Chapter 4
The rest of that day passed in a succession of hazy highlights for Margaret. A telegram arrived from Gerald. He had sent it from London Airport and it combined one and tenpence worth of sentiment with two shillings worth of the practical. He told her he loved her and that the keys to the garage were on the mantlepiece in the bedroom.
Several times she tried to read and once she attemped a letter to her father. She couldn't read and didn't know why. She couldn't write a letter to her father and she did know why.
She smiled wryly to herself at the very thought of it. What would her father say if he knew that she was making extensive plans to get a boy of fifteen astride her? That she didn't recognise her inability as a dig of conscience was for her future perhaps unfortunate but for our story, quite necessary!
The only salient of the day was a conversation she had in the late afternoon with Agnes.
She was flipping through the pages of a fashion magazine when Agnes came in to dust.
Margaret watched her idly for a few minutes. Then she asked, "Where do you go in the evenings, Agnes?"
Agnes paused and stroked her chin with the feather duster.
"Pictures. A dance, sometimes. Then again I might just go for a walk. It all depends."
In the more informal conversations between them it was tacitly agreed that the 'madam' or 'Mrs Peterson' was dropped.
"No boy friends?" smiled Margaret.
"Around here?" asked Agnes, scornfully. "I haven't seen anything real decent since I've been here. Not that I mind," she added, hastily.
"No, they're not quite like town fellows. I dare say. Still, I should have thought there'd have been someone. But, there, that's your business."
"I've had enough of boys. What I want is nourishment, not punishment!" grinned Agnes.
"I think you're very right. Everything in it's time. On the whole you do like it here, Agnes?"
"I love it! It's so quiet and... and, well, dignified. After what I've been used to, that is."
Margaret almost flushed. She wondered how dignified Agnes would think her if she knew what she planned. Oh, how careful she would have to be!
"I've never known anything like this... I mean. Being with people like you and Mr. Peterson.
It was almost as if the girl knew, and was twisting the dagger!
Margaret thought that she would be more comfortable if she changed the subject.
"Anyway," she said, "you go out tonight and enjoy yourself. There's a good film on at the Carlton."
The Carlton was the local cinema.
Agnes seemed to be thinking of something else.
"Yes," she said, "men are poison. It's a funny thing and sometimes it even worries me, but I'm mostly attracted to boys younger than myself... and when I say younger than myself, I mean younger!"
Margaret's heart almost stood still. "What... what do you mean?" she faltered.
"Well, I seem to like youngsters. Part of my trouble before I met Mr. Peterson was over a kid of fourteen. Fourteen! Isn't it terrible?"
Margaret closed her eyes with relief. What hell intrigue was! Every word, every gesture, every nuance of meaning could be interpreted by the guilty conscience into meaning discovery, or, at the least, suspicion. Another thought struck her. What was it that Agnes was saying? She too was attracted to boys? Could this be a coincidence? She eyed Agnes carefully. Like a lot of people doing a thing outside the scope of their experience and beyond the stretch of their integrity she had considered her actions... her designs on Tony... as being a rather unique manifestation of a somewhat shady and undesirable moral characteristic. But now, hearing what Agnes had to say about her preferences, was this true?
She found herself saying, "You're not telling me that you prefer boys to men?"
"I'm afraid so. Is that so terrible? I know it sounds terrible. It sometimes worries me."
Margaret paused before answering. She realised she must take into consideration the considerable difference in their ages and their status. She was some six or seven years older than Agnes, and she was married. And, anyway, was it so un-natural for a woman to like the young and the vital, the pure and the inexperienced. Men traditionally chased young virgins. Wasn't it possible a completely natural reaction of experience to inexperience? She knew it wasn't hut the possibility sufficed to quieten her small conscience. But she was interested in a like taste in another.
"You... you mean of course that you, well just went around with this boy?" she asked, carefully.
"I wish I did. No, I lived with him," replied Agnes. "He got right in my hair... in more way than one! There was a time when I didn't think I could live without him. He'd only just left school. He was a clever kid... I ruined him. That's the God's honest truth I ruined him!"
Margaret chose her words carefully. She was thrilled... thrilled beyond measure by what Agnes had told her, but she didn't want to raise any suspicions by too close questioning.
"Well, I suppose it's just human nature," she said. "But it's an episode that's passed and no doubt won't be repeated."
"I hope!" grinned Agnes.
"You don't mean that you're still attracted to young boys?" asked Margaret.
"Not much! Yes, I'm afraid I am. Perhaps it's just what this little devil did to me... but I still am. When I see a youngster in the street I have to look the other way. Honest, that's the only thing I think could ever get me into trouble again. Real trouble, that is."
"I don't quite see what you mean," said Margaret. "It's wrong, I know. But it can hardly get you into trouble. Apart from the obvious trouble, I mean."
Agnes stared. "No? What if the police were to find out? They didn't find out about me and Dick... but if they had have done...! Don't you know it's against the law to seduce a kid? Seduction of minors they call it."
"No. No, I didn't know!" said Margaret. Another complication! "I suppose a minor, in law, is someone under sixteen."
"Age of consent in a girl... don't know what they call it in a boy. Mind you, my Dick didn't need no seduction. He was red-hot for his age. Once he knew he'd got a change with me he was after me like an old wolf of fifty!" She looked at Margaret and her face fell. '"I haven't upset you with what I've said, have I?" she asked.
Margaret almost said. "Yes, you have!" But some innate honesty forbade this hypocrisy and she just shook her head, ruefullen.
"No. No you haven't shocked me. I... I'm surprised at what you tell me. But I think I can see what you had to contend with in the way of temptation."
"You don't think I'm wicked? I sometimes do myself."
"No, I don't think it was wicked of you. I suppose most people would call it immoral but... oh. I don't know whether you were right or wrong."
She said this so vehemently that Agnes looked at her in surprise.
"Well, I know it's wrong... wrong even to think about such things. But I am shocking you, I can tell. I'd better get on with my work!"
And so she did get on with her work, watched by a reflective Margaret in whom the only emotion aroused by the confession was one of anxiety as to what might happen to Tony if Agnes saw him first!
