The Degraded Lad
by Joyce Morrissey
(RX-453)


FOREWORD 

Time was, forty years ago, when even the average American household kept a 
maid. Most frequently she was of foreign origin, a youngish lady of good 
breeding who'd come to this country to work hard, learn the language, gain 
her citizenship and sponsor the immigration of her brothers and sisters and 
mother and father. She was invariably a superb cook and an immaculate 
housekeeper, willing to work twelve hours a day and sleep in a little room 
under the stairs. And she invariably inspired some erotic imagery on the 
part of the head of the household, and on the part of his growing sons, who 
thought of the virgin young lady so far removed from her lover, tossing on 
her lonely bed each night, too frightened in this foreign land to even go 
out in search of solace. 

Of course, maids exist no longer, except in the homes of the rich. But their 
erotic imagery lives on, best exemplified by the tiny French maid in her 
tiny white cap and apron, and her tiny black skirt and heels. She is to be 
seen now in picture books, able to dust the coffee table and serve the 

Champagne, and so brainlessly devoted to her master-or mistress-that she is 
willing to do absolutely anything for them, their friends, their sons and 
daughters, and the family collie. This maid-Yvette is invariably her name-is 
less a figment of wild erotic picture/fiction than she is the fanciful 
descendant of that hard-working immigrant of forty years past. The image 
endures, refined and cultivated by two generations of reflection on those 
simpler times, and Annie and Marie and Helga and Bertha and Hilda, women 
strong enough to brave the Atlantic Ocean, evolve into little Yvette. 

But immigrant maids still exist, just as there exist wealthy families, and 
this story is the story of one of these. It is brought fully up to date. She 
no longer lives under the stairs, and thanks to modern appliances has no 
need to labor twelve hours each day. She is just as strong and determined as 
her real life counterparts of the '20's in Chicago and New York, but she 
dwells in solid comfort, with a telephone there to contact her loved ones 
left behind and with time enough to plot and scheme to bring them over, not 
in steerage in a wallowing rust bucket, but in a coach seat on a screaming 
silver jet. 

The erotic imagery that the maid in the household evokes is still there, 
magnified indeed by the absence of work-reddened hands on her and the 
presence of shops that dispense those feminine artifices so well designed 
for catching the eye of the male. The maid lives on, brought to stirring 
life in the pages of this book. 

You will find the Rated X books, along with their companions, the Surree 
Collectors Series and the HIS 69 gay titles at your favorite adult bookstore 
or newsstand each and every month. Series collectors of strictly adult 
reading will want them all, side by side on their private book shelves for 
definite re-reading and ready reference. 

-THE PUBLISHERS 

 CHAPTER ONE 

Charles sat in a desk chair at poolside in his wet trunks and jockstrap, 
leafing through a soggy magazine and trying not to keep looking at Erika, 
the Swedish maid. She was big and fat and old, and she spoke with an accent 
and he didn't much like her, but looking at her was better than looking at 
the pictures of the dumb weight-lifters in the dumb magazine his mother had 
bought for him. Erika was out behind the swimming pool cabana, tending to 
the really stupid vegetable garden she'd planted in a corner of his parents' 
big Palm Springs lot. It was just as hot as could be expected in July, and 
instead of being in the air-conditioned house she was out there sweating 
with her dumb tomatoes and carrots. He'd like to pull up a carrot and shove 
it up her big dumb ass and see what she'd do. He'd rather shove his damned 
dick in her, anywhere at all, because as usual it was just as hard as a 
carrot and itching for some fast action. 

Charles was seventeen that year and he'd been plagued with an endless series 
of hard-ons since his fourteenth year. Although all the guys at the Ivanhoe 
School joked about how horny they were all the time, Charles Derek Goodson 
III knew he was the horniest one of all. Anything at all could give him a 
hard-on, even the dumb Swedish maid. He'd never joined in the midnight 
circle jerks at school; he'd never gone to New York City with the other 
seniors to spend his allowance on a whore and a dose of clap, and he'd never 
gotten in the pants of one of the girls from the Monroe Academy. He had 
shunned all that and suffered in solitary silence, knowing he was different 
than anybody else and that someday soon he'd snap and turn into a badly 
misunderstood rapist and sex criminal. There were times he hated his 
constantly troublesome prick and thought about amputating it with a meat 
cleaver, but on that morning he was very glad he had it nestling hard in the 
steamy hollow of his groin where he could rub it while he watched the 
movements of the fat dumb cook. 

She was more big than fat. She was almost as tall as Charles' five foot ten, 
but of course much heavier, with thighs seemingly as big around as his waist 
and hips like a barrel, a huge set of tightly confined tits and an ass as 
big as the full moon. He was looking dead-on at her ass right now as she 
bent over to pull another carrot. She'd been sweating of course, and the 
back of her pale green nylon uniform dress was marked with a broad band of 
moisture down her spine. It stopped below her waist, at the swell of her big 
ass, but still it made her flimsy skirt cling more closely between her 
buttocks than Charles had ever noticed since the week he'd been at the Palm 
Springs house. 

Erika was probably sweating very heavily through the crack of her ass. Her 
panties were probably soaked with sweat, if she had any on at all. He knew 
she wore panties, for he'd seen them in the wash, even touched them, even 
smelled them. But he'd heard stories about how Swedish women ran around 
naked in the snow, and there was a good chance that old Erika didn't have a 
stick on under her cook's uniform. 

She didn't have any stockings on. Her thick legs were completely bare and, 
he had to admit, very shapely for a woman her age-thirty-five, he'd heard 
his father say. Her ankles were slim and her calves were heavily contoured, 
the backs of her knees looked great and what he could see of her thighs was 
smoothly tapered. Knock off some weight and she'd have good-looking legs, 
really. They were like one of his favorite Play mate's only doubled in size. 
He's sure like to crawl right up behind her and look up her skirt and see if 
she had any of her big, white nylon panties on. And when she caught him at 
it he'd just say, "I just came over to help you pick a carrot. Would you 
like me to stick it up your ass? Would you like it better if I stuck my big 
fat dick up your sweaty old cunt?" She'd freak out at that and go screaming 
down the street in search of his folks, and then, of course, Charles would 
successfully deny everything. But instead of doing that Charles sat there 
and rubbed his fiercely burning cock and licked his salty sweaty lips and 
went on gobbling up the Swedish cook with his eyes. 

She straightened up and half turned and smiled at him, bunch of carrots in 
her hand. He looked straight at the profile of her huge tits and smiled 
back, quite calmly giving his hidden hard-on a terrifically satisfying and 
thrilling squeeze. 

Now her ass and her tits were kept moving all the time, straining her 
uniform to the breaking point, while she picked tomatoes. The back yard show 
was coming to a close, and Charles had to admit it had been a damned good 
one. He knew exactly where he'd go to bring it to its inevitable conclusion 
in a few minutes, and this time he'd try to make it last. 

She turned to face him now with a double armload of her dumb vegetables, 
tossing back a long hank of her braided blonde hair. It was quite a double 
armload she had, and Charles subdued a lascivious smirk and halted the sly 
movements of his hand as she came walking toward him with it. 

"That's quite a lot you've got there," he said, nodding at her carrots and 
tomatoes and her big bulging titties. 

"I am so proud of them!" she said, looking down at the smooth red spheres 
and dirty orange poles held clasped to her incredibly big white bosom. 

One button of her bodice had come open. Charles could see more of her deep 
cleavage than he'd ever seen before, and he could have seen still more if it 
hadn't been for the dumb vegetables. "Yeah, you've got a lot," he said with 
a smile, casually rocking forward a little to coolly give his flaming cock a 
very necessary bit of pressure. 

"The sun. It is so good here," she enthused. "It is like summertime all year 
long. I love it here!" 

"Too hot," he said, and ventured a very bold look at her cunt, which lasted 
for perhaps a tenth of a second. "You ought to get in your suit and take a 
little swim. My folks wouldn't mind. I'll just sit here and watch." 

"Oh, no! Here? In my employer's house? On my working days? Oh, no," she 
said, "I could never do that. They would forbid. They do enough for me by 
helping get my daughter to America." 

She was just a yard away from Charles and his terrifically horny prick. He'd 
expected her to smell sweaty, but all his flaring nostrils could detect was 
the fecund aroma of damp earth, and perhaps a trace of flowery perfume. 
"They'd let you swim here," he said. "Any time you want. Do you have a 
bathing suit?" he said, and it gave him a chance to look at her again, all 
of her big old body that wasn't shaped too bad at all. 

Her blue eyes sparkled. Her rosy cheeks bunched in a glistening smile. She 
said, "That would be so nice. To have a little swim in the pool sometimes. 
But, no. That is not right for me to ask." 

"I'll ask. It'll be okay. I'll just tell them at lunch." 

"That would be so good!" she said, hugging herself in her delight, and very 
nearly causing her big titties to jump out and join the vegetables in her 
arms. 

He watched her go toward the house. How could any woman have an ass that big 
and still have it shaped so good? He watched till she reached the back door, 
rubbing his oozing prick in a most sensual fashion, and then he rose all hot 
and horny and sweaty and headed toward the cabana. 

It was a flimsy little affair in comparison to the spacious ranch house that 
the Goodsons summered in. Made of redwood, it had a shade awning under which 
was Charles' weight-lifting equipment, and inside was a bathroom and a 
couple of showers, closets and drawers for guests' swim suits and for the 
cook's spare uniforms, one small room for resting and a wet bar that was 
never used. 

None of it was ever used, really, except by Charles, for his folks never had 
swimming parties, and neither did he. But he had used the cabana since his 
graduation from Ivanhoe the week before, and he'd used it well. He went into 
the shadowy dimness how, hooked the door behind him, and reached under the 
linen closet for a magazine a whole lot more interesting than The Bar-Bell. 
It was a girlie magazine that sold on the stands for a dollar and a half, if 
you were eighteen. Charles had paid one of the guys at school five dollars 
for it. 

He didn't complain. It was worth it to him and he had the money. Now he 
opened it up at random to a full page shot of a tawny-skinned brunette, 
smiling at him as she started taking off her white lace panties, and he 
stared at it on the counter-top and grinned while he loosened the tie of his 
trunks. He took his time. He was going to make it last. Feast his eyes on 
her while he got his hot trunks and jockstrap off, imagine her there with 
him in the stuffy little cabana, and then leave his now aching prick 
entirely alone until he was on the lounge in the next room and could at 
least look at a couple of other pictures.- 

He looked at her, he drank her in, and he decided he'd marry her if he 
could. His trunks came loose and he pushed them down to his ankles. She had 
the prettiest, sexiest, most uplifting titties he'd ever seen, the most 
curvaceous ass, the most promising smile. He paused to bend and kiss her 
picture and felt even more sweetly dizzy as he straightened up. He knew he'd 
find a model of equal appeal on a following page, but just now she was the 
very best he'd ever seen. He pushed his jockstrap halfway down his thighs, 
stifling a moan as the warm air kissed his hot, hot prick. He'd resolved not 
to touch it till he was in the next room, comfortably lying down, but touch 
he did now, only to draw the fiendishly itching foreskin back, and when he 
did, the first of surely many subdued moans escaped his lips. And at the 
same time the door burst open and there was Erika framed in it. 

"No! I'm in here! Get out! I'm in here!" he cried, simultaneously trying to 
hide the magazine and grab for his fallen trunks. 

The look of shock on her face quickly transformed into one of deep concern, 
and she came forward at him, saying, "Poor boy! Oh, you poor boy!" 

"Get out of here! Can't you see I'm IN here!" he shouted, close to tears, 
but not close to getting his trunks up, for they were all caught and tangled 
in his elastic jockstrap. 

"It is all right," she said, still advancing. "I understand this. I help 
you," said she, and Charles slammed himself back against the counter-top as 
she reached right down and grabbed his prick! 

"No! Don't! Go AWAY . . . ! " he cried, twisting and turning, to no avail, 
as she just smiled and held him captive against the counter with her bulk, 
and began to stroke his cock in her fist. 

"Hold still now. It is all over soon. I help you to squirt. It is the best 
way," she said, hand working like a piston and a cow milker at the same 
time, rendering Charles helpless to hold back or to get away. 

"No! Uh! UH-h-h-h!" he groaned. He might have actually been crying in his 
futile rage then, but he certainly was cumming. 

"Squirt! Squirt! SQUIRT!" she enthusiastically said, in time with the long 
ropy jets of white that spurted halfway across the little room. "Yes! 
Squirt! Get it all out. What a good boy!" she said, hugging him hard to her 
soft, earth-smelling bosom, and still doing things with her hand that made 
his prick feel like it was squirting. 

"I'm sorry," he panted. "You shouldn't have," he said, and then he fought 
down all those nearly overwhelming feelings and exclaimed, "You had no right 
to come in here like that!" 

Her eyes filled with sadness. She backed off an inch. She said, "I came here 
for a shower and a new uniform. I have got this one dirty," and he winced 
when she took her hand from his still tingling prick to touch her 
earth-soiled bodice. "I saw you like that and I helped you. It is a natural 
thing. Do not be angry with me; I need my job here." 

"It's okay," he muttered. "Just don't ever . . . It's okay," he said, and 
with the blood rushing out of his prick he started blushing furiously as he 
fumbled to disentangle his trunks from his jockstrap. 

She smiled brilliantly and gave him a little hug. "I only do what is 
natural. I help you feel good, like a man." She gave him a pat on his naked 
ass. "Take a swim. Cool off now. Rest." 

He had to get away from her . She'd helped him feel better cumming than he 
ever had before in his life, but he had to get away from her right away. He 
started out of the door, tripped on his trunks and fell, and kicked out of 
them and ran toward the pool with her tinkling laughter following behind 
him. 

Charles' chest scraped the bottom of the pool and a trail of bubbles escaped 
him as he cried, "Goddamned sonofabitching woman!" He wanted to stay down 
there forever. He'd rather drown than to have to face her again, the fat, 
foreign pig. How could she have done that to him? How could he have let her? 
And how, how in the world could anything have felt so GOOD?! 

He came up to the surface for air, surface dived, and ran his hands all over 
his prick and balls inside his jock strap. It still felt good! If a hand job 
from a woman felt that good, what did it feel like to fuck? He squirmed and 
porpoised through the cool blue water, swam like a snake with his hands on 
his nuts, still not over the force of delight he'd felt at her hands. 
Nobody'd believe it if he ever told them. Which he never would. He hardly 
believed it himself. He stayed down on the bottom till he couldn't stay 
there any longer, then let himself drift up to the rim of the pool where he 
could peep over the tile toward the cabana. 

He was still panting from the exertion when she came out, looking 
monstrously big from this angle, an he slowly sank his head below the 
surface again. He counted to thirty slowly, and when he raised his head 
again, there she was, squatting down on the apron of the pool with a 
mournful look in her eyes and his trunks in her hand. 

"I am sorry I laughed," she said. "It is not polite to laugh at one when he 
is falling." 

"It's all right," he muttered. Christ, he could look right up her skirt, if 
he wanted to, and see the curves of her clasped legs like the two biggest 
asscheeks in the world. 

"I want you to know I did not laugh at you, because of your need for 
squirting." 

"I said it's all right! Just forget it. Okay?" he said, and reached for his 
trunks. 

"You are not angry?" She was holding onto the other end of his trunks, 
smiling a little now. 

"Naw. Just forget it." 

She leaned forward so that her tits almost fell out of the fresh uniform 
she'd put on. She looked younger, somehow, with her hair all wet and drawn 
back from the fast shower she'd taken. "You do not forget it," she said. "I 
understand these things. We do in Sweden. The woman helps the boy. It is the 
way of things. And when you need help some more, you come to me. Yes?" 

"Yes," he muttered, when she still wouldn't let go of his trunks. "Okay!" he 
said, and jerked them out of her hand. 

He put them on in the water, scarcely pausing to look at the big sweeping 
curves and the heavy lilting sway of her hips and bottom as she headed back 
toward the house again. What a woman. What a place Scandinavia must be, 
Charles thought, and heaved his lanky body up out of the pool and went to 
bench press a fifty-pound bar bell forty or fifty times. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

Charles' folks came home from the Racquet Club at about one o'clock, pretty 
sloshed but not really in the bag. They had Erika serve them one more 
martini before they could sit down for another of the stupid family meals 
they always insisted on whenever they were at home. This one was a little 
better than the others. At least he had old Erika to look at and think about 
as she fetched and carried. What a trip, having her around to jerk him off 
whenever he felt like it. Which was all the time. He'd have to ask her about 
fucking her between her big fat tits sometime, he thought, as he smiled and 
thanked her for bringing him his poached salmon and vegetables. 

But instead of that, he asked his parents if it would be okay if Erika could 
take a swim in the pool on hot days, whether it was her day off or not. 
"It's awri.. . it's perfectly all right with me," said his father, a 
white-haired, emaciated man with perpetually drooping eyelids, as he took 
another sip from his wine glass. 

"Why, of course our Erika can use the pool, whenever she wants to," said 
Charles' mother, quite the opposite of her husband in girth and in hair 
coloration, for her hair was dyed an auburn red, and her stomach bulged as 
if she was always seven months pregnant, even at her age. She gestured with 
her wine glass, spilling a bit which no one noticed, and said in a louder 
voice, "Erika? Oh, Erika! Ah, there you are, dear. Feel perfectly free to 
use the pool whenever you care to. It's so un-godly hot here I don't see how 
a nice Norwegian lady like you can stand it. What do you hear from your 
daughter, by the way? Niece? Is it daughter or niece who's coming? No 
matter. Oh dear, I've made a spill," she said, and dabbed at her plate with 
a linen napkin. 

"There is more in the kitchen," said Erika. "I will make you another plate." 

"Yes, do," said Alice Townsend Goodson. "Please do. Soggy Salmon? Ugh." 

"You don't want any more," said Charles Derek 

Goodson II. "She don't want any more," he explained to Erika. And back to 
his wife of thirty-eight years, "Hell, you never eatchyer lunch anyway." 

"Charles! Don't curse at the table! Or in front of the servants." 

"May I be excused?" said Charles Derek Goodson III. 

"Din' curse. All's I said was damn." 

"In front of the servants? At the dinner table? In front of Charles? In 
front of me?! " 

"Aw, fuck it," said the elder Goodson, and went for his wineglass. 

"Charles!" said his wife. 

"May I please be excused?" said Charles, rising in his chair, beet-red 
beneath his new tan from this latest performance of his parents. 

His father's eyes opened nearly all the way. "Inna middle of a family meal? 
You may not be excused." 

"Finish your lunchie, dear," said his mother, and resumed the dabbling of 
her fork in her plate. 

Charles saw Erika bite her plump lower lip in mute sympathy for him as she 
left the room, and that made it all the worse. 

Only the dull clatter of the elder Goodson's knife and fork against bone 
china sounded in the room now until at length he laboriously cleared his 
throat and said, "Good hot day today. Gotta . . . we've got to go into that 
rotten old smoggy L.A. tomorrow or the nex' day. Business," he said, though 
he was long since retired from what he called the "Insurance Game" and the 
only business he engaged in now was cashing stock dividend checks and 
getting loaded at the Racquet Club. "Wanna come along this time?" he said, 
swiveling his beaky face toward Charles on his turkey's neck. 

"No, thanks." Charles wasn't hungry any more. He wasn't even horny at the 
moment. Why did they have to make such assholes of themselves? Why did they 
have to drink so much? "I've got a lot to do here. I haven't even put my new 
telescope together yet, and I've barely gotten started on the TV set." 

Charles II chuckled and shook his head over his uplifted wineglass. "Knew 
you'd like the color TV set kit. Complicated sonofagun. But not for a 
certified ee-lectronic genius like my boy. Our boy. Eh, Alice. Genius. 
Gee-eye-onius! Heh-heh-heh. Butchyer never. . . but you're never going to 
get your private pilot's license unless you start flying with us and log 
some more hours, boy. Ins'rument flying, night hops, multi-engine, you gotta 
get 'em all in before you get that ol' license, and I'm not talking about 
some single engine license, I'm talking about the real thing. Why, I 
remember when I took my flight training at Luke Field in '43. Your mother 
was there. Back then we had nothing but.. . " 

He launched into the start of the History of World War II again and Charles 
let his mind drift to the tawny-skinned brunette in his girlie mag and how 
he'd hardly had a chance to make it with her before Old Erika had come 
barging in on him. Old Erika. Wow! What a hand job! She could teach the 
girls at Monroe Academy a thing or two if she had a credential. Was that 
really the way they did things in Sweden? If so, he was being brought up in 
the wrong country. Then again, some of that country-the best part-was living 
right in the same house with him. It might be a crazy summer. His dick might 
hang down to his knees before he was fully enrolled at the old man's Alma 
Mater in the fall, good old UCLA. Yes, it could be an interesting summer if 
his fucking parents didn't bore him to death before then. Or embarrass him 
to death. To act like this and then wonder why he didn't have any friends in 
Palm Springs was simply incredible. His father got to the Battle of the 
Coral Sea before his yawning mother said it was time for their nap, and 
Charles rose to help her out of her chair. 

Charles carried some of the dishes into the kitchen. "Oh, you should not do 
that!" said Erika, and tried to take them from him, causing a near disaster 
as he grimly went on to place them on the sink. 

"I do what I want around here," he told her. "If I feel like clearing some 
dishes, I do it. If I want you to swim in our pool, it gets done. Now get 
out of my way so I can get the rest of that stuff in there." 

He cleared the table, every bit of it, while Erika meekly scraped the 
largely uneaten food into the garbage disposal and loaded up the washer with 
all that remained of another wasted midday meal. He snatched a coke from the 
refrigerator and guzzled it down, and when he turned to glare at her, she 
said, "I thank you." 

"What for?" he flared. "Clearing the damned dishes or get you into the dumb 
pool that nobody uses except me? Forget it." 

She glanced at his loins, primly encased in shorts and white flared pants 
now. It was only a glance of the shortest kind, but it threatened to melt 
away his fury until she said, "I hope you do not do these things for me 
because I do something for you. It is only a nat.. . " 

"God-DAMNIT!" he shouted, and threw his coke can at the door. "That's got 
nothing to do with anything! I had a hard-on and you jacked me off! It was . 
. . natural! It didn't have anything to do with clearing off the stupid 
dishes or getting their stupid permission for you to use the pool when you 
want to! Christ's sake! Even a damned dog ought to be able to cool off in 
this lousy hot place!" 

He waved his arms wildly as he said it, and she nodded her flaxen head and 
returned to her dishes and said, "Ya. Even a dog." 

"Oh, Erika, Erika," he implored, coming to her and touching her firm bulk, 
laying his cheek against her shoulder. "I didn't mean that. WHY DO I ALWAYS 
SAY THE WRONG THING?? ? " He turned her to face him, almost wept then he saw 
the sadness in her lovely smooth face. But through it he grinned his best 
boyish grin and said, "Hey, how about a swim? Huh? Let's take a swim. You 
and me. It's so darned hot. The dishes can wait. Let's take a swim. Okay? 
Come on, Erika. Get your suit on. Let's go!" 

When she slowly nodded his spirit soared. When she brushed at what could be 
a tear he gave her a swat on the butt and said, "LET'S GO!" 

Charles had all the makings of a hard-on as he rushed from his luncheon 
clothes into his jock and cut-offs. There was no way he could make it 
through a swim with her without having a terrible need to be jerked off, and 
no way he could impose that on her now. At least not today. But suck up to 
her, do dumb little things for her, and it would be a hand job summer all 
summer long! Was he that heartless?, he asked himself. That horny? YES!, he 
replied, and tiptoed through the house toward the pool. 

His parents were already asleep. He could hear his father snoring and his 
mother mumbling as he paused outside their door. He longer to peep through 
the keyhole on Erika's door and watch her getting into her suit but instead 
he went to the pool and anxiously waited for her there. 

