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 Service With A Smile Ch.  2
WARNING:
The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and
contains descriptions of explicit sex.  If you are not an adult, or reading
sex stories upset you, or you are offended by subjects of a sexual nature -

do not read any further!

   This story is for entertainment only.  It contains adult oriented
material.  This is a work of fiction.  The acts and characters contained
within are figments of my imagination and have no basis in fact.  I do not
practice, advocate, condone or encourage acts portrayed here.  The
characters in the story are entirely fictional.  You need to believe that
all of the characters are over the age of eighteen.

   This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the
written permission of the author.  This story may be freely distributed
with this notice attached.

   * * * * * * * * * *

   Mr.  Marcus's wife, Harriett, arranged for a local girl, Inga, to
perform a ministry once a week while she's away.  The first visit surprised
Mr.  Marcus, who got a good look at Inga in her undies as she cleaned out
an attic room.  However, Inga saw Mr.  Marcus watching a porn tape and
found his stash of adult magazines.  Did Inga tell anyone what she saw? 
And where might Inga's visits and continued exposure lead?  If Inga was a
service station, would Mr.  Marcus fill 'er up?

   * * * * * * * * * *

   I choked on Harriett's first words after getting home from her latest
business trip.  "You didn't take advantage of that sweet girl, did you?"

   Did Harriett suspect something?  I never laid a hand on Inga despite her
prancing around in her underwear.  "What do you mean?"

   "Her ministry is only one hour a week.  I didn't invite her to cook and
clean for you all afternoon."

   "I didn't give her household chores." Nor any personal sexual ones.  Not
that the thought hadn't crossed my mind.  But I was being good, for a
change.

   "Good.  I expect you to keep the house in order while I'm away.  You
know how I need for the house to be kept tidy."

   But who would care for my physical needs?  Not Harriett.  Never
Harriett. One of these days, when Zenellis sends me my first royalty check
and I'm financially independent, maybe I'll leave Harriett and her frozen
demeanor towards sex.

   After a quick twenty-four visit that was a living hell compared to the
four days when she was absent, Harriett flew off again.  These business
jaunts were giving her great pleasure and adding more than a few bucks to
the household stash.  I counted the days until Inga's next visit.  It was
difficult, deciding between my normal daily masturbation or saving myself.
Hell, there wasn't any promise that I'd get into Inga's panties, pussycat
decorations or not.  I settled on jerking off every other day, as a
compromise, careful to put my source material away.

   Finally, the day.  The doorbell rang twenty minutes early.  Was Inga as
anxious to be together as I was?  Peeping through the glass pane, it wasn't
her.  An Avon woman, perhaps?  Her make-up and decorum were high class and
precise.  Under other circumstances, I'd let her in and let her do her
spiel.  Who knows?  Maybe she's selling women's lingerie and would be
willing to model the latest nighty fashions?  I opened the door and smiled
warmly.  "I'm sorry.  The lady of the house isn't here.  If you'd like to
come back some other time-"

   She stuck out her hand.  "I'm Inga's mother.  May I come in?  There are
some things I'd like to discuss with you."

   Damn!  Inga ratted me out.  The porn film, the magazines!  But I never
touched her, not once!  Well, there was that hug in the bathroom when I
wrapped her in a towel, but that was harmless.

   I extended my hand to shake.  Her grip was firm.  I had the fleeting
thought about how her grip would feel around my dick.  Damn, my mind slips
into the gutter so easily.

   "Can I get you something to drink, Ms-?"

   "Doctor.  Dr.  Stephanie Crumholtz.  A glass of water, if you please."

   "What kind of doctor are you?"

   "I'm a practicing psychotherapist."

   Practice is supposed to make perfect, but I didn't know a
psychotherapist from a psychiatrist from a psychologist.  No reason to
display my ignorance.  "Oh."

   Dr.  Crumholtz parked herself on the couch.  As I walked behind her, she
opened her coat and struggled to get her arms out of the sleeves.  She wore
a boat neck blouse, where the boat was the Queen Mary.  The front scoop
collar hung loose.  When she bent forward to extract her arm from a sleeve,
I got a great view of cleavage and uplifted breasts, probably from one of
those Wunderbras.  She had measurements Inga could strive for, as she got
older.  The good doctor glanced up, caught my stare, and hugged the
material to her chest.

