All of Grace Eddy's books have been tremendously popular with the Surrey House, Inc. adult book collectors. The Roach Coach Lady will be no exception to that rule.
Grace (definitely not Eddy), the roach coach lady, is thirty-five going on forty-one, and feels that most of life has passed her by. No wonder when she tumbled onto horny little Pedro, with almost too big a bulge in his crotch for a little kid, she decided to grab off some of the goodies for Gracie.
The boy was more than willing, too. Why not? If there's a well-set-up lady who wanted to swing on his joint ... if she wanted to take him home with her and feed him and pamper him and bathe him and do all those far-out things with Pedro's boyish genitalia?
What well-hung kid could turn down the chance at a non-stop orgy of sex education? Not Pedro.
What lust-starved older woman could resist cuddling all the kid had, spread out right in front of her face and just begging to be tasted, consumed, emptied? Not Grace.
Come along with The Roach Coach Lady. It'll be the ride of your sexlife!
-THE PUBLISHERS
CHAPTER ONE
Grace sighed and waited out the stop light. Finally the green left-turn arrow lit up and she could make her turn down Commercial Street. The truck lurched ungracefully over railroad tracks that crossed the street diagonally, making her slide and bounce halfway across the seat and leaving her with a not unpleasant sensation at the point where two legs become one ass.
It was a very well-formed ass, firm and muscular, mounted atop two long straight legs that at the moment were busy dancing from brake to clutch to accelerator as she fought the heavy roach coach over the tracks and into the littered yard of the Industrial School. She tried to ignore the sensation between her legs as the truck came to a smooth stop. She pulled the whistle cord and got out. By the time the boys were pouring from the school she had the sides of the truck open and was ready to sell them sandwiches, coffee, pie, tacos, the usual full complement of a roach coach.
"Hi, Grace." It was Pedro who was a foot shorter and seemed at least five years younger than the rest of these would-be welders and shipfitters. Without waiting for his order Grace began getting him out two burritos and a can of Coke. "Gee," Pedro said in his faintly accented English, "you already know what I gonna eat!"
"Maybe someday you'll surprise me," Grace said. In the five or six weeks the boy had been there, he hadn't changed his order yet. Others crowded around, pawing for sandwiches, and she was too busy to talk-busy making change but mostly busy making sure they didn't steal her blind. For a moment she almost forgot about the other thing.
As if she could ever forget it. Grace was thirty-five going on forty-one. She had always taken care of herself and she looked exactly what she was, an extremely attractive middle-aged woman. She had always thought she was happily married. Then one day a year and a half ago her husband had run away. And the pussy-footing sonofabitch hadn't even run away with another woman. He had run off to live with a boy!
Everyone had marveled at how brave Grace was, how well she coped, how she wasn't the kind to let things get her down. But not a one of the well-meaning friends had ever contributed a dime toward the mortgage she was still paying off, nor had anyone ever suggested any remedy or relief for the aching void she felt every time she went to a half empty bed.
What can a thirty-five-year-old woman going on forty-one do if she hasn't held a job since the day she was married almost twenty years ago? Grace had considered the dreary alternatives of housekeeper, live-in companion, babysitter, all the low-paying, unskilled jobs available. Finally she had realized nobody really wanted a middle-aged woman with no particular skill. Then she had found that she did have two skills at least. She could make change without coming up short. And she knew how to drive, thanks to her former husband's being freaked on top-heavy campers.
So now she was a roach coach lady, driving her lunch wagon daily about an established route, making more money than her emancipated women's libbers with half a dozen degrees in their air-conditioned offices. She was keeping up the mortgage payments and living as well as ever.
Except for one tiny little item that money apparently couldn't buy. Maybe it could but Grace still didn't know where to shop for it. After eighteen months alone in a double bed she was forced to admit there was one thing she needed very badly. But how does a middle-aged woman with no real experience in the world's wicked ways go about letting the world know she's ready for a little fucking?
Grace felt herself slipping into a familiar daydream. She shook herself out of it and continued making change for the would-be welders and shipfitters at the Industrial School. From a corner of her eye she saw little Pedro eyeing her as he munched a burrito.
Despite his shortness, Pedro was an attractive little boy, smooth dark skin like a ripe olive, straight black hair that gleamed like the mane of a well-kept stud horse. His upper lip bore the faintest suggestion of fuzz. She wondered how old he really was. Probably he was lying about his age just as she was. But little Pedro would be doing it the other way around. Probably he was nineteen going on thirteen. Probably also he was the sole support for a widowed mother and half a dozen ravenous brothers and sisters. Grace always felt motherly around Pedro. She wondered if it was because she had never been a mother.
But did mothers go around with a constant itch in their motherly crotches? Grace abruptly realized the dream had a basis in reality. In the dream it was always a boy very like little Pedro.
"Which way you live?" the boy asked abruptly.
Grace was amazed. Her heart leaped and her belly twisted at the boy's innocent question. Good God, she thought, he's only a boy. I'm old enough to be his mother and he knows it. I know it. He's just trying to be friendly and make conversation.
"Uh, south," she managed in a choking voice.
"I live that way too," Pedro said. "Could you give me a ride home? I got to wait almost an hour for the bus and it costs ninety cents." The boy hesitated a moment and wet his lips nervously. "I pay you," he added.
Grace tried to stop the thumping in her breast.
She tried to remind herself that she was surrounded by men every day and that not one of them had ever been less than proper. Even these boys at the Industrial School seemed to sense some inner quality within her that stifled their rough talk. And little Pedro was not trying to talk himself into her bed. All the poor boy wanted was a ride home. And she couldn't even give him that. "I'm sorry," she said. "The company won't allow me to take any passengers."
The boy's face fell and from his control Grace was gifted with "a sudden insight into a lifetime of rebuffs. She abruptly forgot the itching in her crotch as she was overcome with another totally unsexual tenderness for this poor boy. What was he doing learning a trade at this age? He ought to be in junior high school playing baseball or whatever boys did at that age. Suddenly Grace found herself doing something she hadn't expected to be doing at all. It was almost as if another person were speaking from her mouth. She listened in silent amazement as her voice said, "I'm going to leave the back door unlatched and I'm going to park down the street for a moment to see if I've gotten a flat. Then, about a block from the catering place I'll stop again and look for a flat. And there'd better not be anybody inside the truck when I back it up to the loading dock."
Driving out of the cluttered yard of the Industrial School she was tempted not to stop. But she remembered the sudden almost fierce joy on the short boy's face when he had learned this was not one more rebuff. If she did not stop Grace knew she would never be able to pull into this school tomorrow and face the hurt on the boy's clean-skinned olive face.
She stopped and got out to kick the roach coach's tires, studiously trying not to look toward the rear where she could hear the door creak open and finally snap shut again. After a moment she got back in and started driving the unwieldy truck back toward the nearest onramp.
Struggling to keep her place in the fast-moving traffic she felt herself slipping into the dream again. It was a very special dream that had solidified to the point of ritual. Grace would be steeping in a hot tub, thinking soft warm thoughts about something hard, hairy and male between her legs. She would get out of the tub and towel off, posing before the steamy mirror to admire the taut smoothness of her well-preserved body, to compare the golden tint of her pubic patch with the still unretouched hair on her head. How many women going on forty-one still had the same colored hair in both places, she wondered?
The dream was always the same. Just as she was reaching for a sheer and frilly peignoir a face would peer in from her bedroom. The dream was always delightfully vague about the provenance of this face. She was alone, had been alone for eighteen months, yet the abrupt appearance of a man's face peering into the bath from her empty bedroom was never cause for alarm. Instead, each time she reached this portion of the dream Grace would feel a sudden quickening in her smooth-skinned belly, a lovely lurch as her insides repositioned themselves for the wonderful thing that was finally going to happen.
She pulled back into her lane and tried to ignore the angry honks behind. By now the freeway traffic should have thinned out a little. Then abruptly she realized it was Friday and that every idiot who owned a car was struggling to get out of town for the weekend. While she had been daydreaming her offramp had drawn perilously close and she still had two lanes of fast-moving traffic to cross. She flicked on turn signals and began edging over.
Horns honked angrily and headlights flicked. She glanced at the mirror and realized the roach coach was big enough to out bluff the asshole in the VW. She kept on moving over. The next lane was not too easy. The sixty-foot-long semi-rig outmatched her. But at the last minute the driver of the big rig decided to give her a chance. He flicked his lights and she slipped in front of him just in time to veer on past into the offramp. Moments later she was backing up at the loading dock. She plugged in the extension cord for the refrigerating unit built into the roach coach and sat a moment filling out her report. Finally, she gave a sigh, dropped her day's receipts into the slot and strolled tiredly across the deserted lot to where a dilapidated sedan was parked.
Then abruptly she gave a start of pure horror. She had completely forgotten about poor little Pedro in the hassle of fighting traffic. She should have stopped on the access road long enough for him to get out. Now the truck was backed against the loading dock and she had started up the refrigeration. She had to do something. Drive her own car over next to the roach coach? While she dithered in indecision she sensed somebody moving up behind her. It was Pedro.
"Why didn't you stop?" he asked accusingly.
The lot was almost empty but there had to be a watchman around somewhere. "Quick!" she hissed, and opened the back seat of her sedan. It was piled full of the load of dirty clothes she intended to take to the laundromat tomorrow. Hastily she opened the front door and motioned him in.
Pedro slid in and hunkered down out of sight. Grace went around to her side of the car and got in. Moments later she was driving toward the brightly lit gate. Sure as hell the guard was going to see the boy and ask questions. Grace grabbed him by the hair and forced his face down into her lap. She gave the guard a cheerful wave and streaked through the gate before he could start a conversation. Half a mile down the road she turned a corner and was out of sight. She pulled to a stop and suddenly realized how she was trembling.
"I'm sorry, Pedro," she finally managed. "The traffic was so bad I forgot all about you." Suddenly she realized the boy was trembling too.
My God, she thought. He's been in that refrigerated compartment for nearly half an hour and not even a jacket! The boy was so chilled he wasn't even trying to sit up. He lay comatose with his face in her lap. He could end up with pneumonia, she knew, if she didn't do something quick. "You'll have to come home with me," she said. "I'll get you warmed up and then I'll take you home later. Is anybody expecting you?"
When she reached home Pedro had finally stopped shivering. He lay asleep, smiling angelically with his face still in her lap, twisted slightly to face her belly. She slipped quietly from the car and went into the house to draw a hot bath. When she came out moments later little Pedro still slept. She felt his brow. His temperature seemed normal. Maybe he would be all right after all. But she decided she'd better play safe. Give the boy a bath and a hot meal, make him stay a little while until he was through shivering. If Pedro were to fall ill because of her negligence she could never forgive herself. She prodded him awake.
Sleepily, Pedro allowed himself to be prodded out of the car, onto his feet and into her house.
Grace experienced a moment's disquiet. She was taking a total stranger into her house and even if he did look only thirteen she was sure he had to be older or else he wouldn't be learning a trade in an industrial school. But the boy's face was so angelically innocent and he seemed so helpless as she prodded him into the bathroom. She lowered the cushioned lid on the John and sat him down.
She knelt to untie the laces of his rough work shoes. She pulled off his shoes and socks, pulled off the shirt and undershirt from his sleek, smooth-skinned body. "You can handle the rest of it yourself," she said, and stepped out of the bathroom.
She dithered a moment outside the door, waiting for splashing sounds. Nothing happened. "Pedro?" she called. There was no answer. Taking her courage in her teeth, she opened the door. The boy still sat on the John. He didn't seem ill but he was half asleep. Then abruptly he began shivering again.
Grace tried to make up her mind. The boy was only a boy. She was old enough to be his mother. I'll pretend I'm a nurse, she told herself, and began unbuttoning his Levi's. Moments later she had the comatose boy on his feet and was pulling down his pants and Jockey shorts. He stumbled and rested a hand on her shoulder as she made him raise one leg, then the other.
The boy's pubic patch was beginning what would someday be a luxuriant growth of curly black hair. His cock was shriveled from the cold until it was nearly invisible. She got one of his legs into the tub and the boy's eyes opened momentarily at the unexpected sensation of near-scalding water. A moment later she had him sitting, then reclining with water up to his chin. The boy gave a tremendous long, drawn out sighing "Aaaahhh" and once more began shivering.
Grace hovered nervously over him. Finally she guessed he would not drown. She hurried to the kitchen and found the half bottle of whiskey that had languished untouched since her husband had decamped eighteen months ago. She poured a stiff one and hurried back to the bathroom.
Little Pedro's eyes were open now. He gazed about with sleepy bemusement. She cradled his head and poured the whiskey into him, abruptly aware that she was probably violating several laws by giving liquor to a boy this young. And if anybody were ever to find out that she had taken a strange boy into her home and undressed him!
Pedro choked and coughed but-a moment later his eyes were wide open and alert. "Mrs. Grace!" he exclaimed and crossed his hands over the gently moving hairs of his pubic patch still visible beneath the rippling water. "I think I was dreaming."
"I'm sorry, Pedro," she said. "But you could have caught pneumonia. I had to get you warmed up somehow. Are you all right now?"
"Fine."
"I'll leave you alone now," she said. "When you're ready the towels are over there." Standing up she tried not to look at the boy's crotch an inch beneath the shimmering water. His cock was not peanut-sized now. It seemed to be growing larger than any boy this small ought to have a cock. Abruptly she realized Pedro was looking at her from beneath his long lashes. The boy was rapidly growing a hard-on. Grace averted her head and rushed from the bathroom.
Standing in her bedroom, teetering from one foot to the other, she stared at the door to the adjoining bathroom. Grace abruptly wondered if she had gone insane. It had started out so innocently. All she had planned on was to give this boy a ride home. She had read enough Freud to know there were supposed to be no mistakes in the world, that if she had forgotten the boy inside the refrigerated roach coach her subconscious had probably done it deliberately. Had she wanted to kill him? Or had she somehow deliberately planned all this, knowing that sooner or later she was going to end up with a naked boy in her bathtub, with herself alone in her house with a strange young man who was rapidly recovering from his chill, a young man who had been studying her for days as he munched away at his lunch. Grace sighed and tried to put all these troublesome thoughts out of her mind.
Abruptly she realized how tired, how gritty she felt. She really needed a bath herself. And then, maybe, considering the unsettling quality of this day, she could drive the boy home and then come back and have a drink of that whiskey her old man had left.
The boy should have emerged from the tubby now. He should have dried off and gotten dressed. She wondered if he was totally unused to whiskey. Maybe she had given him too much. She listened at the door and could hear nothing. "Pedro," she called, "are you all right?" There was no answer.
She opened the door and stepped in. Pedro still lay in the tub. He was snoring gently. The water was cooling off. She felt his brow and guessed the boy had recovered but the Combined effect of whiskey and hot water had relaxed him into blessed normal slumber. She flipped the drain gadget at the foot of the tub and water began gurgling out.
Grace sat on the padded John, staring in fascination as the waters receded from the boy's sleek, hard-muscled body. First his smooth hairless chest was exposed, then his waist. A moment later water rippled and the tip of his reflexed tool emerged from the deluge. Moments later crisp black pubic hair was springing back into its customary curls one hair at a time. The boy sighed but did not awaken. Then slowly his eyes opened as he felt the uncomfortable pressure of the tub on the back of his high and dry neck.
Grace got an arm around him and helped him to stand. The boy swayed sleepily as she toweled him dry, working carefully around his crotch, hoping upcoming problems would solve themselves. The boy was still sleepy. She knew he was not faking because his cock remained in comfortable relaxation as she sneaked up on it with the towel. Finally she tossed caution to the winds and got the , towel between his legs. Still the boy did not react. She finished drying him and realized it would be impossible to dress him without a little cooperation. And if she did, would she dare deliver him home in this condition?
Coaxing, she got the comatose boy into her bedroom. After a moment's hesitation she left him standing, swaying while she threw down the blanket and sheet. The boy allowed himself to be put to bed without complaint. She tucked him in and tried to face the situation. What was she going to do?
She thanked God she had never gotten chummy with the neighbors. There would be problems enough without tongue-waggers dropping in for coffee or a cup of sugar. Maybe the boy would wake up in a couple of hours and she could get him out of here before daylight. She glanced at the alarm clock in the dimly lit bedroom. It was only eight-thirty and already it was getting dark. She sat at her dressing table and suddenly collapsed, feeling the weight of her forty years, the emptiness of her life since her husband had bugged out with a boy. Glancing at the sleeping boy she was once more acutely aware of the months since she had last felt the deliciously firm maleness sliding in and out, in and out of her needful notch.
What she really needed at this moment, Grace knew, was a hot bath. Maybe after she had washed off the day's grit and relaxed a half hour things would fall into place and she could figure some way out of his dilemma. She glanced once more at the boy. Pedro seemed to be sleeping. He seemed perfectly capable of sleeping all night.
She went into the bathroom again and began drawing a fresh tub of hot water. The boy did not react to the sound of running water. Grace found her peignoir and hung it by the tub. She closed the door to the bedroom where the boy was sleeping and began undressing.
She pulled off her blouse and unzipped her slacks, then remembered she hadn't even taken off her low-heeled work shoes yet. She shrugged out of them and stood in bra and bikini panties before the steaming mirror. She could, Grace knew, still fill a bikini better than plenty of girls half her age. Her tits were firm and proudly upstanding, with neither stretch marks nor the elongated nipples of motherhood. Her belly was smooth, with just the right amount of bulge to accentuate her narrow waist.
She got her hands behind her and unlatched the bra. Her tits sprung defiantly upward when she released them from restraint. Her nipples tingled in the freedom of her bathroom and she felt a sudden surge of desire. If only the boy in her bed were a man. If only she dared do what she really wanted to do with him....
But Grace knew she never would. Instead she would finish her bath, have a cup of tea, then she would shake the boy awake and make him dress and then she would take him home and she would be damned if she ever let herself be maneuvered into this kind of impossible situation again. Sighing at her image in the fogging mirror, she got her thumbs over the waistband of her bikini panties and began sliding them slowly down past the bulge of her hips.
Her pubic triangle peeped coyly from the upper edge of her panties and she was reminded of the perfect match in the blondeness of her upper and lower hemispheres. She shrugged and the panties collapsed like a parachute about her ankles. Behind her the tub was still filling. She kicked panties to one side and stepped into the tub.
The water was scalding but after a moment she could keep her foot in it. Moments later she was settling slowly into the water, enduring the almost erotic thrill as her body inured itself to the too hot water. "Aaahhh," she sighed and felt the tension flow from her tired body.
A half hour later she felt somewhat restored. She stretched one elegant leg and diddled the drain gadget open. She lay savoring the gentle tickle as water flowed away from her body, unveiling first the magnificent twin peaks of her firm, up-standing tits, then the gentle rise of her belly. A moment later she felt the million tiny tickles as the blonde hairs in her pubic triangle escaped the weight of water and snapped back to their normal curls.
The delicious tingle continued down her crotch, down the crack between the cheeks of her ass as she lay in the draining tub, unable to get up enough steam to move. Finally the tub was empty and the tiny turn-on was gone. She sighed and forced herself to stand. She was toweling off when she felt eyes on her.
Grace turned and saw Pedro in the doorway. He had been half asleep, she could see. But his eyes had widened into abrupt wakefullness as he took in the totality of her nude body. "Oh, uh, I'm sorry!" he managed as he backed from the open doorway. As the door closed Grace admitted to herself that the boy couldn't be half as sorry as she was.
Of all the crazy situations to get into! She had undressed the boy and now he had managed to catch sight of her nude too. No matter what her intentions had been, no matter how innocent, she could just imagine how all this would sound spelled out on a police blotter. And the hell of it was she knew that no matter how young and innocent little Pedro might be, her body was perfectly willing to ignore all the rules of civilized warfare, to arouse this boy and use him until he was exhausted. She finished toweling off and slipped into her peignoir.
Damn it! she thought. It was too sheer. The peignoir was even more seductive than the sight of her nude body. Once more she guessed old Freud had been at work planning out things she really wanted even if she had no intention of doing them. Now she would have to go back into the bedroom where the boy was waiting clad only in this peignoir unless she wanted to climb back into her gritty work clothes. She considered a moment. To hell with it. He had already seen her in the total splendor of her altogether. He could endure another glimpse of her in a peignoir.
Besides, by now the boy would have his clothes on and be waiting nervously for her to take him home. Grace took a deep breath and opened the door to the bedroom.
Pedro was not dressed. Pedro sat on the edge of her bed looking toward the bedroom door. Pedro's legs were opened slightly. Pointing straight at her as she stepped through the door was the most tremendous hard-on Grace could ever remember having seen or even imagined.
They stared at each other, mutually aghast. Grace was aware of a tiny corner of her mind that was fully aware of the comic possibilities in this scene. She wondered if the boy was as frightened as she was. Possibly more so. His eyes remained riveted to the front of her peignoir where she knew the sheer fabric out-lined her nipples, her pink areolas, the gentle swell of belly and navel, the dark triangle of her pubic patch. She stared with equal fascination at the boy's cock, willing herself to look away, unable to control the rising excitement that threatened to choke her.
They remained for a frozen eternity, then both snapped from their hypnosis simultaneously. The boy's hands crossed with maidenly modesty over his hard-on. Grace turned her back on the boy. She ought to go back into the bathroom and give the boy time to dress. Then she realized she had already given him time. With her back resolutely turned on the boy she began rummaging in her closet for clothing. She had to drive the boy home. Even at this hour she didn't dare gamble that the car might not quit or have a flat. She couldn't drive him home in a peignoir.
But as she rummaged through her closet Grace suddenly knew the boy was not dressing. She could feel the heat as his eyes burned her, memorizing every curve of her body beneath the flimsy peignoir.
CHAPTER TWO
"You'd better get dressed," she said. More accurately, she tried to say it and her voice caught in a duck-like squawk. She tried again and still her voice refused to obey. Finally she turned to face the boy. She took a deep breath and held it until she knew she could talk again. "I'm sorry I brought all this on you," she said, "but it's late now. I'll drive you home. Your mother must be worried sick by now."
"Mother?" the boy's voice was startled.
And abruptly Grace knew there was nobody waiting for his boy. Nobody at all. Someday maybe she could learn who he was, how he lived. But for now she suspected the subject might be far too painful for discussion. She felt a momentary dizziness at the realization that this boy was as alone in the world, as unwanted, as she was. She sat on the opposite side of the bed with her back to the naked boy. After a moment the dizziness passed. The tension was growing between them. She could actually feel the heat, the rampant maleness radiating from his body. She had to say something before she exploded, before they both exploded. "Are you feeling better now?" Even as she asked it she realized what a silly question it was.
"Yeah," Pedro said.
"Maybe you'd like something to eat?"
"Yeah!" This time his answer was more enthusiastic.
Grace felt sudden disappointment. She should have known better. He was only a boy. She had been projecting, reading all kinds of desires and motivations into him that had existed only in her own deprived psyche. "Would you like a sandwich and some milk?" she asked.
"Yeah," Pedro said.
Grace was halfway to the kitchen, still clad in her sheer peignoir before she remembered the tremendous hard-on that had stared her in the face when she emerged from the bathroom. She rummaged around the refrigerator and tried to ignore the reviving hope that fluttered like an imprisoned hummingbird just inside the lips of her warm wet vagina.
She tried to concentrate on making a ham and cheese sandwich but all she could think of was the tip of the boy's tool, staring at her like a one-eyed worm peeping from the tight-stretched foreskin of his tremendous throbbing ram-slammer. She remembered how the boy's cock had jerked gently up and down in time to his racing heartbeat, seemingly with a life of its own. She tried not to think about how nice it would be to feel the hot hard maleness of that hammer pounding her crotch, punishing her cunt, filling her with satiation for the first time in over a year and a half.
For a minute Grace was afraid she was going to faint, to melt in a little puddle of passion right in front of her gaping refrigerator door. She took a deep breath, tried to think pure thoughts, tried to concentrate on making a ham and cheese sandwich-anything except how wonderfully ragingly joyful it would be to savor the feel of hot hard hammering maleness ram-slamming in and out, in and out, pounding and kneading all the loneliness from her deprived body.
She controlled herself and finished putting together a sandwich. She poured a glass of milk and returned to the bedroom. When she got there Pedro was still undressed, still sitting on the edge of the bed as she had left him. But he had pulled a corner of the spread down over his crotch so she had no way of knowing if he still sported that tremendous roaring hard-on or if the boy was still so young that he was more turned-on by a snack than a snatch.
