All day long they had been filing in, one by red-faced, embarrassed one. And all day long Grace had been measuring their lithe hairless bodies for racing silks. When Mr. Cargill did things, he did them all the way. He had not only bought the whole stable. He had also bought up all the unexpired contracts. Which had meant a nice little windfall for Grace since she had the job of whipping up new racing silks in Mr. Cargill's favorite colors.
Grace had never realized what weirdos these tiny hairless men were. She knew, as anyone who read the papers or watched TV knew, that jockeys went for statuesque, junoesque women twice their size. Compensation, she guessed. But nothing had prepared her for something she might easily have guessed if she had just thought about it for a moment. If a forty-year-old man was having a weight problem and had to spend hours in the steam bath before a race; if he wore silks and refrained from eating or drinking hours before a race ... it was only logical, she guessed, that this kind of a man would have no use for underwear.
The first jock had been a prune-faced veteran of nearly fifty, not a hair on his chin and chances were the diminutive man had never shaved in his life. When he had come in for a fitting Grace had asked him to take off his trousers. She hadn't been quite ready for the tremendous, half a foot long, half hard dong that had hung between his bare thighs, sprouting from a bony pubic prominence that was nearly as bald as the little jockey's head.
He had not been embarrassed. The little man had looked at her with speculative amusement and Grace had felt herself redden under his frank scrutiny. It was funny. She was nearly forty, widowed for ten years, and had so sunk into the monotony of middle-aged existence that she had for a brief moment actually not understood the nature of the little man's invitation. Then she had seen the slow but sure rise of his cock and remembered better and happier times when her husband had filled her with the joy that passeth understanding.
Against her will Grace had felt herself turning on, her crotch tingling, belly suffused with a remembered warmth that rose like a great suffocating wave until she could feel her tits blushing, her nipples hardening and then, like it or not, her face had reddened and the bald-headed little jock had grinned and....
It made her so mad that even now that the jock was gone and she had measured three other jocks, managing it without asking them to remove their trousers, she was still furious at the unmitigated gall of that shriveled, bald-headed little man who weighed thirty pounds less than she-it was outrageous! And the most outrageous part of it was she knew that he knew....
She took a deep, sighing breath and tried to pull herself together before the next one came in. Good God, how many jockeys were there in Mr. Cargill's new stable? She must have measured twenty of them already. It had been such a long day. And yet ... She was almost forty. Had that bald-headed little jockey really seen something in her or was he just amusing himself turning a poor old woman on? She straightened her shoulders and studied her reflection in the three-paneled mirror in which the narcissistic little men had all unfailingly admired their multiple reflections.
Grace was-not fat. But she was big. She was five eight and measured in at a hundred forty. Which wasn't all that much considering that she had only a twenty-five-inch waist. Above that was a pair of eye magnets that had been known to cause fenderbenders when taxi and bus drivers failed to keep their eyes on what was happening in front. Below that twenty-five-inch waist was an extremely well-formed ass. Not that it was doing Grace any good.
When Jim died she had shut herself up, in a shell whence she had not emerged for ten years. Not that she mourned him all that much. Jim had been a good husband and she hoped she had been a good wife, but when he had gone and died, she had felt so wiped out about it all that she had sort of given up. And before she knew it, giving up had become a habit, along with stooped shoulders eternally draped with a tape measure. And what woman, no matter what her vital statistics, no matter how firmly onward and upward pointing her tits-what woman could be seductive with a mouthful of pins?
She sighed and watched her reflection's shoulders sag. After a tired moment she turned away from the mirror and went to the outer door. "Next," she called.
Next was different from the other jockeys. Someday she guessed he might turn into a wizened, bald-headed little man, but that someday was at least thirty years in the future. At the moment this particular jockey was nothing but a boy. He didn't look over thirteen. "You're a jockey?" she exclaimed in disbelief.
"Apprentice," the boy said.
"Oh?"
"I'm sixteen," he explained. "Twenty more months and I'll be accepted."
"Oh?" Grace said incuriously. "And what does that mean?" She motioned him to stand on the low stool so she could measure his outseam.
"Money," the boy said. "Money, cars, booze, women, everything!"
Here, Grace decided, was a boy who knew exactly what he wanted out of life. She wished she could have been half that positive when she was sixteen. But looking at the hairless boy she wondered' if he really was that old. Didn't most boys start experimenting with razors somewhere around fourteen or fifteen? She didn't really know. That, she supposed, was what came of never having had a brother.
Unlike most of the jocks who had passed through her fitting room today, this one was clad in racing silks. He smelled strongly of men and horses and there was a thin layer of caked mud and dust on his face and neck which gave him an odd, raccoon like look where goggles had protected his eyes and left a clean white mask.
He posed on the low stool like a pocket-sized adonis. Grace measured and scribbled. "Been racing?" she asked.
"Yeah."
By now she knew better than to ask a jock to remove his trousers. But this boy was not yet a man. She measured and scribbled, wondering if boys of his age ever actually saw women like Grace. Probably she was furniture-one of those sexless mothers put into the world to minister to the needs of these blithe teenage egotists.
Her practiced hand went up the inside of the boy's thigh as she stretched the tape measure from ankle bone to the junction where two legs become one ass. The boy had a surprisingly large bulge between his legs. She tried to ignore it and pay attention to her work. She had to cut and fit all these new silks pretty damn soon because Mr. Cargill expected to open the season with a real splash. Abruptly she wondered what the boy had been doing in silks before the season opened. She asked him.
"Just practice," he said. "If I keep winning practice races they'll let me go for the real thing this year."
"But why the silks?"
"Got to wear something. And you're fitting us out with new colors. Oooohhhh!"
"What's wrong?" Grace asked. "Did I stick a pin into you?"
The boy shook his head. His eyes were closed and he was tense, breathing shortly. Grace ran her hand up between his wide-spread legs to make sure she'd gotten that inseam measurement right, and quite suddenly she knew this boy was old enough to notice women. The bulge in his crotch was larger, hotter, throbbing.
Damn, she thought. First a bald-headed veteran and now this stripling. She wondered what was happening. It had been years since a man had looked at her with that particular gleam in his eyes. And she could feel her body reacting. Against her will she once more felt that tickle in her long dormant crotch, felt a rising blush of desire suffusing her belly, her firm and forward-pointing tits, filling her throat and face with a rosy glow of hot rushing blood.
The boy released a long-held breath and opened his eyes. She wondered if he was seeing her blush. She turned her back and scribbled, trying to make sure the figures were right.
"Oh, damn!"
"What's wrong?" the boy asked.
"I'm sorry," Grace said. "I'll have to do it all over."
"Why?"
"I got your figures all mixed up with somebody else's."
The boy posed on the stool, a look of vague apprehension in his eyes. She whipped through sleeve, chest, waist, outseam measurements. She scribbled again and realized abruptly that she was lying to herself. She knew perfectly well what this boy's inseam was. She had already measured it twice. But there was now an unspoken current of communication between them as she knew that the boy was waiting just as eagerly and as full of dread and pent-up emotion as she was. They were both waiting for her hand to creep up his thigh again, to put the tape measure in his crotch and cup his balls for a fleeting moment, perhaps for her hot hand to brush for an instant against the hot throbbing tip of his tool.
Grace took a breath and tried to compose herself. She didn't want to do it again but-but she did. And the boy was expecting it, wanting her to do it. What the hell, she thought, he's only a boy. In spite of all his talk he's never really had a girl. Give the boy a treat. Give my hand a treat too. What's the harm in giving his hammer a little squeeze?
Plenty! Grace knew it. What in hell was getting into her, feeling up customers? If the word ever got around her business would go to hell overnight. She straightened her shoulders and belatedly realized that made her phenomenal tits stand out much farther than any middle-aged seamstress had a right to stick out her bumpers. The boy's eyes didn't miss it either.
"I'll just have to take one more measurement," she said-as if they both didn't know which measurement she was going to take. Then abruptly she realized how to get out of it gracefully and save face for both of them. She walked around the boy who still stood on the low stool like some living statue and began to take the inseam measurement from behind.
She put one hand on his ankle bone and grasped the tape measure. With her other hand she began running the tape up the inside of his leg, moving slower than was her wont as she approached the danger zone. The boy gave a single sharp hiss of intaken breath and stood rigid as if he were expecting an injection or some kind of minor surgery.
Grace was suddenly amused. Was this the same boy who only moments ago had so confidently proclaimed what he was going to do when he had it made-booze, women! Women, hah! She felt the sudden stiffening, the preliminary flutter and was transported back twenty years to her wedding night when she had been a virgin-and her husband too.
Now that, she remembered, had really been something!
It had been a high school courtship and in spite of marrying too young it hadn't turned out all that bad. The only really bad thing Jim had ever done to her was to go and die like that. But the night when she was sixteen and a half and Jim was eighteen, they had both been very much alive.
The funny thing was the way they had gotten permission from their parents to marry. Quite delicately, Grace and Jim had hinted to their respective parents that a certain biological accident had occurred and that any delays would be profoundly embarrassing for all concerned. This had been done only as a last resort because they both knew nothing else could ever pry permission from their reluctant parents. And the oddest part about it was that it was not true.
Oh, sure, they had gone in for some heavy petting in the back seat of Jim's car and he had gotten his hands onto her lovely jugs and once she had actually, albeit accidentally, brushed the tip of his virginal tool. But Grace and Jim had both had a healthy fear of pregnancy in those dear dead pre-pill days and that had been as far as it had gone.
Until their wedding night when he had carried her over the threshold of a suburban motel and they had faced each other alone in a room that had a bed in it.
Though Jim had been toying with her blouse buttons and bra hooks for months, they had both been overcome with a sudden shyness now that the situation was implicit. Now that this pair of virgins knew there was no longer any excuse for not going all the way, Grace suddenly had second thoughts. Did she really want to? Abruptly she realized that eighteen-year-old Jim wasn't really sure either. Were they really going to do it?
They faced each other uncertainly, wondering how to begin. Jim was frightened to death. So was Grace. But the longer they faced each other, the worse it was going to be. She had a vague nightmare premonition of the two of them getting back into the car and driving silently back to their respective homes, calling the whole thing off.
Jim tried to say something and his Adam's apple bobbed. No sound emerged. Grace tried to guess what was proper conduct for a virginal bride. Act natural? She almost laughed. Who could act natural when they both knew this time it would not be a mock wrestling match that would end just short of the fall? This time he was going to put that thing inside her!
And it was so big! She had seen its swollen outlines in the moonlight filtering through the back window of Jim's sedan. How was it possible for that great thumping thing to go into her body without splitting her in two, without killing her?
They faced each other and the tension grew. The situation was so-so irreversible! And the light was so glaring. Why, Grace wondered, did the light have to be so bright? She blinked and saw there was a smaller reading lamp at the head of the bed. She had to do something-anything was better than just standing here all night looking at each other, wishing they had never let it go this far. Abruptly she turned away from Jim. She turned on the small reading lamp then she turned off the other lamp.
Now they were no longer so mercilessly exposed. She busied herself with their bags, taking clothing out and putting it in the closet. Jim just stood there. Damn him! Why couldn't he do something to help.
There was only one way to resolve this situation, she guessed. With sixteen-year-old assurance, she faced Jim and began slowly, very deliberately unbuttoning her blouse.
Jim stared as if he had never wrestled with her in the back seat of his car-as if he had never after a half-hour's ritualistic struggle been rewarded by being permitted to kiss her tiny virginal nipples, to lay his ear over one and lick the other as he played an erotic game of 'telephone."
Grace pulled her blouse free of her skirt. She finished unbuttoning it. Slowly she peeled it off and stood a moment before her goggling husband. She put the blouse on a hanger and in the closet. Posing before him in bra and skirt, she waited.
And still the bastard wouldn't do anything! He was paralyzed at the realization that now there was no more excuse. Now the thing they had both wanted so desperately was about to happen. They were going to Go All The Way.
If he ever thawed out, that is. She tried to conceal her annoyance. He was supposed to be the eager one. Jim was supposed to be tearing her clothes off in his haste to get it in. He stood wooden, staring at her well-filled bra, memorizing its contours and she realized that this was the first time he had ever gotten a really good look at it. Always their wrestling matches had taken place in the back seat of his car, in the darkness.
His lips moved. Finally, as if he were breaking out of a block of ice, he began moving. He took off his coat. A moment later he finally deciphered the secret of his necktie's strangle hold. He began unbuttoning his shirt.
"No," said Grace.
He just stared.
Damn it, she thought. It's supposed to be wonderful, exciting, unbearably sexy. This is just like undressing for gym! Once more they stared at each other. Then Grace approached him. Hands behind her, she advanced until their lips were touching. Then she began taking off his shirt.
Finally Jim's paralyzed hands remembered what they had been doing every night in the back seat of his car. He began fumbling at the straps of her bra. She opened her mouth slightly and his tongue darted in. They clung to each other, moaning with the sudden access of passion deferred.
Breathless, they broke apart and stared, inventorying each other. She shrugged off her unfastened bra and tossed it into a corner. Jim knelt and got his arms around her waist. He buried his face in her tits, slid down her midriff and a moment later he had unfastened her skirt and was ploughing his nose into the rounding softness of her navel.
Grace had been playing nightly games with Jim for months. She was familiar with the sudden warm rush of blood suffusing her eager young body, but it had never been so intense as this. She felt the room spin momentarily and was thankful that Jim knelt in front of her, had his arms wrapped firmly round her ass and was holding her upright.
He began unrolling her stockings. A moment later she stood before her husband, clad only in snug-fitting panties. He was reaching for their waistband when once more she said, "No."
She began fiddling with his belt. It was funny. She had never tried to unfasten his belt before. In their nightly games somehow his fly would sooner or later 'accidentally' become unzipped, but the unspoken conventions of back-seat gamesmanship agreed that a belt was going too far.
Struggling to undo his belt, Grace felt a sudden sympathy for his fumbling efforts with her bra hooks. She had never before realized how difficult it was to undress somebody else-especially somebody whose belt went the wrong way and everything was backward.
Finally she had it loose. She wasted another half an eternity discovering that his trousers had still another button somewhere inside the waistband that had to be undone before unzipping his fly had any effect. She struggled with the button while Jim's hands caressed her neck and shoulders, slipping around front to cop joyous feels of her bare tits.
Abruptly the button twisted off in her hand. Jim's trousers began settling, sliding with difficulty past the bulge that was stretching the front of his Jockey shorts. She pulled down on his pant legs until finally he was stepping out of one leg, then the other. Now her husband stood as exposed as she, clad only in Jockey shorts. She stood and they faced one another, kissing again.
They swapped tongues for a blissful minute while his hands ran up and down her bare back, caressing her spine, cupping her ass, gently pulling down on the waistband of her panties. He ground his belly against the gentle swelling of her pristine, unlined, sixteen-year-old body. She felt hot blood rise, pulsating through her belly, across her midriff, stiffening her virginal nipples and sending a sudden wave of heat through her throat and face until she felt that even the tips of her ears were blushing, waiting, expecting....
She felt the hot throbbing lump of maleness that was his cock pushing at her through the front of his shorts. It was throbbing, thumping in time with the racing pulse of his hot young blood. She wondered what would happen if she were to peel down his shorts and capture it in her hand, hold it and memorize the rampant maleness that was about to invade her. What would it be like to have that great thing go inside her? Surely it wouldn't really happen. She had squatted astraddle a mirror to inspect herself. There was a hole there. There had to be for all that monthly mess to leak out of her, but it was too small. She had experimented with her greased finger, and Jim's thing was ever so much bigger than her frustrated little finger that had been unable to slip past the vigilant curtain of her hymen. She wondered if she ought to warn him that it would be impossible.
Jim was going to be disappointed. Worse than that, she guessed. They had both wanted to do it so bad and yet all the time she had known that she was too small, that married or not, she would never be able to accept that great thumping hunk of maleness inside her. What could she do to ease the hurt? She had heard of all sorts of things but those were snickery joke things the girls told in gym whenever the showers were roaring and they knew no coach would overhear. Those things weren't really true. They didn't happen. But ... what was she going to do?
Jim's hands were exploring her young body, caressing her, memorizing each square inch of unblemished skin. He was cupping her superlative young jugs, bending to lick and kiss her nipples until they were so tingly hard she wanted to squeal.
Quite suddenly Grace knew that never in their back-seat fumblings had she ever been so turned-on as she was at this moment. She felt the pressure of his body overwhelming her, slowly forcing her backward until she felt the edge of the bed touching the backs of her knees. And still he was pushing. She was off balance. Suddenly she had to sit on the bed.
This wasn't right. This wasn't the way it was done at all! She knew from reading and from stories the more adventurous girls told that she was supposed to come down von top of her and that with one smooth movement he would have his thing inside her and they would be Doing It.
Then she remembered how small she was, how tight, how impossible it was going to be for them ever to Do It.
She was sitting on the bed now and Jim stood awkwardly in front of her, half bending to caress her tits. The front of his shorts was sticking out straight, jerking slightly up and down in time to his raging heartbeat as his cock struggled to free itself of the confining cloth.
Her panties were halfway off, barely covering her pubic patch. She knew they would have to come off sooner or later. And it was silly for Jim to stand there in front of her with his thing sticking out like that. She reached for the waistband of his shorts and began gently pulling them down.
The sliding fabric rubbed over the supersensitized head of his hot throbbing hammer. Jim moaned and gritted his teeth. Once in the early days of their back-seat wrestling matches, something odd had happened and Jim had suddenly turned away from her, crouching over his crotch and suddenly very busy with a handkerchief. At the time Grace hadn't known exactly what had happened, but later she had learned more about what happened to excitable, inexperienced men when they got too close to the warm smoothness of a girl with a pair of firmly upstanding thirty-eights.
She had to do something, had to get time to collect her thoughts and break the news to Jim that she was too small, that it would never work, that they had better just forget the whole thing and go on back home, back to school, get an annulment or divorce or whatever people did when they learned they could not stay married.
And Jim was so nice! She didn't want to hurt him. She knew he would hurt really and physically if he kept his thing this big and hard and experienced no relief. Why had she ever let herself go this far? She had looked at her tiny twat in the mirror. She had tried to get her greased little finger in. She knew it couldn't be done. Why hadlhe led poor Jim on this way?
Suddenly Jim was kneeling in front of her, his face buried in her belly. He was nuzzling and kissing and it felt so good and then suddenly she knew what he was doing as he nudged backward until her feet came up off the floor and her ass was momentarily up off the coverlet and that moment was enough for Jim's hands to capture her half-mast panties and whip them off. He waved them triumphantly and tossed them into the corner and Grace was naked, nude, uncovered, with not a single defense or layer of cloth between herself and Jim's burning eyes..
Jim stood again and his Jockey shorts stretched bulging front pointed accusingly at her face. He cupped her firm young jugs in his hands, caressing her rock-hard nipples, running teasing fingers round her areolas until she wanted to giggle, to scream, to do anything to relieve the tremendous surging, burning urge that was threatening to tear her apart.
Blindly, through a rosy pink fog of passion, she stretched her hands and captured the waistband of his shorts to pull them the rest of the way down.
Jim stood suddenly rigid, gritting his teeth, bracing himself against the onslaught of a passion he had never before experienced. His eyes were on her lovely young jugs. His hands were on them. He was caressing the loveliest, firmest young female he had ever known. And she had her hands on the waistband of his shorts, was pulling them, down to unveil his hot throbbing manhood.
He gritted his teeth and stiffened. His hands clenched over her firm young tits, grasping her nipples until the pain was so sweet, so delicious she wanted to shriek her delight and spread her legs and wrap them around him and pull him down and wrestle and gallop across the silken coverlet.
But what would happen when at the culmination of their wrestling match poor Jim tried to get it in? Grace knew it was too late to tell him. She had cheated. She had led him on and he had thought they were finally going to Do It and all the time she had known she couldn't. She was too small. Jim was too big.
She thought fleetingly about all those things the girls in the gym used to joke about. But nobody really did things like that ... it would be too-dirty.
Jim was leaning over her again. He had one knee on the bed, between her knees. Soon he would put his hands on her shoulders and push her back and then he would be kneeling between her legs and trying to thread his great big thing into the hopelessly tiny eye of her needle and it would never work and he would be so disappointed and ... she had to do something. She had to do it quick.
Grace took a deep breath and blinked until she could focus her eyes through the pink mists of passion that befogged her. His thing was pointing straight at her, hot and throbbing. She put out her hands, cupping them until she had captured his balls in one. She wrapped her other fist around the hot throbbing head of his hammer.
CHAPTER TWO
Grace blinked her eyes and came to with a start. Of all the goddamn times to be daydreaming, remembering her wedding night with poor old Jim. ... Here she was nearly forty, with a tape measure in her hands, one hand on the apprentice jockey's ankle bone and the other sliding gently up his inner thigh as she took her own sweet time measuring his inseam for new silks.
The boy was rigid as Jim had been. And she knew now that despite his high hopes, the boy was just as inexperienced as she and Jim had been. She felt sorry for this boy's first girl. She hoped he would not be as hopelessly awkward in his fumbling need as she and Jim had been. It wasn't good for two virgins to try to work it out for themselves. If only she had known a little more ... if only Jim had known....
She blinked the mists of memory from her eyes. Her hand was right up there now, nearly touching the hot throbbing maleness that stood posed on her low stool, waiting for her expert hand to finish measuring him. What would happen if she were to give his cock an unmistakable squeeze? It would be fun to see the boy squirm and moan and struggle not to cum. And probably he would lose the struggle-would exit her fitting room with a growing stain in the crotch of his thin racing silks. And whoever was next out in the waiting room would raise his little jockey's eyebrows in cynical acknowledgment that she could still get it out of a boy.
"How many more waiting?" she asked.
For a moment the boy didn't speak. She saw his throat strain and his Adam's apple bobbed frantically. "None," he finally managed in a strained voice. "I'm the last."
Grace wondered why this news suddenly excited her. She wasn't actually going to do anything. Good God, she didn't dare play with this lovely boy's machinery. She knew what boys were. They were loud-mouthed braggarts who could never resist the temptation to boast of their conquests, to embellish the slightest accidental contact into a full-fledged attempt at seduction. And what would a boy his age do if she, nearly forty, were to offer him the freedom of her experienced body?
Run like hell, probably. And later when he was over his fright, he would make up different versions of the encounter to preserve his ego. By morning he would be believing that he had started it all, that she had been unable to resist his virility, that he had spent a night of flaming passion pouring his prod to her until she squealed and moaned and prayed for him to stop.
Suddenly Grace realized she had her hand on his cock, was cupping his balls. Something felt funny. After a moment she knew what it was. Damn! She could just as easily have told this one to take off his pants. He wasn't wearing underwear but beneath the thin silken trousers the boy had on a tight-stretched jockstrap. His machinery was squirming, straining to escape the constriction of the tight-fitting pocket that contained his cock and balls.
For an instant Grace was overcome with the vision of herself playing the role of that jockstrap, of her aching, empty cunt wrapping itself round the boy's hot throbbing cock, squeezing it, warming it, comforting it, surrounding the boy's hot, hurting need with the warmth of her yielding flesh.
Good God, she thought, I've still got my hand on his-Hastily she let go and draped the tape measure over her shoulders again.
The boy stood rigid for a long moment, then released his breath like a punctured tire with a long, slow hiss. After a moment he turned to face her. "Sure you got it right?" he asked. "Don't you want to check it again?"
Grace bent over her notes, trying to pay attention to business. She deserved it, she supposed. Even a boy of this age wasn't hopelessly innocent. He knew what she had been doing. Then abruptly she recognized the pleading in his voice. This poor boy wasn't being sarcastic. He really did want her to do it again, was willing to accept any excuse that would get her warm feminine hand anywhere near the ceaselessly throbbing maleness that was the central fact of his sixteen-year-old life.
Grow up! she told herself. Stop and think what's going to happen. The trouble was, Grace was entirely too aware of what could happen. It would be so lovely after all these years to let it happen with this smooth, firm-fleshed boy. She wondered what had ever gotten into her to let things slide for so long. Jim was dead, had been a long time dead. The only person she was punishing was herself. What would happen to the boy? Nothing, she guessed. Nothing at least that he wouldn't be able to look back on with fondness in later years when he was an experienced cocksman.
But what would happen to her right now, tonight, or tomorrow when this eager boy's breathing settled down and he had time to realize what he had done with a real live full-grown woman? Forget it. But how could she forget?
"You sure you got it right?" the boy persisted. "Mr. Cargill's real particular."
"In what way?"
"He wants all his jocks' silks skin tight," the boy said. "He figures any little flap or flutter means air resistance."
For just a moment Grace wondered if the boy was serious. She sighed and put the measurements aside. She might as well get a fresh sheet of paper for this boy before she really got things screwed up.
He was such a lovely boy, perfectly proportioned, smooth skinned, and about three inches shorter than Grace. She caught him looking at her and abruptly knew that, hunched shoulders and tape measure or not, her firmly upstanding jugs still had the power to capture a man's eyes.
And though he was boy-sized, boy-like in his inexperience, the raw, aching need in this boy's eyes hinted that his body had already passed the invisible barriers between boyhood and manhood. Looking at his hairless face, Grace caught herself wondering if there would be any hair in the triangle that would be just barely covered by his tight-stretched jockstrap.
Abruptly it became an obsession. She just had to know if the bulge in this boy's crotch was as hairless as his chin. "Well," she began doubtfully. "If you really want a skin tight fit-"
"Yeah!"
"It could take quite a while."
"I got all night!" The boy was emphatic.
"You're sure there's nobody else waiting?"
"Yeah, I'm sure! I was the last one."
Grace glanced at her watch. It was near her normal closing hour. She opened the fitting room door and peeked out into the waiting room. The boy had told the truth. It was empty. Behind her he still posed on the low stool, craning his neck to follow her, then walked through the waiting room and flipped the latch on the outer door. She had never before realized how loud it was. The sound of the bolt shooting home echoed through the lonely rooms. She turned off the waiting room lights, then returned to the fitting room and closed the door.
I shouldn't be doing this, she told herself. But abruptly something outside her-or perhaps inside her-that something was taking control of her empty life. If only she hadn't made so much noise with that night latch. ... Surely the boy had heard it. And in his highly charged state he would be drawing certain logical conclusions. She sighed and tried not to think about the burning in her crotch, the gentle glow of anticipation that rose through her body until she was suffused with hot, demanding blood. And the poor boy was still young, still virgin. What must it be like for him?
"Now," she said briskly. "We won't be disturbed for a while. I'm sure we can get this over quickly."
"Damn, I hope not," the boy muttered.
Now that was just too much. "What do you mean?" Grace demanded.
"I mean uh-It's nice being here alone with you. You know, apprentice jockeys live with all the older guys and there aren't many girls around, and some of those older guys are-" The boy left it hanging.
