just about to spill out over the top of this particularly diminutive red brassiere, while the panties matching that brassiere were stretched out between her knees as she pissed. He was so sharply reminded of that day in the cabana shower with her that he couldn't get the foolish grin off his face, despite the fact that she was frowning deeply. His surprise appearance made her stop and start again, and this somehow tickled him even more. He craned his neck up to look at the source of her tinklings.
"I just sit here," she said. "And I worry." Her ragged golden stream gushed forth from the I broadly curving mat of damp hair between her legs, out from between those frilly pink lips that she'd use to make him suck on. He saw it there between her heavily curving thighs as he stood on all fours gazing over her stretched out panties. "Yeah?" he said. "And what have you got to worry about?"
"Oh, Ingrid when she come," said Erika, as her tinkling slowed to a trickle.
Closer still he crawled. His nose was just an inch away from her panties, and they smelled definitely funky and dirty. The faint smell of her urine added to it. Lately she'd been teaching him about hygiene in conjunction with fucking, but he didn't feel hygienic at all as closer still he edged to brush his nostrils back and forth across the soft red material stretched taut between her knees. His prick was throbbing larger with each of his quickening heartbeats, and he was helping it along with his hand as he said, "Aw, she'll be okay till she gets here. Uh . . . does peepee taste like pussy, Erika?"
"I worry about when she is here. And about how to tell your parents she come," said the big woman on the can, sitting like a worried queen on her throne.
She reeled off some tissue and blotted herself, and Charles watched in fascination as the wadded paper fell into the shadowy bowl. His dick was fully hard and his lips were so parched he was licking them constantly, rubbing his cheek against her bare knee now, looking straight on at that big j old sloppy old cunt that he'd been so busily fucking that he hadn't been able to taste for what seemed like weeks. "I'll tell 'em," he said. Worry that when the time comes."
She reached back and worked the commode lever as she said, "The time is here. Tomorrow morning at ten."
"TOMORROW!" said Charles, above the whooshing of the water and her pee. "YOUR DAUGHTER WILL BE HERE TOMORROW?? ? "
"But yes," said she, all wide-eyed, but still sad-eyed. "And your parents do not even know. How will you tell them?"
"I'll. . . I'll. . . I'll.. . My God, Erika, why didn't you tell me she was coming so soon?"
"But you knew! You hear me tell her on the telephone, Charles."
"What, that night when you called her? Shit, you were talking in Swede! Tomorrow! How in the fuck am I gonna tell my folks they'll have a little girl as a houseguest starting tomorrow? Son of a bitch!"
"Do not curse so," she said in a wavering voice. "That is not like a little gentleman. And you will find a way to tell them, won't you? You have promised," she said, and her knees closed like the doors to a palace, and she hung her face in her hands and began to weep. "Oh, my little Ingrid," she sobbed. "What if she doesn't like it here? It has been so long. She will have changed so very much."
"There, there. Don't worry. Everything will be fine." How the hell did you go about stopping the blubbering of a woman you were screwing day and night when she was old enough to be your mother? He hadn't bargained for this. And what if his folks heard her wet sobs and came in to find her on the crapper with her pants down and him naked as a jaybird and petting her shaking shoulders? Charles managed a grim smile at this shocking possibility but his smile didn't last for long. There'd be no more fucking for him, not with a bratty Swedish kid running around the house. Well, he could do without that. He could use a rest from it and a return to his barbells. Fucking was overrated anyway, and when he needed it he'd just drive to LA. and find himself a whore. She wouldn't cost him eight hundred dollars and she wouldn't have some kid hanging onto her and she might like to have her filthy old cunt lapped and sucked on till she passed right out from cumming.
"I know, I know everything will be fine, but I cannot help the worrying," said the weeping woman, hanging about Charles' neck now. "You will explain it all right to your parents, just as you made it good for her to come here. You do everything so good. I have so much respect for you, dear Charles. And we will all be so happy. I like to think that. Yoost you and me and my Ingrid in America," she wailed, ever louder, and Charles didn't know what he'd do if his parent staggered in on him now.
But he somehow managed to comfort her to relative silence, and he got her off the can and handed her some tissue for her tears. He pulled her pretty red panties snugly into place and that was sort of a kick, but between her red wet eyes and the honking of her nose into the tissue, his dick had grown soft. He was ready for his bed and a night worrying about how to tell his folks, but Erika's new gratitude was such that he had to let himself be dragged into her bed again.
It took her some time to manipulate him into hardness, for her red nose and her weepy eyes were a decided distraction. It helped considerably when Charles turned the lights out. Then she assumed position number fourteen, where she straddled his hips and did all the work. He enjoyed this position a lot, as a rule, because of the view of her tits doing a jelly-roll dance. That night he was happier not seeing her, and letting his mind take him into the very near future when he'd work himself up through the ranks to be the number one pimp in Los Angeles, riding herd over all those nasty oversexed women, picking out their clothes for them teaching them all how to fuck, and doing his level best to satisfy them on those cold rainy nights when they couldn't go out and get all the hot sex they needed from the dumb men on the streets. He would run away from home, of course and take a small portion of his girls earnings as his due-and leave Erika to look after his drunken parents and fawn over her darling little Ingrid.
CHAPTER TEN
It proved very simple to tell his parents about their visitor from abroad. Over breakfast he said. "Guess what?" Erika was standing in the kitchen doorway, an expression of terror on her bovine face. "Erika's daughter is coming over for a visit. She gets here at ten this morning. Okay if I take the Mercedes to pick her up? The poor kid has worked as a scullery maid all year in a mental hospital, saving up her money for this visit. She won't be any trouble. She's only about twelve or fourteen."
"Scullery maid in a mental hospital," said his mother. "How perfectly dreadful. Of course she can visit here. We'll take her into Los Angeles with us and show her Disneyland and Knott's Berry
Farm and all those fun places," she said, and Charles thought to himself, Shit, I'll take her to L. A. and put her to work as one of my whores when she's old enough.
"Shcull'ry," said Charles' father, and reached for his breakfast, his Bloody Mary. "Scullery," he said again. "Always wondered what a scullery was."
"Soon you can ask her, Daddy dear," said Charles. And she can answer you in Swede talk, he thought, and you two can have some highly engrossing conversations around here.
Erika embraced Charles in the kitchen after breakfast, blubbering again. He tolerated it for a full ten seconds before politely excusing himself and withdrawing to his room to work on his color TV kit. That was okay with Erika. She said she wanted some time to get ready to meet her daughter.
The Swedish maid looked pretty good when it was time to go. She had on pale blue pants, tight at the hips and flaring at the cuffs, and a near transparent white blouse, through which could be seen the sexiest of the brassieres Charles had bought for her in those irresponsibly horny days of old. Her blonde hair was beautifully coif fed. She was understandably very nervous, and Charles took an oddly perverse delight in wheeling the Mercedes around corners and narrowly missing other cars till he had her clutching the door handle and silently screaming.
The airport was hotter than hell. Erika said she had to visit the ladies' room, and Charles told her, "Wait till I check on the ETA of her plane. That's the estimated time of arrival. Aeronautical talk." He learned it was going to be fifteen minutes late, and he came back and said, "It's due to arrive any minute. We'd better wait out on the apron of the runway."
Charles tried to think about clams and cucumbers and other cool things as they stood in the hot, hot shade. He kept pointing to any airplane in the sky, saying, "That's probably her now," and Erika kept fidgeting from one foot to the other and plucking at her sweat soaking blouse and pants and hair. At last Ingrid's flight was announced and landed, a two engine air taxi from L.A., and his morning's little pleasure faded into grim-lipped gloom as the passengers began to disembark.
He could tell which was Ingrid by the way Erika's fingers dug deep in his arm at the sight of her. He appraised her as he tried to pry those fingers loose, a very tall, very gawky kid with her blonde hair up in a bun, clumsily descending the off-loading steps with a large overnight bag in tow. She had a jacket, of all things, slung over her other arm and was dressed in a badly rumpled green pants suit. Two male passengers were trying to help her down the stairs, but she was ignoring them in fear of this strange place and looking frantically around for her Mommy.
They found each other soon enough. They fell into each other's arms, wailing and blubbering, and jabbering away like a couple of monkeys. It was enough to make a guy sick to his stomach.
"Skorsky bradelstuki floughi skirp!" said Erika holding her daughter at arm's length to look at her.
