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From: cmndrj@usa.net.NOSPAM (Commander Jameson)
Subject: RP by RQ: "Inger" by Friar Dave (MF, mF) (complete)
Subject: INGER (1 of 5)
From: friar_dave@*mhbbs.com (FRIAR DAVE)
INGER
By Friar Dave
(INGER.STY)
(Copyright by the author, 1995)
Roger Tells It:
Raising a kid alone has got to be one of the toughest, most demanding
situations any responsible human could ever face. And I was pretty
well-off, financially; I can't begin to imagine how someone making
less than I do could manage it. I, at least, could always afford to
have someone stay with Bill during the day until he started school.
And I could afford to have someone be there for him when he came home
or when business took me out of town.
For the first six years after Monica left me -- Bill was just a year
old when she decided to head for the Coast -- we were very, very
lucky. Annie, a solid West Indian woman with a gently firm manner
about her and an honest and obvious love of children, took on the task
of "mothering" my son. They got on famously, and I came to think so
highly of her that when the INS caught up with her, I fought for her
as if she was family. I lost, and it broke all of our hearts to say
our farewells.
After Annie, our standards were very demanding. I must have
interviewed 40 candidates before settling on Moira, a tall red-headed
Irish lady of about 25. I explained to her about Annie, and Moira
understood immediately. When Bill asked her if she was going to be the
new "Annie," Moira told him that there could only be one Annie, and I
knew it was going to be fine. And it was, for five good years. I was
very happy to be one of Moira's sponsors at her naturalization, and I
was happy for her when she announced her engagement a year later.
Neither Bill nor I were happy when she added that she and her soon-to-
be-husband intended to move to South Carolina.
We -- Bill and I -- sat down and talked about our next step.
Bill's a bright kid. I'm not talking about a prodigy here. not by any
stretch of the imagination, but he's smart and he thinks things
through. I'd always made a real effort to make it clear that when
we're alone, he can ask or say anything without fear of retribution of
any kind. In fact, in striving to insure open communication, I was
overdoing it at the start. It had been Annie who'd warned me to
remember that I was Bill's father and not one of his friends from
school. A tough balancing act, but it paid dividends. We could talk.
"Dad, I'm 12. I don't need a nanny or a babysitter. I can take care of
myself."
"Bill, you're 12. You can't drive a car, sign a check, buy booze or
butts, or skip school. I'm not turning you into a latchkey kid. You're
my son, I love you, and I'm not leaving you alone."
He sighed heavily, something he'd learned to do when he knew I wasn't
going to budge on a matter of policy. I don't think he had realized it
yet, but he was also a very good-looking youngster, combining his
mother's big blue eyes and glowing complexion (marred at the moment by
the inevitable acne) with my size and facial structure and brown hair.
"But I'll agree with you: You don't need a nanny or babysitter. Let's
look into alternatives."
At that, he brightened. Bill loved a challenge. For most of the
weekend and over breakfast on Monday morning, we kept coming back to
the subject. Bill carried his project notebook around with him
everywhere, and whenever one of us had an idea or thought on the
matter, he painstakingly wrote it in the book.
Just before he left for school, he asked if this was a private
subject, i.e., only between him and me. I wanted to know what he
thought.
"I think the more input we can get on it, the better."
"Sounds good. Stay awake in school. And no drooling in English."
He did a moderately acceptable Groucho and headed out. The English
reference was to his teacher, whom he'd described as a "babe-and-a-
half." I was looking forward to the parent-teacher conference.
Moira came up with the winning suggestion, which Bill relayed to me
that night.
"How about a part-time housekeeper."
"We considered that, remember?"
"Sure, but -- " He flipped through his notebook pages. " -- but Moira
said maybe we should look for a college student who's got a light
schedule. Especially someone who might be able to tutor me for an hour
or so each day."
The more we talked about it, the better it sounded. One of the biggest
problems with a part-timer was school holidays. On those days, Bill
would be left alone until three or so. But a college student would
have about the same schedule and would therefore be available.
We moved fast after that. Because of our location -- a co-op in the
Village -- we concentrated our efforts on New York University, Parsons
and Baruch, all within walking distance (more or less).
The folks at NYU were helpful and after checking me out passed along
my name and number. We started getting calls. Most of them were
washouts on the first call, but I interviewed a few. In the meantime,
we were on a countdown to Moira's marriage and departure. The first
candidate showed up in fashionably torn jeans and tended to end every
sentence with "Y'know?" The second had a nose ring, honest. The third
enriched my life by telling me everything that was wrong with her
teachers, her roommate, her life, the city and the universe in
general. The fourth began interrogating me about whether I had
inculcated the "traditional sexist, racist white male views" in my
son. The fifth seemed like a real possibility until she began dropping
unsubtle hints that she'd be more than glad to take care of me, as
well.
Two days before Moira's wedding -- and after 18 failed interviews -- I
found one that seemed like a winner. She had good references, a good
class schedule and seemed to have the right background. When she was
14, her mother died, and it had fallen to her to oversee her four
siblings. No, she had no problem with taking a urine test, and she was
taking a minor sequence in statistics, so she'd be able -- and willing
-- to tutor Bill in the demon whose name is "Algebra."
Her name was Inger. Our first interview was right there at NYU, in a
conference room a few doors from the student aid office. She was
between classes, and I took note of her appearance. She was about
five-seven (good, because it gave her a couple of inches on Bill),
with hair the color of fresh-cut wheat and pulled back in a ponytail.
She had a good, strong face -- attractive but not quite pretty -- and
used her light dusting of makeup to emphasize her best features: great
lips and big, soft brown eyes. She was wearing a baggy sweater and a
pleated plaid skirt that came to her knees. If anything, she seemed to
be on the plump side. Her fingernails were clipped and buffed, and her
only jewelry was a digital watch, one of those cheap ones.
Inger spoke well, in complete sentences. From time to time, she would
hesitate, becoming silent as she thought. That really impressed me,
because it meant she had the self-confidence to prefer silence to
inane utterances; most people feel they have to fill conversational
space with noise.
Things went fairly well until I got to the tough part (for me,
anyhow).
"I don't want to pry, but I want to ask you a somewhat personal
question."
"I don't promise to answer."
"Fair enough. Inger, do you have a...a significant other in your
life?"
A moment of silence. "I think I understand your concern. I don't
really have a boyfriend. There was a guy I was getting interested in
but he turned out to be...inappropriate. And as busy as I am with
class and -- I hope -- working for you, I really don't have much time
for socializing."
She was bright, Inger was, and she recognized that I wanted to ask
another question but was holding back because it would have been
prying.
"Look, Mr. Millman, he was inappropriate because I found out he was
bisexual and not being safe about it. I am a big fan of living."
I felt myself blush. "Thanks," I mumbled.
Her wristwatch beeped. "I have to get over to Courant for a class.
I'll be glad to meet you again, but right now -- "
"No, I quite understand." I stood and held out my hand. "Let me talk
with Bill and let's see if you can come by and meet the subject under
discussion."
She smiled, and I was somewhat taken aback by the transformation. When
this young woman smiled, her whole face got into the act, lighting up
the entire room.
"I'd like that," she said.
Bill Speaks:
I don't know what I was expecting when I met Inger. The only Inger I'd
ever heard of was in the Swedish Bikini Team poster Ian has in his
room, so I'd had this image of Inger-Goddess. Instead, she's this kind
of big, squat college girl who dresses to hide her weight (I guess.)
But she was really nice, and most important, she didn't treat me like
a little kid. She asked me what I liked to do -- Dad gave me a look
that reminded me not to tell her *everything* I like to do -- what I
liked best about my best friend (Ian), and she was really interested
when I told her about my synthesizer keyboard. She asked if she could
see my room, and Dad said it was up to me. So I said, "Sure, if you
can stand it," and showed her. She took a look at my books and
computer and keyboard and magazines. She wanted to know which magazine
was my favorite, probably expecting it to be the Playboy. I told her I
really didn't have a favorite; I just picked up the one that looked
most interesting. She asked me why I'd picked the Playboy, and I told
her the interview with Zhirinovsky, because he's really nuts. Was that
the only reason? Well, sure, I told her, the pictures were okay, but
it seemed every model in the magazine was blonde and busty, like there
weren't any pretty slim brunettes out there. She laughed and said, "It
does kind of look like an ad for the Aryan Nations, doesn't it?" So I
figure if she's cool with that, she's okay. Even if she isn't with the
Swedish Bikini Team.
Roger Again:
It was pretty clear to me that Bill felt alright about Inger, maybe
even liked her. And she was happy when I told her we thought she'd be
fine. We worked out the schedule and the payment and that, I figured,
was that.
Moira's wedding came and went. We'd been invited, of course, but I
figured it would be an awkward situation, with too many of the
trappings of the feudal lord giving away a serving maid in marriage.
So Bill and I pleaded a prior engagement and sent a nice present (What
do newlyweds need most? Right -- a check) and about two weeks later
we received a postcard from Barbados simultaneous with a Thank You
note from Sooth Carolina. Try to figure the mail.
Bill seemed pretty comfortable with Inger, and I couldn't complain at
all. She took care of the housekeeping, and Bill usually had his
homework done by the time I got home from work. Inger told me that he
really was without a clue when it came to algebra, but she was working
with him on it.
A couple of weeks passed. The night of the parent-teacher conferences
arrived. Inger said she could cover the house for me that evening.
I met Ms. Allen, the famous "babe-and-a-half" English teacher, and
had to agree with my son's assessment. She was gorgeous, and she was
built. She was wearing a fairly conservative suit, but there was no
way she could hide that body or those legs. I noted the absence of
wedding or engagement rings and start wondering...
Anyhow, Ms. Allen was very forthright and business-like. Bill's
writing skills were quite good, though he had a tendency to let his
paragraphs run too long. He had a good grasp of chronological
organization, but he seemed hesitant about dialogue. Did he read much
fiction? No, I told her, his taste ran to non-fiction, especially
stuff with political content. She suggested I leave some Heinlein
collections around. Which got us talking about Heinlein, and then
science fiction in general, and we got to exchanging titles and
authors, and when our time was up she said:
"I've really enjoyed our conversation, Mr. Millman."
"So have I. Perhaps we could continue it over coffee or dinner
sometime?"
She smiled gloriously and we traded phone numbers, as well.
Hey, being a single parent isn't all bad after all, I thought.
