Victoria and Helen, Chapter 1

by Jackie

"Oh Helen, that's so wonderful! I don't know how to thank you!" I heard my mother saying into the phone.

I wasn't eavesdropping. Mom was speaking loudly enough for me to hear her side of the conversation all the way down the hall.

'Time to start packing,' I concluded.

"Well I've done that for you lots of times before, but if that's all you want, it's a huge bargain," mom said in a much lower voice.

I was curious what Auntie Helen had asked for as a thank-you.

I knew that mom was still on the phone but she'd lowered her voice to the point that I could no longer make out what she was saying. The woman she was speaking with wasn't actually a relation, but I'd been calling Helen 'Auntie' for as long as I could remember.

Just the way mom called my name when she came in from work an hour ago, I knew something was up. She was almost jumping up and down as she hugged me. I can't remember when I'd ever seen her so excited. Mom told me that her boss's boss had asked if she was able to get away for a month. He was putting together a group that he would take to Europe to solidify and hopefully expand the company's interests over there. Apparently some of the senior Administrative Assistants couldn't get away for that long so the career boosting opportunity was being offered to her.

I thought I saw tears in her eyes as she was asking me if I'd be okay with it.

A chill went down my spine wondering where I'd go and who would look after me. My mother is an orphan and her adoptive parents died in a car accident just before I turned five. Mom got pregnant with me when she was only seventeen. I never knew my father, so we had no extended family.

"I'm going to ask Auntie Helen if you can stay with her," she suggested. "Would that be okay? You like Helen don't you? I know that she adores you."

I felt like I hardly knew my mom's best friend who used to be her teacher. They'd met when mom went back to school. Whenever they got together there was always a 'sitter' so I was really only with the older woman for a few minutes each time. She was very nice to me. When I was younger I'd thought she looked like a movie star, but I didn't feel like I really knew her. According to the telephone conversation I'd just overheard that was about to change.

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It was always a thrill to hear Jeanne Simms voice. The emotionally needy young woman who'd shown up in my Admin Assistant's course eight years ago was not only beautiful, but she had a natural sensuality she didn't even realize. Her daughter, Victoria, was the apple that hadn't fallen far from the tree.

When she called me I assumed that it was about money; that's the way it went between us. When I called her it was about sex, when she called me it was about money. I had the opinion that Jeanne never connected the two. I didn't have to give the adorable creature money to get her into my bed but I have the financial resources and don't mind helping out a friend.

I was just about to head out for dinner when the phone rang. Jeanne was almost incoherent because she was so excited about the career making opportunity that had suddenly come up.

She explained the sales trip to Europe that she'd been asked to provide support on. When she reached the part about how she needed to find someone to look after her daughter for the month that she'd be gone, her voice changed. The pitch dropped and the cadence slowed drastically. I thought later that it was interesting that she didn't come right out and asked if I could take young Victoria while she was gone. She beat around the bush until I finally offered. The relief in her voice was payment in itself but when she said,

'I don't know how to thank you.'

I quipped, "Well you could kiss and suck and lick my ass."

Jeanne agreed but pointed out that it wouldn't be the first time.

After that the conversation deteriorated into a sex call. Talking about things we'd done and were going to do the next time we got together made me start rubbing myself and reminiscing. The call ended, getting back to the point. Jeanne promised to call me within a day or two with the details and timing of the trip.

It wasn't until we hung up that the awesome implications of my offer sunk in. If I'm honest with myself some deep part of my perverted brain recognized the potential as soon as I figured out what my former student, and now occasional 'fuck-buddy' was asking for. She wanted me to look after her rapidly developing fourteen year old daughter, in my home, for a month. It was like assigning a fox to guard the chickens—but maybe that's what she wanted.

I was hungrier than ever, but no longer for food. My clothes fell in a trail as I headed for my bedroom.

Lying naked, eyes closed, I ran my finger tips with feather-like fluttering pressure over my body. Victoria Simms, my soon to be ward, was on my mind but it was her mother, Jeanne, and memories of our first encounter that initially fueled my self-pleasuring.

As usual most of the women enrolled in the college night school class that I'd been teaching for a couple of years were older. The memories were eight years old but still amazingly clear and detailed. When the sandy haired young woman walked unconfidently into the classroom that first night I recalled that it was lust at first sight.