"Flurmanichi skoopa diddleby gah!" her daughter modestly replied, beaming her pleasure at such fond words of flattery, and it was a mother's flattery, for although the girl had nice, even features she had a ruddy red complexion and her hair was a mess and she was just about tall enough to look down on Charles.
And when Erika finally got around to introducing him, the man who had made this farce possible, he bowed in a courtly manner and said, "Blaklestuckey poodaroodoo. Blich skobble!"
Ingrid raised her thin eyebrows at her mother and said, "An educated young man, as you said. He speaks languages even I do not know."
"Aw, I was just clowning around," said Charles. "Let's go. C'mon. I'll buy yez a drink."
First there was her luggage to get, and there was a lot of it. Eight big pieces, from a new cowhide bag to cardboard box wrapped with twine, that had them all three huffing and puffing by the time they got them to the Mercedes, for there were no Aircaps available that morning and Charles wouldn't have called for one anyway. He was strong enough to lug them all by himself, Ingrid could take care of it because after all she was only the maid's dumb daughter, and the maid herself was used to such heavy work, even if she did have to pee so bad her bladder must be busting.
Ingrid sat in the middle in the Mercedes and held hands with her mother like Europeans do. Charles kept their jabbering at bay by extemporizing his own version of the History of Palm Springs. He took them to a bar he knew his parents frequented, plunked them down in an outside table in the sun, and defiantly ordered a beer for himself and large glasses of iced tea for the women. Almost immediately they got up and excused themselves for the John, and Charles sat there fuming alone in the sun. Not knowing what to do with the beer, he guzzled it down and ordered another, and when the two Swedes returned he was feeling so dizzy that he knew he must be drunk.
Even they looked and acted differently. Gone was their maddening jabbering and they were all quiet politeness now, still holding hands under the table but largely attentive to him, though he didn't have a damned thing to say to them. Though Ingrid's cheeks were still rosy, the beet-red ruddiness had gone from her complexion and she'd brushed back the loose strands of her hair and looked better. He noticed she had really big blue eyes, and that the make-up she'd had on them and on her very full lips, pouting and smiling at the same time, was gone. Erika looked her same old self, tranquil and bovine in the aftermath of her long awaited visit to the John, still beaming smiles so broadly she had to keep her big Swedish yap shut. He remained aloof from them, moving primly away when the kid's knee touched his under the table. He was fighting a series of horrendous belches when he'd finished that last bottle of beer and signed the tab and left.
He turned the air conditioner on to high and lurched the big car out into the street. Still the car was sweltering and he had to concentrate hard on keeping the car between the white lines while the sweat rolled down in his eyes and those gigantic belches continued to threaten. They remained unaware of his distress, thank God, sitting there and holding hands and looking at the desert mansions and speaking softly in their native tongue. He remembered how Erika used to blow hard about him making it with Ingrid some day.
Her long lean flank against his reminded him of that. But how in the hell did a guy go about screwing his fuck-teacher's daughter, especially when she was a gawky string bean virgin like this one? She was so skinny inside that soiled pants suits that if you took her outdoors to run her naked in the snow she'd break up like a bunch of damned icicles. He didn't need her and he didn't want her and he kicked himself a thousand times for letting his mouth run away with him about that eight hundred dollars.
His folks were gone when they got to the house, as expected. In extreme discomfort, Charles lugged most of the girl's baggage into Erika's room, and said in dignified manner, "I'm sure you two have a lot to talk about. Why don't you clean up or take a nap or whatever it is you do in Sweden and I'll see you later."
They exchanged a few words in Swedish and the girl beamed a mouthful of snow white teeth down on him from between those bee stung lips and said "I slept very well on the airplane. But it was so very hot on the way from Los Angeles. Erika tells me you have a lovely pool. May we all take a swim together?"
Charles backed off a bit lest a belch explode in her smile, and said, "Uh, yeah. Maybe so. I'll, uh, go get my trunks on. You two go ahead. I'll be along. I'm sure you have a lot to talk about."
He walked rigid as a board and barely weaving down the hall, burst through his door and into his bathroom ripping open his pants. He belched one, two, three times-great, berry belches that almost hurt-and he fumbled and tore at the tight pants he'd worn and succeeded in getting them down but not his shorts. He was pissing like a baby and cursing like a gangster as he plopped down on the John with one more huge belch that they were sure to hear down the hall. Then he sat there with his head in his hands, pissing as though he'd never stop, and muttering, "I can always have her deported. And old Erika too."
He must have dozed there, affected by the heat and the beer. He awoke with a start as he almost toppled from the stool, got up and set about the grim task of washing out his wet jockeys. He still felt terrifically bloated and sleepy, and he wondered if they were still waiting for him. A check out his bathroom window told him his parents weren't back with the Seville, and a peep from out his bedroom window revealed Erika and her daughter patiently waiting for him in the shade of the cabana. Erika had her black suit on the one he'd bought for her, and her kid didn't look all that bad either, even though her swim suit was simple to the point of austerity. It was of a brilliant blue against her very pale Nordic skin. It was of a completely traditional cut, except for how it rode up so very high on her very skinny thighs. Its bra cups were padded of course, not because of their size, which was next to nothing, but because she'd placed them far too high on her chest. Her bun had been brushed out into golden waves, so her hair looked pretty good and her face and her smile were okay. But all in all she looked laughable, a skinny kid trying to act like a woman and the only thing he found fascinating about her in the slightest was her very long, very slender waist, and the suppleness with which it moved as she sat on a big towel with her mother, waiting for him. They were doing a lot of smiling and talking, brushing against each other too, and glancing at the house now and then. Erika drew a pattern on her daughter's thigh with her fingernail, perhaps a diagram of the house, and the girl lifted Erika's hand and playfully nipped that finger, and then to Charles' mild surprise, sucked it in her mouth. Strange people these Swedes, he thought, and continued to watch while Erika spoke rapidly to her laughing daughter and gestured toward the house. Ingrid just threw back her golden head and laughed. He could hear it tinkling through the hot air. And then she held her long fingers under her mother's chin and brought their lips together.
Erika gave a start and began to draw back, but then those long fingers of her daughter trailed down her throat and the kiss between mother and daughter grew closer, more intimate, to the point where he could see their mouths working together. To an outsider it might have looked like one of those lesbian things that the guys at school talked about, but to Charles it looked like nothing more than one more weird custom of the Swedes that he'd have to put up with before he booted them both out. He watched till the clinging lips parted and Erika was scolding her laughing daughter, and then he yawned and fell over onto his bed for a much needed nap. The last thing he thought of before he fell asleep was an old, recurrent vision that of two really good-looking women on facing pages of a girly mag, and what those women did when the magazine was closed and hidden away for the night.
The first thing he thought when he woke up was that he was back at Ivanhoe, for he'd had a goddammed wet dream, and it had been a big one. He was lying in a big wet spot of his cream, still warm, and he was still atingle with its disgusting good effects on him. It was a stupid, childish thing to do. It hadn't happened to him for weeks, and now to have it happen here, right on his bedspread, that Erika would have to wash.
She'd know. She wasn't that dumb. He got a wet cloth and began scrubbing furiously at it. He was dressed in only his shirt, shoes and socks. He froze at the sound of a car engine starting, then hurried to his bathroom window in time to see his folks pulling out in the Seville. He must have slept for hours! He hadn't even been there to introduce Erika's kid to them. The hell with that and the hell with the bedspread. He was hungry, and so he pulled on his cut-offs and took off his shirt and sallied forth to partake of Erika's leftovers.
The dishwasher was running but there were pots and pans still on the sink, not at all like their Swedish maid to leave behind. He drank some good old milk and slapped a sandwich together and strolled down the hall to Erika's room, where she was probably helping her daughter unpack. The door was closed. He leaned against it and heard them jabbering softly, giggling together from time to time, and then as he munched away at his sandwich, he heard them softly moaning, deeply sighing, enjoying their reunion after such a long time apart. He thought it better to leave them undisturbed in their famjoys. He wiped his hands on his old denim shorts and went outside for a dip.
"Whoopee! Whee-ooo!" The water felt so good he couldn't keep from shouting, splashing loudly up and down the pool, climbing out to cannonball off the diving board again. He hadn't been at it for ten minutes when they came out, Erika in her black latex suit with the crisscrossed laces on the sides, and her kid in a bathing suit that was absolutely insane.