Trying not to show her disappointment, Grace handed him the tray. The boy wolfed down the sandwich and milk with a voracity which removed any lingering doubts about whatever harm she might have done him. She knew she ought to be selecting something to wear, ought to be dressing somewhere else in the house so she could present herself ready to deliver him home the instant he was through eating. But Grace was overcome with a lassitude that made her incapable of moving. She sat on the opposite side of the bed with her back to the boy. At least she wouldn't embarrass him by staring at him.
As she sat her peignoir fell open. Glancing down she saw it gaping clear up to her cunt, even exposing a slim triangle of belly up to the lower edge of her navel. She pulled the slippery material together. Immediately it fell open again. Behind her she heard the boy put down the tray. 'That was good," he sighed, and emitted a genteel burp.
"Do you want some more?"
"No, thanks."
The silence grew between them. Abruptly she knew he was staring at her. She turned and he wasn't. Then while she was looking at him he turned and their eyes met. Something electric passed between them but neither Grace nor the boy wanted to admit it. The silence grew until it achieved a tangible quality. "Would you like to go home now?" she finally asked.
"No."
Grace didn't know what to say next. She fumbled for something face-saving. "Perhaps you'd like to rest a little longer?"
"You look tired too," Pedro said.
It took Grace a moment to understand what the boy was trying to say. Then all of a sudden comprehension hit her like a warm wave right in the belly. She glanced at the bed. "Yes," she admitted slowly, "I'm awfully tired and sleepy."
Without exposing his crotch Pedro swiveled around until his legs were inside the bed. Moving slowly with the sinuous grace of a serpent he slid down until only his head was exposed. While Grace mentally dithered and tried to make up her mind the boy closed his eyes.
She turned out the light and discovered she had left a light on in the kitchen. Filtered through the living room the light came through the bedroom doorway too dim to disturb anyone's sleep. She sat a long time in the almost darkness staring at the boy's tranquil face. His eyes were closed. His breathing deepened and became more regular. To her intense disgust Grace suddenly knew the boy was not pretending. He had actually managed to go to sleep again!
She sighed. She would be goddamned if she was going to be crowded out of her own bed. Finally she stood and took off the peignoir. She supposed she ought to put on a night gown or pajamas or some such. But the boy was naked. She might as well sleep in the altogether if that was all the interest he was going to take. Trying not to waken him, she slipped into her side of the bed. She lay for a long time in the darkness staring at the ceiling, wondering what weird kind of kid this was who could ignore his hard-on in favor of something to eat and then calmly go to sleep in a strange woman's bed.
But despite a frustrating night, Grace had also put in a long hard day's work too. To her surprise she awoke some time later to the discovery that she had fallen asleep too.
It was the dream that awakened her. In the dream she had experienced the same daytime dream of a face suddenly peering into her bath. Now the face was even more like Pedro's and the dream turned into a confused montage of erotic images with a short, brown-skinned boy with a smooth, muscular body, a boy almost a head shorter than Grace but a boy doing the most astonishing things to her.
For a moment she lay awake perfectly still, trying to separate dream from reality. Something was most definitely wrong. Then she remembered. She was not alone in bed. There was somebody else in bed with her. A boy who had presented a rip-roaring hard-on to her astonished glance as she exited the bath, then promptly lost interest in the whole affair. It was nearly another minute before Grace realized what it was that had actually awakened her, that had probably provoked that warm wave of erotic dreaming. There was a strange hand between her legs.
It couldn't be a strange hand, she knew. It had to be Pedro's. Now the boy was either asleep again or ... Suddenly she knew exactly what had happened. The boy had awakened, had found a nude woman asleep beside him, and had embarked on a voyage of exploration. Then he had sensed she was waking up and had been frightened into immobility.
Grace lay relaxed, face up, eyes closed. She forced herself not to tense, not to acknowledge the hand between her legs. This Pedro was a very odd boy. She wondered if he had ever gotten this close to a woman before. Probably not or he would have known how to act. Probably, like every boy, he thought he had discovered sex for the first time in the history of mankind. It would never occur to him that a woman might be just as eager as he. Sex to an inexperienced boy could not possibly be a cooperative venture in mutual joy and satisfaction. It could only be something furtive and forbidden, a gratification that had to be stolen from a woman without her knowledge.
Grace lay with the boy's hand between her legs wondering how far he would go. Minutes passed and she realized he would never go anywhere so long as he thought she was awake. She gave a sleepy little moan and squirmed, managing to open her thighs ever so slightly. She waited another moment and then began breathing deeply and regularly, doing her best to convince the frightened boy she had drifted back to sleep without ever coming fully awake.
Minutes passed, then the boy's hand once more resumed its cautious exploration of her tender, sensitive inner thigh. Grace felt a sudden wave of eroticism pass through her and for a moment she thought she would surrender to an uncontrollable paroxysm of orgasm.
She felt muscles tensing inside her belly as her deprived cunt reacted to eighteen months of emptiness. Thinking frantically, she managed to hide her aroused excitement in another sigh, moan and stretch that left her thighs even wider apart.
The boy froze, terrified at the thought that she might awaken and discover his hand in forbidden territory. Grace wondered what exactly went on inside a boy's head that he couldn't work out the obvious implications and choices when he found himself naked in the same bed with a woman as bare as he was. But she knew it was not limited to boys. If any of the psychology she had read in eighteen months of trying to figure out why her supposedly happy marriage had disintegrated was true, then grown men's minds were even more tortuous in their thought patterns than boys.
And it was all so unnecessary. She remembered how she had felt as a virgin, full of strange urges, full of a feeling that these urges were some perversion peculiar to her alone. If only people could just talk openly and explain to each other that fucking is fun, that it can be thoroughly enjoyable to all concerned, that it needn't necessarily have anything to do with long range arrangements like love or marriage. If only....
She took a deep sighing breath, held it for a moment, released it and let herself slip back into the deep regular breathing of deep sleep. The boy's hand began moving delicately up between her legs, cautiously approaching cunt country. She had managed to spread her thighs wide apart by now so that the boy could explore to his heart's content. Then she had another thought. As long as they were playing games she might as well not make it too easy. She sighed and moved again, closing her legs. The boy's hand was caught in between.
There was a sheet and a light blanket on the bed. Grace squinted cautiously and knew there was enough light in the room to see. She remembered her one brief glance of that tremendous roaring hard-on pointing straight at her when she had emerged from the bathroom. She wondered if the boy's cock were that big and hard right now. There was only one way to find out.
Planning her moves carefully, she clenched toes and fingers until she had a firm grip on the sheet. Then, moaning and sighing as if she were having a nightmare, she began slowly rolling over. The boy's hand was still caught between her thighs. He moved awkwardly, trying not to betray his presence. She opened her thighs just enough for his hand to slip out, then continued rolling over. By the time she was on her stomach Grace had managed to pull all the covers with her. Sheet, blanket, spread cascaded to the floor, leaving her totally nude, totally unveiled, but face down atop the bed. Beside her an equally nude boy wracked his brain trying to figure out how to get her turned face up again. From the corner of her eye Grace could just barely see the hard hot malenSss that seemed within an inch of cumming.
There was a moment of impasse but she had gotten things out in the open. She wondered if the boy really believed she was still asleep. Probably. Boys were capable of the most amazing self delusions. She waited for him to screw up his courage again. Finally she sensed his hand hovering over the rounded firmness of her ass.
The boy's hand descended onto her ass, light as a butterfly's kiss. Gently, he began exploring the shape of her prone body, running his hands up and down her ass, the backs of her thighs, up around her waist, along her flanks until she struggled not to giggle. His fingers explored the outer edges of her squashed tits until she was so turned-on she felt like rolling over and pulling the timid explorer into the saddle.
Little by little, he acquired courage. Now he was kneeling beside her so that he could get both hands onto the seductive contours of her prone body. Grace decided it was time to apply the brakes. She sighed and moaned again, rolling slightly and cradling her head. When she had finished wriggling around her head was turned so that she could peer beneath one arm and study the clean firm outlines of Pedro's small, hard-muscled body.
The boy's hard-on was as rock-hard as she remembered, its purple tip gleaming wetly from a distended foreskin. She watched it throb, thump, jerk gently up and down in time with the boy's racing heartbeat. He had both hands on her waist now, handling her awkwardly from one side like some timid masseur. She sighed and feigned sleep again, waiting for his hands to resume their timid tentative explorations.
In moving she had spread her thighs slightly. She saw the boy's eyes gleam with sudden joy as he discovered this opportunity. A moment later one of his butterfly hands caressed the outer side of her half squashed tit while the other was once more working its timid way up her soft, sensitive inner thigh to the outer edge of cunt country.
She felt his finger touch the tuft of hair that grew on the lips of her vulva. An electric shock passed through her whole body at the tiny contact with her secret trigger. She felt her insides gathering forces for an orgasm that threatened to tear her in two. My God, she thought. All he did was touch the hair of my pussy. What'll happen if he ever gets so much as a finger inside me? She moaned and moved again to cover her confusion. Her thighs closed over his probing hand.
There was another moment of frozen panic as Pedro waited for her to go back to sleep. From beneath her arm she could see clearly the great throbbing thumper that jutted from the glossy pubic patch at his crotch. She began turning over again, barely exposing her front to the boy but dragging him closer to her as he followed his entrapped hand caught between her thighs. He perched awkwardly, half above her, sustaining his weight with one free hand as he struggled not to touch her, not to waken her with the ardent press of his lusting young body.
The tip of his hot throbbing cock touched her flank, then as she rolled farther it was pressed between her belly and the boy's. She moaned again, this time in earnest as she struggled not to cum. Just the feel of all that hot throbbing maleness pressing against her, the thought that before this night was over she could have it inside her once, twice, perhaps a dozen times....
Pedro was in trouble too. Grace was so superexcited by the feel of a cock touching her after a year and a half of nothing that she could sense every throb, every beat of the boy's racing heart. She felt the tension each time he strained and twisted every muscle of his hard young body with the effort not to cum. They held against each other for a moment of frozen ecstasy, neither daring to move. Pedro's breathing quickened until the sound of his panting could have awakened Rip van Winkle but still Grace strove to preserve the illusion that she was asleep, that the boy was the master of this situation, that he was sneaking all these feels and pleasures from her unknowing body. She wondered if it would be possible for her to let him actually get it in and fuck her while still pretending to be asleep.
Probably, she guessed. It was most obviously his first real experience with a woman or else he would have had it in her half an hour ago. It would be fun to play it cool and let the boy discover everything by himself. She wondered if he really knew where to put it or was aware of the basic mechanics of fucking.
His cock was still mashed between their bellies as she lay, partly on her side but still mostly on her stomach, the boy's hand still firmly caught between her thighs. Finally his spasm passed and she guessed he was not going to baptise her then and there with the chrism of the rites of love. She sighed and changed her breathing again, trying to convince him that she was still caught up in a restless sleep. She relaxed her thighs slightly and the boy's hand slipped free once more.
Pedro gave a faint sigh of relief as he escaped from his cramped position. His hot cock slid deliciously down the smooth, un-lined flesh of her belly, leaving a faint track of love's juice behind. Grace felt herself quiver as her body struggled to come, to explode and release the accumulated tensions of eighteen months of abstinence.
She struggled to control herself. The boy retreated slightly and she completed her half turn until she lay on her side facing him, face shielded in her arms whence she could see him without the boy knowing her eyes were open.
Grace was overcome with a feeling of maternal tenderness quite apart from her sexual need. She wanted to kiss the boy, to embrace and comfort him, to feed him goodies and let him know there was joy in life. But he was not so little a boy that his cock was not still stiff and hard with his inarticulate need. There would be time for milk and cookies later. Now it was time for silk and nookie.
The boy knelt facing her, bending over her, clearly not knowing what to do next. Probably he had only the sketchiest ideas of female anatomy. Grace decided the best way to keep him from panicking was just to lie still, play it cool and let him satisfy his curiosity. Meanwhile she could satisfy her curiosity about the tremendous thumping hammer that jutted untried from Pedro's crotch.
The boy was in imminent danger of cumming. Grace knew she had had a narrow escape when they had broken apart and his suddenly freed cock had slid so deliciously along her smooth belly. What would happen if he came before he got it in? He would be ashamed, she knew. Would it be better to rub against him once more "accidentally" while she was still "asleep" and let him cum while she was not officially on hand to note his discomfiture?
All the books she had read on the subject said boys this age had no more staying power than a jackrabbit but that they were capable of getting it up a half dozen times a night. It seemed a shame to break it up and go to all the bother of cleaning up when he probably wouldn't even get it halfway in the first time. Yet Grace knew there was a whole night ahead of them, providing she didn't scare the boy off or shame him into impotence. And she had been doing without for a year and a half. She had some catching up to do and it seemed a shame to waste a single drop of this blazing boy's power.
She waited to see what the boy would do next. Clearly he didn't know what to do next now that he was faced with a full frontal view of her superb body. If he dared he would snuggle up to her, embrace her, kiss her, rub his hot throbbing body against hers and giggle and whinny with the sheer joy of finally touching a real live woman after all these years of solitary dreaming.
But from the boy's viewpoint she was asleep and he was stealing forbidden fruit and once she awoke it would be all over and ... what was the boy going to do when she finally admitted she was awake.
He knelt beside her, eyes soaking up every detail of her firm body, memorizing the swell of thigh, the trimness of her waist, the firm way her tits pointed their tiny virginal nipples at him. He wanted to kiss and lick those nipples but he knew how it tickled whenever anything touched his own nipples and surely anything that tickled that nicely would wake her up, perhaps with a smile on her face. But Pedro knew it would be a smile that would slowly change to outraged rejection once this magnificent blonde with the smooth white skin discovered a short brown-skinned boy taking unheard of liberties with her centerfold body.
Grace sensed this. She remembered how quickly a mask had settled over the boy's face that afternoon when she had told him he couldn't ride home with her. She knew she was not going to wipe out a lifetime of rejection in one night. But she was willing to make a start. She sighed and moaned and moved once more. This time she was still on her side, her face still hidden beneath a protecting arm, but she had turned slightly more upward, giving the boy a better look at the treasures she usually kept hidden beneath several layers of clothing.
She lay quiescent for a moment until the boy had had time to memorize this new angle of her seductive body, then made little moaning panting noises as if she were too warm. She threw out one arm as if trying to remove nonexistent covers, knowing that an out-spread arm would make her firm tits stand out even more boldly. She sighed and spread her thighs. Just as the boy was starting to relax she made another mewling sound of complaint and flexed one thigh.
Now she lay almost flat on her back, her firm tits with tiny virginal nipples pointing like twin searchlights at the boy's goggling eyes, one arm still over her eyes to shield from him the fact that her open eyes were taking in his every move, the other arm dangling over the edge of the bed in what she supposed was a gesture of seductive helplessness. One of her long straight legs was stretched straight. The other was flexed, raising her prominent mons veneris slightly, giving the boy a better view of her well-furred patch, inviting him to sample the texture of her tender inner thigh.
She settled back into the deep regular breathing of deep sleep and waited to see if the boy would take the bait. Which way would he go, she wondered. She knew she had nice tits. Plenty of men had been willing to let her know how willing they would be to get closer to those magnificent knockers back in the days when she had been happily married and would never have even thought of getting it on with a strange man.
But Grace also knew she had a pair of legs that turned heads whenever she felt like wearing a dress instead of the heavy and unglamorous slacks she used when piloting the roach coach. Which way would the boy go first?
She could tell from his burning eyes, the way his hands cupped forward that he would give his immortal soul for the chance to kiss her nipples, to run his hands over the firm smoothness of her up-standing jugs. But he was afraid she might wake up.
She could almost read the boy's mind as his gaze shifted to her crotch. He had had his hand in there before, had been slowly working up her thigh into cunt country. Maybe it was safest to stick to the tried and true. She sighed and spread her legs more invitingly.
The boy's eyes widened and, apparently, he took it as a sure sign from heaven. Shifting imperceptibly on the bed, he began turning around until he lay end to end on his side, facing her, staring squarely at her pubic patch. Beneath her upraised arm Grace smiled.
The boy's hand touched her thigh. He began tracing its contours, delicately working his way toward her crotch. Grace debated sighing and stirring but it felt so good to feel a boy's hand exploring her crotch that she didn't want to interrupt things now. She kept her breathing smooth and regular and a moment later was rewarded with the feel of little Pedro's hot wet breath on her leg. She kept her breathing steady and a moment later the boy's nose was plowing a gentle furrow in her smooth-skinned thigh. She could feel his open lips kissing, running up and down her leg like a column of frantic ants.
CHAPTER THREE
Still moaning and stretching, feigning sleep, Grace rolled back onto her side. The boy lay facing her butt end to end, his head imprisoned in her gentle scissors. She moaned and twisted, maneuvering until his head was pillowed comfortably on one thigh. She lay quiet for a moment and her breathing deepened again.
. Imperceptibly she relaxed the grip of her thighs on his ears. Sighing once more, she cocked a knee until one leg was flexed again. Now Pedro's head lay pillowed on her thigh, free to move. She waited to see which way he would move. She couldn't see his face now but the boy was facing her cunt, his mouth only inches away. She could feel the warm moist air from his breathing as it passed over her crotch in rhythmic waves of alternating warm and cool air.
Suddenly she realized her willing cunt must be gaping open due to her widespread legs. The smooth tickling sensation of the boy's warm breath passing over her clit was driving her into a state of uncontrollable excitement. She wanted to reach down and capture his head, draw him into her, force his tongue into her cunt and make him lick her into raddled satiation. But cold logic prevailed. The boy still believed she was asleep, that he was stealing all these delicious glimpses and that he could still escape undiscovered. Robbed of that security he might panic and never return to prove his untried manhood ,upon her willing body. There were many things Grace wanted but she did not want that.
Not for herself, not for the boy. He had suffered enough rejection in his life. She wanted him to go away from this night happy, satiated, secure in the knowledge that for once he had not been passed over or rejected. And maybe-just maybe, the boy would appreciate what she had given him and be willing to give it back two or three or maybe seven nights a week.
Very slowly, moving with infinite caution, she felt two arms come snaking around to grasp her ass as the boy began his snail-like progress up into her crotch. He didn't have more than an inch to go. She knew if he were to purse his lips the boy could be kissing her cunt right now. But he was in strange unexplored territory, in danger of being surprised and evicted at any moment. The boy was too frightened to do what came naturally. Maybe, Grace thought, he didn't know what to do. Then she felt those arms slowly tightening their grip on her ass.
She tried to control her breathing, tried not to feel the fire that raged within her belly at the realization that after eighteen months-eighteen years was more like it since she had had a man's nose nuzzling at that wonderful notch between her long straight legs.
The boy caressed her ass, wrapped his arms around her and drew himself closer to heaven. She struggled to remain "asleep" while he burrowed into her crotch, ploughing gentle furrows in her blonde curliness as his lips worked their way closer to her hairy pouting lower lips.
She felt an almost continuous thrill of delight course through her belly, up her spine to reverberate about in her rut-filled brain. She was teetering over a chasm of orgasm, nearly ready to explode with delight as the feel of this smooth brown-skinned boy's hard-muscled body making its first fumbling effort to assert its maleness.
The boy was so firm, so smooth, so male! He had her hanging right on the edge, so near, yet so far from cumming. All it would take, she knew, was the slightest touch of lips or tongue on her secret trigger and she would cum. She would explode with great soaring rockets of delight and her insides would tear, would melt and flow and rearrange themselves into delightful new patterns and she would be satiated, fulfilled, never ever need another man-for at least two or three minutes.
Then abruptly she knew why he was hesitating. She was breathing faster, unable to control herself as she waited for the joy to come. The boy was afraid she was going to wake up, terrified at the thought that she would come to with a jerk and find him in this unexplainable position and start screaming and then there would be police and all the other unpleasant things that could happen when a brown-skinned boy got too close to a white woman.
Grace forced herself to relax. She made her breathing slow down. She made her thighs less tense with the effort of holding him in there, drawing him deeper. Slowly the boy's fear left him. She waited. She waited what seemed two and a half eternities. Little Pedro seemed content to lie there motionless all night, his lips barely brushing the hair on her nether lips. Should she toss caution to the winds and draw him in? Maybe there was another way.
She sighed and moaned and, "talking in her sleep" managed to sigh, "Oooohhh, Pedro!"
If she needed any proof of the boy's reaction the cock pointing at her throat proved the boy's sudden revival of interest. His arms tightened around her ass and abruptly his gaping mouth was covering the tender hairless inner surface of her gaping gash. She wondered if it was still possible to go along with the pretense that she was asleep.
While she was wondering the boy's mouth began exploring the tender sensitive surfaces of her wide open cunt. His lips mated over the smooth hairless inner side of her everted vulva, making a snug, air-tight seal for his tongue. He ran his exploring tongue up and down her slit, checking out its contents. His tongue stopped in startled curiosity as it encountered the marble hard knob of her swollen, throbbing clitoris. And suddenly all the suspense was over.
Grace felt her roiling innards gather forces, twist, strain, pull like the rubber bands of a wind-up toy airplane. Then suddenly the boy's tongue touched the trigger that let it all go. She felt her belly throb rhythmically, felt her vagina contract in rippling waves, milking and squeezing desperately at something that was not inside it. She felt herself melting, flowing, her brains turning to peanut butter as she surrendered to the wonderful now feeling of a full and long overdue orgasm.
"Aaahhh!" she moaned. Her thighs were opening and closing uncontrollably over Pedro's ears. The boy was spurred into some new paroxysm of delight. She had been afraid her sudden activity would scare him off and leave her high and dry but the boy was devouring her cunt with eager relish now, lapping his prehensile tongue full length, driving it into her vagina, coming back to run it in teasing circles around her throbbing, passion swollen clit until she could hardly control her antic desire to giggle, to squeal and whinny her joyous satiation. It felt so wonderful, so just plain finger lickin' goood!
She gave a final shudder and her lax legs closed once more over Pedro's ears. She felt her cunt was brimming. She ought to get up and clean up now but ... was it still possible that the boy thought she had done all that in her sleep?
Apparently it was. He lay quiescent, still embracing her ass, his mouth still fastened snugly over the gaping lips of her satiated cunt. They lay in silence for a moment, neither daring to move. Finally Grace's breathing settled back to normal. She struggled to give it the deep steadiness of sleep. What is the boy thinking? she wondered. Boys were capable of believing anything. Perhaps he believed he had her hypnotized, that so long as he kept his mouth there she was his unwilling slave, so overcome by his maleness that she could not scream or complain.
If that was what he believed, Grace guessed it was pretty close to the truth. She had cum less than a minute ago. But it had been the first time in over a year and a half. She wanted to cum again. Right now. She wanted to cum over and over and still one more time. She. wanted the boy to keep his busy little mouth right where it was. She was willing to do just about anything to keep it there.
She willed herself to relax, to play at being asleep. A minute passed and then she was rewarded by renewed activity. First Pedro's tongue began tracing lazy circles around her half-swollen clit. Then he nuzzled deeper into her secret slit and his teeth closed gently over it. Very gently, he began nibbling.
Love's juices were streaming from her seething cunt. Really she ought to get up, to lead the boy into the shower where they could both clean up and start over afresh. But already she could feel herself approaching another climax. If the boy didn't mind a little stickiness, why should she? She opened her eyes again and saw his cock. A moment ago it had been pointing indeterminately at her tits and throat. Now it was pointing straight at her face as the boy burrowed deeper into cunt country.
It wasn't a particularly large cock as she remembered. When she had first put the half frozen boy in her tub it had been shriveled to less than peanut size. Now it had grown into such a prodigious prod that she could hardly recognize it as a boy's cock. It seemed more the sort of equipment one might find on one of the heavier breeds of stud horse. It pointed at her with an angry insistence, the hole in the end glaring at her like a one-eyed worm seeking vengeance for whatever had caused it to awake and peep from its lair.
The boy had never been circumcised. His veined foreskin was naturally short hough, so that even when not in erection the tip of his tool would be sometimes visible. Now that the boy was hot to trot the swollen, purple-headed knob on the end of his cock was almost halfway out, gleaming wetly, radiating its heat and rampant masculinity into her face. Grace knew that the slightest touch or squeeze would send that stretched foreskin over the bulge to snap back around his cockshank, leaving the tender sensitive head of his throbbing hammer exposed.
She dwelt lovingly on the thought. The boy was licking her with frantic abandon. Could he still possibly believe she was asleep? Mentally sighing, Grace supposed he could. A man in love could believe the most preposterous things. A boy was worse. What would happen if she were to open her mouth, let her lips close gently over the hot throbbing head of his cock, close her teeth over his foreskin just tight enough to urge it back past the bulge, then settle down to a delicate and leisurely licking of this boy's luscious lollipop?
He wouldn't back off in horror. Not now. His nose was too deep in her cunt for the boy to have any qualms now. But he was probably so deep in doublethink that one part of him still thought she was asleep, that she wasn't experiencing all the lovely and professional little touches he was applying to her flushed pussy.