It wasn't unusual for me to get a sexual pang when I saw an attractive woman; that had been happening to me since I was in high school. There was something about Jeanne Simms that made it more powerful—I never really figured out what it was.

Once a week for the next month or so of the twelve week course I anticipated her arrival. She was shy and unassuming and rarely spoke up in class. She was always well groomed and clean but her clothes looked shabby—worn out. I wasn't in the habit of reviewing my students' files, but in the case of young Miz Simms, I made an exception.

Her date of birth told me that she was twenty-two.

'Technically young enough to be my daughter,' I recognized. 'I was eighteen ... graduating high school when she was born!'

Curiously, listed as next of kin was her daughter.

'How old's her daughter ... two?'

I'd always thought that next of kin was your closest adult relation. It struck me that she mustn't have any when I noticed that NOTIFY IN CASE OF EMERGENCY listed her baby sitter and her landlord.

'She's practically all alone in the world.'

Five weeks into the twelve week program the first assignment was due, worth twenty percent of the final grade. I utilized the opportunity to get to know my youngest student better.

Jeanne had done well enough; earning a solid 'B'. When I handed the assignments back I asked her if she'd like to get together for coffee to discuss her mark. The sandy haired object of my lust didn't know how out of the ordinary that was.

Walking to the coffee shop I let my eyes and imagination run wild.

The dress the young mother was wearing looked too small and bore the same trademark washed-out appearance that all her clothes exhibited. My pussy deeply appreciated the way her well rounded figure challenged the seams of the faded yellow dress. My mind was already working on ways to get her out of it.

At first she was very nervous, like a little girl who was expecting to be punished. We talked about her assignment for the first few minutes and then I guided the conversation into more personal territory.

I was surprised at how willing she was to share her life story with me. Jeanne told me about being abandoned, literally left in a box on the steps of a church when she was less than a week old. She was placed with the childless older couple, Harold and Victoria Simms who eventually adopted her.

Her adoptive parents were only children and had become estranged from their families because of the couple's Christian fundamentalist views. Jeanne related that after she started high school and was exposed to more liberal thinking she'd rebelled. One thing led to another and she got pregnant when she was seventeen. The experience scared her straight and her parents became very supportive of their adopted daughter and grandchild.

They never had much money partly because the Simms donated everything they could afford and more to the church; but they lived comfortably in a rented house in the suburbs. Her father was the sole breadwinner so Jeanne had to get work to support herself and her baby.

Two years before I met her, nearly eleven years ago now, a horrible pile up on the interstate had taken Harry and Vicki Simms' lives. There wasn't a lot of life insurance, but between that and the small compensation paid by the trucking company at fault in the accident Jeanne decided she had to go back to school if she was ever going to make any kind of life for herself and her daughter.

And that's how the irresistible young mother wound up in my classroom to begin with.

It wasn't her background and heritage that was flowing through my mind as I lay naked on my bed, hefting my torpedo shaped D cup breasts up on to my chest. It was what happened after the coffee shop confessional.

As Jeanne related her story I got a feeling that it was somehow cathartic for her. As if she'd needed to talk to another adult about what had happened to her, about the dreadful mistakes that she'd made and about how she was trying to turn her life around. The more she opened up and revealed, the more convinced I was that she needed a friend—a confidant. I was prepared to play the role and more than happy to get to know the young woman who'd captured my prurient interest, while hoping that I could guide our relationship in a more intimate direction.

Before you start thinking that I'm a sexual predator and heartless bitch, I really was developing feelings for her and wanted to help.

I remember the look of near panic on her face when she glanced up at the clock and realized that it was nearly eleven.

"I've really got to get home," she informed me as she jumped up collecting her books and purse.

"My landlady is looking after Vicki and I should never be this late. It's still going to take me over half an hour to get home by bus."

"I could drive you," I offered. "It'll be a lot faster."

She looked at me as if I'd just solved all of her problems in life.

"Oh I couldn't ask you to go out of your way like that," she politely offered me a way out.

"Nonsense!" I said as I got up and collected my stuff. "I've enjoyed our conversation and getting to know you, so in a way it's my fault that you're late."

There was that look of sincere, and I thought excessive gratitude again.

"That's so kind of you," Jeanne said with a shy smile that hit me between the legs.

Two minutes later I was opening the passenger door of my Caddy for her.

"This is your car!" she said as if she was awestruck.

"Yup," I affirmed feeling my pussy twitch as her short dress rode up exposing her magnificent legs to within an inch or two of her coochie.