When I got home, Bill was sprawled on the floor, eating popcorn and
watching "Dateline: NBC." Inger was reading a political science
textbook, occasionally using a yellow Hi-Liter on a passage.
"How did it go?" she asked.
"Quite well," I told her, hanging up my overcoat.
"Did you meet Ms. Allen?" Bill chimed.
Inger laughed and closed her textbook.
"So he's told you about the babe-and-a-half?"
"He's hinted at it."
"She is rather attractive."
"I'm sure." Inger stood. "I'll head back then. Big test tomorrow."
I helped her on with her coat and walked her to the door. I handed her
an envelope. "Cab fare," I explained. She smiled and thanked me.
"By the way," I said. "I met Bill's algebra teacher. If he teaches the
way he talks, I'm amazed anyone is getting it. I suspect he's one of
those guys who picked it up instinctively and simply doesn't know how
to explain what he knows."
"Hmmmm...maybe if we started from scratch, Bill would do better."
"Maybe. Good luck on your test -- and thanks for the extra time."
"Mr. Millman, I'm joining some friends Friday evening. Would it be
alright with you if I shower and change my clothes here?"
"Of course. But thanks for asking."
Bill Observes:
Y'know, it's been three weeks now. I was starting to feel like Inger
has always been here. In fact, I sort of thought of her as, well, like
a guy, a buddy. I mean, she's in charge, but not bossy, and we talk
about stuff sometimes, and I just always thought of her as just plain
Inger.
Not any more though. Not after tonight. Not after she changed her
clothes and put on her makeup to go out with her friends.
Dad called about six, which is when he usually leaves the office, and
talked to Inger, and then she put me on the phone, and he told me
wasn't going to be home till 7:30, but that Inger was going to leave
at seven anyhow, and I was on my own, and he was sorry to be late but
he'd bring in my favorite Chinese. It was no big deal, really.
So about 15 minutes later, Inger excuses herself and goes into
Dad's bedroom with her bag and about 10 minutes later I hear the
shower running. Sure, I was curious, but this was *Inger*. I mean, I'd
never seen a real woman naked, but Dad always left Playboy and like
that around, and I've always looked at them, and now I'm just kind of
not interested unless it's a really pretty woman or someone unusual
(like that Tiffany Towers, who's got breasts bigger than her head!),
so I didn't really want to peek in on Inger, who never seemed that
attractive. Besides which, it would be sort of like violating her
privacy, and I respect her too much for that.
So at a quarter to seven, I didn't even look up when Inger came into
the living room, because I was watching Tek Wars. And then she asked
me if she looked okay. When I looked at her, I wasn't sure it was
Inger. She wasn't in her usual baggy sweater and baggy skirt or baggy
jeans with her hair pulled back in a pony tail -- no way. She was
wearing a black leather mini cut about halfway up her thighs, and dark
stockings and high heels and a gray turtleneck sweater, and she had
her hair combed out, and she was wearing more makeup, and Inger was
definitely a babe. I mean, Ms. Allen suddenly looked shabby in my
head. I looked her up and down, I guess with my mouth hanging open,
and she kind of laughed -- not mocking, but just amused, I guess --
and said, "I take that as a `Yes.'" So I told her the truth, just kind
of blurting that she looked gorgeous, and she smiled and puckered up
and blew me a kiss and said thanks, and I got the most incredible
boner. When she asked me to help her on with her coat, I think she
noticed it, but she just told me to behave until Dad got home, and
then she left to meet her friends, and all I could do was stand there
next to the door, smelling her perfume and throbbing to beat the band.
The hell with the band. Five minutes later I was beating the meat.
Roger Returns:
On the next Tuesday, I sat Bill down for one of our talks.
"Bill, I'm going to have dinner with a lady tonight." His eyebrows
went up. "Someone kind of new." I'd gone out with a few women in the
previous decade, and Bill had met a couple of them.
"What's that mean -- `Kind of new'?" He was genuinely -- and
understandably -- puzzled.
"Well, it means I've had coffee with her once, but we've never really
gone out. And it's someone you know."
"Inger?"
I had to smile. "No, not Inger. Good grief, no. I mean, she's
attractive enough, but she's awfully young for me."
"Dad, Inger is a babe-and-a-half. You should have seen her when she
changed to go out with her friends. I mean, forget Ms. Allen!"
I felt my face redden.
"Did I say something wrong, Dad?" He'd obviously mistaken my blush for
something else.
"No, not a chance." I grinned. "So you're having less trouble
concentrating on your English books?"
"Dad, Inger is definitely hot when she wants to be." He shook his head
and rolled his eyes. "So, anyhow, who's this date of yours?"
I blushed again. "It's, uh, your English teacher."
He blinked rapidly, twice. "You're shitting me."
"I shit you not." This was our secret, ultimate promise-of-truth code.
"We sort of hit it off at the parent-teacher conference. In fact, it
was her idea to leave the Heinlein around for you that got us
talking."
"Wow. You and Ms. Allen."
"Bill -- this has to be between us. And I'm going to ask you to do
something very, very difficult. I don't think I could do it if I was
in your shoes. You have to act like nothing's changed in class with
her -- because nothing *has* changed in class with her."
He thought that over for a few moments. Then: "Yeah, that is going to
be tough. You know, Dad, sometimes the guys make remarks about her --"
I shook my head. "And they'll keep doing it, and it's okay. Even if
you do, it's okay -- but I'd prefer you didn't."
"Does Inger know?"
"Yes, she does. She's going to stay till 10 tomorrow night."
"What happens if you get lucky?"
I laughed. "Son, women -- especially `babes' -- do not line up around
the block for a middle-aged account executive. At least, not for this
one. I do not expect to get my bones jumped. In fact, I'd be amazed.
I'll be home at 10."
The next day, before he left for school, Bill wished me luck, but it
didn't have an immediate effect. Oh, dinner with Bernice was quite
lovely, and afterward we went to Bradley's for drinks and some music,
and then I walked her to her door in a light snow and -- to my
astonishment -- she solved that awkward moment for us by leaning up
and giving me a peck on the lips...and then did it again, but it was
less of a peck and turned into a clinch. Then there was another
awkward moment, only this time I solved it.
"I wouldn't mind doing a lot more of that except for two things," I
said. "One, it's getting damn cold out here, and, two, I have a 10
o'clock appointment."
She smiled beautifully. "We'll have to check our schedules, Roger. I
really enjoyed tonight."
"Call you tomorrow?"
"I'd like that. Thank you for a lovely evening."
"The pleasure was entirely mine. Good night."
I waited till she'd closed the inner door of her brownstone apartment
building and then strode home, feeling pretty proud of myself.
Bill Speaks:
It was about seven o'clock when we finished clearing away the dishes
-- Inger and I made a casserole -- when she said, "I wonder how your
father's date is going." I wondered, too. What I was wondering more
about was Inger. How could she be such a babe and dress so plain all
the time? As she bent over to put the casserole pan in the dishwasher,
I saw her baggy sweater bulge with her tits and instantly got another
boner. It seemed like half the time I was near her I was getting a
boner. It was driving me nuts. I excused myself and went into the
bathroom for the second time that evening and quickly whipped it out
and started beating. In about a minute, I splattered another big load
into the sink. It took me about 10 minutes to clean up and calm down
enough to leave.
Inger was just sitting on the couch, looking at me funny, like she
knew what I'd been doing. I went to turn on the television, thinking
she was going to study like she usually did if she stayed late, but
she asked me not to turn on the set and to come sit with her for a
minute.
"Bill, I want to talk something over with you -- just between us."
Uh-oh, I thought, sitting at the far end of the couch.
"You were just masturbating."
I felt my face get hot, but one thing I don't do, ever, is lie. On the
other hand, I didn't have to confess, either.
"There's nothing wrong or unnatural about it. And I don't think it's
dirty or some kind of shit like that."
I was a little surprised to hear Inger talk like that, but I got her
point.
"But I want to talk with you about..." She took a deep breath. "Bill,
were you jerking off thinking about your father's date?"
My face got hotter.
"I mean, if she's half the babe you say she is, I can understand that,
but it's going to be tough enough treating her just as a teacher;
making her your fantasy object will just make it more difficult."
I had a tough time talking. "Well, uh, what makes you think it was
her?"
"As soon as I mentioned your father's date, you got a hard-on and went
to jerk off."
"That wasn't it."
She shrugged. "Well, suit yourself."
"Really, it wasn't!"
She didn't say anything, but I could tell she was far from convinced.
"That was just coincidence. It was -- " I shut my mouth.
She looked really puzzled.
"It was what?"
"It was you!"
She blinked, like she was surprised.
"Oh, Bill, I'm just plain ol' Inger and -- "
"No, you're not. I saw you when you were dressed to meet your friends.
You were so hot I -- "
I stoped my mouth before I went any farther.
Her face changed, like...softened.
"You mean I turned you on like that? Even this long after? That's kind
of hard to swallow and -- "
"Don't believe me?" I stood and stepped in front of her. "Look!"
She looked, right at my crotch where Boner Number Three was making
itself obvious.
"Oh, my goodness! Did I do that?"
She looked up at me.
"Oh, dear." Her breathing quickened. "Little old dowdy me made you get
all stiff like that..." She put her hand on it, and I groaned. "Well,
I can't have you studying algebra in a state like that. What shall we
do about it?"
[more]
=================================================================
More in a coupla-three days. All comments and criticisms are
very welcome via Email or in public posts, but posts should
only be made in alt.sex.story. DISCUSS -- not here. Please don't
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=================================================================
===============================================================
This is an original story from a caller to The Abbey, part of
MHBBS (212-683-1448). Feel free to repost it as is, without
editing or changing anything in it, including this tag. For
information about The Abbey, a spam-free place for writers and
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MHBBS (212-683-1448). For email replies, remove the "*" before MHBBS.COM.
Subject: INGER (2 of 5)
From: friar_dave@*mhbbs.com (FRIAR DAVE)
INGER
By Friar Dave
(INGER.STY)
(Copyright by the author, 1995)
PART TWO
"Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom -- "
"Not at all."
"Wha -- "
She was unzipping my pants and pushing them and my Jockeys down.
"There does seem to be quite a bit to it for a young man your age."
I moaned when she took my dick in her hand.
"Maybe I can help."
She started stroking me. Her face was all red and she was panting.
"It's so nice and hard and -- are you going to cum soon?"