At last she came out, tucking the last of her thick golden hair into one of 
those tan, gum rubber bathing caps that male swimmers wear. And she had on 
that ridiculous dark gray tank bathing suit, baggy and drab, making her skin 
look even whiter as she came smiling toward him at the pool. She stopped 
right beside him. Old and big as she was, she sure did have a heckuva 
figure, and it was only just then that Charles realized how little support 
her tits needed for their great size. 

"I thank you again for letting this happen," she murmured, and she brushed 
his cheek with her full lips and made a perfect dive into the water. 

She surfaced laughing and facing him in the deep end. Already Charles was 
getting a hard-on as he dove toward her, swam on his back under her, looking 
up at her big white legs treading water and the narrow strip of dark cloth 
between them. Looking up at her he banged his head against the other side of 
the pool, but by the time he surfaced his prick was fully hard. 

As he came up she went under. All he saw of her was her big round ass 
followed by her heavy white legs as she plunged downward. He watched her 
move like a seal through the water, and then he had to follow her. He caught 
her by the foot and swam away. She was after him at once, immediately taking 
up the game of water tag. She was a very powerful swimmer, and for the next 
ten minutes it was all Charles could do to keep up with her, while in the 
process of this he touched her feet and legs, and on one crazy occasion her 
ass. They wound up the game clinging to the ladder and puffing and shaking 
water and grinning at each other. 

"Ah! This feels so good!" she said. 

Her smooth leg brushed against his under water and he said, "Yeah!" 

"I will swim many times now. With you, perhaps. But not so many that your 
parents disapprove." 

"Aw, they don't care." She really had a beautiful face, even as wide as it 
was. 'They're sound asleep now. Passed out." Her big tits looked like they 
were trying to float out of her suit, and it seemed the sexiest thing in the 
world when she hiked a fallen shoulder strap back into place. "They wouldn't 
wake up now if there was a pool party going on." 

"We have our party," she said, and for a moment he feared she was going to 
kiss him, but then she brushed the tip of his nose with hers and climbed out 
of the pool, leaving him to look straight up between her legs to where the 
water gushed out of the sagging crotch band of her knit suit. 

They stood in the shade by his bar bell equipment to dry off. There was so 
much of her to look at, and yet no way he could stare. Was this the woman 
who'd offered him hand jobs? And how did you go about taking her up on it? 

"In the kitchen," he said, "I didn't mean anything when I said that about a 
dog. You're really a good-looking woman. A really nice woman." 

She grinned and said, "And you are a very nice boy." And she stroked his wet 
hair, and once again she leaned forward with pursed lips, and if Charles 
hadn't turned his head a fraction he might have had to kiss her on the lips. 

She snapped off her cap and shook out her thick yellow hair, for once 
unbraided and making her look younger, almost wildly younger. She said, "And 
what is this you say in the kitchen about.. . hard-on? And jacking off?" 

He blushed in an instant and muttered, "I dunno. It's sort of slang. It's . 
. . Never mind. Forget it." 

"Is it this?" she said, and her hand went down to his front, and as light as 
her touch was, he felt it through every part of his body. 

He nodded his head quickly. She smiled and gave his cock a squeeze, raising 
an eyebrow in mock surprise as Charles nearly jumped out of his skin. "It is 
a hard-on now? It wants to be . . . jacked off again so soon?" 

He nodded. "Yeah. Please. Please, Erika!" 

"Mmmmmmmm. Yes-s-s-s-s. It does make you feel so nice," she said, frankly 
stroking the long bulge in his cut-offs now as he swayed and panted and 
feared he might pass out from feeling so good. "I would like to do it for 
you if your parents were not here." 

"They won't wake up! You could do it right here and nobody'd see!" 

"Oh? Right here?" she said, and pop, pop, pop! the buttons of his cut-offs 
came open. She dared him on with her smile. Without a backward glance at the 
house she shucked his cut-offs down and stood beside her in his bulging 
jockstrap. She pursed her lips and stroked his thinly covered cock and said, 
"Oh, you look so nice in this. Such a sexy boy, but with such a big need. 
Come with me now," she said, and pecked him on the lips, and now he pushed 
his lips against hers before following after the big shifting buttocks that 
led the way to the cabana. 

She kissed him again inside the shadowy warm little house. She was so big 
and soft, and her body was still all cool from their swim. He clung to the 
kiss now, wanting to feel more of her big tits against his chest and her 
hand stroking his fiendishly itching cock, and she was almost chuckling when 
she backed away from the kiss. 

She snapped the straps of his jock, ran her hand inside its pouch to feel of 
his bare cock and around behind to squeeze his tensed and trembling 
buttocks, all the while murmuring softly and offering her big soft lips for 
him to kiss and pant against. He didn't know what to do with his hands. They 
fluttered feebly against her damp suit and heavy curves while hers glided 
over him in thrilling fashion and her lips and even her tongue tip worked 
all around his panting mouth. 

She backed away a bit, still lightly fondling his cock. In this light, with 
her golden hair in waves about her face, she was absolutely beautiful. She 
pulled down the waistband of his jock and looked down as the flaming, 
flame-red head of his cock pushed out above it, and whispered, "So pretty, 
your hard-on." She kneaded it with excruciating delicacy between thumb and 
forefinger, and murmured, "This is what you call it here? A hard-on?" 

"Yes," he panted, looking down with her. "That's my penis," he said. "My 
penis, my prick, my dick, my cock!" 

"And this?" she said, drawing burning circles on his cockhead with the ball 
of her forefinger, spreading the sticky wetness around. 

"Jizz," he managed to say. "Sperm. Semen. Cum!" 

She nodded. "I have heard of cum. Such a pretty cock. Such a pretty prick," 
she said. "I must see all of it. And your-your balls? -your balls, too." 

He let out a long whistling sigh as she crouched down in the stifling 
dimness and pulled down the straps of his jock. His dick flopped right out 
and his balls tried to crawl up inside him at her touch, and then he loudly 
moaned as, quite unbelievably, she kissed the head of his cock, took it in 
her mouth and actually sucked it. and then let it rub all against her body, 
tits and belly and everything, as she stood up smiling to face him again! 

"Such a pretty cock. Such nice big balls. What a beautiful young man, and 
how badly he needs his help from me," she said, and somehow Charles' cock 
was up inside the leg hole of her swimming suit and he was kissing her 
wildly, just as wildly as he was cumming. 

His cock was sandwiched tight between their bodies and he was uncontrollably 
humping it up between her silken firm skin and the knit bathing suit she 
wore. It was spurting against her, again and again and again, and she was 
pulling him harder against her and letting him kiss her as hard as he 
wanted. She sucked his tongue in her mouth and swirled her tongue all around 
it, and still he kept on shooting. The ecstasy was so great he was moaning 
through the deep, deep kisses and clutching two handfuls of her bathing suit 
as if to rip it right off her wonderful big body. He was sweating heavily; 
she was still as cool as the pool water, and with her fingers digging deeply 
into his spasming buttocks, she held him hard against her till the really 
heavy spurting stopped and he was left with just the wonderful tingling all 
over his body. He went on kissing her, letting go of her bathing suit to 
clasp her round cheeks in his hands until he thought he was going to faint, 
and then he swayed backward and his cock came out from under her bathing 
suit and he saw the big drool of pearly white jism that ran down her leg. 

She saw it, too. She looked down and laughed and scooped up a dollop on her 
finger, licked it off and said, "Good! And now we swim a quick time more," 
she said, and kissed him and went laughing off toward the pool. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

It did not take Charles long to follow Erika into the pool. At the sound of 
her splash he pulled up his jockstrap and bounded out after her, dove in on 
the run and swam in her direction. 

She was swimming the length of the pool, blonde hair streaming behind her, 
and he boldly swam right into her, tried to wrestle her down for an 
underwater kiss, and she slithered away like a wet bulky seal. He went after 
her again. They were playing serious tag now, and he got his hands on her 
ass and her legs and even her tits as she eluded him again and again. She 
was tireless, ever eluding him, always laughing, and when with effortless 
grace she heaved herself up on the edge of the pool it was all he could do 
to paddle up to her and cling to her knees. 

"You feel better now, Charles?" 

"Never better," he panted, "in my life! Wow! I never felt so good. . . . " 

She interrupted him by bending down, taking his cheeks in her hands, kissing 
him hard but all too short on the mouth. When she straightened up again she 
was smiling as broadly as ever and both of her shoulder straps hung down 
over her arms in that sexy, sexy way. "Nice boy. Handsome young man," she 
said, and rumpled his hair. 

"You're sure a . . . good swimmer," he said, and glanced right straight 
ahead at her twat for an instant, hidden behind that band of dark gray 
cloth, water dripping from it, blonde hairs peeping out against the big 
roundnesses of her thighs. "I'm sure glad you came to work for my folks." 

She rubbed his sides with her bare feet. Ever smiling, she said, "Because 
you like my cooking or because you like the jacking off?" 

"No! Neither one. I mean, because I like you. You're really nice. And I'll 
do everything I can to see my folks get your daughter over here." 

"That would be so good," she said, and gave him her mouth again, her tongue 
too, and then got up and headed for the house, tugging her floppy bathing 
suit down over her great big asscheeks, leaving him with still another 
hard-on in the water. 

In the afternoon he took the Seville to the shopping center and there he 
went to the sporting goods store. He didn't find anything suitable there and 
with some trepidation went on to a ladies' wear store. It was an 
embarrassing experience, though he knew it certainly shouldn't have been. 
His intended purchase was ordinary enough in Palm Springs and it was 
probably only embarrassing because of the presence of the almost smirking 
sales girl. He wasn't sure at all of the size or the style of what he was 
after and he fought against anxiety, sweating in the air-conditioned store 
while the sales girl brought out bathing suit after bathing suit till the 
showcase was covered with them. At last he picked one out, muttering for the 
third time that it was "for his aunt" as the girl handed it over to him and 
he paid cash for it. He drove toward the house with his right hand resting 
on the rustling bag beside him and his brain and body seething with the 
knowledge that he'd had a blow job that very day and survived it. My God, 
her mouth on his cock, simply incredible! And she'd do it again! Probably 
all he had to do was ask her. And the swimming suit he'd bought for her was 
nothing at all in the way of a bribe. He just wanted to do something nice 
for the poor dumb woman. And he wanted to see her in it. Old as she was, 
she'd probably look pretty good in it. He could almost see her in it 
already. He turned around and went to the camera store for several rolls of 
35-mm film and some fresh developing chemicals. 

That evening at dinner he brought up the subject of getting Erika's daughter 
over for a visit. With some difficulty he learned from his parents that 
there were visitor's visas and immigrant's visas, and that Erika was there 
on a visitor's visa, working slightly illegally. Her daughter might come on 
a visitor's visa, too. Visitor's visas were good for three months, although 
they could be extended. Immigrant's visas were difficult to obtain but led 
eventually to citizenship status. Professing great interest in aliens' 
rights, he managed to get his parents to impart their little knowledge of 
this to him while their cock fetched and carried yet another splendid meal, 
beaming special smiles at him over his parents' heads. If he'd been granted 
one wish in his life then, it would be that she'd come over and open his 
pants and give him another blow job right there at the table in front of his 
parents. After dinner, while his parents sipped brandy and looked at 
television, Charles cleaned all the equipment in his dark room, did a little 
work on a CB transmitter he was building, and jacked off in his bathroom 
before going to bed. 

In the morning his parents talked about taking the Cessna to L.A. He wished 
they would. It would give him two or even three days alone in the house with 
Erika, and there was no telling how many hand jobs and blow jobs would take 
place in the cabana during that time. But, as usual, after a couple of 
bloody marys his parents opted for the Racquet Club for a little relaxation 
before their usual late lunch. Charles would have at least two hours alone 
with Erika. 

As soon as they were gone he brought his gift to Erika as she worked in the 
kitchen. Somehow she looked even sexy in her green uniform dress that 
morning, but she'd be looking a whole lot sexier soon. 

"It is for me?" she said, holding it up by its thin black shoulder straps. 

"Sure it is. You'll look good in it." Why in hell hadn't he had it 
gift-wrapped? "It's a whole lot better than that funky old suit you've been 
wearing. Try it on. Let's take a swim," he said, cool as could be, heart 
thumping wildly. 

"But it is too small for me. No?" she said, turning it over and over in her 
hands, poking her fingers through the holes in it. 

"It stretches. See?" He showed her, drawing the shiny black fabric so tight 
he could see the white balls of his fingers through it. "You'll look great 
in it. Try it on. Let's go." 

"A gift for me. How very nice you are," she said, and she kissed his cheek, 
squeezed his hand through the bathing suit, and he wanted to rip off her 
clothes and put it on her right then and there in the middle of the kitchen. 

He practically had to push her out of the kitchen toward her room. Her 
gratitude was as embarrassing as when he'd made the purchase. He rushed to 
his room and got into his jockstrap and his best trunks, hurriedly checked 
over his Nikon and went to listen outside her door. He went to the back yard 
and took a couple of random shots around the pool. Why was she taking so 
long? What if it really was too small for her? If it didn't stretch enough 
to cover her big tits and big ass, he'd go back and see that salesgirl 
fired. He was about to go and listen at her door again, perhaps knock and 
see if she was all right, when she appeared at the back door, absolutely 
magnificent. 

If the suit had been half a size smaller she never would have made it into 
it. It was all black, of course, with crisscrossing lacing clear down its 
sides and several inches down between her barely contained tits. Its leg 
holes rose high on her thighs to meet the lacings and its supremely taut 
front panel formed a broad black vee that led right on down to her crotch. 
She turned to show him more, how the thin strong straps cut through her soft 
back to join the very low back of the suit, how the seat of it managed to 
contain much of her big and very beautiful ass. She turned and posed for him 
there on the back porch while he giggled and gaped, too enthralled and 
shocked by what he had created to even think of the camera for the moment. 
And then she came toward him, moving with the grace of a model despite her 
heavy bulk. 

"I take so long to fix my hair for you," she softly said, raising big, 
gleaming white arms to touch her hands to her intricately braided and 
interwoven hair. 

"You look . . . just great!" he said, stepping back from her with difficulty 
to look at more of her. 

"It is so tight," she said, running her hands up and down her sveltely 
indented waist, her flat belly, her smoothly curving hips and her absolutely 
jutting tits. "It is too . . . sexy for me." 

"No it isn't! It's beautiful on you. You're beautiful!" 

She shook her lovely head. "Much much too sexy. Your cock is probably hard 
already from looking at me like this, and this is no way to be." 

"What's wrong with that?" He grinned and rubbed himself there. "So I've got 
a hard-on. So what?" 

She glided close and brushed a kiss on his lips. "I cannot see you sexy, and 
that is wrong," she said, and plucked at his trunks. "Maybe take those off, 
then I let you take a picture of me." 

He'd forgotten all about the camera. It thumped against his thumping chest 
as he quickly took off trunks and jockstrap, unashamedly letting his stiff 
cock stand up to look with him at the great sexy beauty he'd created out of 
a dumb Swedish cook. 

She struck pose after pose for him. She was a perfect photographer's model. 
He got her in profile and from front and rear, bending over and lifting her 
arms on high, sometimes smiling and sometimes looking sulky, but all the 
time looking sexy as could be. He shot her from every angle, even squatting 
down so that his balls were scraped by the hot concrete, and she did 
everything he suggested. She was even cooperative when he suggested she pose 
with his barbells. He took some weights off till it was down to thirty 
pounds, where she could lift it, and then he caught her straining upward 
with his apparatus in her hands, arching backward, looking like some sort of 
Viking goddess. He was down to his last two rolls of film before he got up 
the courage to say, "Why don't you pull one shoulder strap down a little? 
Huh?" 

One blonde eyebrow arched and she said, "Oh, so you want even more sexy 
pictures now. Should not those be in the house? Nice and cool there, with a 
cold drink for my young man who is looking so hot." 

He rubbed his aching cock. "Yeah. I sure am hot. Let's go inside." 

They took a fast swim first. Cool water had never felt so good against his 
prick and balls. She twined her fingers through his as they walked toward 
the house, him with his dick up hard and drying off fast. She turned on the 
hi-fi while he very quickly poured lemonade for them. He found her dancing 
by herself in the sumptuous living room, bare feet moving lightly over the 
thick carpeting, black elastic clad body gleaming even more sexily in the 
wet. He wanted to click the shutter as fast as it would go as she peeled 
down a thin black shoulder strap, but now he was too much aware of how 
little film he had left. 

Down it came. She even wriggled her arm out of it and he felt sure she must 
have glue on her nipple to keep the cup in place. His voice was a feeble 
croak as he said, "How about the other one, too?" 

"But I would fall out," she said, sensuously stroking that shoulder still 
bearing the black strap. "Wouldn't I?" she said, and Charles' camera snapped 
three times before she'd peeled it down to her elbow. 

She let it hang with the other and she laughed as she tugged upward at the 
precariously held bra cups of her wet swim suit. "I think the pictures are 
getting too sexy now. Soon you will have me with no clothes on at all, and 
then what?" 

"Please, Erika. Please," he said, and fell down on his knees, letting the 
camera bang against his chest as he held his hands in prayerful attitude. 
"Just let me see your t-titties. I won't even take any pictures if you don't 
want. Lemme look once, Erika," he said, rubbing hard at his bare thighs, 
anything to keep his hands off his incredibly big, hard cock. 

She came toward him and bent forward, still holding her bra cups up. Her 
shoulder straps had made vivid pink lines deep through her soft white 
shoulders. "You young men," she said, "always thinking of nothing but a 
woman's titties. There is more, you know," she said, and straightened up and 
smoothed a hand over her belly and that broad, deep vee of her crotch, and 
Charles quickly roused himself to take two close-up shots of that bulging 
black vee with the graceful white hand playing over it. Then he dropped the 
camera on its strap and held up his hands in pleading and said, "Just let me 
see 'em. Please. Just let me see your tits one time, and I promise, I 
promise I'll do everything I can to help you get your daughter over here for 
a visit. Erika, please!" 

"Do not cry about it, Charles." She bent down again and pinched his cheek 
and ruffled his hair. Nothing but the tightness of the suit he'd bought her 
held it up now, and her tits bulged beautifully over its top and between the 
center lacings. Her smile was warm and her voice was soft as she said, 
"Sometimes a young man must take matters into his own hands." 

His hands. They shook like his father's on a Sunday morning as they reached 
toward the top of that beautiful black bathing suit he'd bought for this 
beautiful blonde woman. He very gingerly took the cups between thumbs and 
forefingers, pulled them down half an inch, and her gorgeous big tits were 
bare before his eyes. "Oh, LOOK at 'em! Just LOOK at 'em!" he said, hands 
still trembling and held before him as she laughed and shook the big white 
globes before his goggling eyes. 

Her nipples looked as big as saucers. They were a lovely delicate shade of 
pink. Her tits themselves were so big and round they hung almost to her 
waist, and their alabaster whiteness was finely marked with pale blue veins. 
He would have grabbed them but she took them in hand herself, lifting and 
kneading them in the most sensuous fashion imaginable as she straightened up 
and took them out of his reach. Luckily he had enough of his wits about him 
to take some pictures of her as she played with them with frankly expressed 
enjoyment, and as she did he saw those big flat nipples pucker and elongate 
and swell till they stood an inch out from her unbelievably big tits. 

Even the dangling top of her swim suit added to her supreme sexiness. Even 
the new pink marks the suit had left heightened Charles' excitement. He was 
up on his knees, cock sticking up at her, taking picture after picture as 
she did her wonderful thing for him. 

The camera stopped and he muttered a curse and took it from around his neck. 
She asked him what was wrong and he said, "End of the roll of film, darn 
it." 

"But you have another?" 

"Yes, but I'll save it. Right now I need . . . something else," he said, and 
he looked down at his rampant prick, and he rubbed it and squeezed his 
balls, and he looked back at her with pleading in his eyes. 

She waggled her eyebrows and licked her lovely lips, and still playing with 
her gorgeous big tits, she said, "Please load it again. I must have a 
picture of you, too." 

"Oh, no," he said. "Nothing doing." 

"But I must have my scrapbook, too," she said, looking coy as she could 
under those circumstances and driving him further crazy with the way she was 
plucking at her erect nipples with her fingers and thumbs. 

"Pictures of me? Naked? With a hard-on? Come on, Erika!" 

She tried to pout like a child, and that wasn't successful either. "For me?" 
she said. "Not a chance," he said. 

She heaved a heavy sigh and began to shrug into her shoulder straps again, 
and Charles said, "Wait a minute! Here, I'll load the camera. It's all set. 
What do you want me to do?" 

"Why, just have fun. As I did." 

He made a big joke of it, rolling around on the floor, pretending he was 
beating off. She seemed to like it, though. She followed him around, 
shooting down on him, big naked tits swaying over him. She directed him 
then, as he had her, and got him up on the couch where he sat like a froggy 
with his legs drawn up and his balls and even his asshole exposed to the 
camera as she knelt before him and took shot after shot, closer and closer. 
And when the thirty-sixth exposure was made, she took the camera strap from 
around her neck and set the Nikon aside and moved in on him. 

"You are a good model. You have a handsome cock," she said. She already had 
it in her hand, and now she licked it, took it in her mouth, gave it one 
little suck that almost flipped him over the back of the couch. "But where 
do we get the pictures made?" 

"I have a lab. A darkroom. I'll take care of it," he panted, prick throbbing 
hard in her hand. 

"You have everything," she said, and then she gave him more than he'd ever 
had by coming closer, burying his prick and balls and entire crotch in her 
soft, warm tits, and kissing him on the mouth, sucking on his tongue as only 
she could. 

Charles no longer knew what he was doing. She was up on the couch beside 
him, lightly but excruciatingly playing with his cock, guiding his hand to 
her tits so he could feel of them all he wanted to. They kissed a thousand 
times. A thousand times he felt her warm, soft mouth on his, licking and 
sucking and further driving him wonderfully mad, and at least half that many 
times he felt her mouth and saw it on his prick, licking and kissing as if 
that part of him was the most delectable thing in the world. 

They turned and rolled together on the couch, him panting in his 
ever-mounting passion, her tinkling out laughter with the very freedom of it 
all. For the hundredth time his face brushed against a wondrously soft big 
tit, but this time she stopped in their slow contortions, extruded the big 
nipple through her hand, and said, "Oh? He wants to suckle?" 

Her nipple was weird, but it was beautiful to feel in his mouth. She purred 
and cooed and fed him more and more as he got his hands on it himself as 
well as his mouth and sucked and licked like a starving madman. The textures 
were wonderful. The living warmth intoxicating. But the most thrilling part 
of all was the way she responded to it. 

"Oh. He tickles with his mouth. Mmmmm. He tries to get me excited, hot like 
he is. What a nice boy. What a beautiful big baby to suck on mama's titty 
like this. But look, here is another one. Ah-h-h-h-h. So nice! Pretty mouth. 
Sweet mouth. Give me more kisses now before I get the hard-on, too." 

He returned to her mouth in such a frenzy of passion that his aching prick 
and balls were all but forgotten. It was a wild, completely illogical thrill 
to know he was exciting this dumb old Swedish cook who usually stank of 
onions and yeast, but as he kissed her open mouth he kept pulling and pawing 
at her kiss-wet tits to keep her that aroused. 

Now Charles tore away from her mouth to descend on her tits with renewed 
voracity, and now in return a very real shudder and sigh escaped her and she 
guided his hand down between her legs. It was soft yet very firm under the 
deep black vee of her very tight bathing suit. The inner sides of her thighs 
felt exquisitely silken in contrast to the very smooth fabric of her suit. 
For one wild moment he was sucking tit and groping pussy at the same time, 
but then she shuddered again and pushed him away. There was no more laughter 
in her, not even in her eyes, as she said, "I suck you off now. I suck you 
off very good. Lay over on your back." 

Her body over his blocked out everything else in the room. He'd heard about 
sixty-nine and now he feared he was in for it himself as she took the 
position on hands and knees over him on the couch. But then all that was 
forgotten as the ecstasy flooded through him again at the warm touch of her 
enveloping mouth on his cock. 

