What makes a frustrated woman? A woman much like Pam?
Sigmund Freud, in his Types of Neurotic Nosogenesis, wrote: "The most immediate cause of the onset of neurotic illness lies in frustration. The person was healthy as long as his erotic need was satisfied by an actual object in the outer world; he becomes neurotic as soon as he is deprived of this, object and no substitute is forthcoming."
And why shouldn't she be frustrated? Pam, all alone in the mountain observatory, luxuriously enjoying the hot water baths, when the horny little boy hiked in just in time to be snowbound ... alone ... with her.
It was almost as if the kid had planned it that way, and in no time at all, both of them were naked and writhing together in and out of the sensuous baths and the even more sensuous beds, where she taught him everything he could ever have hoped to learn ... and a few things that Pam wasn't even too sure about herself.
Needless to say, by the time the county had the roads cleared, he had been cleaned out like never before, and Pam was just about the most satisfied, well-loved woman in the entire county.
Grace Eddy's Her Busy Mouth is a new milestone for Rated X, the series of strictly adult reading that lays it right on the line for you.
Keep it up, month after month, with Surrey House, Inc.
-THE PUBLISHERS
CHAPTER ONE
Pam dried the dishes and tried not to think about it. Mentally, she reviewed all the other things in life. She was only forty, still had her health. Boy, was she ever healthy! What am I doing up in this miserable end of nowhere? she asked herself. She looked around the kitchen-dining hall, checking empty tables.
Normally there would have been a dozen young astronomers and two or three baldheads eating their five-in-the-afternoon breakfast. But the Christmas holidays had emptied the place out for the weekend. And six feet of unexpected snow had kept the next two-week shift of stargazers from getting to work on time. Pam was all alone on the mountain top-with a warm apartment, plenty of food and fuel-everything except what she really wanted.
Trying to ignore the emptiness between her legs, she finished tidying up the kitchen after her solitary breakfast. She supposed she ought to get up mornings and go to bed evenings just like other people as long as she was alone, but it would just mean getting used to nights all over again once the astronomers got over their year-end partying and got around to skiing in or snowmobiling or whatever it might take. She wondered vaguely how long it would be before somebody got around to plowing out the roads.
The snow was so deep she hadn't bothered to go outside for three days. She supposed she ought to-ought to get out and chop some wood or something to get her mind off her cunt, but Pam was a practical woman. The living quarters up there were heated with oil trucked in during the summer and chopping wood was no substitute for....
She gave a start, then realized it was just the furnace clicking off. Somewhere in the woodwork she heard faint sounds of cooling pipe. Outside some kind of a bird too stupid to go south was chittering. She glanced out of the dining hall's tiny window and saw nothing but a vertical wall of snow beginning where the eaves ended. "Cabin fever," she muttered, and realized she was talking to herself after only four days alone. "Should've stuck with running that campus boarding house," she told herself.
But Pam knew loneliness was only relative. After she and her husband had given up on what had never been much of a marriage she had tried surrounding herself with young male students. She was still good looking for her age, trim and muscular. She had never let herself go to flab. But ... she knew some of the awkward young men who had boarded in her house had desired her in their awkward way. And she had-oh God, had she ever desired them!
Yet there had been some built-in inhibition that had kept Pam from ever doing anything about it. Eventually the strain of being surrounded by virile young men and never daring to touch one of them, to rub against the fine hard-muscled firmness of a young male body....
It had all been too much. For a semester she had boarded girls but it had taken Pam less than a semester to realize that girls were bitchy, less tidy than boys, and worst of all, she had caught herself " beginning to look at their half naked bodies traipsing up and down the halls as if she were a virile young man. Really, it had been too much.
Pam had inventoried her talents and discovered all she really knew was cooking and housework. She had to live. She had studied the bulletin board announcement and decided astronomers would be less dangerous than students. Only after she had reported to this mountain top eyrie had she discovered most of the observatory crew were students. If she hadn't realized they would all be hungry soon, she would have killed herself that first evening.
There was a noise outside. She hung up the dishtowel and gathered up miscellaneous rags and napery for the laundry, then suddenly realized what had attracted her attention outside was not a noise but the sudden lack of it. The birds had all stopped cluttering. She wondered if one of the stargazers had braved the drifts and made his way back up.
Their bunkhouse was at the other end of this long low building-as far as possible from her own room off the kitchen. She waited a while for the sound of a door opening. When it didn't happen she guessed she had been imagining things. Probably some kind of animal had scared the birds. There were small wildcats up here. Foxes and coyotes too. Nothing dangerous. She went back through the kitchen into her own room and began undressing.
To hell with this, she suddenly decided. Her quarters had been designed for a man and had only a shower. The dormitory at the other end of the building had showers too, but in addition one of the baldheads had swung enough weight to have a sunken tub with a Jacuzzi installed. So long as the place was empty, Pam guessed she might as well have a long comfortable soak and maybe soak some of the emptiness from between her thighs.
She peeled her blouse off and unzipped her slacks. She took off her thirty-six 'C cup and tossed it into the hamper. She peeled her panties down past well-rounded thighs and stood to face her naked self in the mirror.
Pam studied her reflection, trying to guess what she would look like to a man. Her hair was still good, hanging straight to her shoulders in a style she hoped was not too long for forty. The only trouble with her hair was, at twenty ash blonde was striking. At forty....At times she wished she dared show doubters her snatch patch and convince them she was a natural ash blonde.
She sighed and shrugged, noting in the mirror that her tits still jiggled at a properly jaunty angle. She guessed she really could get by without a bra but ... she was forty and she had formed a few habits that were hard to break-like fucking.
It was warm inside this building because the astronomers worked outside in unheated observatories, swathed in parkas and mittens which did little to mitigate the cold when they had to spend long hours practically without moving. When they came in for coffee or to eat, relax and sleep after a long cold night, the stargazers were not particularly interested in conserving energy. The thermostat in the building was set at an unwavering seventy-five.
Pam glanced at her robe and realized she had never actually put it on since she had come to work up there. Normally she got up about four in the afternoon, in time to fix a five-pee-emm breakfast. Then while they were out working, she would tidy the dorm, occasionally changing sheets and regarding the mute evidence of wet dreams with a sadness that surpassed Mr. Simon's when she considered such a tragic waste of energy.
She padded naked with only a towel over her arm through the kitchen, through the empty dining room, through the vacant dormitory to the men's bath with the Jacuzzi machine. Outside she could see only vertical walls of snow through the tiny windows, but there was reflected sunlight. It must have been a sunny day. It still was but the clock in the dorm said six. Time for the stargazers to clear out and go to work setting up their tracking mechanisms, fitting plates to cameras and spectroscopes, sometimes even looking momentarily through a telescope to make sure it was pointed on target.
Pam opened the valves and began filling the sunken tub. Inside her mind she built a little fantasy about all the young male bodies rushing half dressed around there, bathing, shaving, scrubbing their cocks, beating off, doing all the things young virile men did every morning before they went to face the temptations of another day. She wondered what it would be like if she were to enter the bath the way she was-naked and unafraid while all the young hard bodies were there.
But they weren't there. Sighing, she stepped into the sunken tub. The water was so hot she gasped. After a moment she put her foot back in and gritted her teeth until it stopped hurting. Finally she stood in the scalding water with both legs. She felt it climb to her knees. The tub was full. She squatted slowly, savoring the delicious pleasure-pain as scalding water crept past her knees, up her long, well-turned thighs. She felt the water enter her crotch. A shimmering wave of heat passed through her. Abruptly she sat. The water came past her waist, nearly to the bottom of her tits.
She gasped and then began slowly relaxing; A warm sensual glow suffused her tired body. Slowly she felt the pain and tension begin to flow away. Even the emptiness between her thighs was not so bad once she was surrounded with the glowing warmth.
Slowly she let herself sag until the scalding water was tickling her nipples. She studied her nipples. They were small and pink, still virginal. She wondered if her life would have been different, maybe better if she'd had a child. Probably not, she guessed. Children were just something else to worry about, and from the complaints she had heard in incessant streams from those who had them, they must be, at best, a somewhat unsatisfactory substitute for dogs or cats. She suddenly noticed the ripple of hot water had teased her nipples into rockhard erection. Well, how about that? she mused.
Determinedly, she put the thought out of her mind. There was no one there. Even if there were she knew she would never get up the courage to approach a man. And though she knew some of the baldheads' eyes glinted when she stooped in front of the oven-even some of the young hard bodies, Pam also knew she would never ever work up courage enough to bring it out into the open.
She didn't know what was wrong with her. She didn't have any Freudian hangups. Knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted to get fucked by a young, good-looking man. Or by several. But she was not able to laugh or make herself approachable. Maybe, she thought, if she didn't need it so bad-if a good fuck had not become such an overpowering obsession during these last few years....
It didn't make any difference. She was surrounded by students. Surely one of them was as hard-up as she was. But if he was, he was undoubtedly just as shy as she was and would never dare reveal his need. It was so stupid. And it would never be any different. Damn!
She settled slowly into the sunken tub until the water was up to her chin. It felt so good. She felt the tiredness ooze from her despite her bitter thoughts. "Aaaaaaahhhhhhh," she sighed.
"Ah indeed," a voice answered.
Pam gasped, then realized it had only been her imagination. Wishful thinking. What would she really do, she wondered, if one of the observatory staff were to wander in there and catch her in the tub? Probably just ask him to leave or look the other way while she wrapped the towel around herself and got the hell out.
Or would one of the stargazers grab her, throw her down on the nearest bed and rape her? If only it would happen....Neck deep in the scalding water, she felt her insides do a delicious flip-flop at the thought of one of those hard-bodied young men grabbing her, carrying her struggling and screaming over his shoulder, throwing her down on the mattress of one of the cots, throwing his hard-muscled young body atop her. She imagined what it would be like as his knee forced her thighs apart while his hands on her shoulders held her down.
It would be so overpowering to have all that hot breathing maleness atop her, to feel the hard muscles of his body forcing her thighs apart, to feel the pressure of his blunt instrument pressing against her, forcing apart the lips of her vulva, driving its conscienceless, unrelenting way into her, violating her deep, deep inside her! "Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!" she sighed.
A minute passed and Pam realized it was only a 'dream. She was alone on the top of a mountain. Snowed in. Not a man within fifteen miles-as if it made any difference. When they were all there she was even more alone. There had to be a way to communicate, to let those men know that somewhere one of them who needed a woman as badly as she needed a man ... She tried to think of how. She remembered stories about the south sea islands where things were simple, where a man was not ashamed to wear a flower over his ear just like a woman. What, she wondered, would it be like to live in a society where one could put on a badge or a button that said, "Let's fuck?"
Mostly, she wondered what had happened to her own society. Pam was American born and raised. She had never been out of the country and had no idea how they did things in places like Denmark and Sweden. But she knew one thing. The so-called sexual revolution in the United States was a lot of bullshit. Maybe somewhere somebody was making out. But not Pam.
The worst part of it was she could find no excuse why not. It wasn't as if she had any kind of position to take care of-or even any reputation to defend. Pam had never been much of a socializer. She had no close women friends and now that she'd taken this job up in the middle of nowhere, she'd even lost track with them. As for men friends....
It was all her own fault, she knew. Ed had never been much of a husband and after a few years she had come to dread that boozy breath so much that when he had stumbled home nights she had quietly poured him onto the couch and dumped a blanket over him. By the time she called it quits, they had spent three years in the same house without once sharing a bed.
So here she was alone at forty, still a woman, still firm and well built, with no reason at all why she couldn't have an affair with one of those young astronomers-except that she just couldn't.
CHAPTER TWO
She sighed and settled deeper into the tub, seeking comfort from the hot water that surrounded her. Then she remembered the gadget, the Jacuzzi. Might as well try it, she guessed. She had read about the things for years and never actually seen one. This one looked surprisingly like an outboard motor sticking down into a corner of the sunken tub. She studied the bottom and made sure there was no propeller to slice her feet. The switch seemed to have some kind of speed control. Timidly, she switched it on.
Big deal! The Jacuzzi hummed and began sending a stream of bubbly water through the tub. She felt it swirl and bubble over her body, tickling slightly. She turned the switch' farther and the current became stronger.
It was relaxing, she had to admit. But she also knew she wouldn't spend a dime of her own money for this kind of glorified mixmaster. She settled back and discovered the tub had a special niche to support her head out of the water. Closing her eyes she could imagine herself suspended in space, a womb, or whatever nice warm places there were in racial memory.
She kept her eyes closed and let the bubbly stream play over her body. She spread her thighs and felt bubbly water course through her crotch, moving each strand of her ash blonde pubic patch in its follicle. If she worked at it she could imagine a gigantic hulking black man down there gently darting his tongue about, licking, touching, probing....
There was something vaguely reminiscent about it but she couldn't remember what it was. Something somewhere in her past had felt like this. Had a man ever put his tongue down there? She had read enough to know people actually did it-apparently perfectly normal people who wore suits and ties and went off to the bank every morning. But it had never happened to Pam. She wondered if she would be able to face the world again after it happened-if it ever happened. Surely such forbidden pleasure would leave its mark on a woman, something about her would shine out and warn the world at large that here was a woman who played fast and loose, who lived and loved.
There was a noise. Pam's eyes flew open then she realized it was just the heating system turning on again. This long low barracks like building was full of snaps and clicks, creaking and groaning as if it were haunted by centuries of nutty dukes instead of a dozen half sane stargazers.
She tried to settle back into her fantasy again. It was no use. These young men wore long hair and dressed rather oddly but she knew from the way the baldheads treated them they they were serious students and would some day amount to something. And already they had their own lives, their own girls. They weren't about to complicate their academic careers by screwing the cook up at the observatory. Pam guessed she ought to have settled for a different kind of school. Maybe if she were surrounded by younger boys-twelve, thirteen. She needed boys who were just starting out in life, just discovering the joyous potential of that thing between their legs.
Pam closed her eyes in the tub again. She tried to imagine a boy at just the right age-the age of discovery. He would be maybe fourteen. How old were boys these days when they started? Pam didn't know. She supposed it was like always. Some started out young and others never.
A fourteen-year-old. Slim, muscular, already as tall as he ever would be. Maybe a few hairs on his chest already. Surely a lush bush between his legs. She imagined him with dark hair. Straight hair with maybe a touch of Indian or Mexican. Clear dark skin and a cock....
He would have to have a wonderful cock. Long, straight, with a nice knob on the end of it. She hadn't seen many cocks in her life and had never gotten a good look at one that had been circumcised, so Pam visualized the boy with a full foreskin. She wondered momentarily what it would be like to be a boy, to grow up and suddenly discover what bottomless depths of pleasure could be sounded by simply touching that wonderful instrument between his legs.
Much nicer, she guessed, would be growing up a boy and starting to look wistfully at girls, afraid to approach them, unwilling to believe that such delicate creatures could share the same base instincts and desires....How nice it would be to be suddenly submerged in all those delicious trials and strains of growing up and then suddenly, miraculously to have the path smoothed by a gentle knowing woman willing to give generously of herself.
And how nice for Pam if she could be that woman. She toyed with the idea of quitting her job and finding one in a boy's school. Then practical considerations entered her mind. She was sure she was not the only middle-aged woman who had toyed with such an idea. Nor was she probably the first who had tried it. If boys' schools were as she imagined, there would be some baldhead in rimless glasses with a pointed nose ranging ceaselessly up and down corridors scenting out the first hint of hanky panky long before she could ever lure one of those luscious young hard bodies into her lonely bed. Pam sighed.
The heating system creaked again. She ignored it and tried to get back into her fantasy. The boy would be slim and dark, well muscled for his age. He would have a cock. More importantly, he would have a desire. He would be fourteen, filled to bursting with the juices of life and love, needful as only Pam at forty was needful. They would be so good for one another.
She could see it all now as she worked in the kitchen, perhaps wearing a white dress instead of the slacks she wore up there in the mountains. Yes, definitely a dress. She would wear it a couple of inches above her knees. Not provocative but enough to be interesting when she stooped in front of the oven.
And all those love hungry boys would peek from the dining room into the kitchen and would lick their lips as the back of her dress rose to reveal the promise of her thighs. And it would go on, maybe for weeks, but sooner or later one of the more bold, one of the more needful, the one with the biggest, most swollen and indefatigable cock would come sneaking out of the dormitory some night and would scratch timidly at her door.
And what would Pam do then? Would she make a fool of herself and lose her job and maybe get blacklisted so she could never get any kind of a decent job again? Maybe even end up in jail? Or would she take one or two other alternatives?
She could lie there silent in her cold, narrow bed and pretend she didn't hear the scratching, sense the throbbing needful maleness on the other side of the door so eager to fulfill the aching need within her.
Or she could open the door, play the grim matron and ask the trembling boy what he wanted in the kind of voice that would send him stumbling and apologetic back to the dorm. What would she do?
Maybe the world would come to an end. Maybe she could find out a day or two before everybody else. She could let the boy in and they could do what they wanted, make all the noise they wanted, parade naked through the halls and play tag with each other heedless of wagging tongues or other consequences. What would she do with a slim naked fourteen-year-old boy if she knew she could get away with it, if nobody would ever find out?
First, Pam decided, she would fuck him to death. Then she would revive him and fuck him some more. The thought of all that fourteen-year-old eagerness, the thought of all that wasted elixir she washed from sheets and pajamas going into her, warming her, filling her ... she trembled.
Suddenly she realized she was still in the sunken bath. The Jacuzzi was droning away. It felt so restfully soft and smooth to have that turbulent stream of bubbling water pass through her legs, to flow softly up her crotch and bathe her ass and belly with warm tickling sensuality. No wonder the old baldhead had insisted on it. She wondered what ran through his mind while he lay in this tub and felt a vicarious thrill as she realized she had to be in the exact spot where maybe Dr. Stoner's prick grew and throbbed-in response to some private memory. She wondered if he felt the same throbbing needs as she. Abruptly she realized she didn't even know if the director was married or not.
What did it matter? He was gone. So was everybody else. She was alone on a mountain top, surrounded only by her fantasies and her desires. She tried to conjure up the image of the boy again. It was so nice to think about.
The world was going to come to an end. Tomorrow nothing would make any difference. Tonight the boy was scratching on her door. She got out of bed and slipped on the satin peignoir she had bought and preserved for the occasion. She had done her hair. She had bathed and manicured, powdered and perfumed herself. She was ready for Freddie.
What would the boy's name be? Surely not Freddie. She realized she didn't want the boy to have a name. She wanted an anonymous lump of maleness, recognizable only by its need which must be greater than hers. After all, he had come to her room, hadn't he?
Now he was scratching at the door, afraid to knock lest somebody be wakened. The boy would have no way of knowing that the watchman had rigged a cot for himself down in the furnace room and slept there every night to keep himself fresh for God knew what activities in the day time.
She heard the boy's timid yet urgent scratching at the door. Should she pretend to be asleep? Too dangerous. Anything could discourage the boy. Any sudden noise could scare him away and he might come to his senses and never come back until the world had come to an end and it was too late. She slipped a loose knot into the sash of her peignoir and strode silently to the door.
She hesitated behind the closed door. What was she going to do, what would she say to the boy when she opened it? Good God, Pam thought, even in a dream I'm inhibited! The world is coming to an end tomorrow, she reminded herself. Even if anybody else cared what I do tonight, it wouldn't make any difference. And it's only a dream anyhow. She slipped the bolt as quietly as she could and opened the door.
The boy was clad in Levi's and a T-shirt. He wore sneakers. He was slim and dark, an inch taller than she. Pam looked at him. The boy looked at her. Neither of them spoke. The silence grew. He thinks I'm reading his mind, she realized. Thinks I've been listening in on his thought processes all the nights he's lain awake plotting this. He's gone over it in his mind so many times it's like a script and he expects me to play the part just the way he's imagined it. Should I grab him and pull him in?
Good God, she thought. What if he's come here on some perfectly legitimate errand? Maybe somebody sent him to tell me something. And I go dragging him into bed! No way. She searched her mind for something to say, some way to end this terrible tearing, building tension between them.
The boy licked his lips. He looked at the front of her satin peignoir where she had carefully arranged the gap to tease without deliberate invitation. The boy's eyes were busy recreating the scene, visualizing her body without the robe. She wondered what would happen if she threw it open. Probably he would stare a moment, gulp, and run. What if she just let it slip a little farther?
She moved her hips, shrugged her shoulders slightly and the slippery satin moved down on her shoulders to expose another bit of neckline. She had powdered her body carefully and knew she was exposing herself at her devastating best. If the boy was there for what she thought had brought him, he was caught. No boy could resist the assault she had planned. She stepped back slightly from the door and waited. The boy gulped, swallowed, and finally took a timid step forward. When she didn't push him out, the boy took another step.
Pam tried to control her breathing. It would never do for her to betray her own excitement. She had to be calm and sure, in complete control of the situation, or the boy would panic. Her mind wandered back to a childhood memory of the time she had tried to pet a fawn. There was the same fragile, dream-like quality to this boy-the sure knowledge that if she moved unexpectedly, he would run.
Finally he was inside her door. She moved slowly behind him to close it, praying the boy wouldn't panic. She wanted to talk, to say soothing, comforting words and quiet the boy's anxiety, but she couldn't. She knew if she tried to talk she would squeak or croak, for she could not control the rising excitement that threatened to choke her.
But were they going to stand there silently looking at each other all night? She tried to think logically. If the boy had come on some legitimate errand, surely he would have spoken by then. She wasn't that unapproachable. Hadn't she always tried her best for an easy familiarity with the boys?
There was only one possible reason why the boy had come. He had feasted his eyes on her in the kitchen, holding his breath each time she stopped in front of the oven, memorizing the curve of her breast inside the confines of her white dress. Maybe he had hidden himself to watch her comings and goings as she went for a walk and a breath of fresh air in the afternoons. Surely he had hidden somewhere in the bushes and observed her while playing with his cock, trying to imagine it was the warm throbbing flesh of her body touching his needful maleness instead of his own hand.
The boy wanted her. She wanted the boy. They could be so good for each other. And he was in her room. She slid the bolt and locked the door behind him. They looked at each other for a long moment.
Gently, Pam began tugging at the bow in the sash of her peignoir.
CHAPTER THREE
The Jacuzzi pump was forcing a bubbling stream of warm water between her legs, but Pam was so engrossed in her daydream of the boy that she had nearly forgotten the gentle warming tickle of bubbles passing through her pubic hair. Then abruptly the lights dimmed and the pump slowed. She returned to reality as the observatory light plant settled down. Somewhere somebody had turned something on. Somebody was there!
Then just as abruptly, the scare subsided. She was alone on a mountain top. Nobody was going to surprise her in the men's bathroom. It was probably the pump that kept pressure in the water system turning momentarily on and off in response to a leaky faucet somewhere. She sighed and reveled in the feel of hot water rippling over her tired body, slowly easing the aching tension from her. She was going to be loose and flabby when she came out. She reminded herself to take a quick cold shower-at least long enough to firm the sag from her tits. But for the time being it was more important that she get back inside that lovely dream that had been interrupted by the dimming lights.
Where had she been? Oh, yes. The boy had just come .into her room. They were facing each other in silence, each afraid to break the spell by speaking. She had just been pulling at the bow in the sash of her peignoir. She stopped tugging at it. The boy was still dressed. If she moved too swiftly he would panic.
It was important not only that the boy not panic. She wanted him to remember this with rose colored glasses-not as some gross experience where he had been forced to do things he didn't really want to do. She wanted the boy to remember himself as a conquering hero, a perfect lover who crept into her room and through sheer force of his personality and through the magic of his slim, dark, fourteen-year-old body had mesmerized the warm, full-blown woman into obeying him.
Pam permitted herself a small secret smile as she thought of old phrases like power behind the throne. All she wanted was some of the power behind this fourteen-year-old's scepter and she cared little what she had to do to get it. But willing boys fuck better. She wanted to make him willing. She wanted him to will it all night, all day-forever and ever or at least until the world came to an end.
The boy was staring unabashed at the place where her peignoir gaped to reveal the cleavage between her splendid matched set of tits. She gave the boy's crowded Levi's a quick sidelong glance.
There was a most interesting bulge at the crotch. She wondered what would happen if she were to rub against it. It would be fun "accidentally" to rub against the boy and trigger him to the point of no return, to ask in her most innocent voice what was wrong while the boy gasped and strained and wished he were dead, wished he were anything except cumming in his pants.
But it would be much more fun not to. Pam decided she would rather do everything in her power to keep the boy from cumming-keep him teetering on the razor's edge of pleasure as long as was humanly possible for a fourteen-year-old with newly discovered high explosive between his legs. She wondered what they would do first, She wanted to fuck but she knew how long that would last. Boys of his age were even more hair triggered than the two or three men she had known in her life. But she didn't want to think about them. She wanted to concentrate on the slim dark fourteen-year-old in front of her. Through the thin weave of his T-shirt she could see his chest just hairing. That had to mean his crotch was already in full flower. It also had to mean that bulge she could see inside his Levi's was full grown and ready for action. But hair-triggered. What could she do to prolong this delicious tension?
Suddenly she knew. All she had to do was send him out and start all over again. She wondered how to explain it to the boy, then remembered this was all just a dream anyway. She was alone in a bath with a Jacuzzi spraying hot water over her wide-gaping crotch. All she had to do was wipe the slate clean and start her dream over from the beginning.
The lights dimmed again. She wondered what else had turned on. The water system and the heating system were all automatic. Normally she never noticed all the things going on and off, but now that she was alone, every tiny thing was exaggerated. She supposed it was the refrigerator or the freezer. There couldn't be anybody there or she would have heard doors slamming.
Abruptly she realized that with the Jacuzzi pump throwing a bubbly cascade between her thighs, bathing her cunt, she couldn't have heard an earthquake. She turned it off.
Nothing. She had the whole observatory to herself. Not that she wanted it. The actual domes where the telescopes were had to be kept at outside temperature or the expansion did things to the telescopes. The astronomers spent their working hours in thermal underwear and parkas. But Pam had no reason ever to leave the kitchen unless she wanted to. At first she had taken an occasional walk in the afternoons to say hello to the squirrels, but after a month their conversation had become boring. She listened in the sudden silence as a heating blower went off somewhere. Outside birds were cluttering. Then suddenly they stopped.
She waited a moment until they were making their usual noise. Soon it would be turning dark-time for the men to bundle up and go to work if they weren't all in town recovering from year's-end holidaying. Damn this snow!
Damn astronomy! Once the chief baldhead came back, she was going to give notice and quit her job. There had to be some place in the world where it was possible for a working woman to get a piece of cock. Maybe a boys' school....She took a deep breath, sank back into the hot water and determinedly began revising her daydream. It would not do to receive the boy in a satin peignoir. It looked cheap and made her too-available.
This time she was fully dressed in her going-out best, a severely tailored suit, and a blouse with only a hint of frill to its high neck. She wore smoke-toned pantyhose and a girdle which she didn't really need. Thanks to hard work and exercise, even at forty she was lithe and muscular. But somehow a girdle seemed right. She wore a hat and gloves and was obviously just ready to go out. What time was it? She wouldn't be going out in the middle of the night.
Suddenly she knew. It was graduation day. She didn't intend to go to the ceremonies. She had business elsewhere downtown, but that explained why it was mid-afternoon and the boy who knocked on her door also spiffed up in a totally unauthentic manner for a fourteen-year-old. His hair was neatly combed. He wore a dark suit, a dark tie, carefully shined black shoes and a white shirt. In the pocket of his coat was a carefully arranged handkerchief.
