Message-ID: <1897eli$9707041514@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/1897.txt>
From: Krieg Lite <critic@anon.nymserver.com>
Subject: Jenny (Mf+ teen play) Chap 7
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-Id: <199707031822.MAA27608@shaman.lycaeum.org>



As found in the noodle box...

Chapter Seven
Second Date

    Friday was a total loss. By nine-thirty I had completely given
up getting any meaningful work done, and had fallen back to doing the
dull paperwork that I usually avoided until Artie had threatened bodily
harm. It was not an unknown phenomenon, but usually one associated with
a dire hangover. All day long I could see the knowing grins, and had to
put up with a constant barrage of "see ya got the forms out, Larry" from
everyone who passed by.  By noon I was ready to call it a day, but I
didn't want to go home and sit around waiting for six o'clock, either. I
stuck with my drudgery as long as I could, then called it a day at three
o'clock and headed for my car.

    I had no intention of going home, but didn't really have anyplace I
wanted to go either, so I just started driving aimlessly. Somehow I
found myself at The Oaks and even though I couldn't get in, decided I
had time to drive around the perimeter and see if there was more than
the one entrance I knew about, and just to see if there were any houses
visible from outside the complex. I found that the answer was no to both
questions, and made it home just a couple of minutes after five. After a
slow shower, I put together a classical semi-formal late fall minor
league baseball viewing ensemble, got dressed and waited for Helen.

    At a minute before six there was a firm knock on the door.  I
glanced at my robe hanging by the door, grabbed it, pitched it in the
bathroom and opened the door. Helen was in cutoff denims, a brown
longsleeved work shirt, and a substantial windbreaker; her eyes twinkled
as she said, "Good evening, Mr. Palmer. I hope I'm not too early."

    "Not at all, Mrs. Jenkins," I assured her, "Won't you come in?"

    She stepped through the door, stretched up to give me a peck on
the cheek, and said, "So that's it!" I followed her gaze to my bar.
There was a small island separating my living room from the kitchen, and
I had built it into a rather respectable repository of an impressive
variety of booze forms. "Jenny said that you had a way cool bar, and
told me to check it out.  She has a good eye, that daughter of mine."

    "Everyone should have a hobby, I feel," I said modestly.

    "But not every hobby has such wonderful compensations. You're to
be congratulated.  Ready to go?"

    I admitted it, and we walked out to her car which she had moved
from her driveway to a visitor's slot in front of my apartment. She
opened the door for me. I told her thank you and got in, buckling up as
she closed the door. She got behind the wheel, and as she turned the key
asked, "You ever see these guys play?"

    "The Birds, you mean?"

    "Yes. Or any double-A team, for that matter."

    "No. Not really. I watch baseball on television now and then,
and I may get to a game a time or two a year, but that's about it."

    "I think you'll enjoy this. It's a completely different
atmosphere."

    There was light conversation during the drive to the game, but
no more about sports, or about music, or about table games. We hit the
parking lot about fifteen minutes before game time and were in our seats
down the first base line and right behind the visiting dugout a couple
of minutes later. Helen told me to sit tight, and came back with a
couple of beers, hot dogs, and peanuts just before the first pitch.
"Baseball is baseball, and has its own requirements no matter the
venue," she declared as she sat beside me.

    Helen had been right. It was fun, and would have been fun even
if she hadn't been beside me. The players were all young and hopeful,
and determined to play their way into the big leagues. Helen pointed out
a couple of players on each team who were considered sure things for the
majors. They were good, all right, but I couldn't tell a great deal of
difference between the players she mentioned and the others.  The
evening air was cool, and I asked Helen if her legs weren't cold. She
thought for a moment and said, "No. I don't think so. At least not to
me. See what you think." I put my hand on her knee and considered for
perhaps longer than absolutely necessary before conceding that she was
right.