Up and down she went, sucking and licking simultaneously, with Charles in 
such a position that he couldn't even thrash about in the overwhelming 
sensations that were flooding everywhere through him. All he could do was 
moan and cling to her naked sides and rock his head back and forth on the 
couch cushion. He couldn't even let go of her sides and grab her tits as she 
hung over him, sucking his cock and rolling his balls in her hand and 
tickling all around his asshole with her fingers. 

"Uh!" Charles thought he was cumming. His naked body gave a huge jerk, 
thrusting his face up between Erika's legs. When he fell back the sensations 
were still mounting in him, and he was more aware than ever of her big pussy 
directly over his grimacing face. 

The crotch band of her suit was jet black and drum tight. It was concave on 
both sides with the curvature of her thighs, and once again he could see 
stray cunt hairs peeping out. It was like a modern sculpture, in its way, 
and with very little if any of that rank fishy smell the clods at school 
joked about. Now he clung to her heavy thighs with both arms as he gazed up 
at her pussy, looking at it as an objet dyart, for Christ's sakes, while he 
was going out of his mind from her tits on his belly and her mouth on his 
cock. 

"Uh! OH! OH-H-H-H-H, ERIKA-A-A-A-A-A!! ! " This time he was cumming, in a 
very big way. It came gushing out of him and into her hot mouth, propelled 
by her hand on his balls, drawn on by the slurping suction of her mouth. 

He went crazy with it. He'd been waiting too long for it and now that it was 
happening it was almost too much for him. In fact, it was too much for him 
for it had his thrashing like a wounded snake, clinging to her big hips for 
all he was worth, trying to beg her to stop for a moment but unable to speak 
for now his face was thrust hard up between her legs. 

It wasn't going to stop! He could neither see nor hear because of the sheer 
intensity of his ecstasy, but he could certainly feel, and he could smell 
her now, too, and the smell of her was sickeningly delicious. He mouthed and 
even gnawed at her bulging full crotch band as his cock spurted and spurted, 
torrents of hot jism which she sucked up and swallowed with unrelenting 
gusto. He was limp as a wet paper towel when at last her mouth came off his 
cock, yet tingling all over. He felt good, he felt wonderful all over, and 
yet he was disgusted with himself for so totally losing control, and 
disgusted with her for making it happen to him. 

She turned around on the couch to face him, looming like a great grinning 
blonde harpy, and she said, "That is so good to have your cock sucked. Good 
for me, too." 

"Lemme up. Jesus, what happened? Erika, get off me and let me get up." 

"Right away? This is the time to relax. Rest." 

"I gotta get up. My folks. They could come home early today. Erika, get off 
me! Jesus, let a guy breathe." 

She sighed and rolled off the couch, somehow got her blubbery big tits 
inside her bathing suit and walked away, saying, "As you wish. I must go 
shop for lunch now." 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Charles went to his room and showered for five minutes and brushed hit teeth 
for ten. Eating it. My God, what ever had possessed him to even come close 
to eating a box? Especially that fat old cook's! He could see maybe kissing 
your bride down there a little while you were on your honeymoon, but to do 
it in broad daylight to a dopey old bag like Erika was something else. He 
didn't know how it had happened with her, but he knew it wasn't going to 
happen again. He shouldn't have gotten her that bathing suit. That was the 
first mistake. Christ's sake, get a girl a little something and she was all 
over you, expecting more and more all the time. The bathing suit was a waste 
anyway. He'd probably have gotten just as good a blow job from her if he'd 
given her a box of candy. She'd open her legs for him if he wanted her to. 
He hadn't any doubt about that. But who in hell wanted to fuck a fat old 
slob with a stinking old cunt like hers? 

And it sure had stunk. He didn't see how professional cunt-lappers stood it. 
He doubted if anybody ever did it on a regular basis unless they were tied 
hand and foot and forced to keep their face deep in a woman's crotch until 
they finally ate her. Charles Goodson III wasn't going to be a cunt-lapper. 
Oh, he might try it some time under the right circumstances, for he owed it 
to himself to try a little of everything in life, but he'd never be known as 
a muff-diver. "I just can't stand the smell of it, that's all," he told his 
reflection in the mirror, and washed away the tooth paste from his mouth and 
went to gather up his strewn photography equipment. 

The pictures would be a real laugh. He wished he had someone to show them 
to. He probably ought to destroy them, because his parents wouldn't like it 
at all if they came across them in his room, but they were always so bombed 
they probably wouldn't even recognize the model as Erika, and with all his 
projects going, they never went into his room anyway. He'd develop the film 
someday when he got around to it. Someday when he was about thirty-five he'd 
run across the rolls and develop them and smile in fond remembrance of his 
seventeenth summer, that summer of hand jobs and strip teases and 
sensational blow jobs from the Swedish cook. 

He heard the Chevy start up and opened the curtain on his window enough to 
see Erika taking off for her shopping trip. She wasn't all that bad. He 
might fuck her anyhow. But no, that was out of the question. It wouldn't be 
fair to her. Christ, first thing you know she'd fall in love with him and 
next thing you know he'd get her knocked up and wouldn't his folks love 
having his little Swedish bastard son playing naked around the house. He'd 
just play things cool with Erika. Real cool. 

He strolled about the house and backyard, looking for any telltale evidence 
of the near-orgy they'd had. Everything looked in order. He really was too 
smart for his folks to catch him dallying with the cook. He went to her room 
and eased the door open, half expecting to find her waiting naked on the bed 
for him. 

Erika was gone, of course, but her swim suit was there in a crumpled black 
and white ball on the bed. It certainly did look too small for her now. He 
picked it up between thumb and forefinger, chuckling at the things women 
did, the things they wore to try to make themselves attractive to men. 

It had a little white liner, like panties, sewn into the bottom of the suit. 
The crotch looked stained, as if she'd gotten so excited at the height of 
things she'd pissed in her pants a little. It didn't smell like piss, 
though. It smelled like pussy, and Charles wrinkled his nose in disgust and 
smelled it again, not understanding at all how anyone could ever get used to 
such a smell. 

He held the suit against his cheek. It was still warm from her body. Holding 
it up in front of him, it didn't seem like the darned thing would even fit a 
body as slender as his. It didn't even look as if his leg would go through a 
leg hole, but the black material was very, very stretchy. It had to be to 
handle tits and hips like Erika's. All Charles had on was a towel. He left 
it around his waist as he put his finger through the leg holes of Erika's 
new bathing suit and gingerly pulled it up his legs. Weird what women wore. 
It made him snicker to do a knee bend and hitch the dumb thing up about his 
loins, where it fit surprisingly well considering it also fit Erika's huge 
ass. 

With the straps and top dangling down under the towel, he took a look around 
her little room. Radio and alarm clock, books in Swedish, country scenes 
framed on the walls, picture of her daughter on her night stand, blonde and 
not bad looking at all. There was stuff hanging in her closet and more stuff 
in her chest of drawers. She had about a ton of plain white panties and 
brassieres. The brassieres looked big enough to hold a couple of 
cantaloupes. The panties smelled sweet, even in the crotch when he held that 
part of a pair to his nose, not at all the funky smell of the crotch of the 
swimsuit he'd tried on. 

He found her laundry hamper in her closet. The crotch of panties there 
smelled a little funky. Not really dirty, but certainly not sweet like the 
fresh clean ones in her drawer. He looked around a little more, under the 
bed and in her writing drawer, and then he almost pissed in his pants at the 
sound of a car door closing. 

It had to be his parents, come home early. Panic seized him and he ducked 
into Erika's closet, closed the door behind him and stood trembling in the 
dark with her clothes brushing his goose-pimpled back and a box of shoes or 
something falling down on his head. They'd find him there! He quickly fucked 
off the bathing suit and shucked it behind him on the floor. "Hi, Mom. Hi, 
Dad. I was just. . . checking the dimensions of the house. I'm planning on 
wiring hi-fi speakers to each of the rooms. It was going to be a surprise 
for you." They'd believe it, if they'd had their usual quota of sociable 
drinks at the club. Or they wouldn't even think to look for him, and he 
could soon leave qui.. . 

What if it was Erika, back from the store?? ? "Boo! I hid here to scare you. 
It's an old American custom." She was dumb enough to believe that, and if 
she didnt he'd tell her to keep her fat mouth shut or she'd never get her 
kid over here. And he'd get himself another blow job on top of it. 

He had to get out of there, no matter who was in the house. But what if it 
were burglars? Better to be caught by them in the maid's room than by a 
member of the household. 

He eased the door open and heard not a sound. He tiptoed to the hall door, 
picking up his towel as he went and wrapping it around his waist and his 
hard-on. Still not a sound and he was about to slip out of the room when he 
remembered her bathing suit, hurried back and got it and carefully arranged 
it just where it had been on the bed, with the cups all plumped out like 
they were full of tit. Then as quiet as a snake he eased out into the hall 
and down it toward his room, scooting past the kitchen doorway just as Erika 
came through the back door with a load of groceries. He was sure he'd been 
too quick for her, but then her voice called out, "Hellooo, there. Who is 
that little naked imp I see?" 

He got to his door, stood panting against it with the hot remembrance of her 
hands on his body tingling all over him, and then he returned, faced her 
with a sappy grin in the kitchen, and said, "I'm not naked. See?" 

She flipped the towel up and looked at his cock. "Almost," she said, and 
gave it a spine-tingling little flip. "Come. Help me put these things away. 
Then if we have time I show you surprise I buy for you." 

"A . . . a surprise?" 

"Just for you." 

"You, uh, sure weren't gone long," he said, throwing things into cupboards 
and drawers, his dick as hard as it could be under the towel and his body 
feeling more naked than if he'd been nude, while her big shapeliness moved 
with quick efficiency beside him. 

"Simple shopping today. And I know just what it is I get for my handsome 
young man, the weight-lifter." 

She produced a small flat package, tied with ribbon, and again he mentally 
kicked himself for not gift-wrapping her swim suit. Charles received 
presents all the time and was blase about that sort of thing, but now he was 
leaping and reaching for this one as she held it over her head and, 
laughing, let him into the hall. 

"No, no," she said. "There is no time to see it properly now. I put it away 
now, and you see it this afternoon." 

"What is it? Aw, come on, what is it?" he said, laughing with her and 
getting several good feels of her tits as she kept it away from him all the 
way to her room. 

And there she stopped, and knit her smooth brow first at her new swim suit 
on the bed, then at her open closet door, with one box of her shoes spilled 
down on the floor. "What is this?" she said. "Has some little mouse been 
playing in my room and left a mess?" 

She turned to Charles for an answer, and he said, "I don't know anything 
about it. I mean, why would I come in here? I've got no reason to come in 
here. I don't know what you're talking about. I was in my room, all the time 
you were gone, almost." 

She took his nose between her thumb and forefinger, tweaked it and then 
pulled it till his eyes were watering, as she said, "Have you ever heard the 
story of the puppet Pinocchio? Each time he told his lies his nose grew, and 
grew, and grew!" 

"Ouch! Ouch!" he said, and then "O-W-W-W!", as she took his ear in hand now 
and twisted it cruelly. 

"You have made a mess of my room!" said she. "I'm sorry!" he whined. "I 
didn't mean to." 

"Didn't mean to!" she said, and he didn't know when in his life he'd been 
more frightened. "What if your parents know you have been coming in my room 
and making a mess of it? Eh? What then?" 

"Don't tell! I'm sorry! O-W-W! I'll never do it again, Erika, I promise! I 
was only p-playing around." 

"Playing around! In Sweden do you know what we do with playful puppies who 
leave a mess?" she said. "We rub their noses in it!" she said, and proceeded 
to do just that, dragging him by the ear to her closet and forcing him down 
till his nose had been pushed into each of her fallen high-heeled shoes, 
then to the open drawer where it was pushed into the pile of her panties and 
bras, and then to the bed where she pushed his nose right down hard against 
the crotch of her new black bathing suit. 

Charles howled, he pled, and he was weeping when she at last released him. 
She wiped his cheeks and made him blow his nose on a lacy, perfumed hankie, 
and she said, "Come, come, I didn't hurt you. And I won't tell your parents. 
You have been punished and that is done with." She laughed and said, "I 
cannot even blame you for coming in here to touch the swimming suit you buy 
for me. It is so pretty. It is so sexy," she said, picking it up and holding 
it up before her, and then turning it about and holding it up in front of 
him. "Why, it even looks sexy on you. Though of course it needs something in 
it, someone in it to be truly a sexy swimming suit." 

There was a glint in her eye and before she could say more, Charles said, 
"Oh, no. You're not going to get me to put that thing on!" 

"Ah, but I am," she purred. "You will put this on for me once, or I will 
have to go to your parents, very upset. I will have to tell them how I came 
home to find my room in a mess, like this," she said, and took the step to 
the dresser and dipped in her drawer and flung handfuls of her panties and 
bras all over the room. 

"Erika, no! You said you wouldn't tell them!" he cried. 

She came to him smiling, wrapped the black swim suit about his neck and drew 
his feverish lips against her cool mouth. She kissed them and nibbled them 
and tickled them with her tongue tip, laughing and breathing perfume up his 
nostrils, and she said, "It is the privilege of the woman to change her 
mind. Put it on, darling. So very sexy. I want to see you in it, dear boy. 
For me? Slip into it, my handsome little man, and see how good it feels, how 
sexy it will be." 

She threatened him again with telling his folks before he angrily threw his 
towel aside and snatched the swim suit from her, jammed his feet through its 
leg holes and yanked it over his stiff prick and fevered loins. "There!" he 
angrily said. "Now are you satisfied? Now can I take it off?" 

"No," said she, and while he gnashed his teeth and writhed in his anger she 
put his fists through the shoulder straps and drew them up in place, stepped 
back to smile at her handiwork, and then gathered up a big bunch of her 
brassieres and panties and stuffed the cups of her swim suit full of them. 

"Oh, my ga-w-w-wd," he said, gazing about the ceiling for help that would 
not come, not to him, the biggest fool in the whole damned world. 

She stood back smiling again, rubbing her arms with her hands, and said, 
"Very, very nice. It stretches to fit you well. Now turn around. Let me see 
all of you." 

"Oh, my gawd!" said Charles, and he very woodenly turned about once, while 
she pulled and tugged at the black stretch suit to snap it all into a better 
fit. 

"May I please take this damned thing off now?" he sarcastically said when he 
faced her again. "Please, may I?" 

She laughed and said, "No." And she sat on the bed and pulled him down on 
her lap, put her arms about him and began kissing and hugging him and he was 
immediately doing it right back to her. 

Madness! They'd kissed before, but never quite like this, with her hot mouth 
all over his face and throat and shoulders and her tongue in his ears and 
licking back and forth across his chest. Her hands were all over him, too, 
inside his swimsuit and out, even feeling of the mounds of crumpled lingerie 
against his chest as she kissed him and kissed him and murmured, "He's such 
a sexy girl. Oh, how I love to make him feel so good like this, and me, too. 
Sexy little girl. Sexy little boy. Oh, how I could just eat you up!" 

He was delirious with feeling so good. He sat on her lap and he straddled 
it, kissing her wildly and panting into her mouth. He squirmed his 
fiendishly tickling body against her moving, squeezing hands, and even his 
entirely unreal breasts seemed responsive when she squeezed him there. And 
then when he thought he could stand no more of these wholly fantastic 
sensations she reached well inside the leg hole of his swimsuit again and 
this time drew out his terrifically stiff boner. 

"Ahhh," she purred. "And what have we here? My sexy girl has one of these, 
too, does she? Hmm? And does she like to have it sucked by her girl friend? 
Does she like the blow job, my Charles?" 

"Yes!" said he, and got up on his knees straddling her lap, helped by her 
hands on his quivering ass, and watched while she held his dick in her hand 
and curved her spine till her kiss-bruised lips could encircle its reaching 
knob. 

"Oh, suck it for me, Erika!" he panted. "Please! Oh, it feels so good, so 
crazy! Oh, I love you! Suck me off! It feels so good!" 

"Mmmmmm." She gave it another lick and straightened up. Her eyes were 
shining brilliantly as she looked him over, patted his padded tits into 
shape again, while he remained trembling, twitching before her. "It looks 
good, too," she said. "Come to the mirror and you will see, while I suck you 
off some more." 

There was a mirror on the inside of the closet door. She arranged him before 
it most lovingly, pacifying him with kisses and caresses, and tucking his 
hair inside the leg hole of one of her pairs of panties to add to the 
illusion of a bathing suited girl with a turban on her head, and a stiff 
pink prick sticking out of her jet black suit. 

"Now I suck you off good. All the way," she said, with her hot, hot breath 
against his mouth, and then she knelt and proceeded to do just that. 

He couldn't believe how good it felt, nor how good it looked. Her brows were 
knit. She was really concentrating on his pleasures now. And in the fevers 
of his towering pleasures even he looked so good to himself that it might 
have been one of his Playmates of the Month swaying there in the mirror in 
her superbly filled out swim suit. Erika was taking his dick clear inside 
her mouth, so he couldn't see any of it at times, clutching his thighs and 
running her hands up inside the back of his swimsuit and going right on 
ahead as promised toward the biggest fucking creamer the world had ever 
known when once again he heard a car door slam shut. 

"It's your parents!" she said, on her feet at once and pushing her blonde 
hair out of her face and propelling him toward her door. "Go! Quickly! I 
will see you later, finish you later!" 

"They won't come in here!" he whispered. "And I can't wait till later!" 

"Yes, you can. GO!" she said, and shoved him forcefully out in the hall. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

Charles ran down the hall tucking his aching dick inside the maid's new 
swimsuit. He made it to his room and slammed the door behind him, threw the 
three bolts on it and leaned against it panting for a moment, then 
frantically reopened it and checked the hall, scurried back down it and 
snatched up the big white brassiere that had fallen out of the black bathing 
suit he had on. Now when the triple lock was in place on his bedroom door he 
added to his security by locking himself in his bathroom, and from its 
window he breathlessly looked as his parents unsteadily struggled with 
something in the trunk of the Mercedes, calling over their shoulders, 
"Erika! Oh, Erika!" 

She came striding into Charles' view, utterly beautiful, big tits bobbing, 
magnificently poised, and she easily lifted out the case of wine they'd 
brought home with them. 

Charles collapsed on the toilet seat gasping for breath. How could he 
possibly have gone through seventeen years of life without knowing about the 
fantastic things one could do with a woman? He felt all those years had been 
wasted, and he vowed that he wouldn't waste one more day of his future life. 

He took out his dick and looked at it. It was half limp from his fright and 
flight, but even as he gazed at it and thought about where it had jus been 
it thickened and elongated and pushed its way farther out the leg hole of 
the swimsuit he'd so wisely bought for her, and that he had on now. 

He tucked it back inside. No more childish beating off for him in the 
future. He stood up and looked himself over in the bigger full length mirror 
there, simpering smiles at himself and striking girly poses, digging it a 
lot but only recapturing a small part of the really wild beauty he'd seen in 
the mirror when that big, gorgeous blonde beauty had been down on her knees 
sucking him off. 

But he could see her again. And right now. He even tried to walk like a 
girl, and each step he too chafed the suit hotly against his horny dick as 
he went into his dark room and set to work on his precious films. 

He was clumsy as hell that day but he got some done, one roll developed into 
negatives and made into contact prints. With one hand inside his swim suit 
and stroking his prick, he looked at the tiny prints through his big 
magnifying glass to select the ones for enlargement, maybe to life size. 
Erika photographed even better than she looked! She was really sexy in one 
of them. Not enough so the picture would be saleable at any place but 
Ivanhoe, but awfully damned sexy for an older broad. He'd take some more 
soon. Even better ones. Maybe one of her blowing him, if he could hold the 
camera still. She'd go for it, especially if he said he loved her. 

He started to destroy the roll she'd taken of him and then changed his mind. 
What was good for the goose was good for the gander, his father all too 
frequently said, and now it made a little sense. What the hell, he thought, 
rapidly scanning, then dwelling on each of the tiny pictures of her, he 
might even let her take a picture of him in this swim suit he had on, and 
then he went a little too far, and all at once he was doubled up in his dark 
room, gasping and cursing himself and creaming through his tightly clenched 
fist and all inside her damned bathing suit. 

The damned stuff was hard to get out of the white liner of the suit. It 
clotted there and even on the stretched black fabric as, naked, he washed it 
and washed it in his bathroom sink. He certainly hadn't meant to beat off 
all the way but it had certainly cleared his head, and now as he labored 
with work that should rightfully be hers he very positively made up his mind 
that there'd be no more of that crap about dressing up in her clothes. It 
had been his punishment and it wouldn't happen again. Once was enough, and 
besides, he had half her bras and panties hidden there in his room, plus the 
bathing suit in his hand, so there'd be no need to go on hunting expeditions 
to her room again. 

She acted conspiratorially giggly at lunch. She simpered and winked at him 
behind his droning parents' heads, and he, Heaven help him, slyly winked 
back at her. Why not? Give her a thrill. Better men than he had had 
domestics fall in love with them, and had survived it with a better 
understanding of the social interplay between the servant and the 
aristocrat. He'd play her game for a while. And he'd sure as hell play with 
those tits again before the day was out. 

Charles II and Alice once again talked about their flying trip to L.A., once 
again finished the luncheon bottle of wine, and once again toddled off for 
their afternoon nap. Charles III, democratic aristocrat, began to help in 
the clearing of the dishes. Erika caught him at the kitchen door, 
rosy-cheeked face filled with secret delight. 

"Are they gone to sleep? Good! I have the surprise for you. Oh, you will 
like it so! And so will I. Here. Take it. Put it on. And put this new roll 
of film in your camera so that I can take some pictures of my handsome young 
weight-lifter!" 

"Uh. What is it?" he said, fumbling with the ribbons on the small, flat box. 

"It is just for you! It is what the weight-lifters wear!" she said, as he 
hald up a bright pink latex men's bikini bathing suit, something he wouldn't 
be caught dead wearing at the bottom of the damned ocean. 

"It's too small. Erika, you shouldn't have. It's way too small." 

"It is just right! Look how it stretches," she said, and she drew it across 
her tits, hardly flattening them at all. "You try it on. For me. Please. I 
meet you in the back yard. You bring the camera. "Oh, please. I must see you 
like this." 

"No, Erika. Nothing doing. I couldn't.. . . " 

"Oh, ple-e-ease," she purred, big pink lips pursed close to his, warm soft 
hand smoothing over the growing bulge in his pants. "You will, I know. I 
meet you there in ten minutes. Good times for we two. Please, my handsome 
young man." 

"What the hell," he muttered, and went off toward his room with his new 
hard-on and his new bathing suit. 

The thing didn't look all that bad on him. It just barely covered his buns, 
and his prick and balls showed clearly through the diminutive front of it. 
The color was all wrong of course, and a guy really needed a true weight 
lifter's build to wear it right. But it didn't look all that bad on him, 
skinny though he was. At least Erika would like it. He'd wear it for a 
little while if it meant getting another of her fantastic blow jobs. He 
loaded his camera and headed for the back yard. 

She was already there. He'd naturally expected that she'd be in something 
real sexy and it was a disappointment to see her in her frumpy old cook's 
uniform. He didn't say anything, though. He just stood straight and tall 
while she snapped off a few shots of him, bubbling with enthusiasm. She 
wanted pictures of him with his weights and he gave them to her. He posed in 
the clean and jerk position with a hundred pounds on the bar and no real 
strain on his face. Then he posed in his specialty, the bench press. 

Charles bench was eight inches wide and six feet long, with a leather pad 
for his head at one end of it. From it he could press upwards of a hundred 
and twenty pounds. This he did for her, and then she helped him down with 
the barbell and he lay on the bench smiling up at her. She stood over his 
head. The bench was low enough that he could look under her skirt a little 
way, but he was looking up at her as she stood over him with her hands 
cupped under her tits. His prick already felt swollen but now it grew more 
quickly as she squeezed her big tits together and said, "I have some very 
heavy weights here. Could you lift these?" 