The rest of the day passed quietly. At just after six Agnes and the cook left for their evening out. The cook mentioned that she would be back very late as she intented visiting her sister in London. Mar garet had carefully elicited from Agnes that she was unlikely to return before eleven o'clock. That would leave two and a half hours for her to be alone with Tony. For the last time she consedered the consequences of her course if she were discovered and for the last time she dismissed them. From then on she entered the affair with abandon and complete resolve to follow the dictates of her desires, dangerous as they were!
Eight o'clock saw her fresh from her bath sitting in front of the dressing table in her bedroom. She was quite naked beneath her chiffon robe and as it fell open as she leaned forward to brush yer eyesbrows her ceamy breasts, as round as grapefruit, jutted out without suspicion of sag and trembled excitingly, at her slightest movement. Her nipples deep cherry red, reared from the silken surfaces of the impeccable breasts like buds on a rhododendron kissing the first warm air of spring.
She finished her subtle attentions to her face, carefully applying the eyes-shadow to give her an "evening of desire" look! Then she walked over to her wardrobe and gazed into it thoughtfully. Something lush and extravagant? Something enticing and tantalising? No! No, it'd have to be something simple. Something sweet and clean looking. Something that enticed without overt sophistication and allured without being obviously seductive.
That referred, of course, to the dress! Her undies were quite another mater!
She looked down at her ripe young breasts and ran a hand over them proudly. Something to show them off was an essential. Black should do it.
She took a black brassiere and put it over her arm. Then she selected a pair of black panties, gossamer webs of frilly nothingness with plenty of open-work lace that would show to advantage her silken white thighs and the brilliant scar of her pubic hair.
Now, stockings. What about stockings? Something sheer... evening stockings, certainly. But colour? She had a pair of black silk strockings she'd bought for a fancy dress ball and had only worn once. Remembering the effect that they'd had on Gerald when they'd returned from the ball (he'd almost raped her on the rug in front of the fire with them still on!) she was tempted to wear them for this occasion.
But were black silk stocking quite the thing to entrance a boy of fifteen? And, above all, did they go with the avowed motif of simplicity? Regretfully she doubted it!
She chose a pair of flesh coloured nylons, transparent to the gaze and weightless to the touch and indescribable to the caress.
Now, the problem of keeping the stockings up. On the face of it a simple problem and in normal circumstances easily solvably. Normal circumstan ces! There, she'd said it herself. These were abnormal circumstances! She shrugged the thought away. Her mind went hack to when she had seduced her father's friend in the garden. He had been a devotee of suspender belts. He had kissed her tummy where the thin red weal of the suspender belt she had been wearing had scarred her white flesh.
But Tony, would he like suspender belts? She thought of it for a moment and desided that he probably would. He didn't sound as if he was completely without experience and perhaps some of the young girls he'd enjoyed had still been in the black elastic garter stage! The thought of his possible experience with young girls made her frown for a moment, but she realised the silliness of the emotion and smiled as she reached out for a thin black, frilly suspender belt with two straps for each stocking. The black of the straps always looked good against the pristine whiteness of her plump thighs.
She went back to her dressing table and put the undies on it. She smiled as she looked at them. A handful of seductive gossamer but to a man...! Well, they could change the course of a man's life and had done, many a time!
She peeled her dressing gown off luxuriously, enjoying the sensation of the silk hissing over her full, rearing buttocks. She tossed it "side and stood naked before the mirror frankly admiring the blazing beauty of her sensuous body.
Her eyes ran approvingly down from her fine slim neck, over the heaving crests of her gourdlike breasts, carmine tipped and trembling with each slightest movement of her body to her waist as it swept into its neat twenty inches to whip voluptiously out to her full, sensual hips. She turned slightly so that she could see the reflection of her pouting buttocks, hard and high as they flung up in full, palpitating hemispheres of creamy glory from her plump, scintillating thighs.
She turned again full on to the mirror. Her eyes narrowed and a pulse deep in her belly throbbed as she gazed at, the dark glory of her full, lusciously curly pubic hair where it swept down from it's severely horizontal line half-way to her navel into the delicious vee that ended where it dipped between her hot thighs to clothe the lips of her warm secret place with its crisp silkiness.
She ran her hand over the springy hair. It yielded to her touch like spring grass and she slid her middle finger down the centre of the V and ran the pad of it between the lips, parting them and pressing the tiny dome of her clitoris until and erotic ague warned her to wait for fuller pleasures to come.
She picked up her brassiere and held it before her by its straps. Leaning forward slightly she allowed her lovely breasts to sink into the gossamer cups.
Firmly captured, they thrust out hard and high as she delicately fastened the brassiere behind her straight back.
She placed her hands beneath her breasts and smiled voluptiously as she weighed their fullness. Briefly her thumbs caressed her nipples.
She picked up her panties. She looked at them for a moment and them nestled her cheek against them, thrilling to their silkiness.
Poising delicately on the ball of one foot she slid one alabaster leg into the panties. She swallowed hard at the hissing of the silk as it sild over her flesh. Then she put the other leg through and wriggled them sensually over her flaring hips and settled them carefully about her lovely bottom, pulling the impudent silk at her crutch away from its saucy nesting place within the pouting lips of her throbbing cunt.
She smoothed the panties where they clung, sheer and lovely, to her deliciously rounded belly and patted springy hair where it slightly bulged the silk at her crutch.
"You'll do," she murmured, not quite certain whether she referred to her fanny or her knickers!
She sat down on the stool before the dressing table. She took the stockings from the table and thrust her slim white arms into one of them. She carefully rolled it and then stretched out one peerless leg.
As she slowly rolled the stocking up her leg a slight movement of her knickers showed a few errant, glossy black curls against the bright whiteness of her thigh.
She smoothed the stocking up her shapely calf and snugged it to her luscious thigh, stroking the sheer nylon with both hands to the lisle top. She put on the other stocking and then stood and deftly wriggled into the black suspenser belt and, after a moments hesitation, slipped, the straps inside her knickers. This, she decided, would facilitate the removal of her panties if the occasion should demand haste!