Grace tried to shrug it off. "I'm kind of an older guy too," she said.
"Yeah, but-"
"But what?"
"But you're different. You're a woman and you're nice looking and you're-damn! Every time I look at you I forget all about horses and mud and steam baths and keeping my weight down and-"
"Well, let's get on with the measuring."
"Yeah," he said dispiritedly.
Grace remembered that she had just locked up and darkened the outer room. They were safe from interruption. And if anybody were to interrupt, what could be more innocent than a seamstress taking measurements?
She realized what the boy would think, what he would hopefully expect if she told him to-But she recognized the awkward need in him. It really must be a dismal life for a boy to be cloistered with older men who....
What could she do for the boy? She decided to be honest with herself. There was only one thing that could relieve the throbbing, aching need that was tearing him apart. Maybe in the course of measuring him she could brush against him 'accidentally', brush against him just hard enough, just often enough for that throbbing hurt to relieve itself harmlessly. She could even invent a tactful reason for him to go to the restroom and clean up before leaving.
Was his body as smooth, as hard muscled and hairless as his face? So small, so compact, so beautiful! Grace took a deep breath and steeled herself to do what she had known all along she was going to try to do sooner or later. The boy wanted it so badly he would be willing to do just about anything. Iiet's see if he was willing to do this.
"If you want a really skin tight fit," she explained, "you'll have to take all your clothes off before I measure you again."
The boy stared at her, gulped and tried to say something. Then abruptly he was unbuttoning the shirt of his racing silks. He peeled it off with one fluid motion and tossed it aside. The lightweight fabric parachuted atop his high jockey boots in the corner. The boy stood before her clad only in socks and silk riding breeches.
"I'm afraid you'll have to take everything off," Grace murmured. She tried not to stare at the herculean perfection of his smooth-skinned, hard-muscled little body.
He was a pocket-sized adonis. She wanted to put her arms round him, absorb him into her, kiss him, caress him, put her hand just once more between his legs and cup the throbbing bulge of manhood that, struggled to escape his jockstrap.
The boy stared and gulped. She could almost read his mind. He was wondering if she meant what he thought she meant. Was she asking him to undress so they could lead into fun and games-or was she just a practical working woman who was doing what had to be done if he wanted skin tight clothing? The boy hesitated another instant, then began removing his socks.
Grace wondered why, then realized the legs of his silks were so tight the socks would have to come off first. The boy balanced awkwardly on the stool. His hand went out to steady himself on her shoulder and, after a moment, he had his socks off. His hand trailed down the front of her, 'accidentally' managing to brush the backs of his fingers over the hard-thrusting curve of her still firm thirty-eights. She felt her nipples abruptly swell to marble hardness. A little tingle shot up her spine.
The waistband of the boy's trousers parted and they hung about his hips. Grace stared for an instant, trying to control her wild excitement. The boy gave her a mute, helpless look. Finally Grace stepped forward and began pulling the boy's pants down.
The silks slid smoothly over his hard-muscled ass, down his thighs and suddenly billowed like miniature twin parachutes about his ankles. Grace stood transfixed at the incredible perfection of his lean, hard-muscled, smoothskinned body. Not a line, not a hair, not a wrinkle as the boy posed like a former ninety-seven-pound weakling on the stool before her, clad only in his bulging jockstrap.
Unthinking, Grace reached downward to pull down the last barrier to her feast of visual sensuality. "No!" the boy said in a strangled voice.
"But I have to if you want skin tight silks," she said. Some still small voice inside her asked why they were still playing this silly 'measuring' game. She knew what she was up to. The boy knew it too. But they couldn't come right out and say it. She was too old. The boy was too young. What the hell was she doing here all locked up alone with an almost naked boy?
"No!" the boy repeated.
Grace shrugged and tried to appear casual. "I can't measure you properly unless you take everything off," she repeated.
The boy mumbled something. Grace took her tape measure from around her neck and began tidying up the fitting room. She tried not to look at the boy who twisted self-consciously atop the stool. He mumbled again.
"I'm sorry," Grace said, "I didn't hear you."
"I said I will if you will."
"You will if I will what?"
"Take all your clothes off," the boy said desperately.
It was funny. Grace knew she ought to be outraged at the boy's presumption. Here he was, a smooth-skinned stripling, asking a woman nearly forty to-To hell with it, she thought with a sense of surrender. She ought to be mad, to kill the boy with a cock-shriveling phrase or a look. Instead, she felt a sudden surge of triumph. She had done it. She was nearly forty, hadn't had a man for close to ten years, and yet the first time she decided to turn one on, she had done it!
She remembered the boy's swaggering braggadocio about money, booze, cars, women-all the things he was going to have once he was a jockey and started winning races. But he was not yet a jockey, so far he had nothing except a wild look in his eyes and a stiff cock. This boy, Grace realized, was so hard up that he would do literally anything.
It felt so good to know she had a boy-a little man-in her power, that he would humiliate himself in hundreds of little ways for the privilege of gazing on her full-blooming body. She felt a new sense of well being. Her shoulders lifted and she shrugged off ten dreary, half-dead years. It was almost as if poor old Jim had never died.
The boy was still staring at her, frightened to death at his presumption. She knew he fully expected her to draw herself up, clothe herself in dignity and send his ass flying out the fitting room door. For a brief instant she was tempted to do it.
Then she remembered that she had only gotten herself into this ridiculous situation with a boy less than half her age because she had been curious about how much hair lay beneath his jockstrap. And now he was asking her to undress!
"Oh, dear!" she said, passing it off with a little laugh. "It's been so long since I took my clothes off for a boy, I've practically forgotten how."
"I'll do it!" the apprentice jockey volunteered.
Quite suddenly Grace found herself thinking about how nice it would be to stand still and let a boy fumble with her clothing-a nearly naked little boy clad in nothing but a jockstrap. For the first time it sank into her that this was really happening, that she was really locked up alone in here with a smooth, hard-muscled boy, that he wanted to undress her-and that she was going to let him. But there was no point in letting him know that.
"Hmmm," she deliberated. "I wonder if you know how."
"Sure I do!"
"I don't know," she said doubtfully. "It's quite a trick to do it properly, you know? Women's clothing is even more delicate than racing silks. You can't just rip it off."
"I'll be careful," the boy promised.
"Weeeeellllll-"
The boy sprang from the stool. He caught her hand and led-pushed her until Grace stood poised on the low stool. She stood bemused, wondering if this was really happening or if it was just another of those troublesome dreams she had been having lately-dreams that left her all sweaty and sticky with the sheets twisted into a rope between her empty thighs.
Then she felt the boy's hands fumbling up and down her back as he struggled first with the buttons of her long-sleeved seamstress' smock, then with the no-nonsense blouse she wore beneath it. The boy was efficient at least. Instead of wasting time with one garment at a time he had unfastened both sets of buttons. He came round in front of her, stretched on tippy toes to grasp her shoulders, for she was on the stool which exaggerated the difference in their heights.
The boy pulled and both garments came free. His eyes widened in disbelief as he saw the sheer size of her tits pushing and straining at the cups of her thirty-eight 'C cup bra. "Wow!" he muttered.
Grace saw the sudden increased bulge in his jockstrap and felt like echoing the boy's exclamation. But it would be unwise, she guessed. Let the boy remain in doubt. He had undressed her partially but she had not promised to let him finish the job. She had not promised him anything.
Mentally, she inventoried her remaining garments. She wore pantyhose and panties beneath them. She wore shoes. She had a skirt and bra. She was still miles ahead of the boy. She wondered what was so marvelously erotic about this. She was still a dozen times more dressed than any girl at the beach.
It was a matter of intent, she guessed. Girls at the beach were much more nude than Grace was. But girls at the beach were not posing on a foot-high stool, letting a horny little boy remove their clothing piece by piece. She was going to have to put a stop to this soon-while she was still one up or several up on the boy. Already he was reaching round her, fumbling with the button on the waistband of her skirt. She felt the warmth of his breath on her smooth midriff. He was breathing almost directly into her navel.
It felt so good! It felt so good Grace felt her will melt, her brains turn to peanut butter as she posed, struggling not to grab the boy and pull him to her closer, harder, deeper!
Good God, she thought, I'm almost forty. And here I'm letting a teenage boy undress me! This isn't really happening. I've got to be dreaming. Is it a nightmare? No nightmare ever felt this good! The boy's eager fingers finally fumbled the button loose and she felt the skirt start to settle. He struggled with the zipper and the skirt settled gently to the floor, draping itself neatly around the legs of the foot-high stool. Grace stood before the boy clad only in bra, panties and pantyhose.
The boy stood back a moment to admire the full-blown femininity he had unveiled. "Wow!" he moaned, and moved forward again. He buried his face in her belly and his hands began teasing away at the waistband of her pantyhose. For an eager boy, he had a surprisingly delicate touch.
Grace put her hands on his shoulders. She caressed the short hair at the nape of his neck for this jockey wore his hair short in the fashion of much older men. After a moment she realized it was one more thing to flap around outside his cap. And cutting his hair short made the boy perhaps an ounce lighter on the back of a galloping horse. She caressed the nape of his neck and played with his ears. The boy moaned and buried his face deeper into her belly.
This has got to stop, she told herself. She hadn't planned it to work out this way at all. All Grace had planned on doing was 'measuring' the boy again, playing around in his crotch until she could get an accurate idea of what he had in there-long enough to make the boy gasp and grunt and perhaps relieve him of the throbbing, aching tension that wracked his needful body.
But now she was fair caught in passion's trap, letting the boy undress her, letting him bury his face in the gentle roundness of her firm belly. Suffering his eager hands to caress the twin globes of her buttocks. I'm a seamstress, she told herself. I measure men every day. I put my hand up in their crotches and nothing like this ever happened before!
Good God, I'm making more of a fool of myself than I did that night with Jim back when we were both virgins! She was drifting back into a memory of that wonderful fumbling night of exploration and adventure when she felt the boy's gentle hands begin peeling, rolling her pantyhose down past the gentle bulge of her ass.
Now why, she wondered, was it so irresistibly erotic to feel somebody else's hands doing what she did to herself every night? It was just a pair of hands peeling her pantyhose down, down her buttocks, down her thighs until abruptly they collapsed and floated about her ankles. The boy bent lower until her hands no longer touched his shoulders. Gently, he lifted one ankle and got her foot out of the pantyhose. He lifted her other ankle and repeated the process.
Then, still gripping her ankle, he lifted it higher until she nearly fell off the stool. He bent to kiss the smooth, tender skin of her sensitive inner thigh. Grace felt such a sudden upsurge of erotic delight that for an instant she nearly fainted. She struggled not to fall off the stool, afraid the boy would do it again, afraid he would not. Finally he put her foot down and she felt a tiny pang of disappointment.
He took her hand and led her off the stool until they stood on the floor together. He moved around behind her and began deciphering the holy mysteries of bra hooks. Grace wondered why men were so clumsy with those things. In her life she had only known one man's hands on bra hooks until this moment. But every woman, every magazine, every book she had ever read dwelt at length on man's inability to unhook a brassiere without tearing something.
Abruptly she realized that this neat-handed miniature man had already unfastened her bra. It hung loose from shoulder straps and her tits surged forward and upward, released from its restraint. His hands crept around her from behind and cupped over her tits. He stretched on his toes so he could manage to bend down and kiss her neck and shoulder.
Grace abruptly felt like collapsing right on the rug, pulling him down atop her, between her legs, grabbing his thing and guiding it into her deeper, faster, harder!
Her bra slid forward off her shoulders, down until the straps hung in the crook of her elbows. She gave a sigh for lost innocence and tossed it in a corner of the fitting room.
The boy began circling around in front of her, his arms still around her neck. Facing her, he stepped back and, for the first time, was treated to a full and unexpurgated view of her firmly skyward-pointing thirty-eights. Even Grace had to admit that she had a nice matched set, with tiny virginal nipples because she had never had a child. Her areolas were pink, living proof to the discerning that her blonde hair was not out of a bottle. The upper slopes of her tits were twin ski jumps. The full, sensitive-skinned undersides pushed her nipples out to point jauntily skyward. The boy's eyes widened. "Woooowww!" he exclaimed.
So they faced each other on more or less equal footing. She had conned the boy into stripping down to his tight-stretched jockstrap. And in return for removing it she had peeled down to her panties. They looked at each other, each filled with the unspoken question: Who first?
The boy's eyes drifted back to her unbelievable tits. Grace's tits were of a quality that less fortunate countries might declare a natural resource. She wondered what had happened to her to get out of the habit of displaying herself to best advantage. No wonder she had gotten into a ten-year-old rut-wearing baggy blouses and seamstress smocks and anything else best calculated to hide her light beneath a bushel. At least this boy had displayed initiative enough to burrow out her hidden talents. And now they faced him like twin searchlights, dazzling him, hypnotizing him just as surely as headlights can freeze a rabbit.
He stared, mouth half open, everything forgotten as he drank in the lyrical outlines of Grace's superb jugs. Grace opened her arms. The boy gave an incoherent moan and moved forward. He buried his face in the soft warmth of her tremendous tits.
Grace felt a sudden cool wind through the pink-fogged, passion-clogged depths of her psyche. What was she doing here, half naked, playing forbidden games with a half naked boy? Not only was it immoral, against every rule she had ever lived by, it was also very probably illegal! What would happen if the law ever found out about this-about what was happening this very minute?
The scandal would ruin her business. She would have to move out of her apartment for Grace knew she could never face her neighbors once the news got around. Would she go to jail? Would she go to hell?
The boy's head moved from between her tits and his mouth fastened over one nipple. She felt his pursed lips sucking, felt his tongue running round her nipple in loving, lascivious circles, and quite abruptly Grace knew that this was no time for analysis. She might very well go to jail, to hell or beyond Watergate, but she could not stop what she was doing, what the boy was doing, she had to go through with this lovely torment, to let the boy satisfy his curiosity about her long-deprived body.
How long, oh, Lord, has it been? At least ten years. How long since she had felt a man's thing slide into her, slide slowly and smoothly in and out, in and out, churning her belly into a happy, passionate froth, turning her brains to a passionate pap that could think of nothing but more, faster, deeper!
The boy switched to her other tit and Grace's joy passed all human understanding. She felt her nipples throb, swell, pulsate with sudden need. Good Lord, she thought. Ten whole years! How had she ever managed to live out her half-asleep existence sewing, measuring, sticking pins into the cloth that surrounded vibrant, living flesh?
"Aaaaaahhhhh!" the boy aaahhhed. He stepped back a moment to focus his passion-fogged eyes on her whole body. Abruptly the boy seemed to realize that they were both still partially clothed, he in his tight-stretched jockstrap, she in serviceable nylon panties. "Aaahhh!" he repeated, and knelt before her.
Kneeling, the boy's face met her belly squarely halfway between navel and pubic patch. He nuzzled the smooth nylon front of her panties and then Grace felt his hands at her waist slowly and with infinite care starting to pull her panties down.
CHAPTER THREE
Grace stiffened, trying to calm the storm that was within her belly. Slow as an hour hand, the boy's hands at her waist were sliding down past the bulge of her well-rounded hips, pulling her panties down. A small eternity passed and she felt the tiny tingling tickles as the first hairs of her abundant blonde pubic patch sprang free from the confining mesh of her panties.
She felt the boy's hot face, felt his nuzzling lips on the bared skin of her gently rounded belly. It felt so good! She suddenly realized her cunt must be sopping, brimful with the juices of long-deferred joy.
The boy's face and mouth crept gently downward as the waistband of her panties descended to expose new and ever more exciting territory. He was nuzzling the upper edge of her blonde pubic patch when abruptly her panties passed the bulge of hip and fell loose, hanging only where the boy's chin pressed them against her lush tuft.
His arms were around her ass, pulling her to him, pulling himself deeper into her belly. He was nuzzling, kissing, moaning and she felt her body respond to his urgent maleness. It felt so good to have a man need her. His hands slid down the backs of her thighs, slid back up again exploring and memorizing the contours of her ass, rubbing, caressing, feeling, promising joy to come. Grace caressed the nape of his neck, augered gentle tickling fingers into his ears and reveled in the pure sensual joy of a hard-bodied, smooth-skinned boy rubbing against her, caressing her, kissing her, needing her.
Abruptly the boy stopped. Grace thought her heart would break when his face came away from the lovely fur nest she had grown for it. Was he suddenly frightened? Boys this age were so touchy, so skittish. Maybe he had only now realized how close his mouth was to home base. She remembered poor old Jim had explained to her all the locker room terminology. What boy wouldn't be put off with words like "muff diver?"
The boy stood before her, admiring the full perfection of her naked body. And quite suddenly Grace understood what had happened. The boy was not frightened. He was not disgusted. The trouble was, he was not nude as she was. He was waiting for her to undress him just as he had peeled off her final garment.
She smiled at the boy. Such a lovely smooth body, hard muscled, without an ounce of fat, without any disfiguring hair. Clad only in a jockstrap, he could have modeled for life classes and would have sent hundreds of women home to dream of peeling off that jockstrap to ponder the final
) secret of his maleness. And Grace was the only one who was going to actually get to do it!
She moved forward and bent until she could kiss the boy on the lips. He kissed so awkwardly that she knew this had to be his first time. She held his throbbing body to her and gently educated him in the art of osculation until finally the boy was doing it right. They kissed enthusiastically, embracing and caressing each other's body, and she held on until the boy gasped for air. When his mouth opened, she darted her tongue swiftly inside.
The boy was startled but she had to admit he was a quick learner. After a frozen moment his tongue responded timidly. Soon they were swapping tongues like seasoned veterans. The boy moaned with joy. He pressed his pelvis against hers. Grace finally relaxed and let the kissing end. Slowly she began sinking, darting a burning line of kisses down the front of the boy's smooth hard body until she was kneeling in front of him. Then she got her hands on the waistband of his jockstrap and began peeling it down.
The boy froze, rigid with the effort to suppress the sudden paroxysm of passion that enveloped him. His pelvis was rocking and thrusting unconsciously. Grace slid a gentle hand up between his parted thighs and cupped his cock and balls through the tight-stretched fabric of his still unremoved jockstrap. And in the midst of passion she was abruptly transported back twenty odd years to a night in a motel when she had been a virgin and poor old Jim had been a virgin and they had stared at each other and not known what to do and Jim was getting edgier by the minute and ready to panic and in desperation she had reached out just like this and grabbed his cock.
She smiled now at the memory, but that night she had been a virgin, had inspected her tiny virginal twat by squatting astraddle a mirror, thus gaining a lover's eye view of her cherry and the tiny opening at one edge of it. She had known dead sure that nothing any wide than a knitting needle could ever make it through that hole. Hadn't she struggled to get her little finger in?
And here Jim was pushing her back on the bed, positioning himself between her legs. Soon he would have her flat and then he would try to put it in and-Ooohhh, she thought, why did I ever let things go this far? I knew I couldn't do it but I wanted to do it so bad and Jim wanted it so bad and-ooohhh, damn, why couldn't I have just let things go on the way they were and we could have played around every night in the back seat of his car and then I wouldn't ever have ended up in a motel with a man trying to get between my legs and-ooohhh, there's no way out of it now. Why did I have to go and get married?
There was only one way. Even in her virginal ignorance Grace had learned something from nightly wrestling in the back seat of Jim's ancient sedan. The only thing that was going to slow him down was to relieve the tremendous thumping swelling in his thing. The girls in gym all had their favorite stories about how this was done-some of them too far out to be believed. Why, some of the girls even talked about kissing it!
Grace knew instinctively that nobody ever did things like that-no more than she would have expected a man to put his mouth down between her well-turned virginal thighs.
It just wasn't done. There was only one way she knew to relieve the hot, throbbing urgency from Jim's thing. She hadn't actually done it before. Well-if you counted the couple of times her hand had accidentally brushed against it....
Sitting on the edge of the motel bed with Jim crowding between her legs, preparing to push her over backward and come down on top of her, Grace knew there was only one way she could conceal Mother Nature's joke on her-keep poor Jim from finding out that she had been born with a hole too small even for her little finger's Vaseline-coated tip. She put out her hand and captured his throbbing cock.
The light at the head of the bed was behind her and to one side, leaving her face in shadow and the front of Jim's body fully exposed. It was the first time in her life that Grace had ever been able to study a man's machinery at leisure. She felt the warm weight of his balls squirming inside their hairy pouch. But mostly she was fascinated by the swollen knob-headed tip of his bludgeon. It pointed straight at her, less than a foot away. As she cupped his balls in her hand and grasped the shank of his shaft the sudden excitement made his heartbeat race. After an instant she realized the throb in his cockshank was in time with the throb she saw in his wrist and temples. His heart was racing even faster than her own.
Jim was suddenly rigid, no longer pushing her shoulders backward. From the periphery of her vision she saw his face strained in the agony of the struggle to control his youthful and inexperienced body.
She felt his balls squirm again in her cupped hand. Jim had warned her months ago, explaining how unbearably sensitive was the tip of a boy's tool and she had taken care never to brush against it-except on those occasions when it was getting late and she was getting tired and it began to look as if Jim would want to spend the whole night playing with her legs and kissing her tits.
If ever she needed to cool his excitement, it was now. She loved Jim and didn't want to hurt him. She could imagine the look on his face when he tried to get it in and discovered that her hole was too small, that they would never be able to Do It. It was just too much. Someday he would find out, but not just yet. She had to struggle, contain herself, do what she could to give him at least one moment of happiness. She let her hand slide slowly from his scrotum until she was caressing the soft, sensitive skin of the underside of his throbbing cock.
It was a magnificent cock, worthy of a man twice Jim's size. Its heat peeped from the end of his tight-stretched foreskin like some purple, one-eyed worm, angered at this unexpected assault on its lair. She squeezed the shank of his cock and was rewarded with a single clear drop of slick fluid that issued from the piss hole in the tip of his tool. She let her hand slide farther out until she was actually grasping the round-headed knob at the end of his cock. Jim moaned but he did not relax the tense stiffness of his straining body.
She gave the thick, throbbing knob a little squeeze and was disconcerted when the angry purple head popped halfway out of the foreskin she was squeezing. It seemed so naked and unprotected, she was afraid she would hurt it.
She relaxed her grip hastily and the head of his hammer retreated not quite as far back inside as it had been.
Jim moaned incoherently and reached for her tits. The feel of his hands twisted awkwardly to cup her tits from above and in front was so suddenly and unbearably erotic that Grace bent forward and rested her forehead against the hard-straining muscles of Jim's-belly just above the spot where his pubic patch petered out in a fringe of fuzz. She could feel the hot, throbbing need of his straining cock, feel its warmth radiating like a tiny sun, suffusing her face, her whole soul with a warm glow of erotic desire. If only she knew what to do!
She squeezed again and Jim's pelvis rocked involuntarily in response to her caress. This time the head of his cock sprang out completely and her handful of foreskin slid back until she was grasping the shank of his shaft again. She was afraid he'd hurt it, leaving it all exposed that way. Hastily she raised her head and pulled her body away. She pulled outward and his cockhead dutifully retracted inside his tight-stretched foreskin until only the hole in its tip was visible. Jim didn't seem to have been hurt by the brief exposure of his hammerhead to the cool air of a motel bedroom. She squeezed his cock again and once more his hips thrust toward her, pushing until the newly bare tip of his tool nearly touched her face.
She caught the musky smell of rutting male and wondered why it was so different from what she had expected. She had smelled the rank odors of hard working, sweating men before. But this was different. Jim was freshly bathed and there was no BO about him-only this odd, perfume-like scent that was not offensive. She felt a sudden stir in the hair at the nape of her neck, almost as if a hand had caressed her. Abruptly she realized it was the smell of a healthy young male in full flush of erotic desire that had stirred her hackles.
Jim was rocking now, thrusting gently back and forth with his pelvis, driving his dong back and forth through the warm fleshy tunnel of her hand. With each stroke she was treated to the sight of the fully exposed head of his hammer thrusting toward her face, glistening slickly with the clear lubrication that covered its angry purple surface. She felt the heat, the rampant, throbbing maleness she held in her hand. She put out her hand to make a longer tunnel and Jim's fuck stroke lengthened.
From the corner of her eye she saw his face, set and straining, his eyes glassy with the effort to contain himself, to get in just one more stroke before he exploded in ignominy. She knew he wanted to stop, to get her down on the bed and get it into her properly, but he couldn't. Things had gone too far for a virgin boy and no matter how he struggled to stop, the older wisdom of his body would not let him cease this rhythmic plunging as he drove his dong back and forth, in and out of the warm, fleshy tunnel created by her two girl's hands.
His hands clutched her tits, rubbing hard, almost painfully as his fingertips closed over her nipples, twiddling their virginal smallness into twin lumps of rock-hard, throbbing desire. She wished he would stop it, would instead of this squeezing just bend over and kiss them and suck them like he usually did when they were playing their previews in the back seat of his ancient sedan.
Then she realized Jim must be wishing the same thing. He had married her. She had led him on thus far. He had a right to expect to get farther into her body than the palm of her hand. What could she do?
While she worried about what to do, her grip on his cock relaxed and Jim managed to catch his breath and retreat from the precipitous edge of a chasm of orgasm. His strangle-hold on .her tender young tits relaxed. His hands slid smoothly from her tits up to her shoulders and he gave an unexpected little push.
Grace fell backward atop the bed and her legs went skyward in the effort to catch her balance. Jim grasped her ankles and deftly maneuvered until she fell full length in the middle of the over-sized bed. Grace wanted to cry. It felt so nice to feel Jim's hands on her bare body, to sense his strength. But she knew how disappointed he was going to be when he found out he couldn't get it in.
She died a little death as she surrendered, no longer resisting his urgent hands. They were still floundering about and in the wrestling match Jim seemed to have lost his balance too, for he fell on the bed in the wrong direction. She felt him twisting and turning her, positioning her body but not the way she had expected it to happen.
After a confused moment she guessed Jim just wanted to stretch out by her side and neck for a while before he-She opened her eyes and discovered they were still not positioned right for anything she could imagine a naked boy and girl doing together. She lay on her side, but instead of looking into Jim's eyes, she was staring at a pair of slightly hairy knees. She felt his arms close around her legs. She felt him bury his face in the soft skin of her thighs just above her knees. Now why, she wondered, does such a weird position feel so unbearably good?
Twenty years later Grace faced practically the same problem, except this time she knew exactly what to do even if the young, smooth-skinned apprentice jockey didn't know. The trouble was, she also knew the price she might have to pay for eating this forbidden fruit.
A fine time to think about that, she decided. She was kneeling in front of the boy, totally undressed herself, and the boy's jockstrap held in place only by her hot little seamstress' hand cupping his untried machinery. She took her hand away and the jockstrap fell about the boy's ankles. She helped him step out of it just as he had helped her out of her panties moments ago.