He grinned like a fox and reached up his hands and said, "Let me at 'em!" 

She grinned more broadly and bent over him. He didn't know why in the hell 
it was so sexy to get his hands on those big soft pillows, but he knew that 
it sure as hell was. She leaned her weight against his hands and they 
squashed her tits all over her chest, threatening to either spill them out 
over the top of her uniform or burst the buttons of it. She opened the 
topmost button of her dress and he more quickly opened the next three, and 
then there was only her mammoth brassiere between his hands and her tits. He 
was pulling the cups down trying to get at those huge pink nipples when she 
straightened up and massaged them herself, saying, "This is good exercise 
for a young man, too. It makes him grow strong. Are you strong now?" 

She went around to the side of the bench and smoothed her hand over the very 
prominent bulge in his tight pink trunks. It was already fully hard and 
oozing a little on the end, and Erika used a fingertip with deliciously 
exciting effect to spread wetness seeping through his trunks. "You have a 
nice hard-on," she said. "Yeah. You did it." 

"I have, too," said she, and drew down a bra cup to show him a most erectile 
nipple, which he quickly went to, sitting up on his bench and sucking on to 
get it harder still. 

"Lie back. Easy, after your hard work with the weights." She pushed him back 
down on the bench. With a tug at his trunks' waistband she had the bulbous 
head of his cock out. He rocked from side to side on the bench in dreamlike 
rapture while she worked the tight trunks down over his slender hips. Then 
his cock was standing straight and tall, and then she stepped over him, ever 
smiling, and straddled his thighs while she opened each button down the 
front of her uniform dress and cast it back off her shoulders to fall across 
his shins. 

She took a small step forward and his reaching cock was almost touching the 
well-filled crotch band of her white nylon panties. His cock was throbbing 
steadily and visibly, moving with his heartbeat, but he was unable to grab 
her by the hips and pull her down on it, unable to move to make any contact 
with her for the moment save to lightly clasp her outer calves with his 
trembling hands. 

Erika could move, though. Her smile was highly sensuous as she took another 
small step forward and began to undulate her hips forward and back, brushing 
her soft warm pussy slowly and repeatedly over the wet and throbbing head of 
Charles' rock-hard cock. 

"You like this?" she said. "How do you call it in this country? Fucking?" 

"Yeah," he said, and managed a slow upward movement of his hips, pushing his 
cockhead up against that softness and wetness and warmth in a hugely 
satisfying yet even more frustrating way. 

She reached down and took his cock in her hand, moved it all around against 
her nylon-covered cunt and said, "Have you fucked before?" 

He shook his head and gulped and said, "Never. Not yet." 

'This, too, will come if you are good," said she, and bent over and gave him 
her lips, and his hands left her calves to go to her cheeks and hold her 
right there, riveted together like that, forever. 

She straightened up and pulled away from him with a lovely wet smacking 
sound. He was so insanely hot and afraid, he didn't know what to do, but she 
did. She laughed and moved forward, still straddling his body, until he was 
looking straight up at her, past her foreshortened cuntal area and past the 
soft bulge of her belly, past her big tits to her smiling face. 

"And what do you call this?" she said, and she touched two fingers to her 
cunt, and she moved them around there while she waited for his answer. 

"Cunt," he said. "Pussy," he whispered. "Cunt." 

"Cunt," she said, still moving her fingers there, right directly before his 
eyes. "Do you like cunt?" 

"I love it," he croaked. "I just love it." 

"You do? And you have never fucked it? How do you know? You have tasted it?" 

Charles shook his head, tremulously careful that he shouldn't even brush her 
thighs with his cheeks at this time. 

"But you do want to," she stated, and she curled one finger around under the 
stained crotch band of her panties and drew it aside a bit. 

He'd already seen some hairs there. Now he saw a lot more, and he caught the 
full fetid odor of her cunt, that big fat old hairy cunt scarcely covered 
with white nylon and right before his eyes. And his mouth. It was the 
grossest thing he'd ever seen or done or even fantasized in his life, but 
his hands went behind her legs to close on her buttocks and his mouth went 
up to displace the fingers on her cunt. 

He kissed the crotch band of her panties till it was very wet. And the 
wetness didn't altogether come from his kisses. He held onto her ass more 
firmly as he did this, astounded at himself for being able to stand the 
stench of it, even more astounded that he was really, really digging it. 

He was a cunt-lapper and there was no doubt about it. She most obligingly 
moved forward and back to give him all the access to her twat he could have 
asked for, if he'd been able, but Charles would have gotten it anyway, 
pulling and pushing at her hips the way he was, covering every square 
millimeter of her crotch band and some sweet portions of her thigh hollows 
with the hottest kisses he'd ever bestowed on anyone. He was just about to 
yank her sodden crotch band aside when she did it for him, and when he 
finally got to slippery wet naked cunt to kiss she finally gave him some 
instructions toward furthering his natural talent. 

"My little darling, that is so nice! You do like pussy, don't you? Ah-h-h-h. 
So good, your kisses. But use your tongue, too, my angel, just as I have 
shown you." 

It came perfectly clear to young Charles then. Even here at the very height 
of his passions he flashed with the recognition that all of the hot French 
kisses he'd exchanged with the Swedish cook had been subtle and delightful 
instructional practice for the kissing of her cunt, the tonguing of it, the 
lapping of any woman's cunt. 

Charles thrust his tongue straight up, deep into the slippery wet mass of 
flesh that was Erika's cunt and wriggled it all around. The taste was just 
awful, but to a natural born cunt-lapper like himself, it was ambrosia. And 
it was getting better, because it was getting wetter. 

"Oooh!" She laughed and drew her crotch band farther aside, wriggled her 
buttery soft cunt forward to give him more of it. "That feels so very nice! 
But you make me so very wet!" She laughed again. "I should get a towel and 
dry off a bit before you kiss my cunt some more, no?" 

"Huh-unh!" said Charles, and took better purchase on her ass with his hands 
to pull her squashy old delicious cunt down harder on his mouth. 

She stretched the crotch band to its breaking point. She did a little 
shimmy, shaking her tits for his eyes and her cunt for his probing tongue, 
and she said, "Oooh! You are getting me most excited. Yes, you are! What a 
lovely boy you are indeed! Ooh-h-h, my. You are making my clitoris stand up 
like your prick does. You see? Your sweet kisses have gotten me hard, too." 

She backed her hips off a few inches and he gazed up through glazed eyes to 
see as she pulled the crotch band up and aside now, showing him still more 
of her mammoth cunt. Her cunt itself, that livid wet part of her body that 
he'd been licking with total abandon, loomed as a broad gorge of pink in the 
tangled blonde hair of her crotch. And there at the top of it, between two 
of her fingers that extruded it out toward him, was a small but most 
prominent part of it all that did indeed bear a resemblance to a guy's dick, 
in vast miniature. The sight of this thing made him completely disgusted 
with himself once again. All that sodden pink flesh was bad enough, but 
having that little penis-like projection in the middle of it was just too 
much. It got even worse when she twiddled it between her fingers and said, 
"Yes, this is where the kisses are the sweetest. You kiss some more now? And 
then I suck you off so good?" 

"No, I. . . " How had he been able to stand the smell of her there? The 
taste of her?! ? "I gotta rest for a minute. I feel sorta faint. I think I 
better go inside." 

"Oo-o-oh." She made a child's sulky mouth. She let go of the leg hole of her 
panties and instead pushed the waistband down till her clitoris was showing 
again, and she said, "Touch once with your tongue. Then you will soon feel 
better." 

His head bobbed up and his tongue thrust out and he touched her there. It 
sent such an electric jolt through her big body that Charles hands' clutched 
her big butt more firmly and he stabbed it again with his tongue. It was 
softer than he'd thought it would be. He'd feared it would be as hard as his 
cock, and that eating it and liking it would lead him on towards being some 
kind of a cocksucker. As it was the thing turned out to be just a firmer 
spot in the softness of her cunt, a place where he could pucker his lips and 
suck on to very best effect. 

"Oh!" she said. "Oh, darling boy." She wasn't laughing any more. "So long, 
it has been so long," she said, almost moaning out the words, and moving her 
grand big body in a luxuriously thrilling manner. A sharper tremor rippled 
through her, one that she caught and cut off in midstream. And then she 
pushed away from his reaching lips and dancing tongue and thrust his hands 
off her ass and backed away, still straddling his body. 

She took his dick in her hand and drew her crotch band aside and touched his 
cockhead against her cunt, all hot and wet and velvety slick and soft. She 
made little faces, wrinkling her nose and pursing her open lips, and she 
said, "You like to fuck me, Charles? You like to really fuck me good?" 

"Yes!" he said. "More than anything else in the world!" 

She laughed and came forward on him big tits mashed against his chest and 
pantied loins squirming against his fiery wet cock. She kissed him and 
sucked on his lips, purring, "Mm-m-m, he tastes so good now. You really want 
to fuck an old woman like me?" 

"Yes! I'd do anything for that! I told you that! I promised you that!" 

"You would suck my cunt any time it pleases me? Just as I would suck your 
pretty cock?" 

"Yes! Any time at all! I.. . I love sucking your beautiful cunt!" 

"And you would dress up as I say? In pretty things? And be my pretty girl 
friend when it pleases me? Would you do that to fuck me now?" 

"Well . . . yes. Yes, I would." 

"Even in public? Our side the house? Where people might see you?" 

He closed his eyes tight against the most beautiful face in the world, 
grimaced and turned his head from those sweetest lips, that sexiest of 
mouths, and he said, "I don't know. I couldn't do that." 

"So? You do not want to fuck me now?" 

He gazed imploringly at her again and said, "Oh, Erika, yes! But . . . but 
you couldn't expect me to go out dressed up like that! Could you?" 

She raised the corners of her mouth and her eyebrows, and she said, "Yes. 
Yes, Charles, I could." And then she laughed and he knew she'd been joking, 
and she held his face in her hands and kissed him and she wriggled her 
titties and her cunt against him, so very sexily, and she said, "Say it. Say 
you'll do anything in the world to fuck me. Then I know you really love me, 
as you said before to me. Just say it, dear. Say it." 

She had to stop kissing him before he could blurt it out, and then say it 
clearly and with all sincerity. "I'll do anything in the world for you, any 
time you want, if you'll just let me fuck you! Okay?" 

"Okay. Oh. And one more thing. You will help me get my daughter into this 
country, no?" 

"Yes! I'll do everything I can. I'll talk to my parents. I'll do anything if 
you let me fuck you, Erika, anything at all!" 

"Why, then, come into the cabana and fuck me!" she said, and off she went. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

Charles stumbled and stepped out of his new trunks and followed quickly 
after Erika. The seat of her big white panties had crawled up in the crack 
of her ass, so that her big white butts quivered briskly and nakedly before 
him. She faced him in the stuffy dimness of the cabana and said, "I'll need 
some kisses to be ready for that big hard cock of yours. Many of them. Give 
me some now, while you help me off with this brassiere of mine." 

She slung her arms about his neck and sucked and smacked on his mouth and 
tongue, while he reached around her big soft torso and fumbled with the 
snaps of her bra. He was trembling all over. Her tits pushed heavily against 
his chest, and he held his hips arched back in fear of touching her with his 
prick too soon. He didn't know the first thing about fucking her and he was 
desperately hoping he wouldn't screw it up. How could he possibly fuck her 
right when he couldn't even get her brassiere off her? 

He struggled and pulled, making no progress at all, even though he'd been 
easily able to work the snaps on the bras in her clothes hamper. At last she 
took her lips from his and said, "Can't you do it, Charles?" 

"I'm trying! I. . . " 

"Here. Let me this time," she said, and reached back behind her. "But you're 
going to have to learn soon," she said, and in moments she'd undone the 
three snaps and was peeling the shoulder straps down her smooth round arms. 
Her enormous tits swung free, and she lifted them and squeezed them together 
and said, "I'll need some kisses here, too." 

Charles fell to his knees and reached up with both trembling hands for one 
of the big beauties, held it and sucked on its nipple. Panting, he went back 
and forth between them as she thrust one after the other at his upturned 
face, urging him further on with softly purring words. "Aren't they nice big 
ones! And all for my handsome Charles. 

Mmmmmm-m-m. Yes-s-s. Make the nipples nice and hard. They will all be yours 
forever, even when my daughter Ingrid is come to live with us here. But you 
are getting me so wet! My cunt is just sopped!" She bent and kissed him on 
the mouth, held his cheeks in her hands and rubbed their noses together and 
said, "And it is still all covered up inside my panties. Can you take my 
panties off for me? Do you think you can do that, Charles?" 

"Yes, I. . . ! I just couldn't . . . work the snaps on your bra! I can take 
your panties . . . right off!" 

"Oh? That is so easy?" she said, and turned her back on him and bent double 
at the waist. 

Charles pulled the seat of her panties down, down over the huge white globes 
of her ass, and there they stuck in the crevices of her loins. He tugged and 
pulled but there they remained, and he remained on his knees behind her, 
gazing closely at her huge bare ass and almost weeping with his frustration. 

"Is he having trouble?" she asked. She laughed and said, "Oh, why must I 
tease you so? It is something my Ingrid would never do to you. One look at 
you and she would have her little panties off like that!" she said, with a 
snap of her fingers. And then she straightened up and turned about again. 

His head was reeling with the steamy smells of her-perfume and sex and he 
didn't know what else-as now he rapidly pulled down her panties and helped 
her step her bare feet out of them. Her pussy loomed as a huge triangle of 
curly blonde hair in the center of smoothly rounded tanned thighs and white 
belly, but he only saw it clearly for a moment as she snapped her fingers 
again and asked for her panties. 

"Yes, I'm sopped," she said, spreading her legs and wiping between them with 
her panties. "Just see how wet I am," she said, and she rubbed her very damp 
panties over Charles mouth and nose, smiling down on him as he fought to 
keep from fainting at the overpowering odor of mature cunt in heat. Then she 
pulled them on down over his head till he was staring at her cunt through 
one of their leg holes and breathing deeply of her smell with every breath 
he took. 

She laughed and said, "Oh, you look so funny. You must leave them right 
there while you come and fuck me, and eat me a little bit first." 

She went to the lounge in the other room and laid down, a beautiful, 
passionate mouniain of female flesh that was all his. He pulled her panties 
down around his neck as he unsteadily rose and followed her again. Her 
fingers splayed open the upper reaches of her fleshy pink cuntlips, exposing 
that little button that did such wild things to her when it was kissed. 
"Come suck my clitty for me before you fuck me so good," she said. "It is 
such a nice thing for a man to do; and it makes me feel so nice." Her 
sensuous smile and her lolling tits were enough to make him leap the Grand 
Canyon, but it was that small beckoning finger in the midst of that hairy 
pink flesh that drew him on, and to his knees. 

"Dar-ling!" she gasped, as his mouth centered down on her clitty and his 
hands dug deep in her hips. "Already you know just what to do, just how to 
suck my cunt for me. That is because you love it so. Because you love to 
suck the cunt of a woman or a pretty girl, no?" 

"I love you!" he blurted from between his feverish kisses. "I'll be your own 
. . . private cunt-lapper! Forever!" he said, and fastened his lips on her 
clitty again and lashed it with his tongue. 

"Oh, there will be others. I will see to that. You will not spend all your 
fucking time with an old woman like me. There will be young girls for you, 
too. Sexy girls. Like my Ingrid," she said, twining her fingers in his hair 
and slowly thrusting her clitty against his sucking lips. 

"You're all I want! Ever!" she said, and went back to the sucking that she 
so loved. 

"Ah-h-h," she sighed, as she leaned back on the lounge and hooked her hands 
under her thighs and drew her legs up. "Ah-h-h, so good," she said, as 
Charles' eager mouth found more of her cunt to kiss. "Kiss my cunt all over 
it," she instructed. "Kiss my pretty lips and nibble on them. Oh, yes-s-s. 
And kiss all over it and put your tongue in my hole. Oh! Oh, yes-s-s-s." 

She held her cuntlips open, the better for him to get his fill of that weird 
but wonderful part of her. He got so carried away with it that he kissed 
almost down to that other hole of hers as he crouched below the couch with 
his dick up hard and throbbing, but still not knowing if it could do the 
job. 

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" She was churning around now, really pushing back at him, and 
though he held her harder she took a grip on his hair as she lowered her 
legs and drew his mouth back to her clitty. 

"Suck! Oh, suck!" she cried, bucking her hips at him all of a sudden, big 
tits lolling on her chest, little clitty getting longer, sexier in his 
mouth. 

"Now make me cum!" she demanded. "Suck me good and make me cum and then you 
can fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME!" she shouted, dragging him up by his hair 
then and mashing his mouth down on hers, while down below he fearfully 
touched his prick against warm, wet flesh. He didn't know what he was doing 
down there, didn't know where he was going, and then she reached down and 
with one deft movement of her hand it was in her, he was inside her and 
fucking her! 

"Uh! Oh-h-h-h!" she moaned, still churning her big body as madly as she had 
been when he was sucking her clitty, and now he joined her in this, quite 
unable to keep from it as his prick gushed and squirted and shot in a real 
live cunt. It was in her and out of her and doing its squirting all over 
her, and then when it was deep inside her again she suddenly pushed her 
finger up Charles' asshole, ensuring that it wouldn't get away again. 

"UH! NO! OHHHH!" he cried, for it felt as if he was cumming all over again, 
and he didn't know if he could stand another whopper like that. 

But she kept burrowing her finger up his ass, forcing him right on, and 
gasping, "A little more! Just a little more! Yes! UH!" Here she lapsed into 
a torrent of Swedish. The alien words exploded about his ears as he writhed 
and screwed and creamed his brains out, until at last she subsided with a 
deep sigh. Her finger slipped out of his ass, his prick slipped out of her 
cunt, and he slid down between her legs till he was on his knees on the 
floor again. 

There was no energy left at all in him now. He'd never felt so exhausted nor 
so unconcerned about it in his life, lying there on her as he was with his 
pulsing belly up against her big wet cunt and his dick dripping their juices 
on the floor. It took an effort for him to stop panting and say, "Did I do 
it right?" 

"Darling, you did it perfect" she said, "for your very first try at it. I 
cum so hard I almost pee. I'll make the perfect lover out of you. And if my 
Ingrid was only here you could prove it with her." 

"Your . . . your daughter? Oh, I couldn't," he said, and the strangest 
feeling came over him at the thought of fucking someone who'd come out of 
the hole he'd just fucked. 

"Oh, but you could," said she, sitting up, "if only she was here. And it 
wouldn't take much to bring her here, at least for a visit. Only eight 
hundred dollars air fare. Nothing at all for your dear parents, but a 
fortune for you or me." 

"Heck, I've got that much in my checking account," he said. "But what did I 
do wrong when I . . . fucked you? How could I do it better?" 

"You do?" 

"I do what?" 

"Why, have eight hundred dollars in your checking account. Do you really 
have that much, that you could spend all on your own?" 

"Sure I do. I've got more than that. But what did I do wrong?" 

She sat up all the way to hug him and kiss him and draw him up on her lap, 
and there he felt like a puppet, but a very happy one, with tits to play 
with as he would and warm lips to kiss his face. Laughing, always merry, she 
said, "You did nothing really wrong, my Charles. All you need is practice. 
Practice, practice, practice," she said, squeezing his limp dick 
possessively, hugging him hard. "I will teach you. I will teach you 
everything. Things you've never dreamed of, and all of them such fun! Even 
my panties, eh?" she said, plucking their crotch up from around his neck and 
rubbing it against his lips. "If only I could charge you for lessons, I 
would have my Ingrid over here in no time. And, oh, if you could only see 
that one!" 

Charles grinned and said, "I thought of something like that once. I thought 
if you could teach the girls at Monroe Academy-that's right close to where I 
used to go to school-how to give just hand jobs, there wouldn't be a boy 
left at my school after dark. Will you really teach me how to . . . do all 
those things?" 

She waggled her eyebrows at him and said, "Would you really study hard at 
it?" 

"I sure would! Just try me!" 

She rolled his balls in her hand, introducing him to a nice new sensation, 
and she said, "Good teachers are harder to find than good students. I'll bet 
they are paid a lot at your Ivanhoe School. 

And how much do you pay to go there?" 

"Dad and Mom pay about twelve thousand a year." 

"So much! And what have you learned there?" she said, and she took his prick 
in hand again, and there was life to be felt in it. "Have you learned as 
much fun as you have with me?" 

"Heck, no! You're worth more than all of them put together." 

"Eight hundred dollars worth?" she said, pinching his cheek. 

"Huh? Sure! I guess so. Do you . . . really want some money?" 

"But of course not," she said, and eased him off her lap. She stood up and 
stretched, magnificent, and said, "There is nothing I want in the world 
besides you, dear, and of course the chance to see my darling daughter 
again. But I will work. I will save. And someday she will be here to see me. 
Now no more talk of money," said she, and though she was smiling as she bent 
and kissed his cheek, there was the hint of tragic sadness in her eyes. "We 
just have fun. You and I. And now we have a nice shower. Wait. Rest here 
while I make the water right." 

He lay on the couch all sweaty and hot, enjoying the greatest view in the 
world. The shower was more than big enough for two, and its doorway provided 
the perfect picture frame for a living beauty of such statuesque dimensions 
as Erika. He could have sold seats for this show at eight hundred dollars 
apiece at Ivan hoe, but he had it all to himself and it wasn't costing him a 
dime. 

The water poured down on her to make her body look as slick as a seal's. She 
grinned and winked at him, knowing just how much he was enjoying the show, 
and she picked up the soap and began lathering up her lovely body. Slippery 
white suds formed all over her swinging tits and her belly. She turned her 
blonde hair into a foamy froth and spread her legs to soap her thighs. Her 
hand returned to her cunt, working the lather in so very thoroughly that 
Charles' dick began to itch a little. When she turned to rinse the suds from 
the front of her he took the opportunity to squeeze and pull his prick until 
some of its itching stopped, but now it was pulsing harder as he watched her 
wash her back. 

Her back was a lovely broad vee, and her ass was absolutely beautiful. When 
pulling down her panties, he'd been too close to fully appreciate it, but 
now he could, so perfectly white and round, so deeply cleft with the crack 
in it. She shook it for him and grinned at him from over his shoulder, and 
he quickly let go of his cock. But she'd seen, and she said, "You jack 
yourself off? Good! It's okay." 

"No, I was just.. . It just itched." 

"I itch all over-for you!" she said, and shook her lovely ass so hard the 
soap suds flew. His prick was fully hard again when his hand returned to it. 
She was the sexiest woman in the whole damned world, and he was the horniest 
guy. 

She faced the shower head in profile to him to lather up her face and show 
him how perfectly her ass and her tits balanced themselves out. He couldn't 
help but start stroking his dick again. She'd said it was okay with her. She 
rinsed and faced him again and said, "The water feels so good. Come in with 
me when you feel like it. But first I have to pee." 

She did it right there in the shower. He'd peed in the shower himself 
before, but his eyes felt bulged out of his head as he watched her do it. 
She didn't squat down or anything. She just stood there with her legs apart 
and the water beating down on her shoulder, and spread her cuntlips as she 
had for his kisses and let the yellow stream go. It melded with the shower 
water before it hit the tile floor. It was such a shock to him to see her 
doing it so openly that he even forgot about stroking his dick. And then she 
truly shocked him, producing those truly strange feelings in him again when 
she cupped her hand under the golden stream and rubbed it all around her big 
wet pussy. Her face took on a wicked expression. He squirmed and sweated on 
the lounge. She rubbed it in good, then stepped back in the shower stall and 
caught water in her cupped hand and washed her cunt so clean with it that he 
knew it would squeak if he shoved his dick in her now. 

Charles' sex goddess turned her back on him and began to lather her ass 
again. She had it practically sticking out of the doorway at him, and though 
it was all covered with suds, he could clearly see her asshole now, looking 
like nothing more than a tightly puckered pair of lips. She was washing it 
just as good as she'd washed her cunt. He was watching it all. And then his 
own asshole cringed in vivid recollection as she slipped a soapy finger in 
hers and eased it in and out. 