If she were to return the compliment this virgin boy's reaction would be thoroughly predictable. There would be an instant of frozen, unbelieving delight. His cock would swell to even more unbelievable proportions, his entire body would stiffen, strain, struggle not to do what he and she both knew it was going to do. Then there would be the tiniest warning flutter and a moment later she would be flooded with gallons of cum, floating awash in a sea of masculinity.
It would be fun to do it, to exercise her power over the boy, to see how easily she could coax his virility from him. But it was much more fun just to lie here and pretend to be asleep whether anyone believed it or not. It was ever so much nicer to play dead, to let the boy do all the work, to revel in the feel of something warm and different between her legs doing all kinds of things that hadn't been done there for more years than she cared to remember-far more years since she had had a man's tongue there than a cock.
Grace tried to relax, not to think about anything except how nice it was to have a boy's eager tongue exploring her secret slit, poking deep as it could into her vagina, augering its prehensile length in deep, twisting and probing from unexpected angles, withdrawing for an instant, then making a lovely lascivious excursion around, over, around and around her throbbing, marble-hard clitoris. It felt wonderful.
Gradually the boy was gaining confidence. She had no idea what fantastic evasions he was creating in his own mind to convince himself that she was asleep, that she was not aware of the way he was caressing her ass, squeezing her, embracing her, driving his mouth and nose deeper into her gaping pussy, teasing her tender membranes' past all human endurance with his licking, sucking, kissing.
She closed her thighs over his ears and the boy was driven to new frenzied flights of inventiveness, He wrapped his arms round her ass and pulled her to him tighter. His hands traced the contours of her legs, caressed the smooth rise of her belly. With his tongue still tracing lazy figure eights up and down her cunt, drawing erotic circles around her clit and poking deep into her vagina, his hands began exploring the rest of her body, working cautiously up her belly until his finger was memorizing the deep cup of her navel.
Grace shivered with delight. It was so wonderful just to lie here and let a boy do all the wonderful things that had been so sadly lacking for several years before her husband had bugged out, that had been totally and completely lacking for a year and a half now.
She tried to close her mind to everything extraneous, to the problems that would face her tomorrow or maybe even tonight once this boy's curiosity and lust were satisfied and he demanded to be released to return to his own home. And thus, afloat on a sea of erotic joy, Grace's mind slowly fixed on what she had to do.
Boys of this age were not logical. The boy was a virgin; she was sure of that by now. Once his curiosity was satisfied, once his brimming gonadia had emptied and his frantic need was satisfied she knew he would react. He would be confused and probably ashamed of the way he had surrendered.
Boys of his age were too dependent on women. Boys needed a fuck so badly, were so totally unable to ignore a girl's presence, so resigned to the fact that they would never be allowed to do what they wanted to do to one of these delightful creatures that in reaction they hated them. Boys and many men, she knew, hated women. They hated women not for what women are but for what boys are, for the way boys need women, want them, dream about them, wake up wet and sticky with the memory of them, fuck their sweaty fists while thinking about them, all the while hating themselves and hating their weakness, hating their dependence and need for one of these soft, round, prick stiffening and totally unavailable creatures.
Once the boy's urgent and immediate need was satisfied, once he had cum there would be a reaction. He would drift into the bathroom and clean up. He would emerge and be unable to look her in the face. He would mumble something about having to go home and the next time she drove the roach coach into the Industrial School little Pedro would not be there to buy his Coke and burritos. Unable to accept the fact that he was not an island sufficient unto himself, the boy would transfer his self-hate to the thing he loved and needed the most.
One part of Grace's logical woman's mind understood all this and reflected coldly upon it while the rest of her was savoring all the wonderful things little Pedro was doing to her depraved body. And that cold logical part of her decided what she had to do if all this were not to happen. If she wanted to achieve total satiation, if she wanted to keep this boy wanting her and needing her and willing to do anything just to be near her and to touch her, she could never allow him to achieve full gratification. If she expected him to come back she had to send him away hungry.
How many times could a boy this age cum? How many times before he was satiated and revolted by the thought of still another contact with this love-hate thing that drew him out of himself? Grace wondered if she dared let him cum at all. She remembered earlier and happier days when her husband had discussed things with her and thus she had one day learned the agonies of a stone ache brought on by a prolonged hard-on that was never helped on to climax.
She didn't want to cause the boy this kind of agonizing pain. But she didn't want to cause herself the drawing tearing emptiness that came from her lonely existence. She had a boy licking her cunt. She had a stiff and willing cock and before this night was over she intended to use it. But did she dare do right now what she so wanted to do? If she did it would soon be over. She wondered if she could coax the boy past the crucial depression after orgasm,.perhaps get him to shower with her and somehow get it up again before he was dressed and on his way home.
Finally, still reveling in the feel of that sleek, black-haired young head between her legs, doing all the things she had always dreamed of a hard-muscled, brown-skinned boy doing there, Grace faced up to what was really bothering her. "I'm thirty-five, going on forty-one," she told herself. "This boy is probably nineteen going on thirteen. Once I've let him fire his first load, do I have enough body, enough femininity left to bind him to me, make him want to do it again?"
The boy's timid explorations had finally gotten up past her waist. Now he was cautiously caressing the firm outlines of her full-blown, virgin-nippled tits. Abruptly Grace woke from her reverie to realize this was the first time the boy had touched her above the waist. Odd, she realized. Most boys began their explorations the other way, necking, kissing, gradually emboldened to cop a feel of tit, then gradually gaining the courage to unbutton a blouse and fumble with the unfamiliar fastenings of a brassiere.
Instead little Pedro had headed straight for cunt country. She still held his head loosely between her thighs, feeling the hot burning imprints of his ears in their tender inner surfaces. It was a very nice feeling and she was in no hurry for it to end but now she abruptly realized that it was even nicer to have a pair of male hands sizing up her firmly upstanding jugs, satisfying their curiosity about such recodite matters as aureoles and the tiny virginal nipples that nestled in the center of each pink areola. The only thing nicer that Grace could think of would be to have that busy boy's mouth fastened over one nipple kissing, sucking, licking, driving her into the same delightful dithering frenzy as it was doing now to her hot throbbing cunt.
But that would take a boy with two mouths. Or two boys. And Grace was doing very nicely with only one boy. She wondered how long it had been going on-how long at least, since she had awakened. Little Pedro must have been awake for quite a long time before she had, edging closer, gradually screwing up his courage to touch the lovely unattainable untouchable white-skinned body that lay so temptingly near.
Now the boy was finally reaching his stride, caressing her firm tits with joyous abandon, not caring or maybe not even remembering that she was supposed to be asleep. He was licking her cunt, performing prodigious lingual peregrinations around her throbbing, marble-hard clit, driving his agile tongue deep down the lips of her vulva, into her vagina where he atigered and twisted, stretching her and probing in delightfully unexpected directions, flexing a vaginal lining she had began to fear might never be stretched again.
And this was only his tongue! Grace smiled a secret little smile at the realization that before this night was over, if she played her cards right, the hot throbbing cock that stared her in the face and begged mutely for her mouth to enfold it-that hot raging rod would soon drive deep into her cunt, to the very portals of her womb as the boy strove to prove his masculinity.
Grace wished she dared kiss that lovely cock. But it would never do-not if she expected ever to feel it deep inside her smoothly rounded belly. Now that the boy was rooting deep in her cunt, licking, kissing, sucking her, caressing her tits with his out-stretched arms, she wondered if she dared cast aside this crazy sleeping charade and admit that she was awake. What would happen if she were to touch him? It would be so nice to caress that sleek, black-haired head, play with his ears and tickle the short hairs on the nape of his neck, coax him into even greater efforts as he rooted and plowed his nose up and down her joyous slit.
She tried an experimental moan. The boy didn't freeze in panic this time. He continued caressing her tits, running his fingers gently around her rock-hard nipples, tracing the delicate symmetry of her areolas, running gentle fingers around the soft fullness of her undersides, memorizing the luscious femininity for the lonesome empty nights to come. "Oooohhh, Peeedro!" she moaned.
The boy's busy tongue drove deeper into her cunt, making her insides roil and boil with new torment. She was on the verge of cumming again.
She wondered if the boy knew it and was helping her along. Probably not. How could a virgin boy be an expert on female reaction? Probably he didn't even know women were capable of sexual arousal or anything so exclusively masculine as an orgasm.
Grace let her arms fall away from her face. The boy's head was buried in her crotch. It was time, she guessed, to stop pretending. She moaned and wriggled again, opening and closing her crotch until the boy's agile tongue had wormed its way another silly millimeter deeper into her throbbing vagina. "Ooohhh, Peeedro!" she repeated, and this time she let her arms down past his until she was cradling his sleek, black-haired head, drawing him in deeper, harder, faster as she caressed the short-clipped hair on the nape of his neck.
The boy didn't hesitate or panic. He was either beyond the point of no return or else was equally willing to stop this silly game about being "asleep." From the way his tongue reacted and from his redoubled pushing bunting efforts to get his mouth deeper into her crotch Grace knew the boy was appreciating every little thing she could do to his ears and to the sensitive nape of his neck.
Slowly, her hands crept down his body. Up, by her orientation, since the boy lay facing her, head between her legs, but end to end with his cock only inches from her face. She felt the heat radiating from it as she caressed her way down his neck, down his back, playing lazy tickling games along his spine until her hands were toying with his slim, hard-muscled waist. The boy's brown-skinned body was perfectly smooth, without a single hair save for the luxuriant growth on his head and his abundant glossy black pubic patch.
Slowly her hands crept down from his waist until she was cupping the cheeks of his firm, hard-muscled ass. The boy's crotch began edging toward her. Grace was tempted. That luscious lump of maleness throbbed only an inch away from her mouth. But she wanted it inside her first, to savor to the fullest its pristine hardness before she experimented with other refinements.
The boy's legs were opening just as hers had. She wondered if he even knew what he was doing, if his body was inviting her to pillow her head on his hard thigh just as he was on hers, or if it was a totally automatic reaction to the warmth of her soft smoothness so near to him. She slid her hands down farther until she gripped each of his thighs just below his ass. The boy's legs opened farther apart.
Grace looked at the inviting scene before her, his cockhead's one eye staring entreatingly from its half peeled tight stretched foreskin. It would be so delicious and so easy. All she had to do was open her mouth. She knew how it would be, knew what it would provoke him to do down there where he was nibbling up a storm in her joy-wracked cunt. But she had to hold out a little longer if she wanted to savor the pristine hardness of little Pedro's virgin cock inside her cunt. There was a time and a place for everything and this was still not right.
The boy's legs were gaping as wide as hers had when she had baited her tender trap to see if the boy would go that way first in preference to kissing and licking her burgeoning tits. Smiling a secret little smile, Grace put one of her hands in between his legs from behind.
Instantly the boy's busy mouth was deeper into her seething slit. He stopped his licking and kissing, fastened his lips tightly over her rock-hard clit and began alternately sucking and puffing, pushing and pulling her sensitive trigger in and out with a flutter delicate motion that made Grace want to kick and squeal and wail and yodel and shriek her delight.
Instead, she let her teasing finger encounter the rubbery bag of the boy's well-haired scrotum. She felt his balls writhe with delight as her finger traced lazy patterns in the hair of the boy's balls, tickling him to the edge of insanity as she began slowly to count each individual hair follicle by follicle.
The boy suddenly stopped working on her clit. He stiffened galvanically, twitching momentarily. She saw the huge, monstrously swollen head of his cock, pointing at her, thrusting to within a millimeter of her lips. She wanted to open her mouth, to take him in from the cold cruel world and comfort the boy the way he was comforting her. But more than that she wanted to feel that wonderful organ playing its erotic symphony inside her reception hall.
She stopped tickling his balls and ran her finger down his perineum. When her fingernail delicately scratched the tender strip of sensitive skin that runs from balls to asshole the boy stiffened again momentarily, fighting off the urge to cum then and there. A joyous frozen moment passed, then suddenly the boy was huffing and puffing at her raddled clit again.
It was too much for Grace. She felt everything inside her building up, everything coming together at once. Then suddenly she was in the middle of a king-sized orgasm, wailing, twisting, moaning, shrieking, yodeling as she felt her insides melt, deliquesce and flow together in new erotic shapes.
"Aaahhh!" she wailed, mouth wide open as if she were singing Wagner.
The boy picked the moment to buck and lunge uncontrollably. Suddenly Grace's gaping mouth was filled with the hot throbbing knob on the end of the boy's raging rod. She felt the foreskin snap back and then she felt the bare hot head of his cock sliding past her lips, past her tongue, past her palate, clear past her mouth and down her throat.
CHAPTER FOUR
Once more the boy froze, astonished at his own audacity, perhaps not really believing that all these wonderful things were happening to him. Little Pedro, despised and rejected all his life, was in a nice lady's house. In her bed, in her mouth, and now he was even down her throat. And his tongue was nearly as deep in her cunt as his cock was down her throat. This nice blonde lady wasn't rejecting little Pedro. She was accepting him wholeheartedly, wholecuntedly, and with her mouth wide open.
They lay for a moment, neither quite believing what had happened. Shit! Grace thought. I didn't want it to happen-not yet anyway. But it had happened. She couldn't back off from this tremendous thumping challenge now. Not unless she wanted a very disappointed little boy to do the same thing to her. And Grace knew that more than life itself, she wanted that mouth to stay where it was for a little while longer.
Her own orgasm had passed now, leaving her fluttery and weak, satiated, so filled with the joy of sex that she felt as if she might never want it again. But Grace was thirty-five going on forty-one and she knew that feeling would pass quickly enough. She was amazed that Pedro's lightning foray past her jaws, her tongue, her palate and everything until he was halfway down her throat had not provoked a reaction in him at least as intense as the throbbing, twisting, thumping orgasm his huffing and puffing on her clit had elicited from her super-heated body.
Grace had never had a full-blown staff shoved through her lips and jaws, past her tongue, past her palate, halfway down her throat. She didn't know quite what to make of the sensation. It wasn't quite pleasant. But if it was what the situation required to keep the boy lapping away at her brimming pussy she was determined to do a workmanlike job.
Her throat had other ideas. The boy's hot throbbing cock was stuck halfway down like an unchewed potato. Involuntarily she began swallowing. No matter how hard or how often she swallowed the thumping lump of manhood stayed where it was. She felt pubic hair grind against her lips, felt her nose suffuse with the musky odor of maleness, sensed the boy's balls squirming against her nose as he strained to drive deeper into her. She swallowed again.
For the first time since she had awakened to find little Pedro's hand between her legs she heard him make some kind of a noise. The boy didn't exactly say anything but his long and heart-felt moan of ecstasy was punctuated by a sudden stiffening as his whole body gathered forces.
Grace felt her belly straining and pulling itself together for another explosion. The boy's body was stiff, straining with the effort not to cum but his tireless tongue never missed a stroke in its route around and over her clit, up one inner hairless lip of her vulva, deep into her cunt, back down the other lip and back to her clit. It felt so mind-blowingly good she almost forgot about the great lump of raw meat in her throat.
But her body could not forget. After trying repeatedly to swallow this throbbing invader, her throat, reacting to his sudden still greater swelling as he sensed every muscle of her throat pulling, milking, caressing his bare-headed cock in a frantic effort to draw it deeper-abruptly Grace's digestive system changed its mind. Anything this big that refused to be swallowed could only be handled by a reverse technique. Without her consciously willing it, Grace found herself retching.
She was horrified. What would poor little Pedro think if she rejected him this way after all the nice things he was doing to her?
Before she had time to reflect deeply on the subject Grace discovered exactly what the boy thought about it. His super-heated, super-swollen cock, already massaged past delirium by her compulsive swallowing, accepted her sudden and total contraction of throat muscles as one more squeeze right where he needed it.
But that final squeeze of her retching, half vomiting throat muscles was just what the doctor ordered. The boy quivered, fibrillating wildly for an instant. She felt a tiny preliminary spurt and then abruptly she was flooded with pulsating blurting, hurting, squirting spurting gallons of cum. The fire hose nozzle in her throat was suddenly lubricated with its own secretions and the straining pain lessened. Swallowing once more, she felt the warm message of maleness flowing down into her stomach. The boy was pushing, straining, grinding the glossy hair of his pubis against her lips. She swallowed again, milking and squeezing his unloading cock, drawing the last firm full measure of devotion from him.
And stalwart little Pedro never missed a stroke with his busy licking. Even at the height of his blasting, spurting explosion of joy he was licking her clit, licking her vulva, driving his tongue ever deeper into her squeezing, throbbing vagina.
Suddenly Grace was cumming again, just as explosively as the boy. She felt her insides turn over in a sudden flip-flop and then suddenly without any warning she felt nothing.
She awoke, not knowing whether her faint had been only a matter of minutes, or if she had drifted off into sleep. The juices of joy were drying stickily in her crotch and she felt that same stickiness around her mouth. Inches away the boy's flaccid cock lolled, its drying head still bare. She glanced down and saw his face no longer pillowed on her thigh but with his nose against her smooth, white-skinned leg. The boy seemed to be sleeping.
Grace had a faint headache and an odd taste in her mouth that reminded her of the time she had taken way too much champagne. She began disentangling herself from the bed. The boy moaned and moved. After a moment he opened his eyes and gazed dully at her.
Abruptly the boy's eyes widened in full awareness. "Oooooohhhhhh!" he moaned, "Wha' hoppen? I di'nt mean to do it!"
"For somebody who didn't mean to you did it quite well," Grace said drily. Sensing the boy's acute embarrassment, she tried to help him. "Right now," she said, "What we both need is a nice hot shower. And once we're not all sticky then we can work out who's to blame and who gets the apology."
The boy stared uncomprehending. Abruptly he realized he was naked and put his hands over his crotch. Grace reached out gently and caught one of his hands. She raised the unresisting boy to his feet and led him into the bathroom. The naked boy looked in every direction but hers as she busied herself with the shower valves. Once the water was flowing at the right temperature she caught his hand and pulled the bemused boy into the shower.
Little Pedro was still dazed, not knowing or not wanting to know where he was. It must be mind-blowing, she supposed, to have this thorough an initiation into the arts of love. Most boys sooner or later learned all the things Pedro had learned tonight. But they picked up the knowledge little by little in easily digested doses.
She pulled the sleek hairless bodied boy under the shower head and held him there until he was thoroughly rinsed off. The she maneuvered him to the far end of the tub. While the boy stood dazed like some disconnected robot she soaped his body from end to end. It wasn't until she began soaping his cock, washing its still bare head with tender loving care that the boy began reviving. As she knelt before him devoting herself to his cock like some priestess before an altar she felt the boy's wet hand touch her shoulder. A moment later it slipped down to trace the soap slicked outline of her tit.
Grace spent another tender moment running her soapy finger up and down the slit between the boy's buttocks. The freshly washed phallus before her began slowly to rise. She captured it with her free hand and coaxed the foreskin back down before the boy's cock could grow so big it would become difficult.
by now Pedro was bending over her, both hands cupping her superbly up-standing tits, running fingers over their soapy nipples. She gave his cock a final affectionate squeeze, then abruptly stood. Standing, she was almost a head taller than this hard-muscled little boy. How old, she wondered, was Pedro? He didn't look a day over thirteen. There would be no use asking, she knew, for the boy would lie and who could blame him. Any boy who had to make his way in a man's world would have to lie. She ran her caressing hands over his wet soapy body, then stood back under the shower head where he could view her whole body and admire the gorgeous symmetry of her long straight legs, the gentle swell of hip and belly, her thin waist, the proud and firmly up-standing line of her bosom.
"Now me," she said.
"Wha?"
"You wash me off," Grace explained. "Just like I did you."
"Yeaaahhh!" Pedro said with growing enthusiasm.
The boy made a production of it and as he started with her feet and ankles she realized this was probably the first time in the boy's life that he had ever handled a woman's body openly. She remembered his furtive beginnings, copping a feel of her leg when he though she was asleep. Though he had lapped her cunt and driven his cock down her throat, this privilege of bathing her, of running his soapy hands over her body right out in the open, knowing she was awake and allowing him to do whatever he wanted was quite suddenly the most overwhelmingly erotic experience of little Pedro's life.
"Ooooohhhh!" he moaned, suddenly overcome. He dropped the soap, buried his face in her crotch and wrapped his arms around her wet ass.
Grace felt that old familiar excitement growing inside her. Not yet! she told herself. Cool it. Rest a while. We've got all night! But her body was obeying an older wisdom. She caressed the short bristly hairs on the nape of the boy's neck.
After a moment the boy regained control of himself and began soaping her legs. With gradually growing excitement he ran his soapy hand with loving thoroughness up the long straight length of her legs, finally arriving at cunt country. It was the first time the boy had been able to satisfy his curiosity in bright light. Making the most of it, he washed her ass, running soapy fingers around her asshole, up and down the cum filled slit of her cunt.
Grace felt herself turning on again. She let go a faint sigh of relief when the boy finally exhausted all possibilities in laving her cunt and turned his attention to her navel. Gradually he worked his way up in the world until he was running soapy hands over the swollen undersides of her hyper-sensitive tits. She felt that old feeling rise within her, suffusing her with warm throbbing blood and knew she was blushing, that if they were out of the shower the boy could see her face, her whole upper body filled with the hot lust that was threatening to consume her.
Finally the boy got off her tits and she was amazed to discover that that the mere touch of his hands in non-controversial spots like her back or around her neck was enough to drive her to the ragged edge of a chasm of orgasm. Got to control myself, she thought. Save it for the good times to come.
The boy was embracing her now, burying his face in her tits, their wet bodies throbbing beneath the comforting jet of hot water. The boy finally came up for air. He stood a full head shorter than Grace but he had proved himself man enough to make her cum repeatedly with some of the most explosively destructive orgasms she had ever experienced. She bent down and kissed her gratitude.
The boy must never have been kissed by a woman before. He didn't know how to hold his lips. Gently, she taught him how, sensitive of the irony in that this boy who had so expertly drawn the last full quiver of cum from her cunt didn't know how to kiss a woman on the mouth.
Finally he got the hang of it. They kissed, embracing ecstatically under the comforting rain of hot water. And when she judged the boy was ready for his next lesson she kissed him again, hard, holding it until she sensed the boy was ready to gasp for breath. When his mouth opened she darted in her tongue and sensed the boy's delighted surprise. Within seconds he was enthusiastically swapping tongues with her and she could feel the hot firmness of his cock throbbing against her thigh.
Abruptly she realized the boy was short enough not to have to squat if he were to decide to slip it into her standing up. All she had to do was spread her legs right and they could be playing plug and socket right here in the shower. But why? It was much nicer in the comfort of her bedroom. She tried not to think about it lest the boy by some mysterious process read her mind and started trying. But the more she thought about it.....
Damn it! she thought. It's awkward and uncomfortable and he'd have to work so hard he'd cum with about three shoves She reached behind her with an air of decision and turned off the water. They were both squeaky clean from so much soaping, but....
There was one part of her the shower had not reached. Though there was no sperm inside her cunt, Grace had come so many times she was sopping with her own stale juices. She stretched over Pedro's head and found a douche bag hanging under a towel. While the boy studied this strange new deivce with wide open eyes she squatted to fill it with warm water. With the boy's eyes still on her she inserted the cannula, mildly amazed to discover she was still so turned-on, so hot to trot that even this thin tube could tickle her super-sensitive cunt to the edge of orgasm. She let the warm water flow through her, washing out all the old juices and leaving her cunt clean and fresh, ready for new exertions.
"What you doin'?" Pedro asked.
Grace explained. What she didn't add was that often during the long empty time in her life she had used this device not just to keep herself clean, but for other reasons. It was no substitute for a man's cock but sometimes she seemed able to get off to sleep better after running half a gallon of warm soothing water through her unfulfilled vagina.
She was putting the douche apparatus away when she was suddenly assailed with a crazy idea. Squatting, she refilled it again, this time with warmer, almost hot water. She pulled the cannula from the end of the hose and captured Pedro's cock.
The boy had been watching her strange rites with so much curiosity that his cock was only at half mast. Before he could complain or withdraw, she had peeled back his short tight foreskin. Playing the hose like an amateur fireman, she let the jet of almost hot water flow over the bared head of the boy's half faccid cock.
Grace had always suspected that, unlike a woman whose whole body seems engineered solely for fucking, a man's erotic sensibilities were centered almost exclusively in his cock. She was gratified to find her suspicions justified when the boy's flaccid phallus sprang to full and rapt attention under the stimulus of her tiny jet of almost hot water. "Ooooohhhh!" Pedro moaned. "That feels goood!"
