Almost everyone is aware that there are many men who find themselves sexually aroused by teenage girls, and indeed the crime of statutory rape was defined as such on the law books precisely to make men repress this urge to insert their penises in the vaginas of young females.
What fewer people realize, however, is that a craving for sexual relations with a substantially younger member of the opposite sex is also equally prevalent among women, who often translate fantasy into reality, too. Perhaps this fondness of some mature females for what some of them call "young stuff is less known to members of the strange tradition in our society that "sex offenses" committed by females are far less severely punished than similar offenses for which men are responsible, when indeed the females are punished at all. (Queen Victoria refused to allow lesbianism to be made a crime in England, even though this was at the time that Oscar Wilde was going to jail.) The reasons behind this strange double standard on the part of society are far from clear, but the fact remains that while a man who fondles the genital region of a pubescent girl is liable to be labeled "child molester" and thrown into prison for a long time, a woman who takes liberties with the developing penis of a young boy will probably just be regarded as somewhat eccentric.
Do women take advantage of this tolerance on the part of society? Many of them do. Not just because they have no penalties to fear, but more importantly because they have no penalties to fear, but more importantly because the lack of strong societal disapproval of their actions make them accept their desires more readily and carry them out with less hesitation and guilt. "Oh well," a woman can say as she instructs a thirteen year old boy how to insert his penis into her female organ, "I'm just teaching him something that he'll have to learn sooner or later anyway. "A man may well use the same rationalization, but he is liable to be less satisfied with it, and more prone to despise himself as a "child molester", however grateful the young girl in question may be for his attentions.
What sort of women enjoy sexual relations with young boys? It is the purpose of this book to try and answer that question through the presentation of five case histories and appropriate commentary at the end of each one.
The individuals who gave the following narratives visited me in my capacity as a psychologist.
They came for a number of reasons, but common to all was fondness for older woman-young boy sex, a subject concerning which some felt intensely (and irrationally) guilty, while others were completely reconciled to it.
Any form of human behavior, sexual or non-sexual, usually has behind it a very complex series of motivations operating on both the conscious and the unconscious level. Thus, there is no easy or simple answer to the question of why some women enjoy pedophilia. However, in all the cases that follow, the reader is likely to notice a number of common themes.
Perhaps first and foremost is the simple matter of sexual desire-for many an older woman, whose husband has died, divorced her, or run out of steam in the bedroom, the thought of a virile fifteen-year-old penis is very appealing. But although in some instances, pure physical desire is all that's needed to explain a woman's pedophilic actions, there are often other causal factors present too.
One of which, for instance, is a latent incestuous tendency. The young boy can be seen as a substitute son, but one not fenced off by quite such rigid taboos as those which bar mother-son relations. Another factor can be a fear of full-grown men, either physically (an irrational fear of being hurt by a man's large penis) or emotionally (a fear of being dominated and used by a tough, cunning adult male.
Whatever the causes, the therapeutic response (if one is called for) will have to deal not just with the specific problem ("Doctor, I like young boys!") but with the totality of the woman's personality, for the human soul is a little bit like a pyramid of tin cans. One has to be very careful about removing one at the base, for fear that the whole structure collapse. Ana hopefully the reader will agree that whatever the therapist does, he must do it with understanding and compassion, or it will be far worse than doing nothing at all.
CASE HISTORY ONE
Miss Wilhemena J. managed to be both an attractive woman and everyone's idea of a prim schoolteacher at the same time.
That might seem like a contradiction, but in this case it was perfectly true. And I do not mean by it that she was the sort of woman who would be pretty if she stopped being prim and proper. Her careful way of dressing, and sitting, and moving, obviously expressed an important part of her personality, and if there was something a bit stiff about them, there was also something rather elegant about them, too, in a small-time way.
Miss J., who was thirty-five, had nice features, a nice figure, and a very nervous twitch to her right hand, which was the only sign she gave of not being perfectly composed.
"Doctor," she said, "I'm here because I have a rather unusual problem-at least, I suppose that it's unusual-and I was wondering if you could help me with it.
"Quite possibly," I said with a smile. "What is this problem? Is it something that you do?"
"Yes," she replied, "And I'm afraid that if I keep doing it I may lose both my job and my reputation."
"You mean, if you get caught?"
"Yes."
"Caught doing what?"
"Caught having sex with ninth grade boys," she said.
"Perhaps you'd like to tell me about it, using whatever language helps you best express your feelings."
"Very well," she said, and began...
I've been teaching at the F.A. Throckmorton Junior High School for eight years, now, but this business with the boys only began a few months ago. Anyway, I teach Latin, and I don't think that I'd be being too conceited to suggest that I did a pretty good job and was generally fairly well liked by both the students and the other members of the faculty.
There are a number of men teachers there, of course, and though most are married, there are some bachelors too. That was one thing that I liked about teaching at a big high school, since I always thought that I'd want to get married some day. I guess maybe I'd better not waste any more time if I'm to manage to do so, but as a matter of fact, since this business with the boys started, I find myself less and less interested in the idea of marrying a grown man.
There was a man there I had my eye on named Jack B. He taught chemistry, and was kind of a cynic, always making wisecracks about everything. I thought at the time that that just meant that he was sophisticated, though in fact I guess it indicated a lot more than just that, at least judging from the way things turned out.
He seemed to like me, and finally asked me to go out with him to dinner. I was so flustered that I hardly knew what to say, but I managed to keep from blushing too much, and accepted. As a matter of fact, I'd be dreaming of his doing something like that for quite some time. Whenever I saw him in the faculty lounge, my pussy would start to get all wet, and my clit would stiffen up until it ached. To tell the truth, Doctor, I'd never really gone out with many other men before.
When I was dressing for our date, I surveyed myself in the mirror. I could see that I still had a pretty decent body left, with nice, firm breasts. I cupped the tits and juggled them up and down a bit. That made my cunt start to tingle with excitement, and my hand found its way down to my muff and started to squeeze the buttery woman-flesh there between my legs.
Mmmm! That just felt so good. Because I'd always been too shy or too standoffish to attract men, I'd gotten in the habit of masturbating quite frequently, since I actually have pretty strong sexual desires. Ever since I was a teenage girl, I've liked almost nothing better than the feeling of my fingers pulling gently at my tingling labia or pressing against my hard, throbbing clit.
And the idea of actually having a real, live date, and a date with suave Jack B., was such an extra turn on that I knew I just had to beat off before finishing my dressing.
I flopped back on my bed and pressed my hand hard against my cunt. I just felt so wonderfully tender and womanly and wet down there. What I really needed was some good, hard cock, but then maybe I'd get that tonight. For the moment, my fingers would have to do!
They were doing plenty, too! The fingertips were literally dancing over my cunt-skin, teasing and tickling it into a state of frantic come-need, while the other hand had cupped my right tit and was squeezing and caressing the soft globe like there was no tomorrow. I felt my nipples stiffen up as the breast stimulation continued. What it needed, of course, was a guy's mouth on it, sucking away, but since I couldn't have that, I could at least enjoy the little pinches and tweaks which the hard pink nub was getting.
"Ohhh!" I gasped as I pressed my fingers against my maidenhead. That's right, I was still a virgin. Sometimes, when masturbating, I had been tempted to break my maidenhead myself so that I could put my fingers up my cunt and pretend that they were a cock. But I'd always chickened out at the last moment, partly from a fear of the pain, but more because I'd always thought that maybe Mr. Right, if he ever came along at long last, would want some proof of my still being a virgin.
That didn't mean that I couldn't gently prod at the membrane and pretend that the fingertips were the end of a hard cock waiting to ram on through! Meanwhile, I used my thumb to give several quick flicks to my clit. Each one sent such a shudder through my body that I thought for a moment that I was going to come right then and there without further ado, but fortunately I didn't (I wanted to prolong the hand-session a bit longer), and I turned my attention to slightly less sensitive parts of my twat, such as my labia.
Even there, though, I had to be careful, because the combination of the physical stimulation that they were getting, coupled with the thought that tonight I might be getting a good deal more than that, really had me turned on down there to beat the band.
As I stroked the thin, crinkly pink cuntlips, I felt my whole body tense. I knew from past experience that my come wasn't very far off at all. Just a bit more finger action would do it... just a bit more...
Then, suddenly, a terrific shock went pouring through my body, and I was coming good and hard, with my pelvis bucking and heaving furiously. I pressed my hand hard against my pussy and revelled in the feeling of my hips shuddering, while the other hand really mashed my eager tit.
Man! Man! Man! I was really coming, really, really, really coming!
Finally it was over, and I got weakly to my feet. When I beat off, I really come big. I pulled my clothes on, and finished making myself up.
"I wonder how many girls beat off before going out on a date?" I wondered. "And I wonder if any men suspect that they do?" If any man guesses, I supposed that Jack be able to. He seemed like the kind of guy who knew everything about life.
When I heard the doorbell ring, I was frankly scared. I'd only been out on about two other dates before, and nothing happened on either of them.
Jack was always a guy who liked to put on a lot of flash, if you know what I mean. He took me out to the most expensive restaurant in town, and bought me a really fine meal. Then, afterwards, he suggested that we go to his place for a drink.
I had a pretty good idea of what he had in mind by that, but that was fine with me. Beating off is fun, but you can't imagine how hungry for cock it's possible to get when you never get any.
As we sat on the sofa, Jack made his play, reaching out and stroking the nape of my neck. That sent a tingle of excitement zinging down my spine, but it also made me feel kind of nervous. It's one thing to want cock in the abstract, quite another to have a guy making sexual advances to you when you've never been approached before.
Jack was making his pretty fast, too, because it wasn't long before that hand stroking the back of my neck was reaching down over my shoulder and cupping my right tit through the fabric of my dress. I didn't know what to say or do, but he took care of that problem for me by reaching forward and kissing me.
It was a passionate French kiss, as you can well imagine, and as I felt his tongue press against mine, I decided to just yield completely and let him do what he wanted.
That may sound like a somewhat odd sort of thing for me to say, since I'd been fantasizing only a little bit earlier about having his cock inside me, but I was brought up by pretty strict parents, and I guess I had two voices inside me, one saying "fuck!" and the other one saying "don't!"
Jack already had my shoulders pressed against the cushions of the couch, and as he continued to French me, he started to slide one of his hands up my right thigh.
My cunt was thoroughly wet by now, and the moisture was dripping through onto my panties. (As you know, of course, there's a hole in the maidenhead.) The panties got a lot wetter, too, when they felt his fingers pressing against them, kneading the cunt through the soggy nylon.
He pulled his mouth away from mine and said to me, "my cock, baby, feel my cock!"
Gingerly, I reached out and squeezed the crotch of his pants. A shudder of excitement went through my body as I felt the long, hard thing pressing against the fabric.
He was pulling my panties down, now, and the feeling of the cool air on my superheated panties was a real relief. I needed a lot more than that to put the fire out between my legs, and I could see that Jack was about to give it to me.
He unzipped his pants and pulled out .his rod which quickly expanded to its full, massive size, now that it was free of constraint. He got his pants the rest of the way off, and then helped me out of my dress. Then, he got on top of me and got ready to ram his whanger in.
"Be careful, please," I gasped. "This is my first time!') "Don't worry about a thing," he reassured me, and then he was shoving in, hard and fast.
In all fairness, I guess maybe he might have been working on the jump-in-the-pool-fast theory. In other words, it hurts less if you do it fast. But I was a bit surprised with the speed with which he rammed on into me.
There was a sharp sensation of pain, and then he was sliding back and forth, back and forth, with fine, rhythmic strokes, and all thought of pain was forgotten in the terrific pleasure that he was causing me with that big thick cock of his!
In! Out! In! Out! He was really laying it into me, and I was loving every second of it. There was such a difference between having my fingers stimulate my labia, and having a thick hard hunk of manhood actually inside my body, filling up inner space, bucking, bucking, bucking.
His hands were pressing and squeezing my tits, teasing and tantalizing my nipples. Again, it was really fantastic what a difference there was between the sensation that I got from playing with my tits myself, and that which came from having a man do it. You'd think squeezing would be squeezing, but the knowledge that a guy was working you over in the mammary department made it really something else.
"Jack! Jack! Jack!" I moaned as he plowed back and forth inside my weltering pussy.
He was driving me nuts, getting me crazy... it was more than I could stand, it was just too much... I love it!
One or two more strokes would do it, just one or two! He sensed that too and slowed up, so as to savor the final part of the fuck before getting on with the come!
He pulled way, way back until only the fleshy knob of his prick was resting inside my body. Then, after keeping me waiting a tantalizing second for the meat, he really shoved it in. Slow. So fucking slow. In... in... in...
I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, I could only gasp for air and wait for some kind of relief from this wonderful, terrible tension that had my nerves tied up in about a zillion knots...
Half in... two thirds... three fourths...
"Gotta come!" I moaned.
Then he shoved the hard, thick rod all the way home, and as he did so I could feel my whole body seem to go numb before suddenly releasing itself in a series of frantic come-spasms!
Wham! Wham! Wham! My pelvis was really bucking and heaving as his rod shot off inside me, because the force of my come, the feeling of my cunt-walls gripping at his meat, had been all that was needed to bring him off.
Gush! Gush! Gush! I'd never had a man's penis inside me before, so I didn't know how to judge his performance, but never in my wildest dreams had I imagined that a guy could have so much juice in his balls, or that he could shoot it up into a woman with such force. He was really filling my femininity with his mancream, and was I ever loving it!
Finally, we were both still, and lay there together, with him on top of me and both of us gasping for breath.
"Jack," I said finally, "thank you... thank you... thank you... " I figured that he had given me about the most wonderful introduction to sex that it was possible for anyone to have.
Well, I had to go after that, because I had a lot of test papers that had to be graded by the next morning, but it sure wasn't easy to keep my mind on grading papers after the fuck that I had received.
"I'm a real woman!" I said to myself. "Jack made me a woman! He made me a woman!" It wasn't just that Jack had given my tender pink pussy a good bang, it was also that he'd given my self-confidence a real boost. Women worry about being old maids and not being attractive to men, and the fact that a virile stud like Jack was willing to take an interest in me seemed to indicate that there was still some life left in me yet.
I was sure I was in love, too. Jack was so masterful, and confident, and I was sure that he cared for me. I imagined the two of us, having our secret love together, unknown to the rest of the faculty. And then there was always the possibility of marriage... Maybe I deserved what I got, for thinking of things in such schoolgirlish terms.
The next day I was hoping that Jack would ask me over to his place again, but he didn't. I was sort of disappointed, but I figured that he had plenty to do, since Chemistry papers take a long time to grade, and he'd just given his students a quiz.
I've always kind of liked walking, and that evening, since I didn't have anything else to do, I took a walk. Since the restaurant that Jack had taken me to the night before had marked the beginning of such a happy evening, I guess without thinking I turned my steps in that direction.
I was walking by it on the far side of the street when I saw a couple appear on the opposite sidewalk. It was Jack with some blonde, and from the way he had his arm around her, it was pretty obvious what the dessert was going to be after they had dinner.
As they disappeared into the restaurant, I just stood there about to cry, staring at the door that they had just gone through. There they were in there where Jack and I had had such a wonderful time, and he was doubtless saying to her all the suave, cynical things that he had said to me!
I went home and threw myself on my bed and buried my face in my pillow and sobbed and sobbed. It's true that Jack had never said anything about loving me, but how could he take my virginity if he didn't!
"Well, girl," I said to myself, "I guess that that's what you get for playing around instead of waiting for marriage like your mother always said!"
The next day, I was rather cool with Jack, and when he suggested that maybe we could see each other again sometime that week, I said that I was busy, using a tone of voice which implied that I would probably always be busy whenever he asked me to go out. He went away shrugging his shoulders. I found it much more satisfying to leave him in the dark about why I was angry than go into a lot of accusations.
He never asked me out again after that, but the trouble was that having had a prick inside me once, I found masturbation terribly unsatisfactory as a sexual release. What's a little finger pressure-even when you can stick your fingers up your now hymen-less cunt-compared to a hard, throbbing cock? So as the weeks went by, I got hornier and hornier, to the point that I almost wished that I could swallow my pride and let Jack know that I was still available.
Then one evening, I had a student of mine over for tutoring. When kids can't quite hack the work, I sometimes invite them over in the evening to do a bit of extra work. If a lot of after-school sessions are going to needed, I charge the parents a bit of money. But usually, I'm willing to give up one or two evenings for free.
Bobby, who was just fifteen, was a bright boy but he just couldn't figure out the Ablative Absolute. I had him over and he was sitting next to me at my desk as I was explaining it to him and showing him examples of its use in the textbook.
As I glanced down at him-he was quite short for his age-I caught a glimpse of the crotch of his pants, and were they ever stuffed! He was wearing the kind of tight jeans that a lot of kids go in for, and I could see that once he tucked his prick and balls in there in the morning there wasn't much room to spare!
I glanced up at his face and tried not to think about his prick, but somehow I couldn't help myself wondering what it looked like. Was it circumcised? When it was erect? Was it good and long? Was it thick? There were so many things about that cock of his that I would have loved to know!
I concentrated harder and harder on the work we were doing so as to keep my mind off of Bobby's male tool. Guys had caused me enough heartache already, and besides, he was just a little boy.
But as I went on explaining the Ablative Absolute to Bobby, I found myself leaning over and placing my face very close to his as I spoke.
"Gee, Miss J.," he said, "I don't think that I'll ever understand this!" There was a note of real frustration and unhappiness in his voice, because he was good in his other subjects and didn't want Latin to pull his average down.
"Sure you will," I said, and without even thinking, I patted him lightly on the cheek.
He looked a bit surprised, so I took my hand away, and let it sort of trail down as if in a completely natural, unconcerned gesture, for I didn't want him to think that I thought that I had anything to hide. But by accident, my hand dropped down right onto his crotch. He looked amazed at that, but instead of letting go I gave his cock a squeeze.
"M-Miss J.!" he said with a gasp.
I later learned that that was the first time that a female had touched his meat.
"Don't worry Bobby," I said soothingly. Not that I felt very soothed inside myself, but I knew that I just couldn't let go of that cock of his. It felt so good there between my fingers!
I think my fingers felt pretty good to his cock, too! I mean, it really started to swell up under my touch, and strain hard against the denim, as if it wanted to be free so that it could poke up into my box and fire away in long, hot gushes!
None of this was planned, mind you, Doctor. I just felt compelled to touch his cheek, then rest my hand on his cock, and finally squeeze the thing into vibrant, turgid life!
After that first "Miss J.!" Bobby didn't say anything. From the expectant look on his face, I guessed that the reason for that was that he was really enjoying the hand action on his meat, and didn't want to risk having it interrupted. He was completely passive in my hands.
"I think that maybe we should take a break from the Ablative Absolute for a while, Bobby," I said gently. "Sometimes, something's clearer when you come back to it after leaving it alone for a while."
He just nodded his head quickly in agreement. Meanwhile, I was unbuttoning my blouse as slowly and seductively as possible. When it was unbuttoned, I pulled it back teasingly to expose my bra-covered breasts. All the while, I was squeezing his rod, which felt now like it was about to explode, at least as far as I could tell through the cloth.
As I exposed my tits, the tip of Bobby's tongue crept out of his mouth and wetted his lower lips. Gazing at those twin mounds of mine-even though they were still hidden by the bra was obviously giving him all sorts of ideas that featured my nipples and his tongue and lips. And knowing that made those nipples of mine swell up hard against the white fabric.
"Just a moment Bobby," I said, taking my hand off of his whanger. He didn't mind the interruption, since he saw that I was going to use both hands to undo my bra.
I guess men like watching strip-tease, seeing as there are so many strip-joints, and I bet the girls who perform like doing it. After all, it was such a fantastic turn-on for me to be taking my clothes off bit by bit in front of this panting teenager.
I reached my hands back and undid the hooks, while arching my body to throw my swollen tits into sharper relief against the almost bursting bra-fabric. Then, ever so slowly, I eased the garment off.
I was as tantalized by the slow strip as he was, I think. Certainly my poor, constrained tits would have liked me to give them their freedom.
Finally, I pulled the cups clear, and my globes flopped down onto my chest, while Bobby gasped in ecstasy at the sight of my hard pink nubs.
"Would you like to suck this, Bobby?" I asked as I held out one of my tits.
Would he like to suck my breasts? Would a kitten like cream? In a flash he had his lips around my left nipple and was sucking away on it almost as though he expected that if he sucked hard enough he would get milk out of it, though I'm sure that he knew better.
Meanwhile, I was rubbing the tits to get the circulation going again. They really swell up when I'm excited, and that bra had shrunk a bit, so it was sort of a tight fit. That made me think of another tight fit, however, and I decided that it was my duty to relieve it as fast as possible. I unzipped his jeans and pulled the underpants down, while his cock expanded to its full length.
Seeing as how he was only just fifteen, he certainly had a big rod. Not as huge as Jack's, but still a very respectable length, with a bushy growth of pubic hair around the base.
I ran my hand up and down the thing twice, but something about the way in which he shuddered as I did that, and about the way in which he gripped convulsively at my excited nipple with his lips, told me that if I gave him too much more of that action, I'd soon have him coming all over my hand. And that wasn't where I wanted his spunk!
I took my hand off of his shaft and started to play with his balls. I didn't know very much about male sexual response, but I could tell from the way in which he stayed relatively calm as I stroked his balls that they were a good deal less sensitive than his cock was.
My pussy was already awash, but so as to make it even soggier, I took one of his hands and guided it up under my skirt so that it could touch me there. It was really kind of fun to be the instructress this time. After all, when I'd been the pupil with Jack, he'd just sort of used me. But I wasn't going to "use" Bobby. I was going to give him one heck of a good bang, and I was going to make clear to him where we stood emotionally. I wasn't going to give him any false sense of security and then let him down like Jack had let me down. I was going to be considerate.
Being considerate was a good idea for later, but right now all I could concentrate on was the fantastic need I had for a come. I had to get that cock of his inside me, and I had to get it there now.
"Bobby," I said softly, "how would you like to fuck me?"
"Wow, Miss J.," he said with a whisper. He could obviously hardly believe his ears. As I said earlier, I found out afterwards that I was the first female he'd ever really had anything to do with physically, and I guess that that's why all this was making such an impression on him.
I took that to mean "yes", and got up from the chair, holding on to his cock as I did so. I led him by the prick to my bed, and lay down on the bed.
"M-Miss J.," he said, "I don't really know how."
"That's okay, just follow my instruction," I said gently. "Get on top of me. That's right Now, position your cock so that it's pointing at my hole."
Finding the hole wasn't too easy for him, and he kept prodding at my cuntlips looking for it. Finally, I reached down, took his cock in my hand, and positioned it.
"Now," I said, "shove your Penis into me."
In he went, bit by bit. He was obviously pretty nervous, but at the same time he was so incredibly hard that it was obvious that he was very, very excited, too.
Finally, his tool was resting all the way inside me.
"Move it back and forth now. That's it."
His first few strokes were really timid and not all that exciting. But already by the third or fourth one, he had picked up some more confidence and some more technique. He was shoving into me with firmer strokes, and picking up speed.
The thought that I was educating him, introducing him to the joys of sex, was almost as exciting as the feeling of that rod of his sliding back and forth inside my pussy.
Not that that wasn't plenty exciting! He was getting better and better with every stroke, and though the only experience I had ever had with a man's fucking was with Jack, Jack had been so satisfying in the prick department that I could use him as a standard to measure everyone else by.