With leisurel movements she fastened the suspenders to the stocking tops and stood to survey the result. She put her hands between her thighs and stroked herself sensually to her crutch. Her eyes sparkled as she thought of the result all this would have on her young lover to be.
Satisfied with her foundation, she moved back to the wardrobe and took out the dress that she had selected.
It was an haute couture model that she had purchased in Paris the spring before. It was in red organdie with a wide, fully flared skirt and a very low neckline. She also selected a petticoat of white, rustling taffeta with an elaborate lace hem.
She threw the dress over a chair and slipped into the petticoat, her titties dancing deliciously in the confines of the black brassiere as she wriggled it up her flowing haunch.
She adjusted this to her hips with care and then slipped the red dress over her head, and, with difficulty, zipped it up at the back.
"The French aren't capable of designing a dress that can't use a man in putting it on!" she smiled to herself as she at last got the zip fastened.
She smoothed and patted the dress and adjusted her breasts in the brassiere to get maximum out in glorious abandon!
When this was settled to her satisfaction she arranged the dress so that an inch or so of petticoat showed beneath the dress. This, she had found, was definitely an alluring signal.
She took the better part of ten minutes doing her hair and braided it across the top with a white ribbon. She felt this gave a touch of simplicity to the ensemble. The next thing was to choose shoes. She decided upon a pair of black court shoes in velvet with tiny diamante buckles that drew attention, if any device were needed, to her lovely legs.
She ground the heels into the soft carpet as she pirouetted graceful, swirling the reed dress high so that her gleaming white thighs, pinched deliciously by the tightness of the stocking tops, flashed and scintillated in the bright light from her dressing table.
From her jewel box she took a thick rope of pearls. She smiled as she wound them around her long, slender neck.
They had been a wedding present from Gerald!
Yes, pearls were the thing. Although she made no claim to understand what attracted a man anymore than any other woman she had noticed how they set of the deeep, shadowy chasm between her breasts when she leaned forward and the soft gry of the pearls flashed dully against the creaminess of the breast flesh.
In deference to an emotion she couldn't define, she took off her wedding ring and in it's place put a ring with a small, somewhat yellow, solitare diamond. A tiny gold wristlet watch set off the delicate slenderness of her wrist. She surveyed herself again in the mirror, bending forward to pat a stray hair into place.
Her eyes moved to the corsage of her dress to where her breasts, bulged by her position, thrust in creamy folds from the tightness of the black brassiere. She stroked the necklace of pearls and hed it between the cleft between the breasts. They felt warm and voluptious. She wondered whether she subconsciously associated them with the hot sperm fresh from a pulsing penis! , She smiled at the thought and looked at her watch. It was just eight thirty.
She put off the light at the dressing table and walked to the door and put out the light there.
She went slowly downstairs, her heart agog with expectation.
On the last stair before the hall she paused as a flood of realisation swept over her.
She looked down at her svelte finery and her cheeks crimsoned. She was actually acting like a tarty siren in an American movie all set to seduce (within the limits of the Hay's Office rules!) a sophisticated playboy with a palate already jated with a thousand blonds.
It was the facts of the matter that brought the flush to her lovely cheek and almost sent her running back upstairs to tear off the finery and put on a pinafore and come downstairs again to offer Tony a cup of tea really show him Gerald's dark-room.
At the crucial moment the doorbell rang.
The blood immediately left her head and she felt her stomach turn over.
This, if she wanted it that way, was it! Her deep, unassuaged sexuality shouldered her conschience aside and she walked across the hall to the front door.
There was nobody there. She stepped out on to the porch and loocked around. There was definitely nobody there.
Puzzled, she stepped back and as she did so a bell rang again. She listened and then realised it was the tradesman's doorbell that had rung. The kitchen door must be open, that was how she had heard it.
To Hell! Who the devil could it be at the tradesman's entrance at this time of the evening?
She walked swiftly over to the kitchen door and almost ran through the kitchen and wrenched open the tradesman's door. Her mouth opened for an angry inquiry that was distined never to be delivered.
There, looking somewhat forlorn and pale of face, stood Tony.
She looked at him in mingled exasperation and relief.
"Oh, so it's you. Come in. Whyever did you use this door?"
"The grocer said..."
"Never mind the grocer. Come in."
He stepped inside the door and she closed it, locking it after him, which gave her a feeling of the true conspirator.
She walked through into the lounge, Tony following her.
She moved over to the fire and stood with her back to it and made a show of feeling cold.
"It's rather chilly tonight," she said, nervously.
"It's quite cold out," he replied.
He was dressed for the occasion tonight. He wore a blue school blazed with a badge she couldn't identify and grey worsted trousers.
He looked older... older and more competent. Her nervousness began to subside. The whole thing was beginning to assume more correct proportions, the proportions of an ordinary affair. Just a common or garden extra-marital adventure. She was glad thai he wore somewhat more adult garb... Dearly as she loved the look of his clean, wiry young legs in his khaki shorts and graphically as they suggested the proximity of his fierce young sex she fel it was better for her peace of mind that he looked less the absolute juvenile.
"Well, you were right on time," she said. "Sit down and get warm."
She indicated an armchair beside the fire. He smiled gratefully and sat down and stratched his hands out towards the fire that blazed in the hearth. He looked nervous and so engrossed was she with the carnality of the whole affair that she for a moment overlooked the obvious cause of his nervousness and sought another. It came as a revelation when she realised the root cause of his tension.
It was obviously because he was very conscious that she had caught him playing with himself! It fairly illustrates how far gone she was not to have realised that this tension would exist... realised it even before he came. But her own erotic fantasies of his doing precisely the same thing had made it seem the realisation of her dream... almost a justification of it!
She walked gracefully over to the sofa that stood on the other side of the fireplace and sat down on it. She curled her unspeakably beautiful legs beneath her... with just a decorous flash of her lacy petticoat; and folded her hands demurely in her lap. She was very conscious that her breasts were high above the neckline of the dress and her necklace felt heavy and warm and sensual as it rested on the hard flesh.