   I hurried into the kitchen, embarrassed at having been caught.  I took a
deep breath, brought out the glass of cold tap water and placed it on the
coffee table in front of her.  She was still holding the front of her
blouse close.  I'd spooked her good, having come to lecture me about
corrupting her daughter.  Now she was armed with evidence of lascivious
behavior.

   Since she had taken a place in the center of the couch, I was forced to
select one of the facing chairs.  "It's nice to meet you." I folded my
hands in my lap.  No reason to show a partial erection to this stranger.

   "Inga spoke to me about your fixation with large breasts."

   Doc doesn't beat around the bush, and Inga has a big mouth!  The paused
porn film with breasts filling the screen.  My Juggs magazines, hidden
upstairs in the attic.  My comments about checking one's self for lumps.  A
natural conclusion, I guess.  Oh, and then I take advantage of a tit shot
down her mother's blouse.  Nice work, Harvey.  I could claim this was all a
mistake, but then what?  'I'm not interested in large breasts.' And she
replies, 'Oh, then you like Inga's smaller ones perhaps?' This was a no
win. Time to take my lumps and hope Harriett doesn't get word.  "I'm sorry
Inga was exposed to that." I was careful not to apologize for doing it,
just that Inga saw it.  After all, a man's castle is his masterbatorium.

   "I'm quite disturbed, after all of the background checks I'd performed,
that this would come out." She wrung her hands.  "After all, I can't have
my daughter in jeopardy from perverts or psychopaths."

   Background checks?  And I passed?  Was she more upset at what Inga saw,
or that her checking was deficient?  "I assure you, I pose no threat to
your daughter."

   "It's too late to request an alternative family, and with your wife
traveling, I believe we're stuck with you.  However, I'd like to offer you
free counseling, to assist you with your problem," she continued.

   That's a switch.  No harassment, no lecture, just an offer to cure me.
Who says I want to be cured?  And anyway, I don't have a large breast
fixation.  I like all sizes.  "And how would you do that?" I asked.

   "Counseling sessions at my office.  No charge, as I said."

   "It's a kind offer," I replied.  No way was I going to get analyzed
about a fictitious sex problem.  "Let me think about it."

   Her voice sounded like a military command.  "My office, tomorrow, at
4:30.  Or, I'll inform Harriett."

   Damn!  Okay, so this would be my penance for getting caught with my
pants down.  "I'll be there."

   She reached for the glass, holding her blouse from sagging, and took a
large sip of water.

   The doorbell rang.  The doc stood and went to answer it.  I didn't
complain, since I was sure who it was.

   Inga stood in the doorway, again in her blazer/blouse/skirt/stockings
uniform.  She held a garment bag in one hand, a small duffel in the other.
"Mama!  What are you doing here?" The two females hugged.

   I was jealous.  Inga never hugged me.  Neither did her mother, just a
handshake.

   "Just stopping by for a chat with Mr.  Marcus about your ministry." Doc
kissed the top of Inga's head.  "He had nothing but positive things to
report."

   Yes, about how perky her tits looked before I wrapped her in a towel,
and how her round and firm ass filled out her panties.  "You're doing a
great job," I said.  "I told your mother to be proud."

   She pranced past both of us.  "Hello, Mr.  Marcus."

   "Moving in?" I quipped.  I knew just what bed I'd offer her - mine.

   "Don't forget, I'll be by to pick you up today," said Doc.

   Inga waved the clothing bag as she jogged up the stairs.  "I didn't
forget.  See, my change of clothes."

   I prevented myself from turning to watch Inga's skirt wave as she
ascended the stairs, so I missed her unblemished thighs.

   "I'll see you soon, Mr.  Marcus," said Stephanie.

   I'd been warned.  Show up tomorrow, or face a top-to-bottom search of my
house for my porno collections, plus whatever penalty Harriett chose to
apply.  There was something missing.  A warning, 'Stay away from my
daughter!' or something similar.  Perhaps she thought my fixation with big
tits made her daughter safe from my advances.  Shows that someone with a
doctorate doesn't know everything.

   I held Stephanie's coat while she pushed her arms into the sleeves.  She
stepped past me onto the stoop, and then paused.  "Of course, it goes
without saying, that you'll keep your hands off Inga."

   I nodded vigorously and held up the Boy Scout three fingers.  She
probably took it as swearing a promise.  I meant 'read between the lines,
sister.'

   Inga had put her clothing and tote bags upstairs and was already coming
down, panties flashing as she lifted her knees high.  No pussycat today,
merely pink flowers.  "I got an IM from Mrs.  Marcus."