I grunted.
"Well, we can't make a mess in here..." Still stroking, she reached
for the Kleenex. "Come on and let it go."
"Oh, shit..." I gasped and started shooting. Even though I'd whacked
off twice, my knees started to bend, I came so hard -- and a lot.
Inger's Kleenex got soaked pretty fast, and then there was stuff
running over her hand and wrist. I came some more before I stopped and
she squeezed the last few drops out, then used another Kleenex to
clean off my cock. She looked up at me and smiled.
"That was nice," she said. She put her hand to her mouth and licked up
some of my jizz, then gave a little shiver. "And it tastes nice, too.
Straighten out your clothes and flush this." She waited for me to pull
my pants back up, then handed me the tissue. I kind of stumbled to the
bathroom, wondering if I'd just had a dream. I flushed the tank and
tossed some cold water on my face before returning to the living room.
Inger waved me to her side, then patted the cushion next to her.
"No secrets, okay?"
I nodded.
"No -- you have to say it."
"Okay -- no secrets."
"Have you ever done that with anyone before?"
I blushed. "Well, a couple of times my friends and I kind of, well, we
have a contest to see who can shoot the farthest or the most."
"But that's it?"
"Yeah."
"But you get horny a lot, and beat off a lot?"
"Well, I guess so."
She took a deep breath. "Well, I can understand that. I get horny,
too. A lot. And I masturbate a lot. Sometimes it seems almost anything
can get me hot. So I try to be careful. You know about AIDS and that,
right?"
"And how." Did I ever! Between Dad and school, I felt like a walking
brochure from the Centers for Disease Control. Or GMHC.
She thought for a few seconds. "I'll make a deal with you. I'll take
care of you if you'll take care of me."
"Take care of you -- ?"
"I'll teach you how. But two rules: No one else can ever find out, and
we tell each other everything -- including about anyone else we play
with. How does that sound?"
It took me a minute to realize what she was offering. But once I did,
I told her how it sounded.
"That sounds completely excellent."
"Good. Now, have you ever seen a naked woman in the flesh?"
I shook my head. She smiled, stood and led me to my room.
Roger Speaks:
I got home at 10 o'clock, on the dot. To my surprise, Inger was alone
in the living room, reading her poly sci text. Bill wasn't in sight.
"He's sacked out," she said quietly. "Said he was really tired."
"I hope he's not coming down with anything. Usually I have to drive
him to bed."
She shrugged. "He ate enough. Maybe he's just worn out. How was your
date?"
My smile told her plenty. She grinned at me, her face blossoming. She
stood and stretched languidly. "Well, I'm a bit tired myself. I think
I'll head home. Are you going to see her again?"
"Almost certainly. I think we're really hitting it off."
"Good on you." She took her coat and I helped her into it. Something
about the way she moved and talked seemed more relaxed than I'd ever
seen her before. "Good night."
I handed her an envelope. "Thanks, Inger. I really appreciate it."
"Hey, any time I can, I'm glad to do it. He's a good kid."
"The best." I beamed. She beamed right back.
The next morning, Bill seemed pretty cheerful and filled with energy.
"I'm glad to see you feeling okay."
He gave me an odd look.
"Inger said you were pretty beat last night and turned in early."
His expression relaxed, and he grinned. "I was definitely beat. I was
going to stay up and grill you about your date, but -- " He shrugged.
"How did it go?"
"It really went well, Bill. I like her, and I think she likes me. We're
going to see each other again."
"That's swell, Dad." Oddly, that seemed to be the end of it for him.
I'd spent my time in the shower rehearsing how I'd deal with detailed
questions and felt a bit let down that he wasn't more curious. On the
other hand, Bill was bright and advanced for his years. He might well
have concluded for himself that there were some things we would not be
discussing in detail. I was proud of my little guy; he was growing up!
That afternoon, at just after four, Bernice called me. (We'd agreed
that it would be best for her to call me at work, since it might be
putting too much pressure on Bill to have him answer the phone and
find his "babe-and-a-half" English teacher asking to talk to his
father.) How did my schedule look? I told her that it depended on
whether Inger was available, and I'd have to get back to her. She was
agreeable. I called home. After the ninth ring, Bill answered the
phone, a bit out of breath.
"Oh, uh, Inger bet me I couldn't do 20 pushups."
"Really. Who won the bet?"
"Me."
"Oh, good." I was surprised. Bill had never had much athletic
inclination. "Let me talk to her for a moment, please?"
"Sure."
"Hi, Mr. Millman."
She was out of breath, too.
"Well, that's what he won. I had to do as many as he did."
"What's with this pushups business?"
"Well, I figure that exercise is important, helps the circulation and
alertness. Since this Algebra has an association with sleepville, I
figured the stimulation might help."
It sounded logical, in an odd way. What the hell; I asked about her
availability on Friday or Saturday night.
"Oh, no problem! Which will it be? Or both?"
I had to laugh. "You're more optimistic than I am. Friday would be
best." I paused. "It might be a little later."
"Are we talking changing the date on the clock?"
"With any luck. I have a very good feeling about the way it's going."
"I'm really glad to hear that."
"Don't say anything yet. I'll tell him myself."
"Bye!"
Then I called Bernice. She was very pleased that it was Friday. I
explained that Bill and I tended to reserve Saturdays as our day
together. We had a whole little routine that ended with going out late
Saturday night to bring in the Sunday Times and News and some snack
food for watching late night movies together. She thought that was
wonderful. Then she told me she was glad it was Friday, because it was
a day closer, and she really wanted to see me.
When I hung up the phone, I felt like a champ. I felt so good that
when the MIS department timidly explained that they'd just lost half
the files on my number-two account's broadcast schedule, I told them
not to worry about it, to just salvage what they could and get me two
people to re-key the entire flight from paper. By quitting time,
everyone in the agency was looking at me oddly. I guess word got
around about my strange behavior. After all, the last time MIS had
done something like that it had taken three large men to pry my hands
from the throat of the manager. I checked my watch: 25 hours and 10
minutes till Bernice.
I don't think I actually clicked my heels together, but I might have.
Bill Speaks:
Dad wondered about me being breathless; the pushups thing was pretty
quick thinking, if I say so myself. Of course, I was encouraged by
having a naked Inger beneath me, coaxing me on.
After last night, I didn't think anything was going to turn me on as
much, let alone more. I mean, first, Inger had me sit on the bed,
facing her, both of us stark naked. And then we watched each other
masturbate. Her tits aren't as perfect as the ones in Playboy or
Penthouse, but they're awfully pretty -- and real. And her pubic hair
isn't as neat as the models', either -- but it's real. And I've
*never* seen a girl masturbate. I've read stories and letters, but
then they're always putting things inside them. But Inger just rubbed
her fingers around on her clitoris, and stroked her labia. She had an
orgasm real fast and real loud. I was so amazed I just stopped wanking
and watched her. But then she had me sit next to her and showed me how
to touch her clitoris while she started jerking me. I didn't expect
that part of her to be so hot or so wet! She didn't want me to put my
finger inside her, either -- just rub. "Caress it," she kind of
whispered. "Pet it, gently, like a scared kitten."
She said I did it pretty good, and I believe her, because she was
moaning and grunting and jerking around so much she stopped wanking me
for a while.
And then she stopped.
"Now, I'm going to teach you how to lick and kiss a girl down there.
If you learn to do it right, you'll be the most popular boy in your
school." And she smiled at me. "But even if it takes a while to learn,
I'm going to finish you off for the night with your first blowjob."
"You mean you're going to suck my -- my penis?"
She shook her head. "I'm going to suck your cock. Until you cum in my
mouth. And I'm going to swallow every drop."
My mouth hung open.
"That," she said, smiling, "is a good start. Taste." She brought my
hand from her cunt to my mouth. It smelled kind of funky, but kind of
sexy. That was her juice, a woman's cunt juice. I'd heard guys talking
about rotting fish, but this wasn't at all like that. Different, but
not at all funky. I licked my fingers, and her smile broadened.
"Oh, goody," she said. "An eager student."
Inger was true to her word. She taught me to go slow and light, where
to put my tongue and where to tease. By the time she was finished,
she'd cum about a hundred times, and my face was soaked. And my dick
was like a piece of wood.
"I think," she breathed, panting as she reversed our positions -- her
on her belly between my legs and me on my back -- "that you really did
enjoy licking me."
"I could really get into it," I said, and then I moaned, because when
she shifted, her tits brushed my thighs -- and then she was holding my
boner in one hand and I could feel her breath on it.
"This is a pretty impressive piece of wood for a kid your age. How big
is it?"
"Only about six inches," I said.
"And it's pretty thick, too, maybe an inch and a half," she said. She
leaned forward and licked it, just behind the knob. "What do you mean,
`only' six inches? You wish it was more?"
"Well, sure. Ian's is almost eight inches."
She grinned up at me, and held her hand up, with her thumb and index
finger apart. "Two inches. That's the difference. You think that's
better or something?"
"Well, sure, I've heard stories and read stuff -- "
"Let me tell you a secret, Bill. Six inches hard beats eight inches
soft -- and usually beats eight inches hard."
"But I hear that women love -- "
"Some do; most don't. I've had big ones, eight and nine and even more
inches. I like this best. It's perfect. You're not going to go too
deep and hurt me with it." And then she leaned her head up and over
and put my whole cock in her mouth. I could feel the back of her
throat on the end and feel her lips around the bottom. I tensed all
over; I was that close to cumming. She quickly backed off.
"I can't do that with a bigger cock. I gag. And there's other stuff
most women won't even consider with a dick that's too big. Like taking
it in the ass. Most guys are too rough, so a big cock back there hurts
like hell, and most women won't even consider it with a big dong."
"You do that -- you know, in back?"
"Sometimes I like to do it. But not with a swinging dick. Yours,
though, is just perfect for allllll kinds of things." She leaned her
head forward and licked the length of my prick. I gasped.
"But, first of all, let me demonstrate that I keep my word, and I
think your nice, hard cock and smooth balls are just perfect for a
demonstration of the advantages of not being hung like King Kong."
And then she took my cock all the way in her mouth again. I guess I
lasted maybe 30 seconds before I started to cum. She pushed her
fingers up against me between my legs, about halfway between my ass
and my nuts, and I thought I was going to explode. I mean, the stuff
just poured out of me.
So -- yeah, Dad. I was beat when you came in. Fucked out is more like
it.