"Will you never come in here with me?" she said. 

"Uh-h-h, yeah," he said, and moved in very dreamlike quality from the lounge 
to the shower. 

She did his soaping for him. She turned him 'round and round in the shower 
while she washed him from head to toe, in his ears and between his toes and 
all over his prick and balls and even inside his asshole, too. He didn't 
know if he was drowning or in heaven as the water poured down and her hands 
were all over him and her naked body was right there to be touched wherever 
he so desired. By the time she was done with him, there was no way in the 
world his prick could have been cleaner or harder. But she washed it again, 
making a thick rich lather on it, and then turned her back on him and 
squirmed her big ass right up against it. 

"What are you doing? What are you going to do with that thing of yours now?" 
She laughed at him from her shoulder. 

His stiff dick was pushing and slipping all up that deep crack between her 
big round buttocks. He didn't know what to do or what to say, all backed up 
against the shower handles. 

She giggled and squirmed against him and said, "What is this thing I feel, 
so hard and stiff? What is it my naughty boy wants to learn now? Oh, my, the 
things an unpaid teacher must do," she said, and reached down between her 
legs, she took his prick in her hand and popped its knob right up inside her 
asshole! 

It had to be her asshole because as it happened Charles clutched 
convulsively around her and grabbed her hairy pussy, and that part of her 
was empty. And this new sheath for his cock was tight, and her big buns were 
right up against his loins. He was disgusted and he would have pulled it 
out, but she had him backed up against those shower handles, and she was 
saying, "Oh! Oh, that is nice! Some new way to fuck, eh? And it feels so 
good!" 

He grabbed her by the hips and gave a couple of tentative shoves. She 
wriggled her ass like a happy puppy and she bent at the waist, and Charles 
hauled back and gave her half a dozen deep jabs there and grinned like a fox 
at his handiwork. "More! Oh yes, I like that!" she said. Her big glistening 
white ass had never been more beautiful, and he was splitting it right up 
the middle with his dick. 

"Yes, fuck me there! Fuck me really good!" she said. In this position he 
could really do it. Feet planted foursquare on the tile, hands with good 
purchase on her hips, he could fuck away like mad, driving his dick into 
that tight, tight hole with coordination as good as when he jacked off, and 
she could take it and like it, nay, love it! 

"Oh, you are so big back there! Oh! Oh, Charles!" she cried. He was making 
her go nuts back there, and he was going right along with her. This was how 
he'd imagined fucking would be. Not just one touch of dick against cunt and 
then cumming, but endless screwing in a tight warm hole, massaging his prick 
in a woman's body while she swooned with happiness. But Erika wasn't exactly 
swooning. 

"OH! OH, YES, FUCK ME! OH, how I wish Ingrid was here! DARLING BOY, FUCK ME 
GOOD, FUCK ME HARDER! RIGHT IN MY 

BIG . . . AH-H-H-H-H . . . FAT . . . UR-R-R-RGH . . . ASS!! ! " she shouted, 
and her skin felt hot even in the warm water as, shuddering and shaking, she 
slowly straightened up, with Charles still fucking her for all he was worth. 

"Cum in me now!" she commanded. "Uh! Yes! Fuck me and cum in me and 
finger-fuck me, too!" she said, and he made two out of three as she jammed 
his fingers against her slit and he jammed his cock up her butt with 
continued mad frenzy. He was well on the way to obeying her third command, 
too, when in her wild cumming she leaned back against him jamming his back 
very hard against the shower handles. 

She was of considerable weight, and all of it seemed pressed back against 
him as she squealed and wriggled and came. The handles dug deep in his back. 
He could feel them making a big letter X on each of his kidneys, but as 
painful as that was he was still fucking away like mad because his prick and 
balls wouldn't let him stop now. He was exploding inside her again! And now 
it was happening very clearly, as if in slow motion. He could feel each of 
his ejaculations as a separate sensation, and he could feel her fast-shaking 
buttocks against him and her firm little clitty under his fingers. He could 
feel the warm water beating down on them and hear each of her joyous 
outcries and he could easily stand the deep ache in his back along with each 
of those long, wonderful spurts of his hot jism up her butt. Everything she 
showed him was a great new wonder to him, but this was the greatest wonder 
of them all. So far. 

She tottered forward and his dick slipped out. She fell against the opposite 
wall and slipped down it. Only that day he'd learned that women could cum as 
hard as a guy could, and now he was learning that he could do it to Erika in 
a way that just about knocked her out. He was proud as a peacock that he was 
needed to help her out of the shower and over to the lounge. 

For several minutes they lay there just breathing, and smiling. Then she 
brushed back his wet hair and looked at him wistfully and said, "Your 
parents will be home soon. We must go." 

"Screw 'em. I can do what I want to around here. And so can you, if I say 
so." 

She chuckled sadly and said, "If that were true we would have our Ingrid 
here with us. No?" 

"She might be here sooner than you expect." 

She pinched his cheek, that motherly gesture to a little boy again, and she 
said, "Silly boy. I must just be content with what I have. You. Now no more 
talk about my little girl. No more talk about the money I slowly save for 
her. We get dressed now and go back to the things we must do. Thank you, 
Charles. Thank you for boy." 

"Gee. Thank you," he said. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

But Charles was no longer a boy. He'd fucked a woman till her knees had 
sagged, and that made a man out of him. He mulled over his new status over 
lunch, and while his parents babbled and boozed he settled on a plan of 
action worthy of the best men of action like himself. And that afternoon 
while his parents were taking their nap he drove the Seville into Palm 
Springs instead of just fooling around with Drika some more. 

He went to his bank first, and withdrew eight hundred dollars in hundred 
dollar bills. Then he went to the lingerie shop with the sexiest wares in 
town to go shopping. He knew this had the sexiest things in town because 
he'd checked them all out, at least through their showroom windows, before 
Erika had fallen for him. And now, in his new manhood, he boldly entered the 
store and looked for a salesgirl from whom he might buy pretty things for 
his lady love. 

"I want some of those in black, a pair of those, a set like that in red, and 
I want to see everything else you've got," he declared. The girl looked at 
him from under one raised eyebrow, and he said, "They're , uh, for my aunt. 
She's getting married. These are shower presents. My mother's in the 
hospital, dying of cancer, or she would have come down here to buy this 
stuff." 

"Oh, I'm sorry," said the girl in all contrition. 

"Yeah," said Charles. "Me, too. Now show me some real sexy stuff. That's 
what Mom said I should get for her." 

He wrote a check for over a hundred and fifty dollars to cover it. His 
checking account was low now, but he couldn't think of a better way to spend 
the money than he had that day. Each of the gifts for Erika was carefully 
gift-wrapped this time, and he gloated over them on the car seat beside him 
as he drove back home. 

He got his packages inside the house unnoticed. Erika was out in her garden 
and his folks were back at the club. The three bolts were shot on his door 
and he dumped his eight gift boxes on his bed to open them each in turn and 
insert a crisp new hundred dollar bill inside each nylon wisp and satin 
pretty that he'd bought for his Erika. It took a long time, because he 
couldn't help but dally around about it and admire his excellent taste in 
ladies' lingerie and sleepwear. He stripped naked to do it but he didn't try 
any of the things on, for that wouldn't have been manly at all. 

Dinner was the longest, most tedious meal he'd ever suffered through in his 
life. His parents had asked a couple from the club to join them, another man 
retired from the Insurance Game, and his wife. They laughed over high 
premiums and profits and low benefits while they worked their way through 
several bottles of wine and a little food and Charles gnashed his teeth 
impatiently and waited for them all to pass out. They kept on gabbing, on 
into the living room where poor Erika had to serve them coffee and brandy 
and clean up their spills and empty their ashtrays. Charles couldn't stand 
the waiting. He politely excused himself, gave Erika an all-too-brief 
embrace in the kitchen, and went to his dark room to develop some more 
pictures of her instead of opening all her presents again as he wanted to. 

At last he heard the sodden farewells in the driveway and the sound of a 
Cadillac motor starting up. Back in his bedroom he saw it was past two 
o'clock in the morning. He wasn't sleepy at all. His presents were still on 
his bed and in his head was a montage of pictures he'd taken of Erika in all 
her sexy poses, but none so sexy as he'd see when she had on one of the 
outfits he'd bought for her that day. He gave his parents ten excruciatingly 
long minutes to get to bed and pass out before he gathered up his gifts, 
deposited them in the strewn living room, and tiptoed into the kitchen where 
his magnificently feminine woman was working away in her old green uniform 
dress. 

He smoothed his hand over her big rump as she was bending over the 
dishwasher, and he said, "Have I ever got something you'll like." 

She brushed his hand from her and said, "If it is a bed I will like it. 
Alone." 

"It's something lots better than that." He was following her around the 
kitchen, almost too excited to touch her. And she, still the dutiful 
servant, was going right on with her work. She kept fending him off, saying, 
"They are almost too much for me. If only I had my working papers. And now I 
must make a lunch for them tomorrow because they will fly to Los Angeles 
with those others." 

"They are?! ? How long will they be gone?" 

"Who knows? I hope a long, long time. Out of my way, Charles!" she hissed. 
"I must get to the bread to make sandwiches." 

"I'll help you," he said, and he did anything to get her to his surprises 
quicker, and to him. 

The boiled ham reminded him of the color of her pussy, and the lettuce 
reminded him of the color of one of the nighties he'd bought for her. The 
mayonnaise made him think of the jism building in his balls and the peaches 
she put in the box lunches made him think of those two mammoth peaches 
inside her brassiere. Anticipatory excitement vied with sexual excitement in 
him as he did his best to help her, and to get her a little excited too. 

"You're going to like my surprises." 

"Good. In the morning." 

"I'll eat your pussy if you look at them tonight. I'll lap your cunt." 

"As soon as this is done with, I shall be asleep." 

"Oh, no. I'm gonna fuck you yet tonight. I'm going to surprise you with 
something nice and then fuck you in the front and in the back, too." 

"Go to your room, Charles. Jack off your hard-on yourself." 

"Oh, yeah? It sc happens I don't do that any more," he righteously said, and 
she looked at him in grim amusement. 

She went right back to her work. It irked him. He wasn't used to being 
ignored by her. And he said, "Well, if you don't want to see my surprises 
tonight I guess you don't want to spend Christmas with your daughter in Palm 
Springs." 

That, at last stopped her. She leaned wearily against the sink and said, 
"Christmas with Ingrid here? Nice and warm and sunny. Swimming naked in the 
pool. That would make my life complete." 

"Come on in the living room," he said, placing an arm about her shoulders. 
"Come on. You're tired. Come on, Erika." 

She sat down on the couch, right between the two piles of packages he'd 
placed there, and Charles sat facing her in his father's favorite chair, 
grinning and saying, "Well? Aren't you going to open them?" 

"What?" She looked around her, befuddled for the moment, and said, "Oh, 
Charles. I have no time for games now. Maybe tomorrow. Tonight I want only 
to sleep." 

He jumped up and sorted through the boxes, thought he had the right one and 
ripped off the ribbons, saying, "You can't sleep right without one of 
these." 

The long green nightgown shimmered down from Charles' hands as he held it 
up. She looked at it with only mild interest, but considerably more of that 
elusive substance sparked in her eyes at the sight of the bank note 
fluttering down from it to the floor. "A hundred dollars!" she said, picking 
it up, then looking around her at the other seven packages there. "Is there 
. . . more?" she fearfully asked. 

"Open 'em up," he smugly said. "Find out for yourself. I'll just watch, if 
you don't mind." 

"And you take off your clothes " she said, beaming her smile on him, 
fondling the packages at each of her sides. "You watch me much better with 
no clothes on." 

"Good idea," he said, and he stripped to the buff in about three and a half 
seconds. "And I'll just take care of this for you while I watch you open the 
packages and try the stuff on," he said, and he settled back in the master's 
chair with Erika's gauzy green nightgown draped across his lap and tented up 
by his stiff, young dick. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

Charles learned three more positions for fucking that night and still he was 
able to walk when he bade his parents goodbye. Erika was right there too, 
placing their lunches in the Mercedes and telling them to be careful, to 
have a good time, that she would look after Charles quite properly. They 
waved them goodbye down the palm lined street, then strolled together into 
the nice friendly house and did a whooping, hand-holding dance of joy 
together. 

Of course she immediately slipped off her uniform dress, presenting herself 
in the black bra and panties and garter belt and hose that he hadn't seen 
nearly enough of the night before and that he had seen outline through her 
dress that morning. He stripped naked and went to his knees at once, 
mouthing hungrily through the bulging black crotch band at the cunt he'd 
been fucking all night, and Erika laughed and drew away, kissing him and 
saying, "Wait for a minute while I make a telephone call, and then I teach 
you still more, more handsome." 

He took off all his clothes while she called the operator. He nuzzled her 
nyloned legs kissed behind her knees, nibbled at her garter clips and licked 
the creamy flesh of her thighs as she sat on the piano bench and jabbered 
away in Swedish. It was terrific to hear her so happy, even though he didn't 
know what she was saying, and it was even more terrific to know he had her 
all to himself in the house, just her and him and all the things he'd bought 
for her. 

She had her legs crossed. He was burrowing his way to her cunt, nose first, 
trying to get to that delightful spot without the use of his hands. His nose 
was the perfect guidance system on that fine, free morning for she smelled 
so wonderfully funky and womanly that he could have found her cherished cunt 
in the dark. But this was broad daylight, and he could see as well as smell 
all of this, the sexiest darned woman in the whole world! 

He flicked out his tongue, probing the way with that now over smoothest, 
tautest of flesh that was starting to take on a fine young healthy tan from 
their out-of-doors experiences together. She continued to jabber Swedish on 
the phone, her usually throaty voice rising in pitch in her happy 
excitement. And Charles continued too, right up to the this lace trim round 
the elasticized leg hole of her sexy black panties, and then within that leg 
hole toward where the really succulent goodies lay. 

He burrowed deeper and blew a mouth fart in the curving crevice of her 
crossed legs, and she most obligingly opened them while she spoke on in that 
totally incomprehensible language. Now he had a good clear view of the 
crotch band of her new panties as he crouched on the floor on hands and 
knees, nostrils flaring, and inhaled deeply of the rich, good scent of her. 
That crotch band was simply packed with goodness! There was so much there 
for him that it was even overflowing, with tendrils of her fair hair curling 
and peeping out from the edges of the black. He caught some in his lips and 
pulled them, tasted for the first time that day her cunt juice, and went 
back for more. She was laughing gaily now, still talking, and that was fine 
with him for he was having the time of his life, nuzzling and sniffing all 
through her luscious fat crotch and beating off a little to make it all the 
better. He was diligently working at the displacement of her crotch band 
with his tongue when she hung up the phone sighed very deeply, and drew him 
upright on his knees to give him a hug that very nearly cracked a couple of 
ribs. 

"Ingrid will be here so soon!" she said, pelting him, near blinding him with 
wet, smacking kisses "It will be like Christmas to me, and all thanks to 
you!" 

"Nothing to it," he said, now with the warmth of her bulging big tits 
wafting up in his face as he grinned down at their attempted escape from her 
bra. 

"Skvoerski doernskin Ingrid!" she exclaimed, and almost suffocated him now, 
in a most delightful way, by burying his face in between the big pillows of 
her tits and holding him there while she hugged him and shook all over like 
a happy wet puppy. "Christmas in July!" he heard her say, as he burrowed 
deeper in that satiny warmth with his nose and mouth and cheeks. 

His hair was down over his face and his eyes felt crossed when she let him 
up for air. Still he was grinning like Santa Claus himself, with his gifts 
for good kids all dispensed and him all ready for the reward of a year in 
bed with Mrs. Claus. 

She babbled on about all the things she was going to show her little 
girl-Disneyland and Knott's Berry Farm, the Wax Museum and most important of 
all, the fabled Hollywood. He just let her rave in her happiness, happy 
enough himself to rove his hands at will over her thighs and inside them, to 
pluck at her lovely new panties and fit them just right over her spacious 
hips. He felt of the soft indentations of her waist, too, and he ran his 
hands up under her arms, reminding himself of the steamy hollows of her 
groins, all his until December at least. He straightened her brassiere for 
her too, for it wasn't sitting just perfectly right on her great, big milk 
bags, and then as she babbled and laughed he brought his hand boldly down to 
her cunt, and gave it a nice big squeeze. 

She cocked an eyebrow at him and said, "Oh? The rich young master wants to 
play, does he?" 

"Not if you're not . . . you know . . . in the mood," he said, feeling all 
around that humid big bulging curve, so thinly covered with damp black satin 
that he could very clearly discern the big fleshy cuntlips that he hadn't 
tasted for about a year and a half. With his rapidly growing knowledge about 
all matters sexual he found her clitty, or he thought he did, and he 
massaged that through the satin with his middle finger as he said; "Maybe 
you'd just sort of like to try on some of that other stuff I brought you 
first. I mean, just 'cause I made it possible for you to see your daughter 
again, that's no reason for you to think you have to let me fuck you all the 
time and f-feel you up and get down and lick your cunt and suck on your 
clitty till you're feeling so good you just have to cum right in my face. Is 
it, Erika? Is it?" 

"No. No reason at all," she said, and reached a warm hand down and took his 
dick in it, his flaming hard dick that would always and forever be ready for 
any new delights she might even suggest. "But what does he think about this? 
Eh?" she said, and she hooked a leg about him and used her bare heel like a 
spur on his bare ass, and touched his oozing cockhead to her lovely big 
black bulge. 

"He cannot even see," she said, "but he can feel," she went on, and proved 
that most emphatically by rubbing the very tip of it over her crotch bulge, 
and it felt like soft sand paper to his dick no matter how satiny smooth it 
had been for his finger. 

Looking down at the slow ballet of the pink and black that her hand was 
directing, Charles stammered and said, "He thinks whatever you think is 
best, always. If you wanted to . . . If you wanted to, you know, dress him 
up in soe of the things I brought you, that'd be okay with him. He'd wait. 
Gee, he's waited this long for you." She was moving his cockhead through the 
broad shallow hollows of her groins now, on each side of that perfectly 
fitting pair of panties' crotch band, brushing her tendrils of hair with it 
while heat waves of sweetest musk rose up in his slack face. "And he'd wait 
if you said I should lick you first too," he said. "I'd just make him wait," 
he said, crazy with desire for all or any part of her. "I'd tie him up in 
something and just make him wait while I lapped your cunt and sucked your 
clitty. Maybe those red panties I got you. The ones with lace up the sides. 
He'd wait. He'd still do anything you say, no matter what I did for you." 

"You are so sweet," she said, and kissed him, almost chastely, though 
chastity is a hard commodity to come by for a woman scarcely dressed in 
wicked black with a seventeen-year-old boy's hard prick in her hand. "And I 
have teased you so unmercifully till now. Your poor cock must ache for the 
fucking," she said, stroking it softly, kissing him sweetly. 

"It aches! It burns!" he admitted. 

"And your fine young balls must be bursting with the need to cum, even after 
all we did last night," she said, taking these in her hand and rolling them 
together. 

"They're ready to explode!" he confessed. 

"But still you know so little about fucking," she sadly said. And then she 
brightened, and with the warmest of smiles said, "And I know so much. I show 
you more now. Right here on this bench. The position number five," she said, 
and got up to shuck her clinging black satins down over the swells of her 
big white hips. 

"I'd do that for you," he blurted. "I'd take 'em off with my teeth if you 
said so!" 

With her pants at half mast she bent over, touched her finger to the tip of 
his nose, and said, "Such things as that are for naughty boys, boys who peep 
up the maid's skirt when she is out in her little garden. But good boys, 
such as you have become, they deserve all the rewards that heaven can offer. 
And there is some heaven on earth," she said, and she kissed him with such 
fondness he felt close to weeping, and when she straightened up and 
slithered her panties all the way off of her and he saw that big cunt all 
bare for him he knew she was right. A bit of heaven, hairy as it was, 
existed just for him and his horny prick, and as long as he was good they 
could have all they wanted of it. 

"Number five," she announced, and sat right down on the piano bench again 
and drew him right up into her. 

It was the most perfect of fits, the most comfortable of positions, with him 
on his knees before her and her cunt on the exact level of his prick, with 
her lips there to kiss and her tits there to play with and her legs wrapped 
around him to help him right along. 

But in spite of all the fucking they'd done the night before he was already 
far too ready to cum. How could a guy learn all about rhythm and technique 
and position changing when he was possessed with a hair triggered dick like 
Charles had? He did his level best to prolong it, did his best to banish 
thoughts of sucking what he was fucking and licking what he was dicking. He 
closed his eyes lest the sight of her big black bra remind him further of 
all the other hot stuff he'd bought her and he tried to get his knee of her 
discarded panties lest he dwell too long on how they'd feel snugged up about 
his balls. And this did little good. His balls were just too full, his 
ejaculation was starting just too soon, and with wild inspiration he tried 
to bring her up with him by panting in her ear, "Your Ingrid will be here at 
Christmas! Christmas with your little girl!" 

"INGRI-I-I-I-I-D!" she suddenly cried, and just as suddenly her legs locked 
hard about his waist and her cunt closed down like a Vaselined fist, gushing 
and creaming right along with him while her arms nearly broke his neck and 
they came together in a wonderful shuddering rush. 

 CHAPTER NINE 

While his parents were off in Los Angeles Charles learned that there were 
forty-two different positions for fucking. He tried them all of course, 
under the bubbling tutelage of big blonde Erika, once a maid and now a 
mistress. Except for her shopping trips to town, her uniform remained in her 
closet, and now she ran the household dressed in a fashion far more becoming 
to the likes of young Charles. 

He remained naked all the time. She wouldn't let him put a stitch of clothes 
on, the better to have him ready for her next demonstrative lesson in 
fucking at the first sight of a hard-on jutting from between his legs. The 
hard-ons came often. for she did her dusting and vacuuming and cooking 
dressed in wispy panties and bras, with dark hose on her legs, or in 
nighties long or short, but always very sheer. She pampered him constantly, 
forever popping succulent tidbits of food in his mouth. He walked around 
with a constant grin on his face, and with his dick hanging down like a 
boiled knockwurst, but always ready to swell to full attention yet again. It 
was an idyllic time, like a highly educational honeymoon, but oddly enough 
Charles was not especially disappointed when his parents returned to the 
house. Something, it seemed, was lacking in his love-making with old Erika 
and he felt it was the element of danger involved in their possible 
discovery of his affair with the maid. 

He suffered through a tediously long luncheon with them as they recounted 
the tale of their sodden journey to the big city and back. He knew it had 
been sodden because they looked like bleached mummies with red, weeping 
eyes, and their speech was slurred and their hands shook as they drank and 
tried to eat. But he stayed right there at the table, trying to nod his head 
at the right times, and the moment they were out the back door he was on his 
knees stalking Erika in the kitchen. 

Charles got right up behind her legs as she stood at the sink. They were 
shaven smooth and bare, for a change of late, and he blew his warm, tickling 
breath against their calves and said, "We're alone again." 

"No!" She danced away, looked out the window with concern, and said, "They 
are still in the driveway. If they should discover us now I may be 
deported." 

He crawled right after her, fastened his hands and his lips at her ankle, 
and said, "If they haven't found us out yet they never will." He raised up 
face first with his head under her skirt, saw that she had on her old white 
panties, and nevertheless felt that giddy old excitement as in days of yore 
with her. "How's your cunt?" he said. "How's your clitty? Does it want to 
get licked?" 