    The game was actually pretty well played, and the score was one
all in the top of the third inning. With one out, a sharp liner to right
put a runner on first, one of the players Helen had mentioned. The
pitcher was paying a lot of attention to the base-runner, throwing over
several times and once making a close play of it. The count was two and
one, and Helen looked over at me and said, "Bet you a beer there's a
pitch out." I certainly wasn't a baseball expert, but I couldn't see
going to three balls on the batter deliberately, so I told her she was
on. The runner took a long lead, and they pitched out. The runner was on
the move as the pitcher went home, and despite the pitchout made second
on a headfirst slide.  I motioned to a vendor and paid up. Despite the
heroics on the base paths, at the end of the inning the runner was
stranded at second.

    Going into the bottom of the sixth inning, the bad guys were leading
three to two with the top of the order coming up. The leadoff man
surprised everybody and laid down a drag bunt for a single. Now it was
the other guy's turn to spend a lot of time throwing to first. The first
pitch home was high and tight to the right-handed batter. Without
turning her head, Helen said, "A beer says there's a hit-and-run." I
looked at her curiously, and took her bet. Actually, a hit-and-run
wouldn't be a great surprise this time, but I waited to see what would
happen. Hit-and-run. Runners at the corners. I called to a vendor, then
turned to Helen. "Helen, dearest."

    "Yes, Larry darling?" she said without turning her head.

    "I do believe you're stealing signs."

    She gave me an evil grin, and said "Sure is good beer."

    The good guys wound up losing, but none of the spectators seemed
to feel that detracted from the game. As we walked back to the car I
thought to myself that next season I might find myself up here again. It
had been fun. The atmosphere had been closer to a county fair than big
business.  On the drive home, most of the conversation was about the
game, and the game in general. Neither of us mentioned signs, or the
theft thereof. When we got back, Helen pulled into her driveway and
asked if I would like to come in and keep her company until Jenny got
home. I said that seemed to me to be an excellent idea.

    She unlocked the door, turned on the lights, and invited me to
have a seat on the sofa, then turned and asked, "Larry, could I get you
something to drink while I get comfortable? Coffee? Or perhaps a glass
of wine?" Bells went off. I waited a couple of seconds to see if there
would be a continuation, but there wasn't.

    I hesitated a second longer before asking, "Did I notice something
there? An ellipsis, perhaps?"

    "The sound of one hand clapping? The dog that didn't bark?" She
gave me an innocent look, and then continued off-handedly, "Who knows
what evil lurks . . . " and let it trail off as she walked out of the
room. It occurred to me that I had never placed my order, but I figured
I could trust her to make a suitable selection.

    She was back within a couple of minutes with two glasses of
white wine. "Now then, make yourself at home while I get comfortable."
With that, she peeled off her windbreaker and pitched it in the corner,
then curled up next to me and continued, "Now I'm comfortable."

    I tilted her chin up and kissed her. I glanced at the clock. Ten
till twelve. A sudden mild worry hit me. "What time was Jenny supposed
to be home?" I asked.

    "I believe she said she would be home around one or two tomorrow
afternoon. She's spending the night at one of her friends." She put her
hand behind my head, ran her fingers through my hair, and let her lips
languidly brush mine.

    "Oh," I mumbled. "At Ashleigh's?" I put my arms around her, pulled
her close and kissed her with intent.

    "No. But Ashleigh's there, too." She put her hand inside my
shirt and pulled my tee shirt out of my pants, then put her hand on my
chest and began lightly running her nails along my skin.

    I figured that sauce for the goose, et cetera, and slid my hand
inside her shirt. Funny I hadn't noticed it before. She was as braless
as the first time I saw her through Jenny's window. She nibbled my ear
lobe and slid her hand around to my back, pulling me to her. I let my
hand move up across a remarkably firm breast to rest on a small but very
erect nipple.

    "Would you like to see my etchings?" She asked.

    "I've always been fascinated by the art of printing," I replied.
She took me by the hand and led me to the stairs. I put my arm around
her waist as we climbed to the top and she turned down away from Jenny's
room and the room where I had stayed. At the end of the hall she opened
a door and gestured me into her bedroom. I'm not sure what I was
expecting, but this wasn't it. The room was totally without character;
it looked more like a guest room than the one I had slept in. The only
decoration was an expensive looking framed print on the far wall.