During the brief ride Jeanne directed me to her aged three story apartment building. I couldn't keep my eyes off her lap as she motioned with her whole body when a turn was coming up. When she informed me that we'd arrived I was thinking that one more change of direction would have exposed the crotch of her panties.

She turned toward me and it happened. Not a particularly good view, but a glimpse nonetheless of the silky looking blue crotch, illuminated by the street lamp but shaded by the dress.

"I'd invite you up for a nightcap but I have absolutely nothing at all to drink ... uh, unless you'd like another coffee ... or maybe some tea," my young student apologized.

"Well ... if it's not too late for you, I'd love to continue our conversation. It just so happens that I have a couple of bottles of wine in the trunk that I picked up on my way to class tonight," I responded.

Her eyes lit up. I had to force myself to look at her face and not between her legs. I was glad because her expression was priceless.

"Ooo, that sounds so wonderful! I haven't had any wine in months."

The word that came to mind looking at her face was mischievous; at the same time it was adorable.

Jeanne showed me into her apartment on the second floor and then went downstairs to collect her daughter as I opened the wine. The tiny kitchen in the World War II vintage building was showing its age. The worn ceramic tiles, many of them cracked, were in need of replacement with more modern materials. I could see the door to the hallway from where I stood and thus got my first look at the five year old deeply sleeping Victoria Simms as her mother carried her through to the bedroom. The mother and daughter resemblance was unmistakable even at that early age.

I couldn't imagine more than two people dining in the adjacent room with the cheap dinette as I passed through on my way to the main living space of the one bedroom apartment. Like her clothes everything was clean enough, just worn-out. I was feeling slightly guilty about my moderate wealth as I poured the wine and saw Jeanne close the bedroom door behind her.

"I have to put my cheek to her face to make sure she's still breathing," my host said as she picked up her wine and then took a long sip. "She sleeps so soundly that it's scary sometimes."

"But that's good," I commented taking a seat on the threadbare sofa and reaching for my own glass.

"Yeah ... yeah I suppose it is," the voluptuous young woman agreed pensively before savoring another swallow of wine.

She was technically the hostess but it was my alcohol so I took the liberty of refilling her nearly empty glass.

The conversation picked up pretty much where we'd left off, with Jeanne telling me about her hopes for the future. She was currently working two jobs; waitressing during the week and weekends as a salesgirl at a retail clothing store.

"If it wasn't for Mister and Missus Menendez looking after Vicki practically for free I wouldn't be able to make ends meet," the young mother lamented. I refilled her glass again.

The bottle was two-thirds gone and I hadn't finished my first glass yet.

'She's really enjoying it,' I thought as she took a sip before virtually every sentence.

'She could really use an escape ... a rest from the drudgery of her life. It looks like she's going to take advantage of the rare availability of alcohol to drown her sorrows.'

Dilated pupils were the first sign. Loosening of the tongue was the second, as she began to talk about her loneliness confirming my earlier analysis that she needed someone to talk to.

"So no boyfriends or prospects," I probed.

"Not even interested," she said flatly. "Look what happened the last time I went down that road."

Then showing that she wasn't drunk she quickly added,

"Don't get me wrong ... I love Vicki and I wouldn't want to imagine being without her, but it's not fair to her ... the life I've brought her into."

Jeanne's announced disinterest in a hetero relationship gave me a tingle. Every woman has needs and there are only two other ways to look after them. At the same time I was well aware that some women were able to outwardly suppress their innate sexuality. Still I couldn't have asked for a better endorsement of my plan.

The tingle seemed to settle in my boobs, which wasn't surprising because at times I thought they made up half of my body weight. Being made very conscious of them also made the aware of the way the shoulder straps of my bra were cutting in. I wear expensive custom made brassieres but even with the extra wide straps it becomes uncomfortable after a while.

It was actually for comfort and not really intended as a sexual ploy when I pulled my right arm inside my knit top. Reaching up behind my back and with assistance from my left arm on the outside I unhooked the back strap.

"I'm sorry," I apologized as I managed to pull the right shoulder strap down from outside with my left hand until it cleared my elbow and I was able to pull it the rest of the way off with my right hand. "I hope you don't find me rude ... but I've just got to get this damn thing off."

As I spoke I was putting my right arm back out through the arm hole of the sweater and pulling my left inside to repeat the removal process on the other side. In theory the whole bra removal exercise took place under the cover of my top, but I was aware that with my arm movements that my pendulous breasts had peeked out from under the bottom hem of my sweater.