"Why aren't you on the platform with the others?" she asked.
The boy hesitated a moment. "I uh-" He hesitated. "I uh, I told the proctor I felt dizzy."
"You don't look sick to me," Pam said.
"I uh-On the way here I started feeling better."
Pam finished drawing on her gloves. She studied the boy for a moment. Finally she decided to put it in words and see what he made of the situation. "So everybody thinks you're off lying down in the nurse's office and she's off somewhere else so nobody'll ever know you're here where you don't belong and where I probably left for town an hour ago too."
The boy's Adam's apple jerked as he swallowed.
"So now you want to come into my room and you want me to close the door and lock it behind you."
The boy looked at her with hopeful eyes.
Silently Pam slipped past him and put her hand on the door knob. "And if I were to lock the door so nobody could know we were here all alone together for the next four hours, I wonder what would happen next," she mused.
"Well uh-"
"Exactly," Pam said in a prim voice. "Well uh-"
"You thought we might do something together-something people don't talk about and you can't even tell me what it is you want to do. I wonder what it is you want to do alone in my room with me behind a locked door." She cocked her head and looked at the boy for a moment. "Would it, for example, mean I had to take my hat and gloves off again?"
The boy nodded, not knowing whether he dared hope or not.
"And I suppose you'd end up having to take your tie off too," she mused.
The boy nodded, unable to speak.
"And then we'd both be here alone together, you without your tie and me without my hat and gloves. What do you suppose would happen after that?"
The boy stared unhappily at her.
"It would have to be something awfully good," Pam said. "Because I spent a lot of time getting dressed just so I could do something important downtown. Can you think of something so nice that it would want me to waste all that time and effort? I wonder if you know how much of a job it is for a woman to fix her hair just right and then get a hat onto it, then get the hat back off without ruining her hairdo. You know, most women would rather do just about anything than ruin a hairdo."
The boy's disappointment was so poignantly obvious that she almost laughed. She permitted herself a thin, wintery smile and added, "But then, I'm not like most women, am I?"
"You sure aren't," the boy enthused.
"How'm I different?" she asked. Some sardonic corner of her mind was already answering. Because I'm here; because I'm available, because I'm the only woman in miles.
But even at fourteen the boy was not hopelessly out of touch with feminine psychology. "You're wonderful," he said.
Pam felt something melt inside her belly. It felt as if she had suddenly come apart and all the pieces had mixed and flowed and would never be the same again. She wondered what kind of a lover this boy would turn into once he had served his apprenticeship. She compared this black-suited version of the boy with her previous tight-crotched, Levi's version. This boy did not exude raw sex the way he had before. But it promised to be more interesting. "So now you're here," she prompted. "I've locked the door and we're safe for at least four hours. Now what happens next?"
"Well uh-"
Pam waited, waited for a figment of her imagination to play its proper part in a daydream. She hadn't gone to all the trouble of dressing up in pantyhose, girdle, hat and gloves just for some fool boy to forget his lines.
Still the boy couldn't bring himself to say it. She looked at. him, wondering if she had been too severe in her dress. More probably too severe in her address, she guessed. She didn't have to snap at the boy like that. Would he ever say it?
She sighed and prompted him. "I have a faint suspicion that you want to take your clothes off. And worse still, I'll bet you want me to take mine off."
Mutely, the boy nodded. "Will you?" he asked.
With a smile halfway between Mona Lisa and the Sphynx, Pam began slowly removing one glove. She did it slowly, making a production of it as she removed one finger at a time, stopping to pull and pat the glove smooth. The boy's eyes gleamed as if she were taking off her bra. Pam wanted to laugh, but it would never do to laugh. This was a solemn occasion. She intended to milk it for all it was worth. Besides, she could feel a strange anticipatory excitement beginning to build inside her own belly. Crazy, she knew. But there was something irresistibly erotic about taking her glove off in front of the boy. Finally she had it off-all the way off. She folded it carefully and put it atop a table. There was a moment of pregnant silence. "Now you," she said.
The boy gulped and swallowed again. After a moment he began slipping out of his jacket. She complimented her subconscious. The boy had chosen a suit with a vest. He folded the jacket and put it carefully over the back of a chair. He straightened and faced her, slim and elegant in vest, tie, and long-sleeved white shirt.
Pam began removing her other glove. Then she changed her mind and started to take off her hat. It took a moment to realize she couldn't manage it with gloves. She went back to taking off the glove.
The boy was fascinated. He stared as if she were unveiling the ash blonde bush of her pubic patch. Pam smiled her Mona Lisa smile and pulled one finger down a half inch, then the next. She made the rounds of her fingers five times before the glove was finally off, exposing her left hand. The boy was breathing faster by the time she had put it with the other glove atop a table.
Without untying it, he squirmed and wiggled himself out of a shoe. Pam kicked off one of her own pumps. The boy got out of his other shoe. She shed hers. He loosened his tie. She wondered what could be so exciting about a necktie being removed but her body was tingling with anticipation as the boy pulled it from his collar and placed it carefully atop his jacket.
The boy was not smiling. There was a strained, glassy look on his face. His breath was short and ragged. Suddenly she realized the boy was teetering over a chasm of orgasm. She turned her back and tried to be business-like as she removed her hat. While the boy was gasping and panting to regain his cool, she patted her ash blonde hair back in place. Should have worn a wig, she told herself. It would have been an ace in the hole when this progressive strip finally got down to fundamentals. She wondered how many articles of clothing the boy wore. Who would end up nude first?
This is crazy, she thought. The boy's ready to cum just because I took my hat and shoes off? He could see more on the street every day. But of course she knew why the boy was so excited. He was excited for the same reason she was having trouble controlling her ragged breathing. The excitement was not from what they were seeing. It was from what they were going to see. She supposed the boy too was wondering how many pieces of clothing she had on. More or fewer than he? It didn't really make any difference, she knew, because they would soon both end up naked. But for reasons she couldn't explain, it was terribly and mind-blowingly exciting right then. She finished patting her hair straight and turned to face the boy.
He began pulling off a sock. When he finally straightened to stand with one bare foot, she started taking off her jacket. The boy gasped.
CHAPTER FOUR
She couldn't quite understand why. Beneath the jacket she wore a long-sleeved, high-collared blouse. Every day in the kitchen the boys could get a better view of her thirty-six 'C cups. Anticipation, she supposed. She wondered if the boy's cock would turn out to be worth waiting for. They had four hours. So far she had wasted less than five minutes. She raised her arms over her head for a moment to draw the blouse tight over her firm jugs. The boy's eyes gleamed. She saw his arms curve out to grab her but she danced away in time.
The boy controlled himself. He bent over and pulled off his other sock. He straightened to face her with a faint look of triumph.
Soon Pam knew, things would get to the sticky stage. Already she was getting past the stage of nonessentials. Who would end up naked first? She had removed her hat, her gloves, her shoes. She wished that she had thought to wear a slip beneath the blouse, but....Too late now, she thought and sighed. She began unbuttoning the high necked blouse with its faint hint of frill down the front.
The boy waited silent and barefoot, still clad in shirt and trousers and Christ knew how many layers of underwear and jockstraps. She glanced up from her unbuttoning and-Damn!
She had forgotten the boy's vest. She wondered if she ought to cheat. What would happen if she lost-if she ended up totally nude and exposed before this partially clad boy? Nothing much, she guessed. Surely the boy would continue undressing. It was only a game. And he couldn't very well do what he had come there to do unless he finished undressing ... so why was she so nervous?
Slipping back into her Mona Lisa smile, she slipped out of the blouse. Big deal, she told herself. Her bra was clean and serviceable. And covered twice as much as lots of bikinis. But it was still just a bra. The boy's eyes never left the curve of her tits as he unbuttoned his blouse and slipped out of it.
Pam wondered what to do next. She wished that she hadn't put on a girdle she didn't even need. It was an absurd garment and wouldn't improve her appearance any. Should have worn a slip instead. Rather than take off her skirt and pose before the boy in a girdle, she turned her back and reached up under her skirt until she could get her thumbs under the edges of the offending garment and roll it down past her hips. She turned back toward the boy as it fell to her ankles. Quickly, she caught it with a toe and kicked it. The girdle fell behind a chair.
The boy began unbuttoning his shirt. Pam gave a mental sigh as she saw that, despite the graduation weather, the boy had worn an undershirt too beneath his jacket, vest and shirt. He pulled the shirt from his trousers and for a moment she thought he was going to toss it with the same abandon she had devoted to ridding herself of a girdle. Then he caught himself and folded the shirt carefully atop the growing pile of his clothes.
She studied his thin, dark-skinned body and tried to guess what his cock would look like. It would nestle in curly dark hair, darker than that on his head, she was sure. She wondered if it would be long and straight with a big tip. Or would it be thick like a bludgeon? She wondered if the boy would be circumcised. She wondered if those dark good looks could possibly be Jewish. The boy looked vaguely Mediterranean. He could be Greek, Italian, Spanish, Arab-anything. She hoped he would be a good fuck.
Suddenly she realized the boy was waiting for her to take something else off. She still had on her bra, her skirt, pantyhose and a separate pair of bikini panties underneath them. How would that stack up with the boy's inventory? Which should she shed first-skirt or pantyhose? Which would be the most seductive?
She could take off her skirt and end all the mystery for then the boy would know immediately just how much was left. She turned her back to him again momentarily and got her thumbs up under the tops of her pantyhose. Turning back to face him, she began working them carefully down over the bulge of her hips.
Her skirt was hiked up nearly to home base but not quite high enough, she hoped, to let the boy know about her ace in the hole. Working slowly and with infinite care, she eased the gossamer fabric down past her hips, down her thighs until it ballooned in a wispy cloud around her ankles. She squatted to free her feet and from the corner of her eye saw that once more the boy was having trouble controlling' his hands. She moved imperceptibly just before he managed to grab her and straightened with the pantyhose in her hands. She spent a moment straightening them before she placed them atop her pile of clothing.
She looked at the boy. His choice was simple. Either he took off his undershirt or his pants. He peeled off his white cotton skivvy shirt and placed it atop his pile of clothes. Standing before her with his trousers still on, he waited. He knew now that he was going to win. Either she took off her bra or she took off her skirt. Either way he was still wearing his pants.
Still smiling her Mona Lisa smile, Pam found the button to her skirt. The boy's eyes bugged as he realized he was going to be treated with a glimpse of her cunt before he saw her tits. She pulled the zipper gently downward and let go of the skirt. Like a statue unveiling, it slid to her ankles, leaving her bottom still hidden behind a pair of bikini panties.
She almost laughed at the look of transparent disappointment when the boy saw he had been over-optimistic. He hesitated so long with his trousers that she wondered if he was not wearing any underwear. Then finally he began fiddling with his buckle. A moment later, blushing a dull pink, he stepped from his trousers. She could see a tremendous stiffness extending the front of his Jockey shorts. No wonder the boy was blushing. Suddenly Pam was having trouble with her own hands. She wanted to abandon this silly game, to tear the boy's shorts off, to pull him down on top of her, to help him guide his tallywhacker inside her, help him get at least one or two frantic lunges into her before he exploded into blurting, spurting cum. She took a deep breath and controlled herself. The boy was down to his last garment. She was down to her last two.
She wondered which she ought to take off first. Bra or panties? She wondered which part of a woman was best calculated to turn a boy on. Surely there was nothing really attractive about a triangular shaped bush of curly hair. But if there was nothing attractive about it, then why was she panting to see what lay behind the boy's Jockey shorts?
She reached behind her with that flexible woman's movement that no man can duplicate without breaking his arms and began unlatching her brassiere. She let it fall and the garment dangled loose in front of her, still concealing her firmly upstanding thirty-sixes.
The boy was having trouble with his breathing again. Suddenly she realized he was not breathing at all. She saw his Jockey shorts twitch as that bulge struggled to escape their confines. The boy's eyes remained glued to her dangling bra. She gave a slight shrug and the bra slid slowly down her arms. The boy released a long-held, shuddering breath. "Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!" he sighed.
She posed before the boy for a moment, then raised her arms and put them behind her head. The movement made her firm, small-nippled jugs point even more defiantly skyward. The boy gasped again. He moved blindly toward her but she danced aside. The boy returned to his senses and realized the game was not yet over. With his whole body blushing a dull brick color, he began pulling his Jockey shorts down over the bulge. It was Pam's turn to have trouble breathing.
She had not seen too many men's cocks, but Pam had always had a healthy curiosity. She had seen the pictures in certain magazines which only later she had learned were mostly sold to a certain kind of man and not to women. None of the photos had ever shown a cock of such pristine magnificence as this boy's phenomenal phallus. But of course, she realized the photos she had seen were not in full-blown erection. In her entire life she had seen only three hard-ons. Four, counting this boy's prime specimen.
His cock was just as she had imagined it would be. He couldn't be Jewish, she realized, unless her sketchy information was wrong. But his full foreskinned cock was long and straight, with a well-flanged head that peeped eagerly from the stretched tip of his prepuce. The head of his cock was rather pointed, like a spear head-or like the heads of certain vipers, she realized with a delicious chilling thrill. It extended from a nest of curly black hair, standing out from his thin, hard-muscled belly at a jaunty angle, jouncing gently up and down in time to the twin beats of his heart and his rapid breathing. The boy watched her watching his cock. Gradually the brick red blush left his body.
They faced each other in pregnant silence, neither quite able to talk. Finally the boy gestured at her bikini panties. "Ain't you gonna take 'em off?"
"It's your turn to take something off," she said and laughed.
"No it isn't. I just did."
Abruptly Pam realized the boy was right. He had taken off the last article of clothing. It was her turn. She had to remove her panties before she could challenge him to remove something else even if it should turn out that he had nothing else to remove. Should have worn earrings, she told herself, but it's too late now. Slipping back into her Mona Lisa smile, she began pulling the bikini panties gently down past the bulge of her hips.
The boy's eyes remained riveted to her, straining for the first glimpse of hair. She wondered if he was sophisticated to wonder if it would be a different hue from the ash blonde of her head. Missed another bet, she told herself. Should've worn a wig too. But Pam's hair had always been enough, and she couldn't stand the confining feel of a wig.
Besides, her bikini panties had slipped and settled to her ankles now. They were on even terms again, both naked. She started to stoop for the panties, then saw the boy's arms curving to grab her. Instead she caught them with her toe and sailed them across the room with a high kick that quite astonished the boy. She wondered if he thought forty-year-old women were all refugees from wheelchairs.
And now, she asked herself, what next? The whole strip-tease had not taken more than fifteen minutes. They still had three hours and forty-five minutes to kill. She didn't want to kill them all with one quick lunge. If what she had read in the women's magazines, which nowadays seemed able to run any kind of crotch opus they wanted so long as it was accompanied by the picture of somebody in a white coat with an M.D.-if what she had read in those magazines was true, boys of his age were like firecrackers, extremely short fused, very easy to set off, and strictly single shot.
Pam wondered what she could do to draw it out. She wanted to grab this delicious hunk of masculinity, put her arms around him, kiss him, cuddle him, feel his hard young body, spread her legs and feel that firm young flesh drive deep into her, but....She wanted it to happen, to happen again and to keep on happening. If the boy wasn't even going to get it halfway in before he came, she might as well have kept her clothes on and gone downtown the way she had planned.
Downtown to what? Surely to nothing half as interesting as this slim, dark-skinned naked boy facing her in her own room. The boy looked at her and licked his lips. He stepped toward her. Pam wanted to open her arms and embrace him, to draw that slim hard maleness to her. But she could tell from the jerking throb of his untried cock that if he so much as rubbed its thumping tip against her naked body, there would be a sudden cataclysm. The boy's cock would spurt hard jets of jizz across the room, splat on the wall. And once he was emptied of his load of love's elixir-then what?
If he was like most boys of his age he would be drained, ashamed, wanting only to grab his clothes and flee. She wondered if she could somehow keep him there long enough for the revival of desire, until his eager young cock could grow again and try once more to assuage the needs of her already damp honeypot.
It was too risky. Once the boy came there was no telling what he would do. Besides-that hard-on was too good to waste in the air. Pam wracked her mind searching for a way to cool the boy, to remove him from the priapic precipice of explosion. She could think of no way that would not be so painful it might turn the boy off her forever.
The boy reached for her. She stepped aside. "What's wrong?" he asked in a thick, strained voice.
"Are you man enough to do it?" she asked. "What do you think?"
"I honestly don't know," Pam said. Then following a sudden inspiration, she continued, "It's messy and dangerous, you know."
"What is?"
"What do you want to do with me?"
The boy couldn't bring himself to say that forbidden word in front of a woman.
They sparred for another moment. Then finally she said, "Come sit beside me on the couch."
The boy was disappointed but he decided half a loaf was better than none. He followed her and sat beside her. His hard-on stuck straight up in the air. Pam almost laughed. The boy tried unsuccessfully to cross his legs over it. Finally after all that fiddling had nearly made him cum, he gave up and let it point defiantly skyward. Once more his whole body turned a dull brick red hue. Pam waited a moment for the boy to regain control. Then gently she put her hand on his thigh.
"Don't worry," she comforted. "Everything's going to work out all right."
The boy put his hand on her thigh.
CHAPTER FIVE
Pam felt her insides turn to water. Then abruptly she was surrounded with water clear up to her neck. She was still in the sunken bath with the Jacuzzi blowing its bubbly whirlpool between her thighs. The water was beginning to cool. How long, she wondered, have I been soaking here, daydreaming about something that's never happened-never will happen?
She turned off the Jacuzzi and in the sudden silence could hear the assorted creaks and groans of the furnace. She stood and was all wobbly from her prolonged immersion in scalding water. Thank God there's nobody around, she thought. She wondered if she was sagging. Sure as hell her feet would be wrinkled from the long soak. She pulled the plug and staggered over to the towel rack. She felt rather than heard the slight pressure change as a door opened somewhere.
"Oops, sorry," a man's voice said. The door was closed again before she could even look up.
Fine, she thought. Somebody's skied or snowshoed up here and now he's seen me in the altogether. It couldn't have been when I was at my best. Had to be when I was all weak and wobbly, probably sagging like a grandmother. And naturally it would be with no make-up, with my hair all stringy....
Oh, well. Pam knew she was never going to make out with any of those astronomers anyway. They were all too old-in their early twenties at least. Boys that age were too busy making out with chicks of their own age to bother with any forty-year-old woman, no matter how well built she might be. Pam dried herself off and suddenly realized she had walked the whole length of the building without a robe.
She wondered if she had been so positive that she was alone on the mountain top, or if something deep inside her subconscious had wanted her to get caught like this. Where had the intruder gone? She wished she had been quick enough to see who it was. There was only one way through this building. From here she had to go out through the men's dormitory, then through the lounge and dining hall, through the kitchen and into her room. There were no short cuts. Nor was there any way she could avoid bumping into the young man unless she stayed there forever.
The towel was not quite big enough to wrap around her like a sarong. She finished drying and wrapped it around her hips. Carefully, she opened the door from bath to dorm. Maybe she could grab a sheet. Then she remembered she had stripped the beds clean. Even the blankets were airing outside in one of the tool sheds. Damn!
But at least the dorm was empty. She wondered if the young man was as embarrassed as she. Probably even more so. He wouldn't mind getting an inadvertent peek at a young woman, but ... Shit! Pam suddenly realized she was feeling sorry for herself.
So she was forty. Forty wasn't the end of the world. Mae West hadn't even started her film career till she was over forty. And Pam knew from the evidence of her mirror, and from the stares and occasional whistles down in civilization that she still had a few years left. So he had caught her at a bad moment. Either he was interested and would be hanging around somewhere to catch another glimpse of her-or he wasn't.
With the towel slantwise around her hips, she threw her shoulders back, her tits up and out, and strode proudly through the empty dorm into the dining hall. With an acute sense of anticlimax, she realized there was nobody there. She tried not to analyze whether it was relief or disappointment that made her sigh. Without breaking stride, she passed through the dining hall into the kitchen. Still nothing stared at her apart from the mirror-like bottoms of hanging pots and pans.
I'll bet he's waiting in my room. But she knew it was wishful thinking. She stepped into her room and found it empty. Sighing once more, she collapsed on the narrow bed.
Who had it been? For all she knew it might be one of the baldheads. Astronomers were weird. She wouldn't put it past one of those old men to brave the drifts and ski up there-especially if he happened to be in the middle of something he considered important. She considered what that might mean in other terms. She sighed again. One of the assistant directors was well into his seventies and she had heard the younger men marvel at how he could still chase a coed around a desk. But not a forty-year-old woman. He had never looked twice at Pam anyway. She wondered momentarily if she ought to kill herself. Then she decided to do something better. She put her hair in rollers against the next time the intruder might show up. Then she went to bed to sleep away the flabbiness of a prolonged hot bath.
And once in bed she closed her eyes and did her best to get back to that boy's school, back to graduation day when she and the slim dark fourteen-year-old had managed to find four hours to themselves, had spent fifteen minutes of it undressing, and now sat side by side naked on her couch. It seemed a good place to be.
Somewhere in the building she heard a door slam. Whoever had caught her in the bath had gone outside, probably to one of the telescope domes for a decent interval so she could escape. Now he was back inside the living quarters. Suddenly she came to her senses. Whoever it was, he had done nothing wrong. The poor boy was probably tired after a trip through the snow. And surely hungry. Also, he would probably want to sleep sooner or later. And he would have no way of knowing where she had hidden all the bedding.
She got out of bed and began dressing. Then she realized he might be far more embarrassed than she. She stuck her head out the door and yelled, "Just a minute."
Moments later she had her hair in a towel and her slim muscular body in a terry-cloth robe. "Blankets are airing out in the tool shed," she called as she came out the door. "I'll fix you something to eat."
There was an answer she didn't quite get and the door slammed again. Pam glanced at the clock. It was nearly seven in the evening. Well past breakfast time for an astronomer. She considered. He would probably be hungry enough to eat anything. She lit the griddle and began making pancakes. While bacon and eggs fried, she made coffee. Suddenly she realized it was breakfast time for her too. When had she last eaten?
Like many women who live alone, Pam was forgetful about eating. To her mild surprise she realized it had been over twenty-four hours since she had eaten anything. She poured more batter on the griddle. She was just finishing when she heard the door open again. A man in quilted parka came through, his face obscured by a tremendous armload of blankets. Without looking toward the kitchen, he trotted through the dining hall into the dorm. A moment later he came out minus blankets and parka.
"You!" It came out involuntarily. Pam stared at the thin, dark, boyish figure before her and suddenly realized whence came the inspiration for the boy in her daydream. "You didn't come up here all alone, did you?"
"Sure." It was the boy genius.
Pam had run college boarding houses before and was familiar with the usual chess-playing, bespectacled misfit who entered college at fourteen and took his doctorate a couple of years later. She felt sorry for them. So, she guessed, did everybody else, including the boy geniuses.
But this one was different. In the week that he had been there before the Christmas foul-up, he had struck her as a perfectly normal fourteen-year-old who had won a telescope-building contest in some astronomy magazine and was now collecting his reward.
"Do your parents know you made the trip alone?" It was at least fifteen miles down to the nearest plowed land.
"Sure," the boy said. "I've hiked a lot in snow country."
Pam guessed he was an unusual fourteen-year-old after all. He was an inch shorter than she, clear skinned, dark and handsome as he had been in her daydream. She caught herself wondering if those parts she couldn't see would fulfill her dream expectations.
The boy suddenly acted his age when he stammered and blushed. "I'm sorry I came in without knocking," he said.
Pam's back was turned. She finished putting food on the table. She brought the coffee pot then remembered. "Maybe you'd prefer milk?"
"I like coffee," the boy said. He began eating as if he had never tasted pancakes before. Pam sat across from him and tried to concentrate on her plate. Instead she kept wondering what the boy would look like without his clothes on. Would his cock be as big as she had imagined it? Suddenly she realized the boy was studying her too. She wondered how good a look he had gotten at her body in the instant before he had closed the door. Had she even been facing him? She couldn't remember. She knew she had just emerged from the tub, that she had been dripping wet and reaching for a towel. She wondered if she had been posed in profile with arms raised to show off the firm, upward-pointing line of her tits.
There was a sudden charged silence. "I really didn't mean to do it," the boy said.
Pam tried to shrug it off but a sudden rising excitement made her afraid to speak. What, she wondered, was the right thing to say? She took a breath and got her excitement under control. "You act as if you'd never seen a woman before," she said in what she hoped was a casual voice.
"Oh, sure," the boy said. "I got a house full of sisters."
Pam wondered why she was disappointed. Trying to make conversation, she asked. "Big or little?"
"Both. I got a sister nineteen, one sixteen, and one nine."
Pam guessed the boy was thoroughly inured to the sight of naked females in and out of the bath. Which made her unprepared for his next remark.
"None of them are as pretty as you."
Excitement shot through her as she realized the implications of the boy's remark. He was young, clear skinned, just of the threshhold of manhood. And he was alone with her on top of this mountain. She felt her insides do a little flip-flop as something in there prepared for action. But the rest of her knew it was impossible. Think of the consequences....
"Did you meet any of the others coming in?" she asked.
The boy shook his head. "I called Dr. Holmes," he said. "And he said nobody'd come up until the road was plowed out."
Pam waited.
"So I decided it would be a good time to get the Schmidt refractor all to myself."
Pam almost laughed. Of all the things a lonely woman could dream up....The boy was looking at her oddly. "Not really," he added. "I knew the refractor was here but Dr. Holmes said you were all alone here too. I wanted to make sure you were all right."
"Didn't you know I have a telephone and a radio in case something goes wrong?"
The boy's face fell. "I thought we'd be all alone," he said, disappointedly.
Suddenly Pam was cautious. It sounded too good to be true. She was afraid to ask why. Probably he liked her cooking, was hoping she would bake him cakes or some such idiotic waste of time when a male and a female were alone together on top of a mountain.
The phone rang. Pam jumped. She had assumed the lines would be down after a storm like this. She picked it up and answered. It was Dr. Holmes. "Did the boy show up yet?" he asked.
"A moment ago," Pam said. "Do you want to talk to him?"
"Not really," the director said and laughed. "Just wanted to reassure his parents. Everything all right up there?"
"Yes."
"Probably be a few days," the director added. "Weather says it's going to snow some more tonight, so I don't imagine they'll even try to plow it out."
"I'll let you know if anything goes wrong," Pam said.
"Fine. I'm sure you'll have no problem keeping the boy amused."
While Pam was wondering guiltily if the director could read her mind, he hung up. Then she realized the old man meant telescopes and not the kind of amusement she had had in mind. She was going to have to watch herself. She wondered if other people ever indulged in the kind of daydreaming that seemed to to obsess her of late. Probably not, she guessed. Most people were getting all the fucking they wanted. Except maybe a precocious fourteen-year-old boy surrounded by college girls too old for him to date....
From the corner of her eye she glanced at the boy who sat at the table still mopping up pancakes and bacon. Abruptly she realized the boy was studying her too, reading the lines of her body inside the terry-cloth robe, filling in the blanks from the memory of that one brief glimpse as she came from the bath. She wished she had worn something different. But it was too late. Besides, when girls went off to "slip into something more comfortable" it was an accepted part of the convention that they not be in a robe already. Too bad her closet was not filled with satin peignoirs like her imagination.
"Do you want anything else?" she asked. From the boy's quick glance she knew that he knew.