   So, Harriett was IMing now?  "What did she have to say?"

   "She's fine, and she wants the pantry cleaned, top to bottom," Inga
said.

   Taking the pantry apart and putting it back together, ignoring the
cleaning in-between, was a Herculean job, not a one-hour quickie.  Harriett
was being unreasonable, after just advising me not to take advantage of
Inga's ministry.  What the hell was Harriett doing, suggesting this chore?
"You'll never finish that in an hour."

   "Not even if you help?" One finger dangled dangerously from Inga's lower
lip.

   Work in close proximity to a nubile young woman in bra and panties? 
Sign me up.  Way up.  I crossed my arms over my chest.  "Nope."

   "Then we'll start today and I'll finish it tomorrow," she replied.

   "I thought you could only do one hour a week." Did I have it wrong?

   "One of my other families is on vacation, so I have the time.  It's
okay, isn't it, me coming here tomorrow?"

   As far as I was concerned, Inga could move in.  Even share my bed.  She
was so nice to look at, and certainly nicer to touch.  If I ever took the
opportunity.  Which I wouldn't.  Not with her mother breathing down my neck
with threats to expose me.  "Sure."

   Inga disappeared into the pantry, a narrow room paralleling one wall of
the kitchen.  For storing all of the canned goods, dry goods, excess pots,
pans and bowls, not to mention infrequently used appliances, the "alley"
was a welcome feature.  The aisle was just wide enough for a ladder, which
was always necessary for reaching the upper shelves.  On several occasions,
Annie and I had both been searching for food items in the cramped space,
and needed to slip past each other.  Those were the first times I'd felt
Annie's breasts or ass rub against me.  Funny how memories flash back.

   I cleared off both the kitchen and dining room tables, to make room for
everything that would be removed before cleaning.  By the time I got to the
pantry door, Inga was already down to bra and panties.  Damn, I missed the
striptease.

   I sat in a kitchen chair, watching Inga parade by with canned goods,
boxes, bags and appliances.  Every time, she'd flash a smile.  I'd smile
back, then stare at her ass as she returned to her chore.

   "You seem so comfortable, walking around like that," I said.

   Inga carried an armful of cereal boxes.  "What?  You mean in my undies?
This is nothing.  My whole family walks around naked most of the time. 
Mama says it's mentally healthy."

   I tried to picture Doc naked, with some difficulty.  How did Mr. 
Crumholtz keep from wagging an erection in front of his wife and daughter?
Maybe he didn't, and Inga was used to seeing a man with an erection.

   She put the boxes on the nearby table.  Inga continued, "Back where we
came from, lots of families practiced nudity, except when it got too cold."

   "Where was that?" Sweden?  Norway?

   "Ohio." She turned to fetch another load.

   Next time I'm in Sandusky, I'll have to check out the neighborhoods more
carefully.

   How long could I just sit there, watching this barely covered nymph? 
When she put down the bulk food containers, her bra sagged, exposing the
soft curve between her breasts.

   It took more than half an hour, closer to forty-five minutes, for Inga
to clear all but the top shelf.

   "Those things up top look heavy.  Can you give me a hand?" she asked.

   I'd wanted to give her something all afternoon, but not a hand.  "Okay."

   "You should take your shirt and pants off, to keep them from getting
dirty," Inga suggested.

   Did I want my blossoming erection tenting my jockeys to be exposed?  Not
when Little Blabbermouth tells her mother everything that goes on in my
house.  "No thanks."

   For the highest shelf, someone would have to climb our ladder to fetch
the top items, large boxes and bags.  "Do you want me to get them?" I
asked.

   "Nope, I'm fine."

   That was certainly true.  Inga climbed high on the ladder, to wrestle a
bag of flour.  God, what a beautiful ass!  I closed my eyes and daydreamed
of Inga, on all fours, legs spread, giving me a clear view of -.

   "Mr.  Marcus!"

   Huh?  Damn!  In my reverie, I'd leaned forward, my noise poking one of
her buttocks.

   "You almost pushed me over." The large sack filled her arms.

   "Sorry."

   She bent to hand me the flour without descending.  The weight nearly
toppled her from the ladder.  She tried to hang on, while I grabbed at the
falling bag.  With a whoosh, white powder exploded, coating everything in
sight.  Inga looked like an angel more than ever.

   "I'm sorry," she whimpered.

   "That's okay.  Harriett doesn't bake anyway."

   That brought a smile back to her face.  "We should take a shower."