It was only the second cock Grace had ever seen in her nearly forty years. She was flabbergasted. Somehow she had expected men's cocks to be all alike. After a moment's mind-boggling, she realized how foolish that idea was. Men's faces were not all alike. Men's bodies were not all alike. Why had she expected their cocks all to have been stamped out by the same cookie cutter?
This slim, elegant boy's cock was longer than Jim's. It was also thinner and its foreskin seemed slightly longer and looser. The boy had been suffering from a thumping, raging hard-on, but his cock was still squeezed unnaturally out of shape by the tight jockstrap. Now it was rearranging itself, stretching even longer as it straightened to stand out from his body, jutting outward and upward like the flagpole over some office window. But this flagpole was throbbing, jerking gently up and down in time to the boy's racing heart.
She considered the head of his long, elegantly slim slammer. It was not round and blunt like Jim's had been. This boy's tool was tipped with a pointed head. Like an arrowhead, she realized, flaring out to an inordinately wide glans penis that promised to lodge itself in her tender flesh like the barbs of an arrowhead. She felt a delicious quiver of anticipation.
Then she realized what would probably happen. The boy was hot to trot, but he was also still a boy, most probably a virgin. He wouldn't even get it in before he was blurting, spurting, squirting his precious cum load all over her blonde pubic patch where it would do neither of them any good. It would be such a waste. And being a virgin, the boy would be so overcome by shame over a perfectly natural accident that he might scramble into his clothes and run for it before she could reawaken his ardor.
Damn! she thought. She had been so caught up in this improbable adventure that she had not stopped to realize this fitting room was not fitted out for lovemaking. There were racks and hangers, there were dummies and pin cushions. There was a low stool, a trio of full-length mirrors, and one sprung chair. There was no couch, no bed, nothing on which to lie down.
While she had been wondering what to do, the boy had already worked out a simple and direct approach to the problem. He pulled her to her feet, put his arms around her, and they waltzed across the room, the boy guiding her backward until she felt her ass contact the cutting table. Before she quite had time to realize what was happening, he had given her a little boost and she was sitting on the edge of the table with her feet dangling above the floor. Then abruptly she was stretched out flat on the table and the boy stood beside her, looking down on her nude, out-stretched body rather as if he were trying to decide whether or not to operate.
To Grace it was beginning to seem that the boy was a very smooth operator. She liked to think that she was in control of the situation. After all, she was the experienced one, nearly forty, widowed and all that meant. And yet, thirty minutes ago this inexperienced boy had been nothing to her but another piece of meat to be measured and fitted for racing silks. Now he had her down flat, naked, stretched out on her cutting table. Who, she wondered, is really in charge here?
It was her cutting room, her business. It was also, she realized ruefully, her body which had betrayed her, revealed her deprivation, her long-standing need for a cock sliding in and out of her pussy until even this inexperienced, pocket-sized adonis had instinctively read the signals. Now he was reacting.
She had subconsciously expected a repetition of that first night with Jim, but now Grace realized that it was impossible to go back-impossible for her ever to return to that state of confused and willing eroticism where she had not had the slightest idea how to gratify a man's desire. She knew any number of ways to make this boy fire his load.
But if Grace had learned anything on her wedding night all those years ago, she had learned that she had been wrong. This boy had what she wanted, what she needed, and she was damned if she was going to let him waste one precious drop. She intended to get this boy in the saddle without preamble, get him performing.
Foreplay was for old friends, for long-time lovers. Grace hadn't felt a phallus inside her for ten years. She could leave the fooling around for some other day-if the boy felt like coming back. Right now she wanted that cock inside her, wanted to feel the delicious pleasure-pain of at least one deep thrust before the boy's inexperience betrayed him.
The boy had other ideas. Grace had expected him to climb up onto the cutting table, running his hands gently over her full-blown body. Grace was puzzled. Then abruptly she knew what the boy was doing. "You never had any sisters, did you?"
The boy's eyes widened. "How'd you know?"
Grace smiled. Magazines and newsstands being what they were nowadays, the boy had undoubtedly seen countless pictures of nude girls in every possible pose. But when it came to first-hand knowledge, if one picture was worth a thousand words, then one live, breathing female body was worth a thousand pictures. The boy was "playing doctor," memorizing the contours, the hills and valleys, the soft, secret places of her body.
He ran his hands over her shoulders and down the curve of her throat. He felt her arms, her armpits, and crept slowly downward to assault the slopes of her high-rise tits which refused to acknowledge her supine position, pointing firmly and indefatigably skyward, her rigid nipples twin to attract the boy's wandering gaze.
He gave a little moan of delight and bent over to bury his face in her tits while his hands moved ceaselessly up and down her flanks, sending deep waves of erotic delight through her, reminding her that the boy had not even started yet. Would he manage to get it in before all this joyous exploration sent him off into a blurting, hurting, spurting and squirting bout of ejaculatio praecox?
The feel of the boy's burning face nuzzling her tits sent a frenzied thrill of desire up Grace's spine. She wanted to grab him, pull him up onto the table between her legs, wrap her thighs round him and draw his dick deep, deeper inside her. But the boy was a virgin. In spite of his seemed assurance, she was positive now.
He drew a deep breath and recovered from his little orgy of tit nuzzling. He drew back and straightened to admire the full length of her body laid out for his delectation. His hands caressed her midriff and belly, creeping down to coast along her flanks until the tickle made her want to giggle. His hands were so wonderfully light in their touch, like butterfly wings as they memorized the smooth plain of her midriff, the crater of her deep-sunk navel, the gentle rise of her belly.
She felt a roiling, churning as her insides moved and writhed with the joyous anticipation of what was going to happen. The boy's hands were so light and smooth. She wondered if he had mastered that delicate touch as part of the business of controlling horses, or reading their emotions through the reins that led to their sensitive mouths. She didn't know how good the boy was with horses, but with women she knew he would someday be a champion.
In spite of his inexperience, he seemed to be in better control of his emotions than she was. Grace wanted to grab him, pull him atop her and between her legs, pull him into her and revel in the feel of hot, young male ram-slamming his cock to her. The boy was taking his time. She tried not to sigh, not to show her impatience. She mentally consoled herself with the knowledge that if the boy could control himself this well, once he got down to business it would be much better than the lick-and-a-promise she had been expecting from his maiden voyage into eroticism.
The boy was still caressing her belly, running his hands up and down her skittish flanks, augering an exploring finger into her navel. Then as she tried to relax, to enjoy his cautious foray into eroticism, the boy's hands began working farther down. She had thought the boy would be thorough. After a moment she realized he was even more thorough than she had expected. He was saving the best for last.
Instead of penetrating the jungle of her lush blonde pubic patch, the boy devoted his attention to her feet. It was funny. Grace had never imagined how unbearably erotic it could be for a handsome, smooth-skinned, hard-muscled boy to handle her feet. He touched them, felt them, caressed them, did all sorts of little things best calculated to drive her half mad with desire. Finally he began working his way up her ankles, up her calves. He lifted one long, well-tapered leg and began to trace out with his fingertips the soft tender pocket of her popliteal fossa behind her knee. Grace giggled and clenched her knee over his questing fingers.
The boy didn't struggle to free his hand. Instead, without warning he bent over and buried his face in her belly. She felt the warm wetness of his tongue auger into her navel and it felt so wonderfully finger-lickin' unexpectedly good that her legs straightened into almost galvanic reaction to the bolt of erotic lightning his tongue was shooting into her needful belly. The boy's freed hand resumed its meandering safari up the creamy smoothness of her soft inner thigh.
How, she wondered, can a virgin boy know all these wonderful secrets? She wondered if in the secrecy of his lonely cubicle the boy had been reading sex manuals, memorizing their contents against the day when he would have an opportunity to test theory in actual practice. His hand approached her crotch, feinted, retreated down the tender, sensitive skin of her other inner thigh, nearly down to the back of her other knee before once more approaching home base. This time she felt the faint tantalizing tickle as his questing hand barely brushed the bottom fringe of her lush pubic tuft.
She clasped her thighs together over his hand. Once more, instead of struggling, the boy bent low over her belly. This time, instead of augering his tongue into her super-sensitized navel, he began kissing lazy, lascivious figure eights up and down the gentle rise of her belly, skirting the top edge of her pubic patch on his downward swing, coming up to brush his lips over the aching, throbbing, bottom sides of her quivering tits.
Grace had never been so godawfully turned-on in her life. Everything the boy did to her was exciting. His most innocent gesture seemed capable only of heightening the fluttery empty feeling of anticipation that made her want to shriek and moan and grab him and pull his dick into her deeper, harder, faster!
What on earth had gotten into her? Nothing, she realized. Not one goddamn thing had gotten into her for ten years! All that time her body had lain dormant, slowly preparing its revenge, waiting for the day when she would slip and let her waiting body snatch an opportunity.
The boy bent again and kissed her belly until she wanted to shriek. Her knees bent involuntarily as a thrill of desire coursed through her long deprived body. The boy's capable hands went to her thighs, down to her knees. He spread her knees, laying bare the tender, inner surfaces of her thighs. Smoothly, he exchanged territories. One moment he was kissing her belly until she wanted to shriek. The next he was running a burning spoor of kisses, bussing his erotic path up one thigh and down the other, holding her legs wide apart so that he could devote his attention to their most sensitive portions.
Grace thought she was going to melt, that her brains would turn to peanut butter and run right out her ass. The boy had conquered. She had thought she would use him but this marvelous pocket-sized adonis was using her, playing her like some musical instrument, tuning her up, twisting, tightening, making her quiver with the strain of too long deferred love.
She caught a ragged breath and realized how deft the boy had been. He had kissed her lips, her tits, her navel, her belly, her midriff and thighs. He had kissed the sensitive erotic triggers at the back of her knees. But he had not kissed home base. So far he hadn't even touched it. Good God, she thought. I'm ready to explode, to melt, and he hasn't even touched my pussy yet!
The boy still stood at the edge of the cutting table, working over her body as if he were some sort of surgeon. He caressed her, kissed her, rubbed her, licked her, did everything known to boy and man to make a woman ecstatically happy-everything but actually to touch the one place that would fill her with the joy that passeth all human understanding.
Rapidly, the boy kissed and licked her belly, skimmed over her pubic patch and kissed her thighs. With each over-flight of sensitive territory, his incursions came closer until he was nuzzling the fringes of her lush blonde pubic patch. Soon, Grace deduced from the boy's ever fast kissing and licking-soon now, something wonderful's going to happen.
CHAPTER FOUR
She remembered her wedding night when she and Jim had wrestled and struggled with their bodies and their virgin consciences trying to figure out what was the right thing to do. She had grabbed his cock and nearly milked him into spurting impotence before her new husband had evened the score by forcing her lithe, sixteen-year-old body backward until she fell stretched full length along the bed.
But somehow in the confusion they had not landed properly. She opened her eyes to see, not Jim's face, not his eyes staring into hers, but instead, his knees! Down below she had felt his face move gently forward to nuzzle her knees. Then abruptly he was kissing them.
His arms were locked tightly around her legs until she couldn't move. She guessed Jim was afraid she would be frightened, would jump up and run away-as if a naked girl dared run anywhere outside a motel bedroom!
He had a double stranglehold on her knees. She gave a happy sigh and relaxed. As long as they were tangled up this way, it gave her a few minutes respite before she had to face the sad fact that her twat was just too small, that no matter how willing she was, not matter how much she loved Jim, they would never be able to Do It.
Jim was kissing her knees. It felt so good she stiffened with the struggle not to giggle. Jim misinterpreted her rigidity. He squeezed harder lest she escape. The squeeze brought their straining bodies even closer together until she could feel the male heat of him up and down her entire front. Then she felt the hot, throbbing pulse of his cock squeezed between them. It felt like it was right between her tits.
He kissed her knees again, then began kissing his way up the fronts of her tight-clasped thighs. It felt so good Grace could not control her delighted giggle. She felt her body relax. A moment later Jim still embraced her thighs but was no longer in mortal terror that she would try to escape. She felt his hot, throbbing cock tracing a wet pattern of pecker tracks on the inner surfaces of her firm, sixteen-year-old tits. She brought her arms forward until her lovely jugs came close together, closing snugly over the throbbing tip of Jim's tool.
Jim had been squirming and struggling to move so that he could kiss her thighs higher up. Now abruptly he stopped struggling, content to let his cock lie in the soft pocket of love and warmth provided by her firm young tits. Grace smiled a happy little smile and waited to see what would happen next.
His cock was thumping and throbbing but he was not thrusting. After a moment she realized he didn't have to. As long as she held her arms forward-she wrapped them round his legs and her tits tightened over the throbbing knob on the end of his rigid shaft. As long as she kept his cock imprisoned this way, the only way she could prevent the ceaseless massage that was driving him positively dingbat with delight would be for her to stop breathing. With each rise and fall of her chest, her tits clasped his foreskin and slid it gently up and down, up and down until Jim was driven to fresh transports of delight. To stop it she had to stop breathing, and Grace wasn't quite ready for that.
She wasn't, in her sixteen-year-old virginal innocence, quite ready for what came next either. Jim was unable to continue his long, lovely slide up her body. Instead, he spread her thighs and arched his neck. Slowly and deliberately, he kissed and nibbled his way up one milky thigh until she could feel his chin titillating a couple of stray hairs at the bottom of her scant, sixteen-year-old pubic patch. Before she was prepared to believe it was actually happening,, he had retreated and was kissing his way up her other thigh.
She was breathing faster now, her breath coming in ragged gasps from the unexpected excitement of Jim's mouth where she had least expected it. The accelerated rise and fall of her chest was intensifying her tit-massage over the throbbing knob of Jim's cock, which in turn turned him on with such an unbearable intensity that his kissing was harder, faster, deeper until he was actually giving little bites to the sensitive insides of her thighs.
His kissing was approaching dangerously close to the bottom boundary of her fur patch. She knew she ought to stop this before things went too far but it felt so good she couldn't stop gasping from the sheer erotic joy of feeling Jim's hard young body against hers. Her tits seemed to have a will of their own as her tight embrace of his legs squeezed their soft inner sides ever tighter and more warmly around the head of his throbbing cock. It was so exciting she couldn't help breathing faster.
Just the thought of Jim down there kissing her thighs so close to It was dangerously exciting. As she gasped and squeezed his legs, her tits in turn squeezing his cock, her ragged breathing accelerating her warm massage, the thought crossed her mind for the first time. It was fun to play around like this, fooling each other with kisses close to the center of their hearts' desire but would he actually do it? She wondered if it were possible for a man to be so overcome by emotion, by the excitement of having his arms all around his girl for the first time that-Would Jim actually put his mouth-would he try to kiss her there?
She tried to think. It wasn't really going to happen but, just supposing it did, what should she do? Should she scream with outrage and make him stop it? Probably she should, but what was she thinking about? She knew Jim. He wouldn't really do it. But he was getting so close. She could feel his mouth, his lips planting burning lines of kisses around the insides of her upper thighs. Good heavens, he was actually kissing the cheeks of her ass!
She closed her thighs and felt their tender inner surfaces take the imprint of Jim's prominent ears. My but they were hot! She was so excited she could feel her tits sliding up and down, pulling the tight-stretched foreskin of Jim's cock up and down with each panting, ragged breath she drew. He did not struggle to make her open her legs again. Instead, he seemed content to let his head lie imprisoned between her tight-clasped thighs, reveling in the soft feminine warmth of her light young body.
Too late she realized that she had captured his head at a moment when his mouth was aimed directly where it oughtn't be. She could feel his hot breath on the hairy lips of her vulva. Good heavens, if he were to stick out his tongue he could actually be tickling her where it was so sensitive she wouldn't giggle. If his tongue ever touched her there, she would scream.
But, apart from screaming, what should she do? Even the other way, face to face with him struggling to get his great thumping thing into her, could not be one half so mortifying as this dilemma. What should she do if he tried it? Should she let him do it? Maybe she ought to let him try it, just to see if he really would. She wondered what it would feel like to have a man's mouth fastened over her pussy, to feel his smooth, hairless lips touching her hairy vulval lips. It was something she had no business even thinking about. People didn't actually do things like this. Not normal, nice people anyway.
But what would it feel like? Would he ever do it? She guessed he wouldn't. They had gone too far already. What on earth were they doing in this ridiculous position with his head between her legs-he had actually been kissing her ass! And here she was, a nice girl, a virgin still, and with his great thumping thing between her breasts! It was against nature!
Anyway, he was just lying there, his head between her tight-clamped thighs, his ears burning holes in their sensitive surfaces. She suddenly realized he was just resting, relaxing, reveling in the feel of her twin young jugs squeezing tight around the tip of his thing. And why shouldn't he? He wanted to put it in her but she knew he never would. Yet she had led him on, had let him marry her. Poor Jim! He was entitled to some pleasure out of this night.
She sighed at the thought that after tonight he might never want to see her again. It was so sad. She felt her tight grip of thighs over ears starting to relax. Soon his head was free to move. It moved and she suddenly felt what he was doing-what she had been expecting and dreading and yet somehow wishing and hoping he would do. Jim was putting his mouth right in there-right up against the lips of her pussy!
That had been twenty years ago, when she was a virgin and quite literally had not known her ass from a hole in the ground. Now she was pushing forty and she was spread out on her cutting room table and this pocket-sized adonis of an apprentice jockey was touching, tickling, rubbing, kissing and caressing her with the skill of a surgeon, each movement of his compact body seemingly calculated for greatest effect. He stood beside her, leaning over the waist-high table. For some time now she had been sensing the direction of his interest as his kissing and caressing zeroed in ever closer to the one part of her throbbing body that he had not actually touched yet. When would he ever get around to it?
Ten years, she reminded herself, since she had had a man's thing inside her. Couldn't she wait another few minutes without making a big fuss? The boy had taken command of the situation far more efficiently than she had expected after his awkward beginning. Now, like a bee hunting cactus honey, he was circling her throbbing pussy, buzzing ever closer as he kissed first her belly, then her thighs, then nuzzled the bony prominence beneath her blonde pubic fur, scouring the edges of home plate without ever quite touching her.
What, she wondered, would happen if she were to grab his head, pull him in and close her thighs over his ears, wrap him in a lascivious scissors grip until he was unable to move? What would happen if-?
Suddenly she realized that she had been remiss too. The boy stood beside the waist-high table, busy working her over. And she hadn't done a thing for him! She let her arm fall off the table. Moments later she felt the warmth of his compact body. She took an educated guess, extended her hand and squeezed and-jackpot!
She had captured the boy's wildly waving dong. It was jerking and throbbing and now she knew why the boy had not mounted the cutting table. He was so superheated from the sight and feel of her lush body that he was afraid to even brush against her lest he explode and end it all before it was fairly begun. Poor boy, she thought. He really wasn't such an expert after all.
She held his raging rod in her hand, held the future of this whole affair in the palm of her hot little hand. She didn't want to humiliate him with a premature ending. But she had to do something quick for already she could feel the accelerated throb, the tiny preliminary stiffening and the quiver that meant within seconds she would have the solution in hand.
Grace took a deep breath and squeezed. Hard!
"Ow!" the boy managed in a strangled voice. She felt the explosive rockhardness of his rod diminish. Soon it had shrunk until it was not even hard. The boy looked at her wonderingly.
"Don't worry," she consoled. "It was too nice to lose."
"But-"
"Don't worry," she repeated. "Unless you're a lot less man than I think you are . ... "
"Yeahhhh!" She still held his dwindling dong and she had no difficulty in understanding the cause of his exultant exclamation. Already his puckering prick was reviving, growing in her hand. His eyes glowed as he surveyed her body laid out on the cutting table. For a moment she thought he was going to start again with that "playing doctor" routine. Still grasping his growing goad, she gave it a gentle pull until he got the idea. He climbed up beside her on the cutting table.
Grace scooted over to give him room. She still held his cock in her hand. The boy knelt beside her, uncertain what to do. Grace tried to make up her mind. He had recovered from his first fine fervor but he was still just a boy, probably a virgin, and would be totally hair trigger when it came to going for the fall.
She toyed with the idea of letting him fire one load first. It would be a waste but it was going to be a waste anyway. He wouldn't get it halfway in before ... and then she would have to go clean up and the boy would be embarrassed and ... If she were deliberately to work off a load before the boy even tried to get it in, it would be easier for him to save face. On the other hand, even a boy this young and well built was not a rope factory. Four or five times and he would be played out. How many times would it take for Grace to be fucked out? She suspected that her body had a lot of catching up to do. Ten years at least.
It was so hard to make up her mind. She wanted his dick inside her, thrusting and plunging like a berserk steam engine, but if she let him in now, it wouldn't last. She wondered if the boy knew how hair-trigger he was. He had to know. Hadn't she just saved him from explosion a moment ago? But it was difficult to know how a boy's mind worked. No matter what she tried, she might encounter some hidden hang-up that could spoil their evening. It was then that Grace made a brilliant psychological breakthrough. There was a way to find out. It was not infallible but it was the best way psychologists had yet devised to find out what was on a man's mind.
Holding his growing cock loosely, Grace smiled up at the naked boy who knelt beside her. "What," she asked, "would you like to do first?"
The boy goggled at her. He gulped several times as he tried to speak. Finally he managed to get it out. "How much time we got?"
Grace smiled. "I'm not expecting anybody else this evening," she said. "Unless we get tired or hungry, I'd guess we've got till Monday morning or till one of us gets tired, whichever comes first."
"Goddamn!" the boy enthused. "This's Saturday night!"
"It sure is," Grace chuckled, "but I doubt if you'll be able to last it out till Monday." She gave his cock a companionate squeeze. While they had been talking its growth rate had slowed. He had a comfortable hard-on but it was not explosive. It was the kind of shaft that could be good for hours of thrusting if she could just keep him from getting too excited. "So what would you like to do first?" she repeated.
The boy blushed. Grace tried to conceal her amusement. Now what, she wondered, could make a naked boy blush when she lay nude before him, her hand over his cock, and after he had spent close to an hour undressing her, playing braille games with her lush body, kissing every square inch of her skin except-Suddenly she knew what was embarrassing him.
"No secrets," she said. "We've gone past secrets now."
Still the boy blushed furiously, his whole body pink from forehead to waist. He muttered something, more to himself than to her.
"I can't hear you," Grace said. She hesitated a moment then added, "anything you want. Don't be afraid to say it." , "You'll get mad."
"I don't think so. If it hurts too much I may not let you do it, but I won't get mad."
"Hurt?" The boy was surprised. "I wouldn't hurt you."
"It's hurting me just to lie here and know you want to do something and you're afraid and how do you know it might not be exactly what I want you to do?"
The boy was still blushing, his body suffused with blood until he was brick red from the waist up. He began an inaudible mumble and the only words Grace could hear were "while it's still clean."
She felt a sudden thrill of exultation. Pushing forty and still she had it. The boy wanted to. But she had to set his mind straight first. She gave his cock a friendly squeeze and felt it begin growing again. "Are you dirty?" she asked.
"No."
"And this is part of you, isn't it?" She indicated his throbbing cock in her hand. The boy nodded.
Grace passed a hand over her crotch. "That's part of me," she explained. "If we're clean then every part of us is clean. If we're dirty all we have to do is wash."
"Yeaaahhh!" the boy said in sudden and enthusiastic understanding. Still he hovered over her, kneeling. She let go of his cock and scooted over still farther on the cutting table. The boy allowed her to guide him, moving passively whichever way she pushed and prodded.
Finally they lay on their sides, facing each other, but head to foot. The boy was shorter than Grace but not by an awful lot. She got her hands on his hips and scooted him down the table until she was facing his thighs only inches away. She could sense the boy's growing excitement. She could guess what he was thinking. It reminded her of her first night with Jim when she had unexpectedly found herself in this position which she had only thought existed in ribald stories-surely people didn't actually do such things!
The boy was acting out a daydream-or nightmare depending on his point of view. But he had wanted to-wanted it so bad that he had admitted it to her against every instinct, every blushing objection in his background. She ran a soothing hand over his thigh. "It's always wise to look before you leap," she said good humoredly. "This way you'll never be able to say you couldn't see what you were getting into." In case the boy didn't understand, she cocked one knee and braced her leg high. She edged her lower thigh forward slightly and reached down to guide the boy's head. The gesture was not necessary. Already the boy was pillowing his head on her soft inner thigh.
She felt his warm breath moving the hairs on her vulval lips, tickling slightly and giving her a tantalizing hint of joys to come. The boy didn't move. She tried not to be impatient. After all, this was probably the first real look he had ever had of a woman's pussy. Let him fill his eyes and satisfy his curiosity. There would be time enough later for him to fill her.
A minute passed and still the boy lay pillowing his head on her thigh, his warm breath sending little shivers up her spine as she lay with legs spread for him to get down to business. She grabbed his ass and pulled, closing the gap in their sixty-nine formation until his face was brushing the stray hairs that extended downward from the lips of her well-furred vulva. The movement brought the boy's full-grown erection close to her, so close she could feel its warmth like a miniature sun in the hollow of her chin and throat.
It was tiring to hold her leg unnaturally high this way. Slowly she let it sag until the inside of her upper thigh was brushing the boy's hot ear. He turned his face upward to kiss her descending thigh. She let it down a little farther. He nuzzled and kissed some more until the pressure threatened to smother him, then turned his face back to her waiting crotch. She could feel his racing breath moving loose hairs, tickling, filling her with a delicious sense of wonderful things to come.
The boy's cock was swollen to rock hardness again. It waved wildly in front of her, its pointed head struggling to free itself from a confining foreskin. Grace reminded herself of her little lecture to the boy about no part of one's body being unclean. What, she wondered, would happen if she were to open her mouth and engulf this throbbing cockhead? Probably an immediate explosion.
What if she were to grab it and squeeze it again? She scooted lower, which brought the boy's burning face tight up against her swollen and throbbing vulval labia. It also brought her mouth directly in line with the boy's cock which thumped and jerked, waving up and down in time to the boy's racing heartbeat. She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then blew warm moist breath over the head of the boy's cock, down its shank to stir the mat of hair at its base. She blew skillfully, managing to stir every hair on the boy's squirming balls, even to send a warm blast through his crotch until the boy's anal rosette pulsated with the effort not to cum:
"Ooohhh!" he moaned. There was a convulsive shudder and then the boy was suddenly burrowing into her crotch, nuzzling, licking, sucking.
For a minute Grace thought she was going to die. After his first fine frenzy, the boy's mouth stayed open, his lips locked squarely over the full hairy labia exterior of her vulva, making an air-tight seal inside which his tongue and teeth went wild. He licked great long slurping licks like a lion in a bowl of canned milk, his tongue rasping up and down the tender inner labia of her cunt, tickling the torn fringes of carunculae myrtiformes that remained of her long-broken cherry.