In! Out! In! Out! Bobby was really quite assertive about the way in which he manipulated his whanger, but of course, he was still just a young boy, and there was something comforting about that fact, too.
Without my having to tell him, he had taken both of my tits in his hands and was rubbing and squeezing them with considerable finesse, at least, judging from the job that Jack had done on them.
Buck! Buck! Buck! He was really riding me now, really letting me have it.
"Bobby! You're so fine! So fine!" I gasped.
He didn't say anything, but there were little beads of sweat on his forehead. It was obvious that he was really concentrating on this fuck. It was his first one, and he was obviously absolutely determined to do a good job.
I was almost there... right on the brink...
right on the brink And then, suddenly, I cut loose with a great shudder that was enough to send him over the top. His cock started shooting away in fine, strong spurts, not as strong as the ones that I had gotten from Jack, but pretty nice, all the same.
He pressed his face against my shoulder as his boyhood emptied itself into me, while my cunt clutched desperately at him as if it never wanted that fine, hard ramrod to ever pull out of it.
At last he was finished, and he lay there with his cock still inside my cunt. I noticed with interest that he didn't seem to be in much of a hurry to go soft on me. It seemed obvious that he had plenty of potential in the bedroom department.
"At," I said finally with a smile, and the look in his eyes showed how relieved he was to hear that. He had no way of knowing that I had had almost as little sexual experience as he had, and apparently he had been afraid I wouldn't think that he measured up to other men that he imagined me having had.
"Now, Bobby," I added, "shall we get back to the Ablative Absolute?"
In fact, there were things that I was a lot more interested in than teaching Bobby Latin, but I figured that he needed time to rest up between shots. Although I had very strict parents, I once read a book on sex, so that I have a pretty good theoretical knowledge of it.
Bobby seemed to understand the material a lot better now. I guess that the fuck had cleared his head as well as his balls. It was really sort of funny, the two of us sitting there stark naked studying Latin grammar. I guess that sex has its lighter side.
The trouble was, as far as studying was concerned, that both of us were having a harder and harder time keeping our hands off of each other. I was the one who started things again, by moving my hand down to Bobby's prick and gently squeezing it. He responded by taking my right nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pressing it. The soft rosebud turned hard almost immediately, and I felt my clit stiffen up too.
I gave his cock another squeeze, and his other hand reached between my legs and cupped my pelvis, with the fingers pressing against my labia and clit. I wriggled on the chair and said, "don't you see, Bobby, in this sentence, "ensis, arma terribilis... " ensis serves the function of... " My voice trailed off. We were both turned on like hell now, and it was obvious that further concentration was absolutely impossible.
"Let's sixty-nine," I said.
"What's that?" he asked.
"It's fun. I'll show you," I replied. I was rather enjoying this role I was playing of a woman of vast sexual experience.
On my instructions, he lay down on one side on my bed. I lay down facing the other direction, of course.
"Oh, I think I know now what a sixty-nine is," he said, drawing his conclusions from the way we were positioned.
"Why don't you show me, then," I said, a bit like a teacher asking a pupil a question in class.
Slurp! His tongue slid quickly across the surface of my twat, while a shiver of delight went shooting up my spine.
"Very good!" I said, as I got ready to take his cock into my mouth. It was a fine cock, as I think I mentioned, with a big, fleshy knob on the end. I kissed the knob and the shaft several times, while feeling up the balls with my right hand. The balls pulled up as tight as they could go against the root of the penis. I slipped my lips over the end of the whanger and then took the whole thing in my eager mouth!
Despite the fact that Bobby regarded me as a calm experienced woman, the truth of the matter was that I was every bit as excited as he was. After all, I'd never done this sort of thing before!
I was able to figure out pretty quickly which things gave him the most pleasure, however, from the extra little stiffening or quiver that his cock would give when I did them. And I guess he was able to tell what was making my cunt happy in just the same way, since his tongue-technique was getting better and better with every lick.
Slurp! Slurp! Slurp! That tongue of his seemed to be everywhere on my cunt at once, teasing the labia, flicking the shuddering clit, probing my hole! And from the heavy breathing I could hear, I guessed that my female odors were really turning him on, and that he didn't want to miss any of it.
He sent hid tongue sliding on down into my vagina, pressing the tip of it against my cunt walls as he did so. It was a really weird and neat sensation to feel its pressure now there, now there, as he slid on, and on, and on, into me.
Then, suddenly, he pulled his tongue back into his mouth with a loud slurping noise. It was obvious that he had decided to do that so as to carry as much of the pussy-fluid into his mouth as possible. I guess the taste of it turned him on just about as much as the smell of my vagina did.
All of this was having quite an effect down there between my legs, I can tell you! My cunny kept getting hotter and hotter, like it was being heated in an oven, and my back kept arching in little spasms as every new lap of his tongue sent great new pussy sensations up my spine.
He was doing such a fine job on my cunt that I really felt I had to try my hardest on his cock, though I guess I would have done that anyway.
I figured that the more variety I gave him, the more excited he would be. So to change the pace, I would first move my lips back so that only the knob of his prick was in my mouth. That let me suck away on the place where knob and shaft joined, which, I learned quickly from his responses, was a very, very sensitive place. Then, I would slide my lips way, way down so that all the sucking involved the root of his prick, while the end of it reached on almost to the back of my mouth where my throat was. Or I would slide my lips up and down along his hard meat in an effort to simulate fucking. Or even take my lips off of his cock altogether for a moment and suck on his balls for a while.
I wanted to gasp out to him some indication of what a fine job he was doing on my cunt, but my mouth was busy with other things, so all I could do was redouble my efforts on his prick in the hope that he would understand what I meant.
My twat was really on fire now, despite the fact that it was also awash with pussy fluid. I just couldn't stand the come-need any longer, but of course I wanted it to continue too, and with what I guess must have been a sort of instinctive sense of this, Bobby really kept me hanging fire. Every time that he had built me up right to the edge of my come, he'd shift his attention to some less sensitive spot like the outer lips to give me a chance to cool down just a tiny bit.
Suck! Suck! Suck! I was drawing on his cock like it was a cigarette, though what I wanted out of it was a good deal wetter than smoke.
Suddenly, I felt his rod give a sort of extra little stiffening, and I guessed that this meant he was going to fire. He knew that too, because at just that very moment he pressed his tongue hard against my clit.
Bingo! That was IT! My cunt suddenly unwound like a breaking watch spring: Grrrrrrrrr! And his cock was shooting too, shooting its cream against the back of my mouth as my pelvis bucked and heaved with the force of my come.
For the life of me I didn't know what was better, the feeling of my pussy getting rid of all its tension-overload at once, or the feeling of that cock of his quivering between my tightly-pressed lips as the sperm hit the back of my mouth.
Considering it was his second shot, he sure had a lot of the stuff. Not that I had anything to judge it by, but I had just sort of assumed that a guy would be pretty played out by the first one. But Bobby was really letting me have it. There was jism everywhere: under my tongue, between my cheeks and my teeth, dribbling down my throat and nearly making me gag-everywhere!
Wham! Wham! Wham! My pelvis was really bucking to the force of my come, and he had his face pressed against the damp pussy-flesh, riding with the come, revelling in the feeling of my totally female release.
I guess I stopped at about the same time he did, and this time, we weren't able to gasp for breath like we had after the fuck, since I still had his prick in my mouth and didn't want to lose any of the spunk, while he was still licking away at my twat. So we both wheezed and panted through our noses, though I guess for him that wasn't so bad, seeing as he like twat-smell so much.
As last, I slid my lips off of his cock, taking great care not to spill anything. He stopped licking, realizing that it would be hopeless to try and lick my pussy dry, seeing as the more he licked, the more cunt-juice I produced.
I sloshed the sperm around in my mouth, and then swallowed it with a gulp.
We were both pretty well played out, so we got dressed. Before letting Bobby leave, I explained to him very carefully that although I really enjoyed him as a physical partner, I didn't feel that we should get emotionally involved in any way. I did this because I wanted to keep my options open for other possible bedmates without him feeling betrayed like I had when I had learned that Jack was still playing the field. He understood and agreed with me.
He and I fucked a couple more times that week, but he often had to be home after school for one reason or another. But two days after I fucked him, another boy in my class came up to me.
"Miss J.," he said, "I'm having some real trouble with the deponent verbs. I was wondering if I could come see you after school and talk with you about them.
Normally, I wouldn't have thought anything at all about a request like that, since I got them all the time. But Frank, the boy in question, was one of the very best students I had in my class. It was impossible for me to believe that he was really having trouble.
I was about to say something like "you're having trouble with the deponent verbs?" when it dawned on me what the score was: Bobby must have told him about the fun and games he and I had had together, and Frank had decided that he wanted to be cut in on the action.
I was of two minds about that. On one hand, the idea of having more than one partner was quite exciting, and it would keep me from getting too emotionally involved with any one of them. On the other hand, if word really got around too much, it might get all the way to the principal's office, and there I'd be, out on the street, without much hope of ever finding another teaching job.
I couldn't tell Frank not to tell Bob and my secret without first finding out if he really knew it, since he'd be able to guess it from my making request like that. After all, for some odd reason or another, he might really be having trouble with the deponent verbs. So , I told him to come on over to my place that evening.
When we started reviewing the material, I soon got the impression that he understood it perfectly well, and was trying to make up ignorant-sounding questions.
Frank," I said, "you don't seem to be having any difficulty with this stuff, so why did you come over here?"
"I... uh... don't know what you m-mean, Miss J.," he said.
"Did you come over because of something that Bobby said?" He blushed frantically. That was all the answer I needed.
"Frank," I said, "I know what Bobby said, and I'd like you to keep it a secret. If you do, I'll have something nice for you."
"Okay, Miss J.," he said, "you can count on me."
"And you can count on me," I said, unbuttoning my blouse.
Frank liked me, and probably would have kept a promise not to tell on Bobby and me even if I hadn't gotten it out of him with a promise to fuck him. But since he already knew my secret, I didn't see any reason who I shouldn't give both of us a good time.
I quickly unhooked my bra and took off my skirt.
"Why don't you help me off with my panties?" I said gently.
With trembling fingers, he pulled the garment down to expose my twat. I guess by tenth grade, most of the boys still haven't had that much real experience with girls, if you know what I mean, so they're pretty nervous.
After I was undressed, I helped him out of his clothes, and noted with approval that he had a fine cock, long and hard-looking. It was the third penis I'd ever seen, and I was intrigued by the fact that none of the three had really looked that much like the other two. I wondered if pricks were like fingerprints, with no two alike. It certainly seemed like a possibility.
"Would you like me to give you some advice on fucking?" I asked.
Frank nodded. He was really quite nervous, and I was afraid that if I left the responsibility for the fuck up to him, he might get so nervous as to lose pressure. And presumably a failure like that on his first fuck wouldn't do too much for his confidence in future fucks.
I remembered a position in this sex-book that I told you about which seemed like it would allow me to take complete control of the fuck, so that he could just lie back and enjoy things. Later on he could graduate to the active role, after he'd gained a bit of confidence and the newness of fucking had worn off somewhat.
"Would you like me to top-ride you?" I asked. The book had said that that was what the position was sometimes called.
"Whatever you think is best, Miss J.," Frank said.
"Okay. Then lie back on the bed flat on your back."
He did so, and I got up on the bed with him, placing a knee on either side of his hips.
"Hold your penis up with one hand. That's it," I said encouragingly. Then, as he held his cock up in the air like some kind of maypole, I lowered myself down on top of it.
When the tip of the whanger touched me, I wiggled my body around a bit, so that the tip presses and rubbed my labia. Then, I slid on down so that the head of the thing was actually inside me.
"Okay, you can let go now," I said. Then, I rotated my hips, and of course, that rotated his cock, too, while also causing the knob of his penis to exert a certain pressure against my cunt walls.
Frank looked like he was enjoying that, but he also looked a bit perplexed. It suddenly occurred to me that he thought that maybe this was all there was to fucking. He clearly must have almost no experience at all, or for that matter, even accurate knowledge.
That made me feel kind of good to be fucking with someone who knew less about fucking than I did, since of course my own experience was pretty limited.
Well, anyway, I was going to show him that there was a lot more to fucking than what he had seen so far, that was for sure. I stopped rotating my hips, and then slid on down some more, taking his rod inside me.
Down... down... down It was really a kind of strange experience to be directing the fuck like this, to be determining how much of his cock would go into me.
Finally, I had the thing all the way in, and I noticed with a twinge of excitement that the tip of his rod was actually pressing against the entrance to my womb. I jiggled up and down on him a bit, in the hope of increasing the sensation, but since it just touched, there wasn't much effect from that.
There were plenty of effective things that I could do, however, starting with some up and down motion. I raised myself up on my knees, and then went on down again. Up... down... up... down...
A big smile spread over his face, and it was obvious that he thought that this must be what fucking is really like.
I was going faster now, faster and faster, and at that moment, he reached up to fondle my dangling tits. That was a nice sensation for me, too, the way in which he pushed them around and made them swing. So I converted the motion of my body into more of a forward-back than an up-down affair.
This was just so fine, being in the driver's seat! I was really enjoying that aspect of it, though of course what I was enjoying more was the feeling of hard male meat inside my body!
I was getting wound up tighter and tighter... I knew that I would be coming soon...
Forward! Back! Forward! Back!
Suddenly, I felt his prick give a funny little extra stiffening inside my cunt and then start to shoot! The feeling of it quivering and trembling inside me was enough to send me over the top, and I started coming in great, heaving shudders, while he continued to fire!
Come! Come! Come! Come!
So Fine! So goddam, freaking me!
When we were done, I lifted myself off of his cock, and as I did so, I felt some of the cock juice flow out and down the inside of my thigh. That wasn't any problem, though. I just took my finger, scraped it off, and licked the finger clean.
Later on, we sixty-nined, and did some other stuff.
I told Bobby later to be careful not to spread the word any further of what we had been up to, and he admitted that he had already told two other boys besides Frank. So I brought them into the club too. Not that I minded. They both had good, hard cocks, and that's enough for me!
But lately, Doctor, for some reason or other, I've started to worry about all this. I mean, what if someone finds out? And what is all this craving of mine for young boys about, anyway? Even when the four I fuck with have moved on up to the next class, and no longer have any excuse for their parents to let them come over to my house without it looking suspicious, I'm sure that now that I've had a taste of boy-prick I'll just have to go out and recruit replacements, and someday, someone's bound to blab! That's why I came to you, doctor.
Miss J. case is a good one to begin this study with, because she has so many characteristics that are typical of the woman who goes in for sex with young boys.
First and foremost is sexual frustration. In her case, this is actual deprivation, made more keen by the way in which Jack whetted her appetite. If this were all that lay behind her pedophilic behavior, there would clearly be nothing for the therapist to do but counsel her to have other sexual experiences. But such is clearly not the case with Miss J. She speaks of her "craving for young boys," and there is much in her narrative to make one think that this is an accurate description. In other words, she much -prefers boys to full grown men. Why?
She alluded several times to her strict parents, and further questioning in later sessions indicated that hers was a home where sex was an utterly taboo subject. As so often happens in such situations, she developed a secret fear of it, and this made her standoffish (thus ensuring her sexual deprivation, since her manner repelled boys).
At the same time, she has strong heterosexual desires, and there was thus born in her a strong conflict between sexual hunger and sexual repression. She herself alludes above to the two voices within her, one of which seemed to be saying "fuck!" and the other, "don't".
When open expression of sexual curiosity and feelings are severely repressed in the home, as they were in this case, the developing child transfers his sexual feelings into elaborate fantasies and sublimations. A sexually repressed child often develops an exaggerated picture of love and romance, which stands in opposition to the taboo and feared "sex" but is off course simply a sublimation of the latter. Prince Charming will come, but he won't have a lance. (Though the lance is paradoxically also desired.) In Miss J., we see this process very clearly. Her fears about sex have left her in substantial ignorance as to how men and women relate to each other. Thus, she completely misjudges Jack and his interest in her, assuming it to be the beginning of some great romance, rather than a casual one-night stand. It is hard to say how far he may have deliberately mislead her, though he never once seems to have said he loved her. Her fantasy simply supplied that during their evening together.
The destruction of this romantic fantasy (when she saw him with another woman) was a terrible blow to her, and strengthened her repressed belief that sex was dangerous and men threatening. But due to her strong sexual desires (notice how she overtly fantasized about having relations with Jack before the beginning of her date with him), she was unable to go back to safe masturbation.
Boys provided an attractive substitute. They were male, they had penises, and thus they could satisfy her physical need. But their teacher meant that she was in a position of authority and dominance in regard to them from the word go. Note how she revelled in the fact that she knew more about sex than they did, and at the fact that she was now "in the driver's seat."
It should be very obvious from the above that Miss J. is a very inhibited and repressed person who needs extensive psychotherapy if she is ever to be able to enter into an emotionally rewarding relationship with any male, whatever his age. The paradox of a case such as hers it that while there is a great yearning for love and romance, there is no real understanding of what love means, due to inhibitions and lack of experience. It's all surface, so to speak (which is partly why she was so easily taken in by Jack.) Without therapy, Miss J. would presumably go from boy to boy, until caught, or maybe forever, but without daring to get really close to any of them, much less to a full-grown man. It is this business of not being able to get close of not being able to relate to other people of the opposite sex, which is the real problem, rather than the pedophilic sex per se, which is not doing any harm by itself to anyone, least of all to the boys.
In therapy, various details of her repressed and unloved childhood came out, and she was soon able to relate more positively to the boys she was having sex with. The next step was to eliminate her fear of grown men, so that whether or not she decided to continue with the pedophilic sex, she would at least have the option of a different kind of relationship. Relationship, you notice, not just sex, for a person who has sex without emotion is missing the best part.
Some progress has been made at eliminating her fears in regard to adult men, but the going is rather slow. I have considerable confidence of success in the long run, however.
CASE HISTORY TWO
Mrs. Roberta M. was a very attractive, rather elegantly dressed brunette of thirty-eight. The effect of her well matched ensemble and pretty face was marred, however, by the obvious distress and unhappiness that was Written all over her face.
"I'm here because I have to be Doctor," she said, on the point of tears. "I don't think I'd have ever gotten up the courage to come otherwise. And I just do not know how I'm going to get the courage to tell you about what I've been doing."
"Well," I said, "let's proceed bit by bit. What do you mean when you say that you have to be here?"
"My husband Bill said that he'd divorce me if I didn't see a therapist."
"Divorce you? On what grounds?"
"Adultery. And he said that that would mean that the boy would have to appear in court too. That dear, dear boy. And his parents would never understand, I just know that they wouldn't!"
"What boy is this, now?"
"David R. He's a good friend of my son. And I don't know what my son would say if he knew what I'd been doing. So I have to come. And I'll have to tell everything, and I'm so ashamed!"
"Now, Mrs. M.," I said, "maybe in therapy we can find out if you really do "have" to do things that you don't want to do. But I wish that instead of looking on me as some sort of enemy waiting to hear every last 'shameful' thing that you've done, why don't you try and see me more as someone who would like to help you. If you tell me all about what happened, maybe I can enable you to see that it doesn't happen again, if you don't want it to. And if you do want it to happen again, maybe with my help you won't feel so damn guilty."
"You're right Doctor," she said, "but it's still hard. You see, what I do is fuck with David, like I suggested when I said that my husband was threatening to charge me with adultery. My husband walked in on us, you see, and it was so humiliating... "
"Perhaps you'd like to begin at the beginning," I suggested, "and tell the whole story, with all the details. Then, we'll see what we can do about it."
"All right, Doctor," she said, and then she began...
My husband Louis is a good enough man, I guess, but he's sort of a bully. You know the kind. Everything has to be done just the way that he wants it, and he's always right about everything. And to make matters worse, he's been having more and more trouble keeping his cock stiff, lately. I say "to make matters worse", because every time he loses pressure in the middle of a fuck, he's kind of mean to me for the rest of the week.
Now about three months ago, my son Bill transferred to another school. That was where he met Dave, who's this really nice kid his age, that is, fourteen. They became really good friends, bicycle riding together and doing that sort of thing. I like my kid to have lots of friends, so I always tried to be nice to Dave, offering him a Coke when he's over visiting Bill, and doing things like that.
It's funny that the two boys are friends, since they're so unlike. Bill is sort of talkative, while Dave is really quiet and shy. And they look really different, too. Bill is blond and tall, Dave's dark-haired and smaller.
Now the funny thing was that I found myself more and more interested in Dave. I mean, I'd like to watch him doing things, particularly things that require exertion. For instance, he and Bill played ping-pong, and I liked watching them, and seeing little Dave hopping about here and there returning the shots.
Well, one day he and Bill were taking turns shooting some baskets. We have this basketball hoop over the garage door, and they were taking turns throwing a basketball into it. Well, I was watching the game out the kitchen window, and since it was kind of hot, Dave took his shirt off.
As he jumped up to throw the ball in the hoop, I could see that he was glistening with sweat from the exertion and the hot weather. And that wasn't the only thing that was wet, either. I noticed with a kind of shock that my pussy was getting very, very damp, and that my panties were really starting to cling to my cuntlips. That made them sort of chafe, but I didn't exactly mind that. In fact, I found it kind of exciting.
Up Dave jumped, time and time again, the sweat running down his ribs, and his muscles rippling. Like I said, he's sort of small, but he's kind of a wiry little guy, if you know what I mean. And there's one place where he isn't small at all, but I'll come to that later.
Bill had also taken his shirt off, but although he has a really fine body, I had eyes only for Dave, of course.
Without really noticing what I was doing, I sent my hand down to my crotch (I was wearing slacks) and started to squeeze and knead myself there.
"What on earth?" I said to myself, suddenly pulling my hand away. I hadn't even realized what I was doing, though I didn't have anything against masturbation as such, seeing as my husband's sexual feebleness makes it necessary if I'm to have any sexual fun at all.
What shocked me was the fact that I was beating off while looking at a young boy, and a friend of my son's.
I turned back to my dishes, and tried to forget about young Dave out there, but the "thump" of the basketball against the garage kept reminding me of his presence. I glanced back but the window, and as soon as I saw him there, leaping in the air like some trout, my cunt began to get all wet again.
I reached my hand in between my pants and panties, and started to caress my cunt through the nylon, which by now was thoroughly soaked.
I was getting more and more turned on, and now only part of it was the sight of Dave out there. The presence of my hand pressing against my cuntlips was also responsible for a good deal of how I felt.
Fortunately, Dave and Bill were too engrossed in their game to pay any attention to the kitchen window. Not that they could have seen below my waist, but I'm sure the expression on my face would have been kind of a giveaway.
Knead... knead... knead... knead My cunt was blazing hot now, I was giving little whimpers of excitement, and still my fingers continued to pry and prod.
Then, suddenly, I started coming in a series of great, gasping heaves, with my pelvis trembling as I forced my hand against it as hard as it would go.
Then, as the passion drained out of me, I felt kind of ashamed. I went back to doing my dishes, and didn't pay any attention to the thumping of the basketball.
That night, Louis fucked me, or tried to. Talk about a washout! And to make matters worse, he mumbled something about how it was "all my fault."
"With the kind of non-stimulation a guy gets from you, he's lucky he doesn't fall asleep, let alone have a bit of temporary trouble with his prick!"
"Temporary" or not, Louis didn't make any further effort to fuck me that night, and I was glad of it. As I lay there in bed next to him, I thought about how nice it would be to be married to someone who was a nice guy and good in the prick department, too.