   Was she suggesting a joint bathing?  I wasn't sure I could get through
that experience without violating her mother's "No touch" rule.  "Before we
track this all over the house, we need to brush off the excess.  No reason
to clog the pipes."

   I tiptoed through the kitchen to the garage.  Inga followed.  I had a
shop vacuum that would suck the powder off us.  I threw an old drop cloth
on the floor.  "Stand still."

   Inga stood with perfect posture.  That put her shoulder back,
emphasizing her perky chest and rounded butt.  I turned on the vacuum and
ran the open end of the plastic hose above her.  Her hair stood up as the
machine inhaled flour from her head.  I made sure to keep the nozzle a few
inches away.  After her shoulders, it was time for the tricky issue of
navigating across her chest.  I was surprised when the bra held against the
pull of the machine.  I'd envisioned her bra getting sucked in, and then
where would we be?  Well, she'd be naked on top for one thing.  Two things,
actually.

   "I think I got some inside," Inga said.  Without hesitation, she reached
up, undid the front latch and pulled the bra off.

   My eyes were saucers as I viewed her teacup-sized breasts.  Sure enough,
there was caked white powder forming crescents above them.  Damn, and her
naked breasts were capped with inverted nipples.  I'd never seen innies
before.  I stood, frozen.

   Inga guided the nozzle to her chest, and the white streaks vanished. 
The nozzle slipped from my grip as she moved it, clamping onto one of her
breasts.  "Ooh!  Ooh!  Ooooh!"

   I pulled it back, but not before I saw Inga's expression adopt a far
away look.  Uh oh!  The vacuum sucking on her tit had pulled her nipple
out. A very suckable nipple at that.  Best to get the remainder done and
send her off to the shower.  Inga had the nozzle on her other breast before
I could react.

   "Ooooh!  Ooooh!" Now both nipples pointed outward, demanding attention.
I ignored their pleas.

   She remained standing, but less erect, while I did her back and stomach.
Now I was at danger zone two.  "Maybe if you just -"

   Inga pulled the waistband of her panties forward, and then jammed the
nozzle in, directing it up and down.  She was masturbating with the
suction!

   This was better than her demanding that I do something to get her off,
so I let go and stood back, allowing her pleasure herself.  Her panties had
slipped from her hips, and stalled at upper thigh.  With two hands and bent
knees, Inga slid the nozzle up and down inches from her pussy.  Her pubic
hair stood at attention.  My dick joined them, but my jockey's held.  She
moaned and coughed, then let the vacuum hose drop.  She grabbed a shelving
unit to steady herself.  The vacuum hose snaked around at our feet until I
killed the power.  She looked up with new eyes, demanding eyes.  She'd
tasted an appetizer of sexual arousal.  I'd be damned, literally, if I
delivered the main course.

   "What just happened?" she asked.

   "You got excited," I said.  "Haven't you ever done anything with
yourself, before, I mean?" Her panties were still at half mast.

   She shook her head.  "Was that sex?"

   "Sort of.  Personal sex, the kind one does for themselves, usually
alone."

   "Is that why do you have all those magazines?  The ones with pictures of
women with large breasts?  And that movie?"

   I never thought of Inga as stupid.  My copies of Juggs, the ones with
small hand prints in the accumulated dust, were on the top of the stack. 
"Uh huh.  And now your mother thinks I'm a pervert that needs to be cured.
Speaking of which, hasn't she ever had a birds and bees discussion with
you?"

   "No.  When I ask her about stuff like that, she changes the subject.  I
learned everything I know from my friend Norma."

   I wondered where Norma got her education, but didn't ask.  "Why don't
you go take a shower?  You're going out tonight, remember?"

   "We've got time.  I want to do you." Inga stroked the hose.

   She doesn't mean what she's saying, I told myself.

   "You can't vacuum yourself off," she explained.

   "Okay, go ahead."

   Inga turned on the vacuum and pointed the hose at me.  "Take your shirt
off and kneel down."

   She'd ignored her panties, which were now bunched at her ankles.  With
her next move, she stepped out of them.  On my knees, I was face high with
her belly, and the promise just below.

   Inga giggled as she sucked the flour from my head.  She must have been
witnessing my hair, standing up.  She passed the hose over my neck,
shoulders, and back.  "Stand up."

   Was it obvious that my penis was doing the same thing?

   "Take off your trousers."

   I hesitated.  "If I do this, you can't tell your mother."