With each lick the tip of the boy's tongue rasped over her clit, tickling that tender organ until it was swollen to a hardness rivaling the twin marbles of her throbbing nipples, driving her to a frenzy of delight that made her want to shriek, to wail and yodel, to kick and squirm to express her unspeakable joy.
The boy licked and licked without tiring, stopping only occasionally to catch his breath. Each time he drew jn a shuddering, sighing breath, he involuntarily sucked until it seemed to Grace that he was turning her inside out, pulling her flushed and swollen vagina halfway down his throat. It hurt but it was such a delicious hurt she could hardly wait for the next time he had to catch his breath.
She felt herself weakening, melting, her will turning to peanut butter as the boy sucked and licked her cunt. Her belly was roiling, twisting, all her insides seeming to twist into a knot that was growing tighter with each passing moment until she knew she could not stand it another second. Her legs were thrashing, thighs opening and closing over the boy's flaming ears as she struggled not to give in to the cataclysm that threatened to destroy her. It felt so good! It felt so good she knew if it went on for another second she would just die! She couldn't stand it any more. Great balls of electric fire were coursing up her spine, sending urgent erotograms from super-sensitized cunt and clit.
The boy's arms were around her ass now, pulling himself in deeper, harder, ploughing deeper with each rasping lick of his busy tongue. Grace felt herself starting to come apart-tiny tremors of uncontrollable joy were blurring her vision until it seemed that two and sometimes three cocks were dancing in front of her. Then abruptly everything came together as her spine, her brain, her cunt and belly all gave a tremendous humping, pulsating throb in time to the clasp of her thighs over the boy's ears. She held him so tightly he couldn't escape but she could not stop his agile tongue from rasping up, down, round and round her marble-hard clit until she felt herself pulsing, flowing freely, bathing the boy's eager mouth with the juices of love fulfilled.
Pinwheels of passion coruscated before her muddled vision. She gave a final dying tremor and suddenly all the tension was gone, her straining body limp. The boy gasped. He pulled away momentarily, caught up a scrap of cloth from the littered cutting table and wiped his mouth, then once more returned to licking her raddled cunt.
Even now that she had cum and released the worst of the tension, it felt so good, so wonderfully smooth and finger-lickin' good that Grace couldn't make him stop. She wanted to save it, wait a minute until her batteries were charged again, but the boy was insatiable. She wondered how many lonely nights he had lain in a narrow bed somewhere dreamily fingering his piece and dreaming of just what he was doing now.
She drew a deep shuddering breath and tried to get her head together. It had been years-ten at a very minimum since she had cum so shatteringly, with such explosive totality. Come to think of it, she knew exactly when she had cum that hard, that fast, that ever-lovingly good. She knew exactly when it had been.
She had been sixteen and undressed all the way with a naked boy, in a motel room alone for the first time in her life. She had been a virgin, the boy had been Jim, and it had been their wedding night.
She hadn't known her ass from a hole in the ground-except for a vague visceral conviction that there ought to be more fun in her ass-if she could just figure out what to do with it. Jim hadn't been much help either. Despite their months of happy wrestling and tit kissing in the back seat of his venerable sedan, he had known nothing of the art of love save that point P (prick) was supposed to be inserted into aperture C (cunt). He had not known what Grace had discovered by squatting over a lucky mirror-that aperture C in her case was nearly closed with some tough membrane that resisted her vaseline slicked little finger, that was entirely too tough to be the delicate hymeneal membrane poets raptured about. She had even managed to sneak into the locked section of the library and learn the medical term for it. It seem that, along with the first Queen Elizabeth, Grace suffered from atresia-a cunt too tight for mortal prick to spread open. Like the old queen, Grace was afraid she was doomed to go through life a virgin.
She had been too chicken-hearted to confess her fears to Jim and now they were married, she sixteen and he a year older. He had confidently expected tonight to be the Grand Opening after months of foreplay at the threshold. She was frightened. She loved Jim. She didn't want to hurt him. She knew she owed him something. She had led him this way and that, playing kinky little games to keep him away from trying to get his great big blunt thumping hunk of masculinity inside her tiny twat. Now those games had led to their logicalconclusion and she found herself beside him on the sateen coverlet of a motel bed.
They lay facing each other, but wrong end to. Jim's face was between her legs. He was actually touching her just furring pussy with his mouth. His great, thumping, blunt-headed banger was poking at her face until she had to bend her neck painfully backward.
She felt her scant-haired cuntlips part. Jim was not just kissing her pussy; he was actually forcing it open, putting his tongue right inside against her soft and secret parts. It felt funny.
It took her a moment to sort out her feelings and to realize that it not only felt funny; it also felt very nice. In her sixteen-year-old innocence Grace had never imagined anything on this earth-especially any part of her own ripening body could ever feel one fraction as nice as Jim's exploring tongue felt down there poking and probing its cautious way up and down the secret slit between her still virgin labia minora.
She wondered if she was supposed to do anything. She was afraid if she did Jim might get even more excited than he seemed to be right then. She didn't want that. She remembered once in the car when Jim had gotten carried away and what a mess it had been to clean up.
Still, he had a right to expect something in return for what he was doing for her. She looked at his throbbing, thumping thing pointing at her face. It seemed blindly to be seeking love, comfort, protection from the chill night air. She wondered if she dared do what she was thinking.
CHAPTER FIVE
She couldn't. It was monstrous. People didn't really do things like that. It was just something that nasty-minded people make jokes about and drew crude pictures on toilet walls of and-
But Jim was doing it to her....
He had his arms wrapped so tightly around her ass she couldn't have broken away if she'd wanted to. And it felt so good. She could feel the heat of poor Jim's bludgeon radiating, warming her, burning her with his frantic, thumping need. I'll just kiss it, she thought. Let him know I care. It won't hurt anything and it'll make him feel good and ... She got a hand between Jim's legs from behind and captured his wildly waving wand.
Jim stiffened and for a terror-stricken instant she thought he was going to stop doing all the wonderful things he was doing to her down there. Then he relaxed and began once more licking her tiny virginal cunt. Poor Jim. He still didn't know he would never get it into her. The least she could do for him was to-She grasped the shank of his cock firmly from behind, her wrist super-naturally sensitive to the squirming of his well-haired scrotum beneath it. She managed to stop the wild waving of Jim's thing. The blunt point faced her, like a one-eyed worm peeping from the tight-stretched foreskin. She blinked her eyes. She took a deep breath. She pursed her lips and brought her face carefully forward until she could kiss it.
To say that nothing happened would be inaccurate. Most of the things she had been expecting did not happen. The earth did not open up to swallow them both. God's lightning did not immediately strike the motel room. She did not get sick. It did not taste bad. In fact, it tasted rather nice, like the day she and Jim had gone swimming in the ocean and they had both surfaced and kissed each other with salt water still streaming from their lips.
She wondered if this was what she tasted like to Jim. Then abruptly she realized he had stopped whatever he was doing to her. His head was still between her legs, his mouth over her pussy. But he was no longer doing anything. She took a deep breath and, encouraged now that she knew the world was not going to end immediately, she opened her mouth slightly, just enough to close her lips over the tight-stretched tip of Jim's foreskin.
Immediately Jim went back to work. He gave her taut maidenhead a tentative lick, ran his tongue up one sensitive inner lip and down the other. Then he puckered his lips to zero in on her tiny virginal clit. He began sucking gently, pulling it into his lips, then letting it out, sucking it in again, gradually picking up speed until her clit was fluttering in and out of his mouth so fast she thought the sheer dizzy tickling thrill would make her shriek. Suddenly Jim stopped.
It had felt so good she had completely forgotten what she was doing to Jim. His cock pointed at her, the hole in its end eyeing her accusingly like some mistreated one-eyed worm. She opened her lips again and fastened them around the tip of his tight-stretched foreskin. Jim's pelvis thrust forward gently. The movement drove his cock farther into her mouth than she had intended for it to go but she didn't want to hurt him. It was hot and throbbing. Not hard as a rock, like she had thought. It was firm but it was alive and pulsing with hot, rushing blood. It felt so man like.
Barely in time, she opened her jaws. Another fraction of a second and his thrusting cock would have slammed into the barrier of her teeth. If she had learned one thing about men from a summer of fooling around in the back seat of Jim's car, it was that they were extremely tender there. She loved Jim. And he was being so nice to her down there that she didn't want anything to spoil it. So, just barely in time, she opened her jaws.
Jim's cock slid in so smoothly it was a minute before she realized that she was no longer just kissing it. She had a mouthful now-a full throbbing, thumping mouthful of maleness. There was something very odd about it too. She lay quiescent for a moment, mouth full of Jim, trying to guess what was different. She ran a tentative tongue around the tip of his tool. It wasn't easy with her mouth that full, but somehow she managed to get her tongue around the knob of Jim's cock, feeling out what was different about it.
The effort made Jim very happy. As her tongue explored the surface of his cockhead, he stiffened and thrust still deeper until she had to arch her neck to keep from having it rammed down her throat. He gave a moan of incoherent delight and the buzzing hum of his voice did unexpected things to her rock-hard, super-sensitized clit.
Grace wondered what to do next. Should she suck it, lick it, or try to spit it out? She was still puzzled by something different about the shape and feel of his knob. She moved slightly, trying to accommodate herself to this immense lump of palpitating masculinity, and suddenly she knew what it was. She closed her teeth daintily behind the head of his cock and felt it. She pursed her lips and moved her head backward until his hammer was a fraction of an inch out of her mouth. Now she was sure.
It was his foreskin. Before she had tried to kiss his thing, that prepuce had been tight-stretched over the swollen head of his honker, permitting her to see nothing but the tip with its single eye glaring an angry purple at her. Now she knew that that single thrust past her lips and into her mouth had peeled back the foreskin, leaving his cockhead totally exposed and vulnerable. She was suddenly very aware of the fragile and precious nature of what she carried in her mouth.
Was she hurting it? She guessed not, for Jim had not protested. He lay quietly, his head between her thighs and his lips still fastened over hers in a lover's kiss, but not driving her absolutely frantic with his licking and sucking.
It felt so nice Grace wondered how she had managed to live sixteen years without ever experiencing this joy.
He darted his tongue unexpectedly, barely touching the tip of her throbbing clit, and abruptly she knew there were still greater joys to experience. She tried to think. She was too small for him ever to get it in, but if his cock in her mouth felt one half so good to him as his mouth down there felt to her, maybe they could make a go of it. For Grace it was a whole new world. It didn't make her fat like chocolate sundaes. It didn't cost money like records or the movies. She didn't even have to dress up for it. She had it with her all the time. And now she had Jim to do all the wonderful things he was doing. No wonder people liked to get married!
He was still doing it. Not hard, fast and frantic now. Instead, Jim kept his lips sealed over hers, excluding the cool air and inside the little haven of warmth and love that was his mouth he was licking gently, poking and probing her clit, running a rasping tongue across her maidenhead and augering its tip into the tiny hole at one edge of that membrane. His arms were wrapped tightly around her ass, enclosing her in love and masculinity. It felt wonderful! Grace hoped they could spend the whole night this way.
Abruptly she was reminded of what she held in her mouth, its steady pulsation accelerated until her whole head was filled with the feel of hot, throbbing maleness. It seemed to grow and swell even larger until she could barely keep from hurting him with her teeth. She breathed with difficulty, twisting slightly to get more air. The movement of her tight-stuffed mouth around the head of his cock seemed to trigger something she had not expected at all. Suddenly the tranquil idyll of leisurely licking and kissing was coming to an end.
She felt Jim's embrace around her ass change. He was still grasping her tightly with one arm, pulling his face deep into her willing crotch, but his other arm had disappeared. Abruptly it reappeared, his hand cradling the nape of her neck. It felt so good to have his warm man's hand in there where every hair follicle tingled with awareness. Then she tried to gasp and couldn't.
He was pulling her head forward, deeper into his crotch. His head was burrowing deeper into hers, licking, sucking, nibbling on her lips and clit until she wanted to shriek and yodel her joy, but she couldn't because she had that great big thing in her mouth and he was pushing it in deeper, pulling her head, her mouth down onto it like a glove.
She felt his knob throbbing, harder than ever now, bigger, pushing past her lips and tongue until he was pressing against her soft palate. She didn't want to hurt him. She didn't want to do anything that would make him falter in all the wonderful and unbelievable things he was doing down there to her. But she was choking. She couldn't breathe and his cock was filling her so full she-
The hot, throbbing maleness pressed past her tongue, assaulting her soft palate, and Grace knew with a sick certainty that she was going to vomit. She tried to stop it, to control herself, to do anything to keep from rocking the boat and having him stop that wonderful rooting, licking, sucking he was doing to her.
Her body reacted. She could no more stop it than she could prevent a sneeze. Her throat contracted, her muscles in spasm against this unruly invader. Jim's hand pressed relentlessly on the nape of her neck. The spasm held her whole body rigid for a moment. Then it passed. She knew it would come again immediately no matter how she tried not to retch.
But while she gasped for breath in the brief moment of relaxation between spasms, his cock obeyed the pressure of his hand pulling her head in and his thrusting pelvis. She felt it slide smoothly past her palate and down her throat. Crinkly pubic hair ground against her lips. Her nose burrowed into the soft yielding hairiness of his scrotum. And his cock was all the way in, deep, deep down her throat.
Involuntarily she swallowed, trying to force this lump of hot meat all the way down to her stomach. Perversely, that lump of meat remained attached to Jim's thrusting body. He was pushing so hard, ramming it into her with such joyous abandon that she could not get it out. Nor could she get it in any deeper. She swallowed, then retched again, then tried to swallow, then retched in alternating waves of increasing desperation.
Coupled with it all was an increasing loss of control of her body. Jim seemed to have gone berserk. He was licking, sucking, nuzzling, nibbling on her until she felt her belly was going to turn inside out in its eagerness to expose still more of her soft and secret places to the stimulation of his glorious gash-eating mouth.
His swollen, throbbing cock had lost control too. Virgin Jim's cock was being massaged by her throat muscles, pulled in, pushed out as she alternately retched and swallowed, her throat spasms squeezing it unbearably with a total pressure that hurt, but it hurt so good he could not stop pressing the nape of her neck, trying to get it in deeper, harder, faster.
Grace felt herself suddenly coming apart. It seemed as if all the building, raging tension inside her belly had suddenly dissipated, melted, leaving her spineless, with no will or wish to do anything. She felt a sudden warm gush and wondered if Jim would drown in the abrupt cascade of love's elixir that issued from her joy-brimming cunt. Then quite abruptly she had problems of a different nature.
Her mouth and throat were suddenly brimming with salty fluid, blurting, spurting, coursing down her throat each time she swallowed, filling her mouth to overflowing each time she retched.
For one panic-filled moment she thought she had hurt Jim and he was bleeding. Then she knew what all that slick slippery fluid was. She had given him a mouthful of love's lubrication. Now he was returning the compliment. He was still rooting in her happy hole, slipping and sliding around but gamely nibbling on her love-slicked clit. She struggled to contain his cock, to savor the last full measure of ecstasy. Moaning and squirming, throwing each other every way but off, they indulged their freely flowing, draining bodies.
Lying atop the cutting table with the apprentice jockey's head between her legs, gamely licking away at her well-juiced cunt, Grace reflected on that first time she had cum with Jim's head between her legs all those years ago. She knew a little more about the arts of love now. She had a boy-her first hint of maleness in ten years. She wasn't going to let him go to waste.
Gently, she pulled the boy's head from between her legs. "Awww!" he protested.
"Don't worry," she said. "You can do it some more. But wouldn't it be more fun if we both cleaned up a little?"
"Yeah, I guess so," the boy said. Reluctantly he slid off the table. Grace followed him and led the way to the tiny bathroom. Unlike a building put up strictly for business, Grace's had originally been a private dwelling. She had often begrudged the space wasted but now she was abruptly grateful for the bath that shared space with the toilet. She twisted knobs until water came from the long unused shower head. The stream was red with rust at first, but after a moment it became clear. She stepped in and began soaping.
The boy joined her. He confiscated the soap and began running slick hands over her wet body. It felt good to have a boy handling her. Grace stood, protecting her blonde hair as best she could from the shower, and let the boy wash her neck, her shoulders, her tits, her belly, her thighs and ankles. He got his soapy fingers between her thighs and augered them into her soppy cunt. She stood with legs apart and let the boy enjoy himself.
He cupped his hands and splashed handfuls of water up into her gaping gash until the water ran clear and clean. It felt so good to have a boy's hands devoted to tender and loving care of her body. Grace caressed his head and shoulders.
Finally the boy was done. He handed her the soap and posed expectantly.
Grace worried for a moment about her hair. If she'd ever had the slightest idea of someday using this shower, she would have provided a plastic shower cap or something. But ... after the fun and games of the last hour, her hair was probably hopeless anyhow. She could find a scrap of cloth and twist it into a turban that would get her home once this session was over with. If, she reflected, it didn't end up with the pair of them being hauled off to some police station.
She gave an angry shrug and knelt, letting the shower work its will with her blonde hair. It was worth it to feast her eyes on the glistening wet perfection of this boy's small but perfect, nearly hairless body. She began soaping his head, working his short hair into a fine lather which she wiped down over his hard-muscled, hairless chest and shoulders.
The boy could not keep his hands off her. As she knelt again to scrub him from the waist down, the boy bent over her, caressing her full-fashioned thirty-eights, sending delicious tremors of anticipation up her spine. Grace tried not to giggle. It had been so long.
Abruptly she sobered at the realization that it had been even longer for the boy. He had to be close to sixteen. She was willing to bet he had never possessed a girl. He had performed yeoman service yodeling in her valley, yet the boy was still technically a virgin. He had not gotten it into her. His wet, glistening cock, still pointed upward at forty-five degrees, aiming his manhood at the sky. She wondered how the boy had managed to do all the lovely things he had done to her without becoming so excited that he could not help splattering his load all over the ceiling.
The boy was such a mystery-a mixture of innocence and sophistication. She supposed his head was spinning from the effort to reduce ideas gleaned from the locker room to practice in the-why, she wondered, hadn't she had sense enough to do this right? She had a perfectly adequate house of her own with bed, kitchen, everything for a pleasant weekend devoted to the pleasures of the flesh. More importantly, she had neighbors who were off fishing every weekend and so busy with their own lives and pleasures that they were not remotely interested in who came and went from her place. Oh, well ... too late now, she philosophized.
She dedicated herself to the magnificent long narrow-shanked cock with pointed head and tremendous flaring glans that pointed toward her. The boy was still bending over her back, straining to cup her tits and make a fleshy brassiere of his hot wet hands. She worked up a handful of lather and captured the boy's balls.
He stiffened and gritted his teeth with the effort not to cum. She saw his cockhead swell and harden dangerously. Before it could happen, she grabbed it and squeezed hard. The boy winced but did not stop caressing her tits. His cock throbbed explosively for an instant, then subsided. While it was dwindling, she peeled back his foreskin and washed his cockhead. Unveiled, its arrowheaded magnificence was even more impressive. Really, she thought, it's different shaped but it's even bigger than poor old Jim's and Jim was twice this boy's size.
If Jim's cock had been sharp pointed like this boy's, she reflected, there wouldn't have been so many problems getting past her obstreperous maidenhead. But all that was in the past. She was more interested in the present. The boy's cock was in full erection, foreskin peeled back, freshly washed and still stripping beneath the shower. It was only inches from her mouth. She struggled to resist temptation, knowing this boy was even readier than Jim had been. After all, she had been kneading and massaging this boy, giving him delicious feels and tastes of her candy store. He was hot to trot. It was really a miracle that he had managed to preserve his hard-throbbing, king-sized hard-on this long.
The boy was all over her, rubbing his soap-slickened, glistening body against her until she nearly succumbed to the temptation to let him put her down and pour it to her right there in the bottom of the shower. But reason prevailed. She managed to control herself. They rinsed soap from their bodies and she turned off the water. Moments later the boy was toweling her dry with a scrap of terry-cloth from a beach outfit she had whipped up last week.
He made a production of it, patting and rubbing every crease and crevice of her superb body dry. Finally he was finished. He stepped back to admire his handiwork and she posed for him, arms overhead to thrust her unbelievably pneumatic tits out still farther. The boy whistled softly and began moving toward her. She found a clean scrap of cloth and began wiping him dry before the boy could ravish her.
Finally there was no more excuse. They returned to the cutting room and Grace scooted up onto the table. She would like to wrestle and play more kinky games, but the boy was only human. If she didn't let him cum soon, he would be doubled up with the agony of a stone ache. Hard-ons were lovely-especially with a long, elegantly slim, flare-headed cock like this boy's. But even superman was subject to a little ache in his crotch if the hard-on continued unrelieved for over an hour. Soon even superman would be hurting so bad all thought of pleasure would be gone from his mind for days. Grace didn't want that to happen. Not when the remedy was so simple and straightforward. She lay back in classic missionary position, wishing the hard cutting table had a pillow or something. She put her arms behind her head. Her firmly up-standing jugs pointed defiantly skyward, beckoning the boy. She flexed her knees and her legs fell open in readiness for him to mount her. The boy licked his lips. He scrambled onto the table. He crawled between her legs and bent low to kiss her tits. He was just fumbling between her gaping legs with his hand on his cock when the phone rang.
The sound was so explosively unexpected that both of them froze in a sweating panic. Now who, Grace wondered, would call me this late? It was dark from the street. Any customer would know she had closed up over an hour ago. She wondered whether to answer it. It had to be a wrong number.
The phone continued ringing. She counted subconsciously. After the eleventh ring, she decided it would go on ringing all night unless she did something. The boy posed frozen between her legs, terror on his face. She wondered if...?
She gave and angry shrug and pushed the boy out of the way. Swinging her nude body off the cutting board, she crossed the fitting room and turned out the light. When she was satisfied everything was in total darkness, she opened the door to the waiting room which was visible from the street.
There was a dim glow of reflected street light but not enough for anyone to see her creeping naked toward the phone. It still rang incessantly, leading her to wish Mr. Bell had never invented the goddamn thing. She hoped that at least once during his life, the illustrious inventor had been interrupted in mid-orgasm by a jangling bell.
She stumbled in the darkness and nearly fell. Finally she had picked up the phone. "Hello?" she said cautiously.
"Hello uh-Sorry to bother you," a man's raspy voice said. "But uh, did you see Jackie Larson this afternoon?"
"I don't know," Grace said truthfully. "Who is he?"
"My apprentice Jockey," the rasping voice said.
"Oh!" Grace tried to keep the panic out of her voice.
"Was he there?"
"Oh, uh, yes," Grace dithered. "He was here for a fitting."
"Is he still there?"
"Of course not!" she snapped, then realized she didn't have to be all that emphatic. She wondered if there was a curfew for apprentice jockeys or some such thing. She glanced behind her but could see nothing in the darkened shop. Desperately she improvised. "Is he that blondish boy with the short hair?" She tried to act as if he was one of the many boys who passed through her shop. "Yes," the raspy voice agreed.
"Yes," she said. "I think he was the last one. Ummm, did he say something about going to a movie?"
It was the man's turn to be vague and indefinite. "Umm, yes," he muttered. "I suppose that could be it." He thanked her and hung up. Grace stood in the darkness listening to the dial tone. She was slowly hanging it up when she felt smooth, warm hands creep up around her from behind and cup over her tits. "Oh!" She gave a little shriek.
"That would be Mr. Cargill, I suppose."
"How did you know?" Grace gasped. She had thought she recognized the voice of the man who was having her make up new colored racing silks.
"He's pretty good at keeping track of where I am."
"Oh?" Grace wondered exactly what the boy meant by that. He didn't elaborate. They embraced in the darkness and the boy kissed her, swapping tongues expertly. She felt herself turning on again. She pushed him away and padded barefoot back into the cutting room. The boy came in behind her and grabbed her tits again.
Grace turned on the light and pushed him away. "What's wrong?" the boy asked. "You want to quit already?"
"No," she assured him. "Not unless you do."
"Damn!" the boy said, "I haven't even cum the first time yet."
Grace felt sudden sympathy for him. "I'm sorry," she said. "There'll be enough time, but I think we'd better get out of here." She thought a moment. The boy had appeared in muddy racing silks fresh from a workout at the track. He wouldn't be hard to trace. She wished there were some clothes around the place she could lend him, but there weren't. Then she was struck with a sudden inspiration. The boy was shorter than she was. He had short hair but his face was as smooth as hers.
It was a brilliant idea. If anyone was looking for a boy...."Let's see if you can get into this dress," she said.
The boy gave her an unbelieving look.
"How did you get here this afternoon?" she asked.
"Rode in with the other jocks in the van," he said.
"And how had you been intending to get back to the stables?"
"Phone somebody, I guess. I really never thought about it."
"And now?"
"I don't want to go back yet," he protested.
"Of course not, but do you think Mr. Cargill's going to let you run around loose all weekend without at least coming here to see if he can pick up the trail?"
"Ain't you got a car?"
"Yes," Grace snapped, "but it's in the garage getting whatever it is cars get every five thousand miles. If you want to go home to a nice quiet little house with a refrigerator full of food, plenty of hot water and towels, and a bed full of me, you'd better learn how to wear a dress."
"Yeah," the boy agreed glumly. He raised his hands and let her put it over his head.
She found a strip of vermillion cloth and wrapped it round his shorn head in a turban. The boy played with her tits and managed to get a finger into her cunt, nearly driving her crazy while she struggled with eyebrow pencil and lipstick until she had him turned into a rather attractive, if flat-chested girl. Then she realized girls didn't have stiff pricks standing out of the front of their dresses. She fumbled through his discarded clothing until she found his jockstrap.
The boy raised a leg to put it on and nearly split the skirt he wore. "Careful," she warned. "You've got to act like a lady."
Shoes were the problem. She didn't have any extra ones and anyway, she couldn't expect the boy to master the art of walking in high heels without giving himself away. Boots were out of style but ... she thought a moment and decided out of style was better than getting caught. She handed the boy his jockey boots. He put them on and, beneath the knee-length skirt, they managed to look part of the outfit.
Grace hurried into her clothes. "Stop that!" she snapped at the boy who could not resist the opportunity to cop a feel every time she wasn't looking.
She was ready much sooner than it had taken to fix the boy. She studied the rest of his racing silks doubtfully. Never tell what might happen. She gathered them up and stuffed them into her over-sized handbag. She checked the cutting room for anything that might suggest what had really been going on here. Satisfied, she led the boy out. She checked the locks and then they were in the street. From across the way a cop gave them a suspicious look. "Now don't you worry, Silvie," she said reassuringly and loud enough for the cop to hear. "Even if I have to work all weekend, we'll have your outfit ready in time to make that plane."
She strode firmly down the street and the boy had to stretch his legs to keep up. He really made a very attractive girl, providing there was not too much light, she guessed.