    "Voila!" she exclaimed, sweeping her arm toward the print. "I'm
afraid I've brought you here under false pretenses. I only have the one
etching." There was something about it that drew me closer. A small
brass plaque was attached to the frame.

    The blood rushed to my head more than it already had. I turned
to Helen and asked, "Is that really . . .  Is that a real Chagall?"

    She gave me an impish grin and replied, "I hope so. The insurance
company thinks so. Have I ever mentioned that I'm the acquisitive type?"
She watched my face with amusement, then said, "Come on, I'll show you
where I live." She opened what I had thought was a closet door and
started up another flight of stairs. I followed.

    As we climbed to the next level, the lights above grew gradually
brighter until a dim glow surrounded us. I hadn't seen her touch a
switch, so they must have been on some kind of sensor. She waited for me
at the top. It looked like the entire floor had been opened up into a
single large room. Directly in front of me, along one of the narrow ends
of the room were a baby grand, a NordicTrack, and a Stairmaster. Off to
the left was a large trestle table with a high end PowerMac and some
expensive looking boxes alongside it. There was a VCR and a large
television on a stand next to the table and turned toward it, and
another stand on the other side with what looked like an audio keyboard.
The floor was hardwood in places, tile in others, and carpets in a
seeming random pattern covering more than half of it. The walls had
heavy curtains hung at irregular intervals, and the far end of the room
away from the piano had panels that appeared to be movable set at odd
angles away from the walls. The whole place was an acoustic lab. There
was a quiet sound of running water that reminded me of our trip to the
mountains, and there was the nearly inaudible sound of a light breeze
through leaves, and just above all of that the sound of a string quartet
coming from a distance. As my eyes grew accustomed to the light I saw a
very low bed at the far end of the room and on the other side what could
have been called a bathroom, except that it wasn't a room. I couldn't
see the speakers.  Helen just stood there, letting me take it all in. A
rich tenor suddenly broke the spell saying, "You have mail, M'Lady."

    Helen laughed and said, "Alphonse, shut up." Then turned to me
and said, "Sorry about that. Forgot to turn him off before I left." She
paused a moment, then went on. "I always wanted to live in a loft when I
was young and romantic.  This isn't really high enough or big enough to
be a loft, but it suits me pretty well. Excuse me while I show off.
Alphonse, Beethoven late and surf." The sound faded away, and then I
could hear surf pounding quite nearby, and a string quartet completely
different in character grew louder. "Alphonse, lights forty-seven." A
vaguely kaleidoscopic pattern of lights flashed across the ceiling.
Helen took my hand and led me to her bed, dropping her shorts as we
walked. When we reached the bed, she shrugged off her shirt, then took
mine off and began unbuckling my pants. I pulled my tee shirt over my
head and stepped out of my pants. We stood there for a moment, she in
pale blue bikini panties, and I in my briefs. I took her in my arms and
felt her nipples burn holes in my skin as I held her close to me and
kissed her. We sank together to the bed.

    For at least two hours we made love very slowly. There was no
penetration, we just explored each other with great deliberation. We
each tried all our tricks to bring the other to irresistible arousal,
and we both succeeded. I think, to be honest, Helen more than I. That
woman made every inch of my body an erogenous zone. She had my nerve
endings pounding louder than the sounds of surf washing over us. I used
my tongue to good effect, but she used hers even better. Finally I could
wait no longer, and slid slowly into her. She clamped down hard on me,
and we began to thrust against each other. I had thought I had driven
into her as far as I could go, but with each stroke she drew me in
further. We drove in perfect sync until I shot stream after stream into
her. She held me close, not letting me withdraw. When I was finally
drained she rolled us over, wrapped her arms tight around me, and fell
sound asleep holding me inside her. I fell asleep soon after.