It didn't take long, certainly less than a minute, and what I saw on Jeanne's face at the beginning was fascination.

Maybe she's never seen anyone take their bra off like this before,' I reasoned.

There was a very noticeable change in her expression when my tits were briefly and inadvertently exposed. I wondered if she'd have been better at hiding her reaction if she weren't tipsy. Her eyes went very wide. Although it sent a fabulous thrill through me I instinctively knew that the way she licked her lips was unconscious body language not an indication of conscious desire.

Conscious or unconscious her reaction caused my full body tingle to focus between my legs. My host's poorly disguised interest coupled with the relief of being free of the uncomfortable underwear had my head swimming.

Placing the white satin and lace bra on the arm of the couch I instinctively lifted and squeezed my torpedoes to massage out the compressed restrained feeling. My eyes were glued to Jeanne's face. Her eyes were still painfully wide and flitted from my brassiere to my chest as I worked the kinks out of my boobs.

"That's one of my favorite parts of the day!" I proclaimed. "How about you?"

She looked flushed and her eyes were glassier than before, as though my underwear removal had added another intoxicant. She said nothing but her tongue passed over her lips again.

In the beginning manipulating my boobs had been as reflexive as scratching an itch. In fact it was very much like that—an itchy feeling. The trouble was that when the itch was gone I didn't stop, at least not immediately. The tingle that drew my attention to my chest in the first place returned to the forefront and it was starting to feel good. My hostess seemed fascinated by what I was doing.

"I thought every woman felt better when they set their girls free," I prompted since she hadn't responded to my question.

"Yours are so big," she sighed as though the thought had been weighing on her mind and finally found its way out of her mouth.

"It's not really a blessing honey ... believe me," I chortled as I started massaging the strap impression on my left shoulder.

"They're actually too big," I commented as I switched the relieving finger pressure to my other tender shoulder.

"A lot of women spend ridiculous amounts of money to get breasts as big and full as yours," Jeanne remarked sounding more lucid than I'd thought she was.

"I know and I think they're crazy. I'd much rather have nicely proportioned breasts like yours," I complimented while now idly squeezing my jugs.

"Thank you," Jeanne said blushing and looking down at her chest as if she'd just realized that she had tits too.

"I've heard that smaller breasts are more sensitive ... it's kind of hard for me to imagine anybody's being more sensitive than mine," I related while lifting my melons.

"I don't know how anyone can say that. I mean a woman only has her own pair; there's no way to make a comparison ... I mean it's not as though she can go from small breasts to large ones and compare the feelings," my insightful student commented before draining her wine glass again.

"Are yours very sensitive?" I asked the exceptionally personal question while refilling her glass with the last of the bottle.

She turned as red as a beet and took another swallow of the wine.

'For courage, or to buy time,' I wondered.

As flushed as she was, setting her glass back on the coffee table there was something in her expression that made me think that she was formulating an answer. She looked embarrassed by the question but pensive as well. I waited on pins and needles through the extended pause.

"I've never told anyone this," she finally spoke in a voice barely above as whisper, "but when I was breast feeding Vicki ... sometimes I'd ... uh, cum while she was nursing."

She grabbed her wine glass again and took a big gulp as if to wash the incriminating words out of her mouth. I had to bite my lip to keep the erotic revelation from making me moan.

"Wow! Really?" I responded in genuine awe and took a large drink of my own.

Jeanne nodded head down as though she'd just confessed to murder—or worse.

"I've heard of that happening," I told her, hoping I sounded as understanding and comforting as I intended.

"I was always really ashamed afterward, but I just couldn't help it ... I didn't have any other outlet and I sure wasn't going to let another man into my life," the young mother said remorsefully.

I thought I saw tears of guilt forming in the stunning woman's eyes as she kept her eyes diverted and anxiously wrung her hands.

Being kind to myself I imagine that it was compassion that propelled me from the couch to sit on the arm of the worn easy chair and stroke her sandy hair. If I'm honest I have to admit that it was mostly lust.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," I consoled. "It's natural—"

"But she's my daughter!" my distraught hostess interjected looking up at me for the first time since she'd shared her guilty secret.

"I know ... I know sweetheart," I comforted continuing to stroke her hair, "but physical needs don't always follow the rules. You certainly don't need a man to look after them though."