"Have your friends arrived?" she asked. "All of them. They're settling in now." "Suitably segregated?" she smiled, mischeviously. More of Tony's tenseness slipped away from him. "Oh, yes!" he smiled.
"Tell me, do you really have no trouble convincing your parents that there is nothing wrong in you all camping together like this?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Not a lot trouble. Sometimes a girl's father doesn't thing much of it. It's usually the mothers that complain about the boys!"
"I should think so, too!" said Margaret, instantly realising how really hypocritical this essay into attempting to mate with a juvenile was making her.
"I hope I didn't give you impression that we were really a lot of young scallywags," he said. "I mean, we are modern, but that's about all there is to it."
"I can see that you, personally, are a boy who knows how to behave."
His face turned scarlet and he buried his face in his hands. She could have bitten her tongue out for having been so carelees. She got up from the sofa and went swiftly over to him and bent to put her arm around his shoulders.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'd quite forgotten... well, that."
He looked up to her face but only to immediately avert his eyes, to the delicious, creamy, deeply shadowed chasm between her hot tits!
"I'm sorry," he said. "What for?"
"For... for what I was doing. For what I was doing when you came back to the tent. Oh. Mrs Peterson I am so sorry!"
She felt a flood of disgust with herself. She shook him gently by the shoulder.
"Don't feel like that," she said. "You're a boy and... well, boys are sometimes like that, in fact, most often like that. Girls are the same too, you know."
As soon as she had said this she was sorry... although why she should be was beyond her.
He stared at her. "You don't mind?"
"Why should I mind," she asked. A subtle, madly provocative thought occured to her. She hesitated the briefest moment before posing it in a question. She hesitated, and was duly lost!
"Why were you doing it?" she asked.
He averted his head and was silent.
Cruelly she shook his shoulder to stir him to reply.
"Why?" she asked, softly.
"Oh, please!"
"I want to know," she insisted, every nerve of her body rippling with excitement.
"I can't tell you," he groaned.
"Why not? Is it something you're ashamed of?" Her hand was squeezing his shoulder.
"Yes! Yes, it is something I'm ashamed of."
"Do you mean you're ashamed of what you were ctually doing?" she asked. "No! Well, I'm ashamed of that, too." "Too?"
She bent her head close to his. The delicate perfume she was using was heady to his sences.
"You mean you are ashamed of the reason you are doing it?"
He nodded wordlessly.
"What was the reason that you did it!" she insisted softly.
"Oh, please don't talk about it." There was a long silence while she gathered her courage for the leading question. "Was it... was it because of anything I did?" she asked at last.
Her heart thumped as she awaited her reply.
"No... no!" he cried, violently.
She felt a severe stab of disappointment which swiftly changed to impatience. He obviously had considered her display in the tent as accidental and didn't consider that he could possible share the blame for his behaviour as a result of it.
She tried again. "I was in no way connected with... with what you were doing when I came back to the tent.
"No! Well... you see... No!" He broke of confusedly.
"I can't help feeeling," she said, cunningly, " that I was in some way connected with it."
"Oh, you weren't... you e weren't!" cried Tony. "It's just that I'm a little rotter!"
Her heart went out to him. "You mustn't say that," she whispered, putting her arm fully around his shoulders. Her lips were very close to his hair. It smelt of carbolic soap! She resisted the temptation to kiss his fair hair.
She strove not to be coarce but the excitement of the situation and her frantic and unatural desire for him drove her beyond the limits of her ability to reason.
"Tony, I want you to answer me a question, honestly. Will you do that?" she asked.
"I'll try" he aswered, looking up at her. The look he gave her made her turn away momentarily. It was a look of sheer adoration. She new of a certainty then that if she went any further she had irrevocably burned her boast behind her. Her hesitation was brief.
"Were you... were you rubbing yourself because of anything I did?" she asked him slowly, savouring each word and revelling in the intimacy and sensuality of the word 'rubing'.
"No... no!" he moaned.
"Are you sure? It wasn't because I was careless when I sat on your sleeping bag and... showed rather more of my legs than I should have?"
He closed his eyes but shook his head grimly.
"It was because of that, wasn't it?" she Dersiotf>d.
"Mrs Peterson!" he groaned. "Please don't!" Her voice was a silky purr, all caution was now abandoned.
"You rubbed yourself because you saw my legs almost up to my knickers, didn't you?"
He lowered his head. "I don't know why I did it," he whispered. "But when you left I felt terrible. I... I just had to do it."
"Do you think it was so terribly wrong?" she asked.
He stared at her. "Of course it was wrong," he said.
She shrugged, and his eyes flickered over her breasts as they juddered tantalisingly at the movement.
"You're not the first man to feel like that about a woman's legs. That's nature, Tony. If it can happen that the woman and the man can... well, become friends, then that is what usually happens. If there is some reason why they cannot become friends..." she shrugged again. "In that case I can't see that it's terrible wrong for the man to... relive himself."
"Then you aren't annoyed with me?" he asked in astonishement.
She smiled, her lovely face glowing with contentment.
"No, I'm in no way cross with you." She bent close to him, her sweet breath hot on his flushed face.
"In fact, I think you've rather flattered me!"
She moved over casually to the sofa and sat down, flouncing her skirt out delicately as she did so.
"Yes, I think that's true... I'm flattered. After all, isn't it natural that a woman should be flattered to know that by just showing her silly old legsshe flicked her skirt high so that he had a momentary vision of her saintly thighs to her panties.. "...like this she can drive a man to... to wanting to play with himself?"
"But I'm not a man!" he wailed.
"Don't think I'm being coarse," she smiled, "but what you had in your hand when I looked in the tent looked very manly indeed!"
"You mean you don't think that what I was doing was wrong... that it was dirty!"
She winced and closed her eyes at his use of this word so adolescent in that context.
"No, no I don't thing it was wrong," she said. "I don't want it to make you feel guilty. Men are funny creatures... boys are too. Men and boys have got to have satisfaction in these things. It's a little different for girls."