"No thanks," he said, and sipped coffee.
"That was Dr. Holmes," she explained. "Wanted to know if you'd gotten here all right. I wonder what got into him to let a boy your age go off alone in a storm like this."
"He didn't let me," the boy explained. "I left a note."
"Oh." There was another pregnant pause. "He said it's going to snow again. We may be stuck here for days before anybody else shows up."
"Yeaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!"
Suddenly Pam felt that quickening inside her again as her whole body prepared for something wonderful. She didn't know when or how, but she was sure that sooner or later it was going to happen.
Just like her dream.
CHAPTER SIX
"Was that for the telescope or for me?" she asked.
"Both." The boy hesitated a moment, then after a choked moment managed, "You're prettier than any of my sisters. Prettier than any girl I know."
"I'm not exactly a girl any more," Pam said. "
"Well, you know what I mean anyway."
Pam could feel the excitement rising inside her. She knew something very interesting was going to have to happen soon. But did she have any control over it? She wondered if she was reading things into a fourteen-year-old boy's mind that might not really be there. Chances were he was more interested in telescopes and erector sets than he was in women. What could she do to change that? Why, she wondered, hadn't she thought to put on something more attractive than her awful terry-cloth robe?
Then she realized the loose robe might be the best thing after all. The boy's imagination could fill in missing details from the one quick glimpse he had caught of her nude body. And it didn't require a genius to guess she had nothing on underneath the robe.
He was still studying her from where he sat at the table. She shrugged but this robe would not slip open to reveal her cleavage as did the satin peignoir in her daydream of a half-hour earlier. She tried to remind herself that this was real, that there really was a dark-haired, smooth-skinned boy there looking at her, that it was not all just another daydream.
She had wished and dreamed so much it was hard to separate fact from fantasy. She wasn't sure it was all really happening or not. She tried to put it back together. First the boy had come scratching on her door in Levi's and T-shirt. Something had gone wrong and the next time he had been there in a dark suit, all spiffed up for graduation. And now he was back in ski boots and sweater. She hoped this time it was for real. He had surprised her in the tub-startled her from one vivid dream.
Still the boy stared at her. She suspected he was as eager as she, but....As long as she could remember Pam had been eager, but she had also been so painfully shy she had known she would never actually approach anybody. Instead she would waste her life in dead-end jobs, dead-end marriages-well, at least she was out of that trap....
The boy's lips moved.
"What?" she asked.
"Uh-"
Pam felt the excitement build inside her. If only he would say something. If only they could bring it out into the open and admit to one another what they really wanted. All this wonderful time going to waste when they could be undressing one another, could be exploring each other's bodies....
The boy licked his lips and tried again. "Uh, could you tell me where the sheets are?" he asked. Shot down again! Pam strode off down the dining hall to the locker by the dorm door. She found a pair of sheets and a pillow case. "Want me to make your bed?" she asked.
"I can do it."
Suddenly she realized the boy looked very tired. Fifteen miles uphill on skis for a fourteen-year-old and she had expected him to assault her, tear her clothes off and force his raging masculinity into her. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "You look tired," she said. "Why don't you go in there and have your shower and by the time you're ready to come out, I'll have your bed ready."
"All right."
She tried to read something into the boy's voice. It was no use. She didn't know what he was thinking. A moment before she knew there had been desire in his eyes when he looked at her, but ... he must really be exhausted.
While the boy was in the bath, she made his bed. Firmly, she resisted the temptation to hang around and make a fool of herself. Before the boy could come out of the bath, she went off to her own end of the building. She turned out the lights, took off her terry-cloth robe, and climbed naked into her narrow bed.
Of course she was going to sleep. She wished for a sleeping pill but she didn't have any. Besides, she guessed, she had problems enough in her life without sleeping pills. She closed her eyes in the darkness and squirmed around until she was as comfortable as a woman could be in a narrow, lonely bed.
She tried to put the boy genius out of her mind, to replace him with the fantasy version who had come knocking on her door one afternoon all dressed up in black shoes and a dark suit. If she remembered rightly, they had both finally gotten their clothes off in a dead heat. A very live heat, she amended. They were sitting naked side by side on her couch and the boy had just put his hand on her thigh.
Pam remembered how, in the bath with the Jacuzzi massaging her pussy, she had felt herself nearly swoon with excitement at the sensation of that smooth, dark hand touching the tender inner surface of her well-turned thigh. Now, unfortunately, the real thing had come along and spoiled it all. She knew she would never be able to slip back into the dream now-not with the knowledge that there was a living, breathing, hot-blooded, real boy there in the same building with her, alone and exhausted in his bed after wasting all that perfectly good energy climbing a mountain.
She tried other dreams on for size. None of them fit. She thought about getting up for another cup of coffee but it wasn't worth the effort. And then quite unexpectedly, she went to sleep.
When she woke she knew immediately something was wrong. At first she thought-hoped the boy was trying to sneak into her room, into her bed. But it was nothing like that. After a second she realized that despite all the blankets piled on her bed, she was cold. She truck her head out from under the covers and-Good God! The furnace must've gone out!
It was colder than Nixon's conscience. She turned on the light and reached for her robe, then realized she might have to go outside for tools or something. She found thermal underwear and a sweatshirt. She pulled on heavy knee-length stockings and got into ski pants and a sweater. She struggled into boots and a parka, then began hunting a flashlight.
She found it in the kitchen. She went out into the dining hall. No heat there either. She wondered if the boy was freezing too. Then she remembered the tremendous armload of blankets he had brought in. Probably the boy was sound asleep beneath a dozen blankets the way she ought to be. But Pam knew she couldn't just find a few more blankets and go back to sleep. It was probably snowing again outside. If she didn't get the furnace working again soon, pipes would freeze and life up there on the mountain top would suddenly be life without flush toilets, running water, or hot baths. And she didn't want to spend the next week or two wrapped in a dozen layers of clothing.
Suddenly without even looking, she knew what was wrong with the heater. It had some kind of a safety gadget that made it go out if the vent plugged up-something to keep all the astronomers from being asphyxiated. Could the snow be that deep already? If it was she was going to need help. She was going toward the dorm when the boy came out, pulling heavy clothing over his pajamas.
"There's a shovel next to my skis in the doorway," he said. "Tie a line around me and give me the flashlight."
"Do you know what's wrong?" Pam asked.
"It's got to be snow. One of the guys showed me where they keep extra pipe out in the tool shed."
"Extra pipe?"
"They can't have the chimney too high because the wind keeps knocking it down, but when the snow gets deep enough you're supposed to pull the cap off the end of the stovepipe and put an extra length on."
"Oh." Pamela wondered what she would have done out there alone in the snow trying to find the chimney top. This was the first time she had been caught in a storm up there. While she was pondering, the boy took the flashlight from her. He tied a length of rope around his waist and went outside. There was a vertical wall of snow a yard from the door. He ran at it several times before he managed to fight his way to the top. "Now hand me up my skis," he said.
Minutes passed. Pam stood in the doorway staring into the inky blackness. It was still snowing, but thank God the wind wasn't blowing. She heard muffled, clanging sounds. More minutes passed, then she saw a flicker of light. Some time later the boy reappeared overhead. He handed down his skis, then slid down to land before her in a flurry of loose snow. "You can light it now," he said.
They went inside. Pam found a wad of paper and wet it with stove oil. She fastened it to a yard-long wire and lit it. The furnace did not ignite with the usual eyebrow-searing "whump" when she stuck the flame into it. For a while she was afraid it wasn't going to light at all. Finally the cold oil in the pan began blazing feebly. It sizzled like frying bacon as snow melted and trickled down the flue. Then suddenly the plugged flue was open again and the fire began roaring.
"Be a couple of hours before the place warms up again," the boy said. "Boy, is it ever cold out there!" He blew on his fingers.
"Would you like some hot chocolate?"
The boy gave her a side-long look. "Don't you have anything stronger?"
"Like what?"
"Like about a double shot of whiskey or rum in some black coffee."
Though he was only fourteen, the boy seemed to be displaying remarkably good sense, Pam decided. She rummaged about and found half a fifth of bourbon. While the furnace roared and the long, low building clicked and moaned from rising warmth, they sat facing each other sipping hot coffee and booze.
"Aaaaaaahhhhhh!" the boy said. "Now if I could just soak a while in a hot bath."
Pam peeled off her parka. Already it was beginning to warm up inside. She could feel her own insides warming, too, from the drink. "I guess we could both use one." It wasn't until after she had said it that she realized what she had said.
The boy gave her a quick look. Pam felt that old excitement start to rise within her again. She wondered if they were thinking about the same thing. And if they were, was the boy really willing? She was afraid to come out with it-afraid she might scare him off. They both knew there was only one tub. They both knew he had seen her climb naked from it only hours ago.
"You want to go too?" the boy asked.
Pam didn't trust herself to speak. She nodded.
"Together?"
Suddenly the thrill of excitement rose so high she thought she was going to faint. Then abruptly she realized the sunken tub was actually big enough for two. More like a miniature swimming pool actually. She would have to be very careful. She still didn't know for sure whether the boy was up there for a look at a telescope or a look at her ass. She forced her voice into a careful neutrality. "If you'd like," she said.
"Oh, boy!" He put down his cup and raced for the men's bath. Pam put down her cup and followed, stopping only to gather an armload of towels.
By the time she reached the bathroom the boy had started filling the sunken tub. The furnace was working overtime and the room was almost liveable. She supposed in another half hour the whole building would be warm as ever. She took off her boots. The boy was already undressing. He was down to his pajamas before she got it through her bemused mind that this was not going to be any slow striptease this time. Nor would she have the control over a real live boy that she had exercised over her fantasies and daydreams of a few hours ago. The boy didn't hesitate when he reached his pajamas. Peeling them off, he slid down into the tub with one lithe motion.
Which left Pam sitting on the little bench beside the tub, still wearing God knew how many piled-on garments. She was starting to get warm with all the steam. Abruptly she realized she was not cold at all. But the boy was. And she had to break the ice somehow. The boy had invited her into the tub with him. He had taken off all his clothes. She reminded herself that he had grown up in a houseful of sisters. Even though he was only fourteen, this kid wasn't going to blow his mind at the sight of a nude woman. Pam began pulling off her knee-length socks.
"Aaaaaaahhhhhh!" the boy said.
She felt the heat more. From outside. From inside as the whiskied coffee and her rising expectations combined to send a warm glow of anticipation through her lithe, hard-muscled body. She tore off the ski pants and sweat shirt. She slipped out of the thermal underwear, mentally comparing this lightning operation with the slow, almost formal undressing of her dream boy who so resembled this handsome dark fourteen-year-old in the tub beneath her. Suddenly she realized he wasn't even watching her!
I'll kill myself, she thought. But instead she finished peeling off the long-handled thermal underwear. She stopped for an instant to pose before the boy in bra and bikini panties.
"Wow!" the boy said. She had his full attention now.
Slowly, Pam began unhooking her bra.
The boy lay up to his neck in water, watching as she reached behind her to unfasten the bra. Finally she had the hooks loose. She shrugged and the straps came down to hook in her elbows.
"Wow!" the boy repeated. "Even my biggest sister hasn't got a pair like that!"
This is for real, Pam told herself. I'm not daydreaming. I'm really here and that's a fourteen-year-old boy in the tub and he's naked and I'm undressing right in front of him and I'm already down to my panties. It's really happening! She felt like pinching herself. She had run through this kind of scene so many times she was still plagued with a nagging suspicion that just when things got good she was going to wake up alone in a cold, narrow bed.
But she had already done that a while ago. There was a subtle change in the background noise and she realized the furnace had clicked off. Before she could worry it came back on again. She supposed it would be hours before the heating system's thermostat stopped 'hunting' and settled down to a nice even seventy-five. How long would it be before she settled down. If she were five years older Pam would have sworn she was getting hot flashes.
Her whole belly was radiating great shimmering waves of lust as she thought of what was going to happen before this night was ended. She tried to calm down and think clearly. Surely there was no backing out now. The boy was naked. She was one thin strip of nylon away from nakedness. She got her thumbs under the edge of her bikini panties and began pulling them gently down over the bulge of her hips. The boy's eyes never left her. She heard his sudden intake of breath as her slow-as-an-hour-hand movement uncovered the top edge of her pubic triangle. She wondered if the boy was as turned-on as she or if he was only surprised to discover that her ash blonde was a natural color.
She felt the lips of her snatch quiver in anticipation and realized she hadn't even seen the boy's cock yet. Was it as nice as she had seen it in her dreams? She decided not to quibble. As long as he had anything down there and as long as he was willing to keep putting it into her, Pam decided she had better be willing to take it.
Slowly the nylon panties passed the point of no return and hung loose about her thighs, held up only by some hairy tangle in her crotch. She spread her legs slightly and the panties parachuted to the tile floor. Pam posed a moment longer, then stepped as gracefully as she could into the sunken tub.
"Wow!" the boy repeated.
Pam sunk slowly into the water at the opposite end of the tub. She felt her toes touch his. They sat solemnly looking at one another, two disembodied heads on the surface of the gently rippling water. She thanked whatever gods were appropriate that it was not as hot as she had had it the last time. With care she could exit this bath without any sagging exhaustion. Providing she didn't get too carried away with other things. The boy's hand captured her foot and drew her gently toward him.
As the water swirled through her crotch, Pam tried once more to remind herself that this was not just another dream. This was for real. She was really naked in this tub, with a lithe, clear-skinned fourteen-year-old grabbing her by the foot, pulling her toward the slim elegance of his hard muscled body. It was too good to be true.
She closed her eyes tight and opened them again. The boy was still there. The furnace clicked off, hesitated a moment, and went back on again. She supposed it would be hours before the walls and furniture were warmed to a comfortable level again, but the building was already liveable. The boy seemed to have recovered from his chill too. Then abruptly he gave a tremendous shudder.
"Cold?" she asked.
"I guess so," he said. "I'm just starting to get warm enough to know how cold I was." He still held her foot and was drawing her slowly toward him.
Pam opened her thighs and felt his legs work in between hers-everything ghostly and unreal as she half floated in the deep tub. She thought about turning on the Jacuzzi but its noise and turbulence would ruin the dream-like quality of this happy soak. She wanted to grab the boy's cock, but....
What was wrong with her? she wondered. Here she was in the same tub with the boy. They were both naked. Yet she was still afraid to touch him-afraid some spell might be broken and the wonderful things she knew were going to come might not be there after all. She closed her eyes tight once more. Surreptitiously she pinched herself under water where the boy would not see. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, she could not be sure this was not just another Technicolor daydream. She breathed a silent prayer that it would not come to an abrupt end like some of her other fantasies.
She remembered suddenly that one very interesting daydream had been interrupted by the appearance of this marvelous clear-skinned boy with the curly black hair. What, she wondered, would happen if some other of the young men who worked here might decide to get some extra telescope time for one of his pet projects?
Pam knew if she were to be caught this way, naked in the tub with a fourteen-year-old boy, there would be no way of explaining it. She could live down being caught alone in a tub, but this....Suddenly she didn't want to grab the boy's cock or settle down astraddle his lap or any of the other little games they might play in a tubful of warm water. All she wanted was to get out before somebody walked in and caught them.
As if reading her mind, the boy wiggled around and tripped the drain gadget with his toe. Calm returned momentarily to her. Instead of leaping from the tub and grabbing a towel, she surrendered to the desire to see what would happen as the water lowered in the tub. By mutual consent they drifted apart and ended up sitting, facing one another from opposite ends of the sunken tub. She felt the soles of her feet touch his. He wiggled a toe against her and the minuscule bodily contact between them sent a totally disproportionate thrill up her spinal column.
Suddenly she was ravenous-wanting to leap atop him, stuff his still unseen cock into her ready quiff, ride him like a nightmare until he had surrendered the last full measure of masculinity to her throbbing need.
She struggled and after a moment could control herself again. Slowly the water drained from the tub. It was down now to the boy's chest, revealing the prick-stiffening curve of her breasts as it descended nearly to her nipples. The boy's eyes were getting that look again. She tried to see down but the water was rippling from their accelerated breathing and she could only imagine the rock-hardness of his swollen cock. It was amazing. They had reached this stage of intimacy and still she hadn't seen it.
But from the boy's glistening eyes she could imagine it easily enough. A boy this handsome just had to possess a cock to match. It would be long, uncircumcised, with a well-developed scrotum protecting a pair of bollocks worthy of such a stabber. The boy's quiff-splitter would be long, straight, with a head coming to a point for easy entry, with a glans penis that flared excitingly and promised to fill her with delightful sensations once he got it in.
There was only one problem. He was only fourteen. Had he ever done it before? Boys of that age could cum a fantastic number of times, but how long could they last? It was going to take skill and careful nurturing, she knew, to preserve the boy's first hard-on long enough even for him to get it decently in.
The water had descended until it unveiled the tender burgeoning curve of the sensitive undersurface of her full-blown thirty-sixes. Thank God they didn't sag! She breathed deeply and was rewarded by a new gleam in the boy's eyes as he watched her tits rise and fall, pointing their nipples jauntily toward the ceiling as she threw her shoulders back and aimed them like headlights to dazzle the boy.
She was equally fascinated with the boy's slim dark body. She had guessed wrong on one count, she saw. The boy's clear-skinned chest was as hairless as her own. She studied the dark curliness of his hair and supposed his phallus would nest in a luxuriant patch of glossy blackness. She fought down the desire to grab.
The boy's hands were curving toward her too, but she sensed in him the same odd reluctance she was feeling. She wondered what it must be like to grow up in a houseful of sisters, not daring or wanting to do with them the things a growing boy instinctively wants to do with a lush female body. It must be frustrating. Maybe even more frustrating than it had been for her to grow up an only child of aging parents who had never seemed to evince the slightest interest in anything sexual.
One of the unsolved mysteries of her childhood, once she had learned there was only one way to make a baby, was how her bespectacled, book-addicted parents had ever managed to stop reading long enough to conceive her. For a while she had entertained the usual changeling fantasies, sure this prim, aging couple could not be her real parents. They had to be a pair of hirelings who were just taking care of her until her real glamorous and full-bodied, joyously fucking parents came along. But then, little girls seldom know what happens behind locked bedroom doors.
But what would it be like for this boy to grow up surrounded by females? He must have a mother too. Was she young looking and glamorous, or had she surrendered femininity to her daughters? He had a sister nineteen and one sixteen, both older. And he had a sister nine. Three to one they would gang up on him, monopolozing the bathroom every morning, parading up and down halls in varying stages of deshabille. Probably he had grown used to the sight of forbidden bare flesh, girls on their way to or from the pool, peeling off bathing caps and bikini tops on their way to the shower. Girls brushing against him in halls, girls breaking in on him in the bathroom to rescue a forgotten jar of lotion, girls invading his room to stuff clean underwear into his drawers. What would it be like to grow up, to be fourteen and handsome, just discovering the wonderful potentialities of a man's body?
What would go on in a boy's mind if he were surrounded at this impressionable age by girls-lovely giggling, wiggling naked girls who ran up and down hallways, in and out of bathrooms and bedrooms, parading their luscious growing bodies before a 'little' boy who only yesterday had been some kind of a pet like a puppy or kitten-something one could take to bed or hold in one's lap and never think about sex.
Pam tried to go back in her own mind to the boy's age. It was said that girls matured earlier, but she doubted it. She remembered that sex to her had been 'nasty.' But it had also been something one just didn't talk about and therefore delightfully naughty and interesting. Far too interesting. She wondered what it would have been like if she could have grown up with brothers, or even sisters or parents younger, more interested in what went on in the world and who could help her over the humps of growing up.
Hump. Would she ever be able to think of even the most innocent subject without seeing double meanings? She wondered if other people were as obsessed with sex as she was. Probably not, she guessed. Most people when they felt horny just went out and got some. Why couldn't she?
She roused from her reverie to realize that after all these years, she was going to get some. This was not a daydream. She was really there, awake, breathing, living, with a live, lusting boy in the tub with her, studying her midriff as the water drained past her waist, gradually unveiling the rich curve of her belly, laying bare the deep cup of her navel.
She looked at the boy. His chest was thin but well muscled. He was going to be a Hercules when he finished growing, she could see. His shoulders formed the apex of a triangle that ended at his waist, swelling ever so slightly to the line of his thin, corded hips. Around the boy's navel grew a faint fuzz of black hair. Below she could see the beginnings of his lush pubic triangle.
Beneath the murky water was a hint of shape which had to be the tip of his swollen cock pointing lustingly toward her, aiming itself at her face just as she pointed her tits like twin searchlights toward the boy's eager visage. She knew if she moved-even smiled, the boy would lunge for her. She struggled to remain motionless. She didn't want to waste his load with a sudden frantic lunging that would leave her high and dry after his urgent rabbity plunge. She wanted to draw it out, milk it and extract the last drop of sexuality from the boy's untried body. Suddenly she realized the boy might not be as pristine as she thought. Surrounded by all that female flesh, maybe he had gone in for some experimentation. If not with his sisters, surely there were neighbor girls down the block who would not mind an expedition into the bushes with this handsome boy.
"Have you ever?" she asked.
The boy didn't pretend not to understand her. "Yeah," he said.
Pam wondered why she was so disappointed. She had read and heard all her life about men's obsession with virgins. It had never before occurred to her that women might feel the same way. She had always assumed girls would go for battle-scarred veterans of the sexual wars-men of experience who knew their way around and could think of all the old ways plus new and novel ways of pleasuring a woman.
But, Pam realized, she was not a girl. She was forty. Life had passed her by. She probably knew less about the joys of fucking than many modern girls half her age. If she were ever to learn, she had better get with it. So why was she disappointed that this boy was not a virgin? Sighing mentally, she asked, "With lots of girls?"
The boy gave a grin compounded of equal parts of shame and pure fun. "Only with my fist," he said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Pam laughed. "Living in a houseful of girls and a boy as handsome as you couldn't find anything better to do?"
The boy started to move toward her. She moved back just enough for him to get the message. The water had drained now until the tip of the boy's cock was exposed, angling from the water like a fleshy spar buoy in some harbor of earthly delights.
His eyes fastened on the top of her pubic patch, just emerging like Ararat from Noah's flood. She felt tiny tingles as individual hairs freed themselves from the ebbing water and snapped back into tightly coiled ringlets. But it wasn't water that was causing the tingle inside her. She stared avidly at the boy's gradually emerging crotch. So far her dream had been right.
The boy was uncircumcised. The foreskin of his cock was long enough to cover completely the swollen head even now with the raging explosive hard-on that made the boy's hammer thud and thump alarmingly, jerking up and down, swinging in lazy circles as it compounded the various impulses of heartbeat and the boy's ragged panting breath.
His cock was so swollen, so close to the brink of disaster that she knew a single touch would set it off. She was afraid to move-afraid the mere sight of her sinuous body uncoiling in the tub might be enough to send the hyper-excited fourteen-year-old past the point of no return, start his organ spurting, blurting and squirting its bountiful load of love's elixir all over her tits, bathing her face with love's joy irrevocably lost. She sighed and immediately repented when she saw the boy's breath quicken at the sight of her gently rising tits.
"You know what's going to happen, don't you?" she asked.
Once more she wondered if this was a real boy or just another figment of her imagination. Either her own mind was controlling him or the boy really was a genius for he never misunderstood her, no matter how far out her allusions. It was as if she were reading his mind, communicating directly without the intervention of words with their awkwardness, their double and triple meanings.
"Yes," the boy replied through clenched teeth. "I know. I wish I could hold it, but...." He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "I try to pretend it's all a dream, that you aren't really there, but I know you are. Maybe the second time...."
The boy knew even better than she that he was going to cum prematurely. He was going to cum and lose it and there wasn't anything either of them could do about it.
There was another click somewhere in the building as the furnace turned off again. She waited but it didn't come back on. She guessed the building was finally settling down to its proper temperature. At least she didn't feel chilly sitting there naked in the practically empty tub. Water oozed down her crotch and tickled her cunt. She felt perilously close to cumming herself.
The boy squirmed and hissed with the effort to control himself and she realized the ebbing water was tickling his well-furred scrotum just as it was diddling her cunt to the delicious edge of delirium. The boy was going to cum. So was she unless she could will herself to close her eyes, to pretend the boy was not there, that she was alone and sleeping in her cold narrow bed. But what was the point of that? She could sleep alone any time. Right now, what was wrong with cumming? It would be nice to cum around the firm unyielding hardness of the boy's cock, but she knew it couldn't happen. And the boy was honest enough to admit it too.
"Let's play a game," he suggested.
Pam opened her eyes and surveyed his damp nakedness. She wondered if her own well-turned body was as exciting to him as the boy's was for her.
"You know I'll never make it," the boy said. "So maybe we can play a game I play sometimes when I'm alone."
"Oh?"
"Talk it off."
Pam wondered if she was hearing right. It sounded very like something she occasionally used to fill her sleepless nights.
"Don't move," the boy continued. "If you touch me it's all over. Just talk about the things we're going to do. If you do it right...."
A tremendous excitement rose in Pam's body, filling her belly, sending Roman candles of desire up her spinal column to explode inside her brain. She felt a sudden shudder in her belly and realized that, ready or not, she was cumming already. Her insides melted, twisted, rearranged themselves in new patterns of passion and abruptly the tension was gone, leaving her only with a feeling of pleasurable anticipation and the knowledge that next time it was going to be better yet. "Ooooohhhhh!" she moaned.
"What's wrong?"
"Oooooohhhh," she repeated. "I'm afraid you just did it to me."
"Golly," the boy enthused. "Do girls cum too?"
"You better believe it," Pam said with a happy sigh. She glanced down at the boy's cock, wondering if this spate of talk had softened his explosive hard-on. It hadn't. She tried to guess what would excite a boy the most. She wondered if boy's fantasies were the same as women's-if they liked the same things. Some of her own were so far out. She was afraid they might disgust the boy instead of turning him on. She would have to feel her way, watching his cock, watching his face, trying one word at a time to see what made the boy flush and gasp with delight, what cooled him. She suspected it was going to be interesting.
"Tell me something," the boy said.
"Close your eyes."
"No. I want to look at you and know you're really here, that I'm not just dreaming it all."
"All right," Pam said. "Just keep looking at me.
Only imagine we've both gotten out of this tub. First we're standing up there on the tile facing each other and we've each got a towel. Now tell me, do you want to dry me off first or should I dry you?"
"Me!" the boy said in a strangled voice.
It was the first time she had had the slightest trouble understanding the boy. "Do you mean I dry you or you me?"
The boy hesitated, obviously changing his mind. "You do me first," he said.
Still sitting damp and naked, staring at each other in the sunken tub, Pam began. "First, I throw the towel over your head and mop your hair dry. I have to grind it around a lot and keep switching to a dry part of the towel. Then I do the back of your neck. I screw the towel into your ears and then very gently I pat your face dry."
She studied the naked boy's throbbing cock and guessed she was doing all right. At least she wasn't losing any ground. "Next," she continued, "I toss away the damp towel and I have to stoop over clear to the floor to pick up another. I don't squat. I bend down from the waist and turn my back to you and all you can see is my behind stretched tight from bending and my legs and thighs and-"
"Oooooohhhhh!" the boy moaned.
Pam smiled a secret little smile. "And when I bend over my breasts stick straight down instead of pointing up like they do now. Their undersides become less full and their upper surfaces swell. My tiny nipples swell too because I'm thinking about you and how big and hard your thing is swollen up and every time I think about what you're going to do to me my nipples get hard just like you do.