   Inga's face flushed.  "I'm sorry, but I tell Mama everything.  She says
no secrets is the best policy."

   I folded my arms across my chest.  "Then go take your shower.  I'll
clean myself off." My slacks were dusty, but there was no way any flour had
made it past my belt and the elastic of my jockeys.

   Inga stood, motionless.  Her eyes were on my crotch.  "What's that?"

   The bulge in my pants was obvious.  Didn't she know?  "You said your
family practices nudity.  Haven't you ever seen your father, uh, excited?"

   She shook her head.  "Show me."

   This was a moment of truth.  Expose myself to this young woman?  She
stood naked before me, holding the vacuum nozzle, a distinct phallic
symbol.

   "Only if this is between the two of us," I demanded.  If we were about
to walk the slippery slope, and I hoped we would, then Dr.  Crumholtz could
know nothing of it.

   "I don't tell Mama about my talks with Norma." She paused to consider
her decision.  "Okay, I won't tell."

   I unzipped my pants and tossed them to the side.  I took a deep breath
and dropped my jockeys.

   She pointed at my erection.  "Your plumbing is sticking up!"

   No one had ever called it that, not even my pediatrician.  I would have
remembered.  Although, in college, fucking a coed was sometimes referred to
as 'cleaning one's pipes.' "It's my penis."

   "Dada's just hangs there, kind of small.  Why is yours all hard and
red?" she asked.

   Do I tell her the truth?  After all, that is her mother's rule.  "I have
an erection because I'm physically attracted to you."

   Inga giggled.  "Don't be silly.  I don't have big breasts." She stuck
out the ones she had.  It took all of my willpower not to step forward and
palm them, suck her nipples, grind my erection between her legs -.  Whoa!
Inga had turned on the vacuum and stuck the end of the hose over my
erection.  My dick and one ball were sucked in.  Without airflow, the
vacuum whine got louder.  Inga pulled the hose back.  My prick danced,
banging against the sides.  It was heavenly painful.  My dick felt like it
was ready to burst.  Did this vixen know what she was doing, or was this
dumb luck?  I pulled the hose back.  My dick was steel, and for the first
time in my life, too hard to cum.

   "You got even bigger!" she whispered.

   "Okay, I'm dusted.  Now will you take your shower?"

   "Sure thing." Inga opened the door to the kitchen.  We'd forgotten the
mess in the pantry, flour all over the shelves and floor.  "Why don't you
take your shower first, while I clean this up?"

   "Sounds good to me." I could take a quick one and leave plenty of hot
water for Inga.

   I tiptoed into the downstairs bathroom, stepped into the shower and
relaxed under the soothing warm spray.  My prick, however, was on fire,
brutalized by the hosing Inga had subjected it to.  With a bit of soap, my
hand slipped easily back and forth.  The self-stimulation was calming, yet
exciting, as immediate memories of Inga's naked body haunted me.  The only
way for me to get my erection down was to cum, so I closed my eyes and
concentrated.  Tea-cup sized breasts, with pop-out nipples.  My tongue
savoring them, licking them, treating them to a saliva bath.  My hands on
her ass, drawing her hips closer, my dick rubbing between her thighs,
bouncing up towards her pussy.  A cold blast of air, and I opened my eyes.

   "I'm ready for my shower." Inga was still naked, and real.  "Are you
making yourself happy again?" I didn't invite her, but she stepped in
anyway.

   I released my prick, soapy and hard.  "Yeah, something like that."

   She took the soap from the dish and a wash cloth.  "Hmmm, this feels
good."

   I didn't want to turn, to see the water cascading over her smooth flesh,
making it slippery.  I didn't want my erection to accidentally bump her,
nudge her, and make contact.

   "My mother washes my hair," Inga said.  "I never get it right.  You'll
have to do it."

   Not with these hands.  "I promised your mother I wouldn't touch you."

   "But I promised I wouldn't tell.  Isn't that good enough?"

   "Sorry.  A promise is a promise." Besides, I wasn't sure Inga could keep
a secret.  After all, I knew they practiced nudity, and her father seemed
to be unaffected by two attractive women.

   "Do you think Mama would let us shake hands?" she asked.

   "Probably." Where was this going?

   She turned her back to me and plopped some shampoo on her hands.  With
them touching her scalp, she ordered, "Shake."

   I placed my hands over hers, scrubbing and massaging the shampoo into a
thick lather, all up and down and around her head.  When she backed up into
me, my dick grazed her back.