The bus driver didn't even look up. She led the boy to the rear of the bus. When he sat his skirt came up over his knees and a man across from them tried to pretend he was reading his paper, but he could not take his eyes off the boy's legs. "Pull your skirt down!" Grace hissed.
"Yes, mother," the boy said in a sardonic soprano.
The man across the aisle continued staring covertly around his newspaper. The boy turned and began staring back. Grace prayed for a little hole to appear through which she could drop and disappear. It didn't happen.
CHAPTER SIX
The man across the aisle was suddenly busy looking elsewhere. After a moment he pulled the buzzer cord and got off. She saw him glowering after the departing bus. "Don't make waves!" she hissed at the boy. "We don't want anybody to notice us."
In reply the boy put his hand on her leg. He began slowly sliding up her pantyhose-clad thigh. The bus driver glanced up into his inside mirror. Grace wanted to die. How must it look for a girl to be feeling her up right in public. The driver's face was expressionless, that of a man who had seen everything. He devoted his attention to getting the bus around a tight corner.
The boy improved the interval by getting his busy hand right up into her crotch. Grace was outraged. Despite it all she felt herself turning on again there on the bus, right in plain sight of everybody. She dropped her purse and bent over in front of the boy. While she was bent over between him and anybody else's sight, she doubled her fist and gave him a smart rap in the general direction of his jockstrap. The boy's hand came out of her crotch and he sat quietly.
Finally the nightmare ride was over. She pulled the cord and hastened out of the back exit. The boy hesitated for a moment. She supposed he was angry, but so was she.
It was a fine way for him to act after she had gone to all that trouble and risk to show him a good time. Abruptly the boy followed her. She supposed he had suddenly realized he was still wearing a dress, that she carried all his other clothes inside her over-sized purse. She turned her face away and tried not to grin at the sudden picture of the boy returning to his monastic jockeys' dormitory arid attempting to explain how he happened to be in drag.
The boy walked quietly beside her the two long dark blocks to her house. Grace had been worried lately about the changing character of the neighborhood. Usually she drove her car though, through a radio-controlled garage door which made things safer for a woman alone. They made it without incident tonight and she wondered whether it was because nobody was watching or because nobody cared to tackle two women at once.
She put her key in the front door, comforted by the drawn blinds of houses around her. Nobody pried; nobody cared, for which she thanked the gods of love.
"Wow!" the boy exploded as he walked into her living room.
Grace was disconcerted. It seemed a perfectly ordinary living room to her. She watched in amazement as the boy squatted, straining the seams of the dress he wore, and ran his fingers through the shag rug. "Someday I'm gonna have a pad like this!" he said.
Grace turned away and tried not to show the tears in her eyes. She didn't make a great deal as a seamstress. She had always been just a trifle defensive about the way the house was going downhill since Jim had died. Abruptly she realized what a thin time of it this boy must have had growing up if this, for him, was luxury. "I'll bet you're hungry," she said.
"Yeah!" The boy was enthusiastic, then his face changed. "I better not."
"Why not?" Then she remembered about jockeys and weight problems. She wondered if their perpetual hunger made them as bitchy as dieting women.
She made a circuit of the house, checking blinds and drapes. When she was satisfied they would not be giving a free show, she turned on more lights and put her purse away. The boy was peeling out of the dress already. He forgot about the turban she had put on him to conceal his short hair and the dress caught in a bunch over his head. His jockstrap was rising, stretching awkwardly. She was tempted to snap the elastic but this boy was unpredictable. Better not. She helped him get the dress off.
The boy stood before her in jockey boots and jockstrap, looking vaguely ridiculous. She managed to conceal her amusement. He sat and she helped him off with the boots. He stood and began matter-of-factly peeling off his jockstrap.
His cock was raging hard but the boy's ardor seemed to have cooled somewhat. She wondered what was wrong. Was he still mad because she had cut short his monkeyshines on the bus? She hesitated a moment, waiting to see if he would volunteer to undress her. He didn't so Grace peeled off her dress. She removed her shoes, then her lifetime habit of modesty prevailed. She went into her bedroom and finished undressing. The boy didn't even follow her in. She wondered. He hadn't even cum yet and already....
It was sad. Abruptly she felt her age. Nearly forty and she had thought she could capture a virgin boy who claimed to be sixteen and was probably younger. She gave a bitter laugh that threatened to become a sob. What was she going to do now? She posed momentarily, before her full-length mirror, studying her full-blown body. She had never had a child. There were no stretch marks. Her skin was flawless and she had exercised enough to prevent wrinkles. She knew she was prejudiced. She tried to see her body as a hot-blooded teenager would look at it. Damn it, she thought, I don't look that old!
She looked pretty damn good and she knew it. Her hair was still naturally blonde. Her face was unlined. She could still turn heads on the beach if she ever went to the beach and this snip of a boy had led her on so far and then ... What was she going to do? She didn't have her car so she couldn't drive him back to wherever he lived. To spend a weekend with a boy who didn't want her would be intolerable.
She sighed, slipped into a peignoir, and tried to think of something to do. She guessed they would have to play cards or watch television or something equally banal. When she returned to the front room, the boy was naked. He lay on the shag rug curled into a tight ball. "What's wrong?" she asked.
The boy moaned and squirmed, cupping his hands over his cock. Abruptly Grace remembered an elementary lesson in biology which her husband had given her way back before they had married-that long idyllic summer when they had spent every night wrestling in the back seat of his venerable sedan.
Their nightly games had settled into a routine formality in which he kissed her, petted her, played with her legs, somehow managed to get his hand inside her blouse and unfasten her bra hooks-all over her continued protests. She had sometimes wondered what she would do if some night he were actually to obey her demands that he 'stop that right now.' Fortunately it never happened for Jim was an ardent young man who had a pretty good idea of what he wanted out of life. A large part of what he wanted seemed to be between her legs.
He had gotten her blouse open and was nibbling on her tits, necking with one arm while his other gradually crept past the tops of her stockings. Only this night something unexpected happened. Just as she was settling down to a long happy session with his hands and mouth doing all sorts of nice things to her lovely young body, Jim had abruptly groaned and doubled over.
At first she thought he had eaten one too many hot dogs, but between gasps Jim denied this libel. She pressed him for some explanation but Jim seemed reluctant to talk about it. She was growing frightened. Maybe she ought to put her clothes in order and go hunt a doctor.
"Won't do any good," Jim moaned.
"But why? What's wrong with you? Where does it hurt?"
"Right here!" he pointed at his crotch.
And that was when she had first learned about the stone ache, a mysterious ailment that afflicted only men and men only when they had had a thumping, raging hard-on for hours, when they had confidently expected to stick it into something soft, warm, wet and feminine that would relieve that swelling. Jim's young body had rebelled at their nightly games which built up to the moment of truth but never quite reached it. Now he was hurting mightily, would agonize for hours before his titillated tool extracted its revenge for too much prick-teasing without enough old-fashioned fucking to relieve that raging, thumping, ever-ready hard-on.
"Isn't there any way?" she had asked. Grace had panic-stricken visions of being parked out there at dawn and all the talk that would cause in a small town. She wondered if she could drive his car. Even if she could, what would people say when Jim came home all doubled up this way?
"I don't know," her future husband had moaned. "It hurts so bad I don't know if you could-" He bent over in another spasm of agony.
"If I could what?" she insisted.
"Well-" Jim didn't know how to put it. "It's because we didn't go all the way," he finally managed.
There had been several nights when Grace would have been perfectly willing to go all the way if only Jim had taken the initiative. It felt so good when he did all those things to her, and after an hour of it she was practically ready to scream with frustration. But all this was in the dear, dead BP era before the pill and Jim had not been so irresponsible as to risk getting her knocked up. She knew that even now he wouldn't ask her to do that.
She dithered and worried. Maybe he would die or something and she would be left out here all alone....She had to do something.
"Maybe if you uh-played with it," he finally managed. "What do you want me to do?"
"Just put your hand on it."
It was something she had never done. She had felt his hands over nearly every inch of her lithe young body but never once had Grace gotten her hand into disputed territory. She guessed there had to be a first time for everything. Jim uncurled with some difficulty and she began fumbling at his waistband. He helped her between spasms and finally his honker was exposed, freed momentarily from its denim prison. She looked at it doubtfully. It was the first time she had seen it. It was the first time she had ever seen anybody's. Especially, it was the first time she had ever seen a hard-on. Good heavens, she thought. Someday he's going to put that great big blunt-headed thing inside me! That was when she had had her first inkling that it would never work, that her pussy was too small, that she might be doomed to remain a virgin all her days.
Jim captured her hand and placed it on his cock. She was amazed at how hot it was. It was hard too, throbbing, pulsating with the rush of hot, frustrated blood. Years later when they were married she had come to realize that Jim's stone ache was not half so severe as he would have had her believe. Otherwise, not all the pleasures of Venus and Aphrodite could have coaxed a revival out of his wilting rod.
But she hadn't known it then. She closed her hand over his thumping hammer. His hand closed over hers and guided her until she was sliding his tight-stretched foreskin up and down. Finally she guessed she was doing it right. Jim's hand fell off hers. He buried his face in her tits and gave an inchoate moan, pulling himself to her and rooting as if he wished to bury himself between her lovely young jugs. She squeezed his cock and continued pumping.
"Ooohhh, owww, woww!" Jim moaned from between her tits. She was afraid she was hurting him. He was thrashing around so much she could scarcely hang onto his swollen bludgeon. "Don't stop!" he instructed. She did her best not to break the rhythm of squeeze-milk, squeeze.
"Ooohhh, yeaaahhh!" he howled and dived deeper into her tender young tits. All the thrashing and ram-slamming was making her nervous. She wondered if he was having some kind of a heart attack. Then abruptly her hands were slick, filled with something warm, smooth and creamy, and he was pushing and lunging, thrusting the head of his cock back and forth in her hand, shoving it through the mass of goo which had magically appeared from nowhere.
"Aaahhh!" he said. It was a shuddering sigh of happy exhaustion. He lay quiescent, his face pillowed on her tits. "Are you all right?" she asked. "Yeaaahhh!"
Looking at the writhing boy on her shag living room rug, Grace remembered that night. She was sure now it had all been a colossal con job on Jim's part. But this boy's case had to be different. She had told him to do whatever he wanted. He had delayed too long getting it in and then that phone call had abruptly truncated proceedings. He had endured the long bus ride home in drag which had done nothing to decrease the swelling of his deprived dong.
She knelt in front of the boy. "Stone ache?" she asked.
The boy nodded, unable to speak. His face was drawn and she knew it was for real. She wondered what she could do. There would be no use asking the boy. He would know less about it than she. Maybe an ice pack ... She was appalled at this shipwreck of her weekend. The boy still curled, hands over his crotch. She got his hands away. His cock was still half hard. She wondered. Nothing lost by trying, she guessed. The boy was so turned on by her mere presence that he could not lose his erection no matter how painful it was for him.
Grace reached a decision. She stood upright before the groveling boy. She unfastened the sash of her peignoir and let the front fall open. The boy didn't want to look at her, didn't want to torture himself more, but his eyes could not stay away from the alluring curves of her lush body. She pirouetted before him and shed the robe, tossing it into a corner.
"Ooohhh!" the boy moaned.
It was going to take heroic gestures, but she guessed the boy had done her enough service to deserve them. He had had his face in her crotch, licking, kissing, nibbling until her will had dissolved in a happy froth of eroticism. It was time for her to return the compliment. She forced the boy to straighten out from his painful crouch. She made him lie on his back. She pulled his hands away from his half erect cock.
And then, slowly and carefully, she bent over him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The boy's eyes were closed as he tried not to let himself be excited by the proximity of her lovely body. Grace opened her mouth farther. She grasped the boy's half limp hammer and put her mouth down carefully over it. She grasped his foreskin delicately with her teeth and pushed her head forward until the elegantly arrow-headed tip of his tool was bare.
She kept pushing, feeling his slick organ slide past her jaws, over her tongue until its tip was pressing at her soft palate. She swallowed and felt it keep on sliding, starting its erotic journey down her throat.
The boy was genuinely hurting, she knew that from the slowness of his reaction, but he was still a boy, and a virgin boy at that. Love conquered all as she swallowed again, her throat muscles kneading his cock, coaxing it into full vibrant erection that was filling her mouth and throat until she realized she was going to have difficulty breathing.
She backed off and the boy's cock slid wetly from her tight-pursed lips. She moved forward again and this time his hammer was nearly hard enough to have made it by itself without her encouraging sucking and swallowing. She waited until it was as deep as she could get it, her lips pressing against the kinky, crisp hairs of his scant pubic patch. Then she began releasing her long-held breath in a slow monotonous hummmm.
The boy reacted as if somebody had given him an electric shock. His pain-wracked body was suddenly alive again, thrusting, pushing, his hands grasping her head, pulling her down like a glove over his throbbing cock. He was pushing, straining to get it in deeper.
She resisted his push and managed to back off far enough for a breath. She let him slam it in deep, so hard her lips bruised between her teeth and the bony prominence of his mons veneris.
Suddenly the boy grasped her ass and twisted. They twisted and flopped for a moment on the shag rug and then his face was between her legs. His mouth opened and he was licking, sucking, nibbling on her clit, moaning, groaning, jerking and thrusting as he struggled to get his cock deeper down her throat.
Grace felt herself rising to the occasion. It seemed to her as if her whole body was on fire, every pore tingling with desire, every never ending twitching in its desire to connect with this lithe, hard-muscled boy who was ram-slamming his virility down her throat.
She felt her belly contract. Great waves of rut coursed through her, turning her will to peanut butter. She tried to concentrate on the boy's problem. She had to make him cum and quick or he would once more subside into the agony of a stone ache. She wasn't supposed to be concerned with her own pleasure now. She was doing this for the boy.
But she couldn't help knowing that he was doing something too. Maybe he too was doing it only for himself. Maybe he enjoyed nibbling on her cut, sucking, licking her labia. But whether he was doing it for her or for himself or for some other good cause, Grace knew she was experiencing a most joyous turn-on from it all. She felt her insides twist, pull, collapse in the sudden relaxation of an orgasm. Before she had time to relax she was riding that dizzying roller coaster again, climbing toward a plateau of pleasure whence she would once more go skidding down the wall of a chasm of orgasm.
"Aaahhh!" It was the boy, yelling right into her throbbing cunt and the raucous vibration of his voice gave her a totally new experience. It was as if somebody had stuffed a king-sized vibrator up her ass and turned it on 'high'. Then abruptly she knew why the boy was yelling.
Her mouth and throat were suddenly filled with his seminal fluid, great gobs of spurting cum filled her, overflowing, going down her throat and into her stomach, running out over lips and chin as the boy unloaded his charge. It was the first time he had cum and, she suspected, the first time he had cum in weeks, maybe months. She wondered what kind of regimen jockeys followed, if it was something that did not even permit them the solace of an occasional wet dream.
Whatever it was, the boy was making up for lost time. His cock was blurting, hurting, spurting, squirting seemingly gallons of cum down her throat, filling her mouth. She swallowed and struggled to breathe and then she was cumming too, her ass quivering under the assault of the boy's busy tongue, her belly roiling as great contractile waves of passion wracked her, twisting and churning until she was totally out of control.
Her milk white thighs were opening and closing over the boy's ears, squeezing their fiery imprints into her soft, sensitive flesh. And then suddenly they were both still and exhausted. She slept.
Sleeping with the boy's head still between her legs, with his shrive ling cock still half in her mouth, she dreamed of an earlier time when she had been a virgin, when Jim had been a virgin, when she and the world had been young and paradise had been a motel room.
It had been the first time she had ever lovelaced a boy. Jim had been the only man she had ever done it, or anything else to until this apprentice jockey came along to relieve the boredom of her declining years. Dreamily, but half awake she remembered what had happened that night after they had discovered to their mutual surprise and delight that people actually did those things that were jokes on toilet walls and that, not only did people do them but they were more fun than anything she had ever imagined.
She lay half asleep with Jim's spent cock dangling in front of her, his head still cradled on her juice smeared thigh.
She knew she ought to get up and wash off this mess, but she was filled with such a lassitudinous sense of well-being that she could not make herself move. It felt so wonderful just to laze away there with Jim's head cradled between her legs that she could not make herself budge. Soon she was really asleep instead of just dozing.
Grace had no way of knowing how many minutes or hours she had slept when she came finally to a drowsy awakening. For some time she had been aware of Jim moving, pushing and pulling her about on the sateen coverlet. She opened sleepy eyes and knew he had spread her out on her back, knees flexed, thighs wide apart. Something was funny and after a moment she realized he had put a pillow under her ass. She closed her eyes again, still half asleep. She ought to get up and go wash off, but there would be time enough later when she could wake up properly. She wondered sleepily if Jim was going to put his mouth down there again. It would be nice. She hoped she could stay awake long enough to enjoy it.
Sleeping again, she dreamed of some wonderful place where everything was soft and smooth and warm and hundreds of gentle hands rubbed her, caressed her, touched her in all the soft and secret places she had always wanted to be touched but had never dared admit-even to herself. Then abruptly the dream changed and there was a-not exactly a pain but a persistent irritation at the edge of her consciousness, very like the feeling she had often experienced as a child that she really ought to get up out of bed and pad across the cold floor to the bathroom, but it was so nice and warm there and she was so sleepy that despite having to pee real bad, she had suffered hours of half-awake agony in fighting against that need.
Slowly she came up through layers of consciousness and realized there was a sharp pain in her crotch. But it wasn't as if she had to go pee. Something was pressing in, stretching, pulling her all out of shape. Suddenly she was wide awake. This was the moment of truth. Jim was busy between her legs. Now was when he was going to discover that she was doomed to be a virgin all her life. He was trying to get it in!
Grace shook off the memory of her wedding night with poor old Jim. The boy still lay with his head pillowed between her legs. His flaccid cock dangled before her face, still oozing long-held cum. She strained her arm toward the sofa and managed to capture a pillow. Carefully, she eased her thigh from beneath the boy's face and substituted the pillow. She checked the thermostat and decided the bare boy would not take a chill sleeping on the shag rug. Her emergency treatment seemed to have relieved him from the agony of stone ache for he slept easily now. She padded off barefoot to the bath and spent ten minutes removing the grime of the rites of love from her cum-smeared body. Halfway through his orgasm, the boy's cock must have come out of her mouth, she guessed, for he had sprayed her from head to foot.
She finished showering clean and dried off. She was in her peignoir trying to do something with her twice soaked hair when she heard a faint moan. She got to her feet and went to the front room. The boy was sitting on the rug looking about sleepily as if he could not remember how he had gotten here. Then he saw her and smiled. "Wow!" he said.
Grace's sentiments exactly. She led him to the bathroom and made sure there were fresh towels waiting. Moments later the boy emerged clean again, his cock jutting jauntily from his scant-haired pubis.
He was such a handsome pocket-sized adonis that she felt her insides turn over with a sudden acute stab of rut. Just to look at his pint-sized perfection was enough to reduce her long-deprived body to uncontrollable desire. She wanted him, needed him right then. But he was only a boy, had barely recovered from what could have been painfully disabling for hours. She didn't want to press her luck. The boy came forward and kissed her.
He put his hand inside her peignoir and she felt her whole body respond, but she struggled to control herself. "You don't want it to start hurting again, do you?"
"My God, no!" the boy agreed.
"We'd better wait a while."
"How long?"
Grace didn't know. "Half an hour," she guessed. "Shit!"
"I know you're supposed to watch your weight," she said. "But isn't there something I can get you?"
The boy shrugged. She went to the kitchen and rummaged through the refrigerator. Finally she came up with a salad. The boy looked like a milk drinker but he asked for his coffee black. They sat across from each other at the tiny kitchen table, knees touching. Grace was suddenly aware that she had not eaten since noon. She finished her half of the salad, wanting to eat something else but unwilling to torture the poor boy by eating in front of him. His hand crept beneath the table and into her crotch.
"Now stop that," she said. "If you're going to be fooling around like that, you might as well have it in me."
The boy's eyes widened. "Can I?" he asked.
Grace stared. "Why of course you can," she said. "I told you, you could do anything you wanted."
"You really want to fuck?"
"Once you've rested a while and think you're ready."
"Goddamn!" the boy exulted. "I'm ready!"
She piled the dishes in the sink and led the way to her bedroom. It was a very feminine room, filled with the frilly doodads she had whipped up on her sewing machine between customers' orders. The boy stared amazed. She peeled back the coverlet and made the bed ready for double occupancy. The boy untied the sash of her peignoir and peeled it down from her shoulders. He was still naked. They kissed long and deep, standing before the full-length mirror on her bathroom door. "Tell me," she murmured, "what made you think I didn't want to?"
"To fuck?"
She nodded.
"Well damn," the boy cavilled, "every girl I ever asked always said something about not wanting a baby. I was afraid you might get one and Mr. Cargill would have a fit if I was to get married."
Grace managed to conceal her smile. She could imagine several other people, among them the city prosecutor, having fits if she were to marry this stripling. "There are ways to keep it from happening," she said. You mean I got to pull it out?"
"Nothing quite so stone age as that," she promised. She sat on the edge of the bed and, before she could lie down, the boy was kneeling between her legs, his face buried in her belly, nuzzling and nibbling at the top of her pubic patch.
She caressed the nape of his neck and tried not to surrender to the rising tide of pink-frothed passion that made her want to let go, let it happen right then. But good God, she couldn't let herself cum already. She would be a wreck before the boy even got his dick in if she didn't try to control herself.
The boy gently nuzzled his way up her front until he was into her tits again. He forced her slowly backward, pushing and pulling until she lay in missionary position atop the bed. He knelt between her thighs. His cock had grown to full size so she guessed he might as well start again. If he was going to get another stone ache ... it might as well be from too much as from too little.
The boy aimed his cock and prepared to thrust it, then abruptly stopped. "How do I know?" he asked.
"Know what?"
"How do I know you won't have a baby?"
Grace stared at him for an unbelieving moment, then laughed. "That's what I should be worrying about, not you."
The boy remained unconvinced. Glancing down, she could see that the worry was interfering with the size of his hard-on.
"My husband and I tried to have one for twenty years," she explained. "We consulted a dozen doctors and they all assured me it would never happen."
"Husband?" The boy's eyes widened in alarm. He turned to look at the doorway.
"Relax," Grace said. "My husband is a very understanding man and he can't do it any more and he knows I want to and he's not going to be angry if some nice young man comes along and does him a favor."
"Sounds more like an angel than a husband," the boy grumbled.
"He is," Grace explained. "He's also dead."
"Oh." The boy lowered his body atop her and began kissing her tits. Between her legs she could feel his unattended cock begin to revive, its elegantly arrow-shaped head nuzzling the upturned cheeks of her ass. Then abruptly the boy was talking again. "How do they do it?"
"Do what?"
"Keep from having babies?"
"Haven't you heard of the Pill?"
"Yeah, but-" His voice trailed off in embarrassment and she knew what he had meant to say: What about back in the stone age before the pill when you were a girl?
Grace sighed. "I suppose there were as many different ways as there were women. I remember reading somewhere that the ancient Greeks used a sponge soaked in vinegar."
"A what?"
"Little sponge about the size of a golfball. The girl put it in first and it caught all the boy's stuff before it could get in to start a baby. Sometimes a girl would soak the sponge in pigeon blood if she wanted to convince somebody she was still a virgin."
"Goddamn!" the boy marveled. He seemed inclined to go on talking all night. She could feel his cock thumping against her ass. He was ready. Abruptly she knew what was wrong. The boy had licked and kissed her cunt but he had never actually fucked in his life. She wondered if somebody had been feeding him locker-room bullshit about teeth or steel traps or any of the other dangers lurking for the unwary male. Maybe he just didn't know how to get it in.
She grasped his goad firmly by the shank and guided it in through the half-parted lips of her waiting vulva. The boy stiffened when he felt the yielding warmth of her ready, well-lubricated cunt. He hovered over her, the tip of his boy fuck tool barely between the lips of her cunt. Inconspicuously, Grace got her hand from between them. She put both arms around his waist and began pulling. Still the boy remained stiff and unmoving.
WHAM! She slammed her pelvis upward, driving the boycock full length into her. He gave a startled "Oh!" She clasped her ankles behind the boy's lean, muscular ass and locked him in a loving scissors. Slowly the boy's rigid body began to relax. "I got it in!" he said inaccurately. "I got it in and I didn't cum!"
So that was what had been bothering him. Grace began relaxing her death grip on the boy's ass. He wriggled gently and made himself comfortable. "Now we can talk all night if you want," she said.
'Yeaaahhh!" the boy enthused. Before she could decide whether his enthusiasm was for talking or for fucking, he began slowly to pull his cock out. j.
It came out halfway and he teetered for a moment, feinting little in-and-out movements, then WHAM! He slammed his bony pelvis into Grace's ass twice as hard as she had slammed into him a moment ago. Grace shuddered and struggled to catch her breath. She deserved that, she guessed. But the boy went right on wham-bamming, ram-slamming his ass into hers with wild abandon. Abruptly she realized what he was doing.
"Stop it!" she said, and wrapped her legs around him in a scissors. The boy struggled ineffectually to slam it into her again. She suspected that about one more full-fledged shove and he would have cum.
"Now what's wrong?" he grumped.
"Are you trying to set a record?" she asked. "Only rabbits and little boys do it that way."
"How'm I supposed to do it?"
"Just relax," she said. "And put at least part of your weight on your elbows so you don't flatten me. That's right."
The boy began lunging again. She gave his ass a smart slap with her open palm. "Slowly," she explained. "Don't you want it to last a while?"
"Goddamn!" the boy protested, "I want it to last all night, but it feels so good I'm just tryin' to get in one more shove before-"
"Close your eyes, be still and say your twelves."
"My what's?"
"Your multiplication table."
"What's that?"
An apprentice jockey, Grace abruptly decided, did not need much of a scholastic background. She wondered if the boy could even read. Who cared? If she could just teach him how to fuck, his education would be sufficient.
The boy squeezed his eyes shut and stiffened. Within seconds he was ram-slamming his cock to her again. Grace sighed, sensing that within seconds he would snort and whinny and it would all be over except the cleaning up. She took a deep breath, gathered her strength, and bucked him off!
"Ow!" the boy complained. "Why'd you go and do that?"
"It felt so good I couldn't help it," Grace mimicked.
The boy knelt between her legs, nursing his abruptly bared hard-on. Grace kicked her legs skyward, spun on her shoulders, and sat up on the edge of the bed. "This time you lie down," she instructed.
"What?"
"Do you want to fuck or don't you?"
"Yeah, but-"
"But you don't really know how and you never will unless you're willing to learn."