It was black, like her mother's, but there the similarity ended. It was unbelievably tiny. The bottom was just a black string that girdled her slender hips. The string dipped down, front and rear, joined by the part that went between her amazingly long white legs. The front of it was nothing more than an abbreviated jockstrap pouch, starting some four inches below her little belly button and just barely covering the dainty little curve of her cuntal area, and from there it dwindled to a string that disappeared completely between her petit buttocks before it emerged to tug down at the string round her hips. The top of her bathing suit was but little more, just a black string around her back and another around her waist, tenuously holding two tiny triangles of stretched black cloth over most of her little breasts. And they weren't so very little, though they'd never be the size of Erika's monsters, and they certainly weren't made of foam rubber no matter how high on her chest they thrust. Charles saw every bit of that bathing suit, for as soon as the girl had noticed his interest in it she'd courteously made a slow turn about, with her wondrously long, slim, white arms extended out and her equally structured waist undulating like a snake's.
Charles vaulted out of the pool and stood as tall as he could, but he was still looking up into her brilliant blue eyes, her dazzling smile, all surrounded by the thick halo of her golden hair, as he said, "Well, I guess you met the folks okay. Sorry I wasn't there. I took a snooze."
She nodded and her mother laughed and said, "I know. I peeped in on you." she said, and out of sight of her daughter she pinched him on the ass, just to let him know she'd seen him asleep and bare-butted and thus try to embarrass him more. He wondered, as Ingrid prattled on about how nice his folks were, if Erika had come in while he was wet-dreaming. Or had even precipitated it by wriggling her finger up his ass as she'd used to do. But no, she'd never do a thing like that with her daughter in the house.
". . . and I want to thank you, so very much, for making it possible for me to visit here," Ingrid went on, and raised Charles' eyebrows by curling her arms about his neck.
"It wasn't anything," Charles murmured.
"It meant a lot to me," she said, and in her gratitude she touched her lips to his, and painted glossy pink they were now, and reminding him strangely of the lips of that old time sex star, Brigit Bardot.
"And to me," murmured Erika, and she touched her lips to his ear, and she-the sly old horny devil-secretly tickled inside it with her tongue tip.
"A regular Boy Scout, that's me! A good deed every day!" he said, and broke out of the close triangle and dove in the pool before he got himself a hard-on for which Erika could never forgive him.
He dove deep and long, two or three times, and when he came up again they were fooling with his weights. "Better not do that, Erika. You'll hurt yourself," he called, and then fell silent in sheer amazement as she lifted the hundred twenty pound barbell high overhead, then held it there with one hand and slowly rotated it back and forth, while her laughing daughter amply felt of her extended bicep and on down to her pectoral. He even thought he saw her give Erika's tit a squeeze as he came out of the water again before Erika could hurt herself.
He got her to put it down, and he scolded her for doing such a strenuous thing, while behind him her tittering daughter was now feeling of his muscles, all down his back and up and down his arms, around his chest where she squeezed his pectorals like they were a pair of tits, and on down low on his belly where she didn't know what the hell she was doing. He cut his admonishments short and was starting for the pool again when Erika caught his hand and yanked him back.
"You see, dear, in this country," she said to her daughter, "they revere old, shabby things like Charles' trunks," she said, and plucked at the frayed old waistband while her daughter closely watched and smiled. "These are so old the button-holes don't hold any more," she went on, demonstrating this by flipping open the top fastener.
"Are they all like that?" Ingrid asked, and reached for the second one, and Charles leaned hard in the direction of all that cool water and said, "LET'S ALL GO SWIMMING!"
Erika yanked him right back in place. She faced him scowling, fingers digging into the small of his back just like those two shower handles had, and she said, "Why do you always try to run away from us? Do you not like my Ingrid?"
"Sure! I just . . . want to go swimming!"
She yanked him back against her. Good Christ, he could feel the big X's of those shower handles even to the HOT and COLD, and she could surely feel the radiant heat from his dick, so big now that it threatened to creep right out of his cut-offs that she'd opened up. "I like Ingrid fine," he murmured. "I just want to go swimming," he pleaded.
"Well, if you like someone fine in Sweden, you show them," said Erika, and she whirled him about and shoved him at her daughter, and held him against her with her hands on those X's while Ingrid kissed him in anything but a girlish way. Her lips were so firm and mobile, and yet so yielding and soft. Her hands were moving all over him now, feeling skin instead of muscle, though he could feel their touch clear down to his toes. And his dick, his poor suffering dick, it was up so hard it had indeed poked over the second strained button-hole and-Heaven help him-was touching the vicinity of her naked navel with its naked knob. Now, as his tongue was slowly being sucked into the girl's mouth, he starkly remembered how just a few feet from this spot he'd lost control of himself and creamed up inside of Erika's bathing suit, and that gave him the Superman strength to wrench away from that innocently fantastic mouth and tear away from those unknowingly stimulating hands and run for the house, holding his hands cupped over his cockhead and shouting over his shoulder, "Go ahead without me! I've got some prints in the drier I forgot all about!"
He bolted his door and beat off like mad, just like a damned kid again, and when he looked out his bedroom window, mother and daughter were nowhere to be seen.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dinner was an ordeal, as Charles had expected it to be. He had dressed in suit and tie for it, for good reason, and he suffered through his parents rambling conversation, even adding to it, while two instead of just one maid served them dinner. His parents, weird as ever, serenely accepted Ingrid's presence as if she'd always been a part of the household, even though it was plain to see that Erika's daughter had had no training as a domestic whatsoever from her very efficient mother. She smiled altogether too much and she winked at him from behind his parents' back and in leaving the dining room she switched her impertinent little ass in quite an unseemly manner. It only served to strengthen young Charles' resolve, and when mother and daughter were both within earshot, removing the soup bowls and serving the salads, he said in well-bred tones, "I believe I'll join you at the Club tonight if you don't mind. Play a little Bridge or billiards, I don't know, while you chat with your friends."
"Wunnerful, wonderful," said his father, as he chased an elusive tomato with his fork.
"I think that's a perfectly divine idea," said his mother, and toasted him with a full glass of Ruby Port.
And when his steak came, placed firmly before him by Erika, complete with its usual little toothpick sign that said Medium Rare there was a piece of paper speared to the steak by the pick, and on it were the words, 'You stay here with Ingrid and me tonight. Please!' He calmly read it while she stood in the dining room doorway, and just as calmly tore it in pieces and ate it with his first bite of steak. He didn't touch his peas and mashed potatoes except to write her a green on white note that said, 'I GO.'
His parents got up to do what they did between dinner and the Club. Charles solicitously helped them with their chairs. He strolled about the dining room table, hands in his pockets, whistling. He checked his chronometer and went in the living room and turned on the television, and the long white arm of the maid's daughter reached out and he was marched into the kitchen by his ear, whimpering protests all the way.
"What do you mean, 'I go'? " she snapped, nearly nose to nose with him. "When Erika or I say you stay her and entertain us, you stay here and entertain us! Do you understand?? ? "
"I already told my parents I was going with them," he said, shocked at how angry she was, and shocked at himself for having come so close to wetting his pants when she'd taken him by the ear.
But now she really got mad. As her mother stood chewing her knuckles, Ingrid's lovely face contorted into that of a vampire, and she slapped him across the face and she yanked his tie open and she jerked his shirttail out and she ripped down his zipper and she clutched him by the throat and she said, "You . . . are . . . staying . . . with . . . us . . . tonight! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"
"Darling hush!" her mother whispered.
"Do you understand?" Ingrid hissed in his face, took his hard dick in her hand and surely would have broken it right off if Charles hadn't said, "Yes! Yes, I'll stay here! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you mad."
"You never will again," she said, and with a final wrench at his terrified hard-on she calmly turned to help her cowering mother with the dishes.
Charles frantically worked on his clothes, but they still weren't right when his parents came bumbling out and so he ducked out the back door and began apologizing to them in the dark the moment they emerged from the house. He kept it up all the way to the car, and by then he had everything in its place except his stiff condition. His father just waved his hand and said, "It's awright. Stay here and look at television. Get away from that electronic shit for a change. Better yet, open your pants and go lookin' for some hot young tomato."
"Charles! What a thing to say!" said his mother.
"And if you can't do that," said the old man., firing up the Mercedes, "take off all your clothes and go around lookin' in windows."