After all that, I didn't think anything could turn me on more or feel
better, but Inger again taught me I was wrong. Hence, the naked
"pushups."
It's funny, I guess, but the first time I felt her cunt around me, I
knew that jacking off was just a pale imitation -- and came almost
immediately. But I stayed hard. Maybe it was because I had one of her
nipples in my mouth, maybe it was the way she gave a little moan, but
I stayed stiff and kept pumping her. And when she started moaning and
humping back at me, it just turned me on more and more, and then I came
again -- but I still stayed hard. I was working away, and she was
cumming when the phone started to ring.
Of course, the interruption was minor, so as soon as she hung up, I
was all over her again. This time she was on her knees, so she leaned
over, and I was banging away from behind. She started to cum, and I
felt it, her inside muscles moving on my woody. Then she put her hand
down there and played with herself, and she *really* started to cum,
and pretty soon I came too.
This time I got soft -- for a little while, anyhow -- and Inger just
cuddled me to her, my head on her pretty tits. And that's when she
explained the new reward system to me.
Roger Redux:
When I told him I might be very late Friday -- as in "Saturday
morning" -- Bill gave me a really funny grin. "I'll be pulling for
you, Dad." Which struck me as odd, but then, he *was* a 12=year-old
boy.
When Friday evening finally -- and I do mean FINALLY -- rolled around,
I felt like a 12 year old myself. I mean, I was going on a date with a
woman who turned me on so much that all I had to do was think of her,
and it was instant-erection time. And me at 41. It wasn't like she'd
be the first woman I made it with. Since Dana, under the stands at the
track meet in my junior year of high school, there'd been about two
dozen, not counting the occasional paid companion. But she was the
first one in 10 years who made my blood race. I really liked Bernice,
AND she turned me on, AND she liked me.
The way it was supposed to be was, I would call on her at her place,
and we would go out to eat dinner. We had a couple of places on our
short list, all but one of them French -- a taste we shared -- and
then we'd see how the evening progressed. So to speak.
The way it worked was that Bernice surprised me by saying she wanted
to cook dinner for me, and she hoped I didn't mind but she'd already
brought in and prepared the sole fillet for broiling and had the baby
carrots and broccoli ready for steaming, and the rice was going into
the cooker in three minutes, and would I mind tossing the salad after
I opened the wine?
I looked at my reflection in the full-length mirror opposite her
apartment's entrance door and decided that I wasn't quite as dumb
as I looked.
I tossed the salad after uncorking the wine -- explaining that I
couldn't touch it, as I'd been sober for 14 years and wasn't going to
interrupt a winning streak, but she should feel free -- and then, as
the fillet broiled and the baby carrots and broccoli steamed and the
rice cooked, Bernice excused herself for a moment to change into
something more comfortable. Which turned out to be an incitement to
riot.
She returned to the living room in a white leotard interrupted only by
an ankle-length skirt of some loose fitting material that draped
perfectly. And quite clearly braless,
"That's `something more comfortable'?"
"You don't like it?"
"Bernice, wearing that at dinner is going to spoil my appetite."
She looked briefly puzzled.
"I mean, all I'm going to be thinking about is saving room for desert.
You."
Her smile was glorious.
I forget if the dinner was any good. I remember highlights. Bernice
sucking a baby carrot slowly into her mouth. Bernice running the
circle of her thumb and forefinger up and down the big pepper mill.
Bernice looking down at the unavoidable sight of her swollen nipples
-- aureoles and all -- clearly visible and distending the semi-
transparent leotard and saying, "I'm not cold, so what -- ?"
I do recall quite distinctly Bernice mumbling -- her mouth was full --
that she hadn't expected me to be that big. And also that I cautioned
her that if she kept doing *that* with her tongue, I was going to be
done pretty fast. (She didn't stop doing *that* with her tongue.) And
her warning me that she was "different, a little small" down there.
"Small" wasn't quite the word; try "tiny." She was also extremely
tasty. And vocal.
By 10:30, it was pretty clear that I wasn't going anywhere for the
night, so I called home.
When I got back to what West Village realtors call the "bedroom" --
meaning there was room for a bed, a dresser and maybe a mirror --
Bernice was sitting with the sheet pulled to just cover her breasts.
"C'mon back here, big fella." She smiled. "I want to feel you next to
me."
"Your wish, et cetera." I quickly slid in next to her, sitting with my
back against the headboard. I slipped an arm behind her and pulled her
back against my chest. She let her head loll on my shoulder, so I
nibbled her ear a bit and brushed my lips across her cheek, inhaling
the scent of her. She pulled my hands under the sheet and put them
under her breasts, cupping those wonderful mounds. I let my fingertips
graze the underswells, and she sighed. I felt her hand slide down over
my stomach and thigh, and then come back up to grasp my limp dick.
"I really didn't expect you to be that big, Roger."
"It's not all *that* big. Barely eight inches."
"But it is awfully thick."
"I pride myself on being gentle."
"And patient, I hope."
"That, too."
"Because I wasn't kidding. I'm really, really small there, and -- " She
paused.
"Is there something you want to tell me?"
"I like...different things, Roger. Some people might disapprove."
"Then they don't have to be involved." I let my fingers roam down over
her sides. I caressed her hips. "Do you want to tell me? Or would you
rather show me?"
She purred as I brought my hands down to gentle her lovely thighs. She
drew a deep breath. "I -- I -- "
"Take your time." I brought my hands up to hold her breasts, my thumbs
finding and rubbing her nipples. She had wonderful nipples.
"When I first started having sex, because I'm so small down there I
developed a taste for oral sex -- "
"I noticed."
" -- and for backdoor sex. It's usually much more pleasurable for me
-- especially with a big man -- than the front. I hope I'm not
horrifying you."
The idea of doing Bernice's lovely butt was provoking a nonverbal
response from me. She felt it.
"Oh, good!" Her hand was wrapped around my resurrecting flagpole.
"Such a nice, big, fat one will feel sooooo good stretching me back
there -- if you're gentle at the start."
"I love to make it last as long as possible, that first insertion."
Her nipples -- nozzles and aureoles -- had become wildly distended.
"Is there anything else you want to tell me, Bernice?" I bent my head
forward and nibbled the side of her neck.
"Not now -- I just want you to do it!"
I rolled us prone onto the mattress, our lips locked together. We were
all tangled up in each other's arms and legs, trying to press every
available bit of flesh. I slipped lower on her, planning to mouth her
breasts as my fingers moved toward her delectable little honey pot,
but Bernice would have none of it.
"I can't wait, Roger! The lube is in the night table! Hurry!"
While I fumbled into the drawer to find the tube of gel, Bernice
rolled onto her stomach with a pillow under hips. I turned around and
was greeted with the wondrous sight of Bernice's superbly rounded ass
pushed into the air with her hand beneath her. Her lush tits were
squished out to the sides, and she was moaning, "Hurry! Please hurry!"
[more]
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More in a coupla-three days. All comments and criticisms are
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Subject: INGER (3 of 5)
From: friar_dave@*mhbbs.com (FRIAR DAVE)
INGER
By Friar Dave
(INGER.STY)
(Copyright by the author, 1995)
PART THREE
I was eager. Very few women had ever wanted to indulge this particular
port with me because of the thickness of my penis. My ex-wife had
never wanted to do it with me. And now, this gorgeous, educated,
aroused beauty was begging me to hurry! I lubed up my dick copiously
and arranged myself above her. as if I were going to do a pushup.
Supporting my upper body on one hand, I used the other to guide my
cock into place. Her rectum was warm and pulsating, puckering outward
as if kissing my glans.
"Yes!" she hissed.
As carefully and gently as I could, I began pushing down. Her sweet
asshole stretched wider and wider. I had half the knob in when I
paused to let her get used to it and to let me savor the flutterings
of her pretty sphincter.
"Ooohh, yes," Bernice groaned.
I pushed again, watching in amazement as her asshole spread to take
the fattest part of my glans -- and then snapped shut on the shaft
just behind it. The inside of her rectum was very, very hot, and it
clung to my knob like a shrink-fit tube. I was somewhat surprised at
the ease with which she'd taken it. Beneath me, her hips were moving
just the slightest bit as her fingers worked her clit and labia.
"More!"
I pressed into her slowly and inexorably, and she began to whimper. I
hesitated, thinking she was in discomfort.
"Don't stop!"
I slid in the rest of the way, sheathing my cock in her steaming
innards. I was panting, myself, trying to maintain some self-control.
The sensations of her tight anus on the base of my cock, of her round,
firm ass against my abdomen, were almost too much.
"Oh, that's so good..." she breathed. "Do it hard, now! I want to
really feel it pounding in me!"
I pulled back slowly till just my tip was inside her -- and then
plunged back into her. all the way, with a single stroke. Bernice
struck up a high-pitched keening sound those rose and fell with each
of my strokes. Her hips were shuddering beneath me, and I could feel
her sphincter clenching on me as she came, over and over and over. When
her buttocks tightened against my belly in her orgasms, it just stoked
my fires. To my amazement, I was going to cum again very soon in her.
She could tell, too.
"Do it! Fill me with it! Cum! Cum! Cum!"
That did it. With a growl, I plummeted to the base in her hot ass and
I came, came, came.
"Yes! It's so hot! YES!" she shrieked, her asshole tightening on my
dick and milking me. I felt as if I were pouring my insides into her.
She seemed to feel every drop -- and enjoyed it. Which only made me
cum all the harder.
By the time -- seemingly hours later -- we'd both come down off the
rush, we were bathed in sweat and gasping for breath. I bent my head
down to kiss her, right between her shoulder blades, in a place where
a pool of perspiration had formed, then rolled us -- still locked --
to our sides, with her in my arms.
"Roger, darling, that was absolutely wonderful."
I kissed the nape of her neck. "It was almost magical for me."
"I wish we could do that all night!"
"So do I," I told her truthfully. "Unfortunately, I'm not a teenager
any more."
She giggled, which caused her butthole to flex around my now limp
cock. "Oh, yes, teenage boys. So preposterously vigorous!"
"With you as an inspiration, it's no surprise."
She quieted. I sensed something change in her mood.
"Is something wrong, Bernice?"
"Well, I -- " She paused. "I'd feel odd discussing it at this very
moment, Roger."
"You don't have to discuss it at all, if you don't want to."