Then, the thought occurred to me how nice it would be to be married to Dave. I knew that he was a nice guy, and I couldn't help imagining for some reason that he'd be quite a stud. Little, but with tremendous staying power.
It was a silly thought, of course, since Dave was more than twenty years younger than me, but that didn't prevent me from dreaming about Dave that night. You guessed it. In the dream, he was shooting these baskets one after another, without ever getting tired. His body was glistening with sweat, and as he turned in the air like a young trout, his muscles rippled.
The dream came back the following night, and the night after that, too. And in the daytime, I kept longing for Dave to come over and visit my son, so that I could get a look at him.
Gradually, I began to want more and more to fuck the little fellow. And I even started to try and think of ways I could manage that, though obviously that wouldn't be very easy, since I wouldn't want either my husband or my son to know.
Then, one day, I overheard Dave say to Bill that he had to go into town that afternoon to the dentist, and it was going to be a real drag, because his mother had gotten sick and wouldn't be able to drive him in. Bus service from our suburb to town is pretty lousy, too.
"Why don't I drive you, Dave?" I asked. "I'm going into town too, and I could give you a lift."
In fact, I wasn't planning on going into town until I heard that Dave needed a lift. I knew that Bill wouldn't be able to accompany us, since he had a piano lesson right in the middle of the afternoon.
"Gee, thanks, Mrs. M." he said. And a couple of hours later we were driving into town. I dropped him off at the dentist, and then killed time until my supposed errands were over and his appointment was through.
"Would you like a soda or something?" I asked. "I sort of feel like one myself."
He said he would, and we stopped in a drug store for sodas. Then, we headed back out of town.
It was pretty much now or never, and I decided to swing into action.
"Boy, it's really hot in this old bucket, isn't it?" I said. Our car isn't air-conditioned.
Dave agreed that it was pretty hot, even though all the windows were down.
"Whew," I said. "This dress is really hot!" And I unbuttoned a button on my blouse. Dave was leaning partly against the door, so he couldn't help seeing me do that.
We drove on a bit more, and I made another comment about the heat. Then I said, "you know, you guys have no idea how hot women's clothing is!"
"Really?"
"Uh huh."
"I'd have thought it would have been rather cool."
"Not on your life. Take a dress. All the hot air gets trapped underneath it."
(I'd just invented that out of whole cloth, but that didn't mean that I didn't feel hot under my dress for different reasons!) "I didn't know that," he said, genuinely curious. At his age, anything about women is probably pretty fascinating, and I think he may have even been a bit turned on by this talk of women's clothing. I thought I could detect a bulge under his crotch, though of course I could only spare a quick glance, seeing as I had to pay attention to the road as well.
"You don't mind, do you?" I said, as I pulled my skirt up part way. It was sort of voluminous, so it was easy for me to bunch up, leaving my legs, exposed up to above the beginning of the welts on my stockings. I've heard that stockings really turn guys on.
"N-no, of course not," he stammered. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that he was staring like crazy at my stockings.
"Boy, it's hot," I said for the umpteenth time, and hitched my skirt up some more, so that the tops of my stockings and my garter-straps were showing. I could hear Dave pant kind of loudly. I undid another button, and then another one after that, while the panting got more and more desperate. I could guess from the way he was fidgeting around in his seat that he was very anxious to get somewhere alone where he could beat off thinking about what he'd seen. After all, I'm not so bad looking, and I imagine he'd never seen as much of any other female except maybe in pictures.
"Maybe I should see a doctor," I said. "My thermostat seems to be all out of whack. It's a good thing I'm with a friend who doesn't mind it if I act a bit casual," I pulled my dress all the way up so that my panties were fully exposed, and then I pulled the panties down. I saw Dave's jaw drop open, as he gazed at my totally exposed pubic bush.
"Wouldn't you like to loosen your clothes a bit?" I asked him, stroking his knee. "I'd have thought it would get awfully hot in there where it's so tight and restricting," I added, feeling up his prick through the crotch of his pants.
"It-it doesn't really... much... " he stammered, trying to make up his mind how to react to this new situation which he obviously found both frightening and exciting. "Are you sure it doesn't."
"Well, it does a bit," he admitted, obviously having decided to go for broke. I admired his nerve. He saw what I was doing, and he didn't want to pass up the opportunity that was being offered.
"I've heard it's very bad for men to be too hot there," I said. "It can make them sterile, and even cause cancer. That part of the body is very delicate on men, just like its equivalent is with women."
"Oh really? Sterility and Cancer?" he said, trying to sound as if he believed me.
"Uh huh. Let's go up this side road and you can get comfortable."
The side road was an old, disused sort of lane leading past bushes up to an abandoned farmhouse. As I turned the car in there I placed one hand on my exposed pussy, pulling the lips apart slightly.
"Mmm, that breeze feels good," I said. "Particularly when it gets way on in there!" And I slouched down in the seat so that he could see more of my twat, while I pulled the lips way, way apart.
He was just about half mad with horniness, I guess (as I was) because as soon as I stopped the car, he really tore open his fly.
We both knew by now what it was that we wanted, so there wasn't any need to go on playing games. I grabbed his underpants and hauled him down, then clutched at the cock as it expanded to its full, unhampered size.
I glued my lips to his and started to French. He seemed a bit confused by that at first, and then he responded enthusiastically, pressing his tongue against mine.
That cock felt so good in my hand, and his hands felt so good on my right breast and pussy, which was where he placed them almost immediately. I guess my strange strip routine had really gotten him worked up, and now that the first step had been taken in the way of physical contact, he was willing to really let himself go-He pushed one finger into my cunt, while using his thumb to rub and chafe my labia. The other hand had already turned my nipple into a throbbing passion-nub, but that didn't prevent the stimulation from going on like crazy.
"Stick it in me!" I gasped suddenly, pulling my mouth from his. "I've got to have your meat inside me!"
I lay back on the seat, and he positioned himself. I guess he did know that much about sex, even though I was the first female he'd ever had.
Fucking in a car isn't nearly as easy as it's supposed to be, but Dave is inventive and imaginative, so he solved a lot of the problem by pushing open one of the doors. This let our feet stick out (remember, it was a deserted lane), and gave us much more room generally.
The steering wheel was a bit of a problem, but Dave suggested we change positions. In other words, that we place our heads where the door nearest the front passenger was. All the while we were kissing and feeling each other up like mad, so getting turned around wasn't all that easy (and the change meant that we had to open the other door), but finally we were in position, and it was much more comfortable for Dave not to have the steering wheel prodding him in the shoulders.
We were almost out of our minds with come-need by now, what with all the feeling up and delay, but man, when satisfaction came, don't think it wasn't fine!
Dave must have read a lot of dirty books or something, since though he later told me that I was his first woman, he really seemed to know what to do. As he continued to kiss me, he pressed his cock against my labia, and then shoved it on in.
I hadn't had too much of a chance to look at his tool, but it sure felt all right as he slid it in and began to buck.
In! Out! In! Out! In! Out! He was really laying it into me, really heaving away with fast, hard strokes, and don't think that that wasn't a great change from my husband, who starts going soft pretty soon after he gets in. Dave felt like an iron bar. And the confident way in which he worked his rod inside me showed that he wasn't afraid that any trouble might occur.
Buck! Buck! Buck! Buck! The charade in the car, with me pulling my skirt up and all, had gotten me so turned on already that it wasn't long before he had me right on the edge of my come. He was pressing my breasts in time to the thrusts, and the result was a feeling of being "totally fucked" if you know what I mean.
Almost there... almost... almost... almost...
Then... then... then Hanging... on... the... brink... THRUST!
THAT WAS IT! I was coming! coming! COMING! My whole body felt like it was going to tear itself apart as the come ripped through it in convulsion after convulsion after convulsion after convulsion that had my pussy gripping frantically at Dave's fourteen-year-old tool!
And that tool was shooting into me twice as hard as Louis ever was able to! Spurt! Spurt! Spurt!
Finally we were both finished, and panted and gasped for air like a couple of beached whales.
"Boy, that was really something," I said to him. "You're awfully good."
"Thanks... " Both of us sounded pretty nervous and ill at ease, I guess. Now that the excitement had died down, we felt a bit embarrassed by the oddity of the situation. I mean, here I was, his friend's mother and a woman two and a half times his own age, and I'd gone and seduced him. Of course, he'd gone and given me the best fuck that I'd ever had in my life, but that was another matter.
"You know, I hope you won't tell anyone about this," I said.
"I promise."
"Would you like to seal that with a kiss?"
"Okay," he said.
He reached his lips forward, but I suddenly had a better idea.
"How about kissing me between my legs?" I said.
His eyes really lit up at that, and it was obvious that he found the idea quite a turn-on. I figured that some more sex would keep his from brooding about having fucked his best friend's mother, and besides, I was curious as to what it would be like to have my cunt licked. Louis always refuses to do that, saying it isn't manly. Which is a pity, because oral sex would be a nice solution for his potency problems.
I felt Dave's lips press against my labia and rub back and forth as he slipped his tongue into my vagina. There was no question about it, the boy obviously had a natural aptitude for sex.
He obviously felt that the "kiss" should be extended somewhat, and he continued to browse around down there. Then, he started to stroke my twat with his tongue, while sniffing loudly through his nose.
"Do you like what you smell down there?" I was genuinely curious to know what the answer would be. It seemed that he must, but at the same time, all the ads we women are exposed to now for female sprays indicate that we shouldn't smell down there.
"Do I like it?" he said. "Wow, Mrs. M., it's so female and nice!"
So much for Madison Avenue!
He obviously found sniffing nice, but licking even better, because his tongue was really busily running all over my pussy. Even though I'd already had one come not too long before, I felt good and ready for another one after just these few minutes of being licked by Dave. That wasn't too surprising, though, if you consider that I almost literally never get a good come from my husband.
His tongue slid back and forth over my labia, and then flicked my clit a couple of times. That led to such a violent shudder running through my body, that I thought for a moment that I was coming, and I think that he did too. He eased up on the licking for a bit to give me a chance to cool down, and then slipped his tongue way on down into my pussy, rubbing it around and pulling it into his mouth so as to get plenty of pussy fluid there.
I was pressing and mashing both of my tits now, and tweaking my nipples. I just couldn't believe how turned on I was down there between my legs. My back was arching, I was breathing in short little gasps, and then suddenly Blam! I was coming again, my pelvis bucking and heaving just as hard as it did the first time, and even as my cunt shuddered with the force of my come, Dave continued to lick away with that busy little tongue of his!
"Uh! Uh! Uh! Uhhhh!" I gasped as the come washed through me.
"Have a nice time, Mrs. M.?" he asked. He really asked that with genuine tenderness and concern for my pleasure in his voice. He's such a dear boy. So considerate. Billy's like him in that respect, though of course in most regards the two boys are very dissimilar.
"I bet that must have gotten you sort of turned on," I said. And a glance in his direction indicated that it most certainly had. His cock was already hard again, despite the fact that it had had a come only a few minutes before.
"Goodness," I thought, "if he's this virile at fourteen, what on earth will he be like at eighteen?"
"I feel kind of horny, Mrs. M., but if you've had all the sex you want, I'm sure I can get by."
"Oh, don't you worry about that!" I said. "I'll do the equivalent thing to your prick that you did to my cunt. Then next time we can do it together in a sixty-nine."
"Gee, that sounds nice."
"It is."
I bend over his prick and stroked it with my hand a couple of times. This was the first really good look that I'd gotten of the thing, and I had to admit that it looked pretty good. It was rather thin, but very, very long, and the knob was particularly well developed. Around the base, there was lots and lots of nice male moss growing. The balls were pulled up tight against the prickroot, too.
Now sucking prick is something that I know about, since although Louis won't lick my cunt for me, he does like to have me suck his prick. In fact, I'm so good at it, that I can often keep him hard longer than he stays hard in my cunt, and even bring him to orgasm. So I figured that I should be able to give Dave a pretty good time.
I gave a couple of kisses to his prick-knob, and then licked up and down the shaft, until the thing was glistening with saliva. I fastened my lips around the rod sideways, and sucked, creating a sort of pressure sensation. Then, I decided that it was time to move on to the real matter at hand (or maybe matter "at mouth" would be more descriptive), and I slipped my lips over the thing.
"Mmmm," he said as he felt my lips slide up and down along his. whanger. Then, I ran my tongue along the shaft while continuing to keep it in my mouth.
"Feels pretty fine," he said, his breath starting to come a bit quicker. He had obviously gotten really worked up while eating me out, and now the presence of my lips around his tool was almost more of a turn-on than he could bear.
I sucked away at the base of his prick, and then moved my lips up to suck at the place where knob and shaft joined. All the while, I was fingering the balls, poking them gently in the tight, hairy little sack. (For a boy his age, he sure had a lot of pubic hair!) I felt his hips tremble, felt him wiggle around on the car seat, as I continued to suck. I was feeling sort of turned on by all this (I'm quite multi-orgasmic, you know) but I decided against fingering myself to another come. I felt sort of exhausted in that department, to tell the truth.
Suck! Suck! Suck! Then, I felt the cock give an extra little stiffening, and I knew it was about to fire. One last rub of my tongue, and it was shooting away, gushing on up into my mouth in good hard throbbing spurts. I sloshed the sperm around the slowly-softening dick after the latter was finished, and then I eased my mouth off of Dave's whanger and swallowed the jism. It had been quite a day.
We got dressed, and I pulled the car back out onto the highway. On the rest of the trip, I certainly didn't feel "hot" any more!
"Would you really like to do some more of what we did today, Dave?" I asked.
"You bet, Mrs. M." he said.
"Well, we'll have to find some time when we'll be alone. How about next Saturday at three?"
That was fine with him, and I found it pretty hard to wait while the rest of the week passed. Saturday came at last, however, and both my husband and my son were away from the house. Dave came on over promptly at three, and we headed straight into the bedroom, where we quickly undressed each other.
"Gee, Mrs. M.," Dave said, "you have such a beautiful body,"
"You'd like to stick your prick in that body, wouldn't you, Dave?" I said with a smile."
"You're not kidding!"
"How about lets start off with something a bit different. How about it if you get behind me and fuck me like a dog?"
"Anything you say Mrs. M.," he replied. "You know a lot more about fucking than I do, and your ideas last time we were together were sure outasight!"
I got on my hands and knees, and he positioned himself behind me. As I think I said before, he has an awful lot of natural aptitude, so that even though the position was unfamiliar to him, he started in with plenty of really nice foreplay.
He began the fun and games by kissing the cheeks of my ass. Then, he reached forward and stroked and caressed my dangling tits, teasing and pinching the nipples until they had swollen up to about three times their normal size. My nipples really erect like crazy when someone gets them going properly, and he sure knew how to do that!
Then, he poked gently at my cunt with his whanger. He knew where the hole was, of course, since it was in full view, and besides, he'd had plenty of practice finding it just a few days before, but he played like he didn't know how to find it, pressing the tip of his tool against my labia and throbbing clit.
Then he positioned his rod with the tip of it inside the entrance to my twat.
"Let me have it, Dave, let me have it!" I gasped. All that foreplay-action had gotten me wound up tighter than a drum.
He waited just a second or two longer. It was obvious that he instinctively understood how a woman likes to be teased by being made to wait. He also understood not to carry the game on too far.
He jiggled the prick-tip back and forth inside the entrance to my cunt, then slid on in with a fine, firm thrust.
"Mmmm, nice," I said.
He pressed home as far as he could go, so that the tip of his tool was touching the entrance to my womb. Then, back out he started to slide, going very slowly.
I gave a sigh as I felt my cunt try and clutch at his prick, felt my labia rub against the shaft as it went sliding on out. Then, he rammed it back home again.
Obviously this time he wanted to experiment with the idea of gradually building up tempo. He was going in almost slow motion at first, but that didn't mean that his penis wasn't giving my twat plenty of pleasure. There was something really tantalizing and delightful about feeling the long thin thing glide back and forth with those easy, measured paces.
He had his hands on my tits, of course, and was really giving them the kind of workout a woman likes. He started out by pressing them up against my chest. Then, he let go, so that they flopped down heavily. After that, he took hold of each nipple, and pulled the two breasts way out in opposite directions before allowing them to flop back together again. None of this really hurt. It was just wildly exciting.
In! Out! In! Out! He had picked up a good deal of speed, now, and was really giving it to me.
He continued to press my tits, while I gasped and panted. I just had to come... just had to come...
Miraculously, though, he was managing to hold me on the edge of my blast-off, managing to keep might right on the brink, going out of my mind with come-need.
Buck! Buck! Buck! Buck!
Then, my body tensed and suddenly released itself in a series of convulsive shudders, while he fired his load way on up into me.
After that, we had a delicious sixty-nine. He was the one who reminded me that I had promised to show him how to sixty-nine.
We positioned ourselves on the bed, with him kneeling over me. I was just about to put my lips around that big, juicy cock of his when he lifted his hips up with a laugh, pulling the thing out of the way. Then he lowered it, and just as I thought I had my mouth on it, he moved it away again. I was going frantic in my desire for that thing, so next time I moved faster, and was able to place my teeth lightly behind the knob. Not so that it hurt or anything, but firmly enough to prevent him from playing any more of that tantalizing little game. Another laugh of his told me that he knew I'd won, and that he wouldn't be trying to pull his cock out of reach again.
That meant that I could relax my hold, and get on with the business at hand, which was, of course, sucking his rod until it spurted forth its load of boy cream.
The thing felt so damn good in my mouth! I slid my lips up and down its length, then caressed the tip of it with my tongue.
Slurp! Slurp! Slurp!! He sure wasn't letting any grass grow under his tongue, that was for damn sure. Every time he brought that tongue of his sliding across my pussy-lips, I felt sure that I was going to come, but with this natural, instinctive ability of his, he managed to keep me on the brink.
I wished that he were playing with my tits, but of course one of the disadvantages of a sixty-nine is that the guy is the wrong way around to give much breast-action. Well, I was able to use my own hands to make up for some of what I was missing in that department, at any rate.
Soon, I felt his prick give that extra little stiffening that you always seem to get from cocks before they fire, and then it was shooting gob after gob of sperm into my mouth. Like the first time I had sucked his dick in the car, I was amazed at how much stuff he had left over for his second shot.
The moment he had felt himself on the brink, he had started lapping away at my clit, and of course that meant that I was going off at the same time that he was. That was what made it so much better than the turn-about oral action in the car. To have your cunt pressing against a man's eager mouth while his tool shoots its wad into your own mouth! Man! That's really something!
I sloshed the stuff around over the slowly-softening prick, then, after removing the penis from my mouth, I swallowed the wonderful jism. A long thread of sperm was hanging from his cock-tip, and I licked this up too.
He licked my pussy a few more times, and then sat up.
As you can imagine, after two satisfying fuck-sessions like this one, we were both pretty well set in our decision to keep on having sex with each other.
The only trouble was finding a time and place where we could be alone together. That deserted country lane that we had used the first time was really quite a way away, and of course, he normally didn't have dental appointments to serve as an excuse for the two of us going off somewhere together in the car.
So, we normally fucked at my place at times when neither Bill nor Louis wouldn't be home. That wasn't too much of a problem, since Bill had Piano lessons on Saturdays, and Louis was usually away then too.
But then, one day, when I was top riding Dave, and we had just hit our climax, the door opened. It was Louis, back home unexpectedly for some reason or another. You can guess the scene which followed, and like I told you, he ordered me to come see a psychiatrist. He said that otherwise he would divorce me, and that that would mean that Dave would have to appear in court too. And I certainly wouldn't want that. It would be so terrible for the boy, and I love him like my own son! Doctor, I just don't know what to do!
* * *
That last remark of Mrs. M.'s, about how she loved her youthful sex partner "like her own son" is highly significant. It is but one of many indications in her narrative that she had strongly repressed incestuous desires for her son which she had transferred over onto his friend Dave.
The reader may at first be surprised by this statement. After all, didn't Mrs. M. specifically mention at various points in her narrative how unlike her son Dave is, particularly as regards physical appearance?
To borrow Shakespeare's line, "the lady doth protest too much." The interest in Dave obviously had an incestuous component, and the dissimilarities between his appearance and that of her son are merely decoys which she found very comforting.
Notice, for instance, how during the basketball episode, she hastened to assure me that although her son had also taken off his shirt, she was not turned on by him. Unless she were trying very hard not to be turned on by him, it seams unlikely to me that she would have felt it so necessary to deny the fact. And she admitted to enjoying seeing Dave with her son, playing ping-pong and so forth. The perfectly natural friendship of the two boys enabled her to have sex with the one and subconsciously identify him as being the other.
Another feature of her case, and one which she shared with Miss J. of the preceding one was sexual deprivation. Her husband was more or less impotent, and she derived no satisfaction from sexual relations with him. In this situation, it is of course natural that she should turn to a lover for satisfaction. What is significant is the choice of lover.
There is often a vague underlying current of incestuous feeling in a family, since after all the taboo is man-made and had nothing to do with man's sexual appetites. And when one of the marriage partners is both unable to satisfy the other one sexually, and loses the other one's respect as a human being (which Louis had done in this case by his sullen and defensive behavior) then it is not uncommon for these feelings to surface. That is by no means the whole story, of course, since the roots of incest behavior are deep and complicated, but it is a significant factor.
In addition to her sexual desires, Mrs. ML had a number of other problems that require attention. She put up with her husband's aggressive behavior, and thus was always in a one-down position.
When he blamed her for his inadequate sexual performance, she did not speak up for herself. He ordered her to go to a therapist, holding her youthful lover as hostage, so to speak, and she capitulated.
Thus, it seemed to me important to explain to her that if nothing else, therapy might help her regain control of a substantial portion of her life that she had allowed her husband to take over. Only after examining the situation carefully could she be in a position to decide whether or not she wanted to continue with the marriage.
She agreed, and it soon became apparent that he had a great deal of stored up hostility towards her husband, plus some very ambivalent feelings towards male aggressiveness in general. (Note how she rather enjoyed taking the aggressive role in seducing Dave when the two of them were in the car. Of course, female pedophilia very often involves a desire to be in a non-threatening sexual situation where a female can be in control.) As therapy progressed, she saw that Louis's personality was probably beyond improvement, unless he too was willing to see a therapist, and this he flatly refused to do. The upshot was that she finally decided to leave him.
He did not file any counter suit, since of course he had no witnesses to the adulterous act he had seen, and custody of Bill was awarded to Mrs. M., as is customary in such cases. (His father had not shown any inclination to take on the duties of fatherhood, anyway.) Since therapy had dealt with a lot of the anti-male hostility which lay behind her incestuous desires, these vanished, and with them her desire for sex with young boys. She was able to date men her own age, and have satisfactory sexual relations with them.
CASE HISTORY THREE
Theresa H. was an attractive blonde of thirty-three who came into my office for "depression". A bit of questioning on my part soon revealed that this was just a smokescreen, and that she had a much more specific problem than that which was bothering her.
"Doctor," she admitted, "I'm sorry to have been playing games with you in this manner. It's just that I'm very ashamed of what I've been doing, and thought I know that I have to level with you if I expect you to be of any help to me, it isn't a very easy thing to do."
"Is this thing that you're so ashamed of sexual, in nature," I asked.
"Yes, it is," she admitted with a gulp. "In fact, I guess you could call it a sex-offense, and what makes that so awful is that I'm supposed to be upholding the law. That's my job-I'm a probation officer, you see. But instead of helping this one boy, I fuck with him! I guess that you could almost think of me as a child molester!"
"How old is the boy in question?"
"He's fifteen. And he's really pretty big for his age. But that doesn't mean that I have a right to just use him for my own sexual gratification," she said.