Still dripping from the shower, they stood nude, both paying rapt attention to the boy's suddenly throbbing cock. Grace emptied the bag and put it away again, smiling a secret little smile as the totally aroused boy pawed at her tits and ass, unable to leave her alone for an instant while she stretched to put away the douche apparatus. If it had served no other purpose, at least her exercise in mechanical eroticism had served to take away the boy's self-consciousness and help him to understand that fucking was not such a solemn business, that it could also be just plain fun.
She stretched again for a towel, savoring the feel of the boy's hands over her jutting jugs, then turned and began drying him. The boy's thoroughly washed cock was rock hard again and she knew that, given half a chance, he would have it inside her and be pumping merrily away immediately.
She was tempted to let him. But it could be hard on the boy to cum again this soon. Besides, dawn was still hours away. Let him rest a while. She captured his throbbing cock and with a small struggle managed to get his foreskin back down over the sensitive tip of his tool. She took her time wiping him, savoring the smooth firm feel of his dark-skinned, hard-muscled body. She had to keep wiping his hands over and over for the boy could not keep them off the delightful roundings and protuberances of her still wet body.
Finally she guessed he could step from the tub without leaving a puddle. She handed him a towel. "Now me," she said.
The boy spent more time patting her dry than he had bathing her. He wiped her crotch, her ass, her waist, her tits, dragging it out until Grace wondered if he would ever tire of this sensual erotic game. Then abruptly she had a flash of insight and knew why the boy was dragging it out so long: He thought the evening was over and this was the final act. The poor boy's cock was still rock hard and thumping; he hadn't even gotten it into her properly yet. And the boy thought it was over, that she would send him home now. No wonder he was taking forever to sponge the last drop of moisture from her superb nude body, wiping each square inch of skin over and over until she felt she was ready to scream.
"You want to do it again, don't you?" she asked.
Pedro gulped and nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
Grace smiled and opened her arms. The boy bounded forward, buried his face in her tits for a lovely heart-and cunt-warming moment, and then they were kissing again, swapping tongues as if the boy had not learned how only moments ago.
"Mmmmmmm!" he mumbled.
Finally they broke apart for air. "Are you hungry?" she asked.
The boy stopped a moment to consider. "Yeah," he admitted with some surprise.
Grace checked the drapes and, once she was sure they were closed, padded nude toward the kitchen. Halfway through the living room she stopped and returned to the bedroom. Under the boy's admiring eyes she slipped on a pair of high heeled mules, thoroughly aware of what they did for a woman's legs. She was rewarded by a sudden glint in the boy's eyes, a rising of his half flaccid cock.
Finally they sat across from one another at the small table. Even now munching his sandwich the boy could not keep his eyes from the matched set of mammaries that pointed at him, barely within reaching distance across the table. Like twin headlights, they picked him out of the anonymous crowd of boys at the Industrial School, singling him out for favors, not even hinting at the rejection he had known all his drab and wretched life.
Unbelieving, Pedro put down his sandwich and reached across the table to touch her tit, fondle her tiny virginal nipple and convince himself that all this was really happening, that it was not just another of those vague dreams that left him sweating and sticky.
"It's real," Grace reassured him. "I've got two of them and as long as you're a nice boy you can touch either one of them. Be extra nice and you can touch them both at once."
Poor Pedro had not had enough social life to know she was kidding. His eyes opened and he asked, "Wha' you wan' I gotta do?"
Grace smiled and put a hand to his cheek. "Whatever you want," she comforted. "But first, eat your sandwich."
"Oh, yeah," the boy said and resumed his snack.
"Tell me," she began as the boy was finishing his snack, "have you ever done this before?"
Pedro shook his head.
"Was it fun?"
"Oh, yeeeeaaaaaahhh!"
"I remember when I was a little girl and had never done it before," Grace began. "I had all kinds of funny ideas. I'll bet you did too. What were you really expecting?"
"Well...." Pedro hesitated, unable to continue.
"Go ahead. I won't laugh."
Still the boy could not speak.
Grace sipped coffee and put down her cup. "I'll tell you what," she promised. "If you'll tell me what you really expected, what it is you've always dreamed about and always wanted to do with a girl-" She hesitated and prayed she would not be letting herself in for something she would regret. "Just tell me what you really want to do and not only do I promise not to laugh, if it's humanly possible I'll let you do it to me."
The boy's eyes suddenly gleamed.
One corner of Grace's mind reminded her what she was, what the boy was, and what an absurd offer she was making. Is this really happening? she asked herself. Am I really sitting naked in my own kitchen, feeding a naked boy and offering to do utterly anything he wants to do? What if he wants to whip me or cut my throat? Suddenly she shivered. The boy's eyes were gleaming and though they were seated at the table where she couldn't see his cock she knew that if she were to extend her hand under the table past his bare knees she would encounter his surprisingly large cock rock hard and throbbing with renewed desire. Oh, shit! she thought. What if he wants to do something that really hurts? But she had given her promise. She held her breath waiting to see what the boy would say.
Stealthily, she put a hand under the table, trying to keep the boy's attention elsewhere as her left hand toyed with silverware and touched her hair and flicked an imaginary crumb from her tiny virginal nipple. She began closing her hand as she felt the warmth and-sure enough she had guessed right and now she held the boy's rapidly rising cock in her soft hand.
Then she realized it was not rising all that fast. The boy's mind was not on his work. Why, she wondered, had she ever made that fantastic offer? Now it was going to cast a pall over the rest of the night as the boy struggled with himself trying to decide whether to bare his soul to her or let sleeping dogs lie buried in the depths of his id.
She got a teasing finger between the boys legs and began toying with the tender sensitive strip of skin between his balls and asshole. The boy's cock began rising again but she could tell his heart was not really in it. What should she do? Would it help if she stood and did erotic dances before him? What would it take to lay the ghost she had raised and get the boy's mind safely channeled back into the simple joys of a blow-job or even a straight fuck?
"Uh-" Grace almost stopped and faced him, then knew that was the last thing on earth she ought to do right now. Humming absently with her back to him she waited, trying not to show her excitement, the thin thread of fear that was rising in her.
"Uh, I don' know," Pedro began. "Maybe I don' say it right but you know wha' I really wanna do?"
Grace hadn't the slightest idea what the boy wanted to do but she wasn't about to show him how eagerly she was waiting to find out.
"I wanna fuck," Pedro said firmly.
CHAPTER FIVE
Grace nearly dropped the cup she was putting away. For one dreadful instant she was afraid she would break her promise and start laughing. Laughing, she knew, was the surest way to shrink the boy's cock to sub-peanut size permanently. She struggled to control her face. "So do I," she said without turning her face.
When she dared she turned to face the boy. Pedro still sat at the table, his-cock out of sight. She wondered how big it was now that he had gotten his dreadful secret out. It made sense in an oddly logical sort of way. The boy had had it in her mouth, down her throat. He had had his nose up her ass, but from a technical standpoint she guessed little Pedro was still a virgin. He had never had his magnificent cock buried deep up to the hilt in a woman's cunt. How was the poor boy to know?
She controlled her smile and crossed the kitchen to face him. Running a hand down her body from shoulders to knees, she thrust her blonde-furred pubic patch toward him. "I told you, you could do anything," she promised. "And if you like it, I'll even let you do it again."
"Yeah?" Pedro asked in a tone of rising incredulity.
"Yeah," Grace soothed. She moved forward, captured his 'sleek black head and enfolded him in her arms, pulling his face into her firm, upstanding tits. Only then did she dare smile.
Pedro's arms went round her and she began walking backward. Still embracing they managed an odd waltzing shuffle out of the kitchen, through the living room until she felt the bed bump the backs of her knees. Slowly, she began bending backward, letting herself down on the edge of the bed, letting the boy root blindly in her tits as they settled slowly to a horizontal position.
Grace tried to remember how long it had been since she had fallen backward onto a bed with a man in hot pursuit. Too long, she knew. It felt wonderful to sink back and feel the boy's weight on top of her, to know that soon now they would be cantering joyously down another path of eroticism.
She scooted up until she was positioned properly in the middle of the bed. Pedro still lay atop her, making no effort to support his weight on his elbows. He was a solidly built little boy. Grace struggled for breath. "You're squashing me," she said.
She had to grab frantically to keep the contrite boy from bouncing clear off the bed. With a firm grip around his waist she pulled him back down and showed him where to put his elbows. She spread her legs wide and flexed her knees in classic missionary position.
It was amazing. After the instinctive and wonderful way the boy had dived for her muff Grace had assumed he was an expert. He was not. The boy had buried his nose in her cunt, had driven his tongue as deep as a boy's tongue can go up a vagina, yet he was totally ignorant of the simple mechanics of straight fucking.
Patiently, Grace positioned his elbows on each side of her rib cage, got his face out of her lovely, firmly up-standing tits long enough for him to pay attention and pull his knees together until he was properly positioned between her flexed thighs. When he was finally in position for his maiden flight she waited, legs spread, cunt gaping. Nothing happened. She waited another moment, then remembered somebody's definition of a lady: a woman who puts it in for you. Trying not to smile, she solemnly stretched a hand down into cunt country and captured the boy's cock. She guided its throbbing tip until she could feel its heat. An instant later the flushed eagerly waiting lips of her vulva felt for the first time in over eighteen months the firm fullness of a hot throbbing cock. Grace gave a happy sigh and waited.
Nothing happened. She opened her eyes and from Pedro's glassy look of agony she abruptly knew what was wrong. "Relax," she said. "You've been there before. No matter how badly it goes the first time, you can always try again."
"I can't!" the boy gasped. "I jus' theenk about it and already I'm cumming!"
Amazing, she thought. He had held out for an amazingly long time under all sorts of refinements and provocations, had held his first load and now with simple fucking he was in trouble. But, she sighed, it wasn't that amazing after all. Fucking, for this little boy anyway, was the end all and be all. He might never even have heard of the other things he had done-or if he had heard of them, perhaps he hadn't believed people really did things like that. Then she considered another possibility. Maybe the boy had demonstrated such tremendous staying power only because he hadn't really cared all that much for the things he had done to satisfy her eager cunt. Maybe he had only endured them as the price of admission for this treat.
The realization that he had been willing to go to such extremes awoke in her a motherly tenderness even stronger than the turn-on she was experiencing from the feel of a hot-blooded male atop her for the first time in far too many months. She resolved that he was going to get it in, that he was going to keep it in until the boy gasped with happy satiation and clenched his toes with joy. Reaching carefully between her legs, she captured his cock again.
Before the trusting boy could react she gave it a hard squeeze.
"Ow!" Pedro wailed, "Why you do that?"
Instead of explaining, Grace gave a tremendous upward thrust of her pelvis and spindled herself on the boy's dwindling dick. She felt it shriveling inside her but at least it was in. The boy had achieved penetration. His cock had slid most satisfyingly into her slick vagina. She wrapped her legs tightly about the boy's ass and held him snugly to her. His cock shrank to peanut size but she held him so tightly it could not escape from her cunt.
Pedro gradually recovered from his surprise and pain. "Hey!" he exclaimed in delight. "It's in. I din't cum!"
Grace smiled and kissed him. Inside her she could feel the boy's limp rod reviving in bounding leaps. When she judged it was stiff enough not to bend she gave a little upward push of her pelvis.
"Aaahhh!" the boy sighed. After a moment he began pushing back.
Grace let herself settle back comfortably, flat on her back, knees flexed, arms at her sides. She had done her damndest. If the boy couldn't take it from here she didn't know what else to do.
He pulled it out slowly, out so far than for an instant she was afraid it would escape. Then once more he came down hard with that soulshuddering WHAM!
She gasped and struggled to keep her cool. She had resolved to let the boy have his way but my God, there wasn't all that much fun in this pounding! Then she felt the tremendous throbbing tip of the boy's tool achieve new depths and hesitated. How deep would the boy go? It wasn't exactly hurting yet. How deep could she take that great thumping lump of manhood before she did have to complain? She decided to relax, let it happen and find out.
But this time the boy didn't withdraw and slamgang his hard-muscled ass against hers again. He held, keeping his cock in her at full depth as they lived a moment of frozen ecstasy. Just as she knew she couldn't possibly stand it another second, that she was going to cum one more time and that this great throbbing knob so deep within her vitals was going to make her keep right on cumming, throbbing, hurting, spurting, until she was totally drained of love's juices-just as she was reaching critical mass and was ready for a nuclear sized explosion of eroticism the boy relented, relaxed, and his cock began slowly coming back out of her.
As slowly as Watergate, the boy pulled the tremendous throbbing length of his lance from her. She felt it all the way as her insides collapsed and rearranged themselves in the void left as this gigantic male invader retreated from her secret fastnesses.
It felt so unbearably good that Grace wanted to kick her legs high in the air, to shriek, to yodel and scream her joy. But the house wasn't all that big and the last thing she wanted right now was some nosy neighbor pounding on the door to ask if there was something wrong. She gritted her teeth and took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. It's good, she told herself. But it's going to get better.
The boy was pushing it back in now, moving so slowly that it felt as if the barge pole he was inserting was endless, that it would go right up her cunt, through her womb and come right out her mouth. Grace tried to relax. It's only a fuck, she told herself. She had been fucked before. But never this way, she was forced to admit.
She released a tremendous, shuddering long-held breath, took another and held it. Still those endless miles of cock were sliding into her. It had to be an illusion of some kind or she would have it coming out of her mouth by now. She waited, determined not to move or give the boy the slightest opportunity to withdraw while she was otherwise occupied.
Half a minute later she was rewarded with the feel of his glossy black pubic hair mingling with her own tight blonde ringlets. She kept her cool, waiting to see what the boy would try next.
He held for a moment, grinding his bony prominence against Grace's mons veneris. Then he began really grinding, holding his cock deep within her but moving his pelvis round and round atop hers as if her were grinding corn. The movement made his rigid, rock hard cock twist and move round and round inside her with a stirring motion that she had never experienced before. It was one of the most delightfully disquieting sensations she had ever known. She felt she was going to explode, to melt and flow into new patterns of eroticism but she didn't want to. She didn't want to cum right now, not and lose the wonderful new sensation of this cock twisting inside her, stirring her up just like a big spoon in a bowl. It felt so wonderful! It felt more sustainedly erotic than any amount of plunging, fast or slow. She prayed the boy wouldn't stop. Not yet, please!
She felt her womb contracting, her vagina working in rhythmic waves gathering forces, attempting to contain this rambunctious invader that twisted and stretched and pulled her into new and delightful shapes, keeping her innards in a constant turmoil as the tip of that boy's wonderful wand kept moving her insides in gently stirring circles.
She was breathing harder, faster, struggling to control herself, not to lose a second of this wonderful feeling. The boy was a virgin. He couldn't keep it up much longer. She owed it to herself to savor every irreplaceable second of the wonderful thrill his twisting churning cock was giving her.
But it was a losing battle she fought and Grace knew it. She felt her cunt pucker and flutter and then great rockets or erotic joy were running up her spine, exploding inside her brain as she felt herself cumming again, cumming gloriously, thoroughly, vocally. There was a thin high wailing somewhere in the distance. Dazedly she realized it was she, Grace who was making all that noise.
It went on and on, her whole body suffused with gigantic contractile waves as she came continuously, one orgasm piling on top of another until she didn't know where one stopped and the other began. And still the boy was not wham-bamming to any kind of a photo finish. With superhuman control he was still hanging in there, pelvis locked against hers, his cock still deep inside her and grinding, stirring, twisting and churning her belly into an erotic jelly of raddled satiation. She gasped, sighed and was cumming again.
I'll have a heart attack, she knew. But it felt so wondrously good she didn't care. She didn't care about anything except the wonderful feel of that hard cock churning, grinding, stirring her belly into hasty pudding. And still her string of uninterrupted orgasms went on. She felt herself swimming in the juices of joy fulfilled, knew her cunt was brimming with love's elixir. And still the boy went on stirring the happy potion, pushing her wearying body past ever new frontiers of ecstasy.
Some tiny sane corner of her mind knew it couldn't go on like this. Sooner or later the boy had to tire of that grinding stirring he was doing that she was so unprepared for. Sooner or later this child had to cum. But would she still be alive or sane when he did? She felt those great rippling waves of contraction pass through her again, knew her cunt must be pulling and squeezing at the boy's cock as hard and strong as her retching throat had done a half hour ago. But she was so wet, so slickly smooth and full of her own cum that the boy must not be feeling it.
Finally and blessedly, cock still deep inside her, the boy gave a happy sigh and stopped his endless churning. "Yeaahh!" he said. "That's great!"
"Yeah," Grace echoed in a cracked, fluttery voice. Slowly within her she felt the endless nonstop orgasm come to a raddled and sputtery halt. She was so relieved that for a moment all she could do was breathe in shallow gasps. She was just beginning to regain her composure when the boy began slowly pumping in and out, in and out, dutifully performing the sort of orthodox fucking she was used to.
After a moment, the boy stopped. She could guess why. "Kind of gooey, isn't it?" she asked.
"Yeah," the boy said dispiritedly.
"What we have to do now," Grace said with as much sprightliness as she could muster from her satiated exhaustion, "is to take another quick shower."
"Awww!"
She was so wrung out from the nonstop orgasm that she could scarcely stand. Staggering, she plodded into the bathroom behind him and got into the shower. Under the hot water she revived and the boy recovered from his grumpiness. He caressed her ass and played with her tits while she stretched for the douche apparatus again. When she had flushed love's by-products from her cunt she refilled it and without warning directed the hot water over the tip of the boy's still rampant rod. "Oooohhhh!" Pedro squealed-"Oooooo, tha's good!"
Grace was so tired out, so exhausted she didn't care if she never fucked again. All she wanted to do was get rid of this indefatigable boy and sleep for a couple of weeks. Thank god she didn't have to work tomorrow. She turned the water off and reached for fresh towels. She was starting to wipe herself off when the boy said, "No, like last time. You me, then me you."
She gave a tired smile and began wiping the boy. It was easier than arguing. His cock was still raging and rampant, ready to stab her up to the sweetbreads. She wondered if she could give him a quick blow-job-anything to quiet him down so she could get some rest.
The way he had been so excited at the thought of fucking for the first time she had not thought he would last three shoves into her capable cunt. Instead, the boy had driven her past the edge of delirium and his cock was still hot and throbbing, ready for Christ only knew how many more hours of plunging. She would have to think of something, some way to coax his load from him so the boy would quiet down and give her a chance to pull herself together. She wiped him down to his bald-headed, still hot throbbing cock. She grabbed it and strove to pull his foreskin back down over the bulge of his cockhead. It wouldn't go. Finally she patted his bare cockhead dry as gently as she could. She expected the boy to flinch but he was perfectly relaxed as she handled the hot throbbing hammer that thrust defiantly from the glossy black patch of hair in his crotch.
She finished and the boy began wiping her. His hands with the towel were amazingly gently and despite her exhaustion Grace felt a gentle turn-on as he rubbed and patted her dry, running the towel lovingly over her tits, blotting every last hint of moisture from her nipples, scavenging her navel, lovingly drying each individual hair between her legs. Finally the boy had used up every artifice he could thing of to get more time in the bright bathroom light inspecting her superbly shaped body.
"What would you like to do now?" Grace asked. "Fuck."
She tried not to sigh or show her tiredness. "That sounds like an great idea," she said. "But I'd think you'd be ready to try it another way by now."
"Is there another way?" Pedro asked with wide open eyes.
Grace gave a crumbly smile, "I'm sure there must be a hundred ways," she said, "and each one is more fun than the last." As she said it Grace realized what the next question was going to be. Trying to forestall it, she said, "Most people get the best fun out of inventing their own new ways to do it." She began drifting back toward the bed, hoping she could lie down for a moment of rest before the boy could think of something strenuous and gymnastic.
"But I don't know what to do," Pedro protested. "Can't we just fuck some more like I was doin'?"
Over my dead body! Grace thought. If he ever got her started on another of those nonstop orgasms it would be her dead body. Wearily she sat on the edge of the bed. She couldn't even sit. She lay supine, staring up at the boy whose hard cock pointed straight at her. She wished she could think of something interesting and different for him to do-something that would take no effort on her part. Her mind was blank. The boy was starting to edge around to the foot of the bed. Another minute and he would have her plugged into that constant orgasm machine he kept between his legs. "Did you like the first way we did it?" she asked.
She knew damn well he hadn't been all that fond of blowing her despite the professional job he had done. She tried to think of another way of putting it. "Wouldn't you like to keep going all night, maybe all day tomorrow too just trying out different ways?"
"Yeaaahhh!" Pedro said with instant enthusiasm.
"Well," she explained, "if you do too much of the same thing you'll get tired and sore and you won't be able to do it as long as you want.
"Yeah," Pedro agreed.
"Why don't you lie down just like I am," she suggested. "This time you won't have to do anything. Just close your eyes and lay perfectly still and I'll do something nice to you."
"Yeaaahhhh!" Pedro enthused.
She lay snatching a last bit of rest until the boy lay beside her unconsciously imitating her supine position with her legs slightly apart. Finally he was settled down, arms at his sides, eyes closed. His ready rod stuck straight in the air', its head still bald since she had been unable to get his foreskin back down over the tremendous knob.
Grace began oozing from the bed. She approached it again from the foot as if he were the woman and she were going to skewer him. Slowly, she wormed her way up between his legs. But instead of mounting the boy she stopped there, her head directly over his cock. Opening her mouth wide, she began descending to envelop the monster.
It seemed to her that the head of the boy's cock had grown even larger than it was the last time she had surveyed it from this distance. It was an angry purple, glistening wetly, the hole in the end like an angry one-eyed worm. She stretched her mouth wide as she could and took a deep breath. She could feel heat and lust radiating from his throbbing cock. It warmed her face like a miniature heater. Now or never, she told herself, and lowered her head until she felt the knob of masuclinity slip smoothly into her mouth.
It was even bigger than she had imagined. She let her widespread jaws relax and her warm wet mouth closed over his cock. She remembered once when she had been a little girl and, for reasons known only to little girls, had thought it would be fun to stuff a whole hot potato in her mouth. Maybe, she thought wryly, even when she was a little girl she had been searching for something like this hot throbbing cock that wasn't exactly burning but was too perfused with erotic desire that it actually felt hot inside her.
As her lips closed around the shank of his thumper she felt a sudden acceleration in his heartbeat. His cock pushed slightly and she knew it was an uncontrollable squeezing of sphincter muscles as his body tried immediately to fire its load.
That was exactly what Grace wanted too. She was tired, exhausted from that phenomenal string of nonstop orgasms. Maybe in an hour or a year or a lifetime she would feel like fucking again but right now all she felt like was curling up and going to sleep. If she could just coax one rapid fire spurt of completion from this eager boy, perhaps he too would grow sleepy and they could awake refreshed and horny an hour from now.
She began humming, knowing the vibration from her vocal cords was next best thing to an electric massage. The boy's cock responded, sending her a lusty message of maleness. She struggled and managed to run her tongue around the sensitive lower side of his cockhead. The boy's pelvis began thrusting and she began bobbing her head in time to his rhythm, moving in the same direction so that he couldn't stuff it down her throat.
The boy was moaning and thrusting. His hands came down to caress her. In a minute, she knew, those hands would grab her and pull her down like a glove over his needful knob, forcing it down her throat until she was swallowing and retching uncontrollably. She didn't want it to come to that. She captured his hands with hers and guided them to her tits.
Immediately she knew that was a mistake. She had never realized that blowing a man was as much of a turn-on for her as being fucked. It was amazing Nothing was even close enough to warm her pussy. She had his cock in her mouth and all this time she had thought she was tired she had been slowly being turned on. The boy's cupping her down-hanging tits, toying with her tiny rock-hard nipples-it was all a mistake. She wanted to go to sleep and here she was going all apeshit and gooey again. She felt that winding, twisting contraction inside her belly that meant she was going to cum again. Again!
She had to do something quick. Moaning uncontrollably, she redoubled her efforts at licking and kissing and caressing the boy's cock. She Was running a frantic race, struggling to make him cum before she came once more herself, before she flopped like a freshly boated fish and lost all control of her super-heated body.
She felt her belly gathering forces, felt a tiny trickle of love's elixir flowing once more from her freshly douched cunt. And most of all, she felt that tremendous hot throbbing hunk of maleness inside her mouth, demanding, poking, prodding, doing its best to go down her throat.
Frantically she toyed with the boy's balls, his perineum, running her finger up and down the tender strip, toying with the puckering rosette of his asshole. She felt herself cumming. Desperately, she thrust a finger and it slid smoothly through the rosette of his anus, right up the boy's ass.