"Then I pick up the towel and I wipe your neck and your chest down to your waist. Then I walk around behind you, raising my arms like this-" Pam raised her arms over her head and reaimed her tits like twin searchlights into the boy's fascinated eyes.
The boy released a long-held, shuddering breath.
"Now I'm wiping your back, running the towel down past your waist to dry your behind. I work it in between your legs from behind, being careful not to touch anything sensitive because I don't want anything to happen that would spoil what we're going to do next.
"While I'm back there I wipe the backs of your legs clear down to your ankles." She paused a moment, then continued, "Now I'm coming back around in front where you can see me again. Every time you look at me you wish you could put your hand right here." Pam ran her hands upward in a gesture that caressed the tender under surfaces of her firm up-standing tits. She continued the gesture past her nipples, feeling them thrill into rock-hardness as her hands passed up to the top side of her defiantly skyward-pointing tits. "It must feel wonderful to do that," Pam said. "But you just wish you could do it. You stand there and let me wipe you dry but you don't dare touch me because if you do I'll disappear and that wonderful thing between your legs will never get a chance to feel what it would be like to-" She paused for breath and noted that the wonderful thing between the boy's legs was throbbing and jerking in frantic response to her word picture. She wanted to touch it, caress its full-blown maleness, but it would only explode into her hand, maybe even blow it off like a grenade. She tried to pick up the thread of her story.
"Now I'm kneeling in front of you and I stop wiping long enough to press my face against your belly." She paused to read the boy's reaction. Hjs eyes were glazed. "Now I kiss your belly and I stick my tongue into your navel." The boy gasped.
"Now I'm wiping down the front of your legs, wiping your feet dry. You're standing on one foot so I can dry between your toes." The naked boy facing her in the tub involuntarily raised one foot slightly. Pam smiled a little inward smile and wondered if she could actually talk him into cumming. His hot throbbing cock seemed so near explosion that the slightest caress, even a warm-Suddenly inspired, she continued, "I'm very careful not to touch your you-know-what because we're going to do something very nice in a little while and I don't want to spoil it but while I'm wiping your other foot my face gets very close to it. I can actually feel the warmth. And my breath touches it, warm and wet, all woman."
"Oooooohhhhh, wooooww!" the boy moaned. He clenched the cheeks of his damp ass together and for a moment she thought his hot throbbing gun was going to fire its load of hot sticky boycum right into her face. Finally the boy gave a shudder and was quiescent again.
"Your thing is standing up so stiff and hard that I can see the underside of the head. It's swollen so bad that it's halfway out of the loose skin around it. I know this inside part is very tender and sensitive so I'm doubly careful not to touch it but you can feel my breath. It looks so good I want to kiss it but I'm afraid to so I just blow on it. I blow my breath against the bottom side of your thing and it feels so good your legs come apart so I can do it some more and I blow again, only this time I'm tickling the curly black hairs around your other things hanging there behind it. I can see them wriggle and squirm in their pouch and your legs are opening wider and you're pushing yourself toward me, wishing, praying-"
"Oooooohhhh," the boy moaned, "Stop it! You're killing me. Ooooohhhhh!" Unconsciously his arms curved forward to grab her. They still sat facing each other in the bottom of the empty tub, soles touching as their feet braced each other to sit upright. The water was long gone but there had been no soap in it so their bodies were drying clean.
"Now that you've got your legs wide apart, I take the towel and bunch it up and push it up into your crotch. This feels good but not quite good enough to finish you off. I hold it there for a moment and then, very carefully, blot your things dry without actually putting my hands on them-except through the towel. Just touching them this way through the towel feels so good that I almost give up this silly game and grab you, wrap my arms around you and hug you and kiss you and touch your thing and let you touch my things and let you put your mouth on my breasts and lick my nipples and it feels so good that I can feel myself starting to-"
"Oooooohhhhh woooww!" the boy exclaimed. Writhing in an agony of unfulfilled lust, he struggled for release. His hand curved toward his cock. Just in time he controlled himself and left his unattended organ to point its wavering tip at her tits and belly.
Pam discovered she was reacting to her word picture as much as the boy. She wondered if he was as turned on. After all, she-wasn't describing the things he wanted to do necessarily. She was giving voice to her own desires and needs, finally saying them right out loud after all these years. If the boy happened to want the same things she did, it was a happy accident.
Studying the boy's hair-trigger hammer, she knew there was going to be an accident very soon. The boy was so excited he could hardly breathe. His whole body was rigid as he strained-she didn't know whether for control or for release. Pam felt fire rising inside her own belly. She was perilously close to cumming again and she hadn't even touched this wonderful dark smooth-skinned boy yet. What would it be like when they were through with these preliminaries, when she had talked him off and the boy had rested for a few minutes and his potency had returned and he dared trust himself to touch her before his treacherous untried body exploded again?
"But I haven't actually done all these things yet," Pam continued. "You're just standing there with your legs wide apart and thrust toward me and I've got a wad of towel up there drying you off. I'm still kneeling in front of you and you can look down and see the tops of my breasts and maybe a little bit of hair down below, but you can feel my arms holding that towel up between your legs and you're thinking about what we're going to do once you've been dried off and after you've taken a towel and wiped me dry all over and-"
"Oooooohhhhh, noooooo!" the boy said in a grating voice, "Oooooohhhh, I'm going to cum!"
"No!" Pam spoke sharply. "You can't cum yet. You haven't even wiped me off yet. You can't do that until you've done everything to me that I've done to you." What was wrong with her? she wondered. She wanted this silly business to end as soon as possible so they could get down to fucking. How had she managed to get herself so caught up in a game?
The damage was done. The boy's throbbing thumper had subsided a tiny bit and was no longer in imminent danger of explosion. She sighed at her own stupidity, then wondered. A fuck was a fuck even if she hadn't had one for several years. And even in a boy this age there were only so many orgasms. She wondered how long they had together.
Dr. Holmes had said unless she got into trouble and needed help, nobody would come up until the storm was over. The good bald-headed doctor had considered a forty-year-old woman harmless company for a fourteen-year-old genius. Little did he know! Pam guessed she had several days to play games with the big-cocked boy. There was no use exhausting him the first night or the boy might rediscover astronomy and leave her to her cold narrow bed while he went out into the cold to peer through a telescope at some less full-bodied Venus.
"So I let you rest a little while," she resumed, "Until you've caught your breath and the spasm has passed. You're all dried off now, your big thing, your two other things that hang behind it, even the soles of your feet. You're even dry behind the ears," she added wryly.
"So I toss the towel away and I stand up. You just stand there so finally I stoop over and you stare at my bottom while I pick up another towel and hand it to you. Then you come to life and remember it's your turn to dry me."
"Aaaaahhhhh!" the boy said.
"Aaaaahhh yes indeed," Pam said with her slow inward smile. Still they faced each other damp and naked in the tub, only the soles of their bare feet touching as they feasted their eyes on each other's nakedness. She longed to grab the boy, to overwhelm him with an avalanche of throbbing female flesh but her imagination had been caught up in this kooky game and she might as well play it out to the end.
"You're so busy thinking about what my bottom looked like when I stooped over that you don't even notice the towel in my hand. Probably you're wondering whether it would be more fun to try it from the back with me stooping over where you could grab me and hold on tight with both hands over my breasts as you rammed-"
"Oooooooohhhhh, don't! You're killing me!"
Relentlessly she continued, "Or maybe it would be better to just grab me and turn me around and push me down on my back and fall down on top of me and force your knees between my legs and make me spread my thighs wide apart and then take the tip of your thing in your hand and guide it into-"
"Wowwwww!" The boy wriggled like an eel on a harpoon.
Pam was caught up in the magic of her own imagination. "You press down on top of me until your chest flattens my breasts. Your belly presses against mine. You've forced my legs apart and gotten yourself in between them. Now I kick my legs straight up in the air and then I lock my heels in a scissors behind your back and I pull you in so tight to me that you miss and you can't even get it in.
"You lie there on top of me, struggling and gasping, trying not to cum before you can even get it in but then you think of the warm pink softness between my legs. You think of how nice it's going to feel when you put the tip of your thing against the hairy lips of mine and push and the lips come open slightly and then they close down over the loose skin on your thing and the tender inner part first feels the warmth of my body and then slowly, ever so gently it starts to slide up into me."
She paused for breath. The boy's eyes were staring at her pubic patch but they were unfocussed as if he weren't actually seeing her. He was beyond moaning and groaning now, breathing with difficulty as he slipped into the enthralment of her tale of testicular teasing.
"But you don't really have it in me yet. I've got my legs around you and I'm holding you so close you can't move. Finally you wriggle a little and try to back off so you can get it in instead of just mashing it on top of my belly but when you manage to scoot down suddenly you find your face right down between my-" Pam stopped and cupped her tits in her hands, caressing them, pointing them at the boy. She touched her nipples and felt their hardness increase even more. The boy's eyes abruptly focused again. He leaned forward.
"They feel soft and smooth and warm and you turn your face out of the crack between them until you can bury your nose in the warm softness. Then after a moment you find my nipple and you kiss it. It feels so warm and nice that all at once you're sucking it just like a little baby again only my nipples are tiny just like a virgin's because I've never had a baby and that feels so good that you start moving back and forth, kissing and sucking one, then the other and it feels so nice to me that I put my arms around your head and pull you closer and after a while I show you how to lay your head down on top of one of them, with a nipple plugged right into your ear and with your mouth over the nipple of the other and then I tell you it's a game people play and it's called 'telephone'."
"Oooooohhhhhh!" the boy moaned. This time he didn't seem so excited. She glanced at his damp crotch facing her across the bottom of the immense sunken tub and noted that his hard-on was still of colossal proportions but she sensed that the boy was not near the explosive edge of some chasm of orgasm. She wondered if her story had gone wrong or if the boy had just survived the first assault of sensuality and had now gained some kind of a sexual second wind. Suddenly she realized she was not so explosively near cumming either. It was nice to sit there naked in the tub with her feet braced against the boy's, admiring his body and basking in his admiration. But it was a gentle turn-on not like her near faint of a moment ago. She wondered how long they could enjoy this kooky game before it palled.
Who cared? Once she and the boy had milked this game for the last ounce of pleasure they could always fuck. They could fuck dozens of times before the county got around to plowing out the roads. Somewhere the heater clicked on again and she felt the building chuckle and creak. She and the boy were alone-on a mountaintop, with plenty of food, a warm place to stay, and with plenty of things to do. Once they were tired of talking at one another, she could always grab that lithe dark body and pull the boy toward her and coax another hard-on out of his eager sexuality. She could fuck him dry. She could do other things too. She wondered if the boy would like to....
There was an easy way to find out. "You lay on top of me for a while playing telephone and it isn't like putting your thing into me but it's restful and it's fun and after a while you almost forget how badly you wanted to put your thing into me because you know once you get it in you'll just slide it in .and out a few times and then it'll all be over and this way you can lay on top of me and feel my breast soft around your ear and you can kiss the other one and my fingers are playing with the hair around the nape of your neck and you can feel my warm soft belly against yours and my legs are close to you and you can put your hand down there and actually touch them and I won't slap your hand away because it feels good when you touch my legs and we're lovers which means we can do whatever we want to each other and then after a while you find I don't have my legs locked tight around you any more and little by little you slip down until you're kissing my belly just like I kissed yours when I was drying you and then your tongue goes into my navel and it feels so good my legs come up and wrap around you again and this time you slip down a little lower past my navel and the next thing you know your nose is buried right in my ash blonde hair down there."
Pam kept her face toward the boy's cock while studying his face. There was no lessening of his hard-on' as she led gently into this new form of sexual adventure. She searched the boy's face for any sign of revulsion. All she saw was rapt breathless attention as the boy waited to see what would happen next with his nose in her pubic triangle and her thighs wrapped around him.
"All at once," she continued, "I do a funny kind of a twist and we're all moved around until we're end to end. Now you're still nuzzling that curly ash blonde hair but now everything's upside down and I've moved again and now your face is clear down by my knees. Only my face is against your knees too.
"You wrap your arms around my legs and start kissing my knees and I start doing the same thing to you. You're not on top of me any more. Now we're side by side and end to end and it's nice and comfortable and we're not straining any more and you're hugging my legs and kissing my knees and you're feeling all warm and juicy but you can't stop your hands from working slowly up my legs until you've wiggled along little by little until you've got your face into my thighs instead of my knees and when you do this naturally it puts my face higher up too and your hands are biting into the back of my legs and it feels so good the way you're squeezing me and digging your face into my thighs that I can't help myself and pretty soon I'm doing the same thing to you and then you slide a little farther up and I slide a little farther up and you're hungry for more and you're hugging me and squeezing me and I'm hugging you and squeezing you...."
Pam paused for breath and realized suddenly that it wasn't actually happening, that she still sat in the empty tub, naked, facing the naked boy as only the soles of their feet touched one another. She marveled at how her whole body could turn on so convincingly at the sound of her own voice spinning fairy tales.
The boy's eyes devoured her tits and pubic patch, feasting on her femininity, memorizing every bulge and curve of her body and he had to go back down the mountain-back to the city and a million girls of his own age.
She studied his avid face for signs of revulsion. His face seemed as eager as his cock. She decided she was on the right track. If anything could talk the boy into cumming it would be the climax she was gradually working up to. And if not....Pam was becoming so turned on from her story that she was quite ready to do it herself if she couldn't talk the boy into exploding.
Which was odd because she had never done such a thing before that she seemed to be doing now. She had never undressed and gotten into the same tub with a naked fourteen-year-old boy. She had never 'talked dirty.' Not with anyone, much less a strange boy. And apart from her occasional wild dreams she had never even considered what she discovered to her considerable surprise she was perfectly willing to do to this boy.
"We're getting closer and closer," she continued. "You don't want to think about it. Not because it's dirty but because you're afraid I might think so and I'm a little worried because you might not like it but we're not thinking any more. Your body has taken you over and my body has taken over mine, too, and now we're not responsible for anything. You're coming closer to it and each time you pull yourself a little closer you pull me a little closer and sooner or later, whether you want it or not, you know you can't stop now. It's going to happen. You're getting so close now you can actually feel the tickle of one single little strand of ash blonde hair and I can feel your brush tickling me too."
The boy's eyes were fixed on her, unwavering. She saw his clenching palms and knew he was struggling not to lunge for her, to grab her and bury his face in that delightful haven she had just described.
"The reason you're so excited," she parenthesized, "is because you know we're not just talking about it. We're going to do it. Yes, you're going to grab me and you're going to dive in between my thighs and you're going to feel my soft smooth legs close over your ears and I'm going to squeeze, but not too hard because my head is going to be in between your thighs too and I don't want to squeeze you so hard you can't move around and kiss the smooth softness of my inner thigh and then turn around and kiss the other one and start kissing way back down close to my knee and then slowly kiss your way up clear to where my legs come together and then go back down and kiss your way up the other leg and do it again and again and meanwhile I'm kissing your legs and squeezing you and funning my hands over your behind just like your hands are creeping up there where they shouldn't be and we're both-"
"Oooooohhhhhh, noooooo!" the boy moaned. "Oooooohhhhh, wooooowww!"
"But it feels so good and you want to stop and you can't stop and you're getting closer all the time and I'm getting closer all the time and you can feel my breath on your thing and I can feel your breath and I can feel you getting closer and you can feel me getting closer and we're squeezing and hugging each others' legs so hard and if feels so good and you're getting closer and you can feel me getting closer and you can tell I'm so excited I couldn't stop no matter what you did to me and I know you can't stop yourself and I know you want to do it and you know I want to do it and we're both getting closer and then all at once I open my legs wide and you open yours wide and-"
"Oooooohhhhh, noooooo!" the boy wailed, "Oooh, doooooo it!"
He was thrashing and straining not to grab for her, straining not to grab his own hot, throbbing cock. "Ooooohhhhh, ow wooow, you did it!" the boy wailed. "Ooooohhh, I'm going to cum!"
CHAPTER EIGHT
Pam didn't know, nor did she particularly care, whether the boy was cumming. Enmeshed in the intricacies of her story, she had become so involved, so turned-on that suddenly she knew she was cumming herself. Great shimmering waves of fire radiated from her cunt, through her belly, up her spine to explode like mad skyrockets inside her skull. She felt her insides melt, flow, coalesce, melt and flow again. Suddenly the searing terrible tension that had been tearing her to pieces was loosening.
Her whole body was coming apart from the violence of her orgasm. Her empty cunt twisted and churned, madly seeking some cock to squeeze, some for this massive orgasm. Her prurient pussy contracted, gaped, contracted again, milking desperately at the thought of a boy's cock inside her. It hurt. But it hurt so good she didn't want it ever to stop. Pam shuddered, felt her teeth grind uncontrollably as her body reacted to the story she had told. Good God, she thought. If just thinking and talking about it is going to affect me like this, what'll it be like when he finally gets it in? How long will it be before he recovers? Now that he's cum can I grab his cock and feel it? I know. I'll wash it for him so he'll be all fresh and ready for next time. And then I'll send him off to bed in my room off the kitchen and there in my own shower I'll have a douche and get myself all clean and dry inside for him.
But it didn't work out that way. The boy leaped from the tub still spurting semen in great squirting arcs like a stuttering fire hose. Without a backward glance he dived into one of the shower stalls and an instant later she heard water running.
It gave Pam a moment to compose herself. Suddenly she realized the boy was satisfied. He had cum, now he was tired and wanted nothing more to do with a woman. She was so spent with the violence of her own cum that she almost sympathized with him. The way she felt at the moment she wouldn't care if he went back to sleep in his own blanket-piled bed. It would give her time to rest up, prepare for tomorrow for she was sure that a few hours' sleep would restore the boy's vigor.
That was the trouble. At his age ... a fourteen-year-old boy had so much vigor he would cum the instant his cock touched the lips of her vulva. If she let him rest till tomorrow it would just be another repetition of tonight. What was she going to do?
Abruptly she realized she might as well do one thing. She went into a shower stall and rinsed the boy's fine first jet of cum from her tits. She spread her legs wide and cupped water in her hands, splashing it repeatedly into the gaping lips of her pussy until she had washed out the stickiness of her own orgasm. When she finished and emerged to look for a towel, the boy was vigorously wiping himself dry. His fourteen-year-old cock had reacted to cold water and shrunk to the size of a rather large peanut.
"Golly!" the boy reported. "That was great. Want to do it again?"
Pam smiled her Mona Lisa smile and didn't answer. She wiped herself dry and picked up the mess of damp towels, tidying up the evidence in case someone else were to stumble into the bath before she had time to....
They were both still naked. She picked up her mound of cold-weather clothes and the boy did the same. She walked out still nude, carrying her clothes in her arms. The boy followed her and deposited his own mountain of foul-weather gear atop the blanket-piled bunk where he had been sleeping. Then, naked and unburdened, the young adonis padded silently behind her through the dining hall.
She supposed he was admiring the action of her ass when she walked. Probably the boy had never watched a naked woman move before, beach observations of the play of muscle probably obstructed by the distraction of a bikini. Then she remembered all those sisters traipsing up and down the halls. Damn! The boy had shot his wad. He was probably through for the night. She wondered why he was bothering to follow her to the kitchen then realized he probably wanted something to eat.
She wanted something to eat too. Remembering her story Pam knew she wanted to eat on his cock while the boy devoured her pussy. Oh, well ... it had been fun while it lasted even if they hadn't even touched one another. Tomorrow was another day and hopefully another hard-on.
Sonofabitch! Abruptly Pam realized she had been so bound up in her own fears that she hadn't even understood plain English. The boy had asked her if she wanted to do it again. She wondered if he wanted to play this crazy game again or if he was ready for the real thing. It was hard to tell what boys of that age were capable of. Probably he could cum a dozen times a day. But could he stay? She needed a boy who could get it in and keep it there a while. This preliminary workout had been fun. Far more fun than she had expected but now they were both padding off naked to her room behind the kitchen, to the narrow bed of loneliness. This was where she was going to separate the men from the boys.
She walked through the kitchen, checking the thermostat on the way. The heating system seemed to have settled down to its normal seventy-five again. Behind her she sensed the boy's ' bare footsteps. Abruptly she realized he was so close she could actually sense the heat radiating from his slim elegant body.
She glanced at the clock. Surprisingly, it was only nine-scarcely beginning the day for the crazy upside down world of astronomy. She knew that sooner or later the boy would rediscover the telescopes he had come up here for. And even if he didn't, the other stargazers would show up. It would be pointless to start sleeping nights again. But, she reflected, she wasn't going to bed just to sleep. At least she sincerely hoped not.
She stepped into her room and the boy, close behind, closed the door. She turned and faced him. It was the first time she had been able to get an unobstructed view of him standing. The boy was handsome. Somehow she had always pictured boy geniuses as sickly spindling types. This was a young adonis, clean skinned, with an olive Mediterranean look. Black curly hair above and below, with a triangular pubic patch that glistened as if it had been oiled.
His cock had diminished to what she supposed was normal size, but now-abruptly she realized the boy had been taking a cold shower-now the boy's cock in its 'at ease' posture was larger than a peanut. Half of it was hidden by the abundant tuft of glossy black hairs but she guessed it must measure three and a half-maybe four inches. Once more she was amazed at this male organ's ability to grow from flaccidity to such phenomenal extremes of size and hardness. Truly, it was a miracle.
She stared at the spectacle of this glorious boy before her, wondering how long it would take for his cock to return to fighting trim. She wanted to use the boy but she didn't want to abuse him. She supposed she could coax a hard-on right then. But she suspected it would be better to wait a while and give the boy's gonads a rest. But how long?
The boy's mouth opened and his Adam's apple jerked. He wanted to say something but she knew he was suddenly afraid. She toyed with having some more fun, then decided to be kind. "We're lovers now," she said. "Do you know what that means?"
Silently, the boy shook his head.
"It means we don't have to be shy any more. It means we can say anything we want to each other." She considered the future and added a codicil: "As long as we keep this as our secret. Nobody else must ever know, for if anyone finds out you know we'll never be able to see one another again."
The boy nodded in understanding. "Uh," he began, "Uh, now that we're uh-lovers. Do you mind if I touch you?"
It took Pam by surprise that a naked boy standing in her room, facing her nakedness would ask such a silly question. Then she remembered that despite their verbal games the only point of contact between their two lusting bodies had been the soles of their feet as they propped each other to sit in the tub. She smiled her Mona Lisa smile and pulled down the coverlet on her narrow bed.
Then, realizing that she was standing naked and not feeling the cold, she peeled the blankets off, leaving only a fitted contour sheet. She was suddenly conscious of her nude body, conscious of the boy's stare. She oozed as gracefully as possible onto the bed. It was narrow but there was room for two. She scooted over against the wall and left an inviting space for the boy. After an instant's hesitation he came to sit timidly on the edge of the bed with his back to her.
"Don't you want to lie down?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said dispiritedly.
Pam sensed his unease. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Lovers can say anything."
The boy half turned. The sight of his angelic face in profile melted something inside her. She wanted to grab him, pull him down beside her, on top of her-anything to get handfuls, legsful, cuntsful of that smooth dark body. But she knew this was not the moment. She waited and finally the boy spoke. "It won't come up," he said tragically.
Pam laughed. "Don't worry," she consoled. "Just lie down here and tell me a story."
The boy's face lit up. "Yeaaaahhhh!" he said, and settled down beside her. Pam made a pillow for him with one arm and they lay facing one another. Feeling the warm firmness of his lithe young body against her for the first time, she felt a sudden storm in her belly. It was as if she had never been with a man before. She took a deep breath and tried to control herself. It would not be in her best interest, she suspected, to let this free spirit know what a hold he possessed over her already. Right now she knew he could ask anything of her and she would give it in return for the privilege of wrapping her arms around his dark, fourteen-year-old beaute du diable.
But she realized the French phrase was not correct. Beaute du diable was the loveliness of a thirteen-year-old girl whose glance could lead a bishop to renounce his mitre for the chance to lead her astray. But it was a beauty which disappeared about the time the girl's plainer companions were beginning to flower, leaving her fat, blowsy and used up at twenty.
At twenty this boy, she knew, would be twice as irresistible as he was now. At thirty-at fifty he could be a champion cocksman if he ever lost interest in astronomy. She was lucky to have caught him now. How long could she keep him? Not long, she knew. She resolved to treat the superb body pressing against her with tender loving care, to try to give the boy as much pleasure as he was giving her-and to remember with gratitude all the good times when in a year or two or three he outgrew her. She pulled the boy's face to hers and kissed him.
The boy was passive at first. She supposed he had been kissed often by mother and sisters. Then abruptly the boy seemed to discover the erotic possibilities in a kiss. As he began to respond with enthusiasm she waited for an opportune moment to teach him the art of touching tongues.
The boy was a quick learner. His arms around her tightened as they came together, swapping tongues with an abandon that lit new fires in her firm, gently rounded belly.
The boy came up for air. "Oooooohhh, wow!" he said. She felt the pressure of his reviving rod against her belly. The boy seemed embarrassed. She wondered what would happen if she grabbed it. Probably the boy would cum again immediately and explosively in her hand. She had hoped for a long leisurely fuck but it was too soon. If the mere sight of her forty-year-old undraped body could make the boy cum, it was going to take desperate measures before he would be able to keep a hard-on long enough to give her a satisfactory fuck. She had cum too just from looking at the wonderful dark smoothness of the boy's body. From looking at him and painting word pictures of all the wonderful things they would do once they were ready. She laughed at the irony.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You said lovers could say anything," the boy said accusingly.
Pam sighed and guessed she might as well be honest. "Did you really come up here to see me-or to use the telescope?"
"I don't know," the boy said. "I kept telling myself it was the scope but I really wanted you too. But I didn't think you'd ever let me do anything. I just wanted to hang around the kitchen and look at you and try to guess what you'd look like with your clothes off."
Pam smiled. "I thought about you too," she said.
"You did? Really?"
"A little while before you came I had a dream about you."
"A dream?" The boy hesitated. "Oh, golly! You mean that kind of a dream? Do girls have dreams like that too?"
"Women do," Pam corrected. "I woke up so hungry for you I would have done anything just to feel you inside me for a second. I've never been a boy but I suppose you must have moments like that too-moments when you want a woman-a girl. Not some special woman, just any woman."
"Yeaaaahhhhh!" the boy admitted. "I sure do." Then he sensed the import of what she was saying. Pam could actually feel the hard-on pressing against her belly diminish as the boy said, "You would have done anything. Does that mean you don't want to any more?"
Pam laughed again, then took pity on the boy's desperate fear that she might have changed her mind. "You're in my arms, aren't you? We've both got our clothes off and we're in bed together."
"Yeah," the boy conceded. "But something's wrong. What is it? Don't you want me to put it in any more?"
"There's nothing I'd like better," Pam said with her Mona Lisa smile. "But, come to think of it, there is one thing I would like better."
"Name it!" the boy hastened. "I'll do anything you want."
"I wonder," she mused.
"I will. I'll do anything. Just name it."
"What I wanted you to do," she explained, "Was not just put it in."
"Yeah?"
"I want you to keep it in for a while."
"Oh!" The boy's face fell. "I don't know," he said. "Golly, just to think about putting it in and I'm all ready to cum. I'll sure try, but...."
