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Inger 
By Friar Dave (friar_dave@*mhbbs.com)

***

A single father hires a live in nanny to look after his 
son while he was at work during the day or on business 
trips. Only the son becomes infatuated with the new 
nanny. (F/mm, ped, reluc)

***

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 South 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 stopped 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?"


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!"


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 anymore."

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."


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!"


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 --
 
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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting
out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to
many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a 
fellow convict in their local prison.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 67