Charles' mother was vigorously vituperating her husband all the way down the driveway, leaving young Charles all alone in the dark, with that vicious Swedish vampire waiting inside for him. It was weird, but his prick was still up hard as he tiptoed in the back door.
Only half the dishes were in the washer. Charles started loading the rest of them in, hoping to at least save Erika's job for her, though for what reason he couldn't fathom. He was trying to be as quiet as he could about it, also in hopes that they'd somehow get to talking in Erika's room and forget about him, but then came Ingrid's voice, dulcet to the point of being syrupy, and making the steak turn cold in his stomach. "Charlieee. Will you come into the living room please?"
"Yes, m . . . Yes, Ingrid. I'm coming."
He halted in its doorway, eyelids drooping half closed, chin drooping down all the way, for this was a girl he'd only half glimpsed in his wildest dreams. The baggy green uniform she'd worn to serve dinner in was still around her shoulders, but now it was unbuttoned all the way down the front, exposing her terrifically slender and terrifically shapely in nothing more than a bright pink brassiere and matching panties, each of them as brief and tight and clinging as it could be. Her long legs were extended her ankles crossed, and her white high heels rested on the big leather hassock while she lounged back in his father's favorite chair, smoking a cigarette, split of Champagne beside her on the reading table, mother beside her on the floor. She looked electrifying. She hadn't had time to add make-up to her face, but now her blue eyes smoldered purple under her long thick lashes and her lips glistened pink as her panties as she prused them and blew out a thick cloud of smoke. Her mother, from what he could see of her when he tore his eyes from Ingrid, was sitting on her legs on the floor and looking anxious while Ingrid idly petted her flaxen head. Ingrid was demanding his attention.
"I understand you imagine yourself something of a photographer," she said, and flicked an ash on the floor.
"I've . . . won some prizes at it."
"Yes. An amateur. Well, I am a model in Europe, a professional one. Some fashion work, some art studies, and some very dirty mov . . . "
"Ingrid, hush!" her mother pleaded.
And Ingrid's petting hand now grasped a handful of that flaxen hair and jerked Erika's startled face up toward her, and she said, "You hush! I did not come all the way over here to be ordered about by you, and I certainly did not come here to be rejected by the first silly American boy I meet here," said she, directing this last at young Charles.
"Now, you," she said, pointing her fingers and her cigarette at him, "you go fetch you camera. I want some pictures of Erika and I-and perhaps of you, too, if you are good-to take to Hollywood with me when I go to find some modeling work here. Well, go get it! And when you come to Erika's room, I want you to be wearing the camera, and nothing else, nothing else at all. And you;
Erika, come with me now," she said and her white heel flashed on high, and her long white leg snaked itself around Erika's neck, and Charles saw Erika's mouth pressed hard against the bulging pink crotch of the porn model as his feet turned him about and walked him down the hall.
They couldn't be mother and daughter. Maybe Erika had been a maid in a porno factory and fallen in lesbian love with her there. Maybe Erika had been her governess and was responsible for all of her wild behavior. And she couldn't be only twelve or fourteen years old, as Charles had somehow been led to believe. She had to be at least eighteen. Or more like twenty-five. Or entirely ageless, like some beautiful creature sent by the devil-which Charles hadn't believed in up till then-to tempt and corrupt mortal innocents like himself, and like Erika. All this and more went tumbling through Charles head as his hands took off his clothes, every stitch, and hung his camera around his neck, and his feet took him down that long hallway with his stiff prick leading the way and those big twin X's on his back itching like mad.
They were on the bed. Ingrid was on her back there and Erika was on her elbows and knees with her face buried deep in her crotch. Erika was making wet, smacking sounds with her mouth and saying, "Mmmmm! Mm-m-m-m! Ah-h-h-h." Ingrid was showing all her teeth in an unholy smile and saying, "Eat it! Yes! Suck! Ah! Good!"
Ingrid's little pink bra still covered her titties, but her pink panties were down around her thighs, stretched by her outspread legs and uplifted knees, and further stretched over the nape of Erika's neck as the bigger, older woman made a feast of her cunt. Ingrid's hands were up at the sides of her head, long fingers working in her palms, and her long slender throat was stretched back with her head in her glowing ecstasies. Her golden hair was fluffed out like an angel's round her head, but that smile on her face was wholly devilish. Charles got some pictures of her from the doorway of the bedroom. He wasn't too stunned by his shock and his fascination and his near sickening excitement to forget that.
He got Erika in the pictures too. She'd cast aside her green uniform and was clad in her big white panties and brassiere. With her face and her hair covering all of Ingrid's crotch, her hands were on Ingrid's hips, fingers deeply digging into those diminutive little buttocks that Charles had once thought looked girlish.
He moved into the room all filled with the smells and sounds and sights of wildest female sex, and any photographic training he'd had came to him only by instinct as he moved around the bed taking pictures of Ingrid in orgasm and Erika driving her on to more. He'd taken half a dozen before Ingrid even noticed him, and when she did she made a fantastically erotic face for him and he dutifully captured it on film. As far as he could tell Erika still didn't know he was there with them, and he could certainly understand this oversight. She was fully intent on driving Ingrid completely crazy with her cunt kisses. Well, not fully intent, for now as Charles passed by the foot of her bed again he saw Erika take on hand from Ingrid's squirming hip and reach down inside her panties with it where it moved under the white crotch like a busy mouse for several seconds before returning to Ingrid's white flesh. In seeing this, Charles was constrained to take his itching dick in hand, but he'd only given it a few strokes when Ingrid snapped, "No! Come here."
He came to her side, put a knee on the bed, and shot straight down at her. She had to be posing for the camera lens, for she looked so very beautiful and incredibly sexy, but to all intents and purposes her entire being was devoted to absorbing the deep pleasures so avidly being thrust upon her by that hungry mouth between her legs.
Charles couldn't even see Ingrid's cunt. Erika's face and hair obscured it completely, as if she was too possessive of that sweetest of spots to even let another soul glimpse of it. But, at least for the time being, Ingrid's face and hair, her arms and hands, her slim writhing torso and her pink-covered titties were enough to keep Charles' camera shutter clicking.
"The big blonde bitch," she said through her pantings to Charles. "She makes me cum a thousand times and still wants more. Ah-h-h, wonderful! Did you ever eat her cunt this good? Did you?"
"No. Never," he murmured. "But with you . . . If I could ever do it to you. . . . "
She laughed, "Ha, ha, ha!" and then a particularly intense spasm of orgasmic delight seized her and contorted her face into a fresh mask of erotic joys, and Charles caught it just right on his film.
Boldness, inspiration seized him then. He was, after all, a photographer-her photographer-and he owed it to her to do the very best job he could. Though she was the star of it all, he could direct her a little, and to this end he pointed a wavering finger at her bra strap and said, "If I could pull that down a little.. . ? "
"Yes!" she said, and pulled it down over her shoulder, and he took a picture of her thus, while the pink indentation of the strap was still fresh against the snow white of her shoulder.
"More!" she said, fulfilling all his hopes, and now he was able to brush his fingers against her wonderfully hot and satiny smooth skin as he peeled the strap down further.
He exposed the edge of her aureole and got a picture of that, surprisingly large and beautifully pink against the pink of her brassiere. Lower came the bra cup as he worked the strap down over her elbow, and now he could get the whole big nipple on film along with her ecstatically smiling face and her constantly undulating torso. The nipple and aureole were sharply conical, capped on the end with a blunt point of just the size to fit between a man's lips, but Charles was just a boy again now, without the courage to beg for the smallest of kisses. He could touch her there, though and this he did, all as if by accident as he moved the empty bra cup for the best camera advantage over a tittie that was so firm and white and pink and hot that even his prick was staring at it.
Now she began to touch as he longed to do, squeezing it and kneading it and drawing its end to an even sharper point. It was wildly sexy to see her touching herself like that and he snapped picture after picture from many angles until the camera jammed to a frustrating stop.
"Don't stop! I'll be right back!" he called, and ran down the hall with his hard dick flopping and his hands unloading the camera, got another roll and walked rapidly back reloading. Alone for the moment, he was free to give his dick the brief massage it so badly needed, but better things lay at the other end of the hall and he went back to Erika's room as fast as he could.