Pam smiled and squeezed him against her. The hard muscularity of the boy's lean warm body turned her on until for an instant she was afraid she was going to have the same problem the boy was having. Then the spasm passed an instant before she had exploded in full-fledged orgasm. She got her body under control and tried to enjoy the quiet turn-on of lying there with a naked boy in her arms. She felt the pressure of his reviving ram against her taut belly. She felt herself reaching critical mass again. Would she ever be so totally and completely fucked-out that she could lie quiescent and feel the boy's stiff prick poking its prurient message against her belly?
"Maybe it I came one more time first," the boy said.
Pam was doubtful. "How many times can you do it in one day?"
The boy was thoughtful. "There was a new neighbor moved in next door about a month ago," he said. "One day I didn't have anything to do and I got to thinking about how she looked in shorts hanging out clothes and-" He hesitated, embarrassed.
"How many times?" Pam prompted.
"Four that afternoon. Then I went to bed and I
: still couldn't sleep for thinking about how she looked when she stretched to reach the clothesline."
"How many more?"
"Twice." The boy paused reminiscently. "Then I woke up about midnight and I had to put my hand on it again."
Seven times in perhaps that many hours, Pam thought. "Do you really think you could do it that many times now?"
"Oh, sure," the boy said. "Golly, here like this! with you I could probably do it that many times before I could even get it in."
Pam drew him to her. They kissed, swapping tongues again and slowly the boy's arms crept down her back until his hands were cupping the firm muscles of her buttocks. He broke loose from their prolonged kiss and oozed down until he could bury his face in her tits. To her vague surprise Pam realized this was actually the first time he had really touched her in either place. It felt so good to have a man's hands on her ass, a man's mouth rooting around in her tits that she felt herself suddenly turning on past the point of no return.
She clenched her teeth and held her Breath, trying to resist. She didn't want the boy to know what he was doing to her. If he ever found out the power he possessed over her willing body there was no telling what deviltry his fourteen-year-old ego might devise.
The boy was so involved in feeling her firm ass, burying his face in her equally firm jugs for the first time in his life that he took no notice of the storm that raged through her. Her cunt contracted, squeezing frantically' against a cock that wasn't there. Contractile spasms coursed through her belly until she felt her womb and vagina thrum with frustrated passion, longing with a will of their own for the boy's penis. But even at the height of her rippling, flaming, exploding orgasm she knew that her body would be still more disappointed by a quick entry and exit of the boy's tender too. Or worse still, a half entry as he went off before he could even get it in. She resolved to resist the temptation to let the boy fuck her. Somehow, by hook or crook she was not going to let the boy put it in her until there was some kind of hope for his keeping it in long enough to make it worth her while. So what now?
She knew the boy would do anything she asked. But would he do it willingly or filled with a smoldering resentment that would poison their relationship later? She thought back to the way she had talked a blow-job, seeking signs of revulsion on the boy's face. Come to think of it, it had been something like that which, in mental imagery, had made the boy's throbbing meathook finally fire its overdue load. But he had immediately jumped from the tub and rushed to shower off. What was he ashamed of? It was so hard to guess what was on a boy's mind.
"Do you want to talk?" The boy's voice came muffled from where he was rooting and nuzzling her tits.
For a moment Pam was puzzled, still trying to pull herself together from the violence of her cum. She wondered if the boy suspected what he had done to her. He seemed like a nice friendly boy but a boy's ego was as strange as a man's. If he knew he could provoke an explosion in her just as she had in him it would be an important lever in future negotiations. She knew instinctively that it would be best to keep the boy always just a little hungry, never quite satisfied or fucked out. Boys were used to getting favors from adults. It could upset his whole perspective if he were suddenly to discover that it could be the other way around-that she needed him even worse than he needed the lush softness of her smooth-skinned body.
Just as she had worked it all out in her own mind, the boy abruptly undid all her careful calculation. "Do you want me to talk?" he asked.
Though she was still quivering inside from her last orgasm, the sudden quickening in her belly told Pam that indeed she did want the boy to talk. Now she understood what he meant. The boy had cum not from touching her superb body but merely from looking at her, thinking about her, enthralled with the super imagery and eroticism of her word pictures. She had enthralled the boy with her own fantasies-fantasies compiled from forty years of frustrated lineliness. Suddenly she knew she wanted very much to learn what the boy could do to her. She wondered exactly what went on inside an intelligent fourteen-year-old's mind as he approached the threshhold of manhood and imagined the joys of eroticism, creating images in a mind uncontaminated by any contact with the grubby facts of day-to-day living.
"All right," she said. "Let's see if you can make me do what I did to you." Privately she resolved that even if she were to melt and unravel from passion she would never betray her emotions to this callow adventurer. It would be too dangerous to let herself fall completely under his power.
The boy was quiet, still nuzzling her tits. She felt the stiffness of his cock against her belly and prayed the boy might never know how just the thought of that wonderful instrument sent sheets of erotic flame coursing through her body.
"My tongue is doing this," the boy began, and ran the tip of his agile tongue in a delicate circle around the marble hardness of her tiny virginal nipple.
Immediately great shimmering waves of passion fogged her mind. She felt heat and knew her whole body was blushing from the violence of her reaction to the boy's simple gesture.
"You're not playing fair," she protested when her throat stopped quivering and she could speak again. "I did it all just with words, without touching you."
"All's fair in love and war," the boy said, and oozed down until his face was buried in her midriff. For a moment she nearly surrendered to the sheer erotic delight. She felt her mind and will dissolve under the delicious sensation of the boy's mouth kissing her midriff, darting up to the sensitive undersides of her tits, down to skewer his tongue into her navel for an instant. Then she remembered her resolve. She didn't dare let go and allow the boy to find out just what he could do to her. It would destroy her and it might even destroy the boy.
"No!" She said if firmly and pushed the boy away. "You've got to play fair," she said. "I did it fair with you. Now it's your turn to do it with me and then we can go on to other nicer things but ... first things first."
"Do I have to move clear away from you?" The boy seemed crushed.
"No," she relented, "but keep your hands to yourself and tend to your storytelling. I want to see if you're as good at it as I am."
"Golly, I don't think so," the boy said and sighed. "I haven't done it enough with girls to know many different ways."
"You told me you used to make up stories for yourself," she said. "Let's see if your stories work on me like mine did on you."
"Will you squirt a bunch of stuff like I did?"
"We'll see," Pam said with a secret little smile. If that was all the boy knew about female orgasm, she guessed she wouldn't have too much trouble concealing it from the boy if he could come up with something juicier than the sight of his slim young body or the feel of his eager cock pressing against her belly. For an instant she was tempted to grab it, squeeze it a couple of times, roll quickly to one side to dodge the inevitable results of touching a horny boy's cock, then tease him to another eager and instant erection. Maybe the third time she could get it in and get two or three satisfying lunges before the boy came again.
Like hell she could. The boy was at just the age to cum like a machine gun, rapidly, indefatigably, and with only the slightest interval between shots. She forced her curving hands to stay away from that attractive target that still stabbed blindly at her belly. She would have to take care not to move unnecessarily or just the feel of her warm belly rubbing against it would be enough to send the boy into another blurting, spurting, and most probably hurting debacle. She tried to guess how long it had been since he last came. Maybe fifteen minutes? How long should she let him recover? Even at his eager age she thought the boy ought to have at least a half hour's rest. "Tell me a story," she said, and pulled the boy close to her.
Side by side, facing each other naked on the contour-sheeted bed, they tried to relax, each trying not to think too hard about the explosive potentialities of lying close together, feeling the warm throbbing sensuality of each other's bodies. Sooner or later the boy would be ripe for fucking, she hoped. Not half as much as he was hoping, she guessed.
"When I was little," the boy began, "I used to see grown-ups dance. Then one day an older boy told me he knew a place where grown-ups used to go and dance together naked."
The boy paused and Pam pondered the universality of myth. She remembered having heard the same story when she was ten and just beginning to wonder what went on between grown-ups after little girls had been sent off to bed.
"I couldn't see any fun in that," the boy confessed. "So the older boy explained to me. He called it flucking. I still didn't get it so he said grownups liked to dance together because that way a man could stick his thing into a woman without even missing a step.
"For a long time I believed it was true. Then I remembered how my little sister looked when she was a baby and my big sisters used to change her. It seemed to me that her thing was so far down nobody could possibly get it into her unless he squatted down or she got all doubled up or something. I wanted to ask but I knew my big sisters wouldn't tell me so the next time I saw one of them without her panties I got a good look and sure enough, there was nothing but hair in front. No hole. No way a guy could get his thing into her from the front. That's how I knew the boy that told me didn't even know as much as I did about girls.
"So for a long time I just wondered how they did do it. I thought maybe like dogs only dogs get stuck together and I never heard of men and women getting hung up like that." The boy sighed. "I guess it wasn't till three or four years ago I saw a magazine one day and it had a bunch of pictures and then I saw how people really do it."
There was a moment's silence. "How did you feel when you saw the pictures of people doing it?" Pam asked.
"Gee, I was only eleven and I hadn't ever even played with it yet. I couldn't get it up but I thought it would be fun to rub against a naked girl even if I couldn't do anything else." The boy paused and reflected. "It's funny how boys like girls even before they know what to do. I remember once when I must have been about six, maybe seven. I guess I knew girls were different from boys-didn't have anything hanging between their legs, but I never thought much about it.
"There was a little girl next door. Real pretty. I guess she was about my age. Yeah-we went to school together. I used to make tents in the back yard. You know how kids do. She'd come over and play in my tent. I remember I had a whole bunch of dry grass in there and I made a tunnel-sort of like a little cave inside it and I liked to crawl in it and just lay there.
"She wanted to crawl in too, so I let her. We just lay there a while and the longer we lay there the funnier it got. I don't know how to explain it. I didn't want to hug her or kiss her or anything like that. I didn't even want to undress her. But I got to thinking how nice the back of her legs looked.
"Not up high above her knees. I remember when I was little I liked to look at-I guess it's calves, isn't it? Anyway, the part behind and down below their knees. So after a while I told her to crawl out and come back in the other way. She did and then we were end to end just like you talked about a while ago when we were both in the tub. Only I didn't really do anything. We just lay there end to end and I put my face up against her legs and oh, boy, did it ever feel good!" The boy laughed suddenly.
"I guess I could have stayed that way all afternoon but all at once it clouded up and started thundering and she got scared and came tearing out of the tent and my mother gave me a real funny look and I was smart enough never to take another girl inside my tent."
CHAPTER NINE
The boy sighed and gave a wistful wriggle against her. The feel of his warm body against her almost sent Pam over the edge again. She tried not to show it. The boy sighed again. "But I guess that isn't the kind of story that's going to make you do what you made me do a while ago. Golly," he said, "I really don't know. I like to be with you even if I'm not doing anything. It feels great just to be up against you like this. But I don't know what it is turns a woman on. If you want to show me-I'll do it.
"I'd like to put it in you but I guess you're right. I know I wouldn't even get it in yet. Golly, I'd like to kiss you all over. Maybe start at your toes or at your head and just kiss you all over. Maybe start at your toes or at your head and just kiss you from top to bottom-even the places you don't want me to touch. I don't know if it'd make you cum but-wow! Just thinkin' about it and I'm almost ready to." He still had his arms around her. He squeezed mightily and she felt the hot burning maleness of his throbbing staff squashed between their straining bellies.
She was tempted to put her hand in between them and capture it but ... it would just explode and made a mess. It felt so restful and nice just to lie here and feel his warm maleness against her. She didn't mind waiting as long as she knew they had plenty of time, that sooner or later the boy's hair-trigger juvenility would wear down and he would become sufficiently inured to the feel of a female. Then he would give her what she wanted. Meanwhile, he was talking again.
"How many different things can a man and a woman do together?" the boy asked. "I used to think it was just fucking. I used to think about it and I always knew I wouldn't ever last long enough to get it in a girl. Do you think I ever can?" he asked wistfully.
"You're closer now than you ever thought you'd be," she consoled.
"Yeahhhhhhh!" the boy said and she felt his cock give a little surge in its fleshy prison between their tight straining bellies. "But I still don't know what else I'd like to do. I know it'd be fun to kiss you all over. Would you like that?"
"It sounds interesting," Pam said. "I wouldn't be surprised if I enjoyed just about anything you felt like trying. That's the fun of being lovers," she explained. "You can have all kinds of fun trying out new things."
"Yeaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!"
She knew the boy was willing. He was trying his best but she was asking too much for an inexperienced virgin to create a fantasy which by words alone could bring her to the rapturous heights of pleasure. Besides, even as hard up as she was, Pam knew she had a little experience. It wasn't fair for her to make the boy work this hard trying to provoke an orgasm from her. She knew he was young and hair-triggered. Anybody-probably even another boy, could create a word picture that would drive an unfucked boy past the edge of ecstasy.
"What would you like to try out first?" she asked.
"Golly, wow! Can I really touch you anywhere and do anything I want?"
"Well," she hedged, "not anything. I don't think you ought to try to put it in just yet. I'll tell you when to do that."
"But I can do anything else?" She felt his eager cock throb and surge against her taut belly.
"I'll yell if it hurts," she said.
"Woooowwwww!" Still the boy lay in her tight embrace, afraid to move.
Pam let go. Pushing him slightly away, she shifted position until she lay flat, face up on the narrow bed. She passed her hand in a sweeping gesture down over her superbly upward pointing tits, past her small waist, down over the gentle swell of her belly, past the well-furred bony prominence of her mons veneris, down past her thighs and over her knees. "There's your candy store," she said. "Take anything you want, but if you ever want to come in again just make sure you eat all you take."
The boy's eyes glistened and from the corner of her eye she saw his suddenly freed phallus throb and jump madly. For an instant she was afraid the thought of the luscious candy store awaiting his spoliation had tripped some secret trigger and sent the boy irrevocably into his second explosion of the evening. Then he breathed deep, gritted his teeth, and was sane again.
First the boy dived for the now familiar haven of her tits. Pam closed her eyes, savoring the sheer sensual delight of his gentle nuzzling as he licked and kissed his way in lascivious circles around the gentle bulge of her upper tit, around its swollen sensitive underside, slowly zeroing in on her rockhard throbbing nipple. Finally his lips closed over her nipple and the pleasure was so intense, so unexpectedly total in its sudden onslaught that she had to open her eyes again to make sure this was not just another dream that would end just short of orgasm when she awoke to the actuality of her lonely narrow bed.
When she opened her eyes the bed was still narrow but it was not lonely. The boy knelt beside her, bending over to bury his dark ringletted head in her tits. He licked her nipple into happy throbbing satiation, then switched to her other tit. She was about to reach for him when the boy remembered her lesson from the time she had talked the cum out of him. He lay his head gently on her already licked tit, plugged its rock-hard nipple into his ear and from this vantage point began working on her other still unkissed and unlicked tit. Pam wondered if she had died and gone to heaven. It was too deliciously parallel to all the secret dreams of her lonely nights to lie here like this and have a slim dark boy with a face like an angel and a body like a young god crouching over her kissing her, licking her, cautiously and gently bringing his hands up her sides.
Abruptly she realized that though the boy had buried his face in her tits, had licked and kissed her to the happy edge of insanity, he had never actually had his hands on them. Poor boy! He must still be subconsciously afraid she would slap him or make him stop. She wanted to grab his hands, put them on her tits, between her legs, guide his exploring fingers into the secret slit of her seething cunt but ... it would be better not to rush him. Let the boy find his own way. There was something so tender, so poignant about the fluttery hesitant exploration of his timid hands that she didn't know whether to shriek with frustration or to yodel her joy at the tender tantalizing touch that sooner or later would reach her secret triggers and spark off an orgasm that might scare the boy half to death if she didn't manage to control herself.
Slowly, he kissed his way up from her tits, up her throat and had his mouth over hers, his tongue deep inside touching hers. Like pickpockets, his hands crept imperceptibly until suddenly they were cupped over her tits. When she didn't complain or push him away his exploring fingers discovered her nipples. He twiddled them between thumbs and forefingers and she felt their flaccidity disappear as once more they swelled under the erotic sensation of his gentle massaging fingers, growing back again to their rock hardness. She felt as if thousands of tongues were touching her, licking her, touching all the secret triggers, tickling and tantalizing her toward the biggest and best of all possible orgasms. She had to stop it-had to control herself before she started kicking and shrieking and moaning and scared the inexperienced boy halfway down to the mountain.
The boy found his way back up to her mouth. He kissed her deep and thorough until she was gasping for breath, then began once more kissing and licking his titillating way back down her neck, down across, over, under and around her tits. He angled down to kiss his way along her ticklish flank and Pam giggled.
The more she giggled the farther down he went along her flank until finally he was kissing his way across her belly, around her waist, working in a descending spiral to zero in on her navel. He took so long working his tortuous way there that she was hypersensitized and ready to scream when finally his agile tongue augered its way into her belly button. It felt as if he was sticking an electrode into her. He kept his mouth over her bullseye, digging his tongue in, licking his way around it until she felt her whole body trying to jackknife and fold in upon itself, upon that tormenting adonis head that bent over her to torture her belly with the most delicious torment she had ever known.
She felt her knees flex, then her legs were lifting off the bed. Her head and shoulders were rising in rictus under the influence of that tormenting tongue. She wanted to grab the boy, turn him around, gobble his cock or better still, just lick it tantalizingly from a distance until the boy was as frantic for release as she was.
Just when she knew she could not stand it another second-when she knew she would scream and howl and yodel and scare the living daylights out of the busy little boy, he finally shifted targets and began nuzzling the top fringe of her public patch.
She tried to relax, to curve her neck enough to see that angelic head nuzzle at her hair pie. He was such a delicious boy-so natural and unaffected.
She wondered if she worried too much about letting him know the power he held over her. Then she remembered he was only fourteen, only a boy. Power was dangerous in any hands. She knew better than to give a child a loaded pistol. Even as it was, one careless word from this boy could destroy her. She had to find some way to stop his tongue from boasting of his exploits, bind him to her. She had to get a firm psychological grip on the boy's balls, get him so hooked on the joy of exploring her willing body that he would rather die than say anything that might jeopardize his opportunity once more to excavate in her candy story.
But not right then. Timidly, not really sure she wouldn't slap him away at the last moment, the boy was nuzzling her pubic hair, breathing deeply as he inhaled the warm soft smell of woman. His hands had worked their way down her flanks, past her waist until now he was embracing her ass. "Oooooooohhhhhhhh!" the boy moaned.
Overcome by a sudden access of passion, he buried his face deep in her ash blonde fur, locked his arms around her ass and squeezed, moaning and groaning his delight as he found himself actually doing all the things he had only dreamed about, never knowing people actually did these things, always doubting and wondering if his desires were forbidden and somehow placed him beyond the pale of civilization.
Now the boy was so delighted to be doing it, to learn that a real live, lissome woman was not just letting him do it, but actually seemed to be enjoying it-the sensation of liberation was so overpowering that the boy felt he was no longer bound by any earthly ties. He knew where he was then. Going deep, deep into her crotch to sample all the secrets she wouldn't let him try yet with his cock. At least he was going to get his tongue, his mouth, his fingers in there and explore unknown territory so that his cock could know what to expect. Who knows ... maybe this way he could even get it in for a stroke or two before he came.
If he didn't cum right then just from thinking about it.
Pam was feeling the same unearthly delight as the boy's rapid breathing, his stiff jerking body, every fiber of his being hinted at where he was going next. She had only known four men in her forty years. One of them had been a husband more interested in booze than in cunt. The others had all been one-night stands. Though she had thought of it, dreamed of it, planned it and fantasized it up to the last hair-curling detail, Pam had never actually experienced what she knew instinctively was soon going to happen to her.
She was writhing with uncontrollable excitement, her pelvis bucking and heaving until the boy had to hang on with both arms just to keep his nose buried in the abundant ash blonde fur of her mons veneris. She was half out of her mind. For an instant she felt she was floating in air, rising right off the bed though the boy was doing his best to hold her down. He moved his head from side to side kissing her groins, darting hot burning kisses around the bare-skinned edges of her pubic patch.
Her legs rose involuntarily high in the air and he got a new grip on her ass, fingers digging into the crack and nearly touching her thrumming asshole. She moaned and begged him to stop, to quit for a while, faster, deeper, now-oooooohhhhhh!
The boy was moaning too, writhing with an excitement as great as her own. She could see his lean dark body move, twist, slide and rub against her as he tried for the ultimate in sensation, striving to feel her, fondle her, and yet not to let the high explosive tip of his tool touch her or anything else. She could see it waving and jerking in time to his thumping heart beat and his ragged breathing.
Her legs opened ancT closed involuntarily. She knew she had to control herself, not let the boy know what he was doing to her. He was destroying her, tearing her apart both physically and emotionally. She could feel her brains turning to shit.
But even more she could feel the boy finally migrating south. As her thighs clasped and unclasped uncontrollably she felt their soft inner skin suddenly clasp tight over the boy's ears. She tried to hold him but she was so turned on she no longer had any control over her pullulating pussy. She felt the boy twist his head and kiss her soft inner thigh then he twisted and kissed the other one. Her legs clamped over him but the boy nibbled and it felt so good she couldn't keep still.
As her legs flew open again the boy once more shifted targets. He planted his mouth squarely over her wide gaping vulva.
Ooooooooh, wow! Pam thought, unconsciously imitating the boy. He's kissing my pussy. He's licking it. He's sucking! Ooooooohhhhhhhh!
It felt so wondrously finger-lickin' good she knew she couldn't stop him. She knew if the boy were to stop now and make some outrageous demand-no matter what he asked for, if that were the price to get him to put that angelic face back in her crotch, to make him lick and kiss and suck her cunt some more, no matter what the boy demanded, she would give it to him.
She would rob banks, swindle widows and orphans, betray friends and benefactors if that was what this boy wanted as the price for kissing her cunt just one more time, one more lick, one more nibble on her throbbing clit, one more suck and lick and kiss and lips mating with her own hairy lips, putting the warm moist sweetness of his mouth to the warm moistness of her own secret slit.
It was wonderful. It was heavenly. It would be hell if this boy ever discovered how much she liked it, how much she needed it, how long-how long and miserable those forty lonely years had been without it!
In his excitement at discovering unknown territory, the boy had angled around until he was almost end to end. His ass was to one side of her butt turned toward her face. Pam saw his hot throbbing cock less than a foot away. She could easily reach out and grab it. She wanted to. She wanted not just to grab it but to push and pull and twist until the boy's ass was astraddle her so she could take his dangling dong in her mouth and see if sucking a boy's cock could be as delicious for a woman as cunt-lapping seemed to be for the boy. He Was enjoying himself. She could tell that by the hot throbbing swell of his vein-studded cock as it jerked and waved in the air between his wide-parted legs. He wasn't just doing this as a favor for her, something to make her happy so she would let him put it in. Nobody could devote that much devotion to licking, sucking, lapping and puffing at her throbbing cunt unless he was truly dedicated to his work.
She tried to relax, to sort out the sensations the boy was giving her. She couldn't remember any pleasure one-half so acute as this, not even from the best fuck she could remember in forty years of loneliness. It was a whole new ball game, this business of having a tongue down there instead of a cock. It wasn't direct and masculine and brutal. It was tender, titillating tickling her to a new plateau of pleasure she had never known before. She was so overwhelmed by new sensations it was impossible at first to separate them. Her legs were still opening and closing uncontrollably and she sensed that it gave the boy pleasure when she clasped her warm soft thighs around his ears.
His tongue ran up and down her warm wet slit, stopping to feint at the throbbing hump of her clitoris. The boy had instictively gauged her reaction the first time his tongue touched this secret trigger and now he was devoting special attention to it until she wanted to kick her heels and whinny and squeal and grab his cock and suck and lick and....
But apart from diddling her clit to the dazzling edge of delirium, the boy's agile tongue was diving deep up her vagina at the end of each stroke. His tongue was diving deep into her, twisting, poking, probing, stretching her cunt's sensitive lining in delightfully unexpected directions. She suddenly discovered she was holding her breath. No wonder she felt like she was floating. She must be blue by now. She released it with a long heartfelt sigh: "Ooooohhhhhhhhh!"
The boy knew he was reaching pay dirt and abruptly she remembered he was trying to make her cum just as she had made him cum. He had given up with talking her off but, not knowing what the mere sight of his perfect adonis body had done to her raddled innards, he was devoting his heart, soul, tongue and both hands to massaging her willing ass, working the straining tension of loneliness from her, trying to make her cum for the tenth or fifteenth time, though he didn't know it. He thought he was going to achieve another famous first.
Pam clasped her legs over his ears, grappled as if her life and sanity depended on it, trying to hold him still for just a second, make him stop that luscious licking that was driving her out of her gourd.
It didn't work. No matter how hard she gripped the boy only seemed to get more turned on as he drove his tongue deeper in darting circles around her seething cunt. It felt so good she knew she was going to die.
The boy was gradually going wild. His hands cupped the cheeks of her ass, gripping tighter, fingers digging in until she could feel one finger poking at the tender rosette of her asshole. It hurt but it hurt in such an erotically unexpected way that she didn't want it to stop hurting. The boy was still licking her clit, licking her vagina, pulling his tongue out to run it in long slow strokes up the smooth inner side of one of her vulval lips and down the other.
Suddenly he stopped licking. He pursed his lips and centered them over the hot throbbing knob of her clit which he had licked into swollen, thumping explosiveness. Pursing his lips over her clitoris, he sucked until she thought it was going to turn inside out. It felt as if he was going to drain her of the last drop of passion. She felt as if he was pulling her soul right out of her cunt.
Just when she knew she couldn't stand the terrible pulling tension for another second-when she knew she would kick and scream and yodel and dive into the boy's crotch and suck the knob right off the end of his throbbing cock, he suddenly stopped pulling on her clit.
Blessed relief! But before she could relax and calm the raging storm inside her raddled cunt the boy was puffing, blowing ever so slightly on the knob he had been a moment ago sucking. It felt-weird. Before she had time to wonder whether she liked it or not he was sucking again. She felt her brains turn to peanut butter and run right out of her cunt, right into the eager boy's mouth.
Just when it was starting to become unbearable again the boy stopped. Then abruptly he was sucking and puffing, alternating rapidly, fluttering her flustered clitoris in and out, in and out in rapid succession, fluttering her diddling her, titillating her tender trigger to the tottering precipice of delirium.
And it felt so gooooooood!
She had been around for forty years and never ever had she sensed anything one half so good as the ecstasy this wonderful lithe, clear-skinned boy was giving her. She knew he owned her now. He could have anything. He could do anything to her, could demand anything and she knew she would be powerless to refuse. Oh, God, she thought, why didn't I have sense enough to leave well enough alone? He knows it. He's got to know how much I love what he's doing to me. If he stops now I'll die. I'll do anything-ANYTHING to keep him doing this to me, keep him licking, kissing, sucking, puffing, loving me, squeezing me, diving his wonderful angel face into my muff. Ooooooohhh, it's so woooonderful!
Then abruptly she was wracked with the most tremendous twisting, wrenching, tooth-loosening, soul-searing orgasm she had ever had. It was so gut-wrenching in its total abandon to the joys of erotic fulfillment that she knew she was dying. She was melting, spinning, flowing. She felt herself rise right off the bed and float across the room. Then the whole room spun crazily. She felt herself moaning, floating, slipping, sliding, spinning. And then she felt absolutely nothing at all.
She awoke sprawled on the bed, flat on her back with a taste of acrid dryness in her mouth. The boy leaned over her. One glance was enough to realize he was scared shitless.
"Golly Jesus!" he said. "I thought I killed you.""