I could almost see the alcohol impeded wheels turning behind her brimming eyes.

"I know, but I tried to do it myself and ... and it just didn't work," she sobbed.

Jeanne was certainly not the first woman I'd met who'd never learnt to get herself off—sad really.

"Well sometimes you do need a little help, but it still doesn't have to be a man," I confided watching her eyes for a reaction.

All the synapses were still firing, just at a much lower speed than normal. The implications of what I'd said gradually dawned on the contrite mother. It was like a window shade rising. The eye contact sent shivers down my spine as I searched for shock or revulsion. What I found was curiosity.

"Have ... have you done that before," Jeanne asked in a whisper even lower than the one she used for her confession.

For a moment I considered being coy; 'Why whatever do you mean dear?' but I decided not to take the chance of Miz Simms chickening out.

Letting the hand that had been stroking her hair slip down onto her neck I replied,

"Yes I have ... more than a few times."

I didn't know if her little gasp was caused by my revelation or the fact that my fingers were gently stroking the nape of her neck and working their way under the neckline of her dress. The top and back of her shoulder was not an intimate or erogenous zone but it was a test.

"It's been a long time ... like three years since you were breast feeding. What have you been doing in the meantime?"

Jeanne averted her eyes back down to her lap and her worrying hands.

"Nothing," she croaked softly.

I knew that there were people who practiced total abstinence but it was so unthinkable to me that it made me shudder.

"Oh honey it can't be good to deny your natural biological urges," I counseled tracing the shoulder strap of her bra. "How in the world do you do it?"

"Most of the time I just don't think about it," she said softly. "But sometimes ... uh, like now ... I get these feelings..."

Her voice trailed off as if there was more to the thought but she couldn't figure out how to express it.

Following the bra strap up and over where it was indenting itself into her shoulder muscle, my fingers were stoking her clavicle and moving slowly downward.

"You have such a hard, stressful life ... working, going to school, caring for your daughter ... you shouldn't deny yourself life's simple pleasures ... especially when they're free."

My fingers continued to move down as I spoke. The hard boniness of her upper chest was beginning to give way to the softness of her high riding breast. My self-deprived student began to squirm in her seat. Her head tipped back and her eyes were closed. I concluded that my caress was having a larger effect than I could have hoped for.

The tips of my fingers encountered the upper margin of her bra cup and slipped just underneath. The quiet little sigh or moan would have gone unnoticed if I hadn't lowered my lips to her ear, bringing my own ear within inches of her open mouth. The feel of her breath on it made the insistent tingling in my erogenous zones take on a sparking electric quality.

"Would you like me to help you?" I whispered gently forcing my fingers further under the edge of her bra.

Her breathing quickened as I explored. She hadn't agreed but she wasn't protesting either. When I pulled my hand out of the top of her dress she gave a deep sigh and seemed to deflate.

Slipping off the armrest of the sofa chair I knelt in front of the woman who'd captured my sexual imagination at first sight.

I took her by her upper forearms and pulled.

"Lean forward honey," I instructed. She didn't resist.

Reaching around her my heavy breasts were resting on her knees. The contact was casual—incidental—but thrilled me nonetheless. Our faces were close as I worked on the hook above the dress's zipper. I wrapped my lips around Jeanne's at the same time I started to slide the zipper down.

At first she seemed shocked and started to pull away but my arms behind her shoulders didn't let her get far. I sucked gently and slipped my tongue out far enough to brush her lips. As I pulled away I captured her bottom lip pulling it tenderly with me along with the top of her dress.

I feasted my eyes on her beautiful grapefruit sized boobies encased in a translucent skin tone bra. I could already tell that her perfectly centered areolas were fairly pale and the nipple itself was several shades darker, straining to rise against the see-through beige nylon.

The expression on Jeanne's face was hard to read. It looked a bit like surprise as if she hadn't really prepared herself to be exposed like this. Leaning forward once again the subtle feeling of my tits nestling into her lap gave me a warm glow as I kissed her. This time she made no effort to pull away.

Probing and caressing her lips with my tongue I felt the mouth and jaw begin to loosen. When she opened a little I pushed in further feeling the hardness of her teeth. She opened wider and I explored deeper caressing the hard smoothness of her palate at the same time I cupped her nylon covered boobs. She moaned so deeply into my mouth that it resonated to my core. I was gently squeezing and fondling her tits very aware of the projecting nipple against my palm. The soft noises she made were absorbed in my mouth and flowed through me encouragingly.