"They're coming back!" she said, and leaped away, leaving him to sprawl on 
the floor. She helped him up and returned to her dishes, and he stalked off 
to his room and threw himself on his bed to shuffle through the pictures he 
had of Erika. Lots of them were new ones, taken of her in the new outfits 
he'd gotten her, shot between his fucking lessons. They were all terrific, 
especially when he used his vivid imagination on them. There were new 
pictures of himself too, all stark naked shots that she'd wanted, and these 
he tossed aside. He looked at the pictures of her till he heard the car 
start up, and when he opened his door there was Erika outside in the hall in 
her red bikini and half-bra set. She took him straight to her room and they 
did number twenty-eight, one of Charles' favorites, and as usual it felt 
just fine, just fine. It was great, but Charles was in the mood for 
something more. He didn't know what it might be, but just then the sound of 
Erika's water tinkling in the bathroom sent him off in that direction in 
search of it. 

He slipped off the bed and got down on the floor and headed for her 
bathroom. It was the second time that afternoon he'd been down on his hands 
and knees, and it made him feel good, like a little kid again. He poked his 
head around the door jamb and from his worm's eye view said, "Hi ya. Whatcha 
doin?" 

What a sight she was! He'd seen her naked and in her lingerie so much of 
late, but this view of her was excitingly different, with her just about 
halfway out of her undies. Her enormous tits, of course, were as always just 
about to spill out over the top of this particularly diminutive red 
brassiere, while the panties matching that brassiere were stretched out 
between her knees as she pissed. He was so sharply reminded of that day in 
the cabana shower with her that he couldn't get the foolish grin off his 
face, despite the fact that she was frowning deeply. His surprise appearance 
made her stop and start again, and this somehow tickled him even more. He 
craned his neck up to look at the source of her tinklings. 

"I just sit here," she said. "And I worry." Her ragged golden stream gushed 
forth from the I broadly curving mat of damp hair between her legs, out from 
between those frilly pink lips that she'd use to make him suck on. He saw it 
there between her heavily curving thighs as he stood on all fours gazing 
over her stretched out panties. "Yeah?" he said. "And what have you got to 
worry about?" 

"Oh, Ingrid when she come," said Erika, as her tinkling slowed to a trickle. 

Closer still he crawled. His nose was just an inch away from her panties, 
and they smelled definitely funky and dirty. The faint smell of her urine 
added to it. Lately she'd been teaching him about hygiene in conjunction 
with fucking, but he didn't feel hygienic at all as closer still he edged to 
brush his nostrils back and forth across the soft red material stretched 
taut between her knees. His prick was throbbing larger with each of his 
quickening heartbeats, and he was helping it along with his hand as he said, 
"Aw, she'll be okay till she gets here. Uh . . . does peepee taste like 
pussy, Erika?" 

"I worry about when she is here. And about how to tell your parents she 
come," said the big woman on the can, sitting like a worried queen on her 
throne. 

She reeled off some tissue and blotted herself, and Charles watched in 
fascination as the wadded paper fell into the shadowy bowl. His dick was 
fully hard and his lips were so parched he was licking them constantly, 
rubbing his cheek against her bare knee now, looking straight on at that big 
j old sloppy old cunt that he'd been so busily fucking that he hadn't been 
able to taste for what seemed like weeks. "I'll tell 'em," he said. Worry 
that when the time comes." 

She reached back and worked the commode lever as she said, "The time is 
here. Tomorrow morning at ten." 

"TOMORROW!" said Charles, above the whooshing of the water and her pee. 
"YOUR DAUGHTER WILL BE HERE TOMORROW?? ? " 

"But yes," said she, all wide-eyed, but still sad-eyed. "And your parents do 
not even know. How will you tell them?" 

"I'll. . . I'll. . . I'll.. . My God, Erika, why didn't you tell me she was 
coming so soon?" 

"But you knew! You hear me tell her on the telephone, Charles." 

"What, that night when you called her? Shit, you were talking in Swede! 
Tomorrow! How in the fuck am I gonna tell my folks they'll have a little 
girl as a houseguest starting tomorrow? Son of a bitch!" 

"Do not curse so," she said in a wavering voice. "That is not like a little 
gentleman. And you will find a way to tell them, won't you? You have 
promised," she said, and her knees closed like the doors to a palace, and 
she hung her face in her hands and began to weep. "Oh, my little Ingrid," 
she sobbed. "What if she doesn't like it here? It has been so long. She will 
have changed so very much." 

"There, there. Don't worry. Everything will be fine." How the hell did you 
go about stopping the blubbering of a woman you were screwing day and night 
when she was old enough to be your mother? He hadn't bargained for this. And 
what if his folks heard her wet sobs and came in to find her on the crapper 
with her pants down and him naked as a jaybird and petting her shaking 
shoulders? Charles managed a grim smile at this shocking possibility but his 
smile didn't last for long. There'd be no more fucking for him, not with a 
bratty Swedish kid running around the house. Well, he could do without that. 
He could use a rest from it and a return to his barbells. Fucking was 
overrated anyway, and when he needed it he'd just drive to LA. and find 
himself a whore. She wouldn't cost him eight hundred dollars and she 
wouldn't have some kid hanging onto her and she might like to have her 
filthy old cunt lapped and sucked on till she passed right out from cumming. 

"I know, I know everything will be fine, but I cannot help the worrying," 
said the weeping woman, hanging about Charles' neck now. "You will explain 
it all right to your parents, just as you made it good for her to come here. 
You do everything so good. I have so much respect for you, dear Charles. And 
we will all be so happy. I like to think that. Yoost you and me and my 
Ingrid in America," she wailed, ever louder, and Charles didn't know what 
he'd do if his parent staggered in on him now. 

But he somehow managed to comfort her to relative silence, and he got her 
off the can and handed her some tissue for her tears. He pulled her pretty 
red panties snugly into place and that was sort of a kick, but between her 
red wet eyes and the honking of her nose into the tissue, his dick had grown 
soft. He was ready for his bed and a night worrying about how to tell his 
folks, but Erika's new gratitude was such that he had to let himself be 
dragged into her bed again. 

It took her some time to manipulate him into hardness, for her red nose and 
her weepy eyes were a decided distraction. It helped considerably when 
Charles turned the lights out. Then she assumed position number fourteen, 
where she straddled his hips and did all the work. He enjoyed this position 
a lot, as a rule, because of the view of her tits doing a jelly-roll dance. 
That night he was happier not seeing her, and letting his mind take him into 
the very near future when he'd work himself up through the ranks to be the 
number one pimp in Los Angeles, riding herd over all those nasty oversexed 
women, picking out their clothes for them teaching them all how to fuck, and 
doing his level best to satisfy them on those cold rainy nights when they 
couldn't go out and get all the hot sex they needed from the dumb men on the 
streets. He would run away from home, of course and take a small portion of 
his girls earnings as his due-and leave Erika to look after his drunken 
parents and fawn over her darling little Ingrid. 

 CHAPTER TEN 

It proved very simple to tell his parents about their visitor from abroad. 
Over breakfast he said. "Guess what?" Erika was standing in the kitchen 
doorway, an expression of terror on her bovine face. "Erika's daughter is 
coming over for a visit. She gets here at ten this morning. Okay if I take 
the Mercedes to pick her up? The poor kid has worked as a scullery maid all 
year in a mental hospital, saving up her money for this visit. She won't be 
any trouble. She's only about twelve or fourteen." 

"Scullery maid in a mental hospital," said his mother. "How perfectly 
dreadful. Of course she can visit here. We'll take her into Los Angeles with 
us and show her Disneyland and Knott's Berry 

Farm and all those fun places," she said, and Charles thought to himself, 
Shit, I'll take her to L. A. and put her to work as one of my whores when 
she's old enough. 

"Shcull'ry," said Charles' father, and reached for his breakfast, his Bloody 
Mary. "Scullery," he said again. "Always wondered what a scullery was." 

"Soon you can ask her, Daddy dear," said Charles. And she can answer you in 
Swede talk, he thought, and you two can have some highly engrossing 
conversations around here. 

Erika embraced Charles in the kitchen after breakfast, blubbering again. He 
tolerated it for a full ten seconds before politely excusing himself and 
withdrawing to his room to work on his color TV kit. That was okay with 
Erika. She said she wanted some time to get ready to meet her daughter. 

The Swedish maid looked pretty good when it was time to go. She had on pale 
blue pants, tight at the hips and flaring at the cuffs, and a near 
transparent white blouse, through which could be seen the sexiest of the 
brassieres Charles had bought for her in those irresponsibly horny days of 
old. Her blonde hair was beautifully coif fed. She was understandably very 
nervous, and Charles took an oddly perverse delight in wheeling the Mercedes 
around corners and narrowly missing other cars till he had her clutching the 
door handle and silently screaming. 

The airport was hotter than hell. Erika said she had to visit the ladies' 
room, and Charles told her, "Wait till I check on the ETA of her plane. 
That's the estimated time of arrival. Aeronautical talk." He learned it was 
going to be fifteen minutes late, and he came back and said, "It's due to 
arrive any minute. We'd better wait out on the apron of the runway." 

Charles tried to think about clams and cucumbers and other cool things as 
they stood in the hot, hot shade. He kept pointing to any airplane in the 
sky, saying, "That's probably her now," and Erika kept fidgeting from one 
foot to the other and plucking at her sweat soaking blouse and pants and 
hair. At last Ingrid's flight was announced and landed, a two engine air 
taxi from L.A., and his morning's little pleasure faded into grim-lipped 
gloom as the passengers began to disembark. 

He could tell which was Ingrid by the way Erika's fingers dug deep in his 
arm at the sight of her. He appraised her as he tried to pry those fingers 
loose, a very tall, very gawky kid with her blonde hair up in a bun, 
clumsily descending the off-loading steps with a large overnight bag in tow. 
She had a jacket, of all things, slung over her other arm and was dressed in 
a badly rumpled green pants suit. Two male passengers were trying to help 
her down the stairs, but she was ignoring them in fear of this strange place 
and looking frantically around for her Mommy. 

They found each other soon enough. They fell into each other's arms, wailing 
and blubbering, and jabbering away like a couple of monkeys. It was enough 
to make a guy sick to his stomach. 

"Skorsky bradelstuki floughi skirp!" said Erika holding her daughter at 
arm's length to look at her. 

"Flurmanichi skoopa diddleby gah!" her daughter modestly replied, beaming 
her pleasure at such fond words of flattery, and it was a mother's flattery, 
for although the girl had nice, even features she had a ruddy red complexion 
and her hair was a mess and she was just about tall enough to look down on 
Charles. 

And when Erika finally got around to introducing him, the man who had made 
this farce possible, he bowed in a courtly manner and said, "Blaklestuckey 
poodaroodoo. Blich skobble!" 

Ingrid raised her thin eyebrows at her mother and said, "An educated young 
man, as you said. He speaks languages even I do not know." 

"Aw, I was just clowning around," said Charles. "Let's go. C'mon. I'll buy 
yez a drink." 

First there was her luggage to get, and there was a lot of it. Eight big 
pieces, from a new cowhide bag to cardboard box wrapped with twine, that had 
them all three huffing and puffing by the time they got them to the 
Mercedes, for there were no Aircaps available that morning and Charles 
wouldn't have called for one anyway. He was strong enough to lug them all by 
himself, Ingrid could take care of it because after all she was only the 
maid's dumb daughter, and the maid herself was used to such heavy work, even 
if she did have to pee so bad her bladder must be busting. 

Ingrid sat in the middle in the Mercedes and held hands with her mother like 
Europeans do. Charles kept their jabbering at bay by extemporizing his own 
version of the History of Palm Springs. He took them to a bar he knew his 
parents frequented, plunked them down in an outside table in the sun, and 
defiantly ordered a beer for himself and large glasses of iced tea for the 
women. Almost immediately they got up and excused themselves for the John, 
and Charles sat there fuming alone in the sun. Not knowing what to do with 
the beer, he guzzled it down and ordered another, and when the two Swedes 
returned he was feeling so dizzy that he knew he must be drunk. 

Even they looked and acted differently. Gone was their maddening jabbering 
and they were all quiet politeness now, still holding hands under the table 
but largely attentive to him, though he didn't have a damned thing to say to 
them. Though Ingrid's cheeks were still rosy, the beet-red ruddiness had 
gone from her complexion and she'd brushed back the loose strands of her 
hair and looked better. He noticed she had really big blue eyes, and that 
the make-up she'd had on them and on her very full lips, pouting and smiling 
at the same time, was gone. Erika looked her same old self, tranquil and 
bovine in the aftermath of her long awaited visit to the John, still beaming 
smiles so broadly she had to keep her big Swedish yap shut. He remained 
aloof from them, moving primly away when the kid's knee touched his under 
the table. He was fighting a series of horrendous belches when he'd finished 
that last bottle of beer and signed the tab and left. 

He turned the air conditioner on to high and lurched the big car out into 
the street. Still the car was sweltering and he had to concentrate hard on 
keeping the car between the white lines while the sweat rolled down in his 
eyes and those gigantic belches continued to threaten. They remained unaware 
of his distress, thank God, sitting there and holding hands and looking at 
the desert mansions and speaking softly in their native tongue. He 
remembered how Erika used to blow hard about him making it with Ingrid some 
day. 

Her long lean flank against his reminded him of that. But how in the hell 
did a guy go about screwing his fuck-teacher's daughter, especially when she 
was a gawky string bean virgin like this one? She was so skinny inside that 
soiled pants suits that if you took her outdoors to run her naked in the 
snow she'd break up like a bunch of damned icicles. He didn't need her and 
he didn't want her and he kicked himself a thousand times for letting his 
mouth run away with him about that eight hundred dollars. 

His folks were gone when they got to the house, as expected. In extreme 
discomfort, Charles lugged most of the girl's baggage into Erika's room, and 
said in dignified manner, "I'm sure you two have a lot to talk about. Why 
don't you clean up or take a nap or whatever it is you do in Sweden and I'll 
see you later." 

They exchanged a few words in Swedish and the girl beamed a mouthful of snow 
white teeth down on him from between those bee stung lips and said "I slept 
very well on the airplane. But it was so very hot on the way from Los 
Angeles. Erika tells me you have a lovely pool. May we all take a swim 
together?" 

Charles backed off a bit lest a belch explode in her smile, and said, "Uh, 
yeah. Maybe so. I'll, uh, go get my trunks on. You two go ahead. I'll be 
along. I'm sure you have a lot to talk about." 

He walked rigid as a board and barely weaving down the hall, burst through 
his door and into his bathroom ripping open his pants. He belched one, two, 
three times-great, berry belches that almost hurt-and he fumbled and tore at 
the tight pants he'd worn and succeeded in getting them down but not his 
shorts. He was pissing like a baby and cursing like a gangster as he plopped 
down on the John with one more huge belch that they were sure to hear down 
the hall. Then he sat there with his head in his hands, pissing as though 
he'd never stop, and muttering, "I can always have her deported. And old 
Erika too." 

He must have dozed there, affected by the heat and the beer. He awoke with a 
start as he almost toppled from the stool, got up and set about the grim 
task of washing out his wet jockeys. He still felt terrifically bloated and 
sleepy, and he wondered if they were still waiting for him. A check out his 
bathroom window told him his parents weren't back with the Seville, and a 
peep from out his bedroom window revealed Erika and her daughter patiently 
waiting for him in the shade of the cabana. Erika had her black suit on the 
one he'd bought for her, and her kid didn't look all that bad either, even 
though her swim suit was simple to the point of austerity. It was of a 
brilliant blue against her very pale Nordic skin. It was of a completely 
traditional cut, except for how it rode up so very high on her very skinny 
thighs. Its bra cups were padded of course, not because of their size, which 
was next to nothing, but because she'd placed them far too high on her 
chest. Her bun had been brushed out into golden waves, so her hair looked 
pretty good and her face and her smile were okay. But all in all she looked 
laughable, a skinny kid trying to act like a woman and the only thing he 
found fascinating about her in the slightest was her very long, very slender 
waist, and the suppleness with which it moved as she sat on a big towel with 
her mother, waiting for him. They were doing a lot of smiling and talking, 
brushing against each other too, and glancing at the house now and then. 
Erika drew a pattern on her daughter's thigh with her fingernail, perhaps a 
diagram of the house, and the girl lifted Erika's hand and playfully nipped 
that finger, and then to Charles' mild surprise, sucked it in her mouth. 
Strange people these Swedes, he thought, and continued to watch while Erika 
spoke rapidly to her laughing daughter and gestured toward the house. Ingrid 
just threw back her golden head and laughed. He could hear it tinkling 
through the hot air. And then she held her long fingers under her mother's 
chin and brought their lips together. 

Erika gave a start and began to draw back, but then those long fingers of 
her daughter trailed down her throat and the kiss between mother and 
daughter grew closer, more intimate, to the point where he could see their 
mouths working together. To an outsider it might have looked like one of 
those lesbian things that the guys at school talked about, but to Charles it 
looked like nothing more than one more weird custom of the Swedes that he'd 
have to put up with before he booted them both out. He watched till the 
clinging lips parted and Erika was scolding her laughing daughter, and then 
he yawned and fell over onto his bed for a much needed nap. The last thing 
he thought of before he fell asleep was an old, recurrent vision that of two 
really good-looking women on facing pages of a girly mag, and what those 
women did when the magazine was closed and hidden away for the night. 

The first thing he thought when he woke up was that he was back at Ivanhoe, 
for he'd had a goddammed wet dream, and it had been a big one. He was lying 
in a big wet spot of his cream, still warm, and he was still atingle with 
its disgusting good effects on him. It was a stupid, childish thing to do. 
It hadn't happened to him for weeks, and now to have it happen here, right 
on his bedspread, that Erika would have to wash. 

She'd know. She wasn't that dumb. He got a wet cloth and began scrubbing 
furiously at it. He was dressed in only his shirt, shoes and socks. He froze 
at the sound of a car engine starting, then hurried to his bathroom window 
in time to see his folks pulling out in the Seville. He must have slept for 
hours! He hadn't even been there to introduce Erika's kid to them. The hell 
with that and the hell with the bedspread. He was hungry, and so he pulled 
on his cut-offs and took off his shirt and sallied forth to partake of 
Erika's leftovers. 

The dishwasher was running but there were pots and pans still on the sink, 
not at all like their Swedish maid to leave behind. He drank some good old 
milk and slapped a sandwich together and strolled down the hall to Erika's 
room, where she was probably helping her daughter unpack. The door was 
closed. He leaned against it and heard them jabbering softly, giggling 
together from time to time, and then as he munched away at his sandwich, he 
heard them softly moaning, deeply sighing, enjoying their reunion after such 
a long time apart. He thought it better to leave them undisturbed in their 
famjoys. He wiped his hands on his old denim shorts and went outside for a 
dip. 

"Whoopee! Whee-ooo!" The water felt so good he couldn't keep from shouting, 
splashing loudly up and down the pool, climbing out to cannonball off the 
diving board again. He hadn't been at it for ten minutes when they came out, 
Erika in her black latex suit with the crisscrossed laces on the sides, and 
her kid in a bathing suit that was absolutely insane. 

It was black, like her mother's, but there the similarity ended. It was 
unbelievably tiny. The bottom was just a black string that girdled her 
slender hips. The string dipped down, front and rear, joined by the part 
that went between her amazingly long white legs. The front of it was nothing 
more than an abbreviated jockstrap pouch, starting some four inches below 
her little belly button and just barely covering the dainty little curve of 
her cuntal area, and from there it dwindled to a string that disappeared 
completely between her petit buttocks before it emerged to tug down at the 
string round her hips. The top of her bathing suit was but little more, just 
a black string around her back and another around her waist, tenuously 
holding two tiny triangles of stretched black cloth over most of her little 
breasts. And they weren't so very little, though they'd never be the size of 
Erika's monsters, and they certainly weren't made of foam rubber no matter 
how high on her chest they thrust. Charles saw every bit of that bathing 
suit, for as soon as the girl had noticed his interest in it she'd 
courteously made a slow turn about, with her wondrously long, slim, white 
arms extended out and her equally structured waist undulating like a 
snake's. 

Charles vaulted out of the pool and stood as tall as he could, but he was 
still looking up into her brilliant blue eyes, her dazzling smile, all 
surrounded by the thick halo of her golden hair, as he said, "Well, I guess 
you met the folks okay. Sorry I wasn't there. I took a snooze." 

She nodded and her mother laughed and said, "I know. I peeped in on you." 
she said, and out of sight of her daughter she pinched him on the ass, just 
to let him know she'd seen him asleep and bare-butted and thus try to 
embarrass him more. He wondered, as Ingrid prattled on about how nice his 
folks were, if Erika had come in while he was wet-dreaming. Or had even 
precipitated it by wriggling her finger up his ass as she'd used to do. But 
no, she'd never do a thing like that with her daughter in the house. 

". . . and I want to thank you, so very much, for making it possible for me 
to visit here," Ingrid went on, and raised Charles' eyebrows by curling her 
arms about his neck. 

"It wasn't anything," Charles murmured. 

"It meant a lot to me," she said, and in her gratitude she touched her lips 
to his, and painted glossy pink they were now, and reminding him strangely 
of the lips of that old time sex star, Brigit Bardot. 

"And to me," murmured Erika, and she touched her lips to his ear, and 
she-the sly old horny devil-secretly tickled inside it with her tongue tip. 

"A regular Boy Scout, that's me! A good deed every day!" he said, and broke 
out of the close triangle and dove in the pool before he got himself a 
hard-on for which Erika could never forgive him. 

He dove deep and long, two or three times, and when he came up again they 
were fooling with his weights. "Better not do that, Erika. You'll hurt 
yourself," he called, and then fell silent in sheer amazement as she lifted 
the hundred twenty pound barbell high overhead, then held it there with one 
hand and slowly rotated it back and forth, while her laughing daughter amply 
felt of her extended bicep and on down to her pectoral. He even thought he 
saw her give Erika's tit a squeeze as he came out of the water again before 
Erika could hurt herself. 

He got her to put it down, and he scolded her for doing such a strenuous 
thing, while behind him her tittering daughter was now feeling of his 
muscles, all down his back and up and down his arms, around his chest where 
she squeezed his pectorals like they were a pair of tits, and on down low on 
his belly where she didn't know what the hell she was doing. He cut his 
admonishments short and was starting for the pool again when Erika caught 
his hand and yanked him back. 

"You see, dear, in this country," she said to her daughter, "they revere 
old, shabby things like Charles' trunks," she said, and plucked at the 
frayed old waistband while her daughter closely watched and smiled. "These 
are so old the button-holes don't hold any more," she went on, demonstrating 
this by flipping open the top fastener. 

"Are they all like that?" Ingrid asked, and reached for the second one, and 
Charles leaned hard in the direction of all that cool water and said, "LET'S 
ALL GO SWIMMING!" 

Erika yanked him right back in place. She faced him scowling, fingers 
digging into the small of his back just like those two shower handles had, 
and she said, "Why do you always try to run away from us? Do you not like my 
Ingrid?" 

"Sure! I just . . . want to go swimming!" 

She yanked him back against her. Good Christ, he could feel the big X's of 
those shower handles even to the HOT and COLD, and she could surely feel the 
radiant heat from his dick, so big now that it threatened to creep right out 
of his cut-offs that she'd opened up. "I like Ingrid fine," he murmured. "I 
just want to go swimming," he pleaded. 

"Well, if you like someone fine in Sweden, you show them," said Erika, and 
she whirled him about and shoved him at her daughter, and held him against 
her with her hands on those X's while Ingrid kissed him in anything but a 
girlish way. Her lips were so firm and mobile, and yet so yielding and soft. 
Her hands were moving all over him now, feeling skin instead of muscle, 
though he could feel their touch clear down to his toes. And his dick, his 
poor suffering dick, it was up so hard it had indeed poked over the second 
strained button-hole and-Heaven help him-was touching the vicinity of her 
naked navel with its naked knob. Now, as his tongue was slowly being sucked 
into the girl's mouth, he starkly remembered how just a few feet from this 
spot he'd lost control of himself and creamed up inside of Erika's bathing 
suit, and that gave him the Superman strength to wrench away from that 
innocently fantastic mouth and tear away from those unknowingly stimulating 
hands and run for the house, holding his hands cupped over his cockhead and 
shouting over his shoulder, "Go ahead without me! I've got some prints in 
the drier I forgot all about!" 