She hoped he would notice and even perhaps remark on her emphasis.
"You don't mean that a girl..." His voice trailer away into silence.
That a girl might play with herself if she was excited by a boy and couldn't do anything about it? Well, I can tell you the answer to that. It's yes. I know, Tony, because I've done it."
His eyes seemed almost to pop out of his head as he listened to her confession, made doubly believable and infinitely more attractive by the way she cast her eyes down as she spoke!
"You... you have?" he gasped.
"It was a long time ago," she said, hastely.
If only she could summon up the nerve to tell him that she had been writhing only the previous night with her fingers deep in her fanny while she etched vivid pictures to herself of being ravaged by him!
Instead, she added, "I wasn't shocked when I saw that you were doing when I came back to the tent. I was a little hurt. It seemed so sad."
"Sad?" he asked.
"Yes, sad. There must be so many nice girls about who'd be quite upset think that you had to do that to... well, to relieve yourself."
Her attitude to what he had thought to be a depravity was reassuring him. "Oh, know that!" he grinned. "I once had a girl who did it to me. I hardly knew what she was doing when she did it, but she knew all right!"
"Really?" she asked. She shifted her position slightly as she formulated the next part of her campaign. "By the way," she started off, "you seem such a long way off sitting over there. Come and sit beside me here." She patted the sofa beside her.
Tony obeyed with alacrity.
"Yes, and it's not only girls of your own a^e who might think it was such a waste of strongness to do that sort of thing all by yourself. Older girls... one might say women... they might think the same."
It was this remark that first gave Tony the slightest inkling that Margaret's regard for his sexual activites had anything but a strictly impersonal interest. He looked at her in half wonder... not by any means fully understanding, but now vaguely aware that her interst in him was a little more than he could have reasonably hoped for.
He in turn chanced a remark. He didn't chance it to make a serious attempt to turn their relationship to anything different, but for a sort of saucy, boyish reason... just to be daring in the presence of a beautiful woman.
"Do you think it was a waste?" he asked.
He wasn't even half prepared for her reply.
Something inside her seemed to tense and snap exhilaratingly.
"Yes," she breathed, "I do think it was a waste. All that hot sticky cream just to be caught in your shirt! Oh, I know what boys do when they play with themselves! I bet you wouldn't show me you shirt if you're going to deny it."
He looked at her, his face stupid with amazement. She moved closer to him.
"Rubbing yourself like that... I think it's exciting. Do you like doing it?"
"Yes. At least, sometimes!" he gasped.
"Isn't it nices if you do it with a girl?" She stroked his face softly. "Or even go further?" "I... I..."
She leaned away from him and looked down at her trembling hands.
"Don't tell me you've never been further with a girl. You almost told me you had when we first met. I remember, if you don't."
"Well, I have and I haven't," he said, slowly.
"What do you mean?" she snapped. "You have and you haven't? You either have or haven't."
"Well, I've..., oh, I can't say it. Not to you!"
She smiled and sidled up to him. "Do you mean that you haven't made love to them properly?"
"Well, something like that."
"How far did you go? Did you take their knickers down?" "Oh yes!"
"Like that, eh! You sound as if you're in the habit of taking down the knickers of every girl you meet!"
"Well, that isn't much, is it?" She looked at him. "In some circles... yes!" she smiled.
"We don't think much of that. We do that all the time when we're petting," he said.
"What a charming circle you move in!" she commented. "People I know, Tony, if they take a girls knickers down she's got to let them do what they want."
"I know that's so with grown-ups. It's dangerous for us, though."
There was a long silence. When she spoke her voice was silky with barely concealed passion. "I know that if I let you take my knickers down, Tony, I should want you to do more than pet me. You'd have to let all that lovely cream you wasted on your shirt go right up into me, Tony."
His jaw literally sagged.
"Mrs Peterson!" he gasped.
"Why don't you just call me Margaret?" she asked. "We're friends, aren't we? We're talking about strange things for people who are not friends, otherwise."
She rested her hand on his lap. There was a fraction of a second of tense silence. Then she drew her hand away as if stung. Her eyes glittered into his.
"Again?" she laughed.
He wriggled uncomfortable and she laughed aloud, throwing herself back full length on the sofa and tucking a pair of cushions behind her head. Her skirt was very disarranged and her legs showed to a little above the knee.
"Well?" she asked.
"D'you mean... d'you mean?..." his voice faltered. "Aren't you going to at least kiss me?" she laughed.
He licked his dry lips and looked at her doubtfully. She threw open her lovely arms. "Come on over... come amongst me!" she tempted.
He moved along the sofa. Her legs were in his way.
"Get off the sofa, silly!" she said. "Kneel beside me on the floor. Then you can bend over me and do what you want. You can do exactly what you want, Tony!"
The boy did as he was bid.
Margaret put her arms around his neck and pulled his head down towards her.
"Sexy lips you've got, you little devil," she murmured.
She crushed her lips up on to his and held him in a passionate embrace for almost a minute.
When she released him the wild look in his eyes told her that her technique had made its mark.
"Kiss me yourself, now," she told him. "And you make sure you do it as least as well as when you're kissing those little girls in one of your petting parties!"
He grinned animatedly and seized her roughly and expertly in his armes. Just as his lips were about to meet hers the smile faded from his face.
"I say," he gasped. "What about Mr Peterson?"
"He's a thousand miles away, you silly thing," she cried. "Kiss me... oh, kiss me all over!"
His lips sank down on to hers. She wound her arms tightly about his neck. Suddenly she forced his lips apart and sent her pert tongue darting deeply into his mouth in a lascivious French kiss. He writhed momentarily in her grasp and then surrendered fully to the delight of the sensation, even responding to it with a avidity that spoke well for his future ability to learn!
She smothered his hot young face with kisses, making him giggle as she kissed his neck. Then, with a sudden flush of deep sexuality, she pulled his head down on to her breasts, now naked to within an inch or so of her nipples.
"There," she said, "do you like it there?"
His face was warm and smooth to her throbbing breats. Poor, hairless, unknowing little thing, she thought!