Jeanne's tongue had begun to participate in our lingering soul kiss. Reaching around I slipped the hooks free, feeling my own torpedoes press more firmly against her thighs. Just like last time I sucked and pulled her bottom lip with me as I separated bringing the weightless bra with me.

My topless student sighed and pulled her arms free of the dress and the bra so that they were now lying across her lap. Her shaking hands went behind my head and her fingers entwined in my hair. I instinctively knew what the pleading look in her azure eyes meant.

The guttural wail she made when I captured her right nipple and areola in my mouth was by far the loudest sound that had occurred since we'd arrived. It didn't occur to me in those thrilling moments but reliving it later I was glad Vicki was such a sound sleeper.

Gently sucking and rolling her rubbery nipple with my tongue I could feel the increasing pressure of her finger tips on my scalp. She wasn't pulling me closer; just digging her fingers in. The sounds she was making were similar to her involuntary noises when we kissed only louder.

Needless to say my own arousal was getting out of hand. I needed something. Sitting back on my heels I stripped my knit top over my head fully exposing my breasts. As if my fire needed any fuel Jeanne's reaction to seeing my hooters was like a shot of gasoline. It was similar to the reaction she had when she'd caught the sneak peak earlier but more overt. There was no need to pretend she hadn't seen and wasn't enjoying anymore.

I lifted my heavy breast toward my mouth that day in her apartment just as I was doing now as I lay on my bed reminiscing.

I could never get my mouth completely around my areola, but once it was in my mouth I was able to suck the rest in. just before I wrapped my lips around the dark brownish-pink circle I said,

"Do you like my boobies?"

Sucking on my whole areola and teasing my nipple with my tongue sent waves of hot pleasure to my crotch. In Jeanne's apartment eight years ago I had to go slow—not rush things or I might have scared her, remembering it now I had no such constraints.

My hand slipped between my legs and I gently explored my protruding inner folds probing between the plump softness. I wiggled my finger, just at the entrance, collecting some of the pent up juice and smearing it on my clit. As soon as I made contact with the sensitive nubbin my whole body jerked and twitched. I knew the prospect of having my former student's daughter stay with me was about the most exciting thing that had happened in a very long time. The trip down memory lane daydreaming about my first encounter with her mother had me put me in an incredibly needy state.

I remembered switching boobs kneeling in front of the sandy haired co-ed and seeing her hands rise to cup her own tits. As I suspected her boobs weren't big enough for her to actually be able to get them to her mouth, so she put a large load of saliva on the fingers of each hand and began teasing her incredibly long fat nipples with her well lubricated digits.

We did that for a minute or two, each watching the other before the pressure in my pussy and the need to go further overwhelmed me.

I knew it was a critical moment when I slid my hands up her bare silky thighs. I caught the hem of her dress on the way and pushed it along until the crotch of her panties was exposed. The pale blue panty had a darker spot right about where I envisioned the entrance to her pussy was hiding. I sat there on my heels feasting my eyes for a long moment on the alluring sight that had just barely eluded me on the ride over from the college. The sight I was so intent on that a couple of times I'd nearly hit parked cars—paying more attention to where I wanted to go than to where I was driving.

I didn't need to look at what I was doing as I slid my hands up on top of Jeanne's thighs and grappled to secure a hold on the waistband of her blue underpants. My eyes were on her face gauging her reaction. I told myself that I was ready and able to back off if she balked—I wasn't entirely convinced.

There were three ways it could have gone. She could have had a sudden attack of morals and called a complete halt or she might have just stayed still, let me do all the work and told herself that she had no choice. To my great delight she chose door number three and lifted her hips to assist in the removal.

The curly hair of her nest came into view. It was a shade of two darker than the hair on her head but nevertheless confirmed that she was a natural blonde. The hair obscured my view of her vulva. Her untrimmed pubes looked fluffy and curly except right down the middle where they were matted and damp.

There was some resistance as I pushed outward on her knees. Looking up into her face I saw the stress and concluded that she was wrestling with a moral dilemma as her most intimate treasure was about to be exposed.

"Relax honey," I encouraged.

"I can make you feel really, really good," I promised feeling the resistance fade slightly but not completely.