* * *
They hadn't stopped on his account. The first sight he saw was Erika's ass, still up in the air, and she continued with her feast of hot cunt. He got a few shots of that, just to make sure the film was starting right in the camera, and it looked pretty good to him through the view-finder. It was big, like a moon, and the crotch band of the white panties covering it was all soiled and damp and twisted from the way she'd been reaching down to diddle herself from time to time. Even as Charles watched, she did it again. Her cunt had to be sopped, all wet and slick and throbbing, so full of cunt juice that it might be trickling down her thighs. He went forward, let the camera fall on its strap around his neck, and touched her there. Yes, her big soft inner thighs were quite damp with it. He knew it was cunt juice because he smelled his fingers and licked them before returning them to draw aside her sodden crotch band and plunge them deep in her superbly sloppy cunt.
He ran them in and out, first two and then three, and he grinned at the way it made her churn her big ass and arch her big hips up for more. It even got through to Ingrid for she raised up on her elbows and grinned at him and, knowing this was somehow pleasing her, he ducked down on the bed and pulled Erika's crotch band farther aside to use his tongue there.
"Oh! Oh, Charles!" the big woman hoarsely cried, and Charles tongued her deeper, lip-nibbled around the fleshy lips of her cunt, just as she'd taught him, thinking of Ingrid's hot little cunt but happy to have this one for now. He couldn't quite reach her clitty with his tongue, but he was doing a hot job on her cuntlips and fuck-hole, and this she acknowledged with her muffled moans and her hip-churnings, strong enough to rock the bed. He knew he'd helped her cum at least a couple of times, but then that became far less important than getting some more good shots of Ingrid. He quit her cunt and got up on his knees licking his lips, and found that Ingrid had turned over.
Erika was eating her asshole! She was tongue-fucking her right up her butt! It was something he hadn't expected at all, but there it was before him, Ingrid with her lovely cheek mashed down against a pillow and her cunningly sweet little butt raised up in the air, and Erika holding firm to it and sliding her long, tapered tongue deep inside that tight pink hole, over and over again. It made him swallow hard but it didn't make him sick. In fact, the more he looked and the more pictures he took, the more beauty he saw in it, with Erika's broad face almost serene now, pressed between those small but superbly rounded buttocks that she held apart with her hands, and with Ingrid thoroughly getting all she could of it and demanding more, in her own inimitable way.
"Ah! Erika! Beautiful! Deeper! Yes! Dar-ling, nobody does this like you!"
The camera jammed to a stop again. What a time for this to happen! He knew he wasn't out of film, and he worked with it furiously until he'd freed it, so furiously indeed that he completely missed the quick transition of positions as Ingrid was rolled over for Erika's mouth to return to her cunt.
The slim blonde was cumming harder than ever now. Erika's tongue in her asshole had brought her to a higher level of ecstasies and now it was taking her higher still. Of all of her fantastic body, though, it was her face that was the most fantastic now, and Charles got up on his knees on the bed beside her to get all he could of that on his film.
He seemed to feel each of the orgasms ripping through her as he shot her ecstatically grimacing face, her drawn back lips, her knitted brows. Those hot shudders running through him were beautiful, but still he yearned for more. The pornographic artist came out in him now and he took a shot straight down, with the lens focused sharply on her and with the head of his stiff cock in the foreground.
But now he was running short of film, and this was his very last roll. He said, ". . . Ingrid?"
"Yes! Ah-h-h, what is it?" she said, and her hand flung out and brushed his bare leg, and he jumped at the contact of it.
"Maybe I could . . . do it a little to you. It might make a good picture, Ingrid. I could show Erika how to use the camera. It isn't hard at all."
"Just keep shooting," she said. "Get pictures of this," she said, and her hand reached up and got his dick, and with two quick pumps of it he was cumming, shooting, squirting his Jism all over her lovely torso and her laughing face, creaming long white streaks on her pink bra and her pink nipple and taking pictures through it all somehow. He was cumming so hard he could almost hear it. "Pssssst! . . . Psssst! . . . Psssst!" went his prick in her hand, as more and more of him came out to cling to her fair white skin. Every pore, every nerve, every hair on his body could feel it until the camera ran dry and so did he and he teetered back on the bed and slipped off it and collapsed on the floor in a mindlessly happy sprawl.
CHAPTER TWELVE
"Good God, Erika! Would you eat a girl to death?" Charles heard Ingrid exclaim.
And he heard Erika chuckle and say, "It has been too long. And your cunt tastes too sweet."
Charles struggled up and looked across the big expanse of bed. Erika was still on it, curled up on her big tanned legs and licking her lips like a cat. Ingrid was off the bed and backed up against the bathroom door. Her hair was in gorgeous blonde disarray and the miracle of orgasm still showed on her lovely face. Both of her titties were covered with her bra cups now and, alas, she'd pulled up her panties. They were torn on the side from too much stretching, but their lacy pink nylon was there to cover all of her little cunt. His semen still streaked her chest and face and now she turned a stern look on Charles and said, "Your pictures had better be good."
"They'll be great!" He slung the camera off his neck and got up on his knees. "And you'll do great in Hollywood. I know you will. And maybe I can help! My dad used to insure a Hollywood movie producer, and a dirty book maker too, I think. I could help you with your career, Ingrid!"
"We'll see about that," she said. "But look. You've made a mess of me. Get some tissue and clean this stuff off."
"Right away!" he said, and headed toward her and the bathroom, and managed to lightly brush against her as he passed.
No toilet paper for her fine skin. He got a handful of Kleenex and returned, to find Erika inevitably drawn up off the bed and close beside Ingrid, smiling and kissing and petting and caressing her, which Ingrid accepted as her due. He wiped her clean of his cum, touching that fabulous body all he politely could in the process of it, while she and Erika fairly purred in their contentment and tickled their tongue tips together artfully. He wanted all or any part of her so badly he would have died for it. Even after that enormous cum he'd had his prick was thickening again to prove this. He wiped her clean and dabbed her clean again and she went right on smooching with old Erika, until at last Charles hunger took over and he said, "Could I do that to you soon?"
She turned an amused smile on him. "What? Kiss my cunt?"
"Yes! Please! I'm good at it! Ask her!"
She laughed and said to Erika, "You see? You simply don't know how to handle this younger generation. This afternoon he was afraid to touch either one of us. And now he begs to kiss my cunt. But is he good at it? Does he know what he's doing? You know I can't stand a fumbler."
Charles' high hopes sagged as Erika shrugged. She said, "Oh, he's all right. For a man. For a boy, really."
"I can make you cum, Ingrid!" he pleaded. "I know I can. Please, Ingrid. It doesn't have to be here or now. Just tell me I can some time."
"What's wrong with here and now?" she said, and his hopes soared right on up to reality, until she added, "But you must show me first how well you do with Erika."
He didn't want to eat her big old cunt with Ingrid's so close at hand. But there it was before him as the light pressure of Ingrid's hand on his shoulder took him to his knees, and as big fat Erika fucked down the front of her panties to expose the broad triangle of her hair and the thick pink lips that split it. Her clitty was there too, distended out from her lips, and Charles went for it with his lips, for even though this was only an audition it was a most important one for him.
He sucked and licked that clitty as ardently as he ever had when he'd thought he was in love with the Swedish maid. He nibbled the hot wet flesh all around it and stabbed and tickled it with his tongue and thought he was doing a tremendous job of it, if her reactions were any yardstick. But then he looked up through his eyebrows and saw that Ingrid was Frenching Erika and playing with her tits, and he knew his own suckings could only account for half of Erika's growing pleasures.
He went right on sucking, though, even as Ingrid slipped Erika's bra cups up and loosed the pendulous globes of her mammoth tits. The far slimmer of the two blondes lifted them and squeezed their nipples and fondled them, and her voice was a throaty purr as she said, "I have always loved these big ones of yours. How I used to stare at them and think of them like this, in my hands, while you were before the class teaching us those foolish things in school."
"Before I took you in hand to teach you the important things," Erika said through her smile, and cupped Ingrid's hands in hers and drew them harder against her tits. "Your stares at me" she said. "That is what brought us together. I knew. I knew what you wanted, but were afraid of. Do you remember that first time? That first time we were alone together?"
"I still have dreams of it! You made me stay after class. I was so frightened!"
"And I was frightened too. But I had to have you, even if it meant my job."
"And you made me sit in the front row, and you behind your desk, looking so very stern and so very beautiful!"