She stiffened as his lips sought the crevice between her lovely tits.
"That it, darling," she murmured. "Kiss me there. That does even more for me that seeing my legs does for you!"
She held his tousled young head hard down on to her plump, lush bosom.
"Aren't they big!" he whispered.
"Shush, to you!" she cried. "Be romantic! Tell me they're lovely and round and firm and warm and that kissing them drives you mad!"
"It does drive me mad!" panted the boy, smothering them with kisses.
"The dress undoes at the back," she whispered.
He fumbled.
"Where?"
"At the back. There' a zip."
She arched her back and after a moment or so of seeking he found it and slowly unzipped her dress to the upper line of her hips.
"That'll make it easier," she said.
She waited, expecting him to ease the dress down over her shoulders and thus uncover her brassiered breasts.
But in his inexperience he hesitated, locking into her eyes for permission.
She smiled and strocked his face, "I'm all yours tonight, Tony," she said. "All yours to do with what you will. Anything you've ever dreamed of doing to a girl I want you to do with me tonight."
Still he hesitated and it was some moments before he shyly cupped her quivering breasts, still in her dress, in his hand. She closed her eyes with impatience as he almost immediately withdrew his hand. "Tony, when I came back to the tent and caught you rubbing yourself... what were you thinking of then?" she asked, abruptly.
"Of you," he answered, simply.
"Of what about me?"
"Of how you looked... of how you smelt. You were using a different scent then, weren't you?" "I wasn't in front of a warf fire being undressed by a strong young man them. As you were rubbing... what were you thinking about?"
"Oh, about your... your legs. I... I saw your knickers!" This last came in a rush of confession.
"Do you want to see them again?" she asked.
He nodded wordlessly.
"Then you must be brave... do nice things to me. You mustn't be nervous. You must do to me whatever you imagined you were doing to mee while you were rubbing your lovely hard thing all by yourself in that tent."
"Oh, you don't know what I was thinking!"
"Tell me." I can t!
"Were the things you were thinking so terrible? I bet they weren't really."
Tony licked his lips. His chin rusting lightly on her bosom, he looked up at her.
"I... I imagined that I'd got my hand up your clothes," he breathed.
"Yes?" whispered Margaret, moving her warm breats across his face.
"I was touching your knickers!" he breathed. Go on.
"Inside them!" cried Tony, flinching as if expecting a rebuke.
"It's almost as if I can feet you actually doing it now!" ejaculated Margaret, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back.
"Really! Do you mean it?" cried the boy. "I do... I do?"
"Well, I was touching your... your thing. I put my finger there."
"You haven't done... but you 0)1111""
"Everinthing I did you wanted me to do. That was important... in my imagination."
"What else?"
"These were bare.
Softly he ran his hand over her jutting breasts. She shuddered with ecstasy at his touch. "And they will be," she promised. "I was kissing them!" "Oh, show me how!"
He lowered his head and brushed her breasts where they thrust in creamy hillocks from the now slack corsage of her dress.
She raised her head and kissed his neck.
"Tony," she breathed. "Undress me! In the name of pity undress me!"
His trembling hands fumbled at the shoulders her dress, she assisted by wriggling her arms and slowly he was able to ease the red organdie down over her sloping schoulders.
A bubbling sigh of excitement passed his parted lips as the corsage of the dress slid over her rearing, brassiered titties.
"Oh," he gasped, "aren't they beautiful!"
"Be patient!" she smiled. She sat up and raised her arm to allow him to slip the dress down her retracted waist. She wriggled and it aws a frothy heap of red around her haunches.
Delicately, she slipped her legs over the edge of the sofa and stood up. Tony was still kneeling at her feet.
Well, pull it, silly thing!" she cried, moving her lips and sending the skirt of the dress fluttering around his crimson face.
He put his bands to her hips. Slowly, voluptiously and as if he was consciously drawing the pleasures of the movement out to its' last savour of delight, he pulled the dress down. It clung to her rearing hillocks as if relustant to leave the hard, heaving surfaces.
He tugged to free them from the lovely hillocks and the red organdie slithered down her tapering thighs in an exotic rustle and lay in a tumbled heap of flame about her tiny feet.
Her knickered pube was level with his face. He gazed in awe at the suggestive bulge of her hair and at the gleaming whiteness of her thighs, a striking contrast to the dullness of the little stocking tops.
He suddenly threw his arms around her buttocks and pulled her violently towards him and buried his burning face between her cool thighs. She opened them slightly for a moment and then quickly closed them, houlding his face between them while, with
Iter head thrown back, she tensed every nerve to stop herself spilling her burning come.
"Oh, my darling!" she murmured, ruffling his hair with her hands.
"You're so lovely!" he moaned, nuzzling his lips against her thighs mid-way between her stocking and her pube. "Oh, I could bite you!"
"Nibble me!" she laughed.
He played with the hard plumpness of her inner thigh with his strong, young teeth. She moaned in ecstasy and pulled his head against her thighs and worked them against his cheek bones.
"Oh, you'll make me come!" she screamed. "Stop it... stop!"
He desisted, as if she had really meant what the said!
She sat down on the sofa, shuddering with passion. His eyes smouldered as they sought the lush folds of creamy flesh that frothed from her brassiere. Her nipples were erect now and dimpled out the transparent lace of the brassiere into twin thimbles.
He sat on his haunches and gazed up at her. She looked at him for a moment and then reached forward and pulled his jacket down over his shoulders.
"Take that off... at least!" she whispered.
He quickly did as she bid.
She stroked his shoulders and fingered the back of his neck.
"It doesn't seem fair," she pouted, "that I'm here half naked and you're all dressed up like that. Here, let me do something for you."
She moved forward to the edge of the sofa. His prick was like an iron bar within his trousers as his eyes caught a glimpse of her fanny hair at the edge of her skimpy knickers.
"You're so lovely," he whispered.
"We're both lovely in that case," she replied, untieing his tie.
She opened his shirt with trembling fingers. She slipped her cool hand down inside his shirt. He wore no singlet and her hand briefly caressed his breasts.