"Well, that's true in a way," I said, "but of course you may well have not done the boy any harm. Now, maybe you'd like to tell me the, whole story."
"All right," she said...
* * *
I became a probation officer because I wanted to do something useful. So many of these kids could get straightened out if someone would only bother to show that they care. And in fact, I was generally known in the Juvenile Affairs Department as a very competent worker who had a high rate of success with her charges.
Donny was going to be one of the tougher cases I'd ever had to handle, I knew that from the first moment I set eyes on him. He'd been placed on probation for beating up a smaller kid, and he had quite a long list of various petty offenses of a generally aggressive sort behind him.
Maybe I should mention at this point that I have a boyfriend named Bernie, who's a really nice sort of guy, but kind of quiet and shy.
Anyway, right from the word go, all I got from Don was complete non-co-operation, and real surliness.
I remember one day, when he came in, and I said, "Donny, you've still been doing all sorts of prohibited things, I hear."
"Big deal."
"Well, it is a big deal, since if you do enough of them, you may be sent to prison, or at least to the juvenile training school, which works out to pretty much the same thing."
"You gonna send me to the slam, lady probation officer?" he asked with a sneer.
"It would be the judge, not me," I said. "In fact, I've already had to talk to him once, to convince him to stay patient."
"Thanks a lot for the protection, lady probation officer" he said with the same unpleasant sneer.
"Well, if you'd be a bit more helpful "
"Helpful? Fuck off! I don't give a shit about the fucking judge, or you, or anybody else!"
"Look," I said, leaning forward and bringing my face close to his, "don't you understand that I'm trying to help you?" I think the reason that I moved my face so close to his was that I wanted to somehow get across to him the fact that somebody cared. His response was to grab me by the head and press my mouth to his while he frantically kissed me.
I was really scared by that, and I had good reason to be! I think that at first he just meant to kiss me as a kind of show-off gesture to prove to me how tough and daring he was. But as soon as our lips touched, he began to get really aroused.
"Donny, don't!" I said, gasping, as I pulled my mouth from his.
"Know what?,' he said, "You're a fine piece of ass, that's what you are!"
Then, he pushed me onto the floor and got on top of me. He was almost literally trying to tear them off. I was still struggling, but though I could have screamed, I didn't for some reason.
"Don't go on pretending that you don't want my dick, because you know perfectly well that you do!" he said.
"Please don't rape me! Please!" I sobbed.
Hearing me beg like that just turned him on all the more. He had my dress hitched way up, my blouse open, my panties down.
Then, all of a sudden, my struggling stopped. I don't know why. I didn't want to be raped by him, but it seemed useless to resist, and besides... I don't know...
He pulled down his zipper and then hauled out his cock. Was it ever big! I felt him press the tip of it against my pussy, and then slide it on into me.
That penis was so hard and firm! There's nothing wrong with my boyfriend Bernie's penis, but somehow this one seemed twice as good, as it rammed on into me.
In! Out! In! Out! He was laying it into me like there was no tomorrow (maybe he didn't think that there would be, for him), without any foreplay or any apparent thought about whether or not he was giving me any pleasure or not.
In fact, he was giving me more pleasure that I could recall ever getting from a fuck, Bernie, and other boyfriends that I'd had before him, had always been so considerate and understanding. But there was something about the way in which Donny was so thoroughly mastering my cunt that made this particular fuck just unbelievably exciting.
Buck! Buck! Buck Buck! I could hardly believe how turned on I was, as he continued to piston my tingling wet womanflesh. He had me right on the edge of my come, and then in a flash, I was going over, with my pussy exploding in the wildest fuck-fireworks imaginable, while his rod gushed and gushed, and gushed.
COME! COME! COME! COME! It was wild! So freaking, fucking WILD!
When we were done, he looked down at me with what seemed for an instant to be a look of appreciation. Then, his expression took on its accustomed sneer, and he said, "you know, probation lady, you ain't so bad. In fact, you fuck like a bunny!"
"Donny," I gasped, "you shouldn't have raped me! You really shouldn't have! You shouldn't take advantage of other people like that. It's that attitude that's gotten you into trouble with the law before." I felt that I still had a duty to try and give him the counseling that I was being paid to give him.
"Aw, fuck off," he said. "You, raped? Shit, you stopped struggling after the first couple of minutes!"
That was true and I didn't have very much of an answer for him on it.
"Anyway, if you do not like it, just tell your friend the judge, and have him throw me in the clink."
The insolent way he said that was so irksome that for a moment I felt that that was just exactly what I was going to do. But the fact that I had enjoyed the fuck, or rape, or whatever you might want to call it, made me feel that I didn't have the right to do any such thing. After all, how could I charge him with rape when I knew that the fuck he'd given me was the best one that I'd ever had?
Also, having youthful offenders chucked into jail is opposed to everything that I believe in in matters of penology.
"Donny, if you promise never to try and do something like this again, with me or any other woman, I won't report you."
"Ah, do what you like," he said, heading out the door.
The next meeting, I tried to act like nothing had happened. He hadn't been in trouble that week, and we were just talking about one thing and another when suddenly he said, "hey, probation lady, remember this?"
I looked over at him and saw that he had taken his prick out of his pants and was stroking it. The thing was fully erect and every bit as huge as I remembered it being the week before.
"Donny!" I said, "put that away at once!"
"C'mon, probation lady, let's not play a lot of games," he said. He got up, grabbed my shoulders, and pressed me to the floor. I struggled a bit, but not much I knew how hopeless it was.
I expected that he would take me in the usual fashion, but to my surprise, he turned me over on my stomach. Then, spreading my legs apart, he rammed his cock up my ass!
"Please, Donny, you're hurting me!" I gasped.
"For Chrissake, you bitches never satisfied?" He pulled me up onto my knees and continued to fuck my ass. That change in position did make things a bit easier for me, and in fact, after a while I began to kind of enjoy the feeling of his rod sliding back and forth inside my tailpipe.
He had one of his hands on my right tit and was teasing and playing with that, while his other hand was on my pussy, and the fingers of it were working back and forth inside my warm, wet little crack.
That was what was kind of exciting about this position. The fact that I was being totally fucked. Except for my mouth, there wasn't any part of me that wasn't getting some sexual stimulation.
He was obviously enjoying himself, judging from the way in which he was sliding his tool back and forth inside my tailpipe, and judging from the attention that he was giving to my pussy and tit.
In fact, I was getting very worked up myself with this three-way action.
In! Out! In! Out! Then, all of a sudden, he started to shoot, and at just that moment, he pressed his fingers against my clit and brought me off too!
I came really hard, my pelvis twisting, while he continued to let me have gob after gob of male come up the ass. Then, he pulled out.
"You see, probation lady," he said, as I knelt there gasping on the floor, "you really do like it after all!"
Things have continued like that pretty much ever since. Each week, he comes for his appointment, and it's always something different. For instance, two weeks ago, he whipped his cock out of his pants, and said, "okay, probation lady, this cock of mine's pretty full. Why don't you suck it dry?"
"Donny, not this week. We really shouldn't be doing this... " He took hold of my hair and forced me to move my head down to where his cock was. I had to admit that the sight of the fine, big tool really turned me on.
"Okay," I said, "I'll suck it for you."
"Now that's what I like," he replied with a sneer. "A broad who's nice and co-operative."
I took the rod in my mouth and began to suck on it. I've always really liked oral sex, and there was something very thrilling about the feel of that penis of his between my lips. He was so hard that it wasn't easy for me to believe that that was a flesh-and-blood prick there in my mouth and not some bar of iron, or something.
I slid my lips up and down the length of his shaft, and he really seemed to like that.
"Yeah, baby, you're pretty good," he said.
Then, I sucked away on the prickroot for a bit, while using my fingers to caress his balls, which were tightly pulled up against the base of his rod.
After a while, to vary to pace, I took my mouth off of his whanger and gave the thing a whole series of loving little licks before slipping it back in my mouth to continue sucking on.
"Uh! Uh! Uh!" he grunted with satisfaction, as he felt my lips and tongue stimulate his whanger. That's it baby! Make me come! Make me come you dumb bitch!"
One final suck, and I felt his sperm spatter against the back of my mouth, while his shaft quivered between my tightly-pressed lips.
Spurt! Spurt! Spurt! This was his first shot of the day, too, so you can imagine how much cream he had to send into me! I just couldn't believe that a pair of balls could possibly hold that much stuff. He was just pumping, and pumping and pumping, and I hardly had room in my mouth to hold it all!
"Okay, baby," he said, "you did a good job. Now how about you swallowing all that sperm of mine?"
I would have done it even if he hadn't asked me, because I'm pretty orally oriented, and certainly wouldn't have wanted all that jism to go to waste!
I eased his cock out of my mouth, and then slurped down the sperm. My clit gave a little tingle as I felt the mancream slide on down my throat. The thing was that I had gotten awfully worked up by the blow-job I'd given, but my own cunt hadn't had any relief yet.
"Donny," I said, "I need a come too!"
"You want me to go down on you? Okay, why not. A lot of guys think that's sissy, but that's just cause their dumb shits who don't know anything. A real man knows damn well that twats are about the nicest smelling and tasting things around."
He got down next to me on the floor, and placed his face near my pussy.
"Hey, probation lady," he said, "this sure is a nice little box you've got here. Nice and pink, and the lips are just the right size. I don't like 'em too big, but at the same time I don't like 'em so small that there's nothing for a guy to get a hold of down there." And so saying, he placed his thumb and forefinger of his right hand around my pussy-lips and tugged gently on the things. That was nearly enough to make me come, I was already so turned on from giving him that blow job, but I was able to hold myself back. I wanted to find out what kind of a cuntlapper he'd be.
I found out soon enough. His tongue went darting out and gave three quick flicks to my clit. Then, it started -slurping back and forth across my labia with a sort of steady, determined motion that was really enough to drive me wild.
"Donny, you're so fine!" I gasped.
"You're damn right," he said, lifting his mouth off of my twat for a second. Then he went back to lapping away, while I writhed and wriggled in delight.
He sent his tongue sliding all the way down into my vagina, too, pressing it against the cunt-walls, and then sliding it up quickly to sent it running over to my labia or even my clit, though he obviously wanted to prolong things, and knew that if he gave that hard little fun-button-of mine too much attention, I'd be going off in no time.
I was getting hotter and hotter and hotter. In fact, I could hardly stand the frustration that I was feeling between my legs, but at the same time, it was a really exciting kind of frustration that I wished would go on forever.
I guess you don't think of a really aggressive guy like Donny going in for cuntlapping, but he obviously did, for some reason or other, and the result was that he'd gotten very good at it. Heaven only knows how many cunts he'd lapped before he got to mine, but judging from the skill with which he did it, my guess would be plenty.
"Donny... I've gotta... come! Gotta come! Gotta... " I think he was really enjoying the fact that I was so dependent on him for my release. Anyway, he really did keep me hanging on for a long time before finally letting me come.
He pressed his tongue finally against my clit, and that was enough to get me off. My pelvis started bucking and heaving furiously, and he pressed his face against my damp muff, riding with the force of my come.
"Ah! Ahhh! AHHHHHHHH!" I moaned as I felt my whole body seem to dissolve with the force of my cunt-busting, nerve-twisting, mind-bending COME! COME! COME!
"Not bad, huh, probation lady?" he asked with a smirk as he raised his damp face from between my legs.
My feeling about all this stuff that was going on every week at his probation sessions was really pretty ambivalent. On one hand, I couldn't deny that I really enjoyed fucking with him. I never got comes like that from anyone else, and even when I pretended to hesitate, like I did when he told me to suck his cock, it was just that there was something really exciting about the masterful way in which he responded.
On the other hand, I felt that I was really sort of guilty of not doing my duty in regard to him. I was paid by the state to counsel him weekly so that he'd stay out of trouble, and hopefully even turn into a useful member of society. Now there wasn't much counseling going on, of course, since we spent most of our time fucking. Besides, I had the uncomfortable suspicion that I was bringing out not the best, but the worst in his personality.
The whole masterful way he had of fucking him was all very enjoyable for me, but that couldn't hide the fact that it was part of this whole-ever-aggressive side to him that had gotten him into trouble with the law. Whatever he wanted, he just took, whether it was something on a store shelf or a woman. The fact that I didn't mind being taken didn't really change this basic fact.
I could have asked for him to be transferred to another probation officer, without having to rat on him, but the trouble was that I was really getting kind of hooked on the sort of sex that he offered.
It seemed that before I could take some steps to terminate our strange relationship, it would be necessary for me to find some kind of suitable sexual replacement. Otherwise, I knew that I would just go out of my mind with sexual frustration.
The most obvious candidate seemed to be my boyfriend Bernie.
Not that he seemed anything at all like Donny. He was the exact opposite of Donny, if anything. But I really like him a lot, and I felt kind of guilty about the fact that I had been two-timing him with the boy. If I could somehow get him to act in such a way as to be a suitable replacement for Donny, then all my problems would be solved, and my guilt feelings would presumably just vanish.
"Bernie," I said to him one evening, "do you think we have enough variety in our sex life?"
"Why, don't you?"
"Oh sure. I'm not trying to put, you down or anything. You're really terrific."
"Well, I don't know about that," he said, "but I try my best. And we do do plenty of different positions. You know, how would you like to top ride me? We haven't done that in ages, it seems."
That wasn't a very encouraging beginning to my efforts to try and get Bernie to act a bit more like Donny sexually, since top riding is, of course, a position that features male passivity, but I didn't want to give up on my efforts.
"That's fine, and I'd be glad to top-ride you later, but what I was thinking was not so much that we don't do enough different positions, but that the style of them is always the same."
"Well," I said, "you're always gentle and considerate, and I really appreciate that. But maybe a change of pace would be nice."
"You don't want me to be considerate?" he asked, a bit puzzled.
"I mean, you'd just pretend not to. It would just be a game, you understand."
"You mean...?"
"Well, why don't we play that you're a rapist. You'll run all over the room after me, and when you catch me, I'll pretend to struggle. But you'll go ahead and fuck me anyway."
"Okay," he said. There wasn't any fire of excitement in his eyes as he said that, though, and it was obvious that although he thought the new game might be kind of fun, it was really just something that he was willing to try out of curiosity and to please me rather than because it really turned him on.
"Well, shall we start?" I asked.
"Okay," he said. I would have preferred that his answer be a non-verbal lunge, but it wasn't. I started running, and he ran after me. I pretended to scream a bit, but the whole thing was a bit more like a game of tag than a real rape. He caught me finally, and pinned me to the ground.
The feeling of having my shoulders pressed against the floor by strong male hands brought back memories of that first time I had sex with Donny, so my clit started to stiffen up with excitement, and my nipples began to swell.
Bernie tore my blouse open, and started to mash my tits. Then he whipped down my panties and pressed his hand against my crotch. Things were starting to look up.
They were starting to look up between his legs, too, where a definite bulge was visible. He pulled open his zipper and whipped out his cock.
"Don't stick that thing in me, please don't!" I begged, as part of the game. Then it happened. As soon as Bernie heard me say that, he hesitated for a moment, before remembering that he was supposed to be playing the part of a rapist. It was like an actor forgetting his lines on stage. It really sort of spoiled the whole effect.
He pressed on, though, positioning his cock against the opening to my cunt, and then shoving on in, hard. Then he started to pump away to beat the band.
Buck! Buck! Buck! He was playing that part of the game well. He's always had a hard, virile cock, and all he had to do was move it pretty fast to give the impression of really being in charge.
In! Out! In! Out! He was pounding away like crazy, and every thrust of his pulled my labia against my clit in a wonderfully tantalizing fashion. He was also pressing and kneading my tits delightfully.
I felt my back arch, felt my cunt contract tightly around his cock, felt my body ready itself for the come, with every nerve screaming for release, and then WHAM! The orgasm hit me hard. WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! It was really pouring through me, really draining me!
Gush! Gush! Gush! There's nothing wrong with Bernie in the prick department, like I said, and he had plenty of mancream to shoot up into me.
"Ahhh! AHHHHHHH!" I moaned. I was COMING! COMING! COMING!
Finally we were both done, and Bernie said to me, "How'd you like that, beautiful? Was it okay?" Not exactly the sort of thing that Donny would have asked.
"It was just fine, Bernie," I said, but I wasn't really telling the truth.
What was wrong? It wasn't easy to say, but basically, although Bernie had certainly tried hard enough to enter into the spirit of the game, the whole business had been something of a disappointment.
I think the basic problem was that it was just a game. In other words, although to please me, Bernie was willing to play rapist, he'd never really rape a girl in a million years, and so, no matter how good the cock action was, the whole performance was unconvincing. Put another way, the role that I had had Bernie play didn't correspond to any facet of his personality.
Now with Donny, there was a certain element of play acting on my part, since I would sometimes pretend to be reluctant so as to be able to see him act "masterful". But he really was a rapist at heart. That first rape, whether I enjoyed it or not, was just that. He really didn't give a shit then what I thought about it. He really was an aggressive person, and that was all there was to that.
"Anyway, Bernie," I said, "to keep up with the idea of a change of pace, why don't I top-ride you? That'll contrast nicely with the fuck we've just had."
In other words, I could see what Bernie was and wasn't cut out for, and I figured that I might as well enjoy him for what he was (and he did have a lot to offer there) rather than try to make him into something different.
Bernie fixed us both a drink, and after we had finished that, we decided to get on with the top-riding. He lay on his back, and I knelt over him, giving him all sorts of tender kisses. There was no question about it, sweet old Bernie was basically a rather passive type. That didn't mean that I couldn't enjoy myself with him, since I'm versatile enough to be able to play both roles, but I knew that I really preferred the passive one myself, and would have been a lot more satisfied if Donny had been there in the room with me instead of Bernie.
Bernie can usually manage a second shot right away without any difficulty, and since we had spent several minutes having the drinks, he was all primed up again and raring to go. I placed my hand on his cock and rubbed the hard shaft. It was almost quivering in its desire to be inside my cunt shooting sperm. Well, it would get its wish, I was going to see to that!
After fingering Bernie's tight balls for a while, I squatted over his body so that his penis was right underneath me. Then, as he held it aloft, I lowered myself onto him.
Down I went, and as I felt the hard rod sticking into me, forcing apart my cunt walls and possessing my interior, I gave a little sigh of relief. I guess men must enjoy sex, seeing as they ask for it so much, but we women get such pleasure out of it that it's impossible for me, at least, to imagine that they could get the fun out of it we do.
On down I slid, until I was resting lightly on his balls, his cock totally hidden from sight by virtue of being completely inserted in my body.
"Ready?" I asked him.
He gave a little nod to indicate that he was, and I slowly started to pump on him, raising and lowering my body in a gentle, rhythmical fashion.
"You're so good," he murmured, as the tender skin of his supercharged penis felt the pressure of my swallowing, enveloping cock.
Up... down... up... down...
Nice-and-easy... Nice-and-easy... Nice-and-easy.
My pussy was starting to get really turned on, too, because each stroke was really pulling by cuntlips across my pulsing labia. One advantage to the passive role, is that you can at least to it right, though in fairness to Bernie, there's nothing wrong with his technique.
I leaned forward so that my large breasts could hang towards his face. He reached up and gently caressed them with his fingers. There was something to be said for Bernie's tenderness and consideration after all. Now that I had accepted the fact that he wouldn't be making love like Donny did, I was able to really enjoy being with him.
Up! Down! Up! Down! I was going faster now, picking up speed as my excitement increased, and I can tell you, Doctor, my excitement was already pretty high!
"Theresa... Theresa... Theresa...!" he gasped as I worked that heavy cock of his. There could be no doubt about it, he really loved me, and that made me feel a bit guilty about the fact that I was two-timing him on the side.
I was just about ready to come myself, out I felt that I hadn't given Bernie a sufficient workout yet. I knew that if I went off, the stimulation of feeling my twat explode around his penis would doubtless be enough to being him over the top too, but nevertheless, I wanted to give him a nice long ride. Seeing as I was cheating on him, that seemed like the very least that I could do.
So, I started breathing in long, strong gasps. I find that that helps me keep my pussy under control for some reason, I don't know why.
Even that wasn't going to work forever, though, and the way my pussy was burning with come need indicated that I had really better work on bringing Bernie to his come.
He was gasping now, and his head was rolling from side to side.
"Ther-e-sa! Ther-e-sa!" he grunted as he felt my enveloping womanhood cover his maleness time and time again.
Up... down... up... down...
Just a bit more would do it... just a bit more...
Up! Down! Up! DOWN!
That last stroke was going to be it, I knew that as I started, knew as I felt myself sliding down his pole, knew as I felt my wet labia press against my throbbing slit.
As the tip of his prick touched the entrance to my womb, I felt it quiver and then start to shoot.
Gush! Gush! Gush! Spurt after spurt of mancream went pouring up into me, as my pussy clutched frantically at the throbbing male tool!
We were both coming, coming big, coming hard!
Wham! Wham! Wham!
"THERESAAAAA!" He moaned as my spasmodically clutching cunt seemed to be trying to milk him of every drop of spunk!
"Whewwwwwwww!" I sighed. "If a come like that lasted any longer than it did, it would shake my whole body apart!"
I slowly eased myself off of his dick, and as I did so I could feel some of his sperm dribble out of my cunt. It had been an awfully nice fuck.
Later on that night, I got to thinking about-Bernie, and sex, and concluded that maybe there wasn't anything wrong with having a boyfriend who wasn't the kind of totally dominant creature that Donny was. But that night I dreamed of Donny, dreamed of his ramming his hard penis into me, and I knew that that was what I really wanted. Bernie was an awfully sweet guy, but what I really wanted was a no-nonsense stud who would want me and take what he wanted!
In fact, it was getting to the point that I was really having a hard time waiting for Thursday to roll around. (That's the day that Donny has his probation appointment). I even thought of suggesting to him that we meet privately at some other time, but I was afraid that if I suggested something like that he would just laugh and make some remark to the effect that he was able to live without me for seven days. I didn't know that I was able to live without him, but that was another matter. The thought of him saying something like that to me both frightened me and also kind of excited me in a strange way.
I guess one normally associates sexual savvy with a kind of sophisticated image. You know, one doesn't see what happens in Gone with the Wind after Clark Gable takes Vivian Leigh up those stairs in his arms, but you can't help imagining that she must be in for some pretty fancy cock action. But although Donny was completely uneducated and really pretty crude in his manners, when it came to sex he either knew a lot or was awfully inventive, because he never settled into a boring sort of routine.
I remember one time he came into the office, and I tried to ask him how his week had been. That was sort of a funny ritual, because his response to questions of that sort was always something like "Fer Chrissake, let's get on with the fucking, woman!"
This time, he said, "C'mon, get on the floor, probation lady! I've got a new position I want to try out."
Bernie's way of putting something like that would have been along the lines of, "Theresa, darling, there's a new position that I'd like to try, if you don't think you'd mind." I don't know whether it makes sense or not, but Donny's way of saying it was the one which appeal led to me the most strongly.
I was eager to find out what this new position might be, so I didn't waste any time taking off my clothes and lying on the floor. My legs were spread, partly because I always associated fucking with spread legs, and partly because I figured that a glimpse of pink between the pubis fluff would be a nice treat for Donny.
"Ah no," he said, looking down at me. "Put your legs together."
I did as he told me, but I couldn't help asking, "how can you fuck me when my legs are together?"
"You'll see," he said. One thing about Donny, he doesn't have much patience with women's questions, as far as I can see.