    During the next few hours, one or the other of us would wake up,
and we would go again, but still the slow, deliberate lovemaking that we
had begun the night before. Then the light grew brighter. It wasn't the
real dawn, but the artificial dawn in Helen's loft. The string quartet
was gone, but the sound of the surf remained, now accompanied by the
sound of sea birds. Helen and I came awake together, and began our
lovemaking again. This time it was anything but slow and deliberate.
Helen was a wild animal, and she made me the same. We shouted, screamed,
scratched and clawed, and made glorious, magnificent, mind-bending love.
The bed could not hold us, and we ranged across the floor, pursuing each
other on hands and knees, until finally we collapsed, spent, in a sweaty
pile. We slept again, holding each other tightly.

    Time had not existed for us since we had climbed the stairs to
Helen's loft, but it had been passing in the other world. Helen nudged
me awake a little after one, and pointed to the clock with a grin. "Good
morning, Mr. Palmer."

    I came awake with a start, "I'm sorry, Helen! I'll be out of here in
a second!"

    She put her hand on my chest and shoved me back down. "Oh, no.
You have to wait for Jenny. And then you can go home for a little while,
but you have to come back tonight and stay with me while Jenny is home.
We don't want to have any secrets, do we?"

    My mind wasn't functioning at its peak, I admit, but Helen would
probably have convinced me even if it was. I wasn't thinking of Jenny. I
was thinking of that beautifully firm body that Helen had given me, and
all of its delicious juices. So I said, "OK, sure."

    "Your stuff is all over here," Helen told me, and led me to the
roomless bathroom. She had in fact stocked up all my brands, but when I
looked in the mirror I was ready to chicken out and head for home. I had
a row of hickeys all up the side of my neck and vicious looking
scratches covering my chest. Helen saw my reaction and chortled, "The
facts of life, Larry, the facts of life. You can't hide 'em."

    Helen wanted to help me lather for my shave, so I let her. When
I finished shaving, we showered together. I had now showered with all of
the principals in this little adventure, all in a different fashion.
While we were in the shower, that baritone voice announced "Someone has
entered." Helen rubbed down my chest as she spoke to no one visible,
"We'll be down in just a minute, Jenny."

    When we climbed out of the shower, Helen handed me my Turkish
robe and said with a grin, "OK, hero, it's time to go greet our admiring
public." I looked around for my clothes, but decided that wasn't part of
the program, and besides, the robe was more than enough. We walked down
the stairs, out of the "bedroom", and down to the first floor where
Jenny was waiting.

    "Hi, Mr. Lambert!" she said brightly. "How was the game?"

    Trying vainly to maintain my composure, I responded "It was a lot of
fun. First time I've been to a minor league game, but it won't be the
last."

    Jenny grinned and asked, "How much did she take you for?"

    I must have looked confused, because she went on, "I think I
lost about three weeks allowance before I learned not to bet with her."

    "Oh!" I said, "it only cost me a couple of beers."

    Jenny grinned. "That's all it cost you at the ballpark.  Looks
like it cost you some blood back here."

    I know that my blush must have been visible from orbit, but I
couldn't help it. I stammered around trying to think of a response, and
hoping that Helen would come to my rescue, but she just laughed, and
laughed, and laughed.

    Finally Jenny went on, "That's okay, Mr. Palmer, some things are
worth what they cost, right?"

    Before I realized what she had said, I agreed with her, and she
and her mother both roared with laughter. Finally Helen told her
daughter, "Jenny, please don't tease Mr. Palmer." And I breathed a sigh
of relief. Then Helen went on, "I need him." I choked. Helen amended her
statement. "We need him." I died.

    Helen had promised me that I could go home as long as I came
back, so I did. I really don't know why, other than to pick up some
clean clothes. After sitting staring at the walls for an hour I went
back to the house around the corner. It felt very strange walking in the
door that Jenny opened, knowing that she knew that I would be sleeping
with her mother that night. Or more than likely, not sleeping a whole
lot. But it was okay. Everything was okay.