"Ha! You always sat in the front row. The better to look at these!" she said triumphantly, and thrust her big tits up proudly, and Ingrid showered them with kisses, and Charles stayed crouched there still sucking their teacher's cunt.
Excitement was building in both of them. Charles could hear it in their voices and feel it in both of their bodies now with his mouth pressed closer against Efika's cunt, pushed there by Ingrid's jostlings.
"And you sat right there!" Ingrid said, "and opened your sweater and pulled up your bra, and I thought I was going to explode!"
"And you sat right there with your pretty mouth open, until I came to you, walked right over to you, and put this big nipple right inside it!"
"Yes! Yes, yes, beautiful!" Ingrid exclaimed, and was sucking on that nipple again, as ardently as
Charles was sucking on her cunt, and big blonde Erika was cumming.
She lapsed into Swedish, which Ingrid answered, and she writhed and twisted and orgasmed so hard against the bathroom door that her panties fell down about her ankles and she nearly twisted a handful of Charles' hair out. He stayed right with her though, tonguing and sucking her on to more, more, in this, his audition for something even greater. Ingrid stayed with her too, pulling and sucking on her tits, Frenching her deeply, rapidly saying words that even sounded dirty in Swedish, until at last Erika sighed and leaned back against the door.
"Enough," she said. "At least for now. You young people have to have it all at once, but I want to make it last the whole night through."
"I'm ready for more," said Charles, and turned his head to face the tight pink bulge of Ingrid's pantied cunt. He was panting hard and his tongue was aching to its roots, but he was so very close to it now that he said, "You said I could if I was good with her, Ingrid. And I was. I made her cum. I helped her feel real good. Can I make you feel good now? Please?"
She tickled a finger through his tousled hair and said, "You may kiss my cunt, if that's what you mean." And smiling down at his beaming cunt-wet face, she said, "But only through my panties-for now. I want to keep Erika's kisses inside them for now, but later . . ? "
He'd have settled for anything. He got his hot hands on those beautifully long, rounded flanks of hers and pressed his lips against her cuntal mound, sucking with firm gentleness to draw more of her fecund sweetness through the tautly stretched mesh of her crotch band. High above him they were tittering and talking Swedish. He didn't care. As long as he had Ingrid like this, looking up at her slender beauty with his lips and her cunt separated by only a bit of lace, he'd have gone on forever. He was shocked, though, and then mortified and wholly humiliated when the crotch band ballooned out with hot liquid and all the sweetness turned to salt on his lips.
He choked and spluttered and they thought it was the funniest thing in the world. He fell back and she came forward, hot piss flowing out of her leg holes and through her crotch band onto his face. And then from behind him he felt the thicker gusher of Erika's water as she too began peeing on him, on his neck and his hair and his back as he slumped down between them and wept, salty tears that mingled with the piss flowing down over his bowed head.
He remained where he was till they'd giggled themselves out and pissed themselves dry, and then it was his humiliators who dragged him to his feet and, all solicitous now, led him into the bathroom. He was blinded by it. It stung in his eyes and it cloyed in his nostrils and was bitter in his mouth. It dripped off his nose and chin and hair, but he refused to open his tightly compressed lips to say, 'I hate you! I hate you both!'
They pushed him into the shower and wet him down, drenched him. They turned off the water and got in with him, lathering him up from head to toe and teasing him unmercifully with their nasty words and their vile bodies. He had to stand there covered with suds while they jostled against him in pinning their hair up, and then the water was turned on again and he was rinsed entirely clean by the two terrible blondes in their wet bras and panties. He got a mouthful of water and spit it out, along with the taste of her piss, but he still wouldn't say a word to either of them as they took him out of the shower stall and dried him off.
'The cat has his tongue," said Ingrid.
"No, it is still inside my cunt, and it feels so nice there. As you will soon see, my little one."
'There. He is all dry. But what has happened to his cock? It is so soft now."
"It will grow. We know how to make those grow big, don't we?"
"He needs some sweet powder. All over him. That's what he needs. This is fun! It's like playing with a doll."
Charles stood there and permitted indignity to be heaped upon humiliation. With a large powder puff, Ingrid dusted him everywhere with perfumed powder, his face and his chest and under his arms and on his prick and balls and even up his ass. He stood there and took it. They'd grow bored with it soon and return to their sinful sex together, leaving him free to go to his room, shower for sixty minutes, and get to work on his television kit. He thought of how proud of him his parents would be when it was finished. He dwelt on a difficult little wiring problem he'd encountered the last time he'd worked on it, over a week before. And the two blonde harpies chattering and giggling and drying each other off like a couple of playful teenaged girls.
"My hair got wet," said Erika.
"Mine too, but I've a drier in my things. Come! I have so many things you haven't seen! Things for you, too. And perhaps for our wooden doll. Come along, Charlie McCarthy, now that you've had your bath."
He walked like a wooden doll and stood like a totem pole between the bed and the bathroom door while they rummaged through Ingrid's bags.
Erika alone was too powerful for him to subdue and escape to his room. And even if he made a break for it, they'd break down the door and drag him out in the mood they were in. So he stood there and watched, entirely impassive, while the two women in panties and bra, one white and one pink and both clinging wet, dug through Ingrid's bags.
They occupied every corner of the room. Some had been opened already and piles of her bright, vivid clothing and dainty under things were on top of them and the chairs. None of it affected Charles whatsoever, not even the pile of hosiery and corsetry and lingerie that was transferred from Erika's dresser chair to the bed so one of them could sit before the mirror there.
But neither of them sat down. They conversed in their conspiratorial Swedish and then came to him together, and together dragged him before the dresser mirror and held him there.
"I think he will make a good maid," said Ingrid.
"Good enough to dry our hair."
"But he's not dressed at all for it."
"We can remedy that," said Erika. "You have so many pretty things, and some of them must fit him."
"What about this?" said Ingrid, and held up a long pair of dark hose. "Or this, or this, or this?" she said, holding up one dreadfully frilly thing after another, until it was a small black waist cincher in her hand, complete with dangling garter straps, and Charles felt himself visibly blanch.
They noticed it of course, and of course they made the most of it. They pranced and danced around him, Erika poking and pinching him and Ingrid taunting him with the corsolette and its garters and its long black lacings. She put it round his waist upside down and right-side up and back and forth, asking Erika which was the right way, and Charles stood there like a nobleman before savages and took it, though he could feel those two big X marks tingling deeply through his back.
"We could dress him up all the way," said Ingrid. "I even have a wig for him."
"There will be time for that later. Put that on him now and have him dry our hair before it snarls."
"Put it on him." Ingrid handed over the sickly black little garment. "I'll get the drier . . . and something else for us, too."
If Ingrid alone was putting that thing on him, he'd have made a break for it. There was no chance with Erika, especially when she got it around his waist, right-side up, and began to thread the laces through the eyeholes down its back. His reflection looked so awful in the mirror. The dusting powder had made his skin far whiter than it really was, contrasting sharply with the raven black of the waist cinch. It was boned with steel ribs, he saw, and emblazoned low on the hip with a crimson butterfly. Its garters were red, too, and shirred with elastic down to where the gleaming chrome snaps hung limply down his thighs. His prick hung just as limply, and he was determined to keep it that way by concentrating hard on his hatred for these women and the ludicrous figure he cut in the mirror. He was equally determined to completely ignore the invisible brands on his back.
It wasn't so easy to do. The waist cincher was getting increasingly tighter now as Erika threaded all the holes with the laces and began to pull it tight. And two of the thin steel ribs most unfortunately cut vertically through the center of those X's. He saw that his prick was swelling, and he willed it with all his might to go down, or at least to stay where it was. Then Ingrid came back with what should have been enough of a distraction to deflate his dick forever.
She laid the hair drier on the dresser and held up an artificial penis! It was at least ten inches long and it looked as big around as her wrist, but she held it proudly, and when Erika saw it she squealed with delight and dropped the laces to take it in her hands.
"What a beauty! Where did you get it?"
"In Copenhagen. On a weekend there."
"It's a fine one. Nice strong straps," said Erika, testing them between her hands.
"And see here," Ingrid said, and took it back from her and turned it over. "Here on the base of it. A nice little tickler that fits perfectly against the user's clitty. Now isn't that nice?"
"Precious," said Erika, and kissed the two rubber projections on the underside of the phallus. "It's one of the best dildos I've ever seen. Have you used it yet?"