He knelt with a knee on either side of my knees, and then started to lay on top of me, while holding his cock in his hand. I couldn't for the life of me figure out how this was going to work, since I'd laughed along with everyone else about the way in which aspirin was a good contraceptive if held tightly between the knees.
Well, I guess I'd just have to wait and see.
He pressed his penis against my thighs, and the soft flesh parted to admit it. Then, he positioned it against the entrance to the cunt, and pushed it in.
"Wow!" I gasped.
It was possible, believe it or not. The thighs parted readily enough, like I said, and as for the cunt, it's up inside the hips, and completely unaffected by whether or not the legs are held together.
The only thing that is affected is the entrance to the cunt, the labia, because they're pressed against the thighs. Since the thighs are soft and compressible, the cock can force its way in there, but the cuntlips are pressed rather firmly against them. The result is that the delicate petals are stimulated from both sides at once, so to speak.
"Not bad, huh, girl?" Donny said, as he started to pump.
"It sure isn't! " I gasped as I felt the hard driving rod press my labia against the thighs time and time again.
Of course, like the missionary, this position allowed his hands full scope to get at my tits. He actually raised his body on his arms, with his hands resting on my breasts. This compressed them pleasantly against my chest, which was heaving in excitement. Whatever faults society might attribute to Donny, one thing was damn sure-he knew how to make a girl happy in the sex department!
In! Out! In! Out! He was really giving it to me, like he always did, and the difference between these strokes and the ones that I had gotten from Bernie the night we played the rape game were really remarkable. Or rather, what was remarkable was partly the difference that wasn't there.
I know that that sounds odd, but what I mean is that both of them were guys who gave hard, fast strokes. That's always true of Bernie, even when I don't have him play acting. But with Bernie, that's just a matter of technique, which he is good at. With Donny, it's a reflection of his super-aggressive, super-male personality. And though that difference is just an intangible one, let me assure you that when you're a woman feeling six inches of good hard cock slamming back and forth inside your wet pussy, it's real to you! Buck! Buck! Buck!
"Like it, probation lady?" Buck! Buck! Buck! "Gotta come... gotta... " In! Out! In! Out! "Can't stand it! Just can't!" Almost there... almost... almost... How... fucking long... is... he... going... to... hold... me... back... ? NOT! LONG! That was It! It! It! It! Pump! Pump! Pump! Hard cock, gushing, spurting! Wet cunt, clutching!
Coming baby, just coming, and coming, and coming!
That was it all right. That was just about the most fantastic, mind-blowing fuck a woman could possibly have, that was all...
"Not bad, huh?" he said with that voice of his which was never without a slight sneering quality.
As I lay there gasping for breath like a beached whale, I couldn't help thinking about that. I mean, a girl does like some tenderness after a fuck. But I couldn't help feeling that there was something very male about the blunt, conceited way in which Donny had come out with that "not bad, huh?" Maybe it's false sort of conception of maleness, and I'm sure that that's what the women's lib types would say about it, but nevertheless, it's enough to get my clit twitching, I can tell you!
He pulled his rod out, and presented it to me to lick. I did, licking off both his spunk and my own pussy fluid. I spread my legs, and it was nice to get some cool air on my now-exhausted vagina.
"That's a position a friend of mine told me about," Donny said. "I thought that you might like it. Anyway, I did, and I guess that's the really important thing!"
When he said things like that I got the impression that maybe some of his super-toughness and super inconsiderateness was kind of a put on. I mean, the last sentence, in which he implied that he didn't care if I got any pleasure out of the position or not, sounded like it was added on as a kind of afterthought. And at moments like that, I felt guilty that I wasn't really playing my probation-officer role properly. After all, I was supposed to be nurturing that considerate sight of Donny's personality, but when I was with him, all that I could think of was how much I needed that great big dick of his!
"Anyone got an appointment after me?" he asked.
"No," I said, "you're the last one today."
"Good," he said, "we can make this session a long one," and he patted his dick.
I couldn't help smiling. That was sort of a vulgar, uneducated type of joke, but he was able to deliver the goods, and I guess that that was what counted.
"Tell me, probation lady," he said, "am I the only dude you fuck with, or do other guys get the same treatment."
I couldn't help blushing, that was such a rude sort of question.
"You're the only one."
"You don't have a regular boyfriend?"
"Yes, I do," I said, "but I mean that you are the only one of my probationers that I... I have sex with... "
"What's he like? I bet he isn't anything like me!"
"How do you know that?" I asked, surprised that he had hit the truth so squarely.
"Because if he were anything like me, you wouldn't need to fuck with me. Only one guy like me is all that any woman needs."
He was dead right, of course, but the remark really irked me. I didn't mind if he dumped on me, but I didn't like the idea of him dumping on Bernie behind his back. I was very fond of Bernie, like I told you...
"Look Donny," I said, "my boyfriend happens to be a really nice guy, and he's good in the cock department. Every bit as good as you are!"
"I'm sure he is," Donny said, not the least bit surprised of rattled by my outburst. "Look, probation lady, I didn't say that this boyfriend of yours didn't have a cock. And I didn't say that he didn't know how to use it, either. All I said was that he wasn't like me."
"What do you mean?"
"You like cock, sure," he said simply. "But that ain't the only thing you like. You like your guys kinda mean, and that's why you like me, because you know that I'm kinda mean!"
I was really pretty amazed. I mean, this guy really had an awfully sharp head. It didn't have a bit of education in it, but man, it could really see things the way they were. I was a bit distressed that he could see inside me like that.
"Boy," I said, echoing my own thoughts, "you sure can see inside a person."
"Hey, you know, that's something that I've never had a chance to do!"
"What," I asked.
"See inside a woman."
"What do you mean."
"Get back on the floor and I'll show you," he said. "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you."
A bit dubious, I got on the floor and waited.
"Okay," he said, "spread your legs."
I did so, and he took what looked like a thick fountain pen out of his pocket. He took of the cap, and I could see that it wasn't a pen at all, but a sort of miniature flashlight!
"I got this years ago, I don't know why," he said. "I guess it was because it was just waiting there on the store counter begging for someone to swipe it. And I've carried it around with me without ever knowing what I planned to do with it. It just seemed kinda neat, the way it looks like a pen. But that remark about seeing inside a person gave me an idea."
He flicked the bulb on, and said to me, "put your hands on your pussy lips and pull them apart, all the way. Just pretend that I'm your doctor. That's it."
I had to admit that there was something kind of sexy and kind of funny about what he obviously had in mind, so I didn't mind complying. Of course, I didn't really mind doing much of anything that he wanted me to do, for some reason or other.
He leaned close to my cunt and took a few quick sniffs. Then he held the penlight so that the thing shone right into my pussy, while he gazed curiously.
"Aha!" he said.
"What is it?"
"I've always wondered if a woman's cunt was the same pink inside that it is on the outside, he said.
"Is it?" I asked, genuinely curious. After all, a woman never gets a chance to look at her own cunt, and in fact all the guys I'd slept with knew a great deal more about the way mine looked than I did.
"Yep," he said, continuing to peer into me. Then I felt a nice warm sensation on my cuntlips. He was pressing the flashlight bulb against them, and of course it was very warm.
"Mmm, feels nice!" I said.
"Maybe this'll feel nicer," and he shoved the hard thing up my twat.
It really was kind of odd having the thing up my pussy. After all it was completely rigid, while even the stiffest cock has a certain amount of give to it.
The touch of the warm bulb on my cunt walls was really something else, believe me! "Like, huh?"
"You bet."
"Shit," he said, "Why the hell did I fuck around and drop out of school. I should have stuck around and gone to college and then to medical school, so that I could have been a gynecologist!"
I couldn't help laughing. The thought of Donny as a gynecologist was really pretty funny.
"Looking at all that cuntflesh makes me feel kinda hungry," he said.
He put the penlight down, and I felt his lips press against my tender labia. That was just what I had been hoping that he would do when he had been peering around there, and I gave a sigh of pleasure and relief.
He didn't bother to reply, though. He just kept licking away, slurping his tongue all over my pussy, while I gave little squeals of delight.
That tongue of his was about the best-educated tongue that my pussy has ever had the pleasure of being lapped by, let me tell you, Doctor. It knows just what little nooks and crannies to go into to give a girl the maximum amount of pleasure.
You see, although it's possible that Donny really doesn't care whether or not he gives pleasure to his partners-and I just don't know that's the case or it's all just part of a big toughness act-his vanity wouldn't allow him to do a bad job, since our culture tends to judge manliness in part on the basis of how much excitement the guy is able to give the female.
Slurp! Slurp! Slurp! His tongue was sliding back and forth like mad over my weltering labia, and I felt that if he kept on like that, my pussy was simply going to melt. There could be no doubt about it, he was really driving me straight up the wall with that tongue-action of his.
I was working my tits over like crazy, really kneading them and feeling them up. When they get excited, they really swell up, and the nipples get so huge that they almost look out of proportion to the rest of the breast. No man I've ever had has ever complained about that feature of me, however!
"Uh! Uh! Uh!" I grunted as I felt his tongue poke around inside my vagina. I was wiggling my hips in excitement, hoping that I might somehow manage to douse the fantastic fire that I felt blazing away inside me.
Lick! Lap! Lick! Lap! Man, man, man...
Donny was really slurping away now, like a cat licking at a bowl of cream and it was obvious that he must really like the taste of pussy fluid, because he was actually drinking the stuff. From time to time I could actually hear little gulping sounds.' "Donny! Make me come! Lick me! Lick my clit! My clit! My clit!"
I was so tightly wound that I wasn't even able to think any more, and I just moaned these things to try and release some of the almost unbearable tension and excitement that I felt, because in fact I knew damn well that Donny was not the sort of guy to take instructions from any female on how she wanted him to bring her to orgasm.
He was loving this business of keeping me right on the brink of my come, and because he had such a strong inborn sense of sex, so to speak, he was really good. For instance, when he would get me right at my flashpoint, a lick of his would call forth a little pre-come shudder, if you know what I mean. And he would recognize that for what it was, and stop licking for a moment, or at least just lick some less sensitive part of my body, so that I would have a chance to cool down a bit. I say cool down "a bit," because his doing that still left me all churning with come-need inside, which was just exactly what he wanted.
Of course, it was just what I wanted, too, because although I really craved a come, really needed to feel that pussy of mine let go in a series of frantic shudders, the fact remained that this teasing torture of his was really what I craved too, and even though every stroke of his tongue made me writhe with come-need, the fact was that I enjoyed each one more than the preceding one.
Slurp! Slurp! Slurp! Lick! Lick! Lick! Make that woman hot, yeah man! Make her radiator boil!
Then, without any warning, he suddenly switched his tactics and began to lick hard at my clit.
I was so surprised that it took a second for the sensations to register, and then they hit me all at once, with the come coming right on top of them, like one roller on top of another at the beach.
"Fetching OFF!" I gasped as my pussy exploded in a wild display of frantic female fuck-frenzy, bursting into a shower of wild, spasming, mind-melting colors. I was coming, coming, coming, I couldn't stand it, it was just too fine, oh, oh, OHHH!
And then it was over, and I was lying there, panting for breath. In all fairness, Donny did give me at least a few seconds of rest before moving in to take the orgasm for himself that he deserved. And that orgasm of his was accompanied by another one of mine that was every bit as one as the one that I've just described.
You may be wondering what my problem is, Doctor, since I have this one guy who can give me these fantastic comes, and this other guy who's really considerate and gentle, and who really loves me. I guess that maybe another female would just consider herself lucky and wouldn't complain. But for some reason, I've been getting more and more depressed about things.
Maybe one cause of that is that Donny's probation period is almost up, and though I hardly dare ask if he'll want to come and see his "probation lady", the fact remains that I don't think he will. He's pretty much a bird of passage, if you get what I mean. Here today, gone tomorrow. And besides, with that aggressive attitude of his, I'm sure that he doesn't have any hesitations about making advances to any girl he sees. Something tells mc that he won't find my cunt very difficult to replace.
Another thing is that you'll notice that I'm getting on a bit to still be unmarried. That's partly because my parents had a pretty rocky marriage themselves (maybe that's one reason why I sympathize with the kids who come to me, since most of them are from broken homes) and I wanted my marriage to be just right. Maybe it's impractical for me to be waiting for Prince Charming, but I'm not lying when I say that I've turned down several marriage offers because I didn't think that the guy would be right for the long haul.
When I met Bernie, I saw that he had a lot of the qualities that are necessary for a good husband. The selfish aggressiveness of someone like Donny can be pretty exciting in the sack, but I think that you'd get pretty tired of it in non-sexual things like who has to take out the garbage, and stuff like that. So, I'd figured that I'd probably marry Bernie (I know he'd like to marry me), and since he's pretty good in the prick department, it looked like I'd have made a good choice. But having tasted the kind of sex that someone like Donny has to offer, I don't know that I wouldn't get awfully tired of Bernie's good manners in bed, if you know what I mean. But I can't imagine marrying someone like Donny, assuming that there was anyone like Donny who would be interested in marriage.
So, there's my problem, I guess, and thinking about it has made me feel kind of low. It's always disturbing when your plans are completely disrupted.
* * *
Theresa H.'s case makes an interesting contrast with the two which have gone before. They, by their points of similarity, showed what some of the fundamental causes of female pedophilia are. While Miss H.'s pedophilic behavior shares at least some motivations with them, it also has a fundamentally different origin, and illustrates how quite different causes can in some cases produce almost identical behavior (in this case, sex with a young boy.) Miss H.'s pedophilia was in a sense, quite incidental to her masochistic tendencies. It is quite normal for a woman to like a strong and assertive man, since that is what our society subtly trains little girls to want. But beyond a certain point, this desire can stand in the way of true happiness and fulfillment, as it was obviously doing here.
Miss H. was attracted to Donny primarily because he was very aggressive and seemingly inconsiderate of her feelings, though there is probably a good deal of truth to her observation that much of his nastiness was kind of a put on, designed to reassure others, and most importantly, himself, that he really was the tough guy that he so desperately wants to be.
The fact that he was a mere boy, however, heightened his attraction for her, since if it is degrading to be treated as a mere sex object, it is even more so to "have" to put up with such behavior from someone who is substantially younger than you are. (I put "have" in quotation marks because it is in fact perfectly obvious that the element of compulsion is in this case almost entirely a matter of fantasy.) As Miss H. herself recognized earlier, there are all sorts of ways in which she could have terminated the relationship without violating her principles by having him sent to jail, and she herself has admitted that she sometimes pretended to want to refuse his sexual desires so that he would behave in a "masterful" manner with her.
This masochistic fantasy picture is of course completed by the fact that she had nominal authority over this boy, who was her probationer. The contrast between real and nominal authority is, of course, perfectly central to many of the most intense masochistic fantasies.
More than simple masochism (if I may use such an over-simplifying term) is involved, however. It is interesting that Miss H. allowed her relationship with Donny to come between her and her intended husband. Was that purely .because the latter cannot satisfy her masochistic desires? In large part, yes, but there is a bit more to it than that. Miss H. talked about how her parents' marriage was an unhappy one, and about how she wanted to choose any husband of hers very carefully. This is, of course, a perfectly reasonable attitude, if not taken to extremes. But I suspected (and future sessions bore out this suspicion) that her childhood experience was so traumatic that she was permanently scared off the idea of marriage. After all, she was thirty-four, which rightly or wrongly is sort of old for a woman in our society to still be turning down offers of marriage, and she said how she had already turned down "several" offers, which I could well believe, since she was a physically attractive and mentally alert female.
Thus, it seemed to me that this masochistic inclination, while doubtless having some validity in its own right, was in large part a sort of sexual smokescreen, an excuse to turn down the otherwise eligible Bernie, to whom her only real (but very important) objection was her subconscious fear of men and marriage. By allowing herself to be attracted to someone so totally different from him, she was able to say in effect, "well, I guess things between Bernie and me wouldn't work out after all. " Scratch Bernie.
At the same time, like many children of broken or unhappy homes she had a genuine longing for a good marriage herself, and there was intense conflict between these two opposing urges. Thus the depression which brought her into my office in the first place.
In therapy, these conflicts were resolved, and the masochistic tendencies (which stemmed in part from repressed Electra feelings towards her domineering father) successfully dealt with. The result was that she was able to enjoy both sex and a good personal relationship with Bernie while almost wondering how she had ever been interested in someone like Donny. The marriage which followed should, as a result of therapy, have good chances for success.
CASE HISTORY FOUR
Eleanor T. was an attractive woman in her late thirties, with dark hair and rather nice clothes that had a vaguely timeless quality of good taste, without representing the latest in fashion. Her good-looking face wore a strange expression which combined both self-assurance and nervousness. Maybe it would be more accurate to say that the self-assurance was a mask, and that she was being only partially successful in keeping the underlying nervousness from breaking through.
"My problem, Doctor," she said, "is that I'm a sort of corrupter of youth. I think that that might be the best way to put it. And since I'm rather fond of the boys that I think I'm corrupting, I would like to get your help in changing myself."
It was a curiously stilted sentence and gave the impression of having been rehearsed several times on the way to my office.
"Corrupter of youth?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "You see, I'm a private tutor, and I'm not very good at keeping my hands off of the penises of my young charges."
"Do they mind this?"
"They certainly don't seem to," she said, "but I'm terribly, terribly afraid that I might be doing them some harm. After all, it must be something of a shock to learn that the woman who you thought was just going to teach you math or French or something like that really wants you to put your prick in her pussy!"
"Maybe," I said, "though I don't think one could say that in all cases that would be harmful to the boys. The reason I point this out is that I want you to understand that there's no reason for you not to tell me every detail about what it is that you do with these boys.
"Very well," she said. "This is the way things began... "
* * *
As I said, I'm a private tutor, or I suppose you might use the word governess, though that's rather old fashioned and has all sorts of rather grim connotations. I'm not any strict old bag getting some sadistic pleasure about keeping my pupils' noses to the grindstone. Quite the contrary. I genuinely like boys, like their openness and innocence. I say boys because I've always specialized in tutoring boys. I find them a lot more anxious to learn and a lot easier to keep interested in the material than girls, for some reason or another.
Anyway, believe it or not, there are still quite a lot of really wealthy parents who educate their children privately up to a certain age. Then, when the child is about thirteen or fourteen, they send him off to a prep school.
Why do they do it? I guess for a number of reasons. Partly they're over-possessive, I suppose, and then again, the child may be rather sickly, or socially maladjusted and afraid of going to school. There are those who think that the child gets a better education that way, and there's also snobbishness. Having me come and spend several hours a day with a child is a good deal more expensive than having him enrolled in even the swankiest private school, and it's sort of a status symbol for them to say "my Edward's governess."
As for me, I got into the business because I was fond of children and tired of the hassles involved in teaching girls at a girl's private school. I make a pretty good living at it, and have a great deal more freedom than I otherwise would.
Now, I'd never fooled around with any of the boys until I started teaching Timothy P.
He's an angel, an absolute angel, and that's one of the reasons that I feel so guilty about doing what I did with him. He was a blond boy of almost thirteen, rather slightly built and very shy. He absolutely adores his parents, but he never is able to get very close to them. They're rather cold, unfeeling people, who think that buying a child an education and lots of material things is the only thing that's required of them as parents.
My heart went out to him at once when I saw how polite and gentle he was, and although I suppose it's a safer policy not to allow yourself to get emotionally involved with your students, I couldn't help deciding to be his friend as well as his governess. He seemed so in need of a friend.
He was a good student, and always had his homework done, but he never seemed very happy.
One day, I said to him, "cheer up, frowny-face. Things can't be all that bad, can they?"
"It's my father," he said. "He promised me that he'd take me to the museum today, but then a friend of his called up and asked him if he'd like to come and play golf. He said 'yes,' of course. He always says 'yes,' when it gives him a chance not to spend any time with me."
For a little boy, he said that last sentence with a tremendous amount of bitterness in his voice.
"Perhaps he really had to go play golf with this man," I said. It didn't sound very convincing, I knew, but I felt that I had to say something to cheer Timmy up.
The look he gave me made me regret immediately that I had said that. It just sounded to him like another lying grown-up thing to say, and he was disappointed that I would say something like that.
The lesson went quite well after that, though, and I could tell that my obvious interest in him as a person was thawing his resentment of my having said that.
"You know," he said shyly, "I have a birthday next week!"
I think the reason he said that was because he was secretly afraid that his parents wouldn't show him any affection on his birthday, and he was very much hoping that I would.
"A birthday! Wonderful!" I said. "You'll be thirteen, right?"
"Uh huh," he said nodding happily at the interest I was showing.
Of course. I bought him a present for his birthday, and I was all ready to give it to him when he came into the room for his lessons. But he had such a terribly unhappy look on his face that I had to ask him first what the matter was on his birthday, I should have been able to guess, considering what had happened the week before.
"It's dad," he said with a sob in his voice.
"He didn't give you anything nice for your birthday?"
"Oh, he gave me stuff," Timmy said, with that same tone of bitterness in his voice that I had noticed earlier. "He always gives me stuff. I have a whole room full of things."
It was really rather frightening to hear hostility and anger like that in the voice of a perfectly angelic thirteen year old child.
"But what happened?" I asked.
"Well, you know how I wanted to go to the museum last week? I really like the museum, and I'd so like to go with my father. Well, I thought over what you'd said about maybe he couldn't go with me then, and although I didn't really see how that could be so, I figured that maybe, just maybe, it was right. But I thought that on my birthday he'd be able to go, because on my birthday, he'd be sure to leave time for me."
"Yes, and what happened?" I asked. I could guess what had happened, but I knew that I had to give him a chance to express his feelings, however painful they might be to hear.
"I said, 'dad, can we go to the museum,' and he said, 'can't, m,boy, don't have time. I'm a busy man!' You know that fakey clipped way of talking that he has. I said to him, 'but dad, it's my birthday, you can't be busy on my birthday!'. He said to me 'I'm afraid I can be and am. And stop pestering me to go to the museum with you all the time. I'll probably never get the time to go there, and anyway, I don't like museums. Now go play with your new gifts, and stop bothering me!' And with this, poor little Timmy just collapsed in sobs. I was so shocked that I didn't know what to say. I just couldn't believe that any man could possibly be as cruel to his own son as that! But if I didn't know what to say, I certainly knew what to do. I took Timmy in my arms and pressed him tight against me. The poor child was starved for affection and physical contact, and I was certainly going to supply it if those icebergs that he had for parents weren't interested in doing so!
Timmy was thirteen, and of course you know what that means in terms of a child's physical development. As he felt my bosom pressed against his face, his penis started to erect. I could tell, because we were both standing, and I could feel the hard organ pressing against my belly.
I was shocked, and started to press him away from me, when he said, with tears running down his face, "please don't push me away from you, Miss T.! Please don't! That's all everyone ever does with me!
I could hardly do anything else then than pull his little body close again, and he snuggled up to me, with his penis pressing my belly.
The trouble was that governess or not, I have the desires of a woman, and in fact, since I don't have any boyfriend, I'm often sexually rather frustrated and horny. The feeling of that long prick pressing against me was quite a turn-on, I can tell you, Doctor, and when Timmy started to move his hips, slightly, so that I could feel his rod sliding against my stomach (though of course there were plenty of layers of clothing in the way) my pussy became very wet indeed. I don't know quite why he did that. I don't think that he wanted to signal to me that he would like to fuck. I think that it was more just a sort of instinctive thing on the part of a developing boy when he is being held tightly by a female for the first time!