As I spread her thighs I noticed the subtle sweetness of her fragrance. I had to swallow to prevent drooling as I slid my hands up until my fingers were on her groin and my thumbs pressed into the matted curls around her slit. I applied some pressure and watched the plump outer lips begin to part revealing a canoe shaped pink gash. This canoe had wings to fly as my student's inner lips unfurled. The milky coating was evidence, as if I needed any, of the deprived young mother's condition.

Pressing harder and lifting slightly with my thumbs I felt her hips tense and pull back. When I looked up into her eyes that terrible dilemma seemed to have gotten even worse. Her body was saying—screaming—one thing and her conscious mind was screaming the opposite right back.

I'd guided many women and girls to these crossroads and occasionally asked, much later in the relationship, what had been going through their mind at that pivotal moment. Some could not convert their conflicted feelings into words, but the ones who could provided valuable insights.

"You don't have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable sweetie," I reassured my trembling student. "But the urges you have are natural and normal; it's not good for you ... not healthy to suppress them."

I paused letting the statement soak in; searching her eyes hoping my advice would pour water on the firestorm of conscience that was raging in her reasoning mind. With the physical sensations and her repressed desires for support, her eyes suggested that my logical argument was beginning to turn the tide.

"Let me make you feel better ... relieve that awful tension that you've let build up all this time."

I still had my thumbs pressing into the fleshiness of her outer lips holding her open. If her arousal was rising as fast as mine I was convinced that she'd have to surrender soon.

"Oh God Helen ... I want you to so badly but—" she groaned as though she was lifting the entire world on her shoulders. I ignored the 'but' .

My first cursory swipe collected an amazing quantity of her thick juice which I swished in my mouth before swallowing. The soft wail seemed to come from her very core and this time her hips thrust toward me instead of pulling away. I located the firm larger than average nubbin at the top of her gash and caressed it thoroughly with my tongue. Immediately her hips began to jerk almost convulsively.

Wrapping my arms around her thighs I used my fingers now to pull her crease open and buried my face in the velvet softness of her overflowing pussy. Licking and sucking, the feel and sound, the smell and flavor made for an intoxicating mixture that turned me into a ravenous beast. I clung to her upper thighs and hips like an animal clings to its prey as Jeanne's jerking and wailing became ever more violent. With a final thrust toward me she went as stiff as a board and all the air left her lungs in a long cry. She was rigid like that for about ten seconds before she went completely limp in my grasp.

The next thing I knew her hands were on my head, in my hair, pushing me away from her streaming coochie. I hadn't even realized that I was still licking and sucking despite her spent condition. My whole face below my eyes was completely covered in her juices and Jeanne was reaching out for me. Her hands were on my shoulders but there was nothing to grip. Still her intention to draw me nearer was clear, so I climbed up into the sofa chair with her and we kissed again. She was much, much more aggressive than the first time and it seemed that she was trying to clean her cum off my face.

While reveling in the passionate kisses and licks I wondered if she'd ever tasted herself before. I suspected not, but she certainly seemed to be enjoying the new taste delight.

The chair was pretty wide and we were sort of wedged between the high armrests facing each other. I felt her gradually sliding down until her face was even with my mid-chest. Somehow she as now on top of me and doing the same almost frantic licking and kissing on the upper slopes of my boobs.

Lying on my bed sucking on my own tits while my fingers instinctively made all the right moves down below, I pretended it was eight years ago and it was Jeanne's mouth that was providing the fantastic oral stimulation. Then my fingers made a valiant attempt to replicate the reckless abandon of my student's mouth on my pussy that day so long ago.

The young mother, whose daughter was sound asleep in the next room, gave me head as though she'd been born to it. I didn't think at that moment about how I would later work on refining her technique. Whatever she lacked in skill and experience she more than made up for with enthusiasm.

I felt my tummy muscles tense and the warm tingle in my toes just before everything became a blur and I thrashed around on my bed enjoying the beautiful climax that memories of my first time with Jeanne Simms had produced.

Afterward I lay there for several minutes in the warm post orgasmic fog. When my senses began to return my mind wandered back to the cause of the impromptu diddling session.

"Jeanne's daughter is coming to stay with me early next week," I said out loud to my empty bedroom as if that would make it more believable.

A warm rush passed through me and I was in danger of needing an instant replay but my stomach growled in protest so I headed for the shower instead.

'It might be a challenge to keep Victoria Simms off my mind,' I thought standing under the warm spray.

'I'm not off to a very good start.'