The boy bit his lips and said nothing. He lay supine in the middle of the bed as Grace had been a moment before. He cocked his knees and spread them wide apart. Grace suppressed her smile and put his legs out straight again, close together. Then she got astraddle him, her ass above his rigid, skyward pointing cock, and began very carefully lowering herself.
The bared tip of his tool touched one hairy lip of her vulva and the boy flinched. "Come now, if it's going to hurt you, we'd better not do it," she said. The boy closed his eyes and said nothing.
It was hard work to balance this way half up and half down. Grace was discovering muscles she hadn't used since she was eight and her mother had thought she might someday supplant Pavlova. She persevered, edging slightly to one side to capture the tip of the boy's errant tool between the smooth, slick lubricated lips of her gaping gash. Finally she felt its hot throbbing maleness against the tender membranes of her inner labia. She began descending again, feeling rather as if she were lowering herself over some homemade device cobbled up out of a piece of sawed-off broomhandle.
But no broomhandle ever gasped and hissed to keep from cumming. Nor, she guessed, could any broomhandle ever feel as warm and vibrantly alive, as male as the hot thumping arrow-headed cock that was sliding into her, slow as an hour hand. Any minute now she expected the boy to lunge as she had done a moment ago in a frantic effort to complete the connection, but the boy had learned caution.
As his cock slid smoothly into her, he finally opened his eyes, tremulously aware that he was still alive, that she had not hurt him and that, still more miraculously, he had his hammer halfway into a lovely all-female woman cunt and he hadn't cum yet.
His eyes gleamed as he stared at her torso. She squatted, rigidly upright, muscles tense and tits standing proud and high from the effort of descending slowly atop his lithe, hard-muscled body. Finally she felt the tiny premonitory tickle as the first of her blonde pubic hair mingled with the scanty bush atop the boy's bony prominence. She began letting the tension out of her straining body. Soon she was resting, squatting on her heels astraddle the boy's slim perfect body.
She raised her arms, put her hands behind her head to throw her tits outward and upward to best advantage. The boy looked up at her, taking in every detail of her perfectly poised body. His eyes gleamed and she felt his cock give a sudden leap inside her.
The nicest thing about this position, Grace remembered from the last time she had tried it some twelve years ago, was the way it showed off a woman's body to its best, allowing her to coax a full erection from a partner who might be aging, ill, tired, or perhaps too bored with the same woman. It allowed a woman to do a man's work while the man relaxed, devoting his full energy to maintaining a greased barber pole for her to slide up and down at her own speed, herself in total control of the situation instead of being at the mercy of a man who just might get carried away and go ram-slamming for the fall before she was ready.
Grace kept her arms behind her head, weaving gently from side to side, feeling the boy's squirming, clenching efforts to control his passion, to preserve his hard-on for just one more second of this totally erotic dream come true. She wondered if any boy ever dreamed of this position in his lonely virginal fantasies. Boys dreamed of fucking, of all sorts of things they might do with women. But did they ever dream of women who were more capable and knowing than they, women who could take the aggressor's role and relieve an ignorant boy of all responsibility? She wondered if boys ever dreamed of just lying back and taking it, letting a capable woman take charge and do all the work.
She leaned forward, bending low until her tits brushed his face, nipples gently raking his cheeks as she swung hypnotically back and forth like a cobra stalking a flute. Inside she felt the boy's flute throb and strain in time to her erotic dance. The boy's eyes gleamed. He snapped at her tits, missed and snapped again. She bent still lower, squashing him momentarily in a lovely avalanche of flesh, then straightened again to sway tantalizingly out of reach.
The boy's rod was throbbing and thumping inside her. She began rising up and down, sliding her superb body up and down the greased pole of the boy's virility. The boy tried to relax and enjoy it but the sight of her body poised above him, at a distance where his eyes could focus on her whole physique was too much for an inexperienced boy. She felt his cock swell even harder inside her slow sliding vagina. She felt the. tiny preliminary flutter that meant within seconds he would be squirting and blurting his load uncontrollably. She slowed her gentle rise and fall, letting her weight grind against the boy's bony pelvis. His long, elegantly slim cock came to rest deep inside her, its tip stretching her long vacant vagina near its limit and she revelled in the delicious pleasure-pain sensation of being as full of cock as was humanly possible.
They lay frozen, gazing at one another's bodies, held in a stasis of ecstasy where they hovered endlessly on the edge of orgasm. She felt her belly gathering forces, muscles tightening around the throbbing invader inside her. The boy hissed with the effort to contain himself. Every muscle of his lithe body corded with strain. There was an endless frozen instant and then the boy slowly let out his breath and she felt the maleness between her legs relax slightly. The boy smiled.
Grace smiled back. She began moving her abdominal muscles in a belly dance. The boy's eyes widened with surprised delight as he saw the interplay of muscles in her superbly proportioned body. Then he felt what all that grinding and twisting was doing to the just relaxing head of his cock and once more he was rigid with the effort not to cum.
She tried to relax. It had been so many years since she had poised this way, squatting, body erect, cunt surrounding an erection deep within her. There were hundreds of possible positions Grace knew. She also knew that for a woman who had a body worth looking at, this one could be calculated to show off at its best. Sixty-nine plays were fine for fun and games, but for all the visual pleasure they might as well be done in the dark.
Straight missionary position fucking was great fun too-providing she had an unimaginative partner with an indefatigable cock who could be counted on to pour it to her for an hour or two-until she was properly prodded into a happy froth of erotic satiation. But for coaxing another and still another hard-on out of a hair-trigger boy, there was nothing she could think of like sitting astraddle him, arms behind her head to emphasize the firm onward-and-upward qualities of her over-sized jugs, to display her entire body in its unlined perfection and at a distance where a supine boy could focus on its entirety while savoring the blissful knowledge that his virgin cock had finally made it-that he actually had it inside this vision of erotic loveliness that floated serene and cloud-like above him. If she played it right she could keep the boy's rod raging and thumping inside her cunt for an hour, maybe even more. And then the goddamn telephone rang.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The boy was so startled by the sudden sound only a foot from his ear that he bucked, driving his throbbing dong still deeper up her well-filled vagina. Grace winced at the pleasure-pain of his deep thrust. She tried to keep her serene smile. The phone rang again. The boy looked at her with frightened eyes.
Grace began rising and falling up and down his dick again, trying to ignore the insistent ringing. The boy's cock had dwindled slightly under the impetus of the phone's interruption. She managed to get in six full-length strokes up and down his delicious dork before the boy's attention was torn from the still ringing phone and he began responding to the smooth sliding of her quivery cunt. Suddenly he was near disaster again. Grace settled down atop him and waited for the storm to pass. Would that phone never stop? Subconsciously she had been counting the rings. Most people would give up after ten rings. This persistent pest had already rung twelve times. Thirteen.
"Aren't you gonna answer it?" the boy asked.
Grace guessed she would have to. Who could be bothering her at this time of night? she wondered. She didn't have many friends, always having been a private sort of person and not interested in neighborhood gossip. She picked up the instrument on the fourteenth ring. "Hello?"
There was no reply. She held the phone to her ear for a moment, putting her finger to her lips. The boy was utterly silent beneath her. She wondered at the fear in his eyes. Was it just free-floating anxiety coupled with the knowledge that he was doing something somebody in his past might have taught him was not supposed to be done? Or did the boy have some real and valid reason to be afraid? She held the phone to her ear and listened. Finally she made out the sound of breathing.
Once years ago just after Jim had died and she had first listed the phone under her name instead of 'Mrs. Jim', she had been plagued with obscene phone calls. Silently, she fumbled in a drawer of the night table. It was still there. Warning the boy with her eyes, she took out a police whistle. She put it to her mouth and blew a single hard blast directly into the mouthpiece of the telephone. Then she hung up.
"Who was it?" the boy asked.
"I don't know, but I hope he's on his way to an ear doctor."
The phone rang again.
Grace picked it up, blew the whistle, and promptly hung up again. This time the phone remained silent.
The boy's cock had shriveled until she knew it would fall out if she moved. She held her position with her cunt tight-locked to his scant-haired pubis and began raising her arms again, swaying her torso gently, pointing her lovely jugs like twin headlights at the boy who lay supine beneath her. Within seconds she felt the stir of his cock starting to swell again with reawakened desire. Soon her cunt was once more filled with rampant masculinity, feeling the pointed tip of his elegantly slim slammer poking and probing at her cervix. She remembered crazy high school stories about so-and-so having a dick so long he got it into somebody's womb. As if it were possible for a stiff prick to turn all the corners necessary for such an improbable maneuver.
She remembered the amount of puffing and straining it had taken a gynecologist to get his gadget into her for a look at her womb when she and Jim had wondered why there were no children.
But like a sensible woman, Grace kept this information to herself. She smiled down at the boy, moved herself slightly and gave a sudden squeeze to her belly muscles. The boy felt the transition and sudden contraction around the sensitive head of his cock and immediately said, "Goddamn! Clear up into your womb!"
Grace smiled and gave his throbbing cockhead another internal squeeze. She began slowly sliding up and down once more. The boy's cock had such a lovely flare to its glans penis that so long as he had any hard-on at all she could lock her cunt around that barbed head and keep it in. She rose slightly higher with the next bounce and squeezed simultaneously. The effect on the boy was devastating. He moaned and thrust, throwing himself up from the bed to wrap his arms round her bare torso.
He buried his face in her tits, fastening his lips over one pink areola and stuffing the other into his ear to play telephone. They rocked back and forth in happy rhythm, slowly accelerating. With each backward rock the boy's body rubbed downward along the front of her junoesque torso and his cock pulled halfway out. Each time she rocked forward and the boy backward, his light, hard-muscled body rubbed new furrows of sensation in her belly and midriff as his face ploughed up and down through the sensual mountains on her chest. And each time she came forward and the boy backward, his cock went in, in deeper than she had imagined possible. She felt her cunt stretch painfully, but it was such a delicious pain she could not stop rocking.
She was ready to cum. She wanted to cum again and again, and a couple of hundred times after that. But how many times would the boy's rod revive to renew this delicious torment within her? Boys were supposed to be as indefatigable as rutting puppies, but they were also hair-triggered. She wished she'd never started this crazy business. If she wanted to fuck, why hadn't she accepted the other jockey's proposition? That small, balding leather man who had tried to feel her up while she measured him ... that was a man. Small, perhaps, but she had felt the bulge in his crotch and she knew a hard-on when she felt one. An older man would have had staying power and she wouldn't have had to nurse him along, watching his cock every explosive second like this boy's.
She snapped from her reverie to realize she was still rocking back and forth with the boy's elegant arrowhead sliding in and out of her swollen, blood-flushed vagina. He was handsome enough-a regular pocket-sized adonis. She wondered how long she could nurse his hard-on before he began ram-slamming uncontrollably, racing to get in just one more lick before his hammer exploded in wild, stuttering abandon, spraying her insides with the pent-up boycum juices of joy released.
She felt a sudden thrill of eroticism send shimmering waves of hot pulsing blood through her thrilling body, down to mix with the fiery waves of lust that radiated from the tip of his thumping tool. The boy buried his face in her tits again, ploughing frantically, rubbing and diving, moaning as he struggled not to cum.
His cock was hot, throbbing, its tip pulsating as it swelled to rock hardness. Soon he would explode. Grace felt like crying. She didn't want it to stop now-not when she was almost ready to cum herself. She gathered forces, raised her ass slightly from the boy's bony crotch, and got her hand in between their straining asses. She captured the shank of his cock. Its head was still inside her, pulsing and throbbing, sending a delicious anticipatory quiver through her vulval lips, tickling her clit to squealing ecstasy. She closed her fist around the shank of the boy's cock and squeezed as hard as she could.
The boy gasped and tried to thrust it deeper into her, but her hand was in between and he couldn't. She felt his rock-hard cock start to shrink. Hastily, she got her hand out rom between them. She wiped the slick lubrication of ove's elixir from her palm onto the sheet, then she put her hands on the boy's shoulders and pushed until he lay flat on his back again, his eyes gleaming as he surveyed the full length of her magnificent body.
Still astraddle the boy, she began bouncing gently up and down, barely lifting her weight free of the boy's straining pelvis. It was enough to make his cock move slightly inside her, sliding a fraction of an inch in and out, in and out in an erotic rhythm that made her want to yodel and shriek her delight. She wondered if the boy was enjoying it as much as she was. It would be nice to go on this way for hours just bouncing up and down on an indefatigable boy fuck shaft that filled her with unfailing joy.
She felt her clit, swollen to rock hardness now, start to quiver in time with her delicious bounce up and down the boy's flagpole. If she could just keep his cock hard for a while ... she felt herself losing control again, surrendering once more to a total wave of sensuality that made her want to ram and slam, bouncing ever higher up and down the boy's greased pole, ramming it into herself deeper, pulling until it was nearly coming out, the tiny pointed tip of his bared cockhead scarcely parting the slicked lips of her vulva before once more coming down with all her weight astraddle the boy's bony pelvis to drive it in deep, deeper again. It felt so ever-lovin', finger-lickin' good!
The boy was trying to sit up again. His arms reached for her shoulders, missed. He clutched at her tits and didn't quite make it. He gave a tremendous lunge which drove his cock so far into her cunt she thought she was going to melt down into a tiny puddle of passion then she realized what the boy was doing. His lunge had not been to drive his cock up into her cunt but to get himself up into a sitting position. He dived face first into her tits, licking, sucking, nibbling on her turgid nipples until she thought she was going to die from the sheer joy of it all.
He wrapped his arms round her waist. She put her arms round his neck and shoulders, holding him close to her as they rocked back and forth on some erotic seesaw, his cock driving deep, deep into her with each forward movement of her junoesque body, pulling halfway out each time she rocked back and the boy forward to follow her. It felt so lovely.
It had been over ten years since she had felt anything one half so nice as the smooth, sensual feel of this boy's cock sliding smoothly in and out of her turgid cunt, filling her, thrilling her with every erotic sensation she was capable of experiencing in the made-for-fucking body.
She had so lost control that she felt herself sinking, spinning, whirling each time the boy's cock bottomed out in her willing cunt and his bony, scant-haired pubis ground against the lips of her vulva, mashed her rock-hard clit between their straining bodies. How long, she wondered with one sane corner of her mind, could this erotic paradise last before the boy's will broke and he surrendered to the avalanche of sensuality that was doing its lascivious best to make him fire his eager load?
The boy's face was still buried in her tits, licking, kissing, doing all the lovely things that alone would be enough to coax a giggle and a wiggle out of her even if he hadn't been pouring his cock to her, giving her his heart, his soul, his gonads as he struggled to make it last another second, another minute, another hour, another lifetime!
She didn't want it ever to end and neither did the boy. After years of lonely dreaming in narrow beds, he had finally achieved his lifetime's ambition. He didn't want to rock the boat now. All he wanted to do was rock back and forth with this lovely hunk of warm, vibrant woman sitting facing him astraddle his lap, her lovely belly wrapped snugly around the hot throbbing pole that soon now would explode and drain his lifeblood, his very soul from him. It felt so good he was wildly turned on, more than ever in his life. He hoped she felt that way too, that she would like it enough to let him do it again ten minutes from now when he had recovered and his eager young cock was ready to try it again. It was wonderful.
It was too wonderful to last. He felt his beat in this rock-and-roll waltz accelerate. He was ramming and slamming, no longer able to control his raging body.
Grace felt it too. She was ready to cum, but she wanted to cum again and again, never to stop feeling this wonderful rock beat. She struggled to control herself. If she didn't do something immediately it would be over. The boy would fire his load and she would be left high and dry. She wrapped her arms tighter around his straining torso and held him to her. The boy struggled to ram-slam it home but she held on so tightly that finally his uncontrollable frenzy subsided.
Finally the boy calmed down enough to realize she was trying to save their golden moment. He froze, rigid and trembling, struggling to contain his cum load. She felt his rock-hard hammer thrill inside her, sending a sympathetic tremor of lust through her throbbing innards. The boy's cock seemed to have achieved new depths of penetration. They faced each other, Grace still astraddle the boy's bony lap, his cock throbbing away, miles within her, yearning for that rock and roll of thrust and withdrawal, in and out to start again. The boy was catatonic, every muscle rigid with the effort to control his hot body.
He moaned and buried his face deeper in her tits. Grace put her arm around his neck and pulled him in where it was soft and warm. A frozen moment of ecstasy passed while she felt the tip of his tool deep within her trying to decide whether it would last another moment or explode right then. Finally the battle was over. She felt the boy cautiously begin to relax one muscle at a time.
Still they embraced. Then the boy's death grip around her torso relaxed slightly. His face came out of her throbbing tits and he drew a deep, shuddering breath. After a moment he turned his face up to her. They kissed.
After a moment they began swapping tongues and she felt his cock once more begin rising to the occasion. But he had had a chance to catch his breath. She guessed he might be able to make it the full distance down. After a moment the boy relaxed his embrace. He lay back flat on the bed where he could rest and feast his eyes on the full-length view of her perfect body. Grace felt his hot young blood pulsing, sending erotograms through the tip of his cock still deep inside her cunt. It felt so good she didn't know whether to giggle or to cry.
She squatted a long time astraddle the quiescent boy, waiting until she was absolutely sure he would be able to take it again. Then, very slowly, she bent low over his face and began swaying from side to side, dangling her huge thirty-eights low enough so that her turgid nipples barely brushed the boy's face.
She felt his cock throb in joyous response. He began thrusting, straining to raise his bony pelvis against her. She raised her ass an inch higher to give the boy some leeway. Soon he was thrusting joyously, feeding her short steady strokes that bottomed out each time, stretching her prurient pussy more than she had imagined it possible to stretch. She gave a happy sigh and began bouncing slightly, timing her bounce to meet the boy's thrust. The boy smiled and redoubled his efforts.
Slowly and in perfect harmony they were building up to it. She knew it was going to work out this time. She could feel her whole body building, straining, each nerve and muscle cocking itself like some super-charged pistol. She could feel the boy's body doing the same. They were working together, feeding on each other's lust, timing it, working, building until finally, when the last nerve was cocked, all those erotic pistols would explode in the joyous and prolonged bang of two people cumming at once in happy hammering ecstasy. It was going to be wonderful.
And then that goddamn telephone rang again! . They looked at each other. The boy started to say something, then changed his mind. She wanted to say something too, but suddenly she knew it was too late. Too late for her, too late for the boy. She bent low over him once more, this time letting her rutting body rest on top of his. She felt her ass slamming up and down, driving the boy's dick deep into her snatch, drawing his cock deeper with each frantic thrust. The boy was timing his thrusts to hers.
Their asses slapped together in frantic abandon, making a wet, smacking sound like a punching bag meeting a wet glove. The boy's beat was accelerating, turning erratic as he lost control. Suddenly he gripped her and twisted. They rolled about on the bed, scattering covers, and she heard a thud as the telephone slammed off the night table and onto the floor. Abruptly it stopped ringing. She guessed the boy must have caught his foot in the cord. To hell with it. He had rolled her over on her back now and was atop her, pouring his cock to her with joyous abandon. She bobbed her ass frantically to meet his driving, ramming thrust and then she felt the tiny premonitory flutter in the tip of his cock that meant....
She felt her body suddenly start to explode as all those little triggers fired at once and the cocked hammers of her loaded-pistol nerves began discharging like a panful of erotic popcorn. Great shimmering coruscations of passion shot up her spine, filling her so full of joy that she felt her body must be pulsating and glowing like some tremendous neon sign.
The boy was moaning and groaning as he struggled to drive his dying dong deep into her cunt once more before it died and bent on him. She strained her ass upward to meet him, her body straining to wring from his dick the last final full measure of devotion. She felt her cunt brimful with the juices of passion fulfilled. Vaguely she realized much of the passionate pool must be coming from the boy, but she was cumming too, hard, fast and repeatedly, until it seemed to her that she must be turning inside out. The lining of her cunt was rubbed so sensitive by the prolonged fuck that it seemed to her that the barbed head of the boy's arrowhead cock was hooking in her, pulling her half inside out each time he pulled his dick out a fraction of an inch for another ram-slamming attack.
Finally it was over. The boy gave a snorting gasp and lay limp atop her. She shrugged and his limber body slid to one side so she could breathe.
Good God, she thought, what a racket we must have made with all that moaning and screaming! She hoped none of the neighbors were awake. Then she glanced down and saw the telephone on the floor. She picked it up to put it back on the night stand then some sixth sense warned her. She listened for the dial tone. There was none. After a moment she heard the sound of breathing.
For an instant Grace thought she was going to die. Somebody had heard it all. Somebody had listened in on a blow-by-blow account of their moment of joy. Somebody had had his ear pressed to the receiver and had heard every moan, every gasp, every murmured and shrieked word of love and endearment. Someone else was privy to her private passion. Who? She tried to remember what they had said. Who could remember what she or the boy might have said to each other during their prolonged bout of high-flying orgasm? She stared indecisively at the telephone for a moment, then put it once more to her ear. She could still hear the sound of breathing. She took the phone from her ear and very carefully placed it back on the hook. After a moment she took it off again. This time there was a dial tone.
"What's wrong?" the boy murmured sleepily.
Grace pondered a moment. Then she realized the boy had a right to be warned of the danger too. She told him.
"Oh, Jesus!" the boy said in heart-felt tones.
Grace was inclined to agree. Who, she wondered, was the breather? Could it be the same one who had pestered her years ago? She liked to think so, but that had been eight, maybe nine years ago, not long after Jim had died. For him to start calling her again tonight was too much of a coincidence. Somehow, some way, somebody had guessed what she was doing tonight. Somebody knew she had an apprentice jockey in her house.
And now that somebody had dialed just in time to get proof positive that she and the boy were not sitting in front of the TV drinking milk and eating cookies. She wondered if it were possible to die of shame, to curl up her toes and shrivel from pure mortification. Good God, she thought, all the years I've lived like a nun and here the first time I ever try it, I get caught! She wondered how long it would be before a police car pulled up in front of the house and big uniformed men came pounding on the door with flashlights and guns and noise and all the neighbors waking up and opening their windows to see what on earth their quiet seamstress neighbor was doing at this hour of the night.
And the whole neighborhood would be treated to the sight of her and the little boy being led off naked in handcuffs. ... Maybe she could slash her wrists.
"You've got to get out of here," she told the boy.
"Get out! Where? I don't know this neighborhood. I don't even know where I am."
He was right, of course. Grace dithered trying to decide what to do. While she was thinking the boy went into the shower and cleaned up. He came out and began pulling on his socks. Grace tried to decide what to do. There was no inconspicuous way to get him out of the neighborhood. But it was late. There wouldn't be too many people on the streets at one a.m. Thank God the neighbors weren't nosy. She decided.
"You'll have to wear the dress again. Get it on and I'll make you up and put on a turban after I've cleaned up." She bolted into the bathroom and hastily rinsed the cum from her love-smeared body.
Her hair was a mess. It was too late to do anything about that. Then she realized she had a couple of wigs from the day she had impulsively purchased them. Only later had she discovered that for her to wear one for any time would lead inevitably to a splitting headache. But if she didn't use them now, she could have far greater headaches!
Toweling off, she sprinted for the bedroom again. The phone was still off the hook. She put it back, took it off and waited for a dial tone. None came. Damn! She had left it off too long so the phone company had disconnected something or done whatever they do when somebody complains about a busy line. She scrambled into a dress.
She put on pantyhose. She had forgotten her bra. She had forgotten her slip. To hell with them; she would be wearing a coat over the dress anyway. She tried the phone again. Still no dial tone.
The boy stood before her in the dress. He had his jockey boots back on again and looked like a flat-chested, singularly awkward girl. She wished there were time to fit him out with fake tits-handkerchiefs stuffed into an old bra or something. But it would be best if he remained not too attractive. The last thing she needed now was another masher following them as she tried to escape this neighborhood before the cops arrived.
She found the piece of cloth and wrapped a turban around the boy's head again. He stood waiting for her to apply make-up. She tried the phone again. Still no dial tone. She began putting eyebrow pencil and lipstick on his pallid face. To hell with doing a good job. Two women that time of night could only be hurrying out to a hospital or police station or morgue on some emergency. Nobody would expect them to be at their best. She tried the phone again. This time there was a dial tone.
She fumbled through the directory and found a number. She dialed and moments later an impersonal voice said, "Yellow Cab."
Grace gave instructions.
"Be there in five minutes," the dispatcher promised.
Grace prayed the cab would make it before the cops. Good God! At her age and playing around with a delinquent minor of a boy! She ought to have her head examined! She checked the boy's appearance. He was no beauty but there was no reason for anyone to doubt he was a girl. She checked her own. Good God, she thought. I'm really showing my age! She found her purse. How much money did she have? Enough to rent a cheap hotel room for the rest of the night until she could figure out some way to smuggle this boy back where he belonged! There was fifteen dollars in her purse. Not enough. What was she going to do? She checked the boy again. He would pass. If only the cab would hurry up. She peeped through the hole in the front door. There was a streetlight at the end of the block which shed its dim radiance on her front yard.
She heard a car. A moment later she saw it. It was a yellow cab. She felt weak-kneed with relief. She motioned to the boy. She turned out the lights and opened the door. A man was getting out of the cab. He straightened and faced them. The cab drove away.
Grace and the boy stood in the doorway. She thought for one panic-stricken moment about running back inside the house and slamming the door, but that would only prolong things. Worse still, it might create the kind of disturbance that her incurious neighbors could not very well avoid hearing.
There was something odd about the man. Squinting into the dim light, she couldn't understand what it was. He seemed to be too far away. Then she realized what it was. He was small-more of a boy than a man. He came closer finally she recognized him. It was the older jockey, the bald-headed one who had tried to feel her up when she was measuring him just before the boy came in for his fitting. They stared at each other. After a moment, the boy said, "Hello, Red, what you doin' here?"
"Probably leading a parade," the balding little man said. "Anyway, looks like I got here first."
"What-? Grace babbled. "How did you know where I live?"
"The phone company is very helpful that way," the little man said. "One of those unpublicized and unrewarded little public services for which the utilities never receive proper gratitude or recognition."
Grace stared.
"For those fortunate few who can read, your name and address are in the phone directory," the balding jockey explained. "And I shouldn't be a bit surprised if an irate millionaire of our mutual acquaintance hadn't also mastered that basic skill-reading, I mean."
"Mr. Cargill found out?"
"Considering the trail you two left behind you, unless our new stable owner is much less intelligent than I think he is-oh, oh!" There was the sound of an automobile turning down the deserted street. The balding jock shooed them through the open front door of the house. He followed and closed it behind him. "I pray most devoutly to the Pantheon that your elegant residence has an alleyward egress," he continued.
Grace guessed he must mean a back door. She caught the boy's hand and the boy caught the older man's and the three of them stumbled through the darkened house. She heard a car door slam and a moment later, just as the three of them were scooting out the back door, she heard knocking on the front.