"Ayyyyyy!" Pedro shrieked. He thrust madly and she felt his cock slide past her palate, down her throat. Then suddenly she was flooded with spurting gallons of cum. Too late, she knew sadly. Already Grace was cumming too.
CHAPTER SIX
Grace knew it had been good. Even though she ached in every joint she knew she wouldn't have missed it for anything. Even now, glancing at the naked boy's smooth brown body she felt a renewal of desire and knew that no matter how it would hurt to twist to some other position, if the boy were to demand it she would be his willing slave.
But it would be nicer if she could just wait a .little while and get her head together. The boy was staring anxiously at the grayish light that leaked round the blinds. "What time is it?" he asked.
Grace glanced at her alarm clock. "A quarter of five," she said.
"Oh." There was some relief in his voice.
"What's wrong?" Grace asked. As if she didn't know. The boy's mother must be frantic by now wondering why he had not returned from school. She went into the bathroom and started picking up his clothes.
"I gotta go now?" Pedro sounded hurt.
"Why no," she said with some surprise. "I thought you wanted to."
"Why should I want?" Pedro asked. "Nine o'clock I gotta be at work."
"Work?" she asked. "What kind of work do you do?"
"In the wholesale produce market," he said.
When she first started driving a roach coach the wholesale produce market had been one of Grace's stops. Afterward she had gained enough seniority to get onto a better run. "They're all through with their day's work and closing up by nine," she protested.
"Yeah. Tha's when I go sweep out."
"How about home?" Grace asked. "Won't your mother wonder where you spent the night?"
"Naw," Pedro said and shrugged.
Suddenly Grace knew there was no mother. "Do you have any family?" she asked.
"My brother."
"Is he older?"
Pedro shook his head.
"Who takes care of him?"
Pedro shrugged. "We get by. We take care each other."
"How long have you been alone?"
"Couple of years. Welfare bitch come by once in a while but she still thinks Mama out shopping."
Thinking a moment, Grace realized if two boys put their mind to it, dressed reasonably well and cut their hair, swept out the house once a week and so on, it would be no trouble to con a bored and overworked social case worker into believing their mother was still running the house. And, she supposed, from little Pedro's viewpoint, earning his own living and doing his own thing beat foster homes or orphanages or whatever happened to unwanted children in a civilization that no longer needed child labor.
"But won't your brother worry?" she protested.
Pedro shrugged. "If he's home, maybe after two or three days he worry."
She thought a moment. "Your job at the produce market, how long does it take you?"
"Couple of hours."
"And after that, all day Sunday?"
Pedro saw what she was driving at. "You want me to come back?"
Grace was still nude, teetering about the house in her high-heeled mules. Posing before the boy she thrust out her tits to best advantage and said, "I told you, you could do whatever you wanted."
"I know what I wanna do," Pedro said with an awakening of desire in his eyes. "I wanna fuck."
"All right," Grace said with sudden misgivings. She was somewhat recovered after a few hours' sleep but she remembered that endless string of orgasms that had weakened her when the boy got his cock in her and, instead of thrusting had just ground it around and around, stirring her into a passion she had never known she was capable of feeling. She hoped she could talk the boy out of doing that again. She had to, for once he started doing it she was helpless, able only to want it more and deeper, harder, faster, knowing it was destroying her, loving every minute of her destruction.
Pedro was reaching out for her. She danced out of reach and felt a twinge in some over-stretched muscle. "Not yet," she reminded him. "Always clean up first. It's no fun when you're all sweaty and sticky."
"Okay," the boy said unenthusiastically. Sharing the shower with her, his enthusiasm returned by leaps and bounds. He soaped and scrubbed her, ran his soapy finger between the lips of her vulva until she giggled and threw her arms around him and, in general they had a hang-up good time playing with each other's bodies until they were both frantic for release.
Toweling each other off, Grace reflected that she had never spent a happier night in her life. And that included among several other memorable occasions, her wedding night. She gave the boy's cock a happy squeeze that succeeded in making it shrink into a slightly less painful turgidity and they went back to the bedroom.
The bed was really a mess. She looked at it and saw the distaste on the boy's face too. To hell with fucking, she decided. With the boy's help she stripped off the cum-smeared sheets and put on clean ones. Then she gathered up the old sheets, the growing mountain of wet towels in the bathroom, and little Pedro's clothes and stuffed them all into the Bendix.
"Will they be ready in time?" the boy asked.
If we remember to put them in the dryer," she said, and they went back to bed.
by now the sun outside the drawn blinds was brilliant. Grace supposed it was going to be another beautiful day and she ought to be outside enjoying it. But it had been a beautiful night too and she decided there was far more enjoyment in the shadows with this sun-browned little boy than there could ever be in the sun. They lay side by side in happy anticipation. Pedro turned to face her. She faced him and they lay kissing each other lazily, swapping tongues, his hands fondling her tits, running gentle circles around her nipples while she played with the boy's cock.
It was different this morning. They had both satisfied their frantic rabbity lust of the night before. Now they were like an old happy married couple, well acquainted with each other but still discovering new capacities for joy in each other's superb bodies.
Grace wondered what kind of a couple they would make in public. Even if it weren't for the age difference people would stop to stare and suppress a smile at the sight of a small brown man strutting alongside a statuesque blonde. But Grace had seen small brown and black men strutting alongside statuesque blondes before and the women had not seemed unhappy about it: Remembering this brown boy's phenomenal staying power and the sheer indestructibility of his hard-on she now knew why their women had always seemed proud and happy.
The boy scooted down in the bed and began to nibble on her tits. It was lovely. She knew sooner or later they would get it up again but there was no hurry. She felt she could spend the rest of her life playing in bed with this lovely hard boy. If only he would always stay this way and never grow up ....
She sighed with the knowledge that someday when he was thirty-five she would be sixty-five. Would she still want and need his hard-on then? Probably. Grace suspected that no matter how long she lived fucking would be the one central fact to her existence. She considered the alternatives. Nothing she could think of in life could come in anywhere near a close second. Fucking! She lived for it and if it came to that she supposed, remembering the boy's indefatigable stir style of fucking, she was willing to die for it. But not just at this minute. The faint vibration of the washing machine stopped and she bounced from bed a moment before the boy could mount her. He trailed behind, copping happy feels and tickling her cunt from behind as she bent to stuff clothing into the dryer.
Then abruptly she knew it wasn't just a tickle. Bent over the dryer she felt the tremendous golfball sized head of the boy's cock slip easily up her anticipation-slicked cunt. She grabbed the top of the clothes dryer to steady herself and after a moment managed to work her doubled body into some semblance of comfort.
Behind her the short little boy stood upright, still sliding the seemingly endless length of his lance into her from behind. She held her breath waiting for his long slow entry to end. It seemed to her as if another minute passed before finally she felt his hard-muscled belly squeezing and snuggling up to her rounded ass.
For an instant she was afraid he would start that stir-grinding again but this time Pedro seemed content to drive her out of her skull with straight and steady thrusting. He bottomed out, held for a moment, then began a long slow withdrawal.
Grace didn't know why but it all seemed different this way. Then she realized he was not poking her from between her widespread thighs. Her legs were close together and she was bent over and the tension of her ass and leg muscles turned it into a totally new ball game. With her innards crowded closer together the boy's already massive cock seemed twice as large, forcing her gurgling insides farther apart and giving an extra erotic twinge each time he withdrew and they fell back into the vacated space.
Enjoy it, she thought. You don't know when it'll ever happen again. It was funny now that she thought of it. She had spent entirely too long in what she had always supposed was a happy marriage yet not once had her husband ever invented anything so prosaic as an unexpected stab up the ass as she bent over something in the kitchen. Poor man!
Poor Grace, she thought. All those wasted years when I could have been trying out new ways, new cocks ... and if he had to run off with a boy he couldn't have been getting much fun out of it either. She sighed and tried to shut out past disappointments. Past disappointments were not half so interesting as what she was doing right now bent over the clothes dryer, resting her elbows on the cold porcelain surface, shivering from the feel of the cold metal on her nipples while the boy's hot throbbing cock warmed her ever so nicely from the rear. She felt his hands gripping her ass, her waist, then they were sliding up her belly and cupping her tits, keeping the nipples away from that chilly dryer top. He was such a lovely considerate boy!
Grace knew she had to watch it. It would never do to fall in love with a boy like this. He would outgrow her now that she had taught him how. Soon he would discover girls of his own age and she would retreat into the drab motherliness of a woman he had once known, a woman thirty-five going onto forty-one. She wondered how old the boy was. She would have to ask him if she thought she had ever gained his confidence enough to get the truth from him.
But she had to teach herself not to love him. Like him, use him, enjoy him like she was doing at the moment, but don't, she told herself, ever fall in love!
The boy was cupping her tits, twiddling her tiny nipples into rock hardness. His rigid rammer was sliding pendulum-like in and out of her with the regularity of a well-oiled clock. And Grace knew her cunt was well oiled from the half hour they had spent after the latest shower playing around on the bed. She had hoped to hold off a while longer before but ... what the hell? Enjoy, she told her willing body.
It felt so good just to bend over the dryer and feel that rampant rod of masculinity poking and probing her secret places, to feel the firm flesh of her cunt yield to his greater firmness as he slid it steadily in and out, in and out. She felt herself gathering forces to cum and tried not to. Then she realized it was out of her hands. She stopped trying and immediately she did cum. It was not the gut-wrenching kind of explosion the boy had forced onto her last night. Now that she didn't really care that much it was just a happy little flutter as if a butterfly had gotten caught inside her. She felt it happen, felt the tiredness and tension melt and flow away. It felt so good, so warmly, wonderfully, restfully and satisfyingly good.
She wondered how the boy was liking it, how it compared with the other things they had done together. He was pumping slowly and steadily, filling her with the joy that passeth understanding. He wasn't trying to guide her or giving any subtle body English to shift her into some new position. She gave a happy sigh and tried to relax bent over the dryer, hands cupping her tits, a cock stuffed up her twat from behind. It was funny. Sometimes she had heard of this kind of thing. But her husband had never tried it and she had always dismissed it as so much foolishness. Why, she had wondered, submit to an awkward and uncomfortable position when there was a bed handy?
Now she knew. Even a small-cocked man would have been able to give her a king-sized turn-on in this position with her legs squeezed together and her insides all crammed up like under-achieving sardines. And little Pedro's phenomenal phallus was giving her the thrill of a lifetime. She wondered what would have happened if he had caught her this way last night when she was fresh from a year and a half of nothing, so hot to trot that she was half ready to cum at the thought of a man.
The boy drove his dong steadfastly into her, held for a split second, pulled out until the great knobbed head was halfway out of her love-slicked vulval lips, then hesitated another moment before beginning his long slow plunge back home. It felt so good she didn't care if it ever ended. So long as she could stay here bent over, tits cupped in the boy's hands, her cunt plugged and unplugged by that fantastic phallus Grace didn't care whether school kept or not.
She felt herself cum again, but it was not painful. It was a nice soft gentle flutter that relieved the slowly building tension before it could become unbearable. If she could just learn to relax and let it happen this way, she suddenly realized, she would be able to fuck forever without ever feeling wrung out and exhausted like she had last night. She reached a blind hand behind her to caress the lovely boy.
Drifting in and out of her dream she felt the boy still thrusting steadily away, caressing the loneliness from her tits, thrusting his wonderful wand up her cunt from behind with the changeless, tireless rhythm of some kind of human oil rig. She wondered if he would ever tire or if he would ever reach a climax. She didn't care. It was lovely to drift along this way, half awake, half asleep, feeling the longest, slowest, most comfortable turn-on she had ever experienced in her life. She gave a happy sigh.
She gave it about one second too soon for Pedro was getting happy and careless too, falling half asleep as he drifted and dreamed in a state of erotic nirvana, poking his indefatigable thruster in and out, in and out of the loveliest and kindest blonde lady he had ever known in his life. He was getting just the least bit tired and starting to sway a little but it felt so nice he couldn't get up a head of steam to accelerate his slow steady thrusting and work himself up to a climax.
Besides, for boys his age climaxes were a dime a dozen. He had dreamed off regularly every night for over a year and at times when he came home from work or the Industrial School so tired he could hardly move he could still cum without ever; touching his super-charged cock, just by thinking about some girl he had seen that day, remembering the way some micro mini had flirted with a crotch, almost but never quite showing it. Just the thought that someday he might be lucky enough to see some girl stoop over was enough to send his cock into a frenzy of blurting and spurting, firing his load of needful loneliness all over the piece of newspaper he always took to bed with him for just such an emergency.
Pedro could cum ten times a day and a couple of times a month ago he actually had. Each of those times had been when he was home in his narrow bed remembering the statuesque blonde lady who had sold him lunch from the roach coach. He didn't know why. There were younger girls around. But for reasons known only to God and Freud little Pedro had been turned, on by the aging woman with the firm upstanding jugs who peddled sandwiches and tacos from her lunch wagon.
And now he was fucking her! It was more than a dream come true. It was a whole new dimension of paradise, a joy greater than he had ever imagined could exist on this dreary planet.
Both little Pedro and big, statuesque Grace were half asleep when he leaned back, pulled out a tiny fraction of an inch too far, and his cock escaped the guidance of her vulval lips. It waved blindly in the air while he poised for his next stroke and so inured were they both to the joys of backside nookie that neither noticed it had come out.
Without changing his rhythm, Pedro thrust inward and the cum-slicked head of his cock missed her cunt. Instead, it centered on the relaxed pink rosette of her asshole.
Normally an asshole is a very touchy place and even men who enjoy the feel of another man's cock sliding down the old dirt road often have trouble making themselves relax enough for somebody to get it in. But Pedro's cock was still rock hard and not in the slightest danger of bending. And Grace's asshole was just as relaxed and sleepy as the rest of her. Pedro's cockhead centered on' the pink rosette of her anus and he thrust as unhesitatingly as he had been pumping for the last half hour.
Before either of them knew what was happening, Pedro's hot throbbing cock was halfway up Grace's ass and going the rest of the way.
Wow!
Suddenly neither of them was sleepy. Wide awake as if they had been doused with buckets of cold water and then given electric shocks, they discovered themselves already connected, his cock sliding deep down the old dirt road. Pedro didn't know what had happened, save that suddenly everything was larger than life. Suddenly his happy, sleepy boredom was over.
So was Grace's. She remembered the endless series of orgasms that had threatened to tear her in two last night. This was different in a delightful way. She came immediately just as she had been doing for the last half hour over and over but this was not a gentle slow motion orgasm. She came explosively, with a rapid suddenness of sensation that reminded her of a rifle shot. She gave a little shriek of half pain, half pleasure.
by now Pedro realized what had happened. He supposed he ought to pull it out and wash it off and get his cock back where it belonged but she had suddenly tightened her anal sphincter until it was squeezing so tightly around the shank of his cock that when he started to pull it out her asshole bulged and puckered and for an instant it looked as if his cockhead had caught inside her like the flukes of a harpoon and if he were to pull it out suddenly he would turn her ass inside out in the process. He didn't want to hurt her any more.
Hastily, he put it back in deeper. And that was their undoing.
"Ooohhh!" Grace squealed, "Ooohhh, don't. Take it out. Deeper! Ooohhh!"
Even if he had wanted to, Pedro would not have been able to obey her. The sudden and totally different sensation shocked him out of his happy reverie. Suddenly the accumulated eroticism of his long slow half hour of pumping came to a swift and irrevocable focus. "Aaahhh!" he howled, and drove it into her, slamming hard, deep, taking his hands from her tits and grabbing her waist.
Rubber-legged from her orgasm, totally overcome, Grace felt her legs wilting. She was sliding backward off the dryer, falling. Little Pedro's legs weren't in such good shape either. Halfway to the floor he got his hands behind him to soften the blow. With his cock still up her ass he sat heavily on the floor. When Grace came down hard on his lap, still plugged in, she hit twice as hard.
For one hysterical moment she thought his cock was going to come right out of her mouth. Then the jolt was over and she knew it couldn't have gone into her more than a foot or so. She wiggled about on his skewer.
Pedro gave a feeble lunge and she gathered her knees beneath her. Moments later little Pedro lay flat on his back, his cock still sliding in and out of her ass as she bounced gently up and down. With each bounce she turned slightly until now she no longer had her back to him. With his stabber still in the wrong hole the boy lay, eyes gleaming at the sight of her superbly skyward pointing tits bouncing up and down with each little hop she gave.
After the first few minutes he had grown used to the different feeling and had managed to control the first bright flame of passion that had threatened to drive him into wailing chanting orgasm. Now, admiring her tiny waist, the gentle swell of belly, her deep navel, the jaunty erectness of her jiggling jugs, Pedro was once more assailed by all the emotions that had beset him. the first time he had tried to fuck her. He had licked himself to satiation, had satisfied his oral curiosity. He had had it in her mouth and down her throat. He had had it in her cunt long enough to know what it felt like. And that, he liked. But this-this was so unbearably exciting each time she slid that tight squeezing sphincter up and down his shit-smeared bargepole it was as if the faceless, firm-bodied girl of his incessant dreams had finally gotten a firm two-handed grip on his tallywhacker and was doing what he used to do whenever he was not too exhausted.
The only difference between this and his dream was that the statuesque blonde from the roach coach was nude and lissome, bouncing atop him in the oh, so firm flesh and that this was not a dream. There was nothing ethereal or foggy about the vision of this solidly built female jiggling her tits, bouncing her firm-fleshed ass up and down around his hot throbbing cock.
Pedro blinked his eyes and put out his hands. He grasped her hips and they were for real. Grace smiled and continued bouncing. After the first immediate orgasm she too had been able to control herself long enough to settle down to a period of the most intense pleasure she had ever known. She wasn't cumming now but she teetered on the edge of orgasm, balancing as delicately as she balanced her bouncing body atop the boy's superheated cock.
The boy stretched out his hands, grasping for her tits. She leaned slightly forward until he could just barely get his fingertips against her jiggling nipples. The boy's face went blank with ecstasy as he savored the delicious soft feel of her tiny nipples sliding back and forth across his fingertips. It was such a delicately erotic sensation that for an instant he nearly forgot the intense joy she was bringing to his throbbing staff.
Grace closed her eyes for a moment. Half out of her mind with joy, she began humming. Still bouncing up and down the boy's slick baton, she began slowly rocking back and forth, never once breaking her rhythm.
"Aaayyy!" the boy wailed, and began thrusting, raising his pelvis to meet her ass as she came down. It felt so good that for an instant she nearly lost her beat. Then she remembered how long and faithfully the boy had punished her cunt while she was bent over the dryer. One good turn deserved another. Now that she was turned to face him she resolved to keep it up at least as long as he had. At least she was starting out with a fresh hole. It hurt a little bit and she supposed she would be sorry tomorrow but Grace knew damn well she wasn't sorry right now. She continued bouncing.
The boy's eyes closed and his face screwed up with the intensity of his pleasure and of the effort he was making not to cum. She bounced steadily, rocking back and forth until her tits were nearly touching his face.
It wasn't easy to bounce in this position but she did her best. It turned out to be better than her , best because she was tensing so many muscles her super-tight asshole closed even more tightly around the boy's bargepole. He opened his eyes in delighted surprise and saw her tits inches away. He raised his head and snapped at her jiggling nipples.
Pedro tried valiantly to reach them. She bent over farther and began swinging from side to side, brushing his face with the warm softness of her tits, rubbing her tiny virginal nipples across the boy's burning face.
"Yaaahhh!" Pedro roared, grabbing her with both hands. He lunged and rammed, buried his face in her tits, moaned and pushed and wiggled and suddenly Grace felt her ass filling up with something hot, wet, slippery, and very male.
CHAPTER SEVEN
This time, to Grace's mild surprise, it was Pedro who snorted, rolled his eyes, turned abruptly pale, and went limp beneath her. For an instant she was frightened, then realized she must have looked this way several times to the boy.
With a feeling of tired but happy satiation she stood carefully. The knob of his half flaccid cock came from her cum-filled asshole with an audible 'thuck' like a bottle of champagne opening. She was so weak from constant exertion and from joy above and beyond the call of duty that she felt like collapsing right there on the floor. Instead, she wracked her brain and finally remembered what she had left undone. She finished putting the damp clothes in the dryer and turned it on. Pedro moaned and shifted to a more comfortable position.
While he rested she hastened to the bathroom and used the douche to flush the slimy mixture of cum and shit from her ass. She washed it off and flushed her cunt for what seemed like the hundredth time, She showered once more and flushed away the miscellaneous pecker tracks where the boy had baptised her with the holy chrisms of the rites of love. She had toweled off and was dressing before Pedro came staggering into the bedroom.
"Wow!" he exclaimed.
Grace was inclined to agree. But, glancing at the boy's shrunken, shit-smeared cock she pointed at the bathroom. By the time the boy was clean she had dressed in bikini panties, pantyhose, a low-cut bra, a skirt and blouse.
Pedro came from the bathroom with a damp towel still around his neck. "Where my clothes?" he asked.
Grace laughed. "I was putting them in the dryer when you interrupted me."
"Sheee," the boy moaned, "I be late!"
Grace walked back through the house to the dryer, shrugging off the boy's efforts to get a hand up her skirt. She wondered if he was always this insatiable. "There'll be plenty of time after you're through work," she consoled. "All afternoon, all night, all day Sunday, and all Sunday night too if you're up to it."
"The sheets, towels, and Pedro's clothes were still damp when she opened the dryer, squatting this time so Pedro wouldn't get any pantyhose-ruining ideas. She squinted at the clock. "What time did you say you have to be there?"
"Nine."
"We've still got an hour." She opened the refrigerator and found cornflakes. From the way the boy ate them, first with extreme caution and later with more enthusiasm she suspected he had never tasted cornflakes before. They finished and she saw his eye on the clock. There was still ten minutes available for dalliance before she would have to start driving him to his job. Rather than go through the job of dressing again, she asked, "How about washing a few dishes for me while I check on your clothes?"
The naked boy cleared the table without complaint. Grace knew nothing could possibly be dry this soon but she bustled about opening and closing linen closet doors, keeping her ass out of reach of the insatiable brown-skinned boy's eager hands. Finally he had finished washing and stacking the few dishes. She reached into the dryer and pulled out his clothes. They were hot but still slightly damp.
The boy winced as hot underwear contacted his balls. Moments later he was dressed. "Wet," he complained.
"I'll turn on the heater. They ought to be dry by the time we get there."
With the boy in silent tow she led the way to the attached garage. She got the boy in the front seat. "You'll have to keep your head down for a few blocks unless you want the neighbors and the juvenile courts wondering where you spent the night," she warned.
The boy's dark eyes flashed understanding. As she opened the garage door he scooted down out of sight. She started the car and backed out. Across the street old Mr. Bigelow was mowing the lawn. He waved and his wife shot him a dark glance from her kitchen window. Grace waved back and shut the garage door. For a moment it looked as if the old fool would cross the street to begin one of his interminable rambling conversations. She hurried into the car and made her getaway.
Nearing the market area she let him out and made arrangements to pick him up at the same corner a couple of hours later. While she dawdled in-the parked car a block away, reading the morning paper and ignoring the occasional stare of some male passerby she formulated elaborate schemes for keeping the boy with her.
She could adopt him. But the neighbors would probably talk. She could just appropriate him and move. The house was hers but it was in a good neighborhood. She could rent it out and live somewhere else-even make a small profit on the deal. And in a new neighborhood no one would question a middle-aged woman living with her son. She glanced at her watch. Good God, had it only-been ten minutes? Surely she'd been waiting at least an hour!
If anybody asked why the boy was so dark she would say her husband had been Mexican. If they asked more questions she would give them the deep freeze she had perfected whenever some raunchy asshole bandit thought he was going to get a quick one by seducing the roach coach lady.
And Monday when he did get back to school....
Grace prayed he was something of a braggart. If only he was given to tall tales the rest of the boys in the Industrial School would chalk up his seduction of the statuesque blonde roach coach lady as another tall story. But she knew that earnest, timid little Pedro would not be a bullshit artist. If he started regaling them with his adventures the story would be just weird enough for some boy to believe it. She wondered if Monday afternoon at the Industrial School would bring the knowing looks, the veiled remarks, and finally the invitations to a gang bang.
The thought of a gang bang hurt the most. It would never happen. She had slipped once in letting this boy into her panties. She wasn't sorry she had done it. Every minute had been wonderful. But she also knew if she'd had time to think it over-if everything hadn't happened in exactly the wrong way she would never have allowed herself to play around with an underage boy.
Good God, she thought, women go to jail for the kind of thing I did last night! Maybe the boy was even now blurting out some tearful confession to a pair of angry parents. Maybe the cops were already on their way to this corner where she was waiting in the empty car! She glanced up and sure enough, a black and white cruiser was just turning the corner in front of her.