When he saw that I wasn't preventing him from doing that, he began to do it all the more obviously, however, and I started to get really wildly hot. Don't forget that he had his face pretty much buried in my breasts, and my breasts are really extremely sensitive.
Without even thinking what I was doing, I slipped my hand down in between his pants and his body and grabbed onto his erect prick. The way he snuggled even closer to me indicated just how wonderful he thought that was, how wonderful it was for someone to be interested in him as a human being, with real needs!
"Timmy," I said, trying to somehow keep my wits about me even as my nipples swelled up into flinty little points underneath my bra, "we shouldn't be doing this."
He didn't say anything, but just snuggled closer. I realized that it was useless for me to try and fight what was happening, since I was almost clear out of my head with come need at the moment, and so I unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out into the open.
Timmy was rather small for his age, like I've told you, Doctor, but that didn't mean that he didn't have a good sized whanger on him! It wasn't huge, I don't mean to imply anything like that, but for a boy of his age, it was certainly more than adequate, I would expect. Not that I've seen more than a few boys' pricks (only three since Timmy's), but even so.
He gave a sigh of relief as I released his cock from the restraint of his clothing. Then, it was my turn to get my clothes out of the way. I unbuttoned my blouse (he didn't mind taking his face away from my tits for that!) and took my bra off. As soon as he saw the big, swollen nipples, he said, "please, may I?" in that courteous way he has, and when I said "of course," he took a nipple in his mouth and started to suck on it like he really wanted to get some milk out of it. I guess that that's just an indication of how starved for affection the poor lad was.
I pulled my panties down and hitched my skirt up. Then I led him to the sofa and lay down on top of it.
He got on top of me, without really knowing what to do. His parents had obviously not wanted to take the time to explain the fact of life to him. Well, at least I could do that, and maybe give both of us a good time into the bargain.
"Here, Timmy," I said gently, "let me take hold of you and show you what to do."
I grabbed his cock, and positioned it so that it was ready to be thrust in.
"Now, Timmy," I said, "why don't you give a shove?"
He did, and his penis went sliding on into my cunt. He wasn't the first male that I'd ever had inside me, but I haven't had too many, and he was the first for quite some time, so it was really pretty fine to feel his hard meat there in me.
He pushed his prick in all the way, and then rested with it there. I really don't think he knew what he should do next. I honestly think that he might have been of the opinion that he should just leave it there.
"Now, Timmy," I said gently, "move it back and forth inside me. Just do it any way that seems natural to you, and that'll be fine for me."
It really was sort of funny being a fucking instructress as well as an instructress in French, English, math and the like.
As you can imagine, Timmy went about his task rather gingerly at first, and the first three or four strokes could hardly be called strokes at all. There was just nothing to them, despite the fact that his prick was quite big and very hard.
But then, as I continued to encourage him and say, "you're doing fine, just fine," his naturally inquisitive mind began to go about trying to decide what it was that he should really do, and it didn't take him long to figure out. The fourth and fifth strokes were a great deal better than the ones that preceded them, and the sixth and seventh were better yet.
"Mmm, fine, fine," I murmured, and maybe he could tell from the tone of my voice that I really meant it. More likely, what convinced him was the fact that quite spontaneously and naturally, my hips started moving rhythmically in time to his, giving little counter-thrusts to the strokes that he was laying into me. Timmy is a very observant boy, and there's every reason to think him capable of understanding the significance of those motions of mine, namely, that he was really turning me on.
Meanwhile, he still had his lips glued to my right nipple. He's a lot shorter than I am, and since my tit is quite big, as you can see, he didn't have to bend his neck much to keep his lips on my nipple while fucking, since he could sort of push the breast up. I really got the impression that he was getting every bit as much pleasure from sucking that tit as he was from ramming his cock back and forth inside me.
Ramming was really the word by now, and he was already doing as capable a job as some experienced grown men that I know. There could be no doubt about the pleasure he was getting from the action between my legs, and I don't think that there was any doubt in his mind about the pleasure that he was giving to me, either.
In! Out! In! Out! Every stroke that buried itself in my belly turned my thermostat up several degrees. My pussy really felt like I was running a fever down there, it was so hot! And the way in which he was laying his rod into me was giving the maximum stimulation to my clit and labia. He couldn't have known that that's the most tender part of a woman. I think that he just lucked into it. I mean, he happened to start fucking in a way that caused me a lot of stimulation there, and as he noticed how obviously turned on I was, he just decided to keep going with a good thing.
"Timmy! Timmy! Timmy!" This was no comforting voice or an understanding older woman now. This was the cry of a bitch in heat, who knows good hard cock when she gets it, and wants to keep on getting it until her pussy explodes in a frantic come.
Buck! Buck! Buck! Poor little Timmy! Ignored by his parents, without any friends, he obviously felt that this was his big chance to get someone on his side, and the last thing in the world that he wanted to do was blow it! He was going to make this fuck a good one, or die trying.
And was he ever making it a good one! Man oh man, that thing felt like a poker as it slid back and forth inside me! It was just so hard, so strong, so fine, and my pussy just needed every damn inch of it!
I wanted to yell, and gasp, and tell him how much I had to come, but I didn't dare, because I was afraid that he might interpret that as a sign that he wasn't really doing a good job. And that would be not merely heartless, but untrue.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Cock! Cunt! Cock! Cunt!
"Uh! Uh! UHHH!" I groaned, keeping my communication to the strictly non-verbal. He correctly interpreted that as meaning that I was hot as hell, and he laid it into me even harder.
Ride 'em, cowboy, ride 'em!
I just couldn't stand it, but I couldn't tell Timmy that. Besides, I didn't want this wonderful torment to stop, either.
It couldn't go on much longer though, because I was right on the edge of my come, really hanging fire, really trembling on the brink...
"Here it comes, here it come, here it comes," I thought.
Here I Came. In one great big pulsation, that Was followed by convulsion after convulsion as my pussy frantically gripped at the boyish rod that had driven it so wild.
Coming! Coming! Coming! So hard! So fine! Oh just coming!
He was shooting too, and I learned later that it was his first orgasm, since he hadn't discovered masturbation yet. The sperm came shooting out of that virgin prick, in gush after gush after gush, since it had never had a chance to get out before.
"Ahhhhh!" I gasped. He didn't say anything, but just clenched his teeth as his boyhood voided itself into me by means of that furiously trembling penis!
For several minutes after we had finished, neither of us said anything. Timmy kept his face buried in my bosom (and his slowly-softening prick buried deep in my pussy!) while I held him close to show how much I loved him.
"Miss T." he said, with his voice choking with emotion, "you're so good to me!" It was obvious that for the poor little fellow, whose parents had given him everything except for love, the experience of having a female act towards him as if he were important to her, and as if she cared about him, was overwhelmingly wonderful.
"Hush!,' I said. "It's not a question of me 'being good to you'. It's simply that I love you, Timmy, and want to share things with you."
He snuggled up against my bosom again. That was clearly the most expressive way he had of telling me how he felt about my saying that.
"Can we do it again?" he asked.
I paused for a moment before replying. On one hand, if we were ever caught, and word of it got out, my career as a private tutor would be pretty much permanently finished. But how important was that compared to the tremendous happiness that I was bringing to this lonely little boy.
I'd be a hypocrite if I implied that he was the only one who was getting anything out of the arrangement, and that that was the only thing that I was interested in. Like I said earlier, Doctor, I didn't have any boyfriend myself at the time, and indeed I've had to get accustomed to doing without male company for quite long periods of time. And there could be no doubt at all possible of the fact that little Timmy already had a man's cock and a pretty good idea of how to use it!
As a matter of fact, right at the moment that he asked that question, he still had it inside me, and the thing was quite a powerful argument in favor of my answering "yes" to his question about whether or not we would be having sex together in the future. "Don't you want to?" he asked plaintively, noting how I was hesitating before giving him an answer to his question.
"Of course I want to, Timmy," I said. "The only reason that I didn't reply earlier was that I was just thinking about all the wonderful fun that we could have together, that's all."
"What shall we do next?" he asked excitedly, like a kid on Christmas morning trying to decide which Christmas presents he wished to open first.
"Well," I said, "it's normal for a couple to wait a few minutes so that the man can get his strength up again."
Timmy looked just a bit crestfallen at that. Obviously, he wanted to plunge straight back into the fray again, and from the feel of his cock (which was still inside me) he would have probably been able to without much difficulty. But I didn't want him to risk having an impotence experience this early in his fucking career, since that might have unfortunate repercussions later.
"I tell you what," I said, "why don't you lick and kiss me between the legs. That'll get your prick all charged up again, and it'll be a lot of fun for me!"
His face brightened instantly at the prospect of having a chance to go explore between my legs. You know how young boys like to go exploring unknown regions. Well, what could be more unknown to this angelic thirteen-year-old than the warm wetness and delicate female smell of my tingling feminity?
He pulled his cock out and I lay back on the sofa, my legs spread. I knew that he and I could screw around in safety, since both his parents were out of the house at the moment.
He looked at my twat for a second with his jaw open in amazement. I think he was almost tempted to worship it rather than lick it.
"Women are so wonderful!" he gasped as his eyes took in such details as my curly pubic hair and my pink cunt-lips.
"Wonderful or not, they also like to get plenty of action on their pussies," I said with a smile.
He knelt in front of me and pressed his face up close to my vaginal area. I heard a series of deep sniffs, and I could guess that he was revelling in the rich female odor. One of the few boyfriends that I've ever had said to me once that almost nothing turns a guy on faster than a good rich pussy smell, and that women make a real mistake in douching and using all these female deodorants.
Then, I felt a sharp stab of delicious sensation on my pussy, and realized that it was his tongue slurping out over my twat! The tongue passed right over the clit, and I gave a shudder of delight.
Lick! Lick! Lick! Those Were on the clit too, and I was afraid that if this kept up much longer, I would be coming before I had had time to really enjoy what I was getting. But the instinctive sense for sex that Timmy had already revealed in the preceding fuck came to the rescue, and so after the third lick to my clit had me almost literally trembling on the brink of my come, he let up for a second so as to give my steamy vagina a chance to calm down. Then he started licking me again, but this time on the labia, which although highly sensitive, were nevertheless not nearly as sensitive as my throbbing little clit, which right at that moment was aching with desire for a chance to send my cunt a-trembling in a wild and frantic come!
Slurp! Slurp! Slurp! The tongue slid here, there, everywhere, coating my tender pink female skin with saliva, teasing my twat into a state of desperate come-need, and generally tying me up in knots!
"Fine, Timmy! So fine! So fine!"
He didn't say anything, but just licked all the harder. It was obvious that he was completely determined to do a good job on my twat!
I was meanwhile mashing and pressing my tits against my chest, and teasing the nipples into a state of pebble-like rigidity. My whole body felt like it was about to melt, and still the wonderful licking went on and on.
"Timmy! Gotta come! Make me come!"
Slurp! Slurp! Slurp!
I felt the tongue slide on into my vagina, felt it press against the cunt walls, and then it went sliding rapidly up into his mouth, obviously taking with it plenty of my pussy-juices. After we were through, I asked Timmy which he preferred: the smell or the taste of my twat. And he said that as far as he was concerned, they were both so great that it was quite impossible for him to make up his mind!
I was really just about to come, really hanging on the brink, and still Timmy licked...
Glancing down, I could just make out his cock if I bent my head to one side. It was absolutely huge. Clearly, this business of cuntlapping might be new to Timmy, but it was also sure one hell of a turn-on.
"Ah! Ah! Ah!" I gasped as I felt every stroke of that tongue on my soft female flesh drive me madder and madder with come-need.
Lick! Lick! LICK!
That last one was on the clit, right on the clit, right on the aching, throbbing, pulsating, agonized CLIT!
AHHHHHHHHH!" I gasped as the first wave of my orgasm tore through me followed by another and another and another!
"Coming! Coming! Coming! So hard! So fine! Coming!" I gasped. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, I couldn't do anything but just come and come and come, as my body melted into one big mass of female ecstasy!
Then at last my cunt stopped throbbing, and Timmy looked up with those great big blue eyes of his.
"You did a fantastic job... " I said weakly. And the weakness, the played-out quality in my voice, must have made it twice as convincing as it would have otherwise been!
The look in his eyes showed how terribly happy he was to hear that. Children who aren't loved by their parents become very insecure, and end up in constant need of approval from others, so that they can believe in themselves.
"Well," I said, "what would you like to do now? I'm sure that you're more than ready to get back into action, judging from the look of that prick of yours!"
"I'd like you to get your breath back first, Miss T.," he said with complete sincerity. That's one thing about him-he's really about the most considerate child that you're ever likely to find.
"Well, I think that I'm pretty well rested up, or will be in a second," I said. "But let's decide now what it is that we'd like to do, so that there won't be any delay after I'm back in shape."
"I don't know much about sex," he said simply, "so maybe you'd better advise me!"
"Let's see," I answered, "you've been working awfully hard these last two times. How'd you like for us to do a position in which you get to rest and I take charge?"
"Would you like that, Miss T.?"
"It's a nice change for the woman to play the active role from time to time," I said.
"In that case, I think I'd really like it."
"Okay," I said, "get on your back, and I'll see what I can manage."
"This position is sometimes called 'top-riding', I explained as I straddled his hips. I was after all still his tutor, and it seemed to me like it was sort of my duty to explain to him exactly what it was that we were doing.
He looked up with interest and love in his eyes. It was obvious to me that for him the important thing was that I was interested in him and found him a desirable partner. As for the names of the different sexual positions that we used, that was obviously of rather secondary importance to him.
"Now," I said, "hold your prick so that it points up between my legs. That's the ticket!"
Then, as he did this I lowered myself down onto his organ.
It was a nice sensation to have it sliding into me again, and it was made all the nicer by the interesting change from female, passivity that it represented for me. Don't get me wrong, Doctor, I think that one of the best things about being a woman is that you get to play the passive role in sex. But it certainly is nice to have a change from it once in a while, too.
Down... down... down... Finally, there I was resting lightly on his balls, while his rod poked up hard and eager inside me.
I jiggled up and down for a bit, and smiled at him. Then, I started sliding my body up and down his shaft.
"Oooh that's so wonderful, Miss T." the little boy gasped, as he felt my enveloping vagina move back and forth over his prick.
Up! Down! Up! Down! Every stroke pulled my labia across my clit in the most tantalizing manner possible, and the result was that without even thinking about it I was moving faster and faster over his rod in my desire to get as much of that stimulation as possible. That was no problem for him, though, because it was obvious from the look on his face that he really dug this wild pumping that I was giving to him.
Up! Down! Up! Down!
Ride 'em, ride 'em, ride 'em!
"Miss T.! Miss T.!"
I don't know whether he wanted to say anything besides just those two words, because he was clearly hardly able to breathe now, let alone speak!
I was jiggling my tits, then I bent forward so that he could get at them. He took hold of them gratefully, and continued to fondle and tease them while my pussy worked away on his rod.
I was getting there... I was turning on... I was ready to blast...
Up! Down! Up! Down!
All systems go! Minus ten and counting!
"Miss T.!"
"Nine, eight, seven, six!
Cunt on cock! Cunt on cock! Cunt on cock!
Five four three two one...
Was I hot! Was I fucking hot!
BLASTOFF!
Wham! Wham! Wham! My pussy almost literally seemed to shake itself apart over his shooting rod as it clutched convulsively in its efforts to drain every last drop of boy fluid out of that hard stick!
"Coming! I'm Coming!" he gasped, and you'd better believe that he was, with that thirteen-year-old penis of his shooting more stuff into me on its second shot than a lot of grown men have for their first one!
Gush! Gush! Gush! Gob after gob after gob of boy-jism pulsating up into me, and the feeling of that rod trembling between the walls of my vagina just made my come all the more frantic!
That was all the fun and games for that afternoon, but you'd better believe that we continued to fuck as often as we could after that.
Several months later, Timmy's father announced that it was time for the boy to go off to school. I would have tried to dissuade him if I hadn't thought that perhaps in a way that was really in Timmy's best interests. After all, he was such a shy child that a chance to get out and make some friends might really do him a lot of good. He'd have to do without me, of course, but then it would hardly do for him to get too dependent on me anyway, since I couldn't exactly be his tutor for the rest of his life.
After the job with Timmy was over, I really wasn't quite sure what I should do next. You have to remember that sex between me and the little boy had started to a large extent because I felt so sorry for him. But of course, I had derived a great deal of sexual satisfaction out of it too, and although I supposed that the next pupil that I had would probably not need the kind of emotional comfort and reassurance that Timmy did, it wasn't at all certain that I wouldn't need his prick.
In fact, things worked out very well, because the next boy I happened to get as a pupil was, like Timmy, a rather reserved, lonely child.
The big difference between them, however, was that while Timmy's unhappiness had manifested itself in extreme shyness, Richard's found vent in a sort of truculent aggressiveness that made him a very difficult pupil to have at first.
"Richard," I said one afternoon while his parents were away, "do you mean to say that you haven't learned those verbs yet? And you didn't have them memorized yesterday, either!" Stony silence.
"Aren't you going to say something, you rude little boy?"
"Fuck off!"
"Richard!"
"I said fuck off!"
I was just about to tell him that if he didn't apologize to me for using language like that, I would tell his parents (though that wouldn't have done much good, since they didn't know how to handle him either) when an idea occurred to me.
"Richard," I said sternly, "because you've been so rude, I won't give you the surprise that I had planned for you unless you apologize!"
"You can keep your fucking surprise!" he said. (You should remember that the user of this language was a thirteen-year-old boy!) "Very well," I said, and turned back to the French grammar we were using.
That sort of took him aback. Like all young boys, he has a great fondness for presents and surprises, and I could see the tension in his face as his desire for the gift warred with his desire not to apologize "All right," he said finally.
"All right what?"
"All right, I'm sorry."
"That didn't sound very sincere."
"I'm sorry I was rude to you, Miss T.," he said. I can't swear that there wasn't just a hint of sarcasm in the way he said that, but I decided to let it pass.
"Very good," I replied. "And here's your surprise." And saying that, I started to knead and press his genitals through the crotch of his pants.
He opened his mouth, and I think he was about to say something like "what kind of lousy present is this?" since he had obviously been expecting something more tangible, but the protest died on his lips as his cock started to swell up against the tightness of his pants. He was beginning to see that intangible things could be pretty nice too.
"Don't you think that that's nice?" I asked him.
"Yes," he said quietly and with a gulp. He was more polite in the way he said that sentence than I could recall his ever being. Obviously, he didn't want to get me mad for fear that I might stop playing with his cock. Pride was less important to him than the sensations that my fingers were causing in that rod of his.
"Well," I said, "if that's nice, maybe you'd find it even nicer if I did this!" And saying that, I unzipped the front of his pants.
Boy! You'd better believe that that prick of his really punched out hard against the fabric of his underpants. I noted how lucky I was to have picked as a pupil a boy who was every bit as well endowed in the cock department as Timmy was! Since that's something you can hardly ask the parents during the preliminary interview, I guess I just licked out.
I squeezed the prick a few more times through the cotton, then I pulled the underpants down and allowed the penis to swell up to its full size.
It was really an awfully substantial prick for a boy of only thirteen. Unlike Timmy's, whose cock was rather long and thin, Richard's whanger was more of the short and thick kind. But by thick I mean very thick! Clearly, once I had it shoved up my cunt, the walls of my vagina would really feel it press outward as it slid back and forth to work me up to orgasm!
I caressed the rod a bit more, and then said, "and this may be even nicer!"
And so saying, I bent down and took the penis in my mouth and began to suck on it.
You may wonder why I didn't start with a fuck. Well, partly because I just sort of happened to be hungry for spunk, but also because I didn't want to give everything to Richard at once. He was still my pupil, and if I was going to ever succeed in teaching him anything about the subjects which his parents were paying me to teach him, obviously I was going to have to get him in a more co-operative frame of mind towards his studies than that evidenced by the "fuck you" I mentioned. If I made fucking a reward for good behavior, it might help maintain discipline a bit. I know that sounds a bit mercenary, but even though I wasn't entirely happy about that aspect of it myself, the truth of the matter was that I had a severe practical problem regarding his behavior, and it was absolutely necessary for me to deal with it somehow.
So, I decided to start off with a blow-job. I slipped my. fingers around the rod and held it steady while I gently nibbled at the fleshy end of it with my lips. Then, I slid my mouth way down around the thing to let them press against the prick-root. (After removing my fingers from the cock, of course.) I slid my mouth up and down the shaft several times too, so as to more or less imitate the feeling that he would get from sliding his equipment up and down in my vagina (which, I was going to tell him, he would be permitted to do if he behaved himself.
"Miss T...?" he said "Yes?" I answered, momentarily taking my lips off of the saliva-soaked rod.
"I'm sorry I was rude to you before," he said simply.
That really made me feel fantastic. He was already getting a blow job, and I hadn't yet told him that he could get a fuck by being good, so that little apology apparently stemmed from a real desire to show how much he appreciated what I was doing to his penis.
While keeping his rod inside my mouth, I slid my tongue up and down the shaft to increase the stimulation. And at the same time, I was caressing his ballsack with my right hand.
My left hand was busy down on my twat. I wanted to get some fun out of this too, particularly as I hadn't had any good sex since my last session with Timmy, two weeks before. And if maybe there are some women who could suck the prick of a healthy young boy and still stand for their twats to be neglected, I'm certainly not one of them!
I had slipped my left hand down the top of my panties, and was now cupping my crotch, pressing the fingers against the warm womanflesh, and teasing my already hard little clit into a state of utter frenzy!
I had moved my lips up Richard's rod now, and was sucking away at the place where the shaft and the knob joined. That seemed to really turn him on, judging from the funny little sound that he was making, and as for me, I was getting pretty turned on myself from both the feel of the thick male-thing between my lips, and the pressure of my fingers on my labia.
I wormed one of my fingers up into my vagina, and pressed it against the cunt walls. I have long fingernails, and I was able to press the edge of my fingernail against the tender cuntflesh. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to produce a pretty wild and strange sensation.
I was about to come, I knew that I couldn't hold back much longer, but that was a good thing, because judging from the gasps and grunts that Richard was coming out with, it didn't look like he could hold out much longer, even if he wanted to!
I pressed my lips hard against his prick-shaft and squeezed, while giving another little squeeze of my fingers on his ballsack. That was all that was needed, too! I felt his cock stiffen up, ready to shoot, and as it did so, I poked one of my fingers hard against the throbbing surface of my clit.
We hit it both exactly at the same second. Just as I felt the first shudder slam through my body, his prick sent a gush of warm boy cream shooting against the back of my mouth.
Splat! Splat! Splat! This was his first come of the day, so you'd better believe that he had plenty of jism in his balls to shoot! In fact, there was stuff everywhere! Some of it even trickled down my throat, making me kind of gag, but I didn't mind, because it's presence was pretty exciting, too!
Man, was he shooting! And was my pussy pulsating, tool shock wave after shock wave poured through it, making my whole body shake like a leaf in the wind! I continued to press my hand against it, continued to feel up the almost aching clit as my pelvis bucked and heaved. And all the while that remarkable prick of his was continuing to empty itself into me!
Finally, he stopped, and for a moment or two I continued to slosh his sperm back and forth over the gradually softening rod.
Then, I pulled my lips off and then gulped the sperm down in a couple of big gulps. Mmm, it was so good! The more I drink jism, the more I wonder that the stuff isn't for sale in bottles.
"Miss T., that was so nice!" he said.
"Well, if you work really hard on your irregular verbs, there'll be something nicer!" I said. Even though his behavior had already shown marked signs of improvement since the beginning of the blow-job, I still thought that using sex as an incentive to good behavior might be too good an idea to give up without trying.