She scrambled through the back yard and out down the alley. They walked in careful silence, listening to the slowly diminishing sound of an angry fist pounding on her front door. She wondered if any of the neighbors were up yet. They passed a fenced back year and a huge dog began doing. his best to raise the dead. Grace wondered if it were possible to die of mortification. She could just imagine the headlines if the three of them were to be picked up as prowlers and then the whole sordid story would come to light. It would be bad enough to be caught with two jockeys in the streets at this time of the morning. But wouldn't the papers have fun with it all once they learned one of the jocks had been in drag.
They reached the end of the block and passed under a streetlight. As they hurried into the next bit of darkness, the older jock-Red, was it?-glanced at the boy's dress and turban. "Masquerade?" he asked drily.
CHAPTER NINE
They walked another five blocks in watchful silence, listening for the sound of the car in case the cops or Mr. Cargill or whoever decided to search the neighborhood. "Shouldn't have sent that cab away," Red muttered. Grace knew the neighborhood fairly well, but they had cut through so many alleys that she was unsure exactly where they were.
Abruptly they came out onto a lighted thoroughfare. A block away sat a bus, its driver drinking coffee. They glanced fearfully up and down the street. There was no car in sight. They began hurrying toward the bus. Halfway there the heavy diesel engine came to life with a racketing roar and the driver prepared to start making his schedule, then he must have seen them hurrying for he waited and the doors hissed open.
It was the same driver who had driven her and the boy home. She knew he recognized her, that he remembered how this boy-girl had put his hand on her leg, but the bus driver said nothing. They walked to the rear of the bus where they would be slightly less visible from outside.
"This'll get us downtown," Red muttered.
"And then what" Grace asked.
"Then well have to find a hotel room somewhere and hole up."
"Until when?"
The older jock grinned. "Our switch-hitting millionaire is having a few little problems with some stockholders who're wondering how come he can afford a new stable and they can't get a dividend."
"Oh?"
"Monday morning in the Circuit Court of Appeals, I suspect he's going to answer so many questions this little matter may quite slip his mind. Come Monday afternoon with the boy back on the job and everything...." The jock left it hanging.
A car went by and they tried to scoot lower in the back seat. The boy's hand crept up her leg again. She prayed it would be invisible in the driver's mirror. Red grinned. "Good?" he asked.
The boy nodded.
"Thought so myself," the older jockey replied. "Too bad I couldn't have made more of an impression." Turning to address Grace, he added, "I have the same basic equipment but, of course, in my case there's a bit more mileage on it."
Grace wondered what one said in reply to this kind of remark. She had a little more mileage on her equipment too. So what? She only lived once. But, she resolved, if she ever got out of this weird situation, she was never going to get within a mile of another jockey no matter what his age. Christ! Twenty-four hours ago her life had been so uneventful, so safe!
The bus wound up and down suburban streets, a woman in white-stockinged nurse's uniform got on. A mile later a nondescript man with a lunch bucket boarded. Neither glanced at the trio in the back seat. But Grace knew with every raised hackle on the back of her neck that the bus driver was watching, taking in every little detail as the boy kept putting his insatiable hand on her thigh and she kept slapping it away. The older jock seemed amused. Then he saw the anguish Grace was suffering. He put his hand on the boy's bare thigh and growled, 'This may be a famous first-the first time I ever gave a girl a horse bite." He closed his fist over tender skin on the boy's inner thigh and the boy's hand came from beneath Grace's dress.
Finally they were downtown. The bus passed through the chic section and on to an older part of town where men sat in alleyways sharing pints of muscatel. Finally Red said, "Next stop."
Numbly, Grace followed him. The boy was behind her. They walked abreast down the cluttered sidewalk and Red growled, "Inside!" at the boy. "Remember you're a girl." A block farther he led them into a doorway where a desk clerk boredly perused Playboy. "Double and a single," the older jockey said. "Or a big room with an extra cot if you can't work it the other way."
"Eight dollars," the clerk said. He didn't look up.
The jockey produced the money and collected the single key the clerk tossed onto the counter. And just like that, without registering, without luggage or the slightest formality, the three of them were trooping up the narrow stairway and into a room. To Grace's surprise, it was clean. Shabby but clean. Outside a neon sign blinked redly. The older man pulled the blinds and turned on a light.
They looked at each other. "I hope you got my silks somewhere," the boy muttered.
Grace nodded at her over-sized handbag. Turning to the older jock, she said, "I don't know what I'd've done if you hadn't happened along. I was just about out of money."
"Anybody hungry or thirsty?" When nobody answered, the older man sat on the edge of the bed. They stared moodily at each other. "Now what?" he asked. "Are we going to do to kill twenty-four hours until it's safe for us to get out of this fuckin' room?"
Grace remembered how he had tried to feel her up when she was measuring him. Jesus! What a situation. This must be the man who had kept trying to telephone, who had heard it all when the instrument had been knocked off the hook during the final sprint of their indoor track meet.
The boy yawned, his ass-grabbing passion of the bus ride forgotten. "I don't know," he said tiredly, "but whatever we do, it'll be easier in bed." Matter of factly, he peeled off the turban and dress. He sat on the only chair and removed his boots and socks. He peeled off his jock strap and draped it with the chair back. He peeled down the coverlet and got into the large bed, turning his face away from the light.
Which left her to deal with the wise-faced older little man who seemed amused by it all. He indicated the cot and the larger bed where there was room beside the boy, raising a questioning eyebrow.
Grace didn't know what to do. It would be hypocritical for her to take the cot-especially if he had listened in on the wailing, moaning, shrieking cum commotion over the phone. But if she were to crawl in with the boy, sooner or later he would wake up and any boy who didn't hesitate to grab her nylon-clad thigh on the bus would have no qualms about how he used her in a closed room, no matter how many of his friends were trying to sleep there too. Once more she wished earth had been created with convenient little holes for people to drop into whenever they had been too insistently indiscreet about their use of other holes. She looked at the older man and shrugged. "Whatever you prefer," she said.
The balding jockey smiled and began undressing. He wore a well-tailored suit. He hung it in the closet. Stripped to his underwear, he said, "If it were a matter of preference, I'd put the boy in the cot.
Which was rather gallant of him, Grace decided. She gave a rueful smile and began looking to her clothes. She would have to be halfway presentable when she left this room. She peeled off her dress and belatedly remembered she had not worn bra or panties.
Too late now, she decided. To keep her pantyhose on would be ridiculous. She sat on the chair and began peeling them off. The balding little man's eyes gleamed. "Lovely," he mused.
Grace's hair was a mess. She hadn't had time to fix her face properly. She was near forty and looked every day of it. The little man was either very gallant or had a very stiff prick. Maybe both. He got up and turned off the light. She went to sit on the edge of the cot.
The older jockey sat in the chair she had just vacated. "Relax," he said. 'The world won't come to an end."
"Maybe not," Grace sighed. "It's just that-I'm new at this sort of thing."
"I could have guessed that," Red said. "I had a feeling this afternoon that you were approaching some kind of a crossroads. Too bad I couldn't have been there last instead of in penultimate position."
"How do you end something like this?" she asked with a glance at the boy. There was a faint sound of snoring and the boy stirred in his sleep.
"The way a woman always ends an affair," Red said. Their eyes were accustomed to the gloom intermittently lit by the glow of the neon sign through chinks in the blind. "Just kiss him, tell him you'll never forget a beautiful experience, and say good-bye."
"But what if he doesn't want to-?"
"A boy's will is the wind's will," the older jockey quoted. "Hell get tired before you do."
"Yes," she agreed soberly.
"And meanwhile, carpe diem."
"What?"
"That's Latin for 'get it while you can.' "
"You've been very kind," Grace said.
"Yes, haven't I?" Red chuckled. He got out of the chair and removed his underwear. It was dark in the room but in the intermittent red flashes of the sign, she could see his hard-muscled body clearly. He was small, close knit and built' like the boy would be twenty years from now-with a slightly stringy body still well muscled, with an abundance of scars. She wondered how many times this wiry little man had lain in the dust or mud waiting for an avalanche of thundering hooves to pass over him. As he carefully folded and piled his underwear, she saw that his huge cock was not erect. It dangled at ease, swinging slightly each time he moved. He strode across the room and sat beside her on the cot.
She was suddenly and acutely aware that they were both naked. Across the room the boy's snore punctuated their semi-solitude. She waited for Red to put his hands on her.
Grace knew she wasn't going to resist. What was the use? If she made a lot of noise they might all end up in the street or in jail, and what good would that do? Besides, if this mild-mannered little man wanted to stick it into her, she guessed he had earned the right. She sat beside him in the darkness, acutely aware of the warmth radiating from his naked body only inches away beside her. He didn't touch her. He didn't even take advantage of the cot's sag to let his hip drift toward hers until they were in carnal contact. She wondered what was going to happen next.
"Funny how one's body turns traitor," the little man mused.
Grace knew what he meant. Here she had thought she was too old for youthful foolishness. She had thought she was all through with that time-consuming nonsense. And then this stiff-pricked little boy had come along and, with one casual hand up her skirt, he had destroyed her comfortable humdrum world.
"Man thinks he's old enough to know better," the jockey continued. "But he never is. Like right now."
"Right now what?" Grace asked.
"We're both old enough to know better. Neither of us really wants to. And yet...."
"Yet what?"
"Yet we both know perfectly well that sooner or later two healthy people sitting naked, next to each other on a narrow bed, are going to do what comes naturally. Which way would you like it first?"
First!? Grace didn't know what to say. She wanted to be angry, to tick this presumptuous little man off, but the sudden familiar stirring in her belly told her that he was right. He had still not laid a hand on her, not let his hip or shoulder so much as brush against her. And yet she knew and he knew and-ooohhh, damn! she thought. How do I get myself into these ridiculous situations?
They sat in a pregnant silence. The little man had still not touched her. "Some people have to turn it into hand-to-hand combat," he said after a moment. "Can't admit even to themselves how much fun it is. I suppose some of them afterwards even manage to convince themselves that it was rape."
"What?"
"Oh, you know what I mean," he said. "The kind of people who dress provocatively, do everything they can to lead a person on, then at the last minute they put up a big fuss. I suppose it's a question of different strokes for different folks."
Grace wondered if she had ever been guilty of that. She guessed not. She had always dressed conservatively. For ten years since Jim had died she had gone about slump shouldered, in a seamstress' smock, with an inevitable tape measure over her shoulders.
"Little men like me," the older jock continued, "always having to prove how big they are."
"And you?" Grace was suddenly curious.
"We live in a commercial world," Red said.
Before Grace could wonder what that meant, he continued, "In a civilization where success is measured in dollars, you might say I'm a very big man. Big enough not to have to spend all my spare time proving it anyhow. Next year I'm retiring while I've still got one whole bone in my body."
"Which one would that be?" she wondered. "This one," the jockey said. He caught her hand and put it on the whole bone between his legs.
CHAPTER TEN
Grace decided it would be ill-mannered to take her hand away. She felt the swollen bulk of the little man's huge cock. It was comfortably erect, ready to go but not explosively hard. This, she suspected, was the kind of cock that would not make much of a showing in the sprint but would do very well in the mile-and-a-quarter races.
"Like I said," he continued, "I'm not much for wrestling matches, but I do enjoy a nice long friendly fuck."
Grace guessed she would too. "Whatever turns you on," she murmured.
With quiet efficiency Red laid her out lengthwise on the cot, posing her in missionary position-face up, knees flexed, thighs wide apart to receive him. Without further ado he got between her legs and skillfully inserted his cock into her pussy. Slowly, he pushed, pushed and pushed some more until finally its unbelievable length had bottomed out and his hard-muscled, bony pelvis was straining against hers. She gave a happy sigh. "Aaahhh!" he said.
They lay in companionable silence, the slight man supporting his weight atop her with his elbows to each side of her rib cage.
Grace was amazed. After the sustained violence of her encounter with the boy, she had not expected anything much from this quiet little man. She had expected to lie here and relax, fake an occasional oooh or aaah, and let him work off a load in her over-worked cunt. Instead she found herself turning on with a quiet intensity she had never realized was in her. The trouble, she decided ruefully, was that for ten years there had been nothing in her cunt.
This slight man's cock was very reminiscent of the lovely quiet evenings at home with Jim. She wished she had gotten a better look at it. Was it blunt, with a golf-ball-shaped head like her husband's? Or was her memory of those happy times dimming? To hell with it. Carpe diem, the little man between her legs had said. She might as well enjoy it while she could. When would she ever be able to do it again once Monday came and she could sort out her life from the tangled skeins of these two jockeys? Another ten years? Another forever was more like it as she contemplated her dismal future as a seamstress. She spread her legs wider, drawing the little man's big dick in as deep as he could go. Then she wrapped them in loving scissors around his pushing pelvis. "Aaahhh!" the little jock said.
Which echoed Grace's sentiments exactly. She gave him an affectionate squeeze, then lay back on the cot to relax and let him work his will with her.
Red began a slow, steady pumping, pulling his splendid spear nearly out of her cunt, feinting once or twice with its tip barely teasing the already slicked lips of her vulva, then beginning a slow, sensual slide back into her, filling her cunt with the joy that passeth all human understanding.
Slow as an hour hand, his cock slid into her, going deep, seemingly deeper with each long, slow penetrating stroke. Yet he was so gentle, so perfectly calm and undemanding. It was not like the boy's frantic ram-slamming as his immature, uncontrollable body struggled to get in just one more poke before exploding in ignominious ejaculatio praecox.
Red was a master of the long, slow, smooth delivery. She sensed that, left to his own devices, the little man could feed his dick to her by the slow happy hour. How long could she take it?
Forever, she guessed, if he had the stamina and the patience to keep on pouring it in to her relaxed body. It felt so good not to have to do anything, just lie here and take his long, slow, steady stroking, reveling in the feel of competent maleness sliding in and out, in and out in slow steady rhythm, as dependable as an oil-well-pumping rig.
His long straight-shanked cock was thrusting steadily, pushing his prod deep, deep into her willing cunt, filling her with a joy that seemed slowly to build and grow until her whole body was suffused with a warm glow of eroticism.
The man rested for a moment, burying his face in her tits. She felt his cock, strong and vibrant as it lay deep within her, pulsing leisurely in time with his steady heartbeat. Very slowly he began pulling it out.
She felt his slow, steady withdrawal, stolid as an hour hand and wondered why it was having such a devastating effect on her. He had it nearly all the way out now, the tip of his cock barely parting her well-furred vulval lips. Just as slowly, he began pushing it back in.
It felt so good! It felt so wondrously good suddenly felt great rockets of fire shoot up her spine and explode at the base of her skull. She struggled to lie still, not raise her ass and force the little man to accelerate in his slow, steady thrusting. But it felt so good. How can he control himself so well? she wondered. He had rested now and was once more devoting his whole attention to that long, slow, steady rise and fall, powerful as an oarsman, steady as an oil-well pump, pouring his indefatigable cock to her, in and out, in and out with a slow, inexorable tide of eroticism that had already made her cum once and was already driving her once more up the wall, forcing her to scale a peak of eroticism whence soon she would plunge once more into a bottomless chasm of orgasm.
Across the room the little boy groaned, stretched, and made a snuffling sound.
Grace had forgotten all about the boy. She was suddenly choked with panic, but Red continued his slow, steady poking, driving his tireless tool into her, out of her, back in again while she froze, listening with her heart in her mouth. The boy made lip-smacking noises and went back to sleep.
The older man had not missed a fuck stroke. She wanted to ask him something, hear his voice say something reassuring, but whatever she said, no matter how they whispered-it might wake the boy. She didn't want to be interrupted now-now while Red's lovely lance was prodding her pussy, sliding in and out, filling her cunt with love, with steady, hard-throbbing manhood. It felt so goooood!
Abruptly, without the slightest warning, a tremendous contractile wave of passion passed through her aroused belly. She felt her cunt tighten around the tireless head of Red's cock, milking, squeezing, doing its erotic best to wring the milk of human kindness from his throbbing member. But the older man's calm was incorruptible. Ignoring her squeezing, clenching spasm of rut, he continued feeding her long, slow strokes, stopping to rest for a fraction of a second each time his lance bottomed out and his pelvis ground against the lush blonde bush of her mons veneris.
His steady, imperturbable rhythm was driving her batty. She felt her belly contract until it felt as if her whole soul was striving to wrap itself round the head of his cock and slow that steady relentless prodding that was filling her with fire, overpowering her lusting body with great waves of rut that shimmered past her consciousness in a rosy mist. She felt her ass rising, struggling to meet his steady stroking, by ramming and slamming herself against his slight body with joyous abandon, and then the narrow cot spun crazily. The red-blinking beat of the neon outside the curtained window changed its rhythm and the whole universe turned upside down. She felt herself spinning, wheeling as she fell down a long dark tunnel-a funnel and she was going down, down deep into a whirlpool of erotic passion. And all the time that bald-headed little bastard with the big dick was not missing a stroke in his steady push.
When she came to with a little gasp, he was still atop her, his cock buried deep in her seething cunt, none the worse for her explosion. He gave her a slow, happy smile and once more began his slow, relentless, prick pumping.
Immediately she came again. And again, and AGAIN! Gasping and moaning, she struggled to contain herself, to stop this endless series of orgasms that was tearing her in two. Her ass was squeezing, contracting uncontrollably as it struggled to still the steady plunging of his inexorable cock. She moaned, knowing she shouldn't be making noise in a thin-walled hotel room, knowing the boy slept only feet away. But she couldn't help herself. The balding jockey was still pouring it steadily to her, not missing a stroke as he fed his half a furlong in and out, in and out, churning her throbbing twat into a pink froth of passion. "Oooohhh!" she moaned. "Ooohhh, pleease!"
Immediately the little man stopped. "Had enough?" he asked.
"Yes, no. OOoooh, yeeesss!" she wheezed. "Please stop it for a while-ooohhh, pleeeaaase!"
Red hesitated a moment, his cock still lazily thrusting at her raddled cunt. Finally he decided she really did need a rest. He took a breath, poised himself carefully and grabbed her ass with both hands. Resting his slight weight on her, his face buried in her tits, he held on with both hands and thrust his cock deep into her cunt, deeper than she had ever known anything could go without killing her. It was killing her but it was killing her in such a nice way that she gasped and let it happen, trying to relax and savor the all-encompassing lust of this last erotic moment.
He held tight for a moment and she felt the massive tip of his knob quiver deep inside her. He gave a little grunting snort and it was over just like that. The little man had fired his cum load, bathing her deep-gouged cunt with the chrism of the rites of love as he fired his load with a single sharp burst, filling her, half drowning her with his message of erotic joy. He gave a long, happy sigh and relaxed.
She felt his slight body roll to one side. Carefully, she edged in the opposite direction and placed a pillow so he would not spill off the narrow cot. It had been so lovely. She hoped it had been one half as nice for this pleasant little man as it had been for her. She felt him give a tentative snore.
She lay for a moment in happy satiation, totally unable to move. She had not felt such joyous exhaustion since the night all those years ago when Jim-but she didn't want to think about that-not now when she had just been fulfilled and filled full by this gentle little man. He was breathing deep and regularly now. She began oozing her lush body from beneath him. There had to be a bathroom somewhere. She fumbled around the room. One door was a closet. She tried the other and sure enough....
It was old but it was clean and everything worked. She moved carefully, trying not to make too much noise with water rushing from the ancient faucets. Finally she was clean. She regarded her hair hopelessly. She didn't have anything to fix it. She wished she'd had time to use the wigs as she had planned. But nothing had worked out quite as she had expected. Except all the fucking which had worked out several thousand times better than she had ever imagined.
What was she going to do now? What would happen Monday when these two magnificent cocks bowed their satiated and shrunken way out of her life and she tried to go back to the dreadful, dull sameness of day-after-day measuring, pinning, sewing, making other people's bodies attractive so other people could go out and do the things she only dreamed and remembered? How could she ever go back to that humdrum loneliness after a night of this? She sighed and gritted her teeth. If only poor Jim hadn't gone and died on her!
She turned out the light in the shabby bathroom and opened the door. Both of her studs were snoring lightly. She was tired too. Maybe sometime tomorrow when she had slept and her raddled cunt had had time to rest and pull its stretched tissues back in shape. Maybe then she would be interested in a return engagement with one of these studs, but right now all she wanted to do was sleep.
There was no room on the cot with Red. She crept silently toward the double bed, praying the boy's sleep would be sound, that he would be on his own side, and that he would not sense her entry as she slipped carefully into the bed.
The Gods of love smiled down on her and she made it without wakening the boy. She lay face down with her eyes shaded from the ceaseless red pulsing of the neon sign and soon she was sleeping as soundly as the man and the boy.
Minutes or hours later, she drowsily heard the toilet flush and water run in the bath. She did not feel the boy move the bed so she supposed it was the older, balding jockey who had just piloted her on a lengthy trip through loveland. She slept again and the pulsating pink flash of the neon sign leaking through the drapes was like the beat of some gigantic heart-or the throb of some immense angry red-tipped cock that was throbbing, thumping, struggling to get into her, but she was tired and she kept telling it to wait a while, that there was plenty of time yet.
Time, some calculating corner of her mind kept repeating. Time for what? Time was rapidly running out. Soon she would be forty. And then fifty and then ... she tried not to think about it. Anything was better than thinking about the barren, empty years that stretched, marching like black oxen before her. It was better, no matter how tired, how exhausted, how fucked-out-it was still better to feel a hot young hand on her body than to think about the endless empty future. And suddenly she was awake to the realization that the boy had been awake for some time, that his hands were exploring her sleeping body.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Here we go again, she thought tiredly. She had had the boy's busy mouth in her secret slit. She had had his cock in her hands, in her cunt, in her mouth. She had experienced the frantic little-boy-rabbit lust of his hot young body. She had achieved a more prolonged and satisfying nirvana with his older friend's experienced, bigger cock. She had, in short, been thoroughly fucked by two long cocks. Here we go again.
What would the boy try this time? Obviously he wasn't as tired as she was. She resolved to play 'possum. Let him work it out for himself. She wondered if she had groaned or moved or done anything to let the boy know she was awake.
She was so tired. But the room was beginning to lighten. The red pulsing of neon was still visible but behind it, overlaying it was a pearly luminescence. It must be dawning. To hell with it all. She gave a sleepy sigh and stretched, moving as much as she dared without letting the boy know she was awake. Not, she guessed, that it made any difference. But she wondered. She had given the boy leave to do anything he wanted last night in her house and in her fitting room. And for a virgin he had been imaginative enough. But if a boy thought he was totally unobserved, what would he do? Wondering, she discovered that she was experiencing a slight turn-on. Good God!
In her sleep she had twisted and turned until now she lay face up, her arms behind her head to make up for the flattened pillow. One leg was out straight and the other was half flexed, the sole of her right foot resting against her calf. She sighed and moaned and tried to go back to sleep, to ignore the boy's gentle, exploring hands-as if he hadn't touched every square inch of her smooth-skinned body already!
Maybe she ought to return the compliment ... maybe she ought to make him lie still and play dead while she performed a braille readout of his lithe, smooth-muscled young pocket-sized body. She wondered if his cock was as rockhard and ready to explode as it had been the first time she had accidentally encountered it while measuring him. Good God, had that only been yesterday evening? What had happened to her tranquil life in less than eighteen hours?
The boy's hands were not tickling her deliberately. She doubted if he even thought of their possible effect on her as he ran his gentle hands over her tits, over her midriff, memorized the depth of her navel, crept down to explore the now familiar reaches of her pubic jungle. She felt his finger creep down into her crotch. Abruptly she remembered that the boy had been so overcome with rut, so dazzled at the sight of her undraped body that he had had his tongue in her cunt, had had his hot, throbbing cock there but, now that she thought of it, this barely post-virginal boy had never had his finger where sooner or later every red-blooded American boy had to put a finger.
She lay quiescent, one leg straight and the other slightly cocked, and the boy's hand crept coyly past her pubic triangle down into the canyon of cunt country. His hand was beneath the sheet and the boy was still exploring blind.
She tried to control her growing arousal as his curious fingertip memorized the full contours of her hairy vulval lips, tracing their beginning from what has been visible from the front of her body when she had been a little girl-before she had grown a bush to cover it. Tracing their full, sensual outlines back through her crotch to where they terminated at the tender, sensitive strip of skin that separated cunt from asshole.
The boy began tracing out the contours of her perineum. His lazy fingers over this tender, nerve-crowded strip of skin between cunt and asshole was somehow more sensually stimulating than all his fingering of her thoroughly fucked cunt. She was careful to keep her breathing deep and regular. She wondered if the boy knew or even cared whether she was awake.
Outside dawn was lightening the edges of the blind. The neon's heartbeat-like pulsation grew anemic in the dawning light and she noticed it no more than she would the tick of a clock. Somewhere in the bowels of the hotel a door slammed and a moment later a toilet flushed. She closed her eyes and tried not to let anything outside the bed impinge upon what the boy was doing to her.
She struggled to keep her mind on business-on what the boy's eager hand was doing to her ass. But in the street below a bus roared past with a clatter of worn injectors. There was a sound of sirens and for an instant another flashing red light heterodyned with the steady pulse of the neon sign. It was enough to scare all desire for fucking right out of her, especially after all the scares and frights she had endured last night. Slowly, Grace realized that at the moment, she didn't really care what the boy was doing to her. If he enjoyed it, let him. She drew a deep breath, squirmed until she was comfortable, and composed herself for sleep.
The boy's hand retreated until she stopped moving and she realized drowsily that he really believed she was asleep. She was drifting off when his hand came creeping timidly back to attempt another entry between her legs. But this time her thighs were close together. She slept.
Sleeping, she ran through a confusing montage of erotic dreams culled from old memories and the more recent adventures of the last few hours. Dreams stimulated no doubt by the boy's hands as he struggled to turn her over so he could get it in. But she was tired and subconsciously determined not to give in. Not just yet anyway....
The dreams coalesced into a different version of something that had happened when she was a little girl. She was playing in the alley behind her mother's clapboard house when she heard a most unusual rustling sound in a clump of weeds. She had gone closer and there in the weeds had sat the neighbor boy, his pants down, his cock hard and angrily red, his fist busy.
One part of her mind remembered what had actually happened. The boy had hastily jerked his pants up and retreated to spend the next two weeks in a constant sweating panic lest little Grace tell her mother and her mother tell his and....
Grace had not told anybody. She had accepted the incident matter-of-factly as just one more of a number of confusing things in an eight-year-old's world-things not worthy of mention or attention. It was not until a few years later that she had casually mentioned the incident to a girl friend and by then the boy had long since moved away.
It was this knowledgeable girl friend who had informed Grace what the boy was doing. Grace had of late been perturbed by certain changes in her body which seemed in some inchoate way to be foretelling her of something new and wonderful that was about to happen. Listening to her friend's account, it seemed to her that boys with their thing right outside where they could grab it with both hands-boys had all the luck.