"No. I was saving it for you."
"Fibber," said Erika, and playfully hit her with it.
Ingrid grinned and said, "Well, I had to try it out. But come. Let's get our hair dry and pretty before we use it now." She inserted a finger down the waist cincher and said, "Oh, Erika. This isn't nearly tight enough. Here. Let me."
She took up the lacings and gave them a tug that set Charles back on his heels. Erika took up the dildo and held it beside his prick, and both she and Ingrid laughed at the comparison of the big stiff thing with his nearly flaccid flesh. It truly was an enormous thing. It looked quite big enough to split Erika's cunt from her butt to her belly button, and he sincerely hoped it would do just that when it was shoved inside her and that he'd be there to gloat over her misery.
"Uff!" he said, the first sound that had escaped him in several minutes, as Ingrid put her knee in his back and gave a tremendous yank on the lacings.
"His shape is getting a little better," said Ingrid from behind him, and she pinched him on his buttocks, which already felt extruded out to twice normal size.
"His shape is better here too," Erika said, and both of them giggled anew as she held the dildo up beside his dick, half hard now but still no comparison to the artificial one.
"That's e-nough!" he gasped, as again the laces were yanked tighter. He could scarcely take a breath now! His spine was entirely rigid and his ass was sticking way back, the crosses on his back felt as sensitive as the head of his cock which, even as he watched, rose throbbing to its fullest extent.
One more good yank and the laces were tied off in a bow, while Charles leaned panting against the dresser top. Some of his insides had been compressed up into his chest, but the bulk of them were now pushed down to fill out his glowing warm ass and his tingling thighs and his heavily pendant balls and his enormously big hard cock.
"Uh. Oh. I can't. . . breathe!" he said, as the women went round him to admire their handiwork, pinching and feeling and squeezing prodding.
"You'll get used to it," said Erika. "I still remember the first time I wore a good, tight corset."
"I'm not used to it yet," said Ingrid. 'That's why I still wear them. You know where I feel it the most? Right here," she said, and one of her long slender fingers went burrowing up between Charles' hot butts.
"Oh, yes!" he said. "Yes, but I feel it all over!" he said, arching his hips back for more of it, panting and hanging his head down to look at his swollen prick.
"Shall we try my dildo on him?" said Ingrid. "Do you think he'd like that?"
"I have something he'd like even more. It's all I've had since I got here . . . besides him," said Erika, and out from a drawer he'd missed in his search came a battery operated vibrator built in the shape of a penis.
Ingrid took her finger from his ass to take it in hand and admire it, then gave it back and moved her svelte young body sinuously against his side. Her hands were injecting electricity all over him and her voice was purring down through his toes as she touched her lips to his ear to say, "You men do all the fucking, and you don't know what you're missing out on. You'll like getting fucked, Charlie. It feels so-o-o-o-o good. Someday we'll dress you up all the way and fuck you good and proper. You'll like that, too."
"Yes. Yes, I know," he muttered, and weakly tried and failed to touch her laughing lips with his.
He watched while a smiling Erika thoroughly lubricated the long white thing with cold cream, and handed it over to Ingrid's waiting hand. He bit his lip and he arched still further back as the greasy thing probed for his anus, and then he sighed all over as it was slid inside him, without the slightest trace of pain.
He looked down at his dick, and at the dangling garter straps on each side of it. He was well aware by that time in his life that he had little or no control over the sexual functions of his body, and that the premature ejaculation was his cross to bear. Now it became his burden again, as Ingrid turned the vibrator on and his cock gave those preliminary pulsing of deepest pleasure and . . . nothing came out.
He was definitely cumming. He could feel it in every part of his body, gasping and churning his hips, seeing that swelling pulsing of his cock and the convulsive heavings of his balls, writhing in ecstasy and almost falling from the dresser as the buzzing phallus was pushed in and out of him. But still the white jets of jism didn't come, and he thought they must have broken something inside him, but he didn't care a bit.
They let him sit down and rest for a few moments then. They hugged him and kissed him and made much over him, and he sat there beaming and eating it up, even proud of the corset on him now.
"I meant what I said about helping you, Ingrid," he said. "I will. I promise I will."
"Just help me with my hair for now," she said, and sat in the chair before the dresser.
He'd never used a hair drier before. They showed him how to point it and use it through Ingrid's hair, and this took a while to sink through to him, for the big red head of his dick was also brushing through Ingrid's golden hair. It tickled him delightfully, the combination of her silken tresses and the warm air blowing through them produced the most exquisitely delicate sensations of pleasure in his cockhead, and add to this the sight of her lovely face and erotic lips so close to him and this bird's eye view he had to her titties, and the touch of her shoulder under his hand, and finally to cap it all in another grinding series of dry ejaculations, there was Erika's hand to give him a hard squeeze through his corset directly over one of his X's.
"Oh! God! Again!" he grunted, cock shoving deeper in Ingrid's fair hair. They laughed at him and he would have laughed with them, but it simply felt too good for laughing. And then Ingrid deftly heightened his soaring pleasures by reaching up to roll his balls in her hand and stroke the cock that was cumming and jerking and pulsing, but still not squirting even a drop.
They didn't let him rest this time. He had to go on with the drier while he swelt in the twilight of another brilliant orgasm, with his prick still up as hard as ever.
And then it was Erika's turn in the chair. "I want some too," she said, but she drew Charles around to face her at his handmaiden's work, and before he'd hardly begun on her damp hair she had his cock in her mouth and was sucking him off with all the gusto she'd displayed at the start of their affair, two weeks and a hundred fucks ago. He dried her hair for as long as he could-and that wasn't very long at all-before he had to set the blower down and hang onto her big soft shoulders.
The really big creamer was coming on now. It felt as if Erika was taking his dick halfway down her throat. And then Ingrid was there to add considerably to it by grasping his chin in her hand and turning him into a kiss that was savage in its erotic intensity. She fastened on his lips with hers, sucked his tongue deep in her mouth, and slid her silken tongue even deeper into his. Charles hands fled from Erika's shoulders to Ingrid's slim waist, could have crushed it as he started cumming in Erika's mouth, then kept right on at it while his hands mauled Ingrid's titties through her bra and ripped it aside and got the real bare things in his palms. There was an audible pop when their lips parted, and then another smacking pop as Erika's mouth left his cock. He was about to collapse on the bed when Erika said, "He did not cum! Not a drop!"
"I came," he sighed. "Oh, yes, I came."
"As long as you felt good," said Ingrid, and squirmed up against him again, and took his dick in her hand and stroked it, and it felt as if another big spurt of cum leapt out of it. "And as long as this is still hard," she said, and kissed him hotly, and let him feel of her titties again, perfect conical beauties, with nice round undersides that just fit in the palms of his hands. "And as long as it stays that way," she happily went on, "we can go on all night long!"
"I'd like that," Charles sincerely said. "But you know what I'd like best of all right now? I'd like to kiss your cunt. Could I? Please, Ingrid?"
"I fear that will be occupied for a time," said
Erika from behind him, and he felt quite a sharp prod in his naked butt. "She is to be fucked first."
He half turned and said, "My God!" for the thing which had poked him was the mammoth dildo, which Erika was strapping to her now naked loins. "You'd fuck her?" he said, measuring its length and girth again with his eyes, seeing its long taper, and knowing full well it would damage the Swedish sprite's little pussy enormously and irreparably. "With that?" he said, cringing himself at the sight of it.
"Why not?" said the laughing Ingrid, as she took Erika's false penis in her one hand and Charles' very real one in the other. "I enjoy a good fuck as well as the next girl."
"But it would take a ton of cold cream just to get half of that thing in you," he said, and then a slow grin lit his young face and his gaze turned from Erika's loins to Ingrid's. "Plus a whole lot of n-natural cunt juice." He licked his lips most suggestively and added, "Which I'd be glad to try to provide. With your permission, of course," he said with a bow in Erika's direction.