"Oooooohhhhh!" Pam moaned. "Ooooooohhhhhhh!" She sighed and tried to catch her breath. Good God, she thought, I must look a sight! "You nearly did," she husked.
"Gee, I'm sorry," the boy said. "I didn't mean to hurt you. You said you'd tell me when to quit. Oh, Jeez!" he maoned. "You want me to go get a doctor?"
Just what I need! Pam thought. She made a valiant effort and pulled herself together. "No," she managed. "I think I can manage without a doctor. But next time you'll have to be a little more careful."
"What'd I do wrong?" the boy asked. "Gee," he sorrowed. "I suppose now you won't let me put it in."
Pam got painfully up off the bed and staggered into the bath.
By the time she had had a hot shower and a cold rinse and douched the gallons of cum from her raw, thoroughly chewed cunt, she felt halfway alive again.
The boy hovered anxious in the doorway. Suddenly Pam realized she was off the hook. The boy was worried,-thought he had done something wrong and had harmed her. As long as he never found out the nature of the harm he had done her, she knew she was one up. "Why don't you clean off too?" she asked.
"Well uh-yeah, all right." The boy went into her shower and emerged moments later toweling himself off. The sight of his lithe body, his worried angelic face, was still enough to melt her heart, her soul, her cunt all at once. She opened her arms and drew the naked boy to her, pulling his face into her tits and wrapping her arms around his head.
"Don't worry," she consoled. "I'll be all right. Just let's he down and rest a few moments." Walking gently backward, she contacted the bed with her calves. Still holding onto the boy, she sank gently backward until she was on top of the bed and the boy on top of her.
The boy was still afraid, treating her like cut glass. She wondered if she dared confess what had really happened. Better not, she guessed. Best leave the boy to worry about something. He was afraid now that he had ruined his chances of getting it in. She tried to think of some kind of cock-and-bull story-something the boy had done 'wrong' that would bind him even more to her reviving body.
The boy was afraid to put his weight on top of her. He straddled her awkwardly, leaning to rest his weight on his elbows as he looked down into her eyes. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he repeated.
"Why didn't you tell me to stop?"
Pam forced a wan smile. Wrung out as she was after that colossal cum, it was no problem to look tired and weak. "You were having so much fun," she said. "I didn't want to spoil it for you."
"Oh!" There was gratitude and disappointment in the boy's face. He paused a moment and his mouth moved several times before he could speak. "I won't ever do it again," he promised.
"Oh, don't say that," she hastened. "You can do it again. But we'll have to rest a while first."
"Gee, wow!" The boy's face lit up.
Pam tried to get her mind in order. "You didn't cum, did you?" she asked.
The boy shook hjs head. "It felt so good what I was doing to you, and the way you were movin' and squeezin' your legs and everything, I almost did. Another minute and I would've."
She wondered what had happened to the fourteen-year-old genius' usually precise grammar.
"Then you went all limp and pale and I guess you fainted and I thought I'd killed you and-golly damn! Just look at it!"
Pam didn't have to look to imagine how the frightened boy's cock must have shriveled. She remembered a phrase she had once read in a book about bullfighters: Los huevos se me subieron hasta la garganta, which the author had translated as 'My testicles crawled up into my thorat.' Smiling her inward secret smile, she realized the gods of love worked their miracles in devious ways. Thanks to her fainting in the middle of the biggest and best cum she had ever experienced in her forty years, the boy's cock was down from explosive pitch for the first time since they had entered her room.
Still crouching over her, trying not to put his weight against her, the boy said, "I was so close to cumming all it would have taken was a touch. It was killing me. I wanted to cum so bad I wanted to forget the game. I was hoping you'd-"
"Do this?" Pam asked. She reached down between them and captured the boy's shriveled cock in her hand.
"Ooooooooooohhhhhh wow!"
Immediately the fourteen-year-old's hammer began reviving in her hand. She felt it swell and grow in rising leaps, thudding bigger and harder with each beat of the boy's speeding heart. "Ooooooooooohhhhh, wow!" he repeated.
It was a shame to waste it but Pam knew from the way his prod was pulsating that he wouldn't get it halfway in before it went off. And she had waited this long. She guessed she might as well wait a little longer until the boy had been worn down enough to do the job right. Besides, if he had to work for the privilege of putting it in her, he'd appreciate it that much more.
She began pulling and prodding, guiding the boy until he understood what she wanted. Slowly they changed positions until she was once more on her side and the boy faced her head to toe in classic sixty-nine position. She bent her knees slightly and aimed her upper knee skyward. She caught the boy's angelic head by his dark ringlets and guided him until his ear was pillowed on the soft inner surface of her thigh.
She could feel the warmth of his breath against her gaping crotch. She marveled at the way her used-up body responded, pulse and breathing quickening with a renewal of desire when she knew she really ought to be so exhausted she should want nothing but to sleep for years and years.
Anyhow ... she took a firm grip on herself. She wanted to bind the boy to her, initiate him into pleasures and delights so intense he could not break the habit of returning to browse in her candy store. Joys so intense he would remain silent, refrain from devoting any special attention to her when there were others around to watch and suspect.
It was going to be a problem once the other stargazers came back.
CHAPTER TEN
Right then she had the boy to herself. She had to teach him what was what-what he hadn't known how badly he needed until he got his first taste by unlocking the secrets of delight in his just maturing body.
The boy had cum once. It had been perhaps an hour ago. Since then he had been in a state of almost continual sexual excitement, his cock rock-hard, throbbing, pulsating with the need to fire its eager load. She knew she had to send him away hungry. But not that hungry! If the boy didn't cum at least once more tonight he would suffer the agonies of a stone ache and might be permanently turned off from the joys of fucking.
She considered letting him stick it in, then knew her decision was for the best. Once he got his cock into her cunt he had penetrated her last secret. If she wanted to keep the boy coming back she had to preserve some element of mystery. Besides, she had had quite enough of the two-pokes-and-it's-over from that useless booze swilling excuse for a husband. Now that she had been thoroughly used in other and even nicer ways, Pam knew she could hold out until the boy was ready to fuck her properly, leisurely, for at least an hour or two. She felt his warm breath in her crotch. She looked at the swollen cock pointing at her face. She blew into the dark curly hair surrounding his balls.
The boy squirmed and his thin muscular thighs closed involuntarily over his ears. Then, afraid he had hurt her, he hastily opened them again. Tentatively, he moved his face closer to her pussy, afraid to hurt her, afraid she would push him away. Abruptly she realized the boy had swallowed her story hook, line and sinker. He still thought he had hurt her, that she had switched positions just to give him the pleasure of contemplating the lotus blossom between her legs.
But, surveying the splendid length of penis that waved at her like a threatening finger, Pam knew she had other things to do. She could not just relax and let the boy lick her into addlepated idiocy again. This time she had to let him cum.
She could do it quick and easy, she knew. But after all the tender loving care the boy had dedicted to the flushed flower he was once more breathing against, she knew he deserved better. But despite her word picture that had sent the boy rushing off to the shower at the other end of the building, in her forty years Pam had thus far survived without ever getting a cock this close to her face.
Sadly, she reflected on the few men she had screwed. Invariably they had been so hard-up, so in a hurry they had not even considered refinements on the amatory process. Each had hurriedly slipped it in, pounded his pelvis frantically against her ass, squealed and snorted like a bunny rabbit, and left her so high and dry she had not even begun to turn on yet, much less cum.
This time, she resolved, it was going to be different. So, to put it in the most direct and unrefined terms, she was going to have to learn how to suck a cock. It was a project to which a large part of her subconscious machinations had been devoted for years but she had never given it much conscious thought.
It seemed that the only time she indulged in these esoteric pursuits was at night, sound asleep. And her images were confused because invariably just about the time she was about to wrap her lips around the dangling part she would suddenly awake with a strange feel of being swept over a waterfall. Oddly enough, each time she had this dream most of the liquid seemed to be flowing from her throbbing crotch.
To work, she decided, and tried to focus her eyes on the growing gouge that waved before her. The boy was breathing hard against her cunt but had not yet actually touched it. She wondered if he was having an anatomy lesson too.
From her vantage point she could see all sides of the boy's cock as it waggled like an admonitory finger in time to his pulse. It was swollen and heavy veined, the skin a slightly darker hue than the smooth olive of the rest of his smooth taut body. The shank, smooth, slim and elegant rose from a nest of glossy black pubic hair and came out at least five inches, she was willing to bet, before its straight elegant line was interrupted by the sudden flare of his glans penis. Beyond the flange of his glans the boy's cockhead tapered rapidly to a point. The foreskin was abundant but he was so swollen with frustrated desire that she could see the purple gray tip of his tool peeping from its tight-stretched, high-veined elegance. At the elongated hole in the tip of the boy's cock she saw a single drop of clear fluid form.
What would happen, she wondered, if she were just to grab it and squeeze? She sighed. Sooner or later she would have to find out. She reached for the night stand and pulled free a Kleenex. Moving delicately, she blotted the drop of clear fluid from the tip of his tool. The boy gasped and she felt the sudden gush of warm breath on her snatch.
She put her hand around the shank of his skewer and, carefully avoiding the head, she squeezed. Another drop of love's lubrication oozed from the eye in his cyclopean organ. She blotted it clean again, then abruptly she sensed what was happening to his cock under the pressure of her squeezing hand. She had read enough to know the head was the sensitive part, that the slightest touch could set off a hyper-sensitive fourteen-year-old. She had been careful to grab him only by the shank. And his cock was-not exactly shrinking, but she was certain it was not quite so explosively hard as it had been a moment earlier. She touched the head of his cock.
The boy gasped again and she felt his fingers bite into her thighs as he fought to restrain himself from diving head first into her cunt.
To her surprise, Pam felt fully recovered already, eager and anxious for another bout. But, she decided, she had better leave things as they were, let the boy believe she was in delicate health and unable to stand the slightest contact. That would give her time to take care of the boy properly-and to satisfy her own curiosity. It was weird, she knew, but at forty she was as ignorant of male anatomy-well almost, as the boy was about girls.
She studdied the slim elegant cock before her, pillowing her head on the boy's thigh to rest easy. She felt the hot throbbing knob on the end of his hammer growing, swelling, returning to full vigor. But not quite. She studied its throbbing, gauged the boy's pulse and breathing and realized that somehow he had passed the first fine spasm of passion and had acquired a second wind. A moment ago he had been at the point of exploding, spraying her face with the juice of joy fulfilled. Now he was not. The only explanation had to be the squeeze she had given him. Abruptly she realized she had discovered a valuable new tool.
She ran her hand gently along his cock, savoring the hard-soft feel of turgid masculinity for the first time. The boy squirmed and gave a happy sigh. She continued exploring, not deliberately tickling, but just running her hands over his cock, over his scrotum, learning the fine animal feel of a male in rut. The boy opened his crotch wider to facilitate her exploration. She stared at the dark brown rosette of his taut anus and remembered having read something about the per-What was it called? She stared at the tiny ridge of skin that ran from the back of the boy's scrotal pouch to the rosette of his anal sphincter. Perineum! That's what it's called. She put an exploring finger to it and stroked gently along the ridge of skin.
The boy bucked uncontrollably, driving his cock straight toward her mouth. She ducked and it skidded past her ear. "Ooooohhhh," the boy moaned. "Sorry. I didn't mean to." She gave his cock a comforting squeeze and murmured something. Gradually the stiffness left the boy's body and he settled down to his nature study, admiring the gentle swirls and curls of ash blonde hair around the lips of her vulva.
She wanted to try that strip of sensitive skin again. Was it really that much of a trigger or had she just startled him? This time she put her hand flat on the cheek of his ass and ran her finger gently toward his perineum so the boy could be prepared and brace himself for what was coming.
What almost came was a fire hose volumed jet of jizz straight into her face. "Ooooohhh, wooooww!" the boy bucked and kicked. Just in time she got her fist over the thumping nozzle of his babymaker and squeezed. Slowly the boy subsided.
She decided to return to safer pursuits. She closed her hand gently over his cock and began sliding her fingers up and down over the hot satiny skin without moving it. The boy's cock swelled and throbbed. "Ooooohhhh," he said. From the way he said it she knew he didn't want her to stop. She supposed a boy this young and carrying this kind of a load could easily fire it just from this gentle stroking. After all, he had probably done it this way himself plenty of times. Or ... she wondered. She had never actually seen a man do it. She had never actually had her hand on a cock before though she had had four of them in her. One for every ten years of my life, she thought bitterly.
But Pam had read everything she could find on the subject. She knew what boys did with that loose sliding foreskin. She closed her hand over it and experimented. It slid easily back, exposing the gray-purple head of his cock which glistened with love's lubrication. There was a faint musky male smell. She sniffed and decided she liked it.
She still gripped the boy's cock and peeled back foreskin in her hand. Slowly, she pulled it back. The boy's prepuce flowed down over the glistening purple gray hardness of his cockhead. She waited a moment and peeled it back again. This time she put her face closer. She took a deep breath, then released its warm moistness over the head of the rigid boy's rammer.
He stiffened still more and she felt his involuntary gasp against the throb of her cunt. She wondered if he would leave her overwrought box alone. She didn't really care. She knew she ought to concentrate on the business at hand and it would be easier if he wasn't licking and kissing and sucking her right out of her gourd, but it would be so nice.....
She pulled the boy's foreskin back down again. His pelvis made little thrusting motions against her hand. She wondered if the boy knew what he was doing any more than she had known how frantically her ass had bobbed against his face when he had been driving her diddled cunt beyond the edge of delirium.
She continued her long slow stroking, playing the boy's cock like a slide trombone. His rhythm increased to match hers. She cupped the furry bag of his scrotum in her other hand. The boy's thighs opened wider. He gave a happy sigh.
Abruptly she stopped milking his muffin-stabber, apparently only an instant before the boy would have reached the point of no return. He thrust vainly against empty air several times, then subsided. She put her fingers to the squirming skin of his scrotum and began counting hairs. The boy nearly went wild but he struggled valiantly to control himself, not to move or wiggle as she tickled the hair follicles. She saw the brown rosette of his asshole clench tight, relax an instant, clench again in unceasing rhythm as the boy's whole body struggled and strove not to cum for another delicious tortured second.
She stopped abruptly to give the boy time to recover. She didn't know whether this was the right thing to do or not. Maybe he was anxious to cum and get it over with. But she suspected that even a fourteen-year-old able to cum once an hour for an indefinite period might enjoy these subtle pleasures and be grateful for the chance to avert explosion as long as possible.
Relaxing, resting, she felt something touch her pussy. At first she though the boy was starting to lick her clit again. Then she realized it was just his exploring finger learning the soft rubbery feel of a hairy vulval lip. His finger ran gently around her crotch tracing its outlines under her fur patch. She wondered if her own hands could possibly have brought one half the pleasure to the boy that his one finger was bringing to her.
It felt so good she forgot the good works she had been performing in the boy's crotch. She felt her thighs parting, prying her cunt open to aid the boy's reconaissance. Tenderly, his finger traced the contours of her furburger. He dipped gently into the damp, out again, in again until his roving fingertip was slick with love's lubrication. Then his finger retraced his tongue's pioneer circumnavigation of her clitoris.
Pam's clit had been licked, sucked, chewed until it was perilously close to bleeding. The boy's slick fingertip straddled a precarious border between pleasure and pain. Unwillingly, she felt her breathing accelerate, her heart start thumping as that old familiar storm began once more to gather inside her belly. It felt as if every nerve end in her body had suddenly come unraveled, had frayed out and suddenly for no good reason started to twist up tight in the opposite direction. She wondered how long she could stand it before she had to tell the boy to stop.
She knew she was going to be so sore the next day that sitting or standing would be agony. And tomorrow she wanted to fuck! She ought to make the boy stop right then before she felt herself starting to go berserk. If she didn't stop soon she was going to go berserk and do herself even more damage. What had she done in that final mad paroxysm of lust just before she had fainted? Had the boy been chewing on her, biting her clit? What had she done to him?
She was still trying to think, trying to control the lust that was driving her out of her skull with sheer mindless erotic delight when abruptly the boy stopped running that slick smeared finger around her clit. Without warning, he drove it deep into her cunt.
Not since over a year before her divorce had Pam felt anything that deep inside her cunt. The sensation was so unusual that she had almost forgotten what it was like, so overlain with fantasy had her memories of fucking become. And it was only the boy's finger. It felt so good. It felt so wondrously, lusciously, finger-lickin' good that for an instant she was afraid she was going to faint again.
Her cunt was not as sore and used-up as her clit. The boy had shot his tongue in and around the entrance to her vagina a few times but he had not strained her or worn her raw as he had elsewhere. But if he kept poking that finger into her and twisting, backing out to attack her from unexpected angles that made her know that soon she would be so sore, so fucked out from a finger ... from a finger!
Good God, she thought. I've got a smooth, clean, edible, fourteen-year-old boy and the best I can use him for is a finger! I could have fingered myself to sleep every night if I hadn't been so busy feeling lonely and sorry for myself! Shit!
She resolved to put a stop to this right then before the boy made her cum again and she was completely ausgespielt for the night-maybe for several days. But how? There was only one thing she knew could paralyze the boy and make him forget about fun and games with fingers.
She struggled to focus her eyes on the waving cock that swung only inches from her nose. She opened her mouth wide, stretched it still wider and lunged for the flying phallus.
She caught it on the first try. She felt the hot thumping head of his hammer go squarely into her mouth without even hitting her lips. Abruptly she wished she had not been so enthusiastic. The pointed head of his cock went clear through her mouth, pushed her soft palate aside and did its level best to go on down her throat.
Choking, she struggled not to cough and retch. Finally she had backed off until just the head of the boy's cock lay imprisoned in her mouth, its flat upper surface resting atop her tongue.
The boy stiffened. His probing finger came out of her vagina as both hands clasped her ass and hung on as if her ass were his only handle to keep from falling out of an airplane. His body thrilled and trembled and she momentarily thought of a bull standing dazzled in sunlight trying to understand the sudden appearance of a sword buried in his shoulder.
There was a long moment of total erotic rapture as the two of them remained frozen in time. Then imperceptibly the boy began-not exactly to relax. His whole body was still rigid, cataleptic. But he was no longer trembling. She could feel his cock swell to new dimensions. She knew and the boy knew that if she hiccupped or breathed-if she let her heart beat too hard the boy would explode in joyous life-giving release. But he didn't want to cum. Not yet. Nor did she.
The boy had driven her up the wall with his kissing, his licking, his suck-puffing. Now it was her turn. She wanted the boy to understand fully the power she had over him. If he could enslave her she could enslave him. It was important that the boy realize his whole future, his life, his very soul depended on her whim-quite literally on which way she held her mouth.
She knew that the slightest movement would set him off. Then she remembered what squeezing with her fist had done. Very carefully, she began closing her jaws, letting them come back together slow as an hour hand until her teeth were starting to dig into the stretched skin of his cock just behind the throbbing lump of its head.
The boy began trembling again, his whole body fibrilating like a bull first feeling la estoca. She closed her teeth another millimeter and the boy's hard-on deflated slightly. Before it could dwindle to nothingness, she let go. The boy relaxed slightly. She swallowed and the slight movement brought the lump inside her mouth surging back to full rampant masculinity. She closed her teeth again.
A half dozen times she repeated this ritual, until the boy's body responded with a wisdom older than intellect and stopped its surging swell to rock-hard explosivity. Finally she dared relax herself and permit her mouth to move normally. She pursed her lips and moved her head very slightly back and forth.
The boy moaned his pleasure but her tongue sensed that this time he was not in imminent danger of cumming. She felt hot young blood course through the swollen veins of his foreskin. She retracted her tongue to touch the puckered tip.
He moaned again and thrust his pelvis toward her. The slight movement caught her teeth on his straining foreskin. It moved backward with a little snap and exposed the handsome flare of his glans penis. She felt the sensitive underside of the boy's bare cockhead throb against her tongue. She moved her tongue around it gently, savoring the rampant maleness within her.
The boy still clung frantically to her ass but she thanked the gods that he had stopped doing anything. He was so overcome with the sudden erotic onslaught that he had buried his face in her crotch and pulled her ass tightly to him. She relaxed and let her wide-spread thighs close gently over his ears. The boy moaned and the faint vigration of his voice made her whole belly trill with joy. Suddenly she realized this could work two ways. She began humming. The buzz around the tip of the boy's cock drove him out of control.
He lunged and before she could retreat she felt the hot swollen head of his bare cock slide deep past her palate, down her throat until it felt as if he would stretch her stomach. The boy's arms caught her head from behind. As he caressed the nape of her neck and pulled her down like a glove over his hot throbbing rod she knew the boy was so overcome with the rites of love that he didn't have the slightest idea what he was doing to her.
To Pam's surprise it felt good even though he was manhandling her. She felt the wonderful bulk of masculinity slide down her throat and wondered why-how had she managed to struggle through forty years on this dismal planet without once trying something as simple and as good as this? But her body still had to breathe. With the knob of the boy's cock halfway down her throat it wasn't easy. And her body had been swallowing food for forty years. It still tried to swallow this lump of hot meat which resolutely refused to go any farther down. As her throat contracted and swallowed over and over, trying to get rid of this pound of flesh the surging, milking massage of her throat muscles were turning the boy on even more.
Uncontrollable at first, he was now totally berserk, holding her head to his crotch until she felt her lips mashing down on the curly nest of black pubic hair that' surrounded his staff and pouch. She felt her throat muscles straining, tiring from their effort to swallow something that would not go down. Then abruptly her stomach rebelled and she retched. The sudden total reversal as every muscle in her throat and stomach contracted to expel this invader finally did what she had been so determined not to do.
She felt the head of the boy's cock deep in her throat, locked in the embrace of her spasmed throat. It swelled, throbbed, gathered strength for a final assault and then she felt a tiny preliminary spurt. An instant later the frantic lunging boy was firing gallons of boyfuck goo down her throat. She didn't have time to wonder whether it felt good or not. She didn't know how it tasted because it was already down past her mouth where her struggling throat could do nothing but swallow.
Each swallow seemed to provoke the boy's brimming gonadia to new efforts. He lunged frantically, ramming his cock into her until she felt her teeth biting into the bony prominence behind his glossy black pubic patch. Each time she swallowed the boy's swollen cock contracted and throbbed, sending another spurt of love's elixir deep into her belly, bypassing her mouth with nature's original force feeder.
Pam choked and retched again. The boy lunged harder, faster, driving his dong deep down her gullet as he strove to deliver the final full drop of his devotion. He held her face buried tight in his crotch, straining, pushing, gasping as his body finally revenged itself for all the waiting, all the shortstops and detours on the road to orgasm.
Finally it was over. The boy fell back limp. Just as limp, Pam felt her head loll back. The boy's cock was still king-size but she supposed it would shrink soon. She felt its full-grown length slide easily up out of her throat, past her tongue, leaving behind the odd but not unpleasant taste of cum. Then without warning, she fell asleep.
When she awoke seconds, or maybe hours later, the boy's cum-smeared cock had shrunk and retreated halfway back into its foreskin. It looked so pathetic and baby-like that she had to fight off the desire to kiss it again. The boy was still asleep, his adonis head still pillowed on the soft inner surface of her thigh.
She felt drained, so used up that she was sure she wouldn't want to even think about fucking for weeks, well, for days or hours at least. The room was still pleasant so she guessed the furnace had settled down. There was a gray nothingness outside the tiny window and it took her a second to realize it was not daylight but just reflected room light off the high banked snow.
She was going to be stiff soon, she knew. She'd better ooze out from under the boy and shower off. Maybe the hot water could prevent some of the aches and pains she had bought. Carefully, she lifted the boy's head from her thigh and substituted a pillow. The boy moaned and moved his hand over the smooth curve of her belly, but he did not awaken.
She had intended to go into her shower then she knew the noise would awaken him. Instead, she padded naked through the kitchen and dining hall, through the dorm back to the men's bath at the opposite end of the long, low building.
She stopped at a full-length mirror to see if she was as bedraggled as she felt. Then before she could really focus her eyes, she turned resolutely away. No use asking for bad news. She could look at the mirror on her way back.
She went into one of the shower stalls that lined the wall of the room with the sunken tub where she and the boy had first looked at each other's bodies. First, she splashed warm water up her cunt, slapping handfuls repeatedly until she had washed the remains of love from her brimming cunt. The warm water felt soothing as it splashed over the chewed tenderness of her clitoris.
Showering the juices of joy from her face and body, she tried to take stock of herself. After a lifetime of probity, she had finally surrendered to all the deep desires that had burrowed like frantic rabbits in the depths of her psyche. Did she look different now? Could anyone look at her on the street and say, "That forty-year-old woman with the nice firm tits looks like she's been playing around with underage boys?" Would she spend the rest of her existence like some character out of a New England novel with a scarlet letter burned into her body?
She wondered. Had she really done any damage to anyone? Sooner or later the boy was going to discover girls. Maybe in his awkwardness he would get one of the lovely little things knocked up and damage her psyche and her parents' bank account. Maybe from her he would learn the rudiments of the art of seduction and be able to deflower his first virgin without leaving living consequences inside her. Maybe she could teach him to take care of himself and not get one of the diseases that seemed to be spreading pandemically now that everyone fucked everyone. Had she done the boy any damage?
She had gratified his curiosity-possibly prevented him in lonely desperation from tampering with some little girl who really wasn't ready yet. She had relieved some of the pressing pressure from his growing glands. Above all, she had shown the boy that the best things in life were free. All it took was the patience to find someone willing to share. She knew she had not harmed the boy. But what had she done to herself?
That, Pam knew, was the question. She turned off the shower and hopped up and down a couple of times to shake off clinging water. Her size thirty-six 'C cup tits bounced as jauntily as if she were a high-school cheerleader. Not bad, she knew, for a forty-year-old woman. She stepped from the stall and picked up a towel. She was still toweling her superb body dry when she came once more to the mirror. This time she looked.
She looked the same: Slender, well built, taut muscled, looking not fifteen, not twenty or thirty. With herself she could be honest. She looked forty. But she looked like a forty-year-old woman with natural ash blonde hair both above and below, unlined, without a wrinkle anywhere on her taut-muscled body, with a pair of tits that pointed as defiantly skyward as they had twenty-five years ago. There was nothing wrong with being forty, she decided. The only wrong was in not accepting it-in trying to be something she wasn't.
Pam was forty. Lonely, well built and still capable of attracting a man of any age-even down to fourteen, she had suddenly discovered. She liked to fuck. She hadn't done as much in the past as she would have liked. From now on, she resolved, things were going to be different. The world had to be just as full of love-hungry men as it was of women. She didn't intend to bury her head in the sand or pour it into her cunt any longer. From now on Pam was going to live!
When she returned to her room the boy was still asleep atop the tight-stretched contour sheet on her stripped bed. His hair was tousled and there was a thin whiteness of dried something about his mouth that she knew belonged to her. She studied the smooth elegance of his relaxed, sleeping body. The boy was like a living statue of some minor Greek god. She wanted to touch him, caress him. But she didn't want to disturb his sleep. Finally she sat her naked freshly bathed body in a chair beside the bed. She gave a happy sigh of relaxation and settled down to watch the naked boy sleep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
She had not been watching the gentle rise and fall of the slim elegant boy's breathing for more than a minute when his breathing changed. He stirred and a hand reached out blindly. The boy's hand searched for a moment and abruptly he awoke, panic in his eyes. He saw her nude body sitting in the chair and he smiled sleepily. "I thought it was all a dream," he murmured.