"The're nothing like yours!" he grinned. "Thank God!" she said.
He wore a coat shirt and she pulled it slowly from the top of his belted trousers. He bent forward to allow her to slip the shirt from him. She tossed it aside and, hands on his shoulders, surveyed him. "Oh, what you do to me!" she breathed.
His body, white and hard, looked very young and even strange to her without the muscle formations of maturity.
There was something else unusual about his chest, too. Of course! He was hairless! She smiled and violenty hugged him to her bosom. She kissed the top of his head, revelling in the clean, young smell of his hair, and then bent him over her lap an began smotering his chest and arms with kisses, kissing him even up into his hairless armpits.
She feld his hand at her left breast, cupping it with a feverish and exultant motion. She raised him from her lap. As his head came up she felt his hot breath on her thighs and she had a sudden, almost overwhelming desire to rebury his head in her lap, forcing his mouth to seek out the hotness of her gash and whip her clitorus to a raging fury with his tongue.
The maxim "All in good time!" restored coherence to her actions.
"Take my bra off," the smiled.
He swallowed hard and put his hand to the front of it as if her would move the cups up over the reating mounds.
"It undoes at the back, silly!" she muttered.
He groped inexpertly at the back. The clasp parted. He gave a tiny cry of wonder as her breasts heaved aside the filmy confines of the brassiere and stood forth, juddering and trembling like two white globes of well set blanc-mange!
She smiled as she looked at his eyes. They were wide and blazing with excitement as he drank in the glory of the luscious spheres as they stood out, firm and undrooping, beneath the black brassiere which now just hung from the shoulders straps.
Without saying a word he slipped the bratdown her arms.
He dropped it on the floor and just stared at her titties.
She laughed, and they juggled madly, gourds of cream surmounted by the lush cherries of her dull red nipples.
She pulled him to her again. He cupped on breast in his hand and laved the other with feverish kisses. She stiffened as she felt his lips close over her nipple and flinched as his teeth gentle gnawed its erect hardness.
His hand was meanwhile investigating the joys of the other breast. He weighed it and cupped it, letting the nipple sear the palm of his hand and then rolling it between his finger and thumb. Always again he returned to weigh it... raising it and then letting it again sink, as if amazed at the solidness of it.
She held his head hard to her, so that fe could I only breath the soft scent of her breasts and all the time her cunt pulsed with its longing to be filled with the throb of his burning young cock.
At last she raised his head and kissed him passionately on the lips, letting her tongue run around just inside his eager mouth.
"You love my titties," she said, "but when you were rubbing yourself it wasn't them you were thinking about. Take my knickers down, darling!"
He leaned back while she stood up and looked at her in wonder, as if he scarcely believed that these wonders were happening to him.
She nodded and smiled encouragement.
"Take them down... righ down. Then everything you can see is yours!"
He dipped his fingers into the tops of her drawers at either hip.
He swallowed once and then, his eyes fixed on the triangle of her bush which showed through the transparent panties, slipped them down her tapering, quivering thighs.
The soft, sensual sound of the silk lace sliding down first the flesh of her thinghs and then the slik of her stockinged lower legs was a sound he was destined never to forget.
He held her knickers at a position just below her knees the tops of them gripped so tighly that his knuckles showed white against the dead blackness of the material.
His eyes burned as he absorbed the dark V slash of her "fanny hair where it swept to the hot crevice between her now chenched things.
She had closed her thighs for she knew that if he but so much as touched her there an immediate torrent of love-juice would lessen for a time the delicious torment that she was now so willingly enduring!
From his position... his face was hardly six inches from her quim... he could see every hair, every luxurious curl that clustered and made exicting the sweet mystery of what lay beneath.
He suddenly dropped his hands from her knickers and swept them behind her, driving his hands fiercely into the burning chasm between her bottom cheeks and pulling them apart and bringing her towards him.
She moaned in torment as the edges of his hand sank into her bottom, tipping the puckered, pleated ring there and sending waves of tantalising fury through every nerve of her body.
She looked down at his face as he buried his lips in the fur of her fanny, filling his mouth with the crisp curls and his chin hard on the soft plumpness of her Mount of Venus.
"Let me step out of my knickers, darling!" she breathed. "I want to open my legs for you."
He released her for a moment and she shook her hips. Her tits danced like mad white jellies and her drawers slipped down, drenching her feet in a little wash of black, lacy foam.
She sat down again on the sofa, letting her legs fall apart. He still sat at her feet his eyes rivetted on the new sight the parting or her thighs had offered to his gaze.
There, nestling deep in the clustered curls, was the pink gash of her luscious cunt. Framed by the black hair of her triangle on the full clefted curve of her plump bottom cheeks on the lower side, it poused prettily, the lips parted just enough to show the glistening moistness of the softness within.
"There it is," she said, "what you were thinking of when you played with yourself. Look at it! What do you want to do with it now that it's yours?"
She put the first two fingers of her right hand between her thighs.
He watched her, fascinated.
She gently parted the lips of her vagina so that he could see farther into its' pink softness. With the forefinger of her other hand she softly tippled the tiny erect clitorus that sprang like a fairy pink acorn just inside the top of her slit.
"That's where it's nice to be toucher," she said.
He stretched out his hand. She stopped him. "Later," she said. "I want to see more of you, first!"
She sat up on the sofa and reached towards his belt. She fumbled with it for a moment.
"It's as bad as my bra!" she laughed. He helped her and the belt fell to the floor.
"Stand up," she said.
He stood up and she began to unbutton his flies. Hi's trousers were distorted by the jut of his horn and she grasped it through the cloth of the trousers. She smiled sensually as she felt him leap into rigidity.
His trousers were undone to the last button, but she held them up for a moment. She looked up into his eyes and then, with a swift french, tore them down his slim legs.
"Oh, isn't it lovely!" she gasped.
His prick jutted from the slit in his trunks like a thin white bar of ivory, round and strongly curved... his nob a splash of crimson that showed off the virgin whiteness of the stem itself to exciting advantage. Hel eyes blazed with longing. "I mustn't touch it," she breathed, "or I'll have it in my mouth and suck you to your balls are empty."