   "Are you still sticking out?  Doesn't it ever go down?"

   I removed my hands from hers.  "There, your hair is all done."

   "Thanks." She bent over to rinse, and her pussy was visible for the
first time, slick and inviting.  If touching was verboten, then planting my
prick in there was strictly off limits.

   "Would you wash my back?" Inga asked.

   I started to formulate a negative reply when she handed me the washcloth
all soaped up.

   "You won't have to touch me with this," she explained.

   I dragged the washcloth over her shoulders, then down her back.

   "Don't forget my butt." Who could?  Round and full, more than a handful.

   She spread her legs.  "And my privates."

   I rubbed once, okay, twice.

   "I don't think it's clean enough.  Better do it again."

   I dragged the cloth between her thighs, trying not to press too hard or
feel for the gap that I knew was there.

   "Make sure you get the crevice."

   Damn, she wanted me to delve deeper.  With my hand fully extended
between her legs, I pulled the washcloth backwards.  Suddenly my hand was
bare on her cunt.  Inga had ripped the washcloth away.

   I pulled my hand through, trying not to caress her lips, and stepped out
of her reach.  She turned and smiled coyly.  She knew exactly what she was
doing, giving me access.

   Holding the washcloth and the bar of soap, she suds up.

   "My turn to wash you.  Turn around." I stood with my back to her.  She
started at my shoulders and went lower.  Soon, one hand was on my ass
cheek, minus the cloth.  The other snaked around front.  Her breasts, and
those erect nipples, poked at my back.  One hand, no, both, slid up and
down my penis.

   "How's this?  Is it better if I do it or you do it?  Do you really think
I'm attractive?" Her body was pressed against me.

   If I spun around, my dick would certainly rub against her.  If I grabbed
her to stop contact, I could end up touching her, and just my luck, my
hands would land on her tits or ass or pussy.  Better to just let her
finish her exploration of the male body.  It would be educational,
something she wouldn't do with her father, and I'd get my rocks off as a
bonus.  "It feels good, just like that.  Slow and smooth.  Caress, don't
jerk."

   "You can touch me back.  Honest, I won't tell."

   It would have been easy to reach around and press her closer, holding
her ass, or sliding my hands between our bodies to fondle her tits.  No,
this was more than far enough.

   "I'd love to, darling, but your mother would extract retribution that I
can't afford." I wanted it to sound serious, so she didn't think my
comments about finding her attractive were lies.

   "It's throbbing.  What happens now?"

   "I'm almost there.  Don't stop.  Reach lower and feel my balls."

   One hand dipped down and cupped my scrotum.  "Like this?  They're
jiggly."

   After a couple more strokes, I placed my hand around hers, jerked
rapidly and thrust my hips forward.  "Aaaarrhhhh." Splotches of cum shot
onto the rear wall of the shower.

   Inga let her hands drop.  "Wow!  That was something!"

   I turned around, penis wilting.  "You did a great job, darling." My face
was drawn to hers.  I stopped, her eyes shut and lips pursed.  Kissing was
touching.  I pressed two fingers against her lips, even though that was
also a violation.  "Now, you better finish cleaning up and getting
dressed." Your mother should be here soon."

   I toweled off upstairs in my bedroom, the door half shut.  Inga strutted
past, naked, on her way to the guest bedroom, where I presumed she'd left
her change of clothes.  I finished dressing and waited for her downstairs.
No need to peek, I'd seen it all.

   Inga came down the stairs demurely in a plain black dress that
accentuated her figure.

   "My bra and panties are still full of flour," she said.  "Will you wash
them and give them back?"

   "What if I want to keep them, as souvenirs?" I asked.

   "Of what?"

   I just smiled.  If Inga kept her promise, I was safe.  If not, then she
was just as guilty as I was, maybe more.  I could live with that.

   The doorbell announced Inga's mother.

   "How was everything?" Stephanie asked.

   "Fine, Mama."

   "I'll finish the pantry.  You don't need to come back tomorrow," I said.

   "Oh no!" shouted Stephanie.  "If Inga didn't finish her ministry today,
she'll complete the job herself.  You can come to my office when she's
done."

   I tried to argue but the Doc insisted.

   "See you tomorrow, Mr.  Marcus." Inga winked.

   "Yes, tomorrow, after Inga's ministry," added Dr.  Crumholtz.

   Since ministry is service, I wondered who would be servicing who.

   (To be continued)

   ###

   An Original H M Tale

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