He bolted his door and beat off like mad, just like a damned kid again, and 
when he looked out his bedroom window, mother and daughter were nowhere to 
be seen. 

 CHAPTER ELEVEN 

Dinner was an ordeal, as Charles had expected it to be. He had dressed in 
suit and tie for it, for good reason, and he suffered through his parents 
rambling conversation, even adding to it, while two instead of just one maid 
served them dinner. His parents, weird as ever, serenely accepted Ingrid's 
presence as if she'd always been a part of the household, even though it was 
plain to see that Erika's daughter had had no training as a domestic 
whatsoever from her very efficient mother. She smiled altogether too much 
and she winked at him from behind his parents' back and in leaving the 
dining room she switched her impertinent little ass in quite an unseemly 
manner. It only served to strengthen young Charles' resolve, and when mother 
and daughter were both within earshot, removing the soup bowls and serving 
the salads, he said in well-bred tones, "I believe I'll join you at the Club 
tonight if you don't mind. Play a little Bridge or billiards, I don't know, 
while you chat with your friends." 

"Wunnerful, wonderful," said his father, as he chased an elusive tomato with 
his fork. 

"I think that's a perfectly divine idea," said his mother, and toasted him 
with a full glass of Ruby Port. 

And when his steak came, placed firmly before him by Erika, complete with 
its usual little toothpick sign that said Medium Rare there was a piece of 
paper speared to the steak by the pick, and on it were the words, 'You stay 
here with Ingrid and me tonight. Please!' He calmly read it while she stood 
in the dining room doorway, and just as calmly tore it in pieces and ate it 
with his first bite of steak. He didn't touch his peas and mashed potatoes 
except to write her a green on white note that said, 'I GO.' 

His parents got up to do what they did between dinner and the Club. Charles 
solicitously helped them with their chairs. He strolled about the dining 
room table, hands in his pockets, whistling. He checked his chronometer and 
went in the living room and turned on the television, and the long white arm 
of the maid's daughter reached out and he was marched into the kitchen by 
his ear, whimpering protests all the way. 

"What do you mean, 'I go'? " she snapped, nearly nose to nose with him. 
"When Erika or I say you stay her and entertain us, you stay here and 
entertain us! Do you understand?? ? " 

"I already told my parents I was going with them," he said, shocked at how 
angry she was, and shocked at himself for having come so close to wetting 
his pants when she'd taken him by the ear. 

But now she really got mad. As her mother stood chewing her knuckles, 
Ingrid's lovely face contorted into that of a vampire, and she slapped him 
across the face and she yanked his tie open and she jerked his shirttail out 
and she ripped down his zipper and she clutched him by the throat and she 
said, "You . . . are . . . staying . . . with . . . us . . . tonight! DO YOU 
UNDERSTAND?" 

"Darling hush!" her mother whispered. 

"Do you understand?" Ingrid hissed in his face, took his hard dick in her 
hand and surely would have broken it right off if Charles hadn't said, "Yes! 
Yes, I'll stay here! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you mad." 

"You never will again," she said, and with a final wrench at his terrified 
hard-on she calmly turned to help her cowering mother with the dishes. 

Charles frantically worked on his clothes, but they still weren't right when 
his parents came bumbling out and so he ducked out the back door and began 
apologizing to them in the dark the moment they emerged from the house. He 
kept it up all the way to the car, and by then he had everything in its 
place except his stiff condition. His father just waved his hand and said, 
"It's awright. Stay here and look at television. Get away from that 
electronic shit for a change. Better yet, open your pants and go lookin' for 
some hot young tomato." 

"Charles! What a thing to say!" said his mother. 

"And if you can't do that," said the old man., firing up the Mercedes, "take 
off all your clothes and go around lookin' in windows." 

Charles' mother was vigorously vituperating her husband all the way down the 
driveway, leaving young Charles all alone in the dark, with that vicious 
Swedish vampire waiting inside for him. It was weird, but his prick was 
still up hard as he tiptoed in the back door. 

Only half the dishes were in the washer. Charles started loading the rest of 
them in, hoping to at least save Erika's job for her, though for what reason 
he couldn't fathom. He was trying to be as quiet as he could about it, also 
in hopes that they'd somehow get to talking in Erika's room and forget about 
him, but then came Ingrid's voice, dulcet to the point of being syrupy, and 
making the steak turn cold in his stomach. "Charlieee. Will you come into 
the living room please?" 

"Yes, m . . . Yes, Ingrid. I'm coming." 

He halted in its doorway, eyelids drooping half closed, chin drooping down 
all the way, for this was a girl he'd only half glimpsed in his wildest 
dreams. The baggy green uniform she'd worn to serve dinner in was still 
around her shoulders, but now it was unbuttoned all the way down the front, 
exposing her terrifically slender and terrifically shapely in nothing more 
than a bright pink brassiere and matching panties, each of them as brief and 
tight and clinging as it could be. Her long legs were extended her ankles 
crossed, and her white high heels rested on the big leather hassock while 
she lounged back in his father's favorite chair, smoking a cigarette, split 
of Champagne beside her on the reading table, mother beside her on the 
floor. She looked electrifying. She hadn't had time to add make-up to her 
face, but now her blue eyes smoldered purple under her long thick lashes and 
her lips glistened pink as her panties as she prused them and blew out a 
thick cloud of smoke. Her mother, from what he could see of her when he tore 
his eyes from Ingrid, was sitting on her legs on the floor and looking 
anxious while Ingrid idly petted her flaxen head. Ingrid was demanding his 
attention. 

"I understand you imagine yourself something of a photographer," she said, 
and flicked an ash on the floor. 

"I've . . . won some prizes at it." 

"Yes. An amateur. Well, I am a model in Europe, a professional one. Some 
fashion work, some art studies, and some very dirty mov . . . " 

"Ingrid, hush!" her mother pleaded. 

And Ingrid's petting hand now grasped a handful of that flaxen hair and 
jerked Erika's startled face up toward her, and she said, "You hush! I did 
not come all the way over here to be ordered about by you, and I certainly 
did not come here to be rejected by the first silly American boy I meet 
here," said she, directing this last at young Charles. 

"Now, you," she said, pointing her fingers and her cigarette at him, "you go 
fetch you camera. I want some pictures of Erika and I-and perhaps of you, 
too, if you are good-to take to Hollywood with me when I go to find some 
modeling work here. Well, go get it! And when you come to Erika's room, I 
want you to be wearing the camera, and nothing else, nothing else at all. 
And you; 

Erika, come with me now," she said and her white heel flashed on high, and 
her long white leg snaked itself around Erika's neck, and Charles saw 
Erika's mouth pressed hard against the bulging pink crotch of the porn model 
as his feet turned him about and walked him down the hall. 

They couldn't be mother and daughter. Maybe Erika had been a maid in a porno 
factory and fallen in lesbian love with her there. Maybe Erika had been her 
governess and was responsible for all of her wild behavior. And she couldn't 
be only twelve or fourteen years old, as Charles had somehow been led to 
believe. She had to be at least eighteen. Or more like twenty-five. Or 
entirely ageless, like some beautiful creature sent by the devil-which 
Charles hadn't believed in up till then-to tempt and corrupt mortal 
innocents like himself, and like Erika. All this and more went tumbling 
through Charles head as his hands took off his clothes, every stitch, and 
hung his camera around his neck, and his feet took him down that long 
hallway with his stiff prick leading the way and those big twin X's on his 
back itching like mad. 

They were on the bed. Ingrid was on her back there and Erika was on her 
elbows and knees with her face buried deep in her crotch. Erika was making 
wet, smacking sounds with her mouth and saying, "Mmmmm! Mm-m-m-m! Ah-h-h-h." 
Ingrid was showing all her teeth in an unholy smile and saying, "Eat it! 
Yes! Suck! Ah! Good!" 

Ingrid's little pink bra still covered her titties, but her pink panties 
were down around her thighs, stretched by her outspread legs and uplifted 
knees, and further stretched over the nape of Erika's neck as the bigger, 
older woman made a feast of her cunt. Ingrid's hands were up at the sides of 
her head, long fingers working in her palms, and her long slender throat was 
stretched back with her head in her glowing ecstasies. Her golden hair was 
fluffed out like an angel's round her head, but that smile on her face was 
wholly devilish. Charles got some pictures of her from the doorway of the 
bedroom. He wasn't too stunned by his shock and his fascination and his near 
sickening excitement to forget that. 

He got Erika in the pictures too. She'd cast aside her green uniform and was 
clad in her big white panties and brassiere. With her face and her hair 
covering all of Ingrid's crotch, her hands were on Ingrid's hips, fingers 
deeply digging into those diminutive little buttocks that Charles had once 
thought looked girlish. 

He moved into the room all filled with the smells and sounds and sights of 
wildest female sex, and any photographic training he'd had came to him only 
by instinct as he moved around the bed taking pictures of Ingrid in orgasm 
and Erika driving her on to more. He'd taken half a dozen before Ingrid even 
noticed him, and when she did she made a fantastically erotic face for him 
and he dutifully captured it on film. As far as he could tell Erika still 
didn't know he was there with them, and he could certainly understand this 
oversight. She was fully intent on driving Ingrid completely crazy with her 
cunt kisses. Well, not fully intent, for now as Charles passed by the foot 
of her bed again he saw Erika take on hand from Ingrid's squirming hip and 
reach down inside her panties with it where it moved under the white crotch 
like a busy mouse for several seconds before returning to Ingrid's white 
flesh. In seeing this, Charles was constrained to take his itching dick in 
hand, but he'd only given it a few strokes when Ingrid snapped, "No! Come 
here." 

He came to her side, put a knee on the bed, and shot straight down at her. 
She had to be posing for the camera lens, for she looked so very beautiful 
and incredibly sexy, but to all intents and purposes her entire being was 
devoted to absorbing the deep pleasures so avidly being thrust upon her by 
that hungry mouth between her legs. 

Charles couldn't even see Ingrid's cunt. Erika's face and hair obscured it 
completely, as if she was too possessive of that sweetest of spots to even 
let another soul glimpse of it. But, at least for the time being, Ingrid's 
face and hair, her arms and hands, her slim writhing torso and her 
pink-covered titties were enough to keep Charles' camera shutter clicking. 

"The big blonde bitch," she said through her pantings to Charles. "She makes 
me cum a thousand times and still wants more. Ah-h-h, wonderful! Did you 
ever eat her cunt this good? Did you?" 

"No. Never," he murmured. "But with you . . . If I could ever do it to you. 
. . . " 

She laughed, "Ha, ha, ha!" and then a particularly intense spasm of orgasmic 
delight seized her and contorted her face into a fresh mask of erotic joys, 
and Charles caught it just right on his film. 

Boldness, inspiration seized him then. He was, after all, a photographer-her 
photographer-and he owed it to her to do the very best job he could. Though 
she was the star of it all, he could direct her a little, and to this end he 
pointed a wavering finger at her bra strap and said, "If I could pull that 
down a little.. . ? " 

"Yes!" she said, and pulled it down over her shoulder, and he took a picture 
of her thus, while the pink indentation of the strap was still fresh against 
the snow white of her shoulder. 

"More!" she said, fulfilling all his hopes, and now he was able to brush his 
fingers against her wonderfully hot and satiny smooth skin as he peeled the 
strap down further. 

He exposed the edge of her aureole and got a picture of that, surprisingly 
large and beautifully pink against the pink of her brassiere. Lower came the 
bra cup as he worked the strap down over her elbow, and now he could get the 
whole big nipple on film along with her ecstatically smiling face and her 
constantly undulating torso. The nipple and aureole were sharply conical, 
capped on the end with a blunt point of just the size to fit between a man's 
lips, but Charles was just a boy again now, without the courage to beg for 
the smallest of kisses. He could touch her there, though and this he did, 
all as if by accident as he moved the empty bra cup for the best camera 
advantage over a tittie that was so firm and white and pink and hot that 
even his prick was staring at it. 

Now she began to touch as he longed to do, squeezing it and kneading it and 
drawing its end to an even sharper point. It was wildly sexy to see her 
touching herself like that and he snapped picture after picture from many 
angles until the camera jammed to a frustrating stop. 

"Don't stop! I'll be right back!" he called, and ran down the hall with his 
hard dick flopping and his hands unloading the camera, got another roll and 
walked rapidly back reloading. Alone for the moment, he was free to give his 
dick the brief massage it so badly needed, but better things lay at the 
other end of the hall and he went back to Erika's room as fast as he could. 

* * * 

They hadn't stopped on his account. The first sight he saw was Erika's ass, 
still up in the air, and she continued with her feast of hot cunt. He got a 
few shots of that, just to make sure the film was starting right in the 
camera, and it looked pretty good to him through the view-finder. It was 
big, like a moon, and the crotch band of the white panties covering it was 
all soiled and damp and twisted from the way she'd been reaching down to 
diddle herself from time to time. Even as Charles watched, she did it again. 
Her cunt had to be sopped, all wet and slick and throbbing, so full of cunt 
juice that it might be trickling down her thighs. He went forward, let the 
camera fall on its strap around his neck, and touched her there. Yes, her 
big soft inner thighs were quite damp with it. He knew it was cunt juice 
because he smelled his fingers and licked them before returning them to draw 
aside her sodden crotch band and plunge them deep in her superbly sloppy 
cunt. 

He ran them in and out, first two and then three, and he grinned at the way 
it made her churn her big ass and arch her big hips up for more. It even got 
through to Ingrid for she raised up on her elbows and grinned at him and, 
knowing this was somehow pleasing her, he ducked down on the bed and pulled 
Erika's crotch band farther aside to use his tongue there. 

"Oh! Oh, Charles!" the big woman hoarsely cried, and Charles tongued her 
deeper, lip-nibbled around the fleshy lips of her cunt, just as she'd taught 
him, thinking of Ingrid's hot little cunt but happy to have this one for 
now. He couldn't quite reach her clitty with his tongue, but he was doing a 
hot job on her cuntlips and fuck-hole, and this she acknowledged with her 
muffled moans and her hip-churnings, strong enough to rock the bed. He knew 
he'd helped her cum at least a couple of times, but then that became far 
less important than getting some more good shots of Ingrid. He quit her cunt 
and got up on his knees licking his lips, and found that Ingrid had turned 
over. 

Erika was eating her asshole! She was tongue-fucking her right up her butt! 
It was something he hadn't expected at all, but there it was before him, 
Ingrid with her lovely cheek mashed down against a pillow and her cunningly 
sweet little butt raised up in the air, and Erika holding firm to it and 
sliding her long, tapered tongue deep inside that tight pink hole, over and 
over again. It made him swallow hard but it didn't make him sick. In fact, 
the more he looked and the more pictures he took, the more beauty he saw in 
it, with Erika's broad face almost serene now, pressed between those small 
but superbly rounded buttocks that she held apart with her hands, and with 
Ingrid thoroughly getting all she could of it and demanding more, in her own 
inimitable way. 

"Ah! Erika! Beautiful! Deeper! Yes! Dar-ling, nobody does this like you!" 

The camera jammed to a stop again. What a time for this to happen! He knew 
he wasn't out of film, and he worked with it furiously until he'd freed it, 
so furiously indeed that he completely missed the quick transition of 
positions as Ingrid was rolled over for Erika's mouth to return to her cunt. 

The slim blonde was cumming harder than ever now. Erika's tongue in her 
asshole had brought her to a higher level of ecstasies and now it was taking 
her higher still. Of all of her fantastic body, though, it was her face that 
was the most fantastic now, and Charles got up on his knees on the bed 
beside her to get all he could of that on his film. 

He seemed to feel each of the orgasms ripping through her as he shot her 
ecstatically grimacing face, her drawn back lips, her knitted brows. Those 
hot shudders running through him were beautiful, but still he yearned for 
more. The pornographic artist came out in him now and he took a shot 
straight down, with the lens focused sharply on her and with the head of his 
stiff cock in the foreground. 

But now he was running short of film, and this was his very last roll. He 
said, ". . . Ingrid?" 

"Yes! Ah-h-h, what is it?" she said, and her hand flung out and brushed his 
bare leg, and he jumped at the contact of it. 

"Maybe I could . . . do it a little to you. It might make a good picture, 
Ingrid. I could show Erika how to use the camera. It isn't hard at all." 

"Just keep shooting," she said. "Get pictures of this," she said, and her 
hand reached up and got his dick, and with two quick pumps of it he was 
cumming, shooting, squirting his Jism all over her lovely torso and her 
laughing face, creaming long white streaks on her pink bra and her pink 
nipple and taking pictures through it all somehow. He was cumming so hard he 
could almost hear it. "Pssssst! . . . Psssst! . . . Psssst!" went his prick 
in her hand, as more and more of him came out to cling to her fair white 
skin. Every pore, every nerve, every hair on his body could feel it until 
the camera ran dry and so did he and he teetered back on the bed and slipped 
off it and collapsed on the floor in a mindlessly happy sprawl. 

 CHAPTER TWELVE 

"Good God, Erika! Would you eat a girl to death?" Charles heard Ingrid 
exclaim. 

And he heard Erika chuckle and say, "It has been too long. And your cunt 
tastes too sweet." 

Charles struggled up and looked across the big expanse of bed. Erika was 
still on it, curled up on her big tanned legs and licking her lips like a 
cat. Ingrid was off the bed and backed up against the bathroom door. Her 
hair was in gorgeous blonde disarray and the miracle of orgasm still showed 
on her lovely face. Both of her titties were covered with her bra cups now 
and, alas, she'd pulled up her panties. They were torn on the side from too 
much stretching, but their lacy pink nylon was there to cover all of her 
little cunt. His semen still streaked her chest and face and now she turned 
a stern look on Charles and said, "Your pictures had better be good." 

"They'll be great!" He slung the camera off his neck and got up on his 
knees. "And you'll do great in Hollywood. I know you will. And maybe I can 
help! My dad used to insure a Hollywood movie producer, and a dirty book 
maker too, I think. I could help you with your career, Ingrid!" 

"We'll see about that," she said. "But look. You've made a mess of me. Get 
some tissue and clean this stuff off." 

"Right away!" he said, and headed toward her and the bathroom, and managed 
to lightly brush against her as he passed. 

No toilet paper for her fine skin. He got a handful of Kleenex and returned, 
to find Erika inevitably drawn up off the bed and close beside Ingrid, 
smiling and kissing and petting and caressing her, which Ingrid accepted as 
her due. He wiped her clean of his cum, touching that fabulous body all he 
politely could in the process of it, while she and Erika fairly purred in 
their contentment and tickled their tongue tips together artfully. He wanted 
all or any part of her so badly he would have died for it. Even after that 
enormous cum he'd had his prick was thickening again to prove this. He wiped 
her clean and dabbed her clean again and she went right on smooching with 
old Erika, until at last Charles hunger took over and he said, "Could I do 
that to you soon?" 

She turned an amused smile on him. "What? Kiss my cunt?" 

"Yes! Please! I'm good at it! Ask her!" 

She laughed and said to Erika, "You see? You simply don't know how to handle 
this younger generation. This afternoon he was afraid to touch either one of 
us. And now he begs to kiss my cunt. But is he good at it? Does he know what 
he's doing? You know I can't stand a fumbler." 

Charles' high hopes sagged as Erika shrugged. She said, "Oh, he's all right. 
For a man. For a boy, really." 

"I can make you cum, Ingrid!" he pleaded. "I know I can. Please, Ingrid. It 
doesn't have to be here or now. Just tell me I can some time." 

"What's wrong with here and now?" she said, and his hopes soared right on up 
to reality, until she added, "But you must show me first how well you do 
with Erika." 

He didn't want to eat her big old cunt with Ingrid's so close at hand. But 
there it was before him as the light pressure of Ingrid's hand on his 
shoulder took him to his knees, and as big fat Erika fucked down the front 
of her panties to expose the broad triangle of her hair and the thick pink 
lips that split it. Her clitty was there too, distended out from her lips, 
and Charles went for it with his lips, for even though this was only an 
audition it was a most important one for him. 

He sucked and licked that clitty as ardently as he ever had when he'd 
thought he was in love with the Swedish maid. He nibbled the hot wet flesh 
all around it and stabbed and tickled it with his tongue and thought he was 
doing a tremendous job of it, if her reactions were any yardstick. But then 
he looked up through his eyebrows and saw that Ingrid was Frenching Erika 
and playing with her tits, and he knew his own suckings could only account 
for half of Erika's growing pleasures. 

He went right on sucking, though, even as Ingrid slipped Erika's bra cups up 
and loosed the pendulous globes of her mammoth tits. The far slimmer of the 
two blondes lifted them and squeezed their nipples and fondled them, and her 
voice was a throaty purr as she said, "I have always loved these big ones of 
yours. How I used to stare at them and think of them like this, in my hands, 
while you were before the class teaching us those foolish things in school." 

"Before I took you in hand to teach you the important things," Erika said 
through her smile, and cupped Ingrid's hands in hers and drew them harder 
against her tits. "Your stares at me" she said. "That is what brought us 
together. I knew. I knew what you wanted, but were afraid of. Do you 
remember that first time? That first time we were alone together?" 

"I still have dreams of it! You made me stay after class. I was so 
frightened!" 

"And I was frightened too. But I had to have you, even if it meant my job." 

"And you made me sit in the front row, and you behind your desk, looking so 
very stern and so very beautiful!" 

"Ha! You always sat in the front row. The better to look at these!" she said 
triumphantly, and thrust her big tits up proudly, and Ingrid showered them 
with kisses, and Charles stayed crouched there still sucking their teacher's 
cunt. 

Excitement was building in both of them. Charles could hear it in their 
voices and feel it in both of their bodies now with his mouth pressed closer 
against Efika's cunt, pushed there by Ingrid's jostlings. 

"And you sat right there!" Ingrid said, "and opened your sweater and pulled 
up your bra, and I thought I was going to explode!" 

"And you sat right there with your pretty mouth open, until I came to you, 
walked right over to you, and put this big nipple right inside it!" 

"Yes! Yes, yes, beautiful!" Ingrid exclaimed, and was sucking on that nipple 
again, as ardently as 

Charles was sucking on her cunt, and big blonde Erika was cumming. 

She lapsed into Swedish, which Ingrid answered, and she writhed and twisted 
and orgasmed so hard against the bathroom door that her panties fell down 
about her ankles and she nearly twisted a handful of Charles' hair out. He 
stayed right with her though, tonguing and sucking her on to more, more, in 
this, his audition for something even greater. Ingrid stayed with her too, 
pulling and sucking on her tits, Frenching her deeply, rapidly saying words 
that even sounded dirty in Swedish, until at last Erika sighed and leaned 
back against the door. 

"Enough," she said. "At least for now. You young people have to have it all 
at once, but I want to make it last the whole night through." 

"I'm ready for more," said Charles, and turned his head to face the tight 
pink bulge of Ingrid's pantied cunt. He was panting hard and his tongue was 
aching to its roots, but he was so very close to it now that he said, "You 
said I could if I was good with her, Ingrid. And I was. I made her cum. I 
helped her feel real good. Can I make you feel good now? Please?" 

She tickled a finger through his tousled hair and said, "You may kiss my 
cunt, if that's what you mean." And smiling down at his beaming cunt-wet 
face, she said, "But only through my panties-for now. I want to keep Erika's 
kisses inside them for now, but later . . ? " 

He'd have settled for anything. He got his hot hands on those beautifully 
long, rounded flanks of hers and pressed his lips against her cuntal mound, 
sucking with firm gentleness to draw more of her fecund sweetness through 
the tautly stretched mesh of her crotch band. High above him they were 
tittering and talking Swedish. He didn't care. As long as he had Ingrid like 
this, looking up at her slender beauty with his lips and her cunt separated 
by only a bit of lace, he'd have gone on forever. He was shocked, though, 
and then mortified and wholly humiliated when the crotch band ballooned out 
with hot liquid and all the sweetness turned to salt on his lips. 