She turned the key and prayed the ancient sedan ' would start. It did and she drove very carefully down the street. A cop glanced incuriously at her and the cars went in opposite directions. She pulled up around the corner and tried to stop shaking. If she knew what was good for her she would haul her ass back home and check the house, make damn sure there was not the tiniest bit of evidence to prove the boy had ever been there.
Then abruptly she remembered the roach coach. Was there anything inside it that could tie her to the boy? Monday, unless she was already in jail, she would have to clean it out.
"Goddamn me for a stupid old bitch!" she muttered. But what hurt the most was the knowledge that never again would she run her hands over that smooth, hard-muscled little body. Never would she feel that glossy black hair, nor would she evermore experience the mind-blowing bliss of that indefatigable cock between her legs. She found a Kleenex and blew her nose. A moment later she was sobbing.
A man out walking his Great Dane glanced curiously at her but did not stop. Grace struggled to control herself. Never again to feel the hard-muscled maleness of his hot little body! She wanted to wail and scream. But she knew if she had a brain left in her head-if that little bastard hadn't fucked the last bit of her brains into peanut butter she had better get home and start disposing of the evidence. She had to get control of herself. If she was going to go around all weepy like this it was a dead giveaway. Nobody would need a confession from her. "How could I be so stupid?" she asked.
But she knew. She had needed a stiff prick between her legs. She had gotten it. And she wasn't going to waste a lot of time trying to convince herself that she was sorry. She wasn't. So there! I did it and I'm glad! She glanced at her watch and was amazed to learn a whole hour had gone by. She toyed with the idea of driving through the wholesale area to see if the boy was working somewhere. But if what she knew had happened, how could she explain driving a car down this crowded street where only trucks went? Get out she told herself.
She fixed her face as best she could and drew a deep shuddery breath. She got the car started and a block farther saw a lunch counter. It would do for a start, she guessed. She had to learn to wear a normal face before strangers. She parked, locked the car, and went in. The fat, Italian-looking girl behind the counter didn't seem to find anything wrong with her. Grace ordered coffee. She glanced at her watch again. She finished reading the paper.
Inside on the local news pages was a story about some woman who had stabbed her lover. It had been a brawly messy business with police and nosy neighbors and photographers. Grace shuddered. Would she ever end up on a front page like that? Maybe not. Maybe she had gotten out in time. If she could just keep her cool ... if she could keep her cool Grace knew her record was clean. Every neighbor would know her as a quiet woman who had no bad habits. Christ, she didn't even smoke! Her word ought to stand up against some grubby little boy's.
Little boy! Suddenly she knew she was going to start sobbing right here at the lunch counter in front of the fat girl and the only other customer this dull Saturday morning. She fished in her purse and found a greasy feeling fifty-cent piece. She left it beside her cup and hurried back to her car.
Inside she had to pull herself together and fix her face again before she could trust herself for the long empty drive home. She was starting her car when she had to look at her watch again. It was a reflex by now. How many times had she looked at her watch in the last couple of hours? Suddenly she realized this was the time the boy had promised to be back on the corner. She gave a sour laugh. Then she muttered, "I'll just drive by. He won't be there, but I'll drive by anyway."
She was nearly a block away when she saw a short dark boy standing at the corner. Her heart leaped. The car leaped as her foot slipped off the clutch. She nearly ran a light. Then, nearing the corner she saw the boy was not Pedro. It was some other Mexican boy. She was driving on by when the boy began waving frantically.
"It's a trap!" she told herself. But she knew she was going to stop. She did and the boy ran around to her side of the car.
"Pedro gotta work some more," the boy said breathlessly. "He say maybe you come back in another hour?"
CHAPTER EIGHT
Grace didn't know whether to be frightened or relieved. All her well laid plans for secrecy had already been blown. Who was this boy? How many others already knew about her and Pedro? If she had a brain in her head she would drive away now and never come back.
"I'm Pedro's brother," the boy explained. "I'm Simon." He pronounced it with the accent on the last syllable.
The boy had said something about a younger brother. Maybe it wasn't a trap after all. But ... how much did this other boy know already? Get out, common sense told her. Get out now and maybe he won't know where you live. But she had her job. Monday she had to show up at the Industrial School and fifteen more lunch stops. There was no hiding for a woman as exposed as Grace. "All right," she said in a strangled voice. "I'll come back in an hour." She was rolling up the window when she changed her mind. "By the way," she struggled to make it casual. "Did Pedro tell you what kind of a job he had with me?"
"Yeah," Simon said. "He say he gonna mow your lawn, water your flowers."
She nodded and drove away, ruefully reflecting on how beautifully little Pedro had watered her withering flowers. At least he knew how to keep his mouth shut. Suddenly she realized she had been a victim of her own suspicions. The boy had kept his word about everything so far. There was even a legitimate explanation for his brother being here. The younger boy would know he had a Saturday job. When Pedro didn't come home last night the wholesale produce market would be the logical place for his kid brother to come looking for him. She drove a dozen blocks and rounded a corner to park and finish her paper.
She stared unseeingly at the newsprint and finally realized that, even though the boy might have kept his word and exercised a purely adult discretion, her fantasies about moving, taking Pedro with her-how could he abandon his brother? This was one can of worms she had better not get into. Now that her hysterical crying jag was over she could think calmly. She knew that the best thing to do was still to go home. Pedro was a good little boy and would keep his mouth shut. In time he might even convince himself that it had never really happened. She was going home.
She glanced at her watch. Forty minutes to go. She opened the newspaper again and studied the ads for trusses, read the personal columns which offered unusual massages.
Massages! She had often wondered what went on inside massage parlors. Now she wondered what little Pedro could be taught. Maybe if she were to lie down with the boy astraddle her back he could knead some of the tension from her neck muscles when she came home from a day's struggle with the roach coach.
Damn it, she told herself, it's just for this afternoon. If he shows up again tomorrow his brother'll get suspicious. We'll have to do it all this afternoon and I'm already half worn out from last night, but no matter how tired I am, no matter what he wants to do, when we get home I'm going to do it.
She glanced at her watch and started the car. Circling and approaching from a new direction lest she arouse the curiosity of some cop, she headed back to the wholesale produce market. Even before she reached the corner she knew today was going to be a colossal washout. Pedro was waiting. So was his brother. Now what, she wondered, was she going to do with two boys?
She thought about turning the corner and driving on but they had seen the car already and knew she was coming. Resignedly, she stopped. She wondered what excuse Pedro would have for not being able to come. Another hour's work, maybe.
"Miss Grace, this my brother Simon," Pedro said. Unlike the smaller boy, Pedro pronounced it like the pie man. Before she could say anything both boys had piled into the car-into the back seat.
"What are you doing?" she asked dazedly.
"We going your house," the smaller boy said. "We going cut grass, water flowers. We make you real nice garden."
Back home old Mr. Bigelow was still futzing about with his lawn. He waved, stared a moment when the boys got out of the back seat, then went back to his grass. From inside the Bigelow house his wife gave her usual dark look through the curtains. But when Grace found her battered lawnmower and gardening tools the two boys went to work with the economic movements of professionals.
Grace stood in the front yard watching them for a moment, then went-inside the house. She wondered when the smaller boy had last eaten. Boys, she knew, were always hungry. She began fixing a meal. Meanwhile the boys finished up the front yard and passed through the garage to begin working on the back yard.
Grace's husband had been, among other things, a closet nudist. The back yard was overgrown and badly in need of trimming since he had bugged out with his boy but now she was thankful for the high board fence and the strategically placed shrubs that made it an oasis of privacy where she could occasionally sun bathe.
The boys worked indefatigably, brown torsos glistening in the sun. She rescued their shirts from a bush and took them inside the house. Pedro followed her. Grace braced herself. It would be just like the boy, she supposed, to start grabbing her ass now and get her all worked up when, with his little brother on the scene they couldn't possibly do anything. She glanced at his glistening brown body and felt a quiver run through her.
But this time Pedro wasn't copping feels. "My brother," he began seriously, "he got nobody but me."
Grace had suspected as much. What she had half regarded as a cock and bull story about orphaned brothers being on the run from the Welfare department-it was probably all true. The thought of these two little boys making it on their own gave her a totally non-sexual wrench.
"Does he know anything at all?" she asked. "Simon is very smart. He don't talk to nobody."
"You're not answering my question!" Grace snapped.
"He don't know nothing yet."
"Yet?"
"Maybe he think something. But he won't ever say."
"
"And you want to tell him?" From his expressive silence she knew he did. Grace bit her lip, trying to think. Pedro was not as foolish as most boys his age. He couldn't have survived this long by being stupid. Nor, she guessed, could his brother. They were both instinctively closemouthed. "Don't say anything yet," she warned. "I'll think about it."
Pedro nodded and the boys went back to their yard work. It was amazing how quickly they reduced the semi-jungle to elegance. Finally the last bundle of clippings was stacked in the alley and the boys came in to eat.
It was a strange meal. Grace had thought of putting on her most provocative shorts and halter but she remembered the twitching curtains across the street and had instead put on a pair of faded work slacks and a loose blouse. The air was charged with a hidden sexuality as she and Pedro exchanged secret body messages. Each covertly studied little Simon.
If she had not known which was which it would be hard to tell which was the younger brother. Simon was short and stocky, with perhaps an ounce more baby fat than hard-muscled Pedro. Each shared the same unblemished brown skin, the perfect teeth that confounded nutritionists, the same black horsetail hair. She wondered if the smaller boy had the same kind of cock.
Simon was studying her too. Each time she left the table to serve something she could feel his eyes on her. It seemed almost as if he was undressing her. How much did he know? Finally the meal was over. The strange tenseness grew. It was an impossible situation. Nobody seemed able to speak. Silently, they stared at one another, nobody able to bring to the surface what they were all thinking.
Grace stood abruptly. "The work's done, we've eaten, it's time for me to take you boys home," she said.
Surprise and disappointment on two brown faces. She herded them through the door and into the garage. The outside door was still open but the boys had put away the mower and all the gardening tools. It was nice to have some willing male hands around the house. She reminded herself that these boys worked for a living. She would have to pay them. They got in the back seat and she drove away. Across the street Mr. Bigelow had given up on his lawn but the curtains twitched as she and the boys backed down the driveway.
She glanced at her watch as she drove toward the freeway onramp. Halfway there she veered into a side street and glanced at her watch again. Time enough, she guessed, for her to have driven the boys to the nearest bus stop. "All right," she said, "Now squat down out of sight and we'll go back home again."
"Yeaaahhh!" came two enthusiastic voices.
The Bigelow curtain twitched again as she drove her "empty" car back into the garage and lowered the door. The boys straightened and went back into the house.
And now the air was more charged than ever.
Pedro seemed nervous. "Uh," he finally managed, "Uh, maybe we take bath now?"
Grace nodded a solemn assent. She wondered how much Simon knew. He was younger than Pedro. There was, she suspected, a dividing line of some sort below which the reasons for their hidden return to the house might be for a forbidden feast of ice cream and cake. How old were these boys? She would have to wait for a moment when one of them was completely off guard to expect any valid answer to that question. Meanwhile the boys were edging toward the bedroom. It took her a moment to realize they had to go through the bedroom if they wanted to use the bath.
Grace wanted rather badly to take a bath herself. She was sticky from gardening and cooking and her cunt was soppy from the thrill that passed through her every time her eyes fell on one of those glistening brown boys. She was feeling serious misgivings about the whole idea though. She remembered how Pedro's indefatigable hard-on had worn her out last night and this morning. What could she do with two boys?
What were they going to do? Take turns? Maybe she could rub the smaller boy off with a quick hand job if Pedro left her exhausted. How much did he know about sex? Twenty-four hours ago Pedro had been a virgin. Chances were his little brother was a super virgin. She wondered if he were even old enough to perform.
And still the house was filled with that charged air of expectancy. Each of them seemed filled with questions none was able to formulate into words. What would happen? Would it build to an unbearable pitch and then erupt into some kind of orgiastic bacchanal? Or would the brothers fix it up between them and spend decorous intervals watching TV and pretending nothing extraordinary was happening in the bedroom?
Grace found herself breathing with difficulty. If only she knew what was going to happen! She wondered what would happen if she were to take off her clothes and crowd into the shower where the two boys were happily splashing.
Crowd was the word. She had had problems with Pedro. Three of them would be totally unable to move. Besides, it might scare little Simon to death if she were to flaunt her nude body at him without warning. And the last thing she needed was a frightened little boy stampeding from her house at sundown just when the neighbors were out watering lawns.
Grace listened to the water in the shower. She tried to still the quivering anticipation in her brimming pussy. But mostly, she just waited.
CHAPTER NINE
She dutifully reminded herself that even a shower could be an unbelievable luxury for some slum dwellers. Finally when it seemed the boys would never stop wasting hot water she heard it stop. Moments later they emerged from the bath, each with a towel about his waist. Grace wondered why she was momentarily shocked. What had she expected? Their clothes were dirty from yard work. She would have to remember to wash them.
"Now you?" Pedro asked.
It was all still perfectly innocent. Boys did this sort of thing all the time in school gyms. How much did Simon know? "Maybe you'd like to watch TV while I'm freshening up?" she asked.
She left the boys seated side by side on the sofa in the front room watching Christ knew what on the boob tube. She went back into her bedroom and selected a negligee before going into the bathroom. It was not her best negligee but it was far from her worst. Then she remembered her promise to Pedro. She wondered. With two boys?
She showered and douched the juices of anticipation from her cunt. She turned off the water and heard the muted sounds of a cowboy and Indian chase on the TV. She wondered if the boys were watching it. Or did they have their eyes plastered to her keyhole? Toweled off and powdered, she posed before her full length mirror, inventorying her statuesque body for damage. There were no bruises. If anything, she looked even better. She supposed it was the worry and tension lines that had disappeared, taking at least five years off her un-lined perfection. Abruptly she remembered.
She gathered up the boys' clothes and opened the living room door a crack to toss them out. "You'd better get dressed," she said.
Then, closing the door firmly, she began dressing herself. She made a production of it, fussing until every hair was in place, until she was clad in immaculate perfection from shoes to hat, ready for the most solemn public occasion. When she opened the living room door the boys were dressed too. She made mental calculations, adding and subtracting. She guessed she would be in control of the situation. She hoped so.
The boys studied her elegant appearance with expressions halfway between awe and disappointment. "You going somewhere?" Simon asked.
"We're all three going somewhere," she explained. "We're going to play a game."
Their expressions told her they had already had some experience with elegantly dressed ladies who told children, "Now we're all going to play a game." She hoped this game would turn out more interesting.
"Do either of you have a pack of cards?"
Neither did, which let Grace off the hook since she didn't know one card from another. She frowned for a moment. Somewhere in the house there had to be something-a pair of dice from an old Parcheesi game or some such thing. But try as she might, there wasn't. Then suddenly she had it. "We're going to play 'spin the bottle,' " she said.
From their dubious expressions she knew they had .never heard of the game. She produced an empty Coke bottle and sat on the sofa. "You sit there," she instructed, "and you there."
Pedro and Simon squatted on the rug. Pedro's eyes kept straying to her elegantly stockinged legs. She wondered if he knew what kind of a game they were going to play. "Have either of you boys ever heard of strip poker?" she asked.
Neither had.
Grace felt a sudden wave of excitement surge through her. She wondered if the boys-if Simon anyway, were as thrilled at the prospect of a new adventure as she was. "We don't have any cards so we can't play it," she explained. "But we'll play 'spin the bottle' for the same stakes." She spun the Coke bottle and it stopped pointing toward her. "If we were playing," she explained, "that would mean I lost. Whoever loses has to pay something. And when the game is over and all the things we have to pay are in a big pile together, then we all play a different game."
"I only got fifty cents," Simon warned. "We're not playing for money."
"Oh?"
"Whoever loses the spin has to take off one piece of clothing," she explained.
"Yeaaahhh!" Pedro enthused. Simon was doubtful. "You too?" he asked, "or jus' us?"
"Me too," Grace promised.
"Wow!" Simon chorused.
"Everybody ready?"
Both boys were. Grace spun the bottle. It pointed at Pedro's scuffed shoe. While the boy was taking it off she once more did frantic sums, hoping she had calculated properly. She wished she had paid more attention. How many pieces of clothing had Pedro put on this morning. The room was so dark she could scarcely see. Then abruptly she remembered it was because she had put on sun glasses.
Pedro tossed his scuffed shoe onto the rug behind him. There was a moment of tense expectation. Then she realized they were waiting for her to spin the bottle. "The loser spins it next time," she explained.
Pedro grasped the bottle and spun with the expertise of a Las Vegas croupier. It whirled endlessly and finally stopped pointing at him again.
"Awww," Simon said as his brother removed another shoe.
Pedro grasped the bottle and spun it again before taking off his other shoe. He, she knew, knew what game was due to be played after this one and he was willing to get on with it. She wondered about Simon. All she needed was a frightened boy stampeding down the street in front of her startled neighbors.
This time the bottle pointed at Simon. Grinning, the boy took off a shoe. At least he was grinning. How much did he know? All little boys fantasized about taking their clothes off with girls. But did he know what to do once he got them off? It promised to be interesting finding out. When he had added his shoe to Pedro's two the younger boy spun the bottle again.
This time it pointed halfway between Grace and Pedro. Rather than argue she accepted defeat. Smiling, she removed her sunglasses.
"Awww!" Simon protested. Pedro was wiser in gamesmanship. He smiled. Grace spun the bottle and once more it pointed at her. She began removing her hat.
Both boys watched fascinated at this exercise, admiring the way she extricated it from her hairdo but mostly admiring the way her firmly upstanding jugs pointed still higher beneath the jacket of her suit. Finally she patted the last hair back in place and gave the bottle another spin. This time it pointed at Simon. As she studied the boy with her new sunglassless clarity she thought she detected a slight bulge in the crotch of his Levi's. Mentally she calculated how long it might take her to find out what was behind the bulge. Simon got his other shoe off and spun the bottle again.
Grace was it. She removed a glove and tossed it onto the pile before spinning the Coke bottle. When it pointed at her again she peeled off the other glove. She felt a faint tremor of anxiety. Games of chance were by nature chancy. What if she got into one of those incredible runs and lost everything? Would the boys continue playing? Or would she have to dream up some new program to get this show on the road? She spun the bottle and gave a gentle sigh as it pointed once more toward Simon.
Without hesitation the boy peeled off a sock and tossed it onto the growing mountain of clothes. He spun the bottle and Pedro was peeling off one sock. Pedro spun and was taking off both socks. He spun again.
And once more the bottle pointed toward the older boy. With his smile growing slightly strained, Pedro began unbuttoning his shirt. When he had added it to the pile he spun the bottle again. Once more it pointed at him. He muttered something that sounded like "Pinche suerte!" and began peeling off his T-shirt. Grimly, he spun the bottle again. This time his brother had to take off another sock.
Grace began to gain confidence. It was still possible to lose, she knew. But so far she was well ahead of the boys. Silly to get all this excited, she guessed. What difference did it make who won? She didn't know. With an inexperienced virgin boy like Simon it might make a great deal of difference. In any event, she could not deny that there was an excitement out of all proportion to the importance of this silly game. She held her breath watching the bottle spin, then sighed and kicked off a shoe. Stretching an elegant leg, she spun the bottle with her stocking clad toe. Simon's eyes remained glued to the long elegant line of her leg. Abruptly he realized the bottle was pointing at him. Without taking his eyes from her leg he began unbuttoning his shirt.
Simon's spin caught Pedro clad only in Levi's. Then as the boy began removing them she remembered he wore Jockey shorts underneath. She could see clearly the outline of that marvelous member that had stirred her belly into a passionate, helpless jelly. Soon it would be happening again. She held her breath waiting for the next spin of the bottle. If the laws of averages were going to work Pedro was sure to lose his last garment long before she got down to disputed territory.
The boy's Jockey shorts were oddly bulky. He bent to spin the bottle. Grace was it. She kicked off her other shoe and flipped it onto the pile. Stretching her long straight leg she spun the bottle again with her stocking clad toe. And the bottle pointed at Pedro again!
The boy shrugged and began peeling off his Jockey shorts. Abruptly she saw why they had seemed so bulky. Beneath them the boy was still wrapped in the towel he had worn from the bathroom. "Tha's not fair!" Simon protested.
"You got a book with some rules says I can't?" Pedro spun the bottle again. It pointed at Grace. She took off an earring. She stooped this time and gave the bottle a proper spin with her hand. When it stopped spinning she sighed and took off her other earring. A moment later and she was taking off the jacket to her tailored suit. Both boys' eyes brightened as they saw the partial unveiling of her firm full tits. She could see the wheels spinning in little Simon's head as he tried to guess how many more spins it would take to achieve a full unveiling of their unsagging splendor. She tossed the jacket onto the growing pile of discarded clothing and spun the bottle once more.
Sonofabitch! It was pointing at her again. She sighed and guessed she might as well give the boys a thrill. Reaching carefully up her skirt, she undid a garter and began peeling one stocking down. She gave silent thanks for her foresight in resurrecting a pair of stockings instead of shooting her wad on a pair of one-piece pantyhose. And last week she had been going to throw them out! She spun the bottle again.
This time Simon was the victim. Eyes glued to her long straight legs, the boy peeled off his T-shirt. He spun the bottle vigorously and once more it was pointing at Grace. Pedro, clad only in a towel, gave in imperceptible sigh of relief.
Smiling a secret little smile, Grace removed the slave bracelet from her bared ankle. She gave the bottle a spin and, still wearing a slightly forced smile, added her wrist watch to the bracelet atop the pile. She spun again. Sonofabitch!
Pedro was down to his towel unless the resourceful boy had managed to add a jockstrap from some unknown source. She wondered how he had had enough foresight to guess what was going to happen. But mostly she wondered if she was going to end up nude before Simon. She and Pedro were old friends and lovers by now and it made little difference. But Simon? She reached up under her skirt and took off the other stocking.
Though he had handled the merchandise already, she was gratified to see Pedro's attention was as rapt as his little brother's. It was amazing how turned on they were becoming from a silly game which, barring earthquake or nuclear attack, could only end one way. She felt excitement growing in her and wondered if she would have to excuse herself long enough to go wipe off the damp spot that was threatening to engulf her crotch. She spun the bottle again and ... damn!
The boys' attention was in no danger of wandering as she began unbuttoning her blouse. She thought a moment, trying to see herself from a man's eyes. Should she...? Changing her mind, she stooped and reached up under her skirt again and pulled down her garter belt. A younger girl perhaps, but she was thirty-five going on forty-one. It would be better for the boy's first sight of her to be uncluttered with the harness and rigging of a garter belt. That kind of thing was strictly for older men who had fetishes about all sorts of ancient garments. She tossed the elastic belt with its dangling snaps onto the mounting pile of clothing and spun the bottle once more with her bare toes.
Seconds later she was once more unbuttoning her blouse. She tossed it over Pedro's head. The boy squatted with his legs crossed, with a respectable bulge raising the towel above his crotch. She wondered if he was as erotically stimulated by this silly game as she was becoming. The younger boy's mouth was hanging open. He could not take his eyes from the full firm swell of her bra. She could see his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath his T-shirt. She spun the bottle again and the youngest boy began peeling off his T-shirt.
He was still Levi's and maybe shorts ahead of his brother-unless the boy had also had enough foresight to leave his towel on. He spun the bottle and it stopped, pointing squarely between her legs.
CHAPTER TEN
Grace had done such an elaborate job of dressing she couldn't remember what all she had put on. If she were to take off her bra. ... She squirmed, trying to feel what was under her skirt. She was so used to pantyhose she had forgotten the funny loose naked feel of stockings and a garter belt which left her exposed at the most vulnerable spots. Finally her mind emerged from its erotic fog and she could remember. She reached behind her and began unzipping her skirt.
Posing before the rapt boys, she freed the waistband of her skirt. She ran her thumbs around to the front, holding it up. Slowly, she let the fabric slip from one thumb. She held it another tantalizing moment before the other thumb worked free. Slowly, her skirt began sliding down until her navel was exposed.
Simon gasped. She spread her knees slightly and the skirt stayed there, just below her navel. The boys waited breathless. Slowly, she let her knees come together and the stiff tweed of her skirt began once more a slow sensual slide down past her hips. Finally it lay crumpled around her ankles. She lifted it with one toe and gave the skirt a deft toss over Pedro's head to the now respectable mountain of discarded garments.
Pulling her belly in, shoulders back, tits out, she posed before the boys in bikini panties and bra. Now she and Simon were equal, providing he wore shorts beneath his Levi's. She extended a toe, stretching her elegant leg and showing off its seemingly endless length at its best. She spun the bottle and the neck pointed at Pedro.