"No, it's something I'll feel better about if I tell you. It's nothing
awful, but this just isn't the time for it."
"Is it one of those things you like to do that you think might be
disgusting to me?"
She mulled that for a moment. "Oh, no. Not at all. Hold me closer."
I did, and soon we were dozing. Sometime later, Bernice bestirred
herself and left the bed -- and my soiled dick. A bit later, she
returned and I felt a warm, soft cloth on my dick, cleaning it.
"It's okay," I said softly. "I'm awake. I'll wash it."
"Nothing more to wash," she said softly, putting a soft, dry towel to
work. My damp flesh began to swell in the cool air. "Now you're all
kissing clean." She ducked her head down to make her point, kissing my
knob. Her lips lingered there, then parted and took half of it in,
giving me a bit of a tongue bath. The swelling increased.
"Oh, my -- a midnight snack!" She made an oval of her lips and slowly
bobbed her head down and up, taking about a third of my shaft on each
circuit. In moments, she had my cock rock-hard and throbbing.
She pulled her mouth off me with a soft Pop!
"I want you to give me another nice, big tasty load to swallow."
For a moment, I could only stare at her in the dim illumination. Her
hair was a disheveled glory around her flushed face, and her nipples
were quite swollen atop her distended breasts.
"Wait," I croaked. "I want to do you first. I want to lick and suck
your beautiful little pussy until you can't stop cumming."
Her lips parted.
"I want you to just lay back," I said, leading her up onto the bed,
"and let me pamper you." I eased her back onto the bed. "I want to
bury my face between your legs," I said, as I crawled into position
and lowered myself between her widespread thighs, "and try to breathe
through my ears."
"Oh, my," she breathed.
"If you don't mind, that is." And with that, I cupped her round, firm
buttocks in my hands and began licking.
Bernice was nothing if not responsive. I reveled in her taste. I
licked her thighs, hips, abdomen and mons. I tongued her labia majora
and labia minora and the moist bud of her clitoris. I thrust my mouth
muscle into her cunt -- as much as I could -- savoring her moans and
grunting and whines, reveling in the taste and scent of her mature,
healthy juices. I really get into pussy licking; With Bernice I had a
gourmet's feast.
I brought one hand around and gently began prying my finger into her
pussy. She was extremely small down there, and as wet as she was, it
was obviously not too comfortable for her. So I was pleased to oblige
when, through movements of her hips, she made it clear she wanted my
finger to go in someplace else. I gently slid my fingertip, lubed with
her juice, into her ass. And she came -- bam! Just like that.
As she came down off the high, I continued gently licking her with the
tip of my tongue -- and then felt something fall on the bed near my
free hand: the tube of lube. I can take a hint. I greased up another
finger and slid it up her ass next to the first. She groaned and shook
and came some more. In fact, she said exactly that:
"More! Oh, yes, more!"
I inadvertently squeezed a huge dollop of lube onto my hand, but I
didn't bother trying to wipe it off. Instead, as I lay between her
legs eating her like mad, I slid a third finger up her butt.
Bernice was groaning and churning her hips down, welcoming my fingers
up her ass. I wanted to see how much she could take, so I squeezed my
pinky into her asshole.
In seconds, Bernice was cumming almost nonstop, grinding down on my
fingers right to the fattest part of my hand, and still she demanded--
"More! Oh, don't stop now! Give me it all!"
All?
I'd read about such, but it never seemed credible to me. Still, I was
not about to stop at that point. I folded my thumb across my palm and
began pushing and turning my hand. To my utter and absolute
astonishment, Bernice was pushing right back, trying mightily to
engulf it -- and bit by seemingly torturous bit, she succeeded. Her
cunt was absolutely overflowing as the widest part of my hand slid
into her ass and her sphincter slipped over my wrist.
Bernice was thrashing and gasping wildly, her mons hitting my front
teeth and nose. I raised my face from between her legs -- in self-
defense.
"YES!" she screamed. "YES!"
Still exploring, I pushed my hand deeper. She went wild. I pulled it
back till it was hung up inside her awesomely stretched butt-hole. She
shrieked with pleasure. I carefully folded my fingers under, making a
fist, and twisted my hand slowly. Bernice heaved and bucked like a
puppet. I basted more of the lube, this time on my wrist and forearm,
and pushed deeper. Bernice rolled onto her face around the axle of my
hand and wrist, and she screamed into the pillow -- and pushed her ass
up at me for more.
I pushed deeper. It felt like my hand was moving in a rubber tube.
Halfway to my elbow I stopped and stared down. I couldn't believe she
had half my arm up her ass -- and was cumming so madly! I pumped
slowly back and forth, Bernice rocking with my slow-motion punching
movements. This was turning me on so much, I felt as if I were going
to spurt just from the sight.
I speeded up just a bit and added a twist to the movement. Bernice
came harder and harder -- and then she went pretty much rigid for a
moment, her sphincter tightening till the circulation was cut off in
my arm and hand...and then she collapsed to the bed, sobbing and
gasping.
I carefully, slowly, extricated my forearm amd wrist from her bowels,
pulling back till just my hand was in her. I uncurled my fingers slowly
and gently, then wiggled my hand back and forth, trying to get it out of
her. At first, it didn't seem like it was going to come out. I had some
pretty awful visions of explaining the problem to a 911 operator.
Then, finally, my hand began coming out of her butt. Once the widest
part was through, it was a pretty straightforward matter to complete
the operation.
Much to my surprise, my arm was not nearly as soiled as I'd expected
to be. In fact, except for a few spots around my knuckles and
fingertips, I was pretty largely unmarked -- but fragrant, to be sure.
I stood, my dick still as hard as blue steel. "Don't go away," I
whispered. She was basically motionless, but wiggled her fingers
toward me. I found my way into the bathroom and washed quickly, then
returned with a towel, which I used to wipe down her lovely ass. I
half expected her rectum to be gaping, but it had almost completely
closed again.
I lay down and pulled her into my arms, spoon style.
"You must think me awful," she whispered, still a bit breathless.
"I think you're amazing -- you make me as horny as hell."
"Mmmmmm...." She wiggled her buttocks against my erection. "Have you
ever done that before?"
"Never," I answered, truthfully. "But I want to do it again."
"It makes me cum so much," she whispered. "Sometimes I cum so much it
scares me. I think I must be some kind of freak slut to enjoy
something so perverted so much."
"It isn't hurting anyone, so there's nothing wrong with it in my book.
It made me terribly excited."
She clenched her buttocks around my rigid prick. "I can tell. Now,
will you feed me?"
She was too zonked to take an active role, so I obligingly knelt with
my prick presented to her face. She wrapped her lips around my shaft
an inch or so behind my glans. Her tongue rasped the underside of my
knob and shaft, and she sucked mightily. I felt the pressure building.
She pulled her lips off my prick and looked up at me. "I want you to
-- to jack it while I suck."
I groaned. She re-engulfed my knob, and I groaned again -- and
complied. I gripped my shaft with the same hand that had been up her
ass and pumped urgently. I saw her nipples harden and felt her tongue
flicker. When I came, I spewed into her welcoming mouth with a single
long spurt that seemed unnaturally copious; I ascribed it to my
prolonged arousal. She had one hand between her legs, fingering herself,
and when I erupted into her mouth, her hips shook as her own orgasm
rocked her.
Finally, we held each other. I was on my back with her atop me, her
lovely breasts crushed against me, her head on my chest, her thighs
parted and her sweet cunt drooling on me. Somehow, after all we'd just
done together, after all the amazing pleasures we'd just shared, this
was the best -- the perfect capper.
Bill Speaks:
Dad was kind of funny when he came in. Inger and I were eating
breakfast. He smiled and said 'Good morning," and then he excused
himself. Of course, considering it was nine in the morning, we all
knew there was no hiding that Dad had gotten lucky. What was funny
was that he was more relaxed than I could remember him being in a
long time, and he seemed kind of bushed, too. But he seemed to have
a little more energy at the same time.
We went to the Intrepid Air & Space Museum in the afternoon, and we
saw a genuine SR-71. I had no idea they were so big! On the way home,
we stopped into Blockbuster for some videos, then we bought food. The
sidewalks were getting slippery because it was snowing again. We
decided to cook for ourselves, so I chopped up veggies for a salad
while Dad set up the Jenn-Air for a couple of steaks and baked
potatoes. That was when we started to talk about it.
"I guess you figured out about Bernice and me."
"Bernice? You know, I never knew her first name. So you guys are...an
item?"
He shrugged, which I saw without turning to look at him. He was
suddenly very concentrated on trimming the steaks. "I think so. I hope
so."
"You seem a lot mellower than you have been in a long time," I told
him. "And I'm glad."
He turned to me. "Really? I mean, you had sort of a thing for her for
a long time..."
"That was different, Dad. That was when she was just, like, out there,
not really a person. Now she's like real because you and her -- you
know."
He thought that over for a second. "Yeah, I guess so. She was a
fantasy; now she's a person."
"Something like that."
He went back to trimming the meat while I was thinking: Besides, Dad,
I've got Inger.
After dinner, we watched "True Lies" and "Naked Gun 33 1/3." By then, it
was snowing too hard to go out for the papers, so we sacked it. There
were six inches on the ground the next morning, and Dad was still
sleeping, so I went out and got the papers and OJ and bagels and
surprised him. I like doing stuff like that for Dad -- nice surprises,
I mean. We read the papers and then Dad sat down to read one of his
science fiction novels while I wrote my obligatory weekly letter to my
mother, who has written back maybe three times in two years. (Thanks,
Mom.) That didn't matter to Dad, though; he said that it was important
for me to remember that she's my mother, and someday I'd be glad I'd
made the effort. I suppose.
Anyhow, when that was done, Dad said it was okay for me to meet Ian to
watch the street guys play basketball over on Sixth Avenue, but I had
to be back by six. I told him I'd be back by five, 'cause I wanted to
get cracking on my algebra in time to watch "Die Hard II" on the
Sunday night movie. I called Ian, and we agreed to meet in front of the
Waverly movie house. There was a line of people waiting to see "Pulp
Fiction," and I saw Ian chatting up two girls waiting on the line.
Ian's big for his age, and he's a good-looking guy and has a trail of
shit a mile long. He really likes practicing his lines on girls,
because a lot of times they think he's older, like 15 or 16, and he
likes to see how far he can play the string.
"Oh, who's your little friend?" one of them asked when I came up to
him.