His eyes closed then a moment later he opened them again. "Did I really have it in your mouth?" he asked.
"You sure did," Pam said. "Why don't you shower off again so you won't feel all sticky when you get up?"
"Uh, yeah. Sure." The boy got to his feet and went into her shower. She sat a moment listening to the water run, then padded barefoot into the kitchen and fixed two cups of coffee. The boy's eyes lit up with appreciation when he came fresh and damp from the shower and saw the tray.
"I really can't believe it," he said as he sipped coffee.
"Can't believe what?"
"All this-everything we've done. Gee, I always dreamed about doing it with a real woman. I guess I knew I'd do it someday, but I thought I'd have to wait years and years until I got married or something."
"Some people do," Pam said.
"Yeah." The boy was thoughtful. "I don't think I could have waited that long," he said.
"I don't know. Is it true about-" He hesitated. "Uh, is it true that there are girls that'll do it with anybody for money?"
"I'm afraid it is," Pam conceded. "And some pretty young and pretty good-looking ones too."
"I suppose if I had to bad enough-and if I had the money ... " The boy trailed off.
At least he wasn't fogged up with a lot of Victorian ideals and such hogwash, she decided. At fourteen this clear-skinned, clear-minded boy already knew the traps his body could lead him into.
"I wonder if that's why people marry people they don't really like."
Pam sighed. "I suppose it's why I did."
"You've been married?"
She nodded.
"But you're not now?"
She shook her head.
"Do you want to marry me?"
Pam smiled. "No," she said. "I like you better than anybody I've ever known, but I'm too old. You're too young to get married, and it would never work." She thought a moment, wondering if the boy was going to get all bent out of shape because of this refusal. "As long as you want to-and as long as you can keep it a secret, we can go on seeing one another and enjoying one another's bodies but ... don't you really think it's too soon for you to marry?"
"Golly yes," the boy agreed. "I just thought you might want me to."
Pam laughed. "You've been reading too many bad novels," she said.
"Why?"
"Because-" She hesitated. "You like to look at me. You like to touch me and you enjoy my body. But you're not in love with me now, are you? You couldn't very well be in love with somebody you don't even know."
"I guess not," the boy said. "But I thought women wanted to believe all that stuff."
She sighed. "I guess some of them do. But some of us stop being silly little girls after a while. I like you the same way you like me. You're fun and you're so pretty I could eat you, but ... the only sillier sight in the world than you with a forty-year-old wife would be me with a fourteen-year-old husband."
The boy grinned.
"Meanwhile," she continued, "you have something I want and I have something I hope you still want."
The boy's eyes widened. "Golly!" he exclaimed. "You mean I can put it in now?"
"Maybe not just this moment. But after we've rested a while and you feel like you really want to. Maybe you're tired and would really rather sleep a little first."
"Oh, no!" the boy protested. "Can we go back to bed?"
"If you want."
The boy made a shallow racing dive for the contour-sheeted bed. Moving carefully, nursing her aches and strains, Pam followed him. They lay on their sides, facing one another again. The boy kissed her. She kissed him back and they swapped tongues with happy abandon for a few minutes. She was so tired she really didn't much care whether anything else happened.
The boy came up for air from his kiss. "Golly, this is great," he enthused. "It feels so good just being with you, knowing I can do it whenever I want."
"You still want to then?"
"Sure," the boy said valiantly. But when next she murmured something to the boy whose face was pillowed in her tits, he didn't answer. She waited a moment and from his regular breathing she knew he was asleep.
Pam pondered on her incredible luck. She supposed she was not the first mature woman to initiate a fourteen-year-old boy into the arts of love. But she wondered how many boys this age were clear eyed enough to understand exactly what they were doing-how much fun it could be and how unimportant it was. This boy seemed willing to accept the eternal verity that a fuck was a fuck, enjoyable to all involved, but a fuck was not a lifetime monopoly on another person's body and soul. She hoped when the time came for them to part she could smile and remember the good times they had had together and not make a fool of herself trying to hang onto something she had never really owned. And on this happy thought she was astonished to discover some time later that she had been asleep.
She and the boy had fallen apart but still lay side by side uncovered on the narrow bed. She thanked the gods the astronomers liked to keep the thermostat high for a contrast to their midnight vigils in unheated telescope domes. Even so, it was too cool for sleeping. The boy's slim dark body was disfigured with goose pimples. She found a sheet and blanket and put it over him before slipping back into bed.
The boy stirred and put out his hand. It found her tit. He smiled and went back to sleep. Pam lay quiet with the boy's hand on her tit. This simple gesture had suddenly driven sleep away. She was turned on again, despite all the sensations and satiations she had experienced this night. Just the thought of this slim elegant male body with the black hair and clear dark skin was enough to make her well-chewed clit throb and wish for more.
But the boy needed his sleep. She remembered how exhausted he must have been after a fifteen-mile jaunt through the snow, uphill on skis. She dozed and half awake dreamed of all the wonderful things they would do together the next day when the boy had rested and eaten and his vitality returned. Then her eyes flew open and she realized the gray light outside the window was not just a reflection of inside light. It was morning already.
She oozed out of bed without waking the boy and, after considering the pros and cons, started putting some clothes on. She picked through her wardrobe, wishing she had brought more of her things from the house down in the city. Finally she put on a clean bra and matching bikini panties. She pulled pantyhose over her legs, put on a sheer blouse that fit snugly to show off her tits to best advantage. Finally, she put on a not quite miniskirt that fitted snugly around her well-formed bottom and ended a couple of inches above her knees. She hoped it wasn't too out of place for a woman of her age.
She moved silently through the kitchen, through the dining hall to the entrance vestibule. Thanks to the overhang of the eaves, the snow had not piled up tight against the door. She looked outside. It was bitter cold, dull and cloudy. Still snowing. She closed the door and tried not to shiver.
So they were still alone. For how long? She supposed the boy's parents would soon be on the phone wanting to hear from the horse's mouth or rather, from the boy's that he was all right, that the aged and lumpish cook up there was treating him right, that he was drinking his milk and doing all the other things that were necessary to keep a growing boy from disintegrating and dying of advanced senility before his twentieth birthday. She wondered what the reaction would be on the other end if the boy were to tell his mother exactly how well the cook had been treating him.
It was an interesting thought. Pam had never had children. She wondered what her reaction would be if she had a son and learned some woman had done for him what she had done for this lovely boy. On due reflection Pam supposed she would have to preserve the proprieties and either pretend it hadn't happened, that she didn't know anything about it or-if it were flaunted until she could not ignore it, she would have to play outraged and indignant. But secretly, Pam suspected she would be grateful to any woman who could conduct a son of hers safely through the rocks and shoals of adolescence. At least it would prevent pimples ... possibly unwanted pregnancies, diseases, or a totally unsuitable daughter-in-law.
She sat in the kitchen sipping coffee and wondering if the boy would wake up hungry. Probably. Boys that age were always hungry and he had had plenty of both kinds of exercise last night. She opened the kitchen cupboards as quietly as she could and inventoried supplies. What was the boy going to want?
While she was stretching to peer into a top shelf, she felt hands close over her tits from behind. It startled her so much she gave a little yip and jump.
The boy looked pristine-as if he had been wrapped in cellophane since the day of his birth and never sullied by the world's uglinesses. To Pam it seemed colossally unjust that any boy could be so heart-and cunt-meltingly lovely. He had gotten into a T-shirt and Levi's. He was barefoot.
"Good morning," he said.
"Yes," she agreed. "It really is."
"Back in a minute," he said.
"What would you like for breakfast?"
"Anything."
He darted out of the kitchen and reappeared moments later. "Had to brush my teeth," he explained.
"Really, what do you want to eat?"
The boy stared fixedly at the spot where her legs came together in a furburger underneath her trim-fitting skirt.
"Later," Pam laughed.
"All right," the boy said and sighed. "But why did you have to go and put clothes on?"
"Why did you?"
"Because I peeked out the door and saw you had yours on and I wasn't sure."
"Sure of what?"
The boy gave her a shame-faced grin. "I've dreamed about it so much I was afraid maybe it didn't really happen at all."
"Don't you want it to happen?"
"Oh, wow, yes!"
"Then," Pam hesitated. "Then I guess I put the clothes on so you could take them off."
The boy leaped toward her.
"After breakfast," Pam said firmly. "Now what would you like?" She waved toward the refrigerator and the cupboards.
"Fix me what you like."
"You're sure?"
"Sure I'm sure."
"You'd never be able to reach it," Pam said and laughed. Before the boy had quite made out what she meant, she was frying eggs and bacon.
They breakfasted in quiet harmony across from each other at the tiny kitchen table. When the boy had finally finished stoking himself, she asked, "Are you going to call your folks?"
"No," he said and shrugged. "They're probably all up at Big Bear skiing by now. Besides, they know I'm all right."
"But won't they worry?"
"Why should they?"
Why indeed? Pam asked herself. She wondered how many more days alone she and the boy would have.
The boy was looking at her expectantly. It didn't require any deductive ability for her to guess what was on a freshly fed and rested boy whose main objective had been short-stopped the night before. Before he could get his hands on her, she got up and went out into the dining hall. "What're you going to do?" he asked.
"You might as well get used to playing secret agent, she said. "Huh?"
"I'm going to check out the bath and dorm to make sure neither of us left any evidence behind."
"Oh." Silently the boy joined her. She prayed he would never find out how it tore her in two just to watch him walk. Those ancient Greeks who had made all the statues of young men. She had heard how the old Greeks were. Remembering the tender loving care they had devoted to their dioscouroi, Pam looked at the boy's classic profile and knew whatever they said about the Greeks was probably true.
They checked out the bath and dorm. There was the normal disorder from the few hours the boy had slept there. Nothing incriminating. Pam left the boy's bed unmade. She gave the dining room a quick look. Everything okay. She was returning to the kitchen when she remembered how the boy had caught her naked and unaware in the bath. It had been a happy beginning, but for somebody else to catch her and the boy in flagrante delicto might not end up so happily. She studied the door at the end of the entry vestibule. There was a bolt but nobody ever locked it. There were no thieves or intruders on the mountaintop. For somebody to discover the door locked was suspicious in itself. Besides, somebody could freeze to death out there if she and-the boy happened to sleep soundly. She thought another moment, then piled assorted buckets and kettles where they would make a resounding clatter if the door were to open.
Then they went back to her room. The boy's eyes were gleaming with expectation. "Now?" he asked.
Pam shook her head. "First," she said, "we put on clean sheets."
"Yeahhhhh!" the boy enthused. He whipped the old one off and helped her put on a fresh contour sheet. Pam had never seen a boy work so fast. He straightened from patting down his end of the bed. "Now what?" he asked.
"Now we decide who undresses the other first," Pam said.
"Oh, boy!" He thought a moment, then fished in his pocket for a coin.
"Heads," Pam said, and won the toss. Which really wasn't much of a victory since the boy wore only a T-shirt and Levi's. She pulled his shirt loose and up over his head. The boy's clean dark torso was so inviting she felt herself turning on already. She knelt before him to struggle with his fly and improved the opportunity to kiss his bare belly. The boy wrapped his arms around her head and pulled her close to him. Finally she worked his waist button loose. She pulled down his zipper but the skin-tight Levi's did not slide down to unveil his manhood as she had hoped. Instead she had to pull them down with as much care and patience as if they had been pantyhose.
As the Levi's descended, the boy's rested rod sprang free with a bouncing vigor that made her almost hear the 'sproing' of animated cartoons. She glanced up at the boy and saw the same thought in his ready mind. They laughed.
The young adonis stood nude before her, radiant in the splendor of his unadorned, slim elegance. Pam felt her insides flip-flop at the thought of this wonderful boy, remembering what they had done the night before, thinking of all the wonderful things they would do this day. She had forgotten the soreness, the stiffness of the night. Today was a new day and she intended to make the most of it. Before this day was over she intended to have the boy's cock where it belonged-deep inside her cunt, pushing and probing desperately for her lungs.
But the boy had slept, had eaten, had gained a new head of steam. Now he stood in front of her, his cock pointing valiantly skyward already and he hadn't even touched her yet. She thought she was going to melt just from looking at him, from feeling the warmth of his dark beauty as he stood before her fumbling at the buttons of her blouse.
She wanted to slap his hands away and do it herself, but that would violate her own rules and would spoil the boy's fun. After the joy he had given her she didn't want to do anything to dampen the fine animal spirits of this elegant boy. While her whole body and soul thrummed with anticipation he fiddled with her buttons.
Just as she was ready to scream the boy finally figured out how they worked. He peeled the blouse off down her arms. To her surprise he folded it carefully and laid it aside before returning to the grand unveiling. She would have been willing to bet he would go for her skirt next, but instead he stepped behind her and once more she endured masculine incompetence as he spent a small eternity deciphering the combination to her size thirty-six 'C cup brassiere.
Finally it was free and her liberated tits sprang outward and upward, proclaiming tumescence for the greater glory of the gods of love. The boy placed her bra carefully atop her blouse. He stepped back and looked at her critically from a distance. He walked around her several times.
"Aaaaahhhh!" he said.
"I presume that means you approve?" Pam asked.
"Yeaaaaahhhh." The boy seemed in no hurry to finish undressing her. "Funny," he muttered. "What?"
"I've always wanted to see a girl with just her blouse and bra off. I don't know why. Maybe it's from all the old Geographic magazines I looked at when I was a kid."
Pam smiled her Mona Lisa smile and threw her shoulders back, tits out for the boy's delectation. She saw no point in false modesty. She had a good pair. They pointed outward, upward, their soft rounded undersides bulging like ripe melons, upper surfaces like twin ski jumps, surmounted by tiny virginal nipples. Her areolas were pink, as were her nipples, and the effect against her fair skin was of ah ethereal delicacy-making her look like the bisque doll of some Limoges porcelainier.
Fully clothed in high heels, pantyhose, and a not-too-short mini, the sudden surprise of total nudity from her waist up was more erotic by far in its impact than even the sight of her long, well-turned legs or the gentle roundness of her ass. She knew she was at her best this way. She wondered if the boy knew it or if he was listening to the beat of a different drum as he pursued some private vision down the fantasy-filled turnings of memory lane.
He seemed in no hurry to finish undressing her. We've got days yet, she reminded herself. She wondered if the night's experiences would have done anything to cool the boy's hair-trigger tendency. If she had to go through the same process every day before the boy could settle down to solid fucking, it might take weeks before she got what she really wanted.
But ... suddenly and to her surprise, Pam wondered if she really did want it. Until yesterday she had never personally experienced the joys of orality-had only half believed they existed. Now ... she thought a moment. If the boy could do all the wonderful things he had done to her with only his tongue and a finger ... she shuddered at the thought of what cataclysmic changes he might work in her with a full-grown cock doing its thing.
But the boy was still circling slowly, memorizing her body from every angle as she posed fully clothed from the waist down, nude from the waist up. "Why don't you tell me a story?" she asked.
"I don't know any."
"You could tell me the story of how you happen to like to look at girls with half their clothes on."
"I don't know," the boy said. He frowned and she could see he was trying to remember.
"There's a girl-a friend of my sister's, who has a real thin blouse. You know the kind you can see right through?"
Pam nodded.
The boy shook his head. "That isn't it. I always had this thing even before she started coming around. You know," he said in sudden surprise, "I think she wears that blouse just to show off her things at me!"
"No doubt," Pam said. Mentally she added, If not to show them to a wonderful boy like you, at least to some other man or men.
"I guess I told you how when I was real little I liked to put my face against girls' calves." The boy frowned. "After that I went off to a special school for a couple of years and I hardly ever got a chance to get close to a girl without somebody always watching. I guess I must have been eight, maybe nine before I got out of that school. When I came home we were in a different place and all the girls were new except my sisters.
"I must have been only eight because that was the year I started piano lessons. Yeaaaaahhhhh!" Abruptly the boy lost his detachment. He moved in quickly on her and buried his face in her bare tits. His arms closed around her. Pam involuntarily hugged him to her, trying to preserve enough sanity and free will not to sink to the floor. She wanted to tear off her skirt, pull off her pantyhose, sink to the floor and pull this wonderful boy on top of her, stuff his stabber into her waiting quiff and milk him dry of the last drop of masculinity. He felt so goooood! Then abruptly she realized there was something odd. Was she feeling right? Cautiously, she let go of his head. She let her hand fall naturally and casually. She slipped it between their tight straining bodies to see if the skirt and pantyhose were dulling her sensations. There was no mistake. The boy's cock was not even hard!
I'll kill myself! I should have taken it while I could. Now he's all bound up in some Freudian motherhood mess or other and I'll never get another hard-on out of him. Oh, shit! Why didn't I fuck him to death last night? Why didn't I use him up like a Kleenex this morning when he came out of bed with that wonderful hard-on? Now he's going to moon around and want mothering or some goddamned thing and I'll have to cook for him and look at his wonderful body and think about what I could have had and, oh, goddamn it! If there's a hell, I must be in it!
"It wasn't with my first piano teacher. But a couple of years later I had another one. I guess I was eleven at the time. I remember the first one was old and dried up. She wore her hair all gray and piled in a big knot on top of her head. But the next teacher was better looking. I guess she must only have been about twenty-five.
"One day I came for my lesson and the door was open so I just walked in and sat down and a few minutes later I heard a man's voice in another room say something and then I heard her say, 'Just a minute, I'll get it.' and then she came in the door of the music room and she was all dressed up just like you, only skirts were longer then and she looked real nice like she was going out, only she didn't have anything at all on above her waist. I remember hers hung down a little bit and they weren't as nice or as big as yours. She looked at me and I looked at her and she said 'Oh'! and turned around and ran out of the room and then she and the man said a whole lot of things real fast and then I heard a door slam and a little while later she came out and gave me my music lesson."
The boy paused a moment and added. "When she came back she had all her clothes on." He let go of Pam and stepped back to look once more at her from a distance. "Hers were smaller," he repeated. "They weren't bad but they hung a lot more than yours. And you know, she made so many mistakes in the music lesson that day that finally she quit ten minutes early and told me if I didn't tell anybody she'd let me go home early." The boy grinned. "You're the first person I ever told. I kept hoping she'd take her blouse off again, but she never did."
Pam didn't know whether to be sorrowful or amused at this little tale of thwarted fucking. "I don't suppose you ever found out if the man was her husband?"
"You know, I never thought about it till now, but her name was Miss McNulty. Golly!" he exulted. "She was having fun too, wasn't she?"
Pam guessed she had been. She was not particularly curious about Miss McNulty's love life. What interested her more was the slow but steady rise of this wonderful boy's magic wand as he resumed his slow pacing round and round her half-draped body. The boy's hard-on was coming back as he looked at her.
She breathed a prayer of thanksgiving to Venus, Aphrodite and Islitar, trying to forget her panic of a moment ago. The boy was still circling her but she was reassured by the gleam in his eye. Slowly he came closer. Standing behind her, she was warned by his breath on her neck. Then his hand went snaking its sinuous way up under her skirt, seeking out the warm spot where two legs become one ass. As she felt the warmth of his hand through her pantyhose, she heard the boy murmur, "I've always wanted to do that to a girl."
Pam was willing to give him two hours to stop it. Unwittingly, the boy had stumbled onto one of her own secret fantasies. The sudden delicious sensation was the most erotic thing the boy could have done to her. And just as suddenly she knew where both she and the boy had unwittingly picked up their common kink. It had to date back to that series of ads about girls who 'dreamed I went to see Deep Throat in my Maidenform bra."
She was overcome by a wave of sudden and total rut. She felt her insides churn, felt her cunt suddenly brimful with love's juices. She wondered how close the boy's fantasy paralleled her own. The boy still stood behind her with his hand up under her skirt. Pam took a deep breath and tried to control the quaver in her voice. "Late at night I'm walking from the library back to the house where I live alone," she began. "The streets are deserted. Then, about a block from the library, I meet a man in evening dress. He's wearing an opera cape with a red silk lining. He has a silk top hat. My first impression is that he's an actor made up to play the devil and then as he comes closer I can see that he's just a very handsome young man, rather dark, out without any stage make-up. He looks at me and I glance at him but he doesn't look away. After I've gone a few steps I can feel that he's turned around and is following me with his eyes.
"I'm terrified. He's handsome but there are all kinds of strange people in cities. What'll I do if he follows me? And I'm afraid to look around because if I did he might take it for an invitation so I just keep walking and then I know he is following me and I don't dare run and I don't dare even walk faster because if I let him know I know he's there and if I let him know I'm frightened....
"So I walk on and this handsome man is right behind me and I'm afraid to look back and I wonder what he wants to do to me and I wish I'd met him somewhere else and been properly introduced because he looks so nice and he's just the kind of man I've always wished I could have but then he just saw me on the street and turned around and started following me and those eyes that looked right through me and if he's following me like this he can't be a nice man and what's he going to do to me and, will he kill me or will he just-
"And I'm walking as fast as I dare and finally I get to my house and I walk up to the front steps and I'm hunting in my purse for the key and while I'm standing there before my door and scared to death and I can't find my key and then I can feel him right behind me and then I can feel his hand going right up my-"
"Like this?" the boy asked as his hand went up the back of her leg. Pam screamed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Thinking it over later, Pam could never decide exactly why she had screamed. She knew where she was, knew what she was doing, but somehow she had been so caught up in her own fantasy that when she felt the boy's hand gently glide up her pantyhose-clad leg and curve to cup her pussy she had been overcome with a frisson of terror combined with a strange overlay of lust.
How, she wondered, was it possible to nearly die of fright and yet cum explosively at the same moment? She felt the turmoil as her belly tensed with terror, then melted, deliquesced to flow along with her brains in a thin stream of clear liquid that suddenly filled her flowing cunt. The boy still had his hand between her legs. From behind he put his other hand over her tits.
It was crazy. She knew perfectly well where she was, what she was doing with this lovely fourteen-year-old. Yet suddenly she felt herself cringe at the touch of his hand on her bare breast. It seemed as if her tits were actually shrinking from his touch. She could feel her nipples which a moment ago had been rock hard with anticipation now shrinking to invisibility.
Yet despite it all she was turned on as never before. She felt her body shrink from the touch of the boy's hands on tits and cunt. Yet her body wanted him. She wanted him. She wondered if deep down somewhere every woman wanted to be raped.
She didn't. At least she didn't think so. The trouble was, she guessed, she had never in forty years on this corrupt planet ever come even close to being threatened with rape. She wondered why. She knew she was attractive to men. And she had been surrounded by hard-up young single men in the neighborhood where she had boarded students. Just luck, she supposed. But was it good luck or bad?
A real rape, she supposed, would probably come from some scabby character with a distillery breath like her husband's. No boy with a clean, dark-skinned body and a face like an angel still unfallen-nobody as handsome and accomplished as this lovely lad would ever have to pursue strange women on the street.
Chances were strange women spent most of their time trying to rape him. Ah, to be a boy, she thought. But better still to be a woman with that boy's warm breath on the back of her neck, his hand over her tit, his other hand cupping her crotch, and his rampant rod pushing against the back of her skirt.
His hand left her tit. His other hand slid caressingly away from her pussy, down her leg and she was momentarily bereft. After a second she realized he was fiddling with the button at the waist of her skirt. With typical masculine incompetence he took half an enternity getting it undone. She wondered if his delay was deliberately aimed at provoking a heightened response from her or if all men were mystified when faced with the intricacies of female fastenings.
Either way it was working. She struggled not to spin around, grab him, pull him atop her as she sank to the floor. It could be over in seconds as they ram-slammed their way to a galloping, exhausting conclusion that would leave the pair of them spent and gasping, unable to move or think for the next hour. But there was plenty of time yet for that, she reminded herself. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself not to move.
Finally she felt the sudden loosening of the skirt about her waist. The boy had now somehow managed to get the zipper stuck. Why, she wondered, couldn't he have had the sense to lower it before he started with the button?
He pulled it up to free the jam. He pulled it down and it jammed again. Each time the zipper moved she could feel his warm hand touch her bare back. 'Each time his knuckles touched her spine she felt Roman candles shoot up into her skull. Would he ever get around to undressing her? The boy was naked and she was not. She knew he was getting a special turn-on from viewing her fully dressed from the waist down and bare-titted. But now he seemed ready for the next inning in their crazy game. Would he ever be done with fiddling with that zipper. Don't screw around with zippers, she wanted to say, screw around with me!
Finally there was a soul-satisfying "riiiiiip!' and the zipper was down. The boy began tugging at the hem of her skirt. It slid gently past the bulge of her hips and dropped to her feet. Like a blacksmith maneuvering a skittish horse, he grasped her nylon clad ankle and lifted. He lifted her other foot and pulled the skirt free. While she gazed with burning eyes on his dark, unblemished body, the boy folded the skirt. He picked up her bra and blouse, put the skirt on the bottom of the pile, and carefully replaced them.
Pam stood in high-heeled shoes, bikini panties and panty hose. She suspected that this getup might still be more exciting for the boy than total nudity. After all, he had satisfied his curiosity yesterday or rather last night when he-had managed to get his finger, his nose and his tongue into all the places he had so long dreamed of gazing upon. She felt those places throb now as her blood raced to them, flushing tissues, quickening juices in joyous anticipation of things to come.
To cum. Good God, she had already cum once. If the boy didn't get these clothes off her soon, she knew there would be a damp spot in her panties.
"Excuse me," the boy said. "Be right back."
He trotted off through the kitchen. Pam wondered if he was a mind reader or if some special love god was looking out for her. She rushed to the bathroom and pulled down her panty hose and the bikini panties. Hastily, she wiped the brimming flow of love's elixir from her throbbing pussy. By the time the boy returned she was posed again, elegant, slim, tits pointing proudly skyward as she stood clad only in panty hose, bikini panties, and high-heeled shoes. She thought a moment and realized the boy could not help mentally comparing her with the gatefold of a certain monthly magazine. She struggled to be honest with herself. She was forty. But she could still teach those bunnies a thing or two.
From the gleam in the boy's eye she knew she had passed inspection. Then she saw what he was carrying. Good God, she thought, I've never been on skis in my life! But it seemed she was about to learn. She hoped she wouldn't break a leg. The boy had brought his skis from the vestibule where he had left them on arrival.
First he knelt to put her right foot in a boot. It was a little large for her but not as big as she had expected. The boy had rather small feet for a kid his size. He laced the boot tight about her nylon-clad ankle. Then he spent ten minutes getting the other boot on her to his satisfaction.
Standing half naked with the boy kneeling to fiddle with her feet, Pam felt her insides churn in anticipation. She wondered what the boy intended to do. Sure as hell she wasn't going to go out in the snow dressed this way. Besides, there was only one pair of skis between them.
The boy lifted her booted foot again and placed it atop a ski. She forgot for a moment her frantic desire to fuck as she tried to figure out how the complicated mass of springs, clasps and cables worked. Finally the boy pulled a lever and she felt her foot and the ski become one artefact, indivisible, with sprains and fractures for all.
A moment later he had repeated the process with her other foot. Pam stood in the middle of her bedroom, wearing skis, boots, panty hose and bikini panties. She wondered if perhaps she shouldn't have left off the latter but ... too late now. As long as she stood still in this position, skis parallel with one foot slightly in front of the other, she guessed she would be all right. She knew perfectly well the instant she tried to move, she would fall flat on her ass.