The boy gave her a faint smile and removed his towel. Beneath it his cock pointed at her with the same raging insistence she remembered from last night. "Boy!" Simon marveled. "You sure got a big one!"
Standing in his naked splendor, Pedro extended a bare brown leg and spun the bottle with his toes as she had done. It pointed this time at his brother.
As Simon began undoing the waistband of his Levi's his brown face and chest suddenly changed color. It took her a moment to realize the boy was blushing. She tried not to smile. It was his first time. The boy needed some encouragement, not laughter. She had about decided he was wearing no underwear when the boy's tight fitting Levi's came down past his crotch and she saw the hot hard bulge of his cock poking out through his Jockey shorts. The boy was not naked but he was blushing because he too had a hard-on.
He struggled to get the tight fitting Levi's over his feet. Finally he gave the bottle another spin. It pointed at Pedro. The boy shrugged. "What else can I take off?" he asked.
Grace smiled. "We can play it two ways," she explained. "Either I and Simon put something back on or you owe us both a favor-something we ask you to do and you have to do it."
Pedro gave his brother a shrewd glance. "You put something back on," he said. Glancing back toward Grace he said, "For you I do a favor."
Grace tried not to laugh. Pedro was several times smarter than any boy his age had a right to be. She suspected that, given half a chance he would go far in the world. Maybe she could give him that chance. While Simon was pulling a token sock back on, Pedro spun the bottle again. Simon shrugged and stopped putting the sock on. He gave the bottle a spin and it pointed at Grace.
Both boys stood rapt, brown eyes focused on her superb statuesque body, trying to guess whether she would take off bra or panties first. The choice was not as obvious as she had thought. Both boys, she knew, were far more busy staring at the firmly skyward pointing outline of her tits than they were at the gentle bulge of mons veneris that showed dimly through her bikini panties. She decided to give them a surprise.
Posing, drawing out to the last agonizing minute, she ran her hands over her bra, emphasizing the firm line of her tits. As she put her hands behind her back, Simon groaned. She fiddled with the catch, then let her hands slide smoothly down her flanks, showing off her smooth torso and her tiny waist until her thumbs were caught under the upper edge of her bikini panties. She began working them down a cautious fraction of an inch at a time as if they were the sheerest of pantyhose and in imminent danger of snagging.
Half a minute of slow descent brought the upper edge of her bikini panties down until the first tiny wisp of blond hair was exposed. She hesitated, seemingly undecided. Her hands returned to her bra. She took one strap down off her shoulder, then her hands fluttered down past her navel again and pulled her panties an inch lower. Simon gasped.
The odd thing about it was the way Grace was getting turned on by her own show. She wondered if strippers got this kind of gratification from the rapt male faces watching them. She could feel tension building in her belly until she knew that it would take only the slightest touch of either of these boys' brown hands anywhere on her body and she would shudder and explode, flowing in melting sheets of passion. It felt so goood!
Finally she decided she had milked it as long as she dared. She flicked the bikini panties another fraction of an inch past the bulge of her hips and they floated slowly floorward like a miniature parachute. She caught them with her toe and flicked them atop the pile. Then, squatting carefully so as not to expose an inelegantly gaping cunt to the virgin Simon, she spun the bottle again.
Once more it pointed at naked Pedro.
"Trick or treat?" she asked.
"You say it, I do it," the boy promised fervently.
Grace smiled and nodded. Pedro spun the bottle. Now it was between her and Simon; they were evenly matched. She wondered how to handle it if he were to win. Surely she could think of something. But what?
The bottle hesitated pointing closest to the youngest boy. Grace let a long-held breath escape. Blushing furiously, the boy began pulling off his Jockey shorts. He stayed bent over a long time. Finally he collected himself. He tossed the shorts atop the pile of clothing and turned to face her with an expression halfway between shame and defiance. Grace smiled and waited. After a moment the boy remembered. He spun the bottle. It stopped pointing at him.
Simon gulped but couldn't speak. After waiting a moment Grace said, "Now you owe me a favor."
"What I have to do?"
Grace smiled and turned her back to him. "You have to help me take off my bra."
She waited with her back to the boy. She felt his warmth as the naked boy came close. She felt his hands hovering over the hooks of her bra strap. But it took her a few seconds to realize that Simon would have felt safer handling radioactive waste than touching her statuesque blonde body.
She backed toward him. "Go ahead," she said. "I won't bite." She felt the boy's blazing body rub against her in the instant before he retreated. She knew this could go on all night. Maneuvering carefully, she circled until the younger boy was between her and the couch. Slowly she moved backward until the retreating boy had to sit down. Before he could escape she sat in his lap. "I'm going to stay right there until you unfasten my bra," she promised.
Between her legs she was acutely aware of the boy's throbbing, pulsing cock. If she were to give just one wriggle the boy would explode. She didn't want cum all over her sofa. Still she was unwilling to give up the game. It had been several hours since she had felt a boy's cock throbbing against her body. She was ready again.
She glanced at Pedro who lounged across the room, looking for signs of displeasure or jealously. Pedro smiled and nodded his approval.
"Come on now," she insisted. "Surely a boy who can manage to unbutton a pair of Levi's can figure out how to take a lady's brassiere off."
Timid as butterflies, Simon's hands began struggling with the unfamiliar hooks. He couldn't do it. She sighed. "Put your hands around in front and cup my breasts," she instructed. "Then slowly slide your hands around behind and if you've done it right the thing will fall open."
Simon gasped at the thought of cupping her cloth covered tits with his bare hands. After a moment though he gathered courage and tried it. She felt his hands close over her tits. He began squeezing. Then suddenly he was squeezing convulsively. She felt a sudden jet of warm wetness against her ass. Damn it! she thought, All over the couch! But she was gratified to know that a woman of thirty-five, going on forty-one could still have this devastating effect on a boy with a whole life of fucking before him.
"Don't worry," she consoled. "It's all right. You'll have all kinds of chances still." She bounced to her feet and hustled the still spurting boy to the bathroom. She came out with a sponge and cleaned up as best she could. She exchanged rueful glances with Pedro. Abruptly, without exchanging a word, they both walked into the bedroom.
She lay on the bed, spread her legs in missionary position and with one bound the boy was atop her and had it in deep, buried up to the hilt.
Grace came immediately. Before the boy had his dick halfway in she was shuddering with the release of the long built-up tension. Damn! she thought. I'll never play that crazy game again.
She tried to compose herself, pull herself together and savor the sweet hardness of Pedro's cock sliding steadily in and out, in and out, driving relentlessly up her cunt like some fleshy pile driver. It felt so good! She sighed and reveled in the firm hardness of his brown muscular body. The boy nuzzled her tits, grunting slightly with each powerful thrust. Then abruptly he was grunting louder, thrusting harder, faster, deeper.
Grace felt herself cumming again, cumming explosively as she reacted to the boy's accelerating rhythm. Suddenly they were clawing and squeezing one another, asses slamming together in frantic wham-bamming ecstasy as they spent their erotic energy in one cataclysmic cum.
"Oooohhh!" Pedro moaned.
"Aaaahhh!" Grace replied. It was not sophisticated conversation but she felt they had covered the subject adequately.
The boy fell to one side and they lay gasping cum-smeared and happy. After a moment though Grace wondered at the wisdom of her prolonged striptease game. Here she had gone and stimulated the two boys until neither one had been able to give her a decent fuck. If she hadn't been hotter than a two-dollar pistol herself from all the anticipation she knew she would have been high and dry from this abbreviated fuck, burning and cursing the luck that left her with two boys and not a stiff prick between them.
She sighed and slid from the bed. As she was padding naked into the bath Simon was coming out. He stared at her as if he had not seen her splendid blond body only moments ago. She embraced the boy and kissed him, then whirled round him and into the shower, leaving little Simon to stand hypnotized and paralyzed in the doorway. A moment later she heard Pedro following.
She was reaching for the douche apparatus when , the older boy joined her behind the shower curtain. He caressed her tits as she stretched over him for the apparatus. Then abruptly he pulled her arms down. "I bet I know a better way," he said.
While Grace stared the boy filled his mouth with water. Then, while she stood bemused he squatted and put his head between her unresisting thighs. The boy put his mouth to her cunt and spurted water into her. He refilled from the waterfall that cascaded down her tits and belly, spurting water repeatedly into her, poking and stretching her vagina with his agile tongue until she knew she was as clean as any douche could rinse her. The only trouble was the boy's exercise had turned her on so totally that already she was flowing again.
Unthinking, her hands closed over the boy's sleek wet head, drawing him back between her wide-spread legs. "Oooohh, Pedro," she murmured. "Do me that favor you owe me!"
Once more the boy sent jets of water up her, augered his tongue into her and licked her into dizzy delight. She almost came right there in the bath. Glancing down at the boy who squatted with face upturned between her thighs she saw his cock was already reviving from the excitement of his watery exercise in eroticism. She wished she could reach it and express her appreciation. Then she knew she could. She got her hand over the shower head and diverted the flow until a steady stream of warm water cascaded over the unprotected head of the boy's swelling cock.
The boy stiffened and she felt his face rise, his mouth drive deeper into her gaping crotch. Suddenly she knew this was no way to go. In another minute the boy would cum again, wasting it down the drain instead of inside her where it belonged. Resolutely, she turned off the shower valve. The boy came from between her legs. They kissed and for an ecstatic moment she captured the wildly waving tip of his tool between her thighs. She squeezed them together and they kissed again. Then they broke apart and, for a change, each toweled himself dry. They were drifting happily toward the bed, afloat in a pink mist of erotic anticipation when suddenly she remembered the other boy. Good God, she thought. I'll bet he's ready too if Pedro is after all the times he's cum in the last twenty-four hours! Now what? she wondered, am I going to do with two stiff pricks?
And only moments ago she had thought she had none! She glanced at Pedro. Pedro shrugged. Grace didn't know what to do. Play it by ear, she guessed. As long as they didn't start fighting over her. She went back to the bed and lay down. Pedro scooted in on her right. He glanced at Simon and some silent communication passed between them. After the slightest hesitation the younger boy lay down on her left.
Within moments little Simon was on his knees beside her, feasting-his eyes on the blonde perfection of her nude body, memorizing its contours for future delectation. She smiled encouragingly at the boy and after another moment's hesitation he was exploring her waist, running gentle tickling hands up her flanks to maul her tits.
"Not so hard," she warned. "You wouldn't want me squeezing your thing that hard, would you?"
The boy's hands began more gentle as he inventoried her attributes, running his hands around tits, over areolas and nipples until she wanted to grab his brown firmness and pull the boy down atop her. Finally he had satisfied his curiosity about tits. Grace wondered momentarily if there shouldn't be a course of some kind in school where boys and girls could handle one another and satisfy their prurient curiosity. It might prevent one hell of a lot of teenage pregnancies and hasty marriages if boys could just once get their hands full of tits. But on the other hand....
The other hand was between her legs as Simon decided to explore new territory. He knew there was a cunt somewhere down there but, like most boys whose earliest education comes from stick figures drawn on toilet doors, he couldn't quite find it. The boy ran his hand repeatedly over the bony prominence of her blonde-furred pubic triangle, probing with his fingers for a hole that was not there.
Smiling a secret little smile, Grace flexed her knees. As her thighs came up they fell apart in missionary position and the boy was encouraged to explore the hairy gap between her legs. He oozed farther down on the bed and, still kneeling began studying her crotch. Unable to see it properly, he got off the end of the bed and scooted back up onto it.. Only this time he knelt between her legs.
Simon's exploring fingers discovered the bearded lips of her vulva. Her thighs gaped wide now in missionary position, ready to receive a cock. She knew her cunt was open, the vaginal and clitoral orifices both in view. The boy looked but did not touch apart from running a curious hand over the outer hairy lips of her vulva. Then abruptly he bent over and lay his burning face on the soft roundness of her belly.
For an instant Grace thought she was going to cum. Beside her Pedro lay quiescent, eyes closed. She knew that he was watching, approving as she allowed little Simon to find his own way down the twisted byways of eroticism. Slowly the boy crept up her body and his weight became so oppressive she had to interrupt him long enough to teach the boy how to support his weight on his elbows.
Finally the hot brown body on top of her was approaching her tits again. He reared back tQ focus his eyes on them. He put a hand over one of her firmly upstanding breasts. He didn't seem to know what to do next. "You can kiss them if you want," she murmured. Then abruptly she remembered that his older brother had not known how to kiss. She drew the boy farther up and taught him, going through the same routine as with Pedro until within minutes little Simon was swapping tongues with the same expertise as his brother. Then she let the boy slide back down where he could kiss her tits.
Simon bussed, sucked and licked his enthusiastic way around her tits for several minutes then finally, with an air of decision, he approached her face again. Putting his mouth to one ear he asked, "You wanna fuck?"
Grace struggled to contain her laughter. When she finally had her face under control she solemnly told the boy that she was agreeable.
Immediately the boy began thrusting, trying apparently to get his cock into her somewhere midway between her cunt and asshole. She got a hand down in cunt country and captured the tip of his eager tool. Guiding it toward her ready slit, she murmured, "Now."
WHAM!
The boy was into her, up to the hilt, pelvis grinding against the well-haired lips of her cunt with one lightning motion. He began bouncing up and down.
"Not that way," she murmured, and guided the boy until he amended his exuberant bounce and was thrusting his frantic phallus in and out properly. "Slow down," she warned. "Don't you want it to last a while?"
When the boy continued ram-slamming like a rabbit on Spanish fly she angled a hand around to where she could auger a fingernail into the tender rosette of his asshole.
"Ayyyyy!" the boy shrieked.
"Slow down now," she warned. "It's no fun for either of us if you're going to get it over as quick as you can."
The boy had stopped and she felt his cock dwindling inside her. She kissed him and fondled the short hairs on the nape of his neck. "Don't take it so hard," she said. "It's supposed to be fun if you go at it nice and slow."
Slowly she felt the boy's eager rod revive inside her. After a moment he gave a timid tentative shove. It felt so good he did it again. "Easy now," she warned. "See how long you can keep it up."
"How long?" Simon marveled. "I thought you suppose to do it quick."
Beside her Pedro stirred. A moment later he was nuzzling her flank just above little Simon's elbow.
Soon he had his nose in her armpit and his hand was kneading her ass, squeezing it until little Simon's respectably sized rod seemed twice as thick sliding in and out of her constricted cunt. It felt so unexpectedly erotic she nearly exploded.
Gritting her teeth and stiffening, she managed to control herself. "Am I hurting you?" Simon asked.
"No," she sighed. "Just go on hurting me that way for another hour or two."
"I don' know if I can," Simon said seriously.
"Do your best," she chuckled.
"Are you squeezing" he asked.
Abruptly Pedro's hand came away from her ass. It still felt good but now she was back to standard fucking which was never tiresome but something she could accept gratefully without going all apeshit with howling and shrieking orgasms every minute or two,-The little brother was pumping away almost as nicely as Pedro had done. She wondered how long he would last.
Meanwhile Pedro's busy hands were working on every part of her statuesque blonde body that was not in contact with Simon. The older boy was caressing her tits, running his teasing finger around whichever nipple Simon happened not to be sucking at the moment. He was running his hands delicately along the sides of her body, tickling her flanks until she wanted to giggle, running his hands down her thighs, running a caressing finger around the popliteal fossa behind her knee.
Slowly, he was turning her on until Grace found the touch of his hand to any part of her body almost unbearably erotic. She felt her belly gathering forces and she struggled not to fight it. The orgasm slipped through her with such a clean and gentle sensation of liberation that she knew little Simon pumping away at her happy cunt was unaware of what was happening. She wondered what would happen if she were to reach behind him and began counting the hairs on his balls.
To hell with it, she decided. Little Simon was doing fine. If he was still pumping away an hour from now she might ask him to take a rest, might even do some little thing to accelerate the boy's climax. But for now little Simon was doing just fine.
And Pedro was doing even better. She had never imagined any boy could learn such a mastery of the arts of love in less than-she paused amazed. Yes, less than twenty-four hours!
This time yesterday she had been driving away from the Industrial School with Pedro stowed away in the roach coach. In less than twenty-four hours her whole life had changed irrevocably. She wondered what she was going to do on a long term basis, if it would be possible to work something out with these two boys. But not now. Now was time to concentrate on how nice it felt to have one boy's cock in her, his mouth over her tits, and his brother's busy hands taking care of every square inch of her smooth white skin not covered by the first boy. If there was any nicer place to be, anything more pleasurable to do, Grace couldn't imagine what it could be. Of all the pastimes she knew of, nothing could make a poor third to fucking. And now she was being worked over by two boys at once! She wanted to sing.
"Miss Grace," Simon panted, "I think I gotta rest a minute."
"Tired?" she asked.
"No, but if I don't stop I think maybe I can't hold it any more."
"In that case I recommend a short pause," Grace said. The boy suddenly stiffened atop her and for a moment forgot to support his weight on his elbows. They waited, nobody moving until Simon released a long held breath.
"Almos' lost it," the boy said. Another moment passed and then once more he was pouring his brown cock steadily into the nice blonde lady. The nice blond lady was very happy about it.
The brown fingers inventorying every square inch of white skin made her even happier. She rolled her head to one side and managed to kiss Pedro while Simon was pouring his cock to her and nuzzling her tits. She swapped tongues with Pedro, reveling in the warmth of the boy's art. She got her hand down far enough to capture his idle cock and give it an affectionate squeeze. To her total lack of surprise, his cock was swollen, rock hard and ready for action. It was comforting to have a spare. She squeezed it again and Pedro rewarded her with a series of kisses that almost made her forget about his busy hands touching her flanks, her throat, her ears, her armpits, turning her on in the most unexpected places.
As if anybody could forget those wonderful hands! She began running her free hand over Pedro's hard-muscled, brown-skinned body, unconsciously echoing his gestures, touching where he touched her.
Pedro was a quick study. Soon they were touching each other's most sensitive places, discovering all sorts of things about erogenous zones that neither of them had known before. And all the time little Simon pumped indefatigably. It was as if she had a flesh and blood oil well pump atop her, slowly and inexorably plunging his pump in and out, in and out, drawing the last drop of eroticism from her. It felt so goood! It felt so good she wanted to kiss Simon and thank him but the little brother was busy rooting in her tits, licking her nipples, running his tongue over her areoles, pressing his nose into the cleft between her firm jugs. He was too busy so instead she kissed Pedro.
Pedro swapped tongues with her. His hands sought still new purchases for their erotic wrestling match. She got her hand on his cock again for a brief moment.
"Mmmmmmmm!" Pedro said.
Those were Grace's sentiments exactly.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Suddenly little Simon was accelerating his tempo, driving his dpng into her deeper, harder, faster. Grace felt herself starting to cum. She didn't try to fight it. Yet it kept cumming harder, deeper, a more soul-shuddering orgasm than she had expected.
Her hand slipped from Pedro's cock and she felt it closing and opening helplessly as Pedro still kissed her, rubbed her in the most unexpected places, doing all sorts of little things calculated to drive her right out of her mind even if she hadn't had a hot throbbing cock inside her humping and thumping as a little boy struggled toward the completion of his first fuck.
"Wowoooo!" Simon howled, and drove for the fall, ram-slamming as if his life depended on getting his throbbing spurting rod another silly millimeter into her. Great contractile waves of passion coursed through her belly. Her fists were opening and closing uncontrollably. One closed again over Pedro's cock and she felt its renewed hardness, throbbing and thumping as if the boy had not fucked her scarcely minutes ago.
Simon's virgin rod was finally spilling its load, filling her churning cunt with the milk of human kindness. The boy still thrust frantically, his brown ass bobbing like some super rabbit as he strove to extract the last ounce of pleasure from the passionate prodding of his first fuck. "Wowoo!"the boy shrieked and gave a final stab that drove his dying dong deep up the cum soaked recesses of her passion-flushed vagina. Finally he lay rigid and quivering atop her.
Pedro was not cumming. Eyes and emotions clear, he caressed Grace's body in all kinds of delightful and unexpected ways and places, tickled his brother's balls and asshole with a fine impartiality, doing his loving best to wring the last shred of eroticism from their coupling.
Finally they were shuddering and silent, recovering from the throes of love fulfilled. Grace slept for a moment and awoke with an acrid taste in her mouth. Simon still lay limply across her, his withering prick leaving a snail like trail over the smooth whiteness of her thigh and belly. Beside her Pedro lay lazily smiling, one hand cupped over her right tit.
"Good," he murmured. "You do my little brother real nice. Anything you want from me, you jus' name it." His hand closed over her tit in affectionate token of his sincerity.
Someday, perhaps years from now when she was old and tired and fucking was only a memory perhaps she would have the energy to feel the need. Then, she knew, the memory alone of this wonderful afternoon would be enough to fill her declining years with the joy of a golden erotic sunset. She sighed and stretched. Her hand encountered Pedro's still swollen cock. She captured it and gave the boy an affectionate squeeze but she could tell he didn't really want her to handle it. Pedro was willing to wait the ten minutes or ten hours it might take for her return to life, loving, fun and fucking. He gave his brother an affectionate slap on the ass.
Simon's eyes opened and for an instant he stared in wild disorientation, then remembered where he was, that he had actually been fucking this statuesque blonde goddess beneath him. He smiled.
Grace gave a lazy wriggle and the boy slid off. Moments later they were in the bath together. She was reaching for the douche when Pedro stuck his head through the curtains. He said something in rapid Spanish and after a moment of shocked disbelief. little Simon's face lit in understanding. Pedro disappeared and Simon motioned for her to replace the douche apparatus.
"What did your brother say?" she asked.
"He say a real man always clean up his own mess," Simon said and before she had time to work out all the implications of that statement, little Simon was kneeling with upturned face between her legs, giving her an expert mouth douche.
It was beyond belief. She was satiated, so filled with fucking that she felt-not revolted, but simply beyond the need. Yet, standing with her legs wide apart in the shower, reveling in the cascade of hot water drumming over her statuesque body, sensing the tender loving care with which the boy's mouth connected repeatedly with her gaping cunt, spurting great cunt-filling jets of warm water up her vagina, forcing his tongue into her to stretch and lave the last tiny fold of sensitive membrane-never had she ever believed any man could devote such loving detail to the care and comfort of her needs. It felt so wonderful she struggled not to pull the wonderful little boy to his feet and smother him with kisses.
Finally Simon gave her cunt his seal of Good Housekeeping and, with a final lick of approval began standing. It took him nearly a minute to plow a wet furrow of sensuality up her mons veneris, up her belly, round and round the deep pit of her navel, past her tiny waist, up her chest until he was standing at his full height, face buried in her tits.
Grace bent to capture the boy's angelic face. They kissed in mindless bliss, swapping tongues for long minutes. Finally she remembered to turn off the water.
They toweled each other off and the boy's eyes lit at this new exercise in sensuality. It was another famous first, she knew, just as it had been for his brother only hours ago. Happy, replete with sleepy satiation, they returned to the bedroom.
Pedro still lay on the bed, regarding the pair with a sleepy smile as they emerged. Grace gave a sigh of happy satisfaction and let herself collapse on the bed. Once more she lay face up between two boys. Simon lay face down, his nose pillowed in the still damp hair of her pubic patch. Pedro pillowed his head on her chest where he could give the sensitive underside of her tits an occasional kiss or a lazy lick. It was wonderful. Grace wondered if she would live long enough ever to experience anything more wonderful than this interlude of happy sensuality.
Simon made a little snuffling sound and moved slightly. After a moment his breathing became regular and she realized the younger boy was asleep. Pedro still ran lazy affectionate hands over her tits. She caught his cock in a friendly hand and they lay, neither capable of mustering-enough energy for more strenuous activity. "I never knew ladies like to fuck," the boy said.
Grace smiled. "I'm sure everyone does," she said. "Except a few unfortunate people who are sick and they take it out in meanness or killing instead of enjoying one another's bodies."
"I wish I could stay with you forever jus' like this."
Grace felt her whole body wrench at the thought. "So do I," she said. "But you're young and I'm not all that young any more. I'm sure now that you've learned what it's all about you'll want to try it out with lots of girls your own age."
The boy snorted disdainfully. "I never see nobody I like before." His hand still ran caressingly over her superbly upstanding tits. 'Tell me," he continued. "What you like best? I don' care what it is. You like me do something for you, I do it."
Grace gave his cock a grateful squeeze. "You've already done things I never dreamed of. I just wish we could do them forever."
"You like Simon?" This time he pronounced it see moan.
Grace smiled and squeezed his cock again. "He's your brother. I'm afraid I like you so much I can't help liking your little brother too." Apparently this was the right answer for she felt a throb of erotic response in the boy's comfortable hard-on. They lay for several minutes in companionable silence, lazily fondling each other's bodies. Then Grace asked, "What do you like the most?"