"I'm his son," I said. We high-fived and booked.
When we got across Sixth, to where the big guys were playing, Ian told
me he thought he might have gotten some from one of them, the
brunette. He said, "She was really coming on to me."
I asked him what he was going to do -- sneak her into his room? He
said maybe he could have gotten to her place with her. I told him he
should use a lubricant when he did that to himself.
There was a really good game going in the park, and it was hard to get
close enough to see, but we managed, and it was worth it. Some of
those guys are really good, and sometimes pros from the NBA come down
and play. I love basketball. I've seen "Hoop Dreams" four times.
My watch alarm went off at 10to five, so I told Ian I had to get
going. He wanted to know what the rush was and I told him I had to
study, etc.
"Man, you're really turning into a bookworm."
"Well, Inger is helping me with my math, but I have to study up."
I didn't tell him about the reward system. He probably wouldn't have
believed me, anyhow. I wasn't sure I could believe it.
Roger Again:
It's awfully nice of Inger to cover for me on such short notice all
the time. I'm going to have to do something special for her to show my
appreciation.
I sure showed my appreciation to Bernice last night. I'm beginning to
wonder if I'm going through my second adolescence. The woman just
turns me on so much -- !
Yesterday -- a Wednesday -- she called me at three-thirty and asked if
we could get together. Inger was amenable, and I was more than
willing, since Bernice said she had bought something and couldn't wait
to see if I liked it on her.
When I got to her place, she asked me to close my eyes before she
opened the door. Sure. I heard the door open, and she led me by the
hand inside. With my eyes still closed, she took off my coat and had
me sit on her couch. Only then could I open my eyes.
The only light in the room was the torchiere off to one side, and it
was at its lowest setting. Before me was a vision.
Bernice was sort of wearing a white silk camisole and matching french
cut bikini panties and white fishnet stockings and garters and a pair
of white heels. She had her hair brushed out and pulled back. Her face
was flushed and slightly anxious, and she kept licking her lips, a
little nervously. I could smell a light scent of perfume. The camisole
hugged her breasts jealously, and her swollen nipples were almost
visible through the material. The light hitting her from the side
created the most wonderful highlight effects, gleaming brightly off
the white silk where it clung to her curves and emphasizing them by
the contrast with the shadowy area where the material hung loosely.
"How do you l-l-like it?" she asked.
I tried to speak but only a groan came out at first.
She frowned.
I pointed to my pants, where my penis had hardened and was bulging.
"What do you think?"
She flushed bright red and smiled gloriously. "Oh, Roger, I'm so glad
you like it!"
"You're so gorgeous and sexy -- you make me feel like a kid!"
"I love dressing like this," she said softly, slowly moving toward me
with exaggerated swings of her hips. "It excites me, makes me so
hungry to -- to -- everything!"
She stopped in front of me, her breasts right at eye- -- and mouth- --
level in front of me. I brought my hands up, slowly, lightly, over her
thighs and hips and then over the camisole. I ran my palms and fingers
over the silk covering her breasts and she moaned.
"I've got to taste you," she breathed, and slowly sank to her knees
before me. Her fingers made short work of my trousers and then she
pulled the waist band of my Jockeys down to let my aching erection
spring free. A little pre-cum was already drooling from it. "Yes!" she
gasped and then began sucking me.
I was ready to cum quickly and told her so. She moaned loudly around
my prick and sucked and licked all the more eagerly. Her hand was
skimming my shaft urgently. She reached up with her other hand and
guided my fingers to my cock. I knew what she wanted and took over the
stroking. She put her own hands to other uses, rubbing the silk back
and forth over her nipples and toying with her pussy inside her
panties.
When I came, spraying my semen into her welcoming mouth, she was
cumming, too, on her fingers. Knowing how much this turned her on only
added to my excitement. When we had both recovered our breath, and I
held her in my arms on the couch, I told her so.
"You're like a fantasy come true for me. And what we just did -- that
has always been a fantasy of mine."
She kissed me. I could taste a bit of my own tang on her lips and
tongue. "And mine," she said. "My husband always said those things
were a waste of time and money. He always said I was too sexy to cover
up, but he never understood how much I enjoyed dressing like that. He
called it a `puerile high-school boy's turn-on dream.'"
"Maybe it is," I told her. "And maybe I just never outgrew it."
"I'm so happy that you understand..."
"I must admit, I'm a little surprised that you couldn't wait to let me
enjoy this with you," I told her.
"They were delivered last night," she explained, snuggling into me and
idly toying with my limp member. "And all day today, I kept thinking
about how good it would feel to dress up and do this."
"If the boys in your classroom only knew!"
She blushed and nuzzled her head against my shoulder. "I thought of
that, too -- about puerile fantasies -- and...There's something I have
to tell you, Roger."
"You fantasize about dressing up for a room full of teenage boys?"
I felt her nod. She took a deep breath. "It's a fantasy that cost me
my last job and my marriage."
I was confused. "I don't understand. Please tell me."
"Are you sure you want to hear this?"
"Yes. I care too much for you, Bernice, to let anything separate us."
[more]
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Subject: INGER (4 of 5)
From: friar_dave@*mhbbs.com (FRIAR DAVE)
INGER
By Friar Dave
(INGER.STY)
(Copyright by the author, 1995)
PART FOUR
So she told me how her ex-husband had been insensitive and
unimaginative as a lover, how he'd considered sodomy perverse and
really didn't care to have her sucking him to orgasm -- "A waste,"
he'd called it. And she told me how she'd been teaching in a somewhat
exclusive school in Westchester and took to giving music lessons --
she played the piano -- to some private students. And one rather warm
day in June, she'd invited several of the students over for an
impromptu pool party to celebrate the end of the semester.
"Oh, Roger, after three years of my husband's constant grumbling and
crudity and, well, everything, it just turned me on enormously to see
how those dear boys reacted to seeing me in a really modest two-piece
suit."
"I can imagine."
"And when a sudden shower struck, and we dashed inside, they all had
these darling bulges in their swimsuits, because of me, and -- well,
one thing led to another. I had to have them -- all of them. Right
then and there." Her tone changed and became urgent. "You must think
I'm a terrible slut."
"Oh, I don't know. I think I can understand the urges. What did you do
with them?"
"Do you really want all the details?"
"If you feel it's necessary. It might even turn me on -- and what
would you think of me?"
"I'd be happy...that it didn't turn you off."
So she told me. How she'd sucked them all off. How she'd let the
smaller boys have her vagina and then let one boy -- who she described
as quite large -- have her ass while she sucked the others off again.
How she'd reveled in it and had nearly constant orgasms.
By the time she reached the end, my penis was rigidly quivering under
her hand, which was stroking it steadily. It was turning me on to
imagine the scene.
"As you can imagine, the word got around town fairly quickly, and
inevitably, my husband heard about it. No name was given, but he
figured it out easily enough."
"I think I can understand that," I told her. "Most men don't like
being cuckolds -- me included."
"It was quite a scene. I made no effort to contest the divorce. I
resigned from the school with the understanding that the entire
incident would be unreported. And I came to work here, in the city."
I kissed the top of her head. "Where lucky me got to meet you."
"So, Roger...tell me...?"
I thought for a few moments. Then: "If ever I were in the position
your husband was, I would certainly be most incensed. But I understand
how those urges accumulated and finally expressed themselves. And that
incident, in your past, is also in the past for me."
"Such a situation could never arise with you, Roger -- because you
appreciate my sexuality and sensuality."
I smiled. "And hearing about it has made me terribly horny."
She stopped stroking me long enough to fling her arms around me, half-
sobbing, and after a few minutes, that turned into some rather
passionate kissing. I carried her to her tiny bedroom and began making
love to her.
Later that night, after we'd eaten, she took me into her vagina for
the first time. True to my word, I was very gentle with her -- it took
almost 10 minutes to get just the tip in -- and true to her word, she
was phenomenally tight. When, after 20 minutes, she'd finally
taken me to her limit (leaving a good quarter of my cock outside of
her), we began to move. She was copiously lubricated, but the fit was
still so tight that I couldn't really stroke in and out of her; my
cock could only move back and forth within its skin. With her fingers
on her clitoris and my mouth fastened to one of her nipples, she began
to cum quite powerfully, and her pussy contracted excruciatingly on
me. When I began to cum, at first her vaginal grip was so tight that
the semen didn't properly ejaculate. At last it began spit from my
knob, though, and my voice joined hers in guttural moans of pleasure.
What made it even better, of course, was the knowledge that for her,
this was a special thing to do with me -- to take me in that
unnaturally small pussy. It was her gift to me, and it somehow sealed
a bond between us.
Bill's Back:
I waited about 20 minutes in the living room while Inger graded the
test she'd given me. Finally she called me to my room.
When I walked in, she was on my bed, naked, on her back. I smiled. I'd
studied hard, and now I was going to get my reward. I started to
unbuckle my pants but Inger shook her head.
"Sit down over there." She'd moved my chair to the foot of the bed.
"But -- I thought -- "
She shook her head again. "Ten questions, five wrong answers. You know
the deal."
I groaned. Five right got me nothing. Six right got a handjob, seven
got a blowjob, eight got a fucking and nine got her ass. Ten got me
whatever I liked for as long as I could do it.
"But why are you -- you know?"
"I want you to sit there and see what you're missing." And with that,
she began to touch herself all over. When she began to rub her
clitoris and moan and writhe, I felt my briefs getting damp. And when
she stuck a finger inside her pussy and began fucking it in and out --
it made a squishy noise -- and pinching her nipples and finally began
to arch and shake on the bed, I came in my pants. And stayed hard.
When she got her breath back, Inger told me it was meant to "motivate"
me to study harder. I considered it simple torture.
I've got to cut this short now and study algebra.
Roger Speaks:
Bill seems to have been possessed by an algebra bug. I've never seen
the kid study so intensely. He even passed up watching a new episode
of Tek Wars. I asked him about it, and all he'd tell me was that Inger
was showing him the ropes, demonstrating just how algebra could be
used, and he was determined to ace it. Hey, good for him!
I keep thinking about Bernice and where this is going to go. We really
have a very basic chemistry at work here, and I like it. She was
singing in the shower the other day, and I remarked on her lovely
voice. She told me that as a girl, she'd briefly dreamed of opera. I
called a pal with connections. Bernice is in for a treat: "Butterfly"
at the Met, a box. Inger assures me there's no problem in covering
Saturday night.