    I don't know whether it was all Helen or not, but my sleeping
with her became routine as far as Jenny was concerned. The strange thing
to me was that she and Ashleigh kept up their Tuesday-Thursday routine.
Again I don't know, but I'm pretty sure that Jenny didn't tell Ashleigh
what was going on with her mother. One of the things that was most
amazing to me was after that first weekend with Helen, Jenny came in on
Tuesday and despite her previous poor showings had a magnificent shot.
The way they measured it, it was longer than Ashleigh's best, and she
also had four shots outside the inner circle. (Okay.  Two of them
weren't more than a couple of inches outside the circle, but that
counts.)

    After that, we sank into a routine.  On Tuesdays and Thursdays
the girls would come over to my place and conduct their competition, or
occasionally just experiment and play. On weekends, I would wind up over
at Helen's doing marvelously nasty things with her. Now and then I would
get a chance to watch her at work when the muse would strike. She could 
play the entire room like an instrument and put together mind-blowing
multimedia packages seemingly from thin air. The routine was
indisputably a lot of fun. Jenny and Ashleigh really took their
competition seriously, even if they did show good sportsmanship, and
Helen was always magnificent no matter what. Life was good.

    All went well for several weeks. When Thanksgiving rolled around, we
had to adjust schedules a bit, which meant I got a bit more of Helen,
and a bit less of Jenny (it was her week for Thursday), but life was
still good. Then on Friday the second week after Thanksgiving, when I
went over to Helen's she greeted me with a very serious look. "Larry, I
need to talk to you," she said. "Sit down." So I did. "Trust my
judgment?" I assured her that I did.

    "Christmas is coming up soon." I admitted it. "I've been talking
to Jenny about what she wants for Christmas." I nodded understandingly.
"There's really only one big thing she wants." I nodded understandingly.
"You." I froze.

    I sat there for a few seconds, tried unsuccessfully to say
something, then finally croaked, "I don't understand."

    "Well," she said, "I don't mean that she wants you body and soul. 
Just body." And she grinned.  After a very painful pause, she went on.
"Actually, she isn't even asking for carnal knowledge. She just asked
for a chance to explore a little. Originally, at least, though her
position changed somewhat during the course of negotiations. I told her
I would do what I could." She waited expectantly. I, stunned, said
nothing.

    "Now, what I think is that after you give her that chance to explore
a little that she's asking for, you might exercise that talented tongue
of yours to give her a real, male-induced orgasm." She looked at me as
my jaw dropped, then went on. "I will guarantee that she will be able to
produce both manually and orally a completely satisfactory orgasm for
you." She paused.  "I will teach her, and make sure that she gets it
right. If things work out well, and they should, I plan to let her
borrow you perhaps once every two or three weeks and maybe on special
occasions." She paused again, watching me closely, waiting for a
reaction. Finally she prompted, "Can you deal with that?"

    My mind raced, but in steadily tighter circles, going nowhere.
After all I had experienced over the past few months I should have been
able to cope better than I did. At last I forced out, "If that's what
you want, I can do it, but are you sure?"

    "Certainly. I don't think you'll have any problem. You might need to
come over a little more often through the week, but we can work out our
schedules around yours. I don't plan on giving up any of your time
myself, you know."

    I was still stammering. "But Helen, do you think Jenny is ready
for something like that?"

    "She made a solid case. She had to before I would agree to it.
She knows what she's doing. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised at
what she'll be able to do. Especially with some good coaching from me."

    "It's just that . . .  Well, it's kind of unexpected. I don't
mind, of course. I mean really it's . . .  She's . . . very attractive.
But what about . . . I . . . this will sound wrong, I know, but what
about you? And her? Don't you think this might cause trouble?"

    She laughed, "Larry, if I can't handle competition from a fourteen
year old girl I need more practice. And Jenny knows the rules. Believe
me, we won't have any problems."

    "Well.  If you're sure. It sounds like you've already got everything
worked out. OK. I'll go along with it."

    "Thanks, Larry. I knew I could count on you." She gave me a little
peck on the cheek. "Come on, let's get you in training." She led me up
the stairs to begin whipping me into shape.

-- 
+--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+
| story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |
| Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
\ <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/>    .../assm/faq.html> /