"Girls can do it too," her friend said with twelve-year-old assurance. Since Grace was only ten and eleven-twelfths she listened with the respect due an elder's pronouncement. Her twelve-year-old friend had gone on to explain that someday when they were older a man, according to stories she had heard but didn't quite believe, would actually stick that great big thing inside them.
"Ooohhh!" Grace said. It was compounded of equal parts of fascination and disgust. She didn't believe it was possible either. She had looked at herself down there by squatting over a mirror once she had been warned not to panic if some fine day blood were to issue forth from that tiny twat.
"But there's another way girls can do it," her friend continued.
"Does it hurt?"
"No. It feels good. I've been doing it over a year now. But it's really better if somebody else does it to you."
"Oh? Why should anybody else do it to you?"
"Because that way I can do it to somebody else while they do it to me and we both have loads of fun."
This sounded like a practical arrangement to Grace. But she remembered the boy's discomfiture when she had discovered him. "Where can we go?" she asked.
"Momma's out shopping and my brother's busy this morning with little league."
So they ended up in her twelve-year-old friend's room, looking at-each other in vague embarrassment, wondering how to start.
"First we take our panties off," her friend finally said. This took next to no time and once more they faced each other with nervous anticipation, not knowing how to begin. The immense old house Grace's friend lived in was empty but the Saturday morning sun was finally making it through the clouds and every board and beam was creaking. They lay down together on her friend's frilly, three-quarter sized bed. The older girl tried to get her hand between Grace's legs but Grace clapped them together in sudden panic. They lay facing one another, trying to decide what to do next.
"I can't reach that far anyway," her older friend said.
"Let's switch ends." So they lay still facing each other, still fully clothed in the short frilly dresses of that era, having removed nothing but their panties. The older girl's skirt hiked up until Grace could clearly see the full pouting lips of her pussy which was just beginning to sprout its first few wispy hairs.
Grace lay, pervaded with a growing sense of excitement, yet sure in her own mind that she was not actually going to do anything 'dirty'. "How do I know it's not going to hurt?" she asked.
The older girl had been giving this some thought. She was not sure exactly how to go about this erotic exercise either. To conceal her ignorance she said, "Why don't you start?"
"Start what?"
"Anything you want to do," the older girl said. "Try to think of something nice and do it to me. If it feels good I'll do it right back to you."
Grace lay staring at the other girl's nearly hairless pussy wondering what to do. After a long, thoughtful moment she put out her hand and lay it gently, palm down over the girl's bony, bald mons veneris. Immediately she felt something soft and warm down there touching her. It was no big deal. She had had her hand there hundreds of times. But as she lay with her hand against the other girl's pubic triangle, feeling the soft warmth of the other girl's against her, Grace discovered that there was indeed something very different and rather disturbing about the feel of somebody else's hand in hitherto private territory. It made her feel vulnerable, defenseless.
The older girl's fingers began prying at Grace's tight-clasped thighs. Grace was not eager to open up new territory for this unpredictable invader. She remembered the girl's promise of reciprocity. If it felt good, whatever one did to the other, the other was supposed to do back. She began prying at the older girl's thighs to see if this would make her stop.
The other girl's legs came apart willingly, leaving Grace nonplussed. What was she to do now? She began running her hand up and down the soft inner surface of the other girl's thigh. "Aaahhh!" her companion sighed. "That feels gooood!"
Cautiously Grace relaxed her thighs. The strange hand crept, in between her legs and a moment later Grace's thighs were gaping wide apart as she discovered herself in enthusiastic agreement. A pair of strange hands running up and down her thighs, gently patting at the lips of her tiny hairless twat, did indeed feel most marvelously goooood!
She caught her breath and wondered at the sudden tension that was filling her body. She was breathing as if she had run all the way home, her flat little chest heaving most alarmingly. The nipples of her breast buds, which a month ago had abruptly started swelling and turning tender, were now throbbing most abominably as their tender tips rubbed the inside of her dress with each inhalation. She wished she dared take time out to remove her scratchy dress, but the girl's hands between her legs suddenly stopped.
Grace waited a moment, impatient for the other girl to start stroking again. "You're supposed to do it too," the older girl said accusingly.
"Oh!" It had felt so mind-blowingly good that she had forgotten. Grace began stroking, caressing the older girl's thighs, patting her just furring pussy in what she hoped was the proper way. It must have been, for soon the girl was doing it to her and it felt wonderful.
It felt far nicer than the nicest thing Grace could ever remember having felt in her brief life. She wondered if it were possible to feel like this all the time. What would it feel like to do it herself? She wondered if there were some secret way she could devise to do it to herself during those awful, endless social studies periods when Miss Gregg droned on and on about Romans and Greeks and other foreigners nobody had ever heard of.
But right now it was much nicer to lie there and let her older friend do it while she did what she could to encourage the girl to keep doing it The older girl was petting her pussy, patting it, rubbing it, sometimes even blowing on it. Then suddenly Grace felt her finger going in between those swollen hairless lips. She was actually putting her finger inside!
CHAPTER TWELVE
Grace awoke with an abrupt start to the several realizations that she was no longer ten and a fraction, but nearly forty; that she was not in her girl friend's bedroom but, rather, in a dingy second-rate hotel room, and that it was not a little girl's finger sliding into her tired cunt. It was the apprentice jockey's teenage cock.
He had, with infinite patience, pushed, pulled and prodded until her sleeping body was maneuvered into missionary position, face up, knees cocked, thighs wide apart. Now the boy was between her legs quietly forcing his elegantly long and slim, arrow-headed cock into her pussy.
Grace wondered how much of her dream was memory and how much a desperate effort of her tired body to transmute and sublimate the sensations from whatever this apprentice jockey had been doing to her while she slept. She moaned as if she were still half asleep and let her body relax. If the boy wanted whole-hearted cooperation, he would have to wait a while until she had slept another hour. Then, after breakfast and a nice long hot bath, perhaps she could get in the mood for fucking.
He pushed slowly, hesitating from time to time as he waited for his dry and tight-stretched foreskin to accommodate itself to her pussy. If it hadn't been for the delightful nature of that dream, she knew the boy wouldn't be getting it in at all.
Finally he had the head of his dick in. He hesitated, pulled it halfway out again, waiting for love's elixir to lubricate the dry skin, then began thrusting again. This time he got it in another quarter of an inch.
It wasn't hurting Grace. Felt rather nice, in fact, but she supposed that the boy whose cock had been virginal less than twenty-four hours ago, would be much more sensitive than her nearly forty-year-old cunt. She screwed her eyes tight shut against the bright sunlight that leaked in around the drawn blind and tried not to let herself be turned-on by the boy's clumsy efforts at penetration.
The red neon sign was no longer pulsating. She wondered if it had been turned off or merely drowned in the bright sunlight. What time is it anyhow? In her hassle to get out of the house last night, she had forgotten her watch.
The boy kept working at it, poking his prick in another fraction of an inch, holding for a second, pulling out again, pushing again. He had it about halfway in. She wondered why he was taking so long. Surely he didn't think she was still sound asleep and unaware that she was being fucked. Then she realized what was wrong. The boy had slept, had recharged his batteries and was once more as hair-trigger as any fifteen-year-old virgin. He was working his cock into her so slowly and carefully because it was the only way he could ever hope to get it in without cumming explosively, immediately, and all over her lush blonde pubic patch.
Her superb, full-blown body was beneath the covers. The boy wasn't even feeling her up as he struggled, concentrating singlemindedly on getting it in. She guessed he had been working too long while she slept, struggling to turn her over, and now his over-wrought imagination was running away with him. He seemed to be having unusual trouble. She felt him stop thrusting again, felt the puff of his gasping breath warm over her tits as he rose stiff over her. The tip of his tool fluttered and quivered inside her vagina. She was tempted to give a sudden upward thrust of her ass.
One push right now and the boy would explode, ending it all, and then she could go to sleep for another hour. But ... it didn't feel all that bad to have a boy's cock inside her after all these years of nothing. As long as he didn't expect her active participation, Grace guessed it wouldn't hurt her any to lie there half asleep and let the boy do his immature best to pump her belly into a passionate pitty-patting mass of quivering, erotic Jell-O.
Suddenly the boy decided to go for broke. He thrust deep, hard, and she felt her vagina stretch unexpectedly in a delightfully new direction as the barbed arrowhead of his cock slid in deep, deeper than she had realized was possible. She gasped and held her breath, trying not to succumb to the sudden and intense desire to cum.
She knew that the boy knew she was awake now. There was no more use playing games. She wrapped her thighs round his bony pelvis in loving scissors. The boy drove his dick in deep as he could and froze, gritting his teeth with the effort not to cum.
The head of the boy's cock was buried deep within the confines of her soft, secret slit. She felt it throb, grow, throb and swell still larger and harder as the boy devoted every ounce of his willpower to containing himself, struggling mightily to keep from firing his precious cum load right now and putting an untimely end to this promising beginning.
They lay rigid, arms wrapped round each other, asses straining as they pressed for maximum penetration, neither daring move or even breathe lest the tiny friction touch twin triggers and send them both rockets away in a spiraling, spinning ride down into a chasm of orgasm.-How, Grace wondered, had she been so indifferent only a moment ago? She felt her whole body straining with the fight to prolong this delicious frozen moment. Great rockets of pink passionate fire shot up her spine to explode in her skull. She was cumming explosively, repeatedly, her whole body tearing itself in two. The violence of her orgasm was twice as strong because she dared not quiver, wriggle or even sigh lest the boy explode too.
She lay rigid, catatonic, every fiber of nerve and muscle in her body shrieking its silent need to let go, to unwind and release the tremendous growing, twisting, tearing tension inside her.
The boy's body abruptly relaxed. He released a long-held breath in a long, slow sigh. For one heartbroken moment she thought he had cum, that it was all over. Then she knew her love-tightened body had not felt the fluttering, spurting fountain of youth inside her that would mean the end. The boy had managed to outride the spasm. He had gotten his second wind. As she felt herself respond with weak and fluttery relief, the terrible straining tension left his body. His pelvis stopped straining, grinding against the full warm lips of her cunt. His cock came out a fraction of an inch. After a moment he began pulling it out a little more. Then he started pushing it back in.
Grace wondered if there were anything on earth or in heaven that could feel one thousandth as good as the boy's rigid erection sliding slowly and steadily in and out, in and out of her pussy with a rhythm as old as time, as young as tomorrow. She was reminded of a certain boy king of England who, on achieving his first fuck, immediately proclaimed, "This is too good for the common people!"
The boy's cock was, she had to admit, uncommonly good. He was thrusting like a veteran now, his cum crisis of a moment ago forgotten as he fed her his boycock in long, slow strokes, steady as a metronome, driving it deep, deep into the depths of her cunt with each steady push, pulling out, out until the pointed tip of his tool was barely parting the quivering, swollen lips of her blonde-furred pussy.
He thrust away steadily, tirelessly, and she felt her body slowly ascend until she floated over a plateau of pleasure, sinking sensually into some erotic nirvana where there was no yesterday, no tomorrow, nothing but the eternal, blissful present of the boy's prong poking its indefatigable way in and out, in and out. Then without warning, he stopped.
Wanting to shriek, weep, wail and cry her outrage, Grace felt herself descending from that plateau of pleasure. Why had he stopped just then-just when she had been about to explode in the most deliriously prolonged orgasm she had ever been capable of imagining?
The boy lay atop her and she knew he was not in danger of cumming. His cock was stiff but it was not the quivery, explosive stiffness of a hair trigger. He had a good solid workman-like hard-on, good for solid hours of fucking. Then she felt the quivery fatigue in his loins. The boy was not tired of fucking but his back was giving out from all that pushing!
She lay a moment, gathering forces, then pulled herself together. She couldn't-wouldn't stop now. She poked and prodded the tired boy until once more he lay beneath her, face up, cock sticking straight in the air but still sheathed in the warm softness of her cunt as she squatted erect and astraddle him.
It was like last night except neither of them was so overcome with frantic rabbity rut as they had been during that first bout. This time she was ready to relax and take it easy, to savor the full measure of the boy's sexuality. This time there would be no constant interruptions, no panic-filled frozen moments as they struggled to keep the boy's hair-trigger cock from exploding.
She squatted upright, giving the boy a full frontal view of her junoesque body. She felt his cock rise to the occasion, regaining that bit of primal stiffness that had diminished during their twisting, thrashing struggle to switch positions. She began rising and falling, sliding her slick cock pocket up and down on the boy's rigid rod. This time it was going to last. This time she intended to spend a solid hour bouncing up and down the boy's greased fuckpole before she even thought about changing position. This time she was going to satiate herself, leave her cunt so thoroughly raddled and fucked-out that she would not cringe at the thought of all the empty years to come. She continued her slow, sensual slide up and down, up and down the boy's banger, gazing down at his supine body, feeling his eyes burn as he feasted himself on the vision of her full-length loveliness. His hands went out to cup her tits, but he couldn't quite make it.
The boy didn't struggle. Instead, he kept his palms up where with each descent the tips of her tits brushed him. She felt her nipples growing, swelling rock hard under the stimulus of the boy's eager hands.
The boy was not exactly thrusting, but she felt his pelvis subtly adjusting to her up-and-down slide, giving just the tiniest push at the magic moment when his hot throbbing cock could achieve another silly millimeter of penetration in where its elegantly arrow-headed tip could tickle the portals of her womb.
One corner of her mind had time to think about other things, about the weird turn her life had taken in less than twenty-four hours. She wondered if she could ever settle down again to the old dull routine that had enveloped her since poor Jim had died. She glanced absently at her wrist and remembered that in her haste to flee from her home she had left her watch behind. What time is it anyway?
Not that it made any difference. If the older man was reading the signs right, they had better stay here until-Older man!
Abruptly Grace wanted to curl up and die. She had completely forgotten about the balding older jockey. Red still slept in the narrow cot. She twisted her head over her shoulder and saw his motionless body face to the wall. Damn! What had gotten into her?
It was senseless, she knew. Both man and boy had sampled the pleasures of her body. Both knew it. Then she realized the boy probably did not know. He had been asleep last night while the older man had spent that delightful hour plus thrusting his indefatigable erection in and out of her willing snatch. She wondered what the boy would do if he ever found out.
Red was older, more experienced in the ways of the world. She knew the older jockey knew she had been fucking the boy. Otherwise, why this precipitate flight in the middle of the night? If Red were to awake now and see her sitting astraddle the boy's eager erection, he might envy the boy his luck but she knew the older man would not get all bent out of shape and start making angry noises. In all probability, the balding, wise-faced little man would diplomatically turn his face to the wall and pretend he was asleep.
Which was exactly what he was doing now. She wondered if he was really sleeping or just pretending. Either way ... Grace had decided quite young in life that of all the pleasures on this planet, none could even begin to compare with fucking. But she had also always felt that fucking was not really a spectator sport. She had never wished to watch anyone else doing it. She had never in her wildest nightmare ever dreamed of doing it herself with an audience.
She had one now. Even if the older man really were asleep, there was nothing to stop him from waking up any moment, turning over and catching her in flagrante delicto, naked, sitting fully erect without so much as a sheet between her and the world, bouncing her affable ass up and down the boy's bargepole. She felt the boy's cock still hard and quivery inside her.
A moment ago she had been so happy, so ready to spend an hour or two just slowly sliding up and down his delicious dong. Now ... She mentally cursed herself. Why couldn't she have gone on in blissful ignorance, not remembering the other jockey's presence? It had been so wonderful, and now it was spoiled.
Still, the boy either didn't remember or didn't care. A stiff prick, poor old Jim had once told her, has no conscience. She guessed the boy would be capable of ramming and slamming, dipping his willing wick into her honeypot no matter what was happening around them. Then, quite abruptly she discovered she was wrong.
The boy's cock was wilting, shriveling to peanut size. She wondered if there was any connection between this phenomenon and the sudden furious pounding on the hotel room door.
They stared at each other in choked panic, neither able to speak. Grace felt the boy's cock shrivel to nothingness and come out of her well-slicked cunt. She wanted to say something but ... what? Her eyes darted about the room seeking some avenue of escape. The only window looked onto the busy street. The bathroom was a blind alley. The closet?
The boy's hands grabbed her and pulled her down beside him in the bed. He grabbed the tangled mass of sheets and blankets and drew them over her. As if he could conceal her full economy sized body this way!
In the cot which lay crossways at the foot of the bed, Red snorted and snuffled. "Yeah?" he said in a sleepy voice.
"Checkout time." From out in the hallway. "Keep your shirt on," Red yelled back. "We're staying another day."
"Cash in advance."
Red crawled out of the cot and fumbled about the room until he found his pants. He extracted a bill. "How much?" he yelled.
"Eight dollars."
The balding man opened the door a crack and handed out a bill. "Here's twenty," he said. "Could you bring coffee and breakfast for three?"
"Yeah, I guess so." The door closed and Red stumbled into the bathroom. He closed the door but in the sudden death-like silence, Grace could hear him noisily pissing. The toilet flushed and taps opened and closed and moments later the small man came out looking awake. "Good morning," he said.
"Hi," came the boy's blithe reply.
Grace cowered beneath the pile of blankets, wishing she could remember the snappy dialogue Noel Coward had always managed to create for this kind of situation. After another dismal moment of self analysis, she decided she was the only coward here. She got her head out and said, "Good morning."
"Don't let me bother you," Red said. "Go right ahead with whatever you were doing."
Grace wanted to die. He hadn't been asleep at all. The diplomatic little man had just been lying quietly face to the wall, unwilling to mar their moment of love. But how could she do anything now that she knew, that she remembered there were two men in the room?
The boy suffered from no such inhibitions. He kicked the blankets from the bed and pulled her atop him. Grace was so mortified that her body was totally nerveless. She felt herself blushing clear down to her bare ass. The boy pushed and pulled at her until she lay atop him. He got his knees between hers and a moment later she felt his hard-on achieve a new lease on life. She guided the slick tip of his reviving rod into her cunt. He humped beneath her and drove it in full length.
The worst part of it all, Grace decided as she lay wishing to die from an agony of embarrassment, was that even now with the boy beneath her, pulling her down like a glove over his hard-on-even now she felt her cunt responding to the boy's rampant maleness. What had happened to her? Something had happened to change her whole body chemistry, she guessed. For ten years she had lain dormant, not needing a cock, hardly thinking about the pleasures of the flesh. Now....
She was hooked, Grace knew. She could never stop now. No matter how embarrassing, no matter how degrading, she knew she would rather die even right now than do without the boy beneath her, nuzzling her tits, bucking to thrust his cock deep into her well-slicked cunt.
And the other man was watching!
"Looks like fun," he said. "Maybe I can try it some day."
Good God, she thought. What's happened to me? She knew full well that the other man was going to try it, just as soon as the boy was finished. She might protest, might cavil in a dozen unimportant ways, but she knew that when all the token protests were over, he would do it to her-do it any way he wanted and when he was through, if the boy had recovered his hard-on and wanted to try again, she would let him. She couldn't stop herself. No matter what these men wanted her to do, that was the price to feel a cock inside her pushing and poking, no matter what the degradation, she would do it!
Red came close to stand by the side of the bed. The uninhibited boy did not miss a stroke. Supine beneath her, he was no longer thrusting. Instead he lay rigid with his hands on the twin mounds of her ass. He clutched her ass tightly and shoved his joint back and forth, making her well-cushioned, junoesque body roll and slide up and down atop him, driving his dong in and out of her cunt with an effortless kneading motion.
It felt so good. She knew she ought to make the boy observe some rules of propriety-at least toss a sheet over their straining bodies, but she couldn't stop, couldn't take time out from this carnival of fleshy delights. Besides, she told herself ruefully, what difference does a sheet make? The three of us know what we're doing. Red's hand came down on her ass just below the boy's clutching fists. He gave her an affectionate pat.
There was another pounding at the door. "Room service," a voice called.
Red tossed a sheet over them before he opened the door. The aging man who bore the covered tray had apparently seen everything. He was bringing breakfast for three, so there was little chance of his not knowing how many people were in the room. He thanked the balding jockey profusely when Red let him keep the change from the twenty. "Come back in a couple of hours," Red instructed. "And maybe you can bring us something else."
"Yes, sir!" the door closed and the man was gone.
Breakfast was surreal. The three of them sat around naked eating hash browns, bacon and eggs, drinking coffee as if they were properly clothed and this sort of thing went on all the time. By the time Grace was on her second cup of coffee, even she was getting used to it.
Finally the meal was over. There was an expectant hush as the men glanced at each other, then at Grace. She felt her cunt twist and crawl with anticipation. What, she wondered, are they going to do to me?
Nothing happened. The tension grew until she knew she couldn't stand it for another second. She got to her feet and moved aimlessly. She made the bed, straightening out the tangle of sheets and blankets. She went into the bathroom and washed the sticky accumulation of cum and love juice from between her legs. She borrowed a comb and made an ineffectual stab at fixing her still blonde hair. Finally she had to come out again, into the room where the man and boy smoked and talked incomprehensible shop about horses they had ridden.
Without warning the boy got up. He caught her by the wrist and led her back to the freshly made bed. He lay down on it and drew her atop him. His revived rod once more resumed their twice interrupted game of hide the weenie.
Grace didn't know whether to be happy or sad. She gave the boy a P for perseverance. He hadn't "cum yet and she knew she was doomed to lie atop him, sliding up and down his light, hard-muscled body until the boy achieved release.
She was also doomed to enjoy it. She tried to analyze the various sensations involved in fucking: the slight stretching as the tip of his tool parted the full lips of her vulva, pressed past hairy outer lips to the soft, moist sensitivity of her labia minora, the lovely anticipatory feel as her clit was pushed aside to make room for the rod sliding smoothly into her waiting vagina. It all felt too good. How else could she describe the subtle movements as her inner organs moved this way and that to make space for the arrant invader that was sliding into her already, going deep, deeper as the boy strove to pick up the beat of his twice-interrupted gavotte?
This time he didn't grasp her ass. Instead his hands slipped between them to cup her tits. She felt her belly roil and twist, building up that old familiar tension as his thumbs and forefingers began twiddling her nipples into rock-hard rigidity.
Her clit was swelling too as the boy's bony prominence ploughed into her cunt at the bottom of each stroke, mashing her tiny sensitive clitoris until it swelled hard and rigid as her nipples in its mute plea for more, more!
And he's just standing there watching! Watching me let this boy fuck me to death. Good God, what have I done to my life? She struggled but it was useless. If she'd had any willpower she would never have ended up in this hotel room with two studs. What could she expect from now on? As soon as the boy was finished, the man would take over. She wondered if she would have any more lessons in that indefinable quality that separates the men from the boys.
The boy was still propelling her up and down his body with his hands cupped over her squashed tits. His knees were not even bent but his cock was rigid, indefatigable, spindling her, sliding sensually up her throbbing cunt, seeming to go a trifle deeper with each lunging, sliding, ram-slam of a stroke.
The older man was patting her ass, caressing her with mature appreciation. He had been so kind, so gentle last night as he slowly and thoroughly fucked her to gibbering, mind-blown satiation. What would it be like if he were to do it again today, picking up without interruption when she was already at the end of her erotic rope with this boy's ceaseless prodding?
Then abruptly she realized that the older man was not even going to wait. He was getting onto the bed. Now what could he hope to do? For a moment she wondered wildly if he was going to twist them into some impossible three-way posture and stuff his able ass-jammer down her throat. That would be too much. Besides, the boy would never....
But the older jockey was maneuvering somehow above and behind her. She felt his knees accommodating themselves in the flesh-crowded arena between her wide-spread thighs, making room for themselves between the boy's out-stretched legs. Good God, she wondered, is he going to pull the boy's thing out and put his in? There would be a fight, sure as hell there would be a fight and then the room would be full of police and....
Then Grace discovered that the balding little jockey had no intention of forcing the boy out of action. His experienced eye was on a different target. She felt the tip of his tool touch her in an extremely sensitive spot.
Impossible, she thought. He must know it can't be done. But even as she thought it, Grace remembered ruefully all the other times she had been wrong in her life-when she had doubted if a girl friend's finger touching her twat could be any fun; when she had absolutely and positively known her tiny virginal pussy was too small for poor old Jim ever to get his great thumping thing into her; when, less than twenty-four hours ago, she had known she would not let all this involved adventure get beyond a quick look, maybe a feel of the boy's swollen cock. How many times she had been wrong!
Now she knew she would be wrong again, for she was spiked, spindled like an office memo on the boy's hot, hard cock, being slid back and forth atop his hard little body like so much erotic merchandise. The older jockey knelt above and behind them, the tip of his tool meeting the tender rosette of her asshole each time the boy backed her off the rigid length of his cock.
She felt her asshole contract and twitter at the feel of this would-be invader. The boy was moving her solidly and steadily back and forth along his pile driver. The tip of the jockey's tool poked harder at her asshole as he moved in closer. Then abruptly she felt it going in.
It hurt like hell as his hot, throbbing hammer began working its way up her dry asshole. He hesitated a moment, gathering strength, and she was grateful for the respite when the little man began bobbing his pelvis back and forth in time with the boy's pushing and pulling, holding his position in her ass, the knobby head of his cock barely in, neither forcing his way in farther nor withdrawing.
A moment passed and slowly she became used to the feel of his great, thumping knob in there stretching her asshole, making her cunt tighten up around the boy's cock which still slid indefatigably in and out of her seething slit.
Then without warning the balding older jockey was pushing again. She felt his long, big-headed cock close slowly but steadily down the old dirt road. It felt like nothing she had ever imagined in her life before. Dazedly, through a mist of erotic passion that was fogging her awareness, she realized that now she had two cocks in her, both in her bottom, and they were both sliding in, in IN!
She gave up, let her body go limp, knowing that no matter what she willed, these two studs were going to do what they wished with her. There were four hands on her nude fibrillating body now, handling her most tender parts, passing her back and forth between them. The men were not moving their bodies, only their hands, pushing her, pulling her.
They were in front of her and behind, beneath her and on top. Each time their hands pulled her down off the boy's rigid, thrusting cock the older Red's went deep up her asshole. Each time she was pushed forward and his cock started pulling out of her asshole, threatening to turn her inside out as her tight body struggled not to let go-each time Red's cock pulled partway out of her asshole, the boy's rigid rod rammed its erotic way up her throbbing cunt.
Abruptly their rhythm changed until both cocks were going in at once, filling her unto bursting with the joy that passeth all human understanding, then both pulling out to give her raddled body a moment's rest from this double pronged assault.
Good God, she thought, this can go on all day.
If she was lucky, maybe it would even go on all night too. She gave a happy sigh and hoped it would continue forever.