Bill:
I love fucking. I just love it!
Eight right! Inger smiled when she told me my score and said she was
really glad I'd gotten the hang of factoring polynomials, because she
was very horny.
If she thought *she* was horny, she hadn't seen anything yet. Feeling
her pussy on my dick made me cum as soon as I got into her, but I
stayed hard and kept on going. Inger start moaning and kissing me all
over my face and neck, and when her pussy started squeezing on my
prick, I came again -- and stayed hard. She was so wet, I don't think
she could feel my cum in her. And she kept whining, "More! Harder!
Yes!" and kept cumming. Then she turned over and bounced up and down
on my cock, pinching her nipples and rubbing her clit all the time. I
lasted about 15 minutes after that, and when I did cum, I finally
got limp.
Roger:
Ye gods, what a night!
The opera was excellent, but Bernice was magnificent. She wore a blue
velvet evening dress with a deep decolletage and a slit up one leg.
The velvet clung to her like a second skin. She wore a simple faux
pearl necklace and matching earrings. She took my breath away -- and
the more so for knowing she was completely bare beneath it. After
checking our coats and making our way to the box -- with the eyes of
most of the men and several women on her -- just as the lights began
to dim before the overture, she leaned close and told me there was
nothing under the fabric but Bernice. I was hard for the entire
performance. During intermission, she was photographed repeatedly by
several society reporters, including W and the New York Times. When
she identified herself to the W reporter as a public school teacher,
he seemed shocked. We enjoyed that.
We had dinner later at the Rainbow Room, where I thought one of the
waiters and a couple of busboys were barely restraining themselves from
grabbing her. When we danced, she whispered exactly what she wanted us
to do when we returned to her apartment. I couldn't get up from the
table after that.
Back at her place, I had her stripped less than a minute after we
locked the door. And then we did everything she'd said she'd wanted. I
think my favorite -- out of many -- was when she pushed a small dildo
into her little pussy, sat a rather enormous one up her butt, strapped
on a little garter-type vibrator called Joni's Butterfly and then, as
she orgasmed wildly, sucked me off.
I hadn't known Bernice had adult toys.
Anyhow, this morning brought another moment of serendipity. Just as I
was leaving to go home, she handed me a small, leather key case. "My
door is always open to you, Roger."
That was when I gave her the apartment keys I'd had made for her.
Bill Speaks:
Shit shit shit shit shit.
I can't believe this. Well, timing is everything, as Dad likes to say.
I have been studying till my eyes water. I've got advanced trig down
cold, and I'm well into elementary calculus -- and digging it. In fact,
I'm sure I'm going to ace Inger's next exam. Which was supposed to be
on Thursday, when Dad has to head off to Boston for some seminar and
dinner.
The only problem is that Thursday is the night Ian is staying over
because his folks are going to a Bar Mitzvah for Ian's dad's boss's
kid. Usually, Ian and I have a lot of fun staying over, but it won't
be the kind of fun I was counting on.
Shit shit shit!
Roger's Turn:
I don't know what's bothering Bill. He seems a bit tense. Maybe he's
been studying too much. I told him he should give himself a night off
Thursday and just enjoy having Ian over, and he didn't even say
anything. Oh, well, I'm sure Ian will cheer him up.
I told Bernice that I'd call her Thursday night from Boston. Our
nightly calls have become rather intense. It's all I can do not to
jerk off when she tells me what she's doing to herself and when I hear
her cumming.
I'm not looking forward to this seminar and dinner. My boss insists
that I attend and graciously accept the award, because it's a feather
in his cap. For me, it's a boring exercise in drilling the expense
account.
Frankly, I'd rather be home, spending the evening with the boys. Or
better yet -- with Bernice!
Bill's Back:
I do not fucking believe what happened last night. Not a bit.
Hoooollllleee shit!
Inger was waiting for me, as usual, after school. But she was
acting...I don't know: Strange. Like she couldn't sit still. I was in
a terrible mood, and she knew why. And teased me about it.
When Ian came by with his overnight bag and a couple of tapes, I
managed to get my mind off Inger and what we wouldn't be doing. And
when I booted up the computer, I really got into Starfleet Battle with
him (he won).
But then, after dinner, Inger asked me if I was going to study. I told
her I was sure I could ace any test she gave me.
Her eyes got real big. "Ooohhh -- that would be so nice!"
I could have punched Ian at that moment. "Test?" he said.
"Yeah," I kind of growled.
"You're kidding me. She gives you tests?"
"It's the only way to measure his scoring," Inger said, smiling, and I
knew she meant it both ways. "He's really getting some very good
scores -- but he's never aced a test."
"I would've tonight. A perfect 10."
"It's a tough test."
"I don't care. If it's just on what we've covered, I'd ace it. I
really have a big motivation."
"Let me see it," Ian said. "I'm good at algebra."
"Sure." Inger got the paper from her handbag and showed it to him.
Ian made a face and whistled. "What is this stuff?" he asked,
pointing.
I glanced at the paper. "It's a Riemann integral."
"What's it for?"
I glanced at the rest of the test. "This is a piece of cake. Watch." I
took the exam from him, got a piece of paper for a worksheet and a pen
from my room and sat at the dining table. It took me about 15 minutes
to finish. When I put my pencil down and thrust the exam at Inger, she
was smiling. Ian, on the other hand, looked bewildered.
"I can't believe the way you went through that."
Inger's eyes widened as she looked over my answers. Then she nodded.
"You know, Bill, you're right -- aced. Ten for 10, Perfect score."
"I knew it." I was really pissed.
"Well, we'll discuss it the next time I'm here. For now, why don't you
and your best friend just relax and enjoy yourselves?"
One of the videos Ian brought was NFL Bloopers. I don't remember
anything about Speed, because I was so pissed off, but by the time we
got through the bloopers, we were both laughing uncontrollably.
Anyhow, we had some cake and milk and then headed for the sack. As
usual, Ian got the pullout in the living room. Inger was going to use
Dad's bed. Which got me thinking again. After I showered and changed
and crawled into bed, I couldn't get to sleep. All I could think of
was what Inger and I should have been doing. Especially when I heard
the shower running again a half-hour after Ian washed up and thought
about Inger soaping herself up and touching herself.
I finally gave in, grabbed some Kleenix and started choking the
chicken, if you know what I mean.
That's when the door opened, very quietly. I froze.
Inger slipped into my room, closing the door quietly behind her.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I whispered.
"I don't want you to think I'm welshing on our deal."
"But Ian -- "
"Ian's fast asleep. I checked." She was wearing a towel -- period.
"But if Dad calls, the phone -- "
She smiled. "Don't worry about it. We'll just have to be quiet." The
towel dropped. She pulled back the bedcovers and saw the Kleenex. "I'm
just in time," she whispered. She crawled on the bed, those beautiful
tits hanging down. Her nipples were really hard. She brought them up
to my face and lowered one into my mouth. "I've been wanting you to
ace a test for a long time, Bill. And I've been thinking about it all
day. My -- oh, yes! -- my motor has been running."
I carefully nibbled her nipple again and felt the bed shift as she
rotated her hips. She slowly pulled her breast away and smiled kind of
odd at me. "Now, what did you have in mind."
I couldn't believe this was happening. My mouth was dry. "I -- I want
to fuck you, then I want you to suck me, and then I want to cum in
your ass."
She closed her eyes and said, "Mmmmm -- sounds wonderful." Her eyes
opened. "Move over a little." I did and she laid down beside me, on
her back on the narrow bed. "Just what I thought you'd want -- and I
am sooooo wet just thinking about it! Get up here!"
I climbed over her. She had her knees up and open for me. She used her
hand to guide me into the heavenly little hole, and I began pumping
right away. I wasn't going to last very long, but I knew I'd be ready
again right away. What was odd was the way she tried to keep quiet,
biting her hand and grunting. She started to cum pretty fast, too.
That was all it took for me to unload. I stayed hard, though, and kept
fucking her.
After a few more minutes, I knew I was going to cum again soon. I
pulled out of her. My dick made a slurpy noise coming out of her.
Her eyes -- which had been closed -- opened and she smiled up at me.
"And now?" She licked her lips.
"Damn right," I said and kissed her, real fast -- the first time I'd
ever kissed her on the mouth. She seemed surprised. But after a few
seconds, she broke away.
"That was nice. Ready for the second course?"
I grinned and got off her. I stood next to the bed as she sat up and
pulled me toward her. Then she leaned forward and started sucking my
cock. Her tongue was so good! I wasn't going to last long this time,
either. Especially when she started playing with my balls with one
hand while the other hand was on my hip, so I wouldn't fuck into her
mouth too hard. I was maybe 10 seconds from cumming when I heard a
groan and opened my eyes and looked to the left.
It was Ian, and he was beating the meat like crazy.
"Shit!"
Inger's eyes opened, and she jerked away from me. "What -- "
"I thought you said he was asleep?"
"He was!"
I knew what had happened then. Horndog Ian had feigned sleep, probably
to get a look at Inger in the shower or changing clothes. And then
he'd followed her to my room.
"You better keep your mouth shut about this," I told him.
"Yes, please!" Inger gasped. She looked genuinely afraid.
And then Ian got this shit-eating grin. I knew what was coming.
"Only if I get some, too."
Inger's face went flat. "Bill, did you -- "
I shook my head. "A deal's a deal. I never told anyone."
She considered it. Inger had gotten to know me pretty well, so she
finally concluded that I was telling the truth.
"Okay," she said. "But you -- " She aimed that word at Ian like a gun.
" -- had better never ever tell anyone. I have friends who would love
to be a hero to me. Big friends. Macho jocks with their noses over by
their ears, if you know what I mean."
Ian looked puzzled -- not his hand stopped on his boner -- so I educated
him: "Thugs."
"Oh."
"I suppose you want a blowjob, too," Inger said. "So stop playing with
that thing. If I'm going to suck you off, I want all of it!" And she
smiled up at me, "I do like young cum."
"Uh-uh," Ian said, surprising us. "I want something I never done -- I
want to fuck."
That slowly penetrated. "Hey, wait a minute -- you mean you've gotten
sucked off?"
He nodded.
"Who?"
"A girl from school. You don't know her."
"You never told me about that!"
"You never told me about this!"
"Boys, boys, boys," Inger said. "Do you want to fight -- or fuck?"