The next day, he had not merely memorized all the irregular verbs that I had given him, but also all the ones in the next chapter too! Of course, I was going to reward him for that!
"Have you ever seen a pussy?" I asked him. I knew of course that he almost unquestionably had not, but it seemed like a good question to begin with.
"No," he said.
"Well, this is what one looks like!" And I pulled my skirt up to reveal my crotch.
I had suspected that he would probably work pretty hard and earn the reward, so I had come without any panties on. That way, I would be good and ready for action. Also, I quite like walking around without panties sometimes. You feel so female and available.
His tongue darted out of his mouth as his eyes glued themselves on my moist muff and the pink slit of my vagina.
I looked at the crotch of his pants, and saw a very pronounced bulge there. He was really turned on. In fact, his right hand went unconsciously to his pants and started to feel up the equipment that he had jammed down there.
I reached over and undid his pants. Once again his cock came swelling out into the open.
"Look at my pussy," I said. "See how wet it's gotten? That's because it's hungry for your prick. It wants your prick up it, shooting its wad into it? Will you do that for me?"
"You bet!" he said.
"And will you continue to learn your irregular verbs?"
"Uh HUH!" he said, nodding his head vigorously.
"Well, then, why don't I get on my hands and knees, and you can stick your prick into me?"
I did just that, and he quickly positioned himself behind me, his tool at the ready. I felt him place his hands first on my shoulders, then on my waist, as he tried to figure out what the best way to hold me would be while bucking his frantic rod into me. I thought of giving him a suggestion or two, but then it occurred to me that he was probably enjoying all this exploration.
He poked the tip of his cock against my labia, missing the hole. He'd apparently tried to just thrust it in without guiding it with his hand, but had not had very good aim. That didn't really matter, though, because on the second try, he got it just right, and I gave a little gasp as I felt him slide on into me.
Then, he hesitated for a bit. It suddenly occurred to me that he might not really know what it was that he was supposed to do next.
"Slide it back and forth!" I said, and he did so, with strokes that were really pretty vigorous right from the start.
"Mmm, nice," I purred.
It was, too, very nice. The way in which he was thrusting was giving my clit plenty of rubbing from my labia. And there was something else that was just as nice, namely the feel of my hands on my dangling tits, which I swung from side to side, jiggled around, and did all those other things to that tits really likes.
Richard might be a bit stubborn from time to time, but there could be no doubt at all of the fact that he was also very bright, and it didn't take him long to figure that if I was enjoying those things that I was doing to my breasts, I would enjoy having him do them even more, and it would be a treat for him too.
So, I felt his hands place themselves over mine as a signal for me to leave my tits to him. I was perfectly willing to do so, and slipped my own hands out of the way.
It was really nice having someone else's hands on my breasts, and I soon found that he had quite a natural aptitude for pleasing tits.
He wasn't bad on cunts, either, let me tell you, Doctor! He was really letting me have it now, and after the first few slightly hesitant strokes, he had really picked up a lot of confidence.
Buck! Buck! Buck! He was really winding me up, really tying me in knots In! Out! In! Out! Man oh man, was that ever nice!
"Richard! Gotta... gotta... gotta!"
I really did have to come, too! I was just about out of my mind with the flaming orgasm-need that was burning in my vitals as the taut skin of that penis slipped back and forth over the wet lining of my cunt!
One or two more strokes would do it... just one or two...
I was almost there... almost... almost Then... suddenly... I... was... going...
OVER THE TOP!
Brrrrrrrt! My body seemed to blast off like a machine gun, and I gasped in ecstasy as come-shudder after come-shudder tore through me!
The pressure of my cunt-walls contracting around his frantic organ were more than enough to bring him off, and he was shooting his cream into me in hard, hot spurts, while my cunt felt like it was almost trying to milk him in its desperation to get every possible bit of the stuff!
Drying the rest of the time I was teaching him, I continued to fuck regularly with him, and I've fucked with the two boys I've had as pupils since. Both of them were rather lonely and shy too, and both of them were also pretty good in the cock department, as well.
The trouble is that I've been feeling increasingly guilty about all of this lately. At first, I was able to tell myself that after all, this was all for their won good. They needed companionship and warmth, and I supplied it to them.
But I've become more and more suspicious of my motives. I do get a great deal of pleasure both physically and emotionally out of fucking with these young boys, and I can't help wondering if their "need" for me to have relations with them isn't something that I invent in my own head, and that I use as an excuse to continue having sex with them. I really do like boys, and by that I mean as people, and not just physically. The job of private tutor may not seem very exalted to you, Doctor, but I always used to get the quiet satisfaction of knowing that I was spreading learning and helping my pupils grow up. But now that sex has entered the picture, I can't help wondering if I'm not exploiting the boys in some way. I'd hate to think that that was what I was up to-exploitation.
Miss T.'s case is an interesting complement to that of Mrs. M. The latter, you will remember, had sexual relations with her son's best friend, as a means of dealing with her subconscious incestuous desire. Miss T., on the other hand, has no children, but has sex with children so that she can (subconsciously) be their mother. Timmy, for instance, attracted her attention because he was so emotionally neglected. She wanted to do what his parents were neglecting to do, namely fill the child's life with a certain amount of love and warmth. Many people would probably have responded to a situation like that in a similar way, but Miss T. clearly carried her desires to something of an extreme, and that is where the abnormality lay.
The contrast between Timmy and Richard as partners is very interesting too, since together they required what in a schematic way can be said to be everything that a mother is expected to give: love (Timmy) and discipline (Richard). That is a bit over simplified, since she was interested in Timmy's development as a responsible person, and she had maternal feelings of love for Richard, but there is nevertheless some truth in it.
Of course, Miss T. shared another quality with most of the other women in these cases, namely marked sexual deprivation. She had had adult lovers, and apparently gotten a reasonable amount of physical and emotional satisfaction from them, but nevertheless they would appear to have been rather few and far between.
Whenever an individual is not getting very much sex, the therapist should be on the lookout for the reason why. Sexual deprivation is often a sign of social deprivation too. The person why is too shy, standoffish, or whatever, for a successful sexual life is often unable to function properly in any interaction with other human beings, whether the interaction is expected to be sexual or not.
Certainly Miss T. is able to relate successfully to the boys whom she tutors, and since her charges' parents are apparently satisfied with the impression that they get of her in the preliminary interview with her, she is clearly not utterly deficient socially. But one still gets the impression that she is most comfortable with children, both sexually and socially.
This can become a circular pattern, of course, where a certain gaucheness with adults leads the individual to withdraw from adult company, which in turn increases the diffidence and standoffishness that were part of the original gaucheness. This, I suspect, is what happened in Miss T.'s case.
It would be a mistake as seeing her relating to children because they are all she has. That is one side of the coin, perhaps, but the other is that sex with children can be a wonderful defensive mechanism for someone who is afraid of sex with an adult partner. Few people can stand having no sexual outlet at all, and that is only partly because of the physical frustration involved. Our society puts a heavy positive value on being able to attract the opposite sex. The person who leads a sexless life is condemned to considerable lack of self-esteem.
Miss T., though, can have sex with boys and thus say to herself (on a subconscious level) "I'm not an old maid. I'm a desirable woman, as is proven by the pricks that I've had in me today!"
Why not the prick of a grown man? Is it just that it is unavailable? That is probably a good part of the story, but another factor that cannot be ignored is that Miss T., like many women, may have a secret fear of adult males. Ever since Freud, we all are aware of the strongly aggressive, almost dangerous symbolism of the spearlike penis piercing the soft underneath of a woman. Most women adjust to this, of course, and indeed many female fantasies are ones precisely of being taken brutally in a state of helplessness.
Not all females are so fortunate, however. Some retain a permanent fear of the penis, and this can express itself in pedophilia.
The boys penises do not have to be small to seem unthreatening. That sounds strange, of course, if one considers the way in which the spear-like quality of the penis is what's frightening, but nevertheless it is true. This is possible because the fear of the penis itself is transferred from it onto the man in general, in many cases, a transference which allows that woman to satisfy those physical cravings which coexist with her fear of the male organ.
Even if all this is true, one may ask, why shouldn't Miss T. continue to seek her happiness in this way?
If that is what she really wants, there is of course no reason that she shouldn't, since the sexual activity probably does no harm at all to the boys. But Miss T. is cutting herself off from such pleasures as those of marriage, for instance, by her rejection of adult males, and there is always the danger that she may get caught. Furthermore, therapy is clearly needed to deal with her guilt feelings, if for no other reason. The gradual emergence of these feelings incidentally, after a period of quiescence, is a classic pattern.
Miss T. is just beginning therapy. It will take some time to get at the root of her irrational fears of men and to deal with them, but her intelligence and perceptivity argue for good long-term prospects.
CASE HISTORY FIVE
Natalie E. was a very pretty brunette of thirty -four, but there was something a bit artificial about her beauty. Not that she did not have naturally nice features and hair she did. But let's say that her beauty was something that she worked at, and that was psychologically very important to her.
"Doctor, I'm desperate," she said, flashing a set of perfect ivory teeth. It was obvious that she was desperate-the tone of her voice indicated that clearly-but interestingly, she still felt she had to smile. And it was a sort of glamour-girl, public-relations smile, too.
"Well," I said, "what exactly is your problem?"
Miss E. was obviously a great deal more willing to say dramatic things like "I'm desperate" than she was to get down .to specifics. She hummed and hawed for an instant before answering, and when her answer came, it was rather evasive.
"I've developed these rather unusual needs," she said, "but soon I won't be able to satisfy them any longer."
"Why won't you be able to satisfy them?" I asked.
"Age. Believe it or not, age. I'm too old. How about that?" she said. "Too old?"
"Yes. I work as a ground-stewardess for a major airline, "She said. "At thirty-two you have to stop flying, and at thirty-five you have to quit. It used to be that you had to quit at thirty-two, but the union got that changed. I was demoted from flight-stewardess two and a half years ago. Oh, I get the same pay now, actually even a little better, but the job doesn't have the glamour of flight-service."
For the umpteenth time I wondered how it was that girls got it into their heads there was something glamorous about serving two hundred people with plastic food from microwave ovens at 22,000 feet, but I refrained from asking, of course.
"So, your satisfaction of these 'needs' depends on your job," I said.
"Yes."
"What are these needs, anyway?"
"Well, it's a long story "
"Are they sexual?"
A long pause, then a clipped "yes."
"What are they exactly?"
"I... I fuck with little boys!" she said. It was strange. I got the impression that the only thing which had been able to overcome her reluctance to admit what it was that she did was the sudden realization that someone was interested in what she had to say, and that she could make a dramatic effect by blurting it out like that. To tell the truth, she looked a bit disappointed that I was not sitting opposite her with my mouth gaping open in horror. One of the ironies of psychotherapy, of course, is that none of the patients are ever aware of how common their secret "vices" really are.
"You fuck with little boys? And that's associated with your job?" I was a little bit puzzled as to the connection, and that was perhaps rather good, since it encouraged her to expand freely on the topic, now that she knew that she had my interest.
"Well, yes, it is," she said, savouring my ignorance for a moment longer. Then she began her story...
We ground-stewardesses handle all sorts of tasks, mostly involved with seeing that people and their luggage get on the right plane. For instance, when there's a schedule change or a flight delay, we explain to the passengers what's going on, and we make sure that none of them wander off.
Now, as you might expect, one of our most important duties involves children. You'd be surprised at how many children travel alone now-days. One reason for this is that the airlines have the whole setup beautifully worked out to allow parents to send their brats unaccompanied without any danger that when the grandparents are waiting in Duluth, the kid'll be showing up in Valparaiso. You've seen kids at airports with great big name tags hung on them and a woman accompanying them. We'll, I'm one of those women, When a child is supposed to make a connection, I meet him at the gate, stay with him until its time for the next flight to leave, and make sure that he gets on it.
This whole sex thing between me and little boys started a few months ago when I had a big row with my boyfriend. I'd heard rumors that he'd been two-timing me on the side with a twenty-three year old flight stewardess. I demanded to know if it was true, and when he said it was none of my business, I really blew up.
The next morning, I felt kind of depressed. After all, Brad sure hadn't been perfect, but at my age a girl who's still unmarried can't afford to be all that choosy, and the fight that we'd had was such a lulu that I figured that it was pretty much washed up between the two of us. And the fact that he had refused to deny that he was mixed up with this other chick made me think that the rumors about the two of them had to be true.
Well, at work there's this girl I just can't stand. Her name's Elaine, and she really thinks that she's God's gift to mankind. She's twenty-one, and she's always wiggling her ass and trying to look as sexy as a Hollywood bombshell. We row and bicker about all sorts of things. Anyway, the morning after I'd broken up with Brad I got into an argument with her about something or other to do with the job, and after we'd traded catinesses for a while, she said to another girl who was standing next to her, "well, just six more months and we won't have to put up with Bitchy Miss Menopause there."
Miss Menopause! And I'm only thirty-four! Talk about bitchy things to say. It's just like Elaine to go around pretending that I'm an old woman!
I said a couple of nasty things back, of course, but that didn't prevent me from feeling really low about anyone even being able to say by way of insult that I was getting old. And I'd lost my boyfriend to a young chick the evening before, like I said!
About two-thirty, Flight 402 from Mexico City came in, with a little boy aboard who was going to make Flight 131 for Los Angeles. There was a two-hour layover, and I had to keep the kid out of trouble for that time.
As I went off to meet the flight, that bitch Elaine said to another girl, "There goes Momma!"
You'd better believe that that burned me up, but I didn't have time to say anything back, since the flight was taxiing up to the gate, and it would never do for me to be late. After all, I'm the sort of person who likes to think of herself as capable of doing a competent job of work.
The kid's name was Algernon P. He was thirteen, but young-looking for his age. This was the first time that he'd ever travelled alone, so he seemed kind of nervous.
He was on a first-class ticket, so I took him to the first class lounge. The lounge was empty, and the two of us just sat there making kind of nothing-type conversation. As we sat there, though, I noticed that young Algernon must be going through a growing spurt, since he had definitely outgrown his pants. Probably his parents just hadn't gotten around to buying some more, because obviously they had the dough for it, judging from the first-class ticket. Anyway, his prick really made kind of a bulge in his crotch, if you know what I mean.
"There goes Momma!" I thought angrily, mulling over Elaine's parting shot. So that's what they thought of me as, then-a sort of elderly nursemaid. And here I am only thirty-four-a young woman!
That bulge in Algernon's crotch was really pretty noticeable. I couldn't help starting at it. An old woman indeed! Here I was, hardly able to keep my eyes off a prick, and it didn't even belong to a full-grown man. That showed how horney I was!
I reached out and playfully put my hand on his crotch. I didn't think about doing it beforehand, I just did it. Algernon looked up at me with kind of surprised eyes, but he didn't say anything, either because he was shy, or liked what I was doing.
I pressed my fingers together gently, kneading his boyflesh. It began to stiffen up under my touch, and as it did so, I felt a tingle of excitement run through my clit. My panties were very decidedly getting wet!
"Do you like that, Algernon?" I asked as I felt his boyish prick start to really strain against the restraint of his crotch.
"Yes," he said shyly, "I do."
"Well, let's go some place where I can do it some more. Would you like that?"
He nodded, and I got up and motioned for him to follow me.
In the airport, near the First-Class Lounge, there are a couple of small rooms that can be used in cases when a passenger should be or would like to be, segregated from the others. .(For instance, a passenger who is suddenly feeling queasy without being ill enough to require medical attention, or a passenger who is grief-stricken and keeps sobbing about the relative whose funeral he's just attended.) These little lounges for the first class passengers are furnished with a sofa, chair and table, and best of all, can be locked, from the inside, that is, by the passenger, if he wants total privacy.
I took Algernon into one of these, and locked the door. Then I sat down on the sofa next to him and started feeling his cock up again.
He gave a little wince, and I guessed that he was really finding the tightness of his pants a bit uncomfortable, now that his penis was swelling up to full size.
Well, I wanted to get a good look at the thing, so it stood to reason that the two of us would be a lot happier with that fly of his unzipped, and that whanger of his out in the open.
I pulled down the zipper, and then pulled down the waistband of his underpants to expose the balls and rod.
He looked at me a little nervously, but with a look of expectation on his face. I could guess that at his age, he had already given that cock of his a pretty good workout in the past, and he knew what I was interested in, namely seeing him ejaculate. At the same time, it's pretty unlikely that a thirteen year old would have had any other kind of sex except for masturbation, so I was going to have the fun of breaking him in, so to speak, and teaching him what fun a guy and a girl could have together. I figured that it would be a kind of groovy experience.
I bent down and kissed his cock, and then said to Algernon, "I'm going to make this come. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Uh huh," he said, in that same shy way he had.
I told him to get down on the carpet, and then I straddled him with my legs. I lowered myself down onto his prick, which I held aloft with one hand.
"Menopausal indeed!" I said. "This girl's still got plenty of life in her, and I'm going to prove it by giving this kid a fuck that he'll remember for the rest of his life!"
I lowered myself onto his cock, and jiggled my hips slightly, so that the tip rubbed against my tender cuntflesh. It was a really nice sensation, as you can possibly imagine.
"Bart! Who needs a creep like him?" I thought. "Hell, even with an inexperienced boy I can give myself twice the amount of fun that I ever got off of Bart!"' Then, after teasing my twat and the tip of his prick in this manner, I inserted the cock into my vagina, and slid on the rest of the way down, spearing myself on the boy's hard tool.
And I mean hard, too, Doctor, make no mistake about that. This kid may have been only thirteen, but that didn't mean that he didn't have a whanger on him that wouldn't have done plenty of grown men proud.
After it was all the way inserted, I said, "Do you like having your prick inside me?"
"Yes... "
"And do you think that I'm beautiful?"
"Yes... " The shy voice with which he replied couldn't disguise the fact that it was a real turn-on for him to have a woman like me sitting on his cock.
I moved my body up, and he looked at me with a very worried expression on his face. He was afraid, quite clearly, that I was going to pull off of his penis without bringing him to orgasm. Well, he didn't have a thing to worry about on that score. In fact, I had no intention at all of taking my tight, enveloping pussy off of that cock of his until it had shot the contents of those virgin balls up into me.
I didn't wait long on the upstroke, but headed on down almost at once. Up again... down again... Up again... down again...
He looked at me wide eyed. As I say, I'm sure that he must have beaten his meat at various times in the past, but it was pretty clear that he had never known what incredible pleasure was involved in having his cock worked over by a woman.
I was going quite fast now, really pumping, really working to get him shooting. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing really heavily in time to my strokes. He was obviously pretty near his come, judging from his breathing and from the feel of his cock inside me. Something about a cock feels different to me when it's about to go off. Maybe it's stiffer of something.
If he was going to come, that was fine with me, because I wasn't far from my own fetch-off. The constant rubbing of my labia against my clit had worked me up to a pretty frantic pitch of excitement, and the attention that I was giving my tits (I had unbuttoned my blouse and pulled the globes over the tops of the cups) didn't exactly make me feel much cooler.
I was really almost there... almost... almost...
Just had to come... just had to... Wanted to hold on a bit longer. Just a bit. Just a...
I felt his cock give that final extra little stiffening, and then it exploded in my twat. The feel of that rod quivering there in my pussy, the feel of it shooting its cream deep up inside me, was more than enough to send me over the top! My twat was hit by shudder after shudder of pure, unadulterated, wet female ecstasy, with cunt-walls contracting around the boy's frantically spasming penis.
"Ahhhhhh! I moaned, forgetting that it might be a good idea not to make too much noise. I just couldn't stand it, just couldn't stand the come-joy that was surging through my female body!
Then we were both done, and I sat on top of Algernon and asked with a smile, "have a good time?"
"I sure did!" he said with surprising emphasis. I guess the pleasure that he'd gotten from the fuck had been enough to kind of jolt his shyness out of him.
"Well," I said, "wait here, and I'll be back shortly with some Coke for you. We can rest up, and then we can have some more fun."
I figured that with a kid his age, it would be a good idea to let him rest up a bit, if I wanted to get the best possible performance out of him. So I hurriedly put my clothes back on, and went out to get a Coke for him and a gin and tonic for myself.
We sat there in the lounge sipping out drinks, and when they were both finished, I said, "well, Algernon, would you like to play around some more?"
"Uh huh," he replied. Conversation was not exactly this kid's strong suit.
I stripped my clothes off, and he took his off too. Then I said to him, "let's sixty-nine!"
He didn't know what that was, but once I explained it, he gave a very enthusiastic glance in the direction of my cunt, a glance that seemed to indicate just how keep he was on the idea of getting a chance to lick that furry patch of mine.
We lay down on the sofa, facing in opposite direction, of course, and I took his prick in my mouth and started to suck on it very gently.
The lick that I got in return on my cunt was very gentle too. I guess he figured that it would be a good idea to follow my lead as far as technique was concerned. I began to suck a bit more vigorously, and he stepped up his licking.
Pretty soon, we were both really going at it to beat the band, with my lips sliding up and down over his taut prick-skin, and his tongue continuing to slurp away like crazy at my tender twat.
Man! He was really doing a good job down there. He was the kind of quiet kid you'd imagine would be good in school. You know, the kind who really pays attention. Well, everytime he did something that really made me shudder with delight, he apparently would note down in his mind that he'd stumbled on to something effective, because right after that he would do it again several more times, and his general standard of cuntlapping got better and better the longer we went at it.
I was arching my back now in delight as he turned my twat in a little molasses-pool of pleasure with that tongue of his.
Slurp! Slurp! Slurp! He was really licking away, like a cat drinking, and I guess that the reason for that was that he really liked the taste of my pussy fluid, and was anxious to get as much of it in his mouth as he possibly could.
I wasn't doing so badly either on his cock, judging from the little shivers that went through his body when I did such things as suck away at the place where the shaft and knob join, or pull gently on his ballsack.
I knew that I was going to be coming very soon, and I worked all the harder on his rod to get him off too. It would never do for him to think that I didn't know enough about fucking to get him off at the same time as me. Oh, I guess at his age he wouldn't have understood that there was anything wrong if we didn't come together, but when he got older and looked back on this introduction to sex that he had had, he would know, and the thought of that irked me.
I didn't really have to far to go in getting him wound up, however. Already, his body seemed to tremble with every suck I gave, and the desperate eagerness with which he licked away on my twat seemed to indicate that he was afraid that he would come before he managed to get me off.
In fact, neither of us had a thing to worry about, as it turned out. Just as I felt my cunt give a little pre-come shiver, his cock stiffened up a bit more in my mouth, and almost the instant he started shooting (and maybe even on account of the extra excitement that I felt at having a cock going off in my mouth). I went over the top too, and the two of us were really coming hard.
Gush! Gush! Gush! ! If he came with this much jism when he beat off, he must have to use a big handkerchief to wipe it all up, I thought. That kid's balls were literally pouring the stuff into my mouth.
Well, he wasn't thinking about that too much I don't imagine, because he seemed to be busy concentrating on keeping his face almost literally buried in my soggy twat, which heaved and shook to the force of my come!
Finally, we were done, and he continued to lick for a while longer-to get some more pussy-juice, I guess-before lifting his face away from my genital region and saying, "that was really something, Miss." Not "ma'am," mind you, but "Miss". Imagine that catty Elaine suggesting that I was getting old, and that all I was fitted for was to play Momma! Well, it wasn't exactly Momma that I'd been laying with Algernon. It was obvious that the kid found me an exciting woman, since otherwise he'd have hardly been able to come so hard, would he?