He choked and spluttered and they thought it was the funniest thing in the 
world. He fell back and she came forward, hot piss flowing out of her leg 
holes and through her crotch band onto his face. And then from behind him he 
felt the thicker gusher of Erika's water as she too began peeing on him, on 
his neck and his hair and his back as he slumped down between them and wept, 
salty tears that mingled with the piss flowing down over his bowed head. 

He remained where he was till they'd giggled themselves out and pissed 
themselves dry, and then it was his humiliators who dragged him to his feet 
and, all solicitous now, led him into the bathroom. He was blinded by it. It 
stung in his eyes and it cloyed in his nostrils and was bitter in his mouth. 
It dripped off his nose and chin and hair, but he refused to open his 
tightly compressed lips to say, 'I hate you! I hate you both!' 

They pushed him into the shower and wet him down, drenched him. They turned 
off the water and got in with him, lathering him up from head to toe and 
teasing him unmercifully with their nasty words and their vile bodies. He 
had to stand there covered with suds while they jostled against him in 
pinning their hair up, and then the water was turned on again and he was 
rinsed entirely clean by the two terrible blondes in their wet bras and 
panties. He got a mouthful of water and spit it out, along with the taste of 
her piss, but he still wouldn't say a word to either of them as they took 
him out of the shower stall and dried him off. 

'The cat has his tongue," said Ingrid. 

"No, it is still inside my cunt, and it feels so nice there. As you will 
soon see, my little one." 

'There. He is all dry. But what has happened to his cock? It is so soft 
now." 

"It will grow. We know how to make those grow big, don't we?" 

"He needs some sweet powder. All over him. That's what he needs. This is 
fun! It's like playing with a doll." 

Charles stood there and permitted indignity to be heaped upon humiliation. 
With a large powder puff, Ingrid dusted him everywhere with perfumed powder, 
his face and his chest and under his arms and on his prick and balls and 
even up his ass. He stood there and took it. They'd grow bored with it soon 
and return to their sinful sex together, leaving him free to go to his room, 
shower for sixty minutes, and get to work on his television kit. He thought 
of how proud of him his parents would be when it was finished. He dwelt on a 
difficult little wiring problem he'd encountered the last time he'd worked 
on it, over a week before. And the two blonde harpies chattering and 
giggling and drying each other off like a couple of playful teenaged girls. 

"My hair got wet," said Erika. 

"Mine too, but I've a drier in my things. Come! I have so many things you 
haven't seen! Things for you, too. And perhaps for our wooden doll. Come 
along, Charlie McCarthy, now that you've had your bath." 

He walked like a wooden doll and stood like a totem pole between the bed and 
the bathroom door while they rummaged through Ingrid's bags. 

Erika alone was too powerful for him to subdue and escape to his room. And 
even if he made a break for it, they'd break down the door and drag him out 
in the mood they were in. So he stood there and watched, entirely impassive, 
while the two women in panties and bra, one white and one pink and both 
clinging wet, dug through Ingrid's bags. 

They occupied every corner of the room. Some had been opened already and 
piles of her bright, vivid clothing and dainty under things were on top of 
them and the chairs. None of it affected Charles whatsoever, not even the 
pile of hosiery and corsetry and lingerie that was transferred from Erika's 
dresser chair to the bed so one of them could sit before the mirror there. 

But neither of them sat down. They conversed in their conspiratorial Swedish 
and then came to him together, and together dragged him before the dresser 
mirror and held him there. 

"I think he will make a good maid," said Ingrid. 

"Good enough to dry our hair." 

"But he's not dressed at all for it." 

"We can remedy that," said Erika. "You have so many pretty things, and some 
of them must fit him." 

"What about this?" said Ingrid, and held up a long pair of dark hose. "Or 
this, or this, or this?" she said, holding up one dreadfully frilly thing 
after another, until it was a small black waist cincher in her hand, 
complete with dangling garter straps, and Charles felt himself visibly 
blanch. 

They noticed it of course, and of course they made the most of it. They 
pranced and danced around him, Erika poking and pinching him and Ingrid 
taunting him with the corsolette and its garters and its long black lacings. 
She put it round his waist upside down and right-side up and back and forth, 
asking Erika which was the right way, and Charles stood there like a 
nobleman before savages and took it, though he could feel those two big X 
marks tingling deeply through his back. 

"We could dress him up all the way," said Ingrid. "I even have a wig for 
him." 

"There will be time for that later. Put that on him now and have him dry our 
hair before it snarls." 

"Put it on him." Ingrid handed over the sickly black little garment. "I'll 
get the drier . . . and something else for us, too." 

If Ingrid alone was putting that thing on him, he'd have made a break for 
it. There was no chance with Erika, especially when she got it around his 
waist, right-side up, and began to thread the laces through the eyeholes 
down its back. His reflection looked so awful in the mirror. The dusting 
powder had made his skin far whiter than it really was, contrasting sharply 
with the raven black of the waist cinch. It was boned with steel ribs, he 
saw, and emblazoned low on the hip with a crimson butterfly. Its garters 
were red, too, and shirred with elastic down to where the gleaming chrome 
snaps hung limply down his thighs. His prick hung just as limply, and he was 
determined to keep it that way by concentrating hard on his hatred for these 
women and the ludicrous figure he cut in the mirror. He was equally 
determined to completely ignore the invisible brands on his back. 

It wasn't so easy to do. The waist cincher was getting increasingly tighter 
now as Erika threaded all the holes with the laces and began to pull it 
tight. And two of the thin steel ribs most unfortunately cut vertically 
through the center of those X's. He saw that his prick was swelling, and he 
willed it with all his might to go down, or at least to stay where it was. 
Then Ingrid came back with what should have been enough of a distraction to 
deflate his dick forever. 

She laid the hair drier on the dresser and held up an artificial penis! It 
was at least ten inches long and it looked as big around as her wrist, but 
she held it proudly, and when Erika saw it she squealed with delight and 
dropped the laces to take it in her hands. 

"What a beauty! Where did you get it?" 

"In Copenhagen. On a weekend there." 

"It's a fine one. Nice strong straps," said Erika, testing them between her 
hands. 

"And see here," Ingrid said, and took it back from her and turned it over. 
"Here on the base of it. A nice little tickler that fits perfectly against 
the user's clitty. Now isn't that nice?" 

"Precious," said Erika, and kissed the two rubber projections on the 
underside of the phallus. "It's one of the best dildos I've ever seen. Have 
you used it yet?" 

"No. I was saving it for you." 

"Fibber," said Erika, and playfully hit her with it. 

Ingrid grinned and said, "Well, I had to try it out. But come. Let's get our 
hair dry and pretty before we use it now." She inserted a finger down the 
waist cincher and said, "Oh, Erika. This isn't nearly tight enough. Here. 
Let me." 

She took up the lacings and gave them a tug that set Charles back on his 
heels. Erika took up the dildo and held it beside his prick, and both she 
and Ingrid laughed at the comparison of the big stiff thing with his nearly 
flaccid flesh. It truly was an enormous thing. It looked quite big enough to 
split Erika's cunt from her butt to her belly button, and he sincerely hoped 
it would do just that when it was shoved inside her and that he'd be there 
to gloat over her misery. 

"Uff!" he said, the first sound that had escaped him in several minutes, as 
Ingrid put her knee in his back and gave a tremendous yank on the lacings. 

"His shape is getting a little better," said Ingrid from behind him, and she 
pinched him on his buttocks, which already felt extruded out to twice normal 
size. 

"His shape is better here too," Erika said, and both of them giggled anew as 
she held the dildo up beside his dick, half hard now but still no comparison 
to the artificial one. 

"That's e-nough!" he gasped, as again the laces were yanked tighter. He 
could scarcely take a breath now! His spine was entirely rigid and his ass 
was sticking way back, the crosses on his back felt as sensitive as the head 
of his cock which, even as he watched, rose throbbing to its fullest extent. 

One more good yank and the laces were tied off in a bow, while Charles 
leaned panting against the dresser top. Some of his insides had been 
compressed up into his chest, but the bulk of them were now pushed down to 
fill out his glowing warm ass and his tingling thighs and his heavily 
pendant balls and his enormously big hard cock. 

"Uh. Oh. I can't. . . breathe!" he said, as the women went round him to 
admire their handiwork, pinching and feeling and squeezing prodding. 

"You'll get used to it," said Erika. "I still remember the first time I wore 
a good, tight corset." 

"I'm not used to it yet," said Ingrid. 'That's why I still wear them. You 
know where I feel it the most? Right here," she said, and one of her long 
slender fingers went burrowing up between Charles' hot butts. 

"Oh, yes!" he said. "Yes, but I feel it all over!" he said, arching his hips 
back for more of it, panting and hanging his head down to look at his 
swollen prick. 

"Shall we try my dildo on him?" said Ingrid. "Do you think he'd like that?" 

"I have something he'd like even more. It's all I've had since I got here . 
. . besides him," said Erika, and out from a drawer he'd missed in his 
search came a battery operated vibrator built in the shape of a penis. 

Ingrid took her finger from his ass to take it in hand and admire it, then 
gave it back and moved her svelte young body sinuously against his side. Her 
hands were injecting electricity all over him and her voice was purring down 
through his toes as she touched her lips to his ear to say, "You men do all 
the fucking, and you don't know what you're missing out on. You'll like 
getting fucked, Charlie. It feels so-o-o-o-o good. Someday we'll dress you 
up all the way and fuck you good and proper. You'll like that, too." 

"Yes. Yes, I know," he muttered, and weakly tried and failed to touch her 
laughing lips with his. 

He watched while a smiling Erika thoroughly lubricated the long white thing 
with cold cream, and handed it over to Ingrid's waiting hand. He bit his lip 
and he arched still further back as the greasy thing probed for his anus, 
and then he sighed all over as it was slid inside him, without the slightest 
trace of pain. 

He looked down at his dick, and at the dangling garter straps on each side 
of it. He was well aware by that time in his life that he had little or no 
control over the sexual functions of his body, and that the premature 
ejaculation was his cross to bear. Now it became his burden again, as Ingrid 
turned the vibrator on and his cock gave those preliminary pulsing of 
deepest pleasure and . . . nothing came out. 

He was definitely cumming. He could feel it in every part of his body, 
gasping and churning his hips, seeing that swelling pulsing of his cock and 
the convulsive heavings of his balls, writhing in ecstasy and almost falling 
from the dresser as the buzzing phallus was pushed in and out of him. But 
still the white jets of jism didn't come, and he thought they must have 
broken something inside him, but he didn't care a bit. 

They let him sit down and rest for a few moments then. They hugged him and 
kissed him and made much over him, and he sat there beaming and eating it 
up, even proud of the corset on him now. 

"I meant what I said about helping you, Ingrid," he said. "I will. I promise 
I will." 

"Just help me with my hair for now," she said, and sat in the chair before 
the dresser. 

He'd never used a hair drier before. They showed him how to point it and use 
it through Ingrid's hair, and this took a while to sink through to him, for 
the big red head of his dick was also brushing through Ingrid's golden hair. 
It tickled him delightfully, the combination of her silken tresses and the 
warm air blowing through them produced the most exquisitely delicate 
sensations of pleasure in his cockhead, and add to this the sight of her 
lovely face and erotic lips so close to him and this bird's eye view he had 
to her titties, and the touch of her shoulder under his hand, and finally to 
cap it all in another grinding series of dry ejaculations, there was Erika's 
hand to give him a hard squeeze through his corset directly over one of his 
X's. 

"Oh! God! Again!" he grunted, cock shoving deeper in Ingrid's fair hair. 
They laughed at him and he would have laughed with them, but it simply felt 
too good for laughing. And then Ingrid deftly heightened his soaring 
pleasures by reaching up to roll his balls in her hand and stroke the cock 
that was cumming and jerking and pulsing, but still not squirting even a 
drop. 

They didn't let him rest this time. He had to go on with the drier while he 
swelt in the twilight of another brilliant orgasm, with his prick still up 
as hard as ever. 

And then it was Erika's turn in the chair. "I want some too," she said, but 
she drew Charles around to face her at his handmaiden's work, and before 
he'd hardly begun on her damp hair she had his cock in her mouth and was 
sucking him off with all the gusto she'd displayed at the start of their 
affair, two weeks and a hundred fucks ago. He dried her hair for as long as 
he could-and that wasn't very long at all-before he had to set the blower 
down and hang onto her big soft shoulders. 

The really big creamer was coming on now. It felt as if Erika was taking his 
dick halfway down her throat. And then Ingrid was there to add considerably 
to it by grasping his chin in her hand and turning him into a kiss that was 
savage in its erotic intensity. She fastened on his lips with hers, sucked 
his tongue deep in her mouth, and slid her silken tongue even deeper into 
his. Charles hands fled from Erika's shoulders to Ingrid's slim waist, could 
have crushed it as he started cumming in Erika's mouth, then kept right on 
at it while his hands mauled Ingrid's titties through her bra and ripped it 
aside and got the real bare things in his palms. There was an audible pop 
when their lips parted, and then another smacking pop as Erika's mouth left 
his cock. He was about to collapse on the bed when Erika said, "He did not 
cum! Not a drop!" 

"I came," he sighed. "Oh, yes, I came." 

"As long as you felt good," said Ingrid, and squirmed up against him again, 
and took his dick in her hand and stroked it, and it felt as if another big 
spurt of cum leapt out of it. "And as long as this is still hard," she said, 
and kissed him hotly, and let him feel of her titties again, perfect conical 
beauties, with nice round undersides that just fit in the palms of his 
hands. "And as long as it stays that way," she happily went on, "we can go 
on all night long!" 

"I'd like that," Charles sincerely said. "But you know what I'd like best of 
all right now? I'd like to kiss your cunt. Could I? Please, Ingrid?" 

"I fear that will be occupied for a time," said 

Erika from behind him, and he felt quite a sharp prod in his naked butt. 
"She is to be fucked first." 

He half turned and said, "My God!" for the thing which had poked him was the 
mammoth dildo, which Erika was strapping to her now naked loins. "You'd fuck 
her?" he said, measuring its length and girth again with his eyes, seeing 
its long taper, and knowing full well it would damage the Swedish sprite's 
little pussy enormously and irreparably. "With that?" he said, cringing 
himself at the sight of it. 

"Why not?" said the laughing Ingrid, as she took Erika's false penis in her 
one hand and Charles' very real one in the other. "I enjoy a good fuck as 
well as the next girl." 

"But it would take a ton of cold cream just to get half of that thing in 
you," he said, and then a slow grin lit his young face and his gaze turned 
from Erika's loins to Ingrid's. "Plus a whole lot of n-natural cunt juice." 
He licked his lips most suggestively and added, "Which I'd be glad to try to 
provide. With your permission, of course," he said with a bow in Erika's 
direction. 

They argued, they talked, with their genuine and counterfeit penises bobbing 
about between them like a pair of fencing foils. Charles Derek Goodson III 
was on the verge of invoking his own good name as the employer of the big 
Swedish maid when Ingrid ended their discussion with a tinkling, 
"Char-lieeee.. . . " 

He .turned his head with hopes held high, and fully realized, when he saw 
her spread out naked, fully naked on the bed, with one long finger curling 
at him before her most beckoning smile. That finger was lovely and her smile 
was lovely and all of her was lovely but her cunt was the loveliest of all, 
for that sweet pink was now revealed to be entirely bereft of hair, swept 
clean of even the tiniest strand and being presented to him in all its plump 
pink naked glory. Even the big dildo at his rear was forgotten as he went on 
the bed on his knees, erect as any soldier from the tight compress of the 
corset, quite nearly as erect as his prick. 

Her cunt was the center of his universe just then. Oh yes, he saw her softly 
moving arms and legs, her elfin lovely face all framed in gold, her ten 
beckoning and beckoning fingers reaching out to him. And he even saw her 
tiny navel, the ten wriggling toes, the sweet little tip of her upturned 
nose and her darling little titties, so perfectly capped with pink, but it 
was the pink of her perfect bald cunt that existed beyond all else. His 
tongue was fully extended and wriggling like her toes when it was still six 
inches from her cunt and coming in. 

It was sweet, actually sweet, like the wildest sort of wild honey! And her 
clitty was marvelously large, yet cunningly hidden. He wanted to ferret it 
out all the way and love it to death with his tongue, but her cunt tasted so 
very good that he was compelled to lick it up from one brimful end to the 
other, as if he feared her cunt would never produce such sweetness again. 

She liked it, and he liked that. "Oh, Charles," she said, but she said it in 
a way that made him glow, and that produced another of those divine dry 
spurts of his cock. "Oh, Charles, you do know what you're doing," she 
purred, twisting fingers in his hair as he started all over again on her 
cunt, tasting all of it that he could and sucking her clitty into greater 
prominence, while with his hands he took purchase in the delicately 
sculptured junctures of her hips and thighs. 

"Oh, Charles, yes!" she exclaimed, and her spine curled her hips and her 
cunt right up for more of it, and he delivered, even with big Erika kneeling 
on the bed beside them now and working the monster dildo against her clitty 
and saying, 'That's enough now. Darling, give me a turn at you." 

"Uh! Oh, yes!! ! " Ingrid replied, but her reply was to Charles ardent 
kisses, not to Erika's pouty words. 

And with the reply she flung herself into it entirely, arching high off the 
bed to give still more of her cunt to Charles' kisses. "OH! OH! YES!" she 
was crying constantly, just as constantly as she was moving now and just as 
constantly as Charles' achingly stiff dick was ejaculating those orgasmic 
spurts of nothing. 

She flipped onto her back and he stayed with her, sucking on her sweet 
little asshole now and pushing his tongue far up inside it, and finding it 
almost-but not quite!-as sweet as her cunt. He would swear to his dying day 
that each of her very wet orgasms matched one of his very dry ones and his 
were coming in deliciously rapid succession. 

Again she made a most violent move, with Charles helping her right up to the 
hilt. Now he found himself on his back, lovingly gripping her sweet cake 
buns, while she sat on his face and fed him cunt and more cunt, and arched 
and twisted her lithe white body in a way that made him know how the belly 
dance was invented. 

"OH! YES! ONE MORE!" she was shouting, obviously holding back from the 
steady stream of orgasms now, in search of the really big ONE. And Charlie, 
directly under her, did his very best to give it to her. He sucked and 
licked and swallowed and tongue-fucked all at the same time, and his reward 
for this was veritable geyser of invisible cum spurting up from his cock and 
a long keening wail from Ingrid as she fell forward on her hands on the bed 
and loosed her precious pee-pee all over his face. 

He bathed in it. He wallowed in it. His only regret about it was that she 
hadn't saved up a week's worth of it for him. And that Ingrid was only 
mortal, and as such she had to succumb to the arduous rigors of most ardent 
sex. She collapsed with a sigh beside him, and Charles lay there with a 
large smile on his wet face. 

But old Erika wasn't lying down. Her open crotch and her big false dick 
passed right over Charles' face on her course to where Ingrid lay in a heap, 
and before Charles could lift a finger the big blonde had snatched the slim 
one up on her feet by the side of the bed with all the ease of a puppet 
master with a marionette. 

"Don't do that to her!" said Charles, but already Erika's powerful hands had 
Ingrid's little ass in their grip and she'd been hoisted off her feet. 

"Let me rest a moment, dear," Ingrid sighed, but that was not to be, for 
Erika held her easily with one arm about her waist, and with her other hand 
directed that awful dildo up and into her freshly sucked cunt. "NO!" Charles 
cried, as Ingrid's slim body was dropped right down on it. "DAR-ling!" 
Ingrid cried, and whipped her long legs round Erika's waist and set herself 
in motion. 

It was an amazing thing to behold. Just the muscular flexings of Erika's big 
buttocks were enough to totally fascinate a man, quite enough to make a 
movie about, but there was so much more vivid action to see that Charles 
could only stare and stare. 

They were really going at it. And it was producing results. Ingrid's cunt 
juice glistened down the length of the upward plunging dildo and coated her 
lovely little ass as it bounced up and down like a ball on the end of a 
rubber band, and Erika's vital juices trickled down her heavily shapely legs 
by the spoonful. Their tits-Erika's huge ones and Ingrid's perfect 
ones-jounced and jiggled together in a naked blur. Ingrid's head was lolling 
crazily on her long neck, but there was a dreamily ecstatic smile on her 
gorgeous face throughout, and Erika's broader face was taking on the tinge 
of pink from exertion while her fine white teeth were set in a thin smile of 
sheer determination. Coupled, of course, with all those orgasms that flowed 
betwixt and between and up and down and throughout the raging fuck that held 
young Charles rapt. 

Then Ingrid's long legs slipped off from around Erika's waist, and with half 
a turn Erika had her pinioned against the wall with that big pistoning dick, 
driving and driving as a picture fell from its hook, squelching that big 
false dick in Ingrid's little pussy till sweat ran down Erika's broad back. 

Such exertion was too much for even Erika. Her powerfully built legs were 
buckling. Her savage thrusts were growing ragged. Ingrid was slowly sliding 
down the wall, and her first loud outcries of intense orgasm were 
diminishing into sighs, almost pleading sighs. Still Erika kept it up. 
Charles was far too late to put an end to the destruction of Ingrid's cunt 
now. 

The bigger woman kept it up and kept it up until Ingrid's fine little wet 
ass was firmly on the floor and her head was lolled over to one side, 
whereupon Erika gasped out a sigh too and slumped and rolled away from her 
and onto her back-with that big stiff dildo still standing tall above her. 

Charles' prick was still stiff too. He longed to use it on poor Ingrid, 
unconscious or not, but he was a humanitarian male human being, and as such 
he rolled off the bed to his feet and gently cradled her in his 
weightlifter's arms and laid her beside him on the bed. 

He knew he should summon a physician. Her insides had been beaten to a pulp 
by that awful thing, her little pussy ground into mincemeat. She looked as 
if she might be in extremis, and in need of a priest or some such thing, but 
she was so very lovely, even close to death, that Charles could only stay 
there and touch her dear cheek and kiss away the beaded perspiration on her 
cunningly curled upper lip. 

And at the touch of his lips, his Sleeping Beauty opened her sultry 
turquoise eyes, and her hand went unerringly to his cock and he was drawn up 
inside the portals of her poor, battered cunt. 

"Fuck me," she murmured. 

"I can't. You're delirious. I'll hurt you," he replied. 

"What my Ingrid wants, she gets!" said Erika behind him, and that big long 
dildo driving up his ass drove him deep as he could go into Ingrid. 

She was tight. Perhaps it was her youth, her vitality, the bracing climate 
in which she was raised, or some natural proclivity for sexual congress that 
was behind it all, but suffice it to say that her hot slick active little 
cunt could not have been a better fit for Charles' driving cock if it had 
been tailored for him on Saville Row. 

Still he was afraid to use it as it should be used. His humanitarian 
instincts scolded him to restrain himself from those driving cock-plunges 
into her deliciously tight cunt no matter how her active humping beckoned. 
But that driving, plunging, altogether wonderful dildo that Erika used so 
very capably kept him fucking away like a madman in the maddest, most 
wonderful cunt ever brought to the shores of America. Between the two of 
them-quite literally-Charles came. 

He knew it for sure because his semen came foaming up out of Ingrid's cunt, 
intimately mixed with her sweet juices and scenting the cunt-fetid air with 
the smell of hot jism. He knew it because all the long-suffered pressures 
were eased out of his body. And he knew it because she did, and she told him 
that by smiling and saying, "Yes. That's what I needed the very most." 

The three of them rested and dozed together, in a sweet sweaty tumble on the 
bed. They stayed just like that until two thirty in the morning, for in 
California the bars close at two, even at the Racquet Club, and in the 
Goodson household the elders stagger home at a prompt half hour past closing 
time. And therefore, without even opening his eyes, young Charles knew it 
was the voice of his father bellowing out from the doorway as it said, "HEY, 
ALICE! YOUR BOY'S FINALLY GOT AROUND TO FUCKING THE MAID!" 


THE END