They argued, they talked, with their genuine and counterfeit penises bobbing about between them like a pair of fencing foils. Charles Derek Goodson III was on the verge of invoking his own good name as the employer of the big Swedish maid when Ingrid ended their discussion with a tinkling, "Char-lieeee.. . . "
He .turned his head with hopes held high, and fully realized, when he saw her spread out naked, fully naked on the bed, with one long finger curling at him before her most beckoning smile. That finger was lovely and her smile was lovely and all of her was lovely but her cunt was the loveliest of all, for that sweet pink was now revealed to be entirely bereft of hair, swept clean of even the tiniest strand and being presented to him in all its plump pink naked glory. Even the big dildo at his rear was forgotten as he went on the bed on his knees, erect as any soldier from the tight compress of the corset, quite nearly as erect as his prick.
Her cunt was the center of his universe just then. Oh yes, he saw her softly moving arms and legs, her elfin lovely face all framed in gold, her ten beckoning and beckoning fingers reaching out to him. And he even saw her tiny navel, the ten wriggling toes, the sweet little tip of her upturned nose and her darling little titties, so perfectly capped with pink, but it was the pink of her perfect bald cunt that existed beyond all else. His tongue was fully extended and wriggling like her toes when it was still six inches from her cunt and coming in.
It was sweet, actually sweet, like the wildest sort of wild honey! And her clitty was marvelously large, yet cunningly hidden. He wanted to ferret it out all the way and love it to death with his tongue, but her cunt tasted so very good that he was compelled to lick it up from one brimful end to the other, as if he feared her cunt would never produce such sweetness again.
She liked it, and he liked that. "Oh, Charles," she said, but she said it in a way that made him glow, and that produced another of those divine dry spurts of his cock. "Oh, Charles, you do know what you're doing," she purred, twisting fingers in his hair as he started all over again on her cunt, tasting all of it that he could and sucking her clitty into greater prominence, while with his hands he took purchase in the delicately sculptured junctures of her hips and thighs.
"Oh, Charles, yes!" she exclaimed, and her spine curled her hips and her cunt right up for more of it, and he delivered, even with big Erika kneeling on the bed beside them now and working the monster dildo against her clitty and saying, 'That's enough now. Darling, give me a turn at you."
"Uh! Oh, yes!! ! " Ingrid replied, but her reply was to Charles ardent kisses, not to Erika's pouty words.
And with the reply she flung herself into it entirely, arching high off the bed to give still more of her cunt to Charles' kisses. "OH! OH! YES!" she was crying constantly, just as constantly as she was moving now and just as constantly as Charles' achingly stiff dick was ejaculating those orgasmic spurts of nothing.
She flipped onto her back and he stayed with her, sucking on her sweet little asshole now and pushing his tongue far up inside it, and finding it almost-but not quite!-as sweet as her cunt. He would swear to his dying day that each of her very wet orgasms matched one of his very dry ones and his were coming in deliciously rapid succession.
Again she made a most violent move, with Charles helping her right up to the hilt. Now he found himself on his back, lovingly gripping her sweet cake buns, while she sat on his face and fed him cunt and more cunt, and arched and twisted her lithe white body in a way that made him know how the belly dance was invented.
"OH! YES! ONE MORE!" she was shouting, obviously holding back from the steady stream of orgasms now, in search of the really big ONE. And Charlie, directly under her, did his very best to give it to her. He sucked and licked and swallowed and tongue-fucked all at the same time, and his reward for this was veritable geyser of invisible cum spurting up from his cock and a long keening wail from Ingrid as she fell forward on her hands on the bed and loosed her precious pee-pee all over his face.
He bathed in it. He wallowed in it. His only regret about it was that she hadn't saved up a week's worth of it for him. And that Ingrid was only mortal, and as such she had to succumb to the arduous rigors of most ardent sex. She collapsed with a sigh beside him, and Charles lay there with a large smile on his wet face.
But old Erika wasn't lying down. Her open crotch and her big false dick passed right over Charles' face on her course to where Ingrid lay in a heap, and before Charles could lift a finger the big blonde had snatched the slim one up on her feet by the side of the bed with all the ease of a puppet master with a marionette.
"Don't do that to her!" said Charles, but already Erika's powerful hands had Ingrid's little ass in their grip and she'd been hoisted off her feet.
"Let me rest a moment, dear," Ingrid sighed, but that was not to be, for Erika held her easily with one arm about her waist, and with her other hand directed that awful dildo up and into her freshly sucked cunt. "NO!" Charles cried, as Ingrid's slim body was dropped right down on it. "DAR-ling!" Ingrid cried, and whipped her long legs round Erika's waist and set herself in motion.
It was an amazing thing to behold. Just the muscular flexings of Erika's big buttocks were enough to totally fascinate a man, quite enough to make a movie about, but there was so much more vivid action to see that Charles could only stare and stare.
They were really going at it. And it was producing results. Ingrid's cunt juice glistened down the length of the upward plunging dildo and coated her lovely little ass as it bounced up and down like a ball on the end of a rubber band, and Erika's vital juices trickled down her heavily shapely legs by the spoonful. Their tits-Erika's huge ones and Ingrid's perfect ones-jounced and jiggled together in a naked blur. Ingrid's head was lolling crazily on her long neck, but there was a dreamily ecstatic smile on her gorgeous face throughout, and Erika's broader face was taking on the tinge of pink from exertion while her fine white teeth were set in a thin smile of sheer determination. Coupled, of course, with all those orgasms that flowed betwixt and between and up and down and throughout the raging fuck that held young Charles rapt.
Then Ingrid's long legs slipped off from around Erika's waist, and with half a turn Erika had her pinioned against the wall with that big pistoning dick, driving and driving as a picture fell from its hook, squelching that big false dick in Ingrid's little pussy till sweat ran down Erika's broad back.
Such exertion was too much for even Erika. Her powerfully built legs were buckling. Her savage thrusts were growing ragged. Ingrid was slowly sliding down the wall, and her first loud outcries of intense orgasm were diminishing into sighs, almost pleading sighs. Still Erika kept it up. Charles was far too late to put an end to the destruction of Ingrid's cunt now.
The bigger woman kept it up and kept it up until Ingrid's fine little wet ass was firmly on the floor and her head was lolled over to one side, whereupon Erika gasped out a sigh too and slumped and rolled away from her and onto her back-with that big stiff dildo still standing tall above her.
Charles' prick was still stiff too. He longed to use it on poor Ingrid, unconscious or not, but he was a humanitarian male human being, and as such he rolled off the bed to his feet and gently cradled her in his weightlifter's arms and laid her beside him on the bed.
He knew he should summon a physician. Her insides had been beaten to a pulp by that awful thing, her little pussy ground into mincemeat. She looked as if she might be in extremis, and in need of a priest or some such thing, but she was so very lovely, even close to death, that Charles could only stay there and touch her dear cheek and kiss away the beaded perspiration on her cunningly curled upper lip.
And at the touch of his lips, his Sleeping Beauty opened her sultry turquoise eyes, and her hand went unerringly to his cock and he was drawn up inside the portals of her poor, battered cunt.
"Fuck me," she murmured.
"I can't. You're delirious. I'll hurt you," he replied.
"What my Ingrid wants, she gets!" said Erika behind him, and that big long dildo driving up his ass drove him deep as he could go into Ingrid.
She was tight. Perhaps it was her youth, her vitality, the bracing climate in which she was raised, or some natural proclivity for sexual congress that was behind it all, but suffice it to say that her hot slick active little cunt could not have been a better fit for Charles' driving cock if it had been tailored for him on Saville Row.
Still he was afraid to use it as it should be used. His humanitarian instincts scolded him to restrain himself from those driving cock-plunges into her deliciously tight cunt no matter how her active humping beckoned. But that driving, plunging, altogether wonderful dildo that Erika used so very capably kept him fucking away like a madman in the maddest, most wonderful cunt ever brought to the shores of America. Between the two of them-quite literally-Charles came.
He knew it for sure because his semen came foaming up out of Ingrid's cunt, intimately mixed with her sweet juices and scenting the cunt-fetid air with the smell of hot jism. He knew it because all the long-suffered pressures were eased out of his body. And he knew it because she did, and she told him that by smiling and saying, "Yes. That's what I needed the very most."
The three of them rested and dozed together, in a sweet sweaty tumble on the bed. They stayed just like that until two thirty in the morning, for in California the bars close at two, even at the Racquet Club, and in the Goodson household the elders stagger home at a prompt half hour past closing time. And therefore, without even opening his eyes, young Charles knew it was the voice of his father bellowing out from the doorway as it said, "HEY, ALICE! YOUR BOY'S FINALLY GOT AROUND TO FUCKING THE MAID!"