I eased my lips off of his cock, and after swallowing his cream, said to him, "you won't tell your parents about this, will you, Algernon?"
The parents were in L.A., but that wouldn't have helped me if they found out, since it would be an easy matter for the airline to trace who met their boy here, and though my job is up in a few months, it wouldn't do me much good in finding another one to have "child molester" appear in my resume.
Algernon shook his head in a sign that I didn't have to worry about the possibility of his telling his parents. That was certainly a relief.
I figured that two comes in a row was about all a boy of his age would either want or be able to handle, so we spent the rest of the time left in his layover (talk about an appropriate word for the situation) chatting, and then I took him out to board his departing flight.
Don't think that I didn't feel pretty good when I went back to the stewardesses' lounge. Elaine was there, with that catty expression that she usually has on her face, but even if I knew what she was thinking (doubtless something about how the "Momma was back"), it didn't bother me. I knew differently. A woman who's just had a cock exploding frantically first in her cunt, then in her mouth, doesn't have to worry about regarding herself as old.
Well, I could hardly wait for the next flight to come in with a young boy passenger who needed someone to look after him during a layover. He was going to get a really fine surprise, assuming that the layover was long enough to permit the sort of fun that I had in mind.
I was out of luck for the rest of that day, since in all cases the kids that I was meeting were only stopping over for about half an hour, which considering the time necessary to win the kid's confidence and get through the preliminaries, wasn't enough.
The next morning, my spirits fell a bit when I looked over the computer-printout for the day. No one but girls (in whom I'm frankly not interested), boys stopping over for only a very short time, and two old gentlemen, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, both confined to wheelchairs.
The idea of seeing if one or the other of the old fellows might have a spark down under those blankets kind of appealed to me, but I decided against trying anything. After all, they might not be as discreet as little boys, who were bound to be a bit awe-struck by having their cocks inserted in a beautiful woman.
Then, at about eleven-thirty, the teletype gave a new printout: FLIGHT 304 EX NY MEET SAMMY U. TO 105 SF. PASS. AGE 13 I needn't tell you what that means. You can guess. Some little kid would be transferring to the San Francisco plane, and it was a thirteen year old boy. Best of all there was a two and a half hour layover.
My panties were just about as wet as if I'd been bathing in them by the time that flight from New York got in, and you can imagine how nervous I felt when, half an hour before it was supposed to arrive, the info screen suddenly showed it half an hour late. It gained a little time, though, and arrived only twenty minutes behind the advertised. That would give me plenty of time to find out what little Sammy U's prick was like.
He was a really nice little boy, with big brown eyes and a smile on his face. I took him straight to one of the private lounges, so as to not waste any more time than necessary. Good boyprick was far to nice to squander, I knew that from the pleasant memories that I had of Algernon's whanger.
I got Sammy a Coke, and then spent some time talking with him to kind of sound him out about how interested he'd be in fucking with me. After all, if I got a kid who panicked and started yelling, I'd probably wind up in the clink.
"Gee, Sammy," I said to him with a smile, "you're a pretty big boy. You go out with the girls much?"
He blushed and said, "a bit."
"Dances, stuff like that?"
"I've been to a class dance in school."
"The girl nice?"
"Uh huh." I got the impression that on one hand he was pretty shy about talking about his budding sexual life, but on the other hand he was pretty proud of the fact that he was old enough to be able to start going to dances, and he liked the idea of telling a female of his exploits.
"Was the girl nice to you?" I asked.
"Nice to me?"
"Sure. Some girls are really stingy, and don't let their dates touch them or look at them. Did your girl let you touch her?"
"A bit... " He was blushing like mad now, but there was a smile on his face, too.
"Did she let you touch her here?" I asked, cupping my blouse-covered tits.
He gave a little gasp of surprise at what I was doing, but he sure didn't take his eyes off of me.
"No " he said finally. He was a very polite, very truthful boy. A fine little fellow.
"You'd have liked to have touched her there, wouldn't you?"
"You bet," he said. Now that the strangeness of talking to me about his one date was starting to wear off, he was showing himself more and more willing to do so.
"Would you like to touch me there?" I asked.
He slipped the tip of his tongue out of his mouth. It was clearly an unconscious gesture, but it indicated just how much he would like to touch me "there", or for that matter, how much he would like to get that mouth of his on my nipples and really start to suck on them.
"Maybe... but I shouldn't " he whispered, very abashed.
"Why not, honey?" I said. "C'mon, I've got my blouse on. My tits aren't going to bite you. And they'd like a bit of action."
I saw his hand tremble, and I guessed that he seemed pretty much torn between the desire to feel up my tits, and the fact that he just couldn't believe that he was that lucky.
I took hold of his right hand and placed it on my left tit. Then, shyly, he placed his own left hand on my other tit. For a moment, he just held them there, without doing anything. Then, getting his courage up some more, he started to move his hands in circles, rotating my tits and pressing them against my chest. As breast caressing goes, let's say that I've had better, but what he was doing was still nice enough to cause my nipples to swell up under my bra. And he was getting better with every second, as his shyness started to fall away from him and horniness asserted itself in its place.
I glanced down at his cock, and saw it bulge in a way that indicated that what he had underneath must be pretty interesting.
"Here, now how about doing that to me without anything in the way?" I said, gently taking his hands off and unbuttoning my blouse and removing my bra.
He placed his hands back on my tits and started rubbing them again. The bulge in his crotch had become much more pronounced, and there was a little trembling motion to his hands that indicated how turned on he was by the fact of having titflesh underneath his fingers. No doubt, when he'd gone out on that date of his he'd had all sorts of fantasies about getting his hands on the girl's tits, and had more likely than not beaten off while thinking about it. Well, now he was getting the real thing, and it was petty obvious that he was liking it.
It was pretty obvious that I had to get that cock of his inside my body or go straight up the wall from frustration, because both the tit-rubbing and the mere fact of having a young boy's hands on my breasts were enough to really get my motor revving. My panties were so wet that they were literally chafing my clit, which in turn was literally throbbing in its need to get me off.
I reached out to his crotch and unzipped his pants and hauled his meat out. He had a fine cock, medium size but very, very stiff, with a lot of nice pubic hair around it. I stroked it gently, and he replied by increasing the stimulation on my tits.
"Miss," he said timidly, "can I suck your nipples?" That was probably what he had fantasized about during that date of his.
"Sure you can," I said, giving his cock another squeeze.
He pressed his lips to my right nipple, and began sucking like hell. I've got really sensitive breasts, and it wasn't long before that already swollen nipple got even bigger. In fact, it was so turned on that I didn't see how I could take very much more mouthing there, but at the same time, the last thing in the world that I would have wanted would have been for the mouthing to stop!
His other hand reached down to my crotch and felt up my cunt through my panties (I had my dress hitched up already). I was pleased that he liked to show some initiative.
He pulled the panties down, and there the two of us were, feeling each other up like there was no tomorrow.
At first I thought that maybe we should stop before we came, so that I wouldn't waste his come (I'm multi-orgasmic, myself), but the more and more I felt that penis of his under my fingers and that hand of his on my cunt, the more unwilling I was to break off what we were doing.
"Hell," I thought, I've never masturbated a guy to his come anyway, and for that matter a guy's never beaten me off either. Should be an interesting change."
He was really pressing and poking down there between my legs with his fingers, inching two of them up my cunt, and using the thumb to stimulate my labia.
I replied in kind my giving his shaft long, strong strokes with my fingers. That cock of his really felt stiff, really felt like it was getting ready to shoot...
Well, that's how my cunt felt, too! I noticed my whole body tensing, noticed how I was breathing in short sharp gasps, and guessed that I was right on the edge of my blast-off.
Then, suddenly, I was going over the top. Even as my pussy exploded against his hand, I gave one more convulsive stroke to his penis, and then I felt the organ tremble and shudder between my fingers, as it shot its load of stuff into the air.
My pelvis continued to buck while the boy's cream splattered my hand in great big drops. It was pretty fine!
"Now, that was nicer than any thing you got off of your date, wasn't it?" I asked.
"You'd better believe it, Miss,'.' he said with a smile. I could see that this little incident had given his self-confidence quite a marked boost.
"Why don't you have another coke, and then we can do some more stuff," I said.
That was fine by him, and I hurriedly pulled my clothes on to get the Coke. We sat and chatted for a while, and then I said to him, "how'd you like me to teach you a tricky position that most guys don't know about? You'll really impress any girl that you try it on."
"Okay," he said enthusiastically. I was glad that he went for the idea, because one thing that I really don't much care for is getting in a rut as far as sexual positions are concerned.
As a matter of fact, the position that I had in mind was really quite exotic, but it was one that I thought was a lot of fun, and that Bart, who introduced me to it, always enjoyed himself.
I got up and stood with my back to one of the walls.
"Now," I said, "you come over and stand facing me.
He did so, his cock pointing up at the ceiling. There could certainly not be much doubt about the fact that he was a two-shot man, at least.
"Okay, Sammy, bend your knees. That's it."
He bent his knees, and this brought the tip of his prick down below the bottom of my pelvis. He didn't have to bend them that far, since although he was fairly tall for his age, he was still only thirteen.
He was a bright boy, and guessed immediately what it was that I had in mind. Holding his cock in his hand, he placed it under my crotch, and then straightened his knees.
A bit of last-minute adjustment was needed, because he didn't position his rod quite correctly, so it came up against my labia, but that didn't matter. By moving it just a tiny bit, he was able to get it placed right, and by straightening up some more, able to slide it on into me.
He may never have fucked before, but that didn't matter. He had good natural technique. He knew that fucking involved moving his penis, and after a couple of rather maladroit jabs, he started moving his with a considerable degree of finesse.
Up... down... up... down... up... down...
After he did this for a while, and we both started to get pretty turned on, I started standing on my toes and letting myself down, so that the sexual action would consist of the motion of my twat around his penis.
He didn't have any objections to my taking over for the time being, and he stood there with his knees slightly bent (too make things easier for me) while I continued to work his cock.
After a bit of that, he straightened the knees up, and I guessed from that that he wanted to run the show for a while. So we alternated like that, having a hell of a good time in the process. We even tried doing the sexual movements together, but we found that that wasn't practical. We just got mixed up that way.
We started out nice and slow, sort of giggling as we worked each other's sexual organs. After all, we'd both already had a come, so that although we were anxious for another one, we weren't utterly frantic, and could afford to wait a bit.
For all its funny aspects, though, the position still had the most important aspect of any fuck- stimulation for cock and cunt-and that meant that the giggling was gradually replaced by panting, and the motion got faster and faster, and more and more determined.
Up! Down! Up! Down! That was him pumping, and from the way my clit and labia felt as they rubbed together, I knew damn well that he would have me off in a very short time.
Buck! Buck! Buck! Buck!
"Fine! Fine! Fine! So freaking fine!" I gasped as I felt the regular motion of the young boy's penis inside me.
I could hardly breathe, I could hardly do anything, I could just stand there and want to come... need to come... COME!
That was it! That last upward thrust of his into my vitals was all that was needed to send my cunt a-trembling and clutching convulsively, and the feeling of it pulsating around his organ was all that was necessary to bring him off too. I felt the sperm splatter up into me, and felt the boy-prick quiver inside my heaving body.
It was quite a come, and we both stood there panting for breath after it was over. Then he pulled out, and gave me a nice little kiss on the mouth. I think it was a sort of thank-you kiss for initiating him into manhood.
That was pretty much all we had time for, and after chatting a few minutes longer, we got dressed and I accompanied him down to the boarding area where a big 747 was waiting to which him out of my life. That was one of the things that was sort of nice about this casual fucking. There were no strings attached. I'd allowed myself to get emotionally involved with Brad, and look what I'd gotten for that! This way, sex was just a matter of physical pleasure for both cock and cunt, and what's wrong with that, anyway?
The session with Sammy had been so satisfying that I decided that maybe I could try out a different new position with each boy I seduced. And you mustn't think, Doctor, that I fucked every boy whom I had to take care of during a layover. If a kid was really ugly, or had a nasty personality, or even if there was something about him that made me think that he wouldn't like my advances or couldn't be trusted to keep his mouth shut about them, I'd pass him over. It wasn't always easy to have to wait out the time between good partners, but when they came along, they certainly made the wait worthwhile.
Like I said, I decided to try out some new positions, and some of them turned out to be really good, and I decided to include them as a permanent part of my repertory.
Take fucking in a chair, for example. Bart had once mentioned to that it was possible, and had vaguely sketched out what was involved, but we'd never gotten around to doing it. Well, when I met little Vincent G., I suddenly thought, "why not try it out with him?"
He turned out to be very co-operative when I made my first advances, and when I said, "would you like to stick your thing into me," he replied, "sure " His tone of voice indicated that he did want to, but at the same time, there was something just a bit hesitant about it and that made me ask, "would you like me to show you how?,' "Uh huh," he said shyly. He had told me earlier that he was just thirteen, and it was clear that although his appetite for sex was pretty well developed, he still didn't know all that much about the subject, and indeed had almost no practical experience of it at all.
"Well," I said, "just sit in that chair over there, and I'll teach you one of the ways of doing it."
The chair in question was not the comfortable armchair he was sitting in, but a little portable chair that didn't have any arms. I wasn't quite sure what it was doing in the room, but it looked like it was just what the position required.
We both had our clothes off by this time, and he went and sat down in the chair. I had been fondling his prick, so it was good and hard, and was poking straight up as he sat there. He looked nervous, but he looked happy and excited too. This was obviously about to be the biggest moment of his life so far, and the thought that I was that important to someone really turned me on. I felt some more pussy fluid drip down my leg as I walked over to him, swinging my hips as I walked. Pretty clearly I must have looked very sexy to him, because his tongue came out and quickly licked his lower lip in an unconscious gesture of appetite.
Then, I placed one leg on either side of the chair, and sat down on his lap. Of course, I also sat down on his prick, and he gave a little gasp of delight as he felt the thing slide on into my body. He admitted to me that he'd masturbated before, but judging from the look on his face, the feel of his hand on his cock wasn't a patch on that of a woman's cunt!
I placed my arms around his neck and leaned forward so that his face was near my tits. He took a cue from that, and started to kiss them.
Then, I lifted myself up by unbending my knees (my feet were resting on the floor, you'll remember), and after that, I let myself down again.
Up and down I went, slowly at first, and then faster and faster. There could be no question about what he thought of all this, if the tight way in which he circled his arms around me was any kind of guide at all.
It wasn't long before my cunt really felt hot, and I slid up and down his pole faster and faster as my cunt secreted more and more lubricant.
With every upstroke, a drop or so of the stuff would ooze out of my cunt and past his prick (which was rather thin), but that didn't matter in the least, since I was producing plenty more with every second that was passing.
Up! Down! Up! Down! Man, this was really something!
Up! Down! Up! Down! I didn't know how much more of this I could take... My pussy felt like it was just going to dissolve if this tantalizing pressure kept up much longer, and little electric sensations kept zinging up and down my spine as I pumped away.
Then, suddenly, I was going over the top, before I had thought I would! I'm not usually taken by surprise by my comes, but I sure was by this one! My cunt just shuddered off into its orgasm without any warning at all, and the come was a big one, too, a real four-alarm fire!
My blastoff was enough to set him a-shooting too, though, so the fact that I had gotten going faster than planned didn't make any difference.
Hell we were coming, coming, coming, in wonderful pulsating beats, out genitals locked together in perfect harmony, in a wild symphony of fuck-fun!
That was quite a ride, let me tell you, Doctor, and when it was over, Vincent was anxious for more in no time. To vary the pace, I had him fuck me in the missionary after he had rested up, and the skill with which he did his part of it indicated how much I had taught him in just that one previous fuck.
So anyway, Doctor, I'd be in clover normally, if it weren't for this asinine rule that says I have to quite at age thirty-five. I don't know how I'm going to get a well paid job that brings me into contact with young boys (I don't have the training to be z teacher, for instance), and the result if that I'll really be stuck. So I was wondering if maybe you could re-direct my sexual interest to something more easily fulfilled.
* * *
As I remarked earlier, abnormal behavior such as pedophilia is often almost a chance manifestation of much more profound psychological problems, problems that could just as easily have found a quite different outlet. This is certainly true with Natalie E., who needs therapy more than almost any of the other women mentioned in this study.
She has, the reader will have doubtless remarked, an obsessive concern about getting old. The remarks of her enemy Elaine really hit home, and it is interesting that the argument she had with her boyfriend concerned his supposed fooling around with a much younger woman. It is possible that he really was fooling around. We have no way of knowing one way or the other. But it seems almost certain that the argument was made much more bitter by the fact that Miss E. was jealous of her supposed rival's youth.
It is perfectly normal for people to worry about aging, and the emphasis that our society places upon feminine beauty and youthfulness means that such concern is particularly common among women. But the behavior of Natalie E. imply emphasizes the oft-remarked fact that the difference between normal and abnormal behavior is often simply one of degree. Many a male has gone to see a historical movie in which there is a pretty slave girl and thought idly how nice it would be to own one. The difference between him and the true sadist is that for him the idea is just a passing fantasy without real reference to the rest of his life, while for the latter it can often become an obsession.
Thus, for Natalie E. to be worried about growing old is one thing. For her to fret about it to the point of seducing young boys in order to prove her youthfulness is quite another.
And that is, essentially, what she is doing, and why, but there is rather more to it than that. Psychological phenomena often interact in a circular fashion, and this is particularly true in this woman's case. The reason that she is so afraid of growing old is her almost complete lack of real self-confidence. Her beauty is all she has, so to speak, and the threat of it disappearing is thus a crisis of cosmic proportions. Her emphasis on it has led her to allow herself to become a very shallow person.
As far as other people's opinion is concerned, too, her beauty is seen as all she has. Thus the lack of self-confidence is increased, and the game goes on and on.
She is, of course, a very selfish individual, perhaps partly as a result of this process, partly for other reasons. Notice how completely indifferent she is to the well being of her partners. She refers occasionally to giving them a good time too, but she is always very quick to mention how anxious she is to get a good time herself. Miss T., the private tutor, came in to me because she was afraid that she might be harming the children she had sex with. Miss E. came in because she was going to have to leave her job with its ready source of sexual gratification.
Other women appeared to be attracted to children because they felt insecure about men and threatened by them. Miss E., on the other hand, is insecure about everything, and threatened by everything. The children are comforting in that she can control them, but I think more important than that is the fact that as she herself put it, they are awed by her. A grown man might or might not be impressed by her looks or sexual performance. A thirteen year old boy who may not even have had a chance to kiss a girl yet, is of course overwhelmed by this full grown woman who treats him as a man and offers her admittedly rather-fine body to him. To a child in such a position, she is not just another female. She is pretty much Venus incarnate, a vision of feminity and sexuality. Since so much of her ego (or the tattered shreds that serve her for an ego) rests upon men being impressed with her, this effect that she has on young boys is of course an enormous boost.
The reader will doubtless have guessed from the above that in my opinion, refusal by her to undergo therapy would have been equivalent to her sentencing herself to misery for the rest of her life. The superficial but still real beauty would soon disintegrate, and even the sham of being admired by pubescent boys would not be able to disguise that fact, if indeed her new job, whatever it was, permitted her to have sex with boys at all. What remains of her self-esteem would take a nosedive, which would lead to a deterioration in her behavior which would make her more unpopular, thus accelerating the process. The end would probably be suicide, a total nervous breakdown, or at best, a life of dreary unhappiness.
It was difficult to explain this to her, since her personality is so walled around with defenses, and her intellect so shallow. Her own awareness of how anxious she often felt finally permitted me to convince her of her need for therapy, which she is undergoing now.
Psychotherapists are not miracle workers, and whether or not I succeed in restructuring Miss E.'s whole personality (which is what is required) remains to be seen. Certainly the process will be a very long and difficult one. But at least therapy offers some hope, and some hope is always infinitely better than none at all.
CONCLUSION
The reader has now met five women in their mid to late thirties who have each for a period at least engaged regularly in sexual relations with a young teenage boy or group of boys. What conclusions can the reader draw from their accounts? What generalizations, if any, can we make about the phenomenon of female pedophilia?
Perhaps first and foremost we should see that pedophilia can spring from a whole variety of different causes, ranging all the way from Miss T.'s motherly concern to Miss E.'s selfishness. That having been said, however, we may also agree that certain traits often seem to appear la the boy-oriented mature woman, though it would be a mistake to think that they are always present.
Fundamental to pedophilia is some sort of deprivation. This of course is true of many psychological disorders, but seems particularly in evidence with this one.
The deprivation can be physical or psychological, and is often both. Certainly the importance of mere sexual frustration should not be minimized. A woman whose husband is unsatisfactory as a sexual partner is going to find herself much more disposed to actuating those fantasies which most people carry around in some form or another. (It is a well-known psychological truism that virtually all forms of abnormal behavior are represented in attenuated form in the personality of even the most well-balanced individual.) Our society tends to place a premium on female passivity. This means that the woman who wants to cheat on her husband is in a difficult position. If she has been a faithful housewife who has stayed at home, the circle of men whom she knows is probably limited to her husband's friends, who in most cases would not want to make a pass at her because they value her husband's friendship. She cannot go out to nightclubs alone, or pick up strange men, and thus may well be tempted by a young boy who is willing to allow her to play the aggressive role in the relationship.
That is only part of the story, however, for pedophilic women are not simply women who could find no other partner than the young boy with whom they maintain sexual relations. And it is here that the element of psychological deprivation enters the picture.
Most of the women above suffered from a lack of self-esteem, although this varied in intensity, being most obvious in the last case. There is thus a temptation to turn to a young boy as a partner out of the belief that that's all that they can get, or even deserve.
Tying in with this, though also springing from separate causes too, is a fear of men and male aggressiveness. This can be based on the classic Freudian penis fear (Miss T.), and a really thorough-going Freudian would insist that all other fears of men are just the penis-fear in different disguises. Many modern psychologists are looking at other aspects of the personality too, though, and would tend to say that a fear of male aggressiveness can stem from of simple fear of having one's personality overwhelmed. The existence of the women's liberation movement can be taken as a sign of how women resent male dominance in nonsexual spheres too.
Whether the fear of men is purely one of the penis, or larger in scope, it can be a source of great tension to a heterosexual woman such as those in this study. Such a woman craves what she gears, and it is not to be wondered that she occasionally compromises on a teenage boy, who is a man, and yet not as threatening, not as overpowering as a real man.
Finally, as in the 1st case, that of Natalie E., sex with a substantially younger person can reassure the individual of his or her own youthfulness. I say his or her because there is certainly no shortage of aged millionaires who lay the world at the feet of bubble-headed chorus girls who could be their own granddaughters.
And that reference to granddaughters leads me, of course, to my final observation, namely that pedophilia can often be an outlet for repressed incestuous desires. We saw this most clearly with Mrs. M., but it was also present in another form in Miss T. (despite the fact that she had no real children, only a strong mothering desire which she expressed towards the boys whom she had relations with).
In all these cases, the important thing is not that a woman goes to bed with a young boy (whatever society may think of this proposition), but that she does so usually because things in her personality make her frustrated and unhappy. It is the job of therapy to deal with this unhappiness so that the woman may lead an emotionally richer, more satisfying life. When this is accomplished, the pedophilic desires usually vanish, but it is the elimination of the underlying problems for their own sake which is the more important goal, for the question of how old the penis is which services a woman's vagina is far less important than the simple question of whether or not she is happy.