I snorted and then half-laughed. Ian grinned and stared down at his
boner, like he'd just noticed it. "The votes are four to none in favor
of fucking."
"Come over here."
Ian approached, and Inger took his dick in her hand. "It's bigger than
I like them, so we're going to do it my way, understand?"
"What about me?"
She smiled at me. "I'll take care of both of you -- at once."
I kind of blinked as Inger stood and nodded at the throw rug on the
floor. "Ian, lay down there." I noticed that she did not take her hand
off his dick -- or mine -- bending with him as he laid back.
Then she straddled him. He brought his hand up to her tits, but she
shook her head. "No -- just lay there. You haven't been trained yet in
how sensitive a woman's breasts can be."
And with that, as Ian lowered his hand, Inger positioned his cock and
slowly pushed her cunt down on him. His face got all dreamy and hers
went slack as she slowly lowered herself all the way. She opened her
eyes and looked up at me. "I couldn't do that comfortably if you
hadn't greased the way."
"Any time," I answered. And then she took my cock in her mouth and
started sucking and jerking me again. At the same time, she started
moving her hips around on top of Ian. He groaned just as I did. Inger
urged me to move so I was standing with my feet on either side of
Ian's head. I don't think he noticed the view of my ass.
"Gonna cum!" he said. "Gonna cum!"
Inger began rolling her hips around faster and faster. I reached down,
carefully -- the way Inger had taught me -- and grabbed her nipples,
gently pulling them. She groaned around my cock and churned faster
over Ian.
Ian made a weird growling noise and pushed up at her -- and just then
I started to cum, too. Inger went as stiff as our dicks and her
nipples, swallowing my load and cumming on Ian's dick.
When my limp dick fell from Inger's slack lips, I saw Ian still
pounding up into her. For her part, Inger leaned forward, taking the
weight of her upper body on her hands, and fucked back at Ian as good
as she got. Like me, Ian had stayed hard after his first cum.
In fact, my dick hadn't gone completely soft, and watching Inger's
tits wobble under her was bringing it right back up. I walked around
behind them and looked between their legs. I could see Ian's big boner
pumping in and out between her cuntlips, which seemed really
stretched, and there was like a white froth around the base of his
prick. It looked like cream.
"Do it!" Inger gasped. "Do it, Bill!"
I was confused. "Do what?"
"Your -- Oh! -- your third course!"
Third course? Them I remembered. "But, I mean, you and Ian, I--"
"Do it! Get it all slippery and do it!"
[more]
=================================================================
More in a coupla-three days. All comments and criticisms are
very welcome via Email or in public posts, but posts should
only be made in alt.sex.story. DISCUSS -- not here. Please don't
ask me to Email or repost missed segments. The folks providing
access for me are just a small group of dedicated amateurs, not
a big, well-funded institution.
=================================================================
===============================================================
This is an original story from a caller to The Abbey, part of
MHBBS (212-683-1448). Feel free to repost it as is, without
editing or changing anything in it, including this tag. For
information about The Abbey, a spam-free place for writers and
readers of adult material to gather, email Friar_Dave@mhbbs.com
or call MHBBS at 212-683-1448 and leave a note for the Sysop or
me.
================================================================
___ Blue Wave/QWK v2.12
---
MHBBS (212-683-1448). For email replies, remove the "*" before MHBBS.COM.
Subject: INGER (5 of 5)
From: friar_dave@*mhbbs.com (FRIAR DAVE)
INGER
By Friar Dave
(INGER.STY)
(Copyright by the author, 1995)
PART FIVE
I tried to remember where the Vaseline was, but then I had an
inspiration. I bent lower and reached between their legs. I began
gathering the lubricant that had come out of Inger's cunt: semen from
Ian and me and pussy juice from her. I'd never touched Ian's cock
before, but I didn't really think of that at the moment. All I knew
was that Inger's little asshole was bobbing up and down as she pumped
her pussy on his dick, and I wanted my cock in her ass.
I got a bunch of the stuff on my hand and lathered my cock up with it.
It really was slippery. Then I crawled up over them and kind of half-
crouched, holding my prick in one hand and trying to find her asshole.
"Hold still for a minute," Inger breathed to Ian. "I said HOLD STILL."
Ian groaned kind of pathetically, but then Inger lay down on top of
him, stretched out full length.
"Go real slow," she told me.
I finally found her asshole with the tip of my cock and slowly began
probing it into her. Inger started breathing harder. "That's it," she
said. "Really gentle -- push."
I pushed, as gently as I could. I felt her ass open slowly, and my
cock head seemed to be sucked into her.
She gasped, Ian moaned, and I damn near came right then and there. I
never imagined anything as tight around my cock. Her asshole was like
a rubber band around it. For a few seconds, all anyone could do was
breathe very loudly.
Then she said, "Okay, put it in the rest of the way -- but real slow."
Her pussy was terrific, her mouth was wonderful, but I never felt
anything like I felt when I slid my cock into her ass. For one thing,
it was hotter than her cunt. For another it was tighter, holding onto
my cock all the way, not just at the front. It seemed to take forever
to go all the way in, and she was panting very fast. But finally, I
felt her ass against my stomach. I pressed a little more and felt the
band of her sphincter close around the base of my cock.
"Oh, shit..." Ian mumbled. "I can feel it!"
He twitched, and I felt his cock move against mine inside her. "Me,
too," I said.
"I feel like I'm going to split in two," Inger sighed. "Okay, you
guys. Ian, you hold still. Bill has to do the work."
I took that as my cue and began moving back a bit. Her asshole held
onto my cock as if it was sucking it. I felt Ian's dick twitching in
response to my movements, and all the time, the opening to Inger's ass
kept clenching down on my prick. When I was halfway out I pushed back
in. Inger moaned, "I'm going to cum already."
I moved a little faster. Ian started gasping and moaning, too, and
then Inger had like a convulsion between us. I felt her ass clamped
down on my cock, and felt Ian jerking some. I knew Inger's orgasm was
giving his cock a treat.
Inger suddenly whispered, "Oh, yes, now fuck the shit of me!"
I started throwing it to her then, fast and hard, pulling almost all
the way out and driving completely in again. Inger started jerking and
spasming again, only this time she didn't stop. Ian's dick seemed to
get thicker in the adjoining hole, which tightened her ass on me.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Inger gasped each time I slammed into her. And then I
was cumming up her ass, cumming so hard I wondered if I was pissing,
but this felt a lot better. Inger let out a shriek and tightened still
more on my cock. And then Ian came, too. I could feel his cock
spasming, and then he lurched up, and I felt his balls against mine as
we both rumbled her full of semen. Inger just writhed between us, her
hips and ass bucking.
I kind of collapsed on top of her back, and pretty soon Ian began
complaining that he couldn't breathe, so Inger had me pull out -- and
told me to go wash it off -- then she rolled off Ian. I staggered to
the bathroom and washed my cock off -- it *was* pretty messy, too, and
that was no surprise, considering where it had been -- and when I got
back, Inger was sitting on my bed (and drooling semen all over my
sheets, I might add) and explaining the reward system to Ian. He was
nodding, a lot.
When he saw me, he grinned. "Now I know why you've gotten to be such a
math wizard."
That was when the phone rang. Inger looked shocked and went white in
the face. She jumped off the bed and told us to be quiet and ran to
answer it. It was Dad.
Roger's Return
The trip and seminar and dinner were every bit as boring as I'd
expected them to be. The closest I came to excitement was when there
was no answer to the phone at the apartment -- just the answering
machine. I doubted Inger and the boys had gone out, but figured I'd
try again later. In the meantime I called Bernice, and we had an
overheated chat on the phone, this time with me whacking off (per her
instructions) at the same time as she did. Then I mentioned I was
going to try calling the apartment again and explained why. Bernice
volunteered to check on it for me and said she'd call back if there
was any kind of problem. I guess there wasn't because when I called
again at 11:30, Inger answered the phone. She seemed a bit breathless,
but said I'd wakened her from a sound sleep. No, they'd been in all
night, she told me, and said she'd have to check the ring volume.
Whatever. Everything seemed to be fine.
Anyhow, tonight Bill asked about letting Inger tutor Ian, too,
regularly. He said they'd tried it the night before and everything
seemed to have worked out pretty well.
Hey, I like Ian. I have no problem with it. Besides, his parents can
pay Inger, too, so she'll be getting more than she expected. I'm sure
she'll like that. And Bernice certainly endorsed the idea. She said it
would be good experience for Inger. In fact, Bernice suspects that
Inger's going to end up changing her career plans and become a high
school teacher. She told me Inger somehow reminds her of herself at
that age.
-- end --
=====================================================================
As always, I welcome any comments or criticisms, but if you're going
to do them as open posts, please do it in alt.sex.story.DISCUSSION,
not in the alt.sex.story newsgroup.
Also as usual, please don't ask me to email missed bits or to repost.
The folks giving me access are a small group of very dedicated
amateurs -- well, semi-pro's -- not some big, well-funded institution
or company, and they pay by the pound for usage. To my knowledge, they
also have the most complete archive of my stories available (outside
of mine own little drawer of floppies). Whatever I post goes to them a
few weeks before I put it up in Usenet.
A quicky: Yes, I will be posting MARIE, all 13 chapters, sometime in
May or early June. But next up is JEALOUSY, which is something of a
departure for me in the participants. I'd appreciate feedback on it,
especially from those with first-hand experience, which I do not have.
Finally: I notice a lot of yapping in the story newsgroup. Has it not
occurred to others that they are responding to trollbait, and thus
succeeding in drowning out the stories -- something much desired by
certain would-be censors? If you want to stop the cyberarsonist
censors, restrain that flame. My two cents' worth.
======================================================================
===============================================================
This is an original story from a caller to The Abbey, part of
MHBBS (212-683-1448). Feel free to repost it as is, without
editing or changing anything in it, including this tag. For
information about The Abbey, a spam-free place for writers and
readers of adult material to gather, email Friar_Dave@mhbbs.com
or call MHBBS at 212-683-1448 and leave a note for the Sysop or
me.
================================================================
___ Blue Wave/QWK v2.12
---
MHBBS (212-683-1448). For email replies, remove the "*" before MHBBS.COM.
-- CJ
Remove the .NOSPAM from my address to mail me. No files by e-mail!
I don't write any stories. I'm just a reader, and sometimes a reposter.
--
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