The boy moved back to admire his work. From the rock hardness of his thumping phallus, she knew he must be satisfied. It was crazy the way men's minds worked. Why, she wondered, did this ridiculous getup have more erotic connotations, more prick-stiffening possibilities than the sight of her nude body stretched out on a bed ready for action? But she knew she couldn't complain-not after the way she had screamed when a hand snaked its sinuous way up under her skirt from behind.
She wondered if the boy had made up some story to go with his vision of a semi-nude skiing partner. Maybe she could help him out...."I'll just bet you're at the bottom of the slope watching me head straight toward you," she said. The boy stared at her, eyes glazing. His mouth was slightly open.
"Yeahhhhhhhhhhhhh!" he said.
"I'm getting up speed coming down the slope and I look just like this." She raised her arms and leaned forward, pointing her tits straight at him as she wielded imaginary ski poles. "Except for one tiny difference," she explained. "The front of my panty hose is split open. You can't really see it but when I spread my legs it'll gape wide open in just the right place.
"But you're at the bottom of the slope, watching me head straight toward you. I'm coming faster and faster and you want to do something but you can't. Do you know why you can't?"
The boy's eyes never left her tits as he shook his head.
"Because you're tied up. You're not tied up to two trees the way I would be if you were on the skis. You're tied to one tree. Your arms are behind you, tied around the tree. You're thinking of what's going to happen when I come straight at you harder, faster, WHAM!"
Involuntarily the boy's arms moved behind him and she saw he was already tied to an imaginary tree. His cock pointed at her as unerringly as her twin searchlights pointed at the boy.
"I'm getting closer," she said. "Then the ground changes and I slow down. I come almost to a stop. I do stop only a hundred yards away uphill from you. I stop and stare at you for a moment, taking aim. I run my hands up and down my body like this." She illustrated and the boy's eyes followed her every movement as she caressed her thighs, her belly, her tits.
"I check my bindings." She squatted as gracefully as she could and ran a hand over her skis, laughing inwardly at the knowledge that they could be on backward or upside down and she wouldn't know the difference. "Now I stand up again and look down the slope at my target, a helpless boy tied to a tree-a boy who just has to stand there and take whatever I decide to give him."
The boy's angelic face was dazed. His eyes glazed, his mouth slack. He had no will of his own any more, she knew. At last she had him. She could do anything she wanted. But, she realized, it could just as easily have worked out the other way. The boy was free. She was trapped in these skis she didn't dare to move. The boy could be tormenting her instead of the other way around. Such was the power of words.
"I push off from the slope and gather speed. You're helpless, standing there naked, forced to accept the impact of my body against you at maybe forty miles an hour. I'm coming downhill now, heading straight for you, moving faster, faster with every passing second. Your mind's busy working out acceleration formulas, all kinds of half-forgotten bits like thirty-two feet per sec per sec, whatever that stutter means in classic physics. But your body is not concerned with gravity. Your cringing body knows only that it's going to be hit very soon now, hit by a hot-blooded, full-bodied woman who's coming at you forty miles an hour, half naked, on your own skis. How did you get into this predicament? How did you end up tied to a tree and this woman coming at you on your own skis? Who knows. No time for that now. She's moving faster. You can see every curve in her body as she comes toward you. You brace yourself for the impact and...."
The boy's eyes were dull, not really focusing and she knew he was no longer seeing her, was instead seeing the private vision of some Amazon coming downhill hellbent on destroying him.
"But suddenly," she continued, "things change again. Now you see what you hadn't noticed before. The last little bit of slop right in front of you dips. There's a little hollow and as I go into it IV' She searched in her mind for the correct term. What was it skiers did when they wanted to turn the points of their skis in and slow down? She ought to know after all the TV she had watched during her lonely life. "Snowplow," she said.
"Great clouds of snow fly up and for a moment all you can see through the mist is my face and my bare breasts still coming straight toward you. You're tired so tight to the tree you can't move an inch one way or the other. You're totally helpless as I come tearing toward you, going to slam my bare body into yours.
"But now I've slowed down with that snowplow and I'm barely moving as I come up over the little hump of ground and head straight toward you. Only twenty feet away now, I seem to be moving in slow motion. My skis are straight again and I'm not losing any more speed. I'm still heading straight toward you, going to slam square into your defenseless body.
"You brace yourself, ready for the impact. You want to do something else to me so bad that your thing is standing straight out in front of you and you know it's going to be the first thing to hit, the part of you that's going to suffer the most. You know it's going to hurt and you wish it would shrink and hang down where it would be safe, but every time you look at my body it gets bigger and harder and you know you can't stop it and it would feel so good if only ... but it isn't going to happen that way. I'm still going to hit you fast and hard and there's going to be a smack you can hear a half mile away through the woods and you're all alone and you know you can't get any help and it's terrible and I'm coming closer and then at the last moment I open the points of my skis so they won't hit the tree and all at once I'm doing the splits and I'm flying at you with my legs wide open and you see for the first time that my panty hose are split right down the crotch and I'm wide open and I'm coming straight for your hot, throbbing thing and when we hit that's the part that's going to hit first and-"
"Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!" the boy shrieked in a high pitched, rabbity voice.
Pam was startled, then she remembered how she had shrieked when the boy put his hand up her skirt. Without hesitation she continued her fantasy of cock thumping on the ski slopes.
"Now my skis have come off. I'm flying right through the air at you and you're still tied to a tree and you can't move and you can't stop looking at my body and you can't make your thing go down and it's pointing straight at me and my legs are wide open and I'm flying straight toward it and now we hit with a great thumping WHAM and you feel the tip of your thing touch warm throbbing flesh and it's all woman and it's all me and you're just standing still and I'm sliding onto you and it's in deeper, harder faster and it feels so warm and so soft and smooth and so tight that all at once you-"
"Wooooooooowwwwww!" the boy exclaimed and Pam knew he had gotten the picture. The boy was cumming, firing great gouts of cum at her in a spurting arc like some spastic fire hose. His hands were still behind him and she knew he was still captive to the fantasy she had spun. She wondered if this was what the boy had had in mind when he brought in the skis. Probably he had imagined some other script in which she would be helpless while he buzzed around her nipping and stinging until she was weeping with passion and cumming in great spurts as the boy was doing now.
"Oooooooooohhhhhhh!" he moaned, "Ooooooohh, woooooohhhh!" Pam smiled and tried to ignore the turmoil in her own belly. One love, she guessed. Or was that the way she scored it? She guessed not for she had cum once and he had cum once. They were even. The boy's cock still stood defiant, squirting its last feeble jets of joy toward her nylon-clad belly. She wondered what it would have been like to let him fuck her. Would he have been able even to get it in all the way before he bathed her innards with those gallons of boy fuck goo?
Sometime that day she would find out, she knew. Fun and games were fine but the boy was getting used to the sight of her body, used to the knowledge that he could have her whenever he wanted, any way he wanted. Soon now he would be ready to feed his cock to her with the long slow strokes she had missed so desperately during all those lonely years. Soon would come the time to separate the men from the boys. She looked at his dwindling dong and hoped she could coax it back to manhood. But for then....
The boy was suddenly embarrassed. She realized he didn't know that he affected her the same way. She wondered what would change in their relationship if the boy knew his hand unexpectedly up the back of her skirt had made her innards writhe, revolt and expel love's juices just as violently as he had just done.
He put his hand over the head of his cock, trying ineffectually to contain the last drop of cum. What difference, she wondered, now that he had sprayed the room like some satyr fireman?
Water ran in the shower. She squatted again and tried to figure out how the boy had operated the ski bindings. Luckily she hadn't lost her balance and fallen over during this fantasy session. Finally she had the clasps undone. She sat on the edge of her bed, clad incongrouously in nylon pantyhose and ski boots. What next? she wondered.
The boy came out, wiping himself with another towel. She would, she realized, have to run a load of towels and sheets through the washer soon. They were using them up as fast as a whole buildingful of stargazers.
He sat on the bed beside her and finished toweling his hair. He gave a sigh of happy exhaustion. "Golly, that was great," he said. "How did you know?"
"How did I know what?"
"How did you know every time I put on a pair of skis I started thinking and daydreaming about something just like you told me?"
"Oh." Pam wondered momentarily how she had known. It was amazing the way they fitted into each other's fantasies, almost as if they were two halves of the same mind. Careful, she warned herself, or you'll start falling in love.
The boy put a tentative hand on her thigh and she felt a sudden thrill of rut pass through her at his touch. "Uh," he began, "Uh, do you think I'm ready to put it in yet?"
Pam almost laughed at the boy's hesitancy. If only he knew how helpless she really was. The boy could do anything he wanted with her and she would be unable to complain. She knew she wanted him to. She wanted him to enjoy himself and thus bring joy to her. How long had she been fending him off? Too long, she guessed. She tried to put herself in the boy's mind, lusting and eternally desiring something he seemed doomed never to attain.
He had cum only moments ago. First time for the day, she knew, but he had cum several times the night before. The boy was only fourteen but he wasn't inexhaustible. Sooner or later his energy would flag. She was willing to bet he couldn't get it up right now, no matter what the inducement. What would it cost her to find out? The boy would be happy, she guessed, if she gave him her permission. Even if he couldn't get it in. He would be happy with the knowledge 'that soon his potency would return and when it did she would be there available, ready, waiting.
"Just a minute," she said, and went into the bathroom. Hastily, she lowered her panty hose and scrubbed her brimming cunt dry again. Then she returned and lay down on the bed behind the sitting boy.
"I'm all yours," she said. "You can do whatever you want."
"Oh, boy!" he enthused. He knelt beside the bed and studied her panty hose, trying to decide whether to leave them on for another game or to go for the fall. He got his thumbs under the waist of the sheer nylon and began tugging them down past the curve of her hips. She raised her ass in the air to help and the panties came down together with the panty hose.
The boy pulled the mass of sheer fabric down to her heels before discovering her feet in ski boots. He pulled them off, placed them carefully on the floor beneath the mound of her clothing, then carefully arranged her panties and hose atop the pile. Now she was as nude as he, flat on her back on the fresh clean contour sheet of her narrow bed. The boy stood looking down at her.
The moment of truth, Pam thought. Now for the first time since we've met we 're actually going to get down to fucking-if he's able. Privately she was willing to bet he couldn't. Not for a while anyway.
The boy climbed onto the bed and slowly maneuvered himself between her knees. She spread her thighs apart for him, cocked her knees and waited in classic missionary position.
She waited. Nothing happened.
Can't do it, she knew. She almost laughed but Pam had not lived forty years without knowing nothing can destroy a hard-on faster than a woman's laughter. She wondered why fucking was such a serious business. It was enjoyable enough. Why couldn't people clown around and laugh and have fun while they were at it instead of this dead seriousness as if they were performing some solemn sacrament?
The boy was worried. Worried at fourteen! Wait till he was fifty, she thought. Then he would be able to worry about getting it up. But if a fourteen-year-old's cock was indestructible, his ego was not. "Don't worry," she comforted. "Just wait a while. You're going to drive yourself to death if you don't stop and rest a little while between. Wouldn't you like to lie down beside me and be comfortable for a few minutes?" She sensed the boy's hesitation and added, "Don't worry. I'm not changing my mind. Whenever you're ready, we can do it. We've got all day.
She glanced at the clock visible through the kitchen door. It was only eight in the morning. This wonderful boy had cum three, maybe four times within the last ten hours. She wondered how much more he was good for before his immature body would rebel and punish him with a defiantly starchless cock.
The boy got off her carefully and she was reminded of the scare he had gotten last night, thinking he had hurt her when his advanced techniques in teasing had provoked her into an orgasm so violent she had fainted. He finished his wriggling and they lay aide by side facing one another. They kissed.
They kissed again and swapped tongues. "Aaaaaaahhhh!" the boy said with a sigh of contented relaxation. "I never knew talking it off could be so much fun."
"Neither did I," Pam said. She felt a thrill at the memory of the boy's hand snaking up the back of her skirt. "But," she added, "I never knew how much fun a lot of things could be until I did them with you."
"Really?" the boy asked.
"Cross my heart."
They lay in companionable silence for a while, reveling in the warm comfortable feel of each other's bodies. "Put your hands on my breasts," she said. "Kiss the ache out of them?"
"What ache?"
"I hit too hard when I was coming down that ski slope."
The boy laughed and dived into her tits. She put her arms around the back of his angelic head and tried to tell herself it was true, this was really happening. This was a real boy here in her arms, rubbing his naked body against the satiny softness of her bare skin. This was for real, not just another of those fantasies that had filled the long empty narrow bedded years of her life. She didn't know how long it would last but while it lasted she intended to accept life's gifts gracefully. She prayed for the strength not to cling and make a fool of herself when it was over.
The boy's mouth found her nipple. It felt so tenderly delicious that she sensed her whole belly writhe and squirm under the impact of this gentle eroticism. She didn't care if he never got it up, just as long as she could lie there and run her hands over the smooth dark skin of his lean body. As long as she could kiss him and cuddle him and bask in the radiance of that angelic face. But she knew she was just kidding herself.
Cuddling and playing were fine, but for the long haul there was nothing like fucking. She considered all the pleasures in life and knew the second best could last a lifetime and never replace the satisfaction of one solid fuck. The nicest thing about it was she knew all she had to do was wait a while and she was going to get it.
The boy roused from his reverie and kissed her tits again. She relaxed, tried to remind herself they had all day, maybe several days but her body reacted with an older knowledge that made her tiny virginal nipples stand up straight and rock hard. She caressed the short hairs on the nape of his neck and the boy dived deeper into her bosom. She had read somewhere about plastic pricks that women-or men with odd tastes-could buy to while away their lonely hours. She wondered if there was any kind of gadget that could duplicate the feel of a boy's warm supple mouth rooting around in her tits, kissing her tender under surfaces, kissing lascivious rows around her areolas, darting from nipple to nipple to send her scrambling up the wall of eroticism.
Automation might make inroads in some industries, she supposed. But no machine could ever replace the wonderful warm smoothness of this boy's slim elegant body. And he was going to fuck her this time-just as soon as he could get it up. She felt his hands caress her tits, warming every part of their roundness that his face and mouth were not titillating with his endless kissing.
The boy's hands gradually worked their caressing way down her flanks, lighting like twin butterflies on every nerve ending in her super-sensitive skin until he had gone down past her waist to caress her ass. Gently, he insinuated a knee between hers.
She felt the firm muscularity of his leg slide over the satiny skin of her thighs until his knee was pressing snugly against her vulva, flattening her lips, mashing the ringlets of her ash blonde pubic hair. The boy gripped her ass and rocked her gently back and forth atop his knee. It stretched her cunt slightly back and forth with each movement and she felt the tingling joy of another turn on. Already she had lost count of the number of times she had cum that morning. She felt a faint reminder inside her cunt of all the chewing he had done during the night on her clit, but she guessed as long as he didn't chew on it again today she would survive.
She was sure she could find other things for him to do. Any boy who had the imagination to play fantasy games with her could be relied on to find some new and novel way to fill an empty hour. But first....
They were still on their sides facing one another, the boy's knee between her thighs as they rocked gently back and forth. She wondered if he knew any of the twenty or thirty possible positions for straight fucking. No matter. He was a quick learner and there would be time to teach him.
"Let's play another game," he suggested.
Pam felt a tiny thrill of anticipation. So far one game had made the boy cum explosively. The other had scared her out of her wits and only coincidentally forced from her the biggest, most gut-busting orgasm she had ever experienced.
"What's this game called?" she asked.
"I'll think up a name later," the boy said. He grasped her hips and began moving her about on the bed. Soon she was flat on her back, her head pillowed in her hands, which made her tits stand up that much more proudly. Her knees were flexed, wide apart. Between her knees the boy knelt doing something she could not quite see. Then finally he leaned forward until he was on top of her. "I think I'll call this game just plain fucking," the boy said. She felt his cock starting to slip into her fluttering cunt.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Pam was surprised. She had known it was going to happen sooner or later, but she had expected later. Now the boy was atop her, hands on her shoulders as he wormed and twisted his pelvis, working to skewer her with his reviving rod. She could tell it was not quite hard enough yet. Each time the boy pushed too hard it threatened to bend.
She supposed she really ought to make him wait a while, but the boy had waited long enough. She relaxed and tried to make it easy for him. She wondered if she had any real control over him. He had waited so long for this moment that she didn't want to disappoint him. She didn't want to disappoint herself either.
"Oooooooohhhhhh, that feels gooooooood!" the boy murmured.
"You better believe it!" Pam agreed. Despite the soreness of her well-chewed clit and vulva, her deep cunt was not tired. It had been used entirely too little in her long, lonely life. Now for the first time in more years than she liked to remember, her vagina was feeling the entry of an honest to God, bona fide prick. It felt good.
And he still didn't really have it in. The boy's half-hard cock was poking futiley at the opening of her vagina. It was almost in. She tried to relax and let it in, but how could she relax when every fiber of her being was thrumming and taut with anticipation of all the wonderful things she knew were going to happen? She could feel the boy's growing excitement and was afraid for a moment that he would have one of his traitorous, half-hearted orgasms that robbed a man of his potency just when he needed it the most. "Relax," she whispered. "Don't worry." Then, struck by sudden inspiration, she added, "Why don't you take a good look at your target first?"
Without hesitation the boy slid downward, dragging his face until his nose plowed a furrow between her tits, across her midriff, over her navel and belly until he was stirring the curls of her ash blonde pubic patch. She felt a warm wave of joy pass through her belly as the boy's lips opened wide to seal over her own.
Her clit was still sore but his darting tongue teased her to the frantic frontier between pleasure and pain within seconds. She felt her insides twist and turn as they gathered forces for the big one. The boy's tongue darted into her vagina and it felt so good she could not stop the uncontrollable spasm as her thighs closed over his ears. Finally it passed and she lay, wan and shaken, waiting for the boy to start licking her again.
Instead, he began plowing his nose across her mons veneris, kissing his slow way up her belly, over her tits until he was back atop her again. She felt his prod poking at the wet gaping lips of her ready cunt. He gave a sudden lunge without warning and his boycock was in. Oooooooohhh, was it ever in!
The effort nearly finished the boy off. He lay atop her, his face buried in her tits, his body stiff as if he had touched a live wire. She tried to relax herself. It had been so long. She tried to shout out the sensation of the slim elegant boy's body over hers, warming her, thrilling her every place where her skin touched his. She wanted to savor undiluted the feel of his long, big-headed cock inside her cunt. It had stretched her vagina-not' painfully, but with a wonderful, glorious sense of fulfillment.
Now he lay, stiff, his whole body thrilling atop her as he struggled to control himself. She had been so long without a cock inside her she knew what the boy was feeling. Or did she? At least she had the memory. This was a first for the boy; the first time ever that his hot, throbbing thumper had threaded its way deep into a woman, had felt itself totally surrounded by the soft yielding warmth of a woman's pussy.
Deep inside her belly Pam felt muscles she had never known she had contracting rhythmically around the head of the boy's throbbing cock, squeezing it, milking it, pulling it deeper into her.
The boy strained and pushed, striving for the last millimeter of penetration. She knew he was afraid he would cum any instant, that this might be the only time he would ever feel what it was like to have his cock deep inside. As if she didn't intend to have that hammer inside her again and again as long as there was the slightest hint of rigidity left in the boy!
They clung tightly to one another in a moment of frozen ecstasy. She felt the tip of his tool deep within her throb in time to his raging pulse. His ass was tense, his buttocks squeezed tight together with the effort not to cum. She reviewed in her mind the glorious sensation as the tip of his cock had poked its way between the lips of her vulva, then its confident masterful plunge as he had stretched her, pushed her, driven his hard straight length deeper than she had imagined possible. It felt so gooooood!
Slowly the terrible tension left the boy's body. She felt first one muscle, then another relax as the boy began to accustom himself to the wonderful warm secure sensation of having his exposed cock buried safe and deep inside a woman. As he relaxed his pelvis stopped pushing so hard. She felt the pressure against her vulva relax. Ringlets of ash blonde pubic hair sprang back to shape. The boy's rock-hard cock moved a fraction of an inch outward and her insides rearranged themselves around the vacancy.
She felt her belly tense, tighten as it gathered forces to crush this invader. Then, slow as an hour hand, the boy was pulling it out. He was still afraid he might explode any second. The long slow withdrawal and the constant inner movement of her insides as they settled back in place were creating a slow building tension inside her like she had never known before.
Though he was pulling it out so slowly she could hardly tell he was moving, yet she felt her vagina's walls grip the shank of his cock, pucker around its head, nearly turning her inside out as her body tried with blind instinct to hold onto this handsome bald-headed stranger. It seemed to her that he would never finish pulling that endless length of lance out of her gash.
Then abruptly she sensed that the flaring flange of his glans penis was out nearly to the entrance of her vagina. Without her willing it, her cunt clasped convulsively, trying to capture his cockhead and hold it within her. It was too late. He had pulled out until just the sharp pointed tip of his tool was touching her. She felt his foreskin start to close back down over it.
Then slowly the boy began pushing again. She felt the tense lips of her vulva peel back his foreskin, felt his bare-headed cock push slowly past the portals of her pussy and once more begin its long, slow plunge deep, deep inside her. It felt so gooooood! It felt better than she ever remembered a fuck. Suddenly her tormented trap rebelled, gave a tiny warning flutter and then warm red waves of passion passed through her belly, across her vision as great contractile waves of lust twisted her vagina, her cervix and womb as she surrendered to the onslaught of total and complete eroticism.
"Ooooooooohhhhh!" she moaned. Her legs opened and closed wildly, clasping over the boy's back, opening as she bucked her pelvis up toward him to drive it in deeper, harder, faster. She knew the uncontrolled movement was going to make the boy cum but it was too late now. She couldn't control herself. "Oooooooooohhhhhhh!" she wailed.
She almost fainted with the pure animal joy of it. But she managed to hang onto a shred of sanity.
The boy hadn't cum. She could still fell his cock rock-hard inside her. He had stopped moving. Abruptly she knew why.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked anxiously.
Be honest for once in your life, she warned herself. "No." She gasped and gave a happy sigh. "You did it to me."
"What?"
"You made me cum just like I've been making you cum."
"Oh, Golly!" the boy said happily. "I really did it?"
Pam nodded and gave him a friendly shove with her ass. She felt his rock-hard cock slide easily deeper into her now well-lubricated ass.
The boy felt the difference too. It wasn't as breath-takingly exciting now that she had cum and loosened up, lubricated herself with love's elixir, but for the first time the boy realized that if he were careful and paced himself it just might be possible for him to slip his meat in and out of her cunt a few times before he exploded into raging impotence. He gave an experimental push.
"Oh, wow!" he said, "that's great!" He began fucking her enthusiastically, pulling it out, ramming it in, ram-slamming like a veteran.
Pam was still weak from her explosive orgasm but she was not too spent to enjoy the sensation of a boy pouring his cock into her, giving her his enthusiastic all, holding nothing back. She relaxed, savoring the sweet sensation of somebody else doing all the work while her body slowly recovered and regained muscle tone.
Gradually she felt her raddled cunt tighten again, felt it clasp more closely about the indefatigable piston the boy was pumping into her.
The boy felt it too. His eyes glistened and his breathing quickened. It felt so wonderously breathtakingly good she wondered if she could cum again before her uncontrollable body tensed and squeezed the life out of the boy's hard-on.
She had tightened up so much now the boy was struggling as if he were deflorating some undersized eleven-year-old virgin. Her love-starved vagina had contracted and shrunk around his cock until he was grunting with the effort to get it in, pulling her pussy half inside out each time he withdrew. But he was not giving up! She saw the glint in his eye and knew she needn't apologize. The boy was enjoying it.
He was ramming his cock harder, deeper, faster, the pointed tip of his tool plumbing unsuspected depths until she felt her tight clasping vagina stretch to its fullest dimension. Somewhere deep within her his cockhead was rubbing against her cervix, tickling the tight-clasped entrance to her womb every time the boy bottomed out. Her legs were still clasping and unclasping over his hips.
The boy stopped pumping for a split second. Obeying some ancestral wisdom, he captured her legs and bent her unnaturally until her knees were hooked over his shoulders. She was helpless, unable to advance or retreat. The elegant slim boy was still between her legs, his cock still deep inside her cunt.
Deeper now, she knew. Her body was rolled into a tight ball, vulnerable only in her gaping crotch. The weird position had contracted her until her cunt was shorter, tighter. The boy was bottoming effortlessly now, poking and stretching her out of shape with each stroke of his big hard cock.
His belly rested against the back of her thighs and the tight-stretched cheeks of her ass. She felt her pussy burn from the heat of his thin muscular body. She felt the boy's breathing quicken as he responded to the wonderful warm tightness of her twisted body.
It felt so wonderful to be able to relax, let the boy take over. She couldn't move, couldn't do anything except enjoy the frantic deep-diving ram-slam of his ass against hers. It was wonderful not to feel responsible, to have somebody else do things and not have to wonder whether she was right or wrong. The boy was slowing again. She sensed that his spasm had passed, that he was no longer in any danger of cumming before he really wanted to.
Abruptly she realized she was gaining some control too. She felt her belly twisting, straining, gathering forces for another explosion but she knew that now she could control it. She had her choice of relaxing now, cumming immediately, or saving it, piling up gunpowder for a bigger and better explosion a minute or an hour from now.
It was wonderful. After forty lonely years of misfits, occasional quick pokes from boozy breathed also-rans, she was finally in the big league. She remembered all the lost opportunities and wondered what had been wrong with her. She knew she was attractive. Why had she always picked losers? She knew instinctively that from now on it would be different. For one thing, she was not going to fall in love ever again. She was not going to let sentiment fog her future conduct. She had always earned her own living. She didn't need a man to support her, didn't need a man for anything except fucking. From now on she would get all she wanted, anywhere she wanted, but on her own terms. Shape up or ship out. The instant some man started acting possessive or drinking too much, or taking her for granted, he was going to find himself out on his ass and somebody younger, more handsome, more complaisant, and more virile in his bed, between her legs. From now on things were going to be different!
Suddenly she sensed something different between her legs right then. The boy's measured pacing was deteriorating. He was puffing, panting, straining with the effort to control his rebellious fourteen-year-old body. But the boy's body had taken over, was ramming deeper, harder, faster. Her legs slipped off his shoulders and he didn't even notice. He buried his face in her tits, licking, sucking, nibbling on her nipples as his cock slammed deeper, harder, faster into her.
His cock had swollen to record dimensions and Pam knew that soon it would be over. Suddenly she knew it was all over for her too. Her twisted insides unwound, flowed, melted in a delicious deliquescence of fulfilled passion. Great shimmering waves of liquid fire coursed through her belly and up her spine, exploding like skyrockets inside her sensation-packed brain.
Dimly she sensed that the boy was cumming too. "Oooooooohhhhhhh, woooooww!" he roared in a surprisingly deep voice. "Ooooooooohh, here it comes!"
She felt the sudden gush of his passion added to her own joyous juices and then they were swimming, floating, drowning in a pool of overflowing passion. It felt so gooooooood! Then abruptly it didn't feel at all.
She awoke with the boy limp atop her own sprawled body, his dwindling cock still inside her cum-filled pussy. She took a deep shuddering breath and tried to pull herself together. The boy was either unconscious or asleep. She felt his cock still throb faintly inside the lips of her brimful bottom. She began moving, trying to ooze from beneath him so she could go wash up.
The boy opened his eyes sleepily. "Don't," he murmured.
"Don't what?"
"Don't move." He gripped her waist and began positioning himself. "My dick'll be ready again in just a minute."