"Everything!" Pedro enthused.
"Of course," she agreed. "So do I. But there must be some things you like more than others." She thought a minute. "When you were younger." She tried to phrase it diplomatically. "Way back when you were little and had never had a woman yet, what did you think it would be like? What did you really want to do first?"
Pedro sighed and wrinkled his brow, trying to dredge up a dim memory from the ancient history of yesterday. His face lit. "You know," he said in his not exactly accented but oddly rhythmed English, "When I first started thinking about girls, I used to think someday I gonna have a big machine." He paused and for a while Grace thought he had drifted off to sleep. Then she felt the growing throb in his cock and knew the boy was re-exploring some ancient memory of eroticism.
"Someday," he continued, "I gonna have a big machine like a hammock, maybe just a big sheet with a little hole in it I can stick my prick through. Then I was gonna have a nice blonde lady jus' like you on a bed and I gonna lay on the sheet with jus' my prick sticking down and I gonna have a big machine move me an' the sheet up an' down." He gave a sheepish laugh. "Tha's what I always use to dream about."
"And now?" Grace asked.
The boy smiled and ran his hands over her tits. "Now I think I like to get real close and touch you everywhere I can. I don' wan' no sheet. I don' wan' no damn machine get between me an'you."
His cock was throbbing now, thumping alarmingly in her hand. She supposed she ought to let go of it but she guessed if the boy wanted her to let go he would let her know. They lay quietly side by side, her hand over his cock and his hands fondling her tits, tickling lazy patterns of sensuality over their smooth roundness, tantalizing her tiny nipples into erections as rock hard as his cock. Grace found herself gradually emerging from the sea of lazy sensuality that had engulfed her. To her surprise she was already forgetting her satiation of a half hour ago. She knew if the boy were to mount her and start fucking there would be time enough next month to repent. If she was going to be tired and sore, so be it. Then she remembered something. "By the way," she murmured casually, "How old are you?"
"Fourteen," Pedro said. "But don' tell anybody. At the Industrial School they think I'm seventeen."
Grace wondered why the casual admission raised such a lump of excitement inside her. She had known the boy was underage. What difference did a couple of years one way or the other make? "What about him?" she asked with a gesture at Simon who still slept with his face pillowed on her blond-furred crotch.
"Twelve," Pedro said. "Pretty soon he be thirteen." Grace marveled at the way her belly was beginning to thrum at these humdrum statistics. She wondered if this was the same feeling that seemed to light up men's faces when they looked at just budding little girls.
At that moment, as if reading her mind, Pedro asked, "How old-?"
A thrill of pure panic shot through her as she realized she had not prepared herself for this question. Then the boy continued and she felt weak-kneed relief. "How old were you when you fuck the first time?" Pedro asked.
"Oh, uh-just about your age," she guessed. She thought a moment, pulling her mind together and realized she had been at least a year younger than Pedro the first time she had felt that exclusively masculine organ slide into her slit.
Grace had been a gangly thirteen that summer, convinced she was an ugly duckling because she was taller than all the boys in her class. She had known instinctively as all girls her age knew that anyone over eighteen had outgrown all these strange inchoate longings so she had paid scant attention to the way older men's heads turned whenever she walked or bicycled by in the tattered shorts from last summer which were too tight now but they were comfortable and she didn't have to worry about getting them dirty or torn like her new ones and, please, Momma, don't throw them away yet.
Everybody else had gone bicycling off to the lake to swim and of course Grace was going too. But suddenly it seemed to Grace that all of her old friends and playmates had suddenly paired off in totally unexpected ways. For thirteen-year-old, five-foot-eight Grace pairing off had not been easy. Boys cast occasional admiring glances at the newly acquired bumps beneath her sweater but those bumps were at eye level for most of the boys.
Rather than be alone and conspicuous while others were billing and cooing, Grace had packed her lunch and ridden off proud and alone to Jackman Creek on the other side of town. There in the tiny sun-washed spot of grass encircled by nearly impenetrable brush she had hidden her bike, spread out her blanket, eaten a tuna and peanut butter sandwich, and spread out in the sun to bake away her loneliness and dream of the tall, handsome man with dark hair and a pencil thin mustache who would someday appear to take her out of all this.
It was quiet and the sun was hot. Around her the katydids were doing it. Overhead a crow soared. Someday, she knew, she would pose in the nude for famous artists and photographers. She had read somewhere that they considered an even suntan a most important attribute. And she wasn't getting it.
She felt a tiny knot form in her stomach at her daring. But, after listening to the katydids she knew she was alone. She took off her blouse and her shorts and lay back on the blanket, hoping her blond skin wouldn't freckle as it had last summer.
Toasting in bra and pink rayon panties she realized she was still cheating. What would the famous painter and photographer say when they saw the outlines of these full-cut plebian panties on her sleek, sun-tanned body? She had been after Momma to buy her some sheer panties without this disappointing sag in leg and crotch but Momma had been busy balancing budgets and had not been inclined to listen until these were worn out. Finally, aghast at her own daring, Grace had taken off her bra and panties. She kept them at hand, ready in case the katydids should stop.
But the katydids continued their incessant diddling while she lay, face down first on the blanket, then supine with her bra shading her eyes while she felt herself toasting a warm pink, toasting evenly from her tiny pink nipples to the bony prominence of her. mons veneris which was just beginning to sprout a few ringlets of tight-clustered blonde hair.
Abruptly the soaring crow cawed and the katydids didn't. Immediately she was awake. She was starting to put on bra and panties when she realized there might not be time. She stuffed them under the blanket and with swift economy of motion put on her blouse and shorts.
The blouse was sheer but her areolas were pink and would not show through. She was not worried. There was a noise in the brush and a moment later a man with a pack on his back came bursting into her seclusion. He stared at her with some surprise, taking in the sun-bathing girl on the blanket with one glance.
His surprise was nothing compared to Grace's. It was her prince charming: pencil-thin mustache, black hair, a Clark Gable face but without those horrible jug ears. She thought she was going to faint.
"Oh, hello there," the stranger said. "Sunbathing?"
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Suddenly she realized what was in his pack. The handsome stranger was loaded down with cameras and telescopic lenses. It was just like her dream. He was friendly and didn't frighten her at all as he explained that he was a nature photographer and they weren't really telephoto lenses but close up lenses for capturing katydids and all sorts of other insects. He glanced at the edge of the blanket and she followed his eyes and saw her bra and panties peeping out and she was too young to know about Freudian slips but she knew that he knew and even so it was not embarrassing when he said he also photographed girls and would she like to pose and the first thing she knew she was standing before the backdrop of impenetrable brush while he fussed with lenses and tripods.
"We can make up a nice portfolio," he explained and before she could display her ignorance he segued naturally and easily into how any girl who wanted to make it as a model had to have a scrapbook full of pictures of herself posing this way and that and that she was such a charming young lady and so sure to be a success in New York that he would be happy to do it all free for now and later when she was a big star she could pay him back.
It was just the way she had always known it would be. She thought of her classmates all off at the lake playing their stupid little flirtation games with one another and wondered what they would think if they knew what she was doing here with a real grown-up man, making her way in the world, preparing to accept her rightful place as the queen of models. She knew what was going to happen next and when he said every portfolio must include a couple of tasteful nudes, usually with her back half turned or something so that she was not totally exposed and that she could undress with her back to him and to turn very carefully while he peered through his lens finder and that she must be careful to stop when he told her lest she be entirely too exposed, it was all so perfectly natural and professional that she was already unbuttoning her blouse.
She turned and dropped her shorts. Straightening, she faced the thicket of brush and waited.
"Turn to your right just a little," he said, and she did.
"A little more for the next shot."
Four shots later she was posing in profile, her right leg extended just enough to conceal her pubic patch, full young breasts pointing defiantly skyward as she raised her arms to catch an imaginary ball.
She had never imagined posing could be such strenuous work. She was breathing so hard she could hardly make her bouncing breasts stand still long enough for him to shoot. It had to be from the effort of holding a steady pose. She couldn't imagine anything else that would make her breathe like this.
"All right, well shoot just one more over on the blanket now."
Halfway there she realized she had completed her turn and was walking to the blanket while facing her photographer squarely, affording him with a full frontal view of her lovely young tits, and her sparsely furred pubic patch. Suddenly she was blushing furiously clear down to her tiny waist. She prayed he wouldn't notice. Maybe he would ascribe her sudden furious pink to an overdose of sun.
When she lay on the blanket he had her turn this way and that, raising first one knee, then the other, then both knees, then finally both legs high in the air which he assured her would make it look as if she were falling and just about to hit the blanket, when finally he gave a sigh and said, "You can rest a moment now. I've got to step back into the shadow and change film."
She closed her eyes and wondered if she ought to pinch herself. Was all this really happening to her? Tomorrow, a week at the most and she would be a big star, living her glamorous life miles from this tiny town with its tiny possibilities for tiny lives. Grace was going to make it big!
"All right now," his voice came from the bushes, "we'll have one final shot at it. This time flat on your back." She was already flat on her back.
"Now bend both your knees," he instructed, still wrestling somewhere in the shade with a balky film magazine. "Not together like that. Pull your heels up until they touch your bottom-that's right. Now just let your legs fall apart. That's right, nice and open."
While Grace was wondering uneasily if she wouldn't look just the least bit awkward and maybe too exposed in this odd pose he said the magic words that explained and made it all right. "Now close your eyes and pretend you're asleep. You're dreaming about something nice that's going to happen to you. That's right. Now just keep your eyes closed while I zoom in for a close-up."
Grace obeyed, visions of sugarplums and New York's glamorous night clubs where she would wear slinky off-the-shoulder gowns and exchange wise cracks with Earl Wilson dancing through her thirteen-year-old blonde head.
"Keep your eyes closed," he instructed. She heard him rustling and wondered if she dared sneak a look. Better not. That would be the moment he would snap it and he might get mad and spoil it all. She heard him moving closer and then felt a footstep right on the edge of the blanket. This, she guessed was going to be a real close up. Then he was between her wide-spread legs.
Startled, she opened her eyes. He didn't even have his camera with him! Naked as she was, the handsome photographer with the Clark Gable face but without those ears knelt between her legs doing something down there with his hands. At first she thought he was pressing his finger against her gaping virginal cunt. Then he leaned over her and his arms came down on each side of her torso and the pressure down there continued and suddenly, not really believing it, not wanting to believe it, she knew what was pressing at her down there.
He pressed harder and it hurt. Still he pressed, ignoring her anguish. There was a sudden sharp pain, a feel ar if something was tearing and then the thing that was pressing against her was sliding smoothly inside her. It was big. It was thick. It was long. She wondered if it would ever stop going into her, pushing her tightly packed insides apart for the first time in her brief thirteen years of life.
Grace gasped. Her eyes opened wide, staring unbelieving at the smiling face that loomed over her looking down. "Now that," he explained, "is what's known among photographers as 'shooting the final frame.' "
She lay tense, unbelieving that this was really happening to her. There was no place at all in her daydream for this. She dressed seductively and men went out of their minds at the thought of drinking champagne from her slipper but this! This was the kind of thing that only bad girls from the other side of town did. Ugly girls, fat girls with out of fashion clothes and pimples. And now this handsome man was going to do it to her just as if she were one of those other girls! "Please," she managed in a strangled voice. Maybe there was still time. Maybe he could pull it out and they could pretend none of this ever happened. "Please," she repeated.
To her joyous surprise he did begin to pull it out. It felt funny. It didn't hurt or feel awful any more like she had thought it was going to feel. There was still a tiny sting where her maidenhead had ruptured and was trickling a few drops of blood down the cheeks of her firm young ass but mostly now it just tickled.
But at least the handsome stranger with the pencil mustache was obeying her. He was pulling it out, pulling it out very slowly and carefully so as not to hurt her any more than he already had. Still smiling, he had it almost out when he stopped. With the hot throbbing head of his thing just barely splitting the nearly hairless lips of her still virginal cunt, he hesitated, barely moving it in and out, in and out for a moment. Then slowly, instead of taking it all the way out he was pushing it back into her!
Grace gasped, outraged at his broken promise, never stopping to think that he had not promised anything. Then he had it halfway down and then all the way down and was pulling it out and pushing it back in again and suddenly she knew she didn't really want him to take it out any more. Not now. Not ever!
He was doing it so slow. She wished he would go a little faster. She was getting a funny feeling inside her, just as if she had to pee real bad. She wondered if the feeling would go away if he would just put that thing into her and take it out a little bit faster. It was the funniest feeling. It didn't feel really like she had to pee but there was a growing building sense of crisis. Soon she knew something was going to happen. Things couldn't go on like this for in a moment she knew she was going to be giggling and screaming and moaning and doing all kinds of things and she didn't even know why she was thinking all these crazy thoughts. It was just like those hot sleepless nights when she had finally drifted off with a delicious inchoate dream of something lovely and forbidden that came from rubbing her fevered palm over her crotch and patting it until suddenly there was a funny little feeling of dampness and she could sleep.
Abruptly she felt that funny feeling come again. Only this time it wasn't a funny little feeling. It was a funny big feeling and that great thick honker of his was still sliding in and out of her, crowding her virginal vagina so tightly that she could feel her cunt turning half inside out as it wrapped around the staff of his emerging rod, only to pucker inward again with the most deliciously mixed pleasure-pain sensation she had ever imagined as his great throbbing thing once more began its inward journey.
"Oooohhh!" she squealed and that funny little feeling grew like a tidal wave to engulf her. She felt hot, sweaty, felt waves of heat roiling through her, radiating from her sun flushed body. Then abruptly she felt chills and snuggled up closer to his thrusting body. Her ass rose to meet his and he began thrusting faster, harder, deeper. His smiling face disappeared for a moment and then she felt his mouth close over one of her tits, felt his tongue tickle her tiny, almost invisible virgin nipple. Suddenly it was hard and rigid as his thing. He switched to her other tit and then they were both hard. She hoped he would stay there forever but then his mouth came down over hers and she thought she was going to faint at the thought of a man with a mustache actually kissing her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Things were coalescing in and out of a dream. She was sitting astraddle this handsome mustached man's lap, rocking in his erotic cradle. Yet at the same time she lay flat on her back in missionary position doing nothing, accepting the offering of an eager cock. All donations gratefully accepted. She opened her eyes and suddenly she was awake, her memory of the mustached seducer who had stolen her virginity nearly thirty years ago submerged in the actuality of a small brown boy with a phenomenal cock pouring his enthusiastic all to her. Pedro was back in the saddle again.
She wondered if she had been awake, if her mind had only wandered while he must have maneuvered his brother's face off her crotch and positioned her for his act of love. From the wet slickness of her cunt she must have cum already. She wondered if it had been from the memory of that mustached photographer whose name she had never learned, or from the expert internal massage little Pedro was applying to her passion flushed pussy with his golf-ball-headed cock. The boy smiled as she opened her eyes. He kissed her nipples, alternating in rapid succession from one to the other, then stretched to his full length until his cock was straining to stay in as he kissed her on the lips, swapping tongues with casual professionalism.
Grace gasped and came explosively with a single sharp spasm of joy as well defined as a rifle shot. Pedro felt it and stopped to rest. With his cock still hot and hard inside her, he rested his weight on one hand and toyed with her full firm breasts with the other. She sighed happily and looked up at him with a happy smile. "You look like a man who enjoys his work," she said.
Pedro was suddenly serious. "I like you, Miss Grace," he said. "Simon like you too." He wanted to say something else but abruptly he lapsed into silence.
"Both of you together couldn't like me as much as I love you," she said. "I'd like to keep you both here forever."
Pedro's eyes lit up. He bent over her tits and kissed her nipples rigid again, then pulled his cock out so far it nearly escaped. He hesitated a moment, then began pushing it firmly back up inside her.
"Oooohhh, that's goood!" Grace sighed. In spite of herself she came again, once more with explosive suddenness. Pedro grinned and gave her another long leisurely thrust. She almost came for a third time. Fuzzily, she prayed he wouldn't start that stirring that had driven her nearly mad with joy last night.
She felt herself starting to float again and knew that soon she would be sucked into another maelstrom of passion, with her brains turned to peanut butter and flowing out her ass. She struggled up out of passion's pit long enough to try to pick up where she had left off. "I'd like to keep you both here forever," she said. "But you'll grow up sooner or later and move on to better things."
Pedro thrust mightily, driving his cock halfway up to her lungs. He kissed her nipples, then her lips in an effort to tell her he would never leave. She felt herself sinking into a passionate pink fog again and shrugged angrily. "Later," she insisted. "How often does that welfare woman come to snoop?"
"She come sometimes," Pedro said. "But I can't cash no welfare check. They come two or three times and then when I no cash they no come."
"Do you think you could just disappear?"
"Sure," Pedro said. "Most of the stuff already hocked. I just take Mama's picture and I leave a note me and Simon go live with Uncle Tadeo in Imperial Valley and they never check up. Nobody care unless we ask for money."
"And if I let you stay here do you think you can convince the neighbors that you're a couple of hard-working little boys living with a new foster mother and that you've never even thought about doing what we're doing right now?"
"Sure."
"You know," she warned, "if anybody ever finds out what we're doing all three of us are going to end up in jail."
"You think I gonna tell anybody?" Pedro was indignant.
"Me neither!" Simon chorused and abruptly she realized the smaller brother had been listening too.
Maybe they could get away with it. Maybe lonely women like her were already getting away with it by the thousands all over the country. Maybe, she decided, all kinds of things were happening and as long as everybody was happy and didn't make waves ... Pedro was once more thrusting his tireless tentpole in and out, in and out, bringing her seething cunt to a rapid boil.
"You almos' finish?" Simon asked.
Grace's heart leaped. Two cocks! Both young and tireless, both competing to get it into her. She hoped she would have the will power to get up Monday and drive her roach coach. She would have to get out of the house once in a while for exercise and fresh air and enough money for groceries. But she knew that from now on there would be little time for TV or for sitting around feeling sorry for herself. She wondered if she would ever tire of these two brown pricks taking turns at her. In time she supposed she would grow used to it. But nothing could pall the joy she felt every time she looked at one of those glistening, brown-skinned bodies. Someday she would take it as matter of course for first one boy to put in an hour's shift atop her blonde body, then take another hour's ramming from a fresh brown cock.
But not yet. It was still so delightfully new that she almost came just thinking about it. And Pedro still had it in her, was still atop her poking his prod deep up her throbbing cunt. He began subtly pushing and poking, rearranging her arms and legs until she realized he wanted her to roll over on her side.
He grasped her ass firmly and she got her arms around his stocky, hard-muscled body. They rolled until he was still plugged into her but they both lay on their sides. After a moment of getting comfortable they were fucking away again. It felt so nice to have the boy's tireless tool inside her she didn't care which way they lay.
She rocked her ass, meeting his thrust, reveling in the silent tireless power of his unchanging rhythm. She felt she could go on this way forever, cumming occasionally, sometimes explosively, sometimes barely sensing the little flutter of releasing tensions that meant another wrinkle, another care, another worry was gone forever and that she was growing younger again instead of older.
Suddenly she felt something behind her and realized that for a moment she had completely forgotten about little Simon who waited in the wings for his elder brother to tire. The smaller brother was snuggling up tight to her back and she supposed he was going to do all sorts of delightful little things with his hands just as Pedro had done while Simon was pouring his all to her a while ago in the boy's first fuck of his life.
She smiled a happy little smile as Simon's hands snaked around from behind to capture her tits. Coupled with Pedro's tireless thrusting and the way he was kissing her, swapping tongues as if he had been doing it all his life instead of less than twenty-four hours-it all added up to a happy fuck. She felt waves of joy radiating outward from Simon's fingers as they caressed her tits, traced lazy circles around her areolas and kneaded her tiny nipples to rock hard rigidity. It was a great life and she was finally living it.
Then she felt one of Pedro's hands behind her. She braced herself for some new explosion of erotic fire as the boy discovered still another trigger to her explosion prone body. A moment passed before she realized he was not working on her. Instead, Pedro seemed to be guiding his brother through some complicated maneuver. She felt the sleek brown body squirming and snuggling closer behind her until she felt like a piece of white meat from some improbably turkey imprisoned between two slices of living, breathing fucking brown bread.
Pedro's hand came back to fondle her flank and drive her another notch up her private yardstick of sensuality. It was nearly a minute of steady pumping, kissing and tit fondling before she finally understood what little Pedro had been doing back there with his brother. By the time she realized it was too late.
She had been rocking comfortably, cantering to meet Pedro's thrust each time his muffin-stabber probed deep into her thrilling vagina. Suddenly she couldn't rock any more. Pedro's cock continued indefatigable but as she retreated her ass was suddenly spindled on his little brother's reviving rod, spiked so firmly she could not move.
While Pedro continued his steady poking she felt Simon's hands tighten over her tits as he struggled and strove to drive his renewed erection up her ass. She felt his rod partake of the slickness Pedro was kneading from her beleagured cunt, run its head round the slimy pool of lubrication, then abruptly little Simon was forcing his way down the old dirt road, encountering not even token resistance.
Grace came immediately and explosively. Great skyrockets of limpid lascivity went whooshing up her spine to explode inside her head and flood her whole soul with pink passionate waves of satiation. Suddenly all the great rolling waves of erotic fire came together in one magnificent coruscation and she felt herself spinning, sliding, falling backward down some dark tunnel of turbulent passionate joy.
When she awoke moments, or maybe days later both boys still held her sandwiched firmly between them but they were not moving. She was confusedly grateful that they had waited, that they had not wasted their energy on an unconscious body. But she wished tiredly that they had both come, that they would just go away quietly and let her rest, let her sleep and never even think about fucking again. Pedro saw her eyes flutter open, heard her shuddering intake of breath. He kissed her.
Immediately all her resolve turned to water and flowed out her ass, out of her cunt, dribbling in tiny spurts around the two fleshy plugs of masculinity that still throbbed inside her. Slowly the boys began moving again.
Pedro's mouth fastened over hers and his tongue darted deep into her. Feebly she responded. Simon's hands over her tits began their erotic massage again, giving her a gentle turn-on that, yesterday, she would have deemed sufficient in itself to fulfill and make joyous an otherwise dull afternoon.
Pedro's cock drove slowly up her cunt, forcing her insides apart as it entered inexorable in its demand for Lebensraum. An instant later Simon's ready rod came sliding up the old dirt road, filling her unto overflowing, making her for one raddle instant feel that this was what it was like to be pregnant.
Then both cocks began withdrawing, leaving her with an emptiness that would have been inconsolable if she had not known with every fiber of her being how short it would last. Both cocks began their long slow sensual slide into her belly again, crowding her unmercifully, filling her with a double dosage of the joy that passeth human understanding. She felt her belly quiver, her whole body shudder as she gathered forces for still another orgasm.
Not yet, she pleaded. Just let me relax and enjoy it for a moment. It feels so good, so wonderful. Never have lever felt anything half so good, not even when he was licking my cunt, not even when I was blowing him and he was blowing me. Please, please just let me lie still in the middle of this wonderful brown sandwich and enjoy it!
The boys were giving her their all. How long can it last? she wondered. Surely nothing this good can last for long.
She was right. It didn't last for long. The boys continued thrusting, each of the twin cocks within her as hard and rampant in its male need as ever. But the boys were marching to the beat of different drummers. Now the cocks that had been going into her together, coming out together, filling her first so full she thought she would burst from the sheer tormenting joy of all that male meat inside her, then pulling out to leave her with an emptiness known only to a Jesuit undergoing a bout of spiritual poverty, those cocks were no longer in phase.
Now as Pedro drove his throbbing dong deep up her cunt, Simon was pulling his out of her asshole. The constant shifting back and forth of her insides as they made room first for a cuntful of Pedro's cock, then an assful of Simons-the constant sloshing, churning of her throbbing belly as everything moved first backward, then forward was stirring her into a passionate pudding even more throbbingly helplessly intense than Pedro's grinding stirring stabber had done last night.
It was a sensation she suspected would never tire her. She could never get used to this eternal moving back and forth, back and forth as first one boy, then the other drove their cocks into her throbbing thrilling body, satiating themselves with the perfection of her statuesque blondeness so much in contrast to their compact, brown-skinned, hard-muscled bodies. It was wonderful. She felt herself cum explosively, knew that in a minute she would cum again, probably harder.
And the nicest thing was that she could probably expect to be doing it for years-at least until these two wonderful little boys grew up. "Aaahhh!" she sighed.
"Yeaaahhh!" Pedro agreed. "Wow!" Simon added.
And the three of them went on fucking their way through the afternoon and far into the night. And when they woke at midnight, they started all over again.