"Oh, Margaret, I'll shall let it go if you talk like that!" cried Tony.
"Don't you dare!" she warned him.
Carefully she pulled the elastic of his trunk tops away from his belly. Slowly she pulled them down, making certain that his penis cleared the slit and the rest of the trunks. She swiftly cleared them down his leg and he stepped out of them. She ran her hands down the outside of his thighs.
"Have always thought a prick looked nice jutting out from under a shirt," she said.
She slipped her hands between his thighs and gently parted them.
The backs of her hands slowly moved up his thighs until they were near his tight balls. Suddenly she cupped them in her hands and he quivered into rigidity. She moved his shirt aside and looked at his trembling cock.
"You've got a bit of hair!" she smiled. He looked down at his sparse bush.
"It's not bad, really. Some of the chaps haven't got as much."
"I love every hair there!" she said, putting her hand on his penis, gently bending it down and kissing the soft hair above it.
Her hand still cupped his balls. "Aren't they full? Do they get soft when your stuff comes out?"
He nodded. "A bit. I'm frightened it'll come out now if you're not careful."
Will it come out if I kiss it?"
"If you kiss it?" he gasped, incredulously.
She didn't reply. Instead she lowered her lips to the red nob of the delicately curved penis. She opened them and took his prick firmly in her hand. Then, with a sudden movement, she took his slenderness deep in her mouth, her tongue laving his nob with burning caresses. revealing the swollen smoothness of the nob and the ridge at its base.
She toyed thus with it for a few moments until a fixity of gaze and shuddering warned her to be careful.
"Put it into me, darling!" she cried.
He awkwardly lowered himself until his belly touched hers. She writhed as she felt the warm touch of his balls on her inner thighs.
She slipped her hand between her thighs and took his slender white cock gently to the hair-bound lips of her quim.
She rubbed the nob up and down the length of her gash for a moment and then carefully inserted him. He poised for a moment, merely nob deep in her. "Come on!" she cried, and slipped her hands
He cried out aloud and buried his hands in her hair in a paroxysm of passion.
"Oh, Margaret... Margaret! It'll come in your mouth!"
"Don't let it," she mumbled, his nob still between her lips. "I want is up me for that." "Oh, I'll try not to."
But as a precaution against this she contented herself with gentle running her tongue over his crimson helmet while her hand kneaded his tight scrotum.
Suddenly she could bear it no longer. With a sharp cry she flung herself on to the thick astrakhan rug before the fire. She made an entrancing picture lying their in her abandon... naked apart for the suspender belt that still encircled her waist and her stockings which still sheathed her shapely legs.
She flung her knees up and opened her thighs wide.
"Come on!" she ground out from between, clenched teeth. "Come into me, Tony! Come into me, darling!"
He moved over her hands and she caught him behind the knees.
They buckled and he fell beside her. Her hand worked over his stiffness, savouring it's hardness and it's burning warmth.
"Get on top of me," whispered..
He straddled her, a knee on either side of her. He was poised above her, his cock jutting up along the line of his flat belly.
She took it in her hand and pressed the skin back over his mount.
"Isn't it lovely," she said. "I always think it's prettier than a woman's!"
"I don't!" he said, promptly.
She smiled and pressed the skin even farther back, on his penis and his eyes closed in ecstasy as he felt the burning drag of her quim on his throbbing nob.
He drew it out again, instinctively allowing the end to work against her clitorus, and then plunged it in again till the very root of it was pressed into the gaping lips of her fanny, while his balls swung and smacked on her pouting bottom cheeks.
"Oh, that's it," she shrieked. "Pull it out and work it against my lips."
He did as he was bid and was rewarded by the disturbing result of only barely able to keep his cock in her, writhe and plunge and twist as she did.
He took the hardness of his nob almost out of her, then pushed it against the top apex of her lips and tormented her helmet with little pushes and stabs.
"Oh, where did you learn this, you little devil?" she cried, writhing and bucking under the treatment.
"The girls like it when I wank them like this... so I thought.."
"Go on! Go on!" she yelped, driving her hot sheath up over his white hardness.
She was frantic that his lack of experience would precipitate his orgasm. This, however, was sheer around his buttocks and pulled him down on to her. Her thighs were wide and for a moment he sank right between them.
He cried out as his penis sank into the burning pink maw of his mistress, driving his foreskin back and subjecting his soft tenderness beneath it to the fiery caress of her contracting cunt walls.
She, in turn, threw back her head and a long moan of satisfied bliss dribbled from her lips as she arched to the first stroke of his long, slender lance.
She still held his buttocks, keeping his prick in her, savouring every centimetre, of it from his blood gorged nob to the thick root. His balls felt like two hot nuts as they fell against her bottom cheeks.
"Oh, you're in me, at last!" she cried. "Now, fuck me... fuck me!"
He tentatively withdrew, his cock until only his mount neestled between the tight wet lips of her hairy quim. Then, with a violent heave of his haunches, he sent his burning lance deep into her pulsing fanny.
She groaned and arched to meet the fierce thrust of him. The walls of her cunt were thrust wide as his pirck reached into the hot secret depths of her ring, and softly tippled her very cervix.
She contracted hel belly and threw her stockinged legs up and around his waist, locking her feet behind him.
The contraction of her belly created a fierce suction ignorance on her part for he experienced woman delights in what are commonly called "Cock-Virgins" for the very reason that excitement, tension and inexperience all combine to delay the ejaculation. And so it was with Tony.
In and out of her writhing quim he plunged, seeking out the deep softness of her tight places and making his sparse pubic hair kiss her's on very stroke into her.
Anticipating each thrust into her to a fraction of a second, she reared her bottom from the rug and arched her trembling boddy up to meet his descending fury. Her hands tore at his shoulders and then at his hips and then at his hard, naked buttocks.
At each stroke end when their pubes kissed there was a delightful smacking sound as his hard, flat chest slapped her luscious tits together and made him frantically conscious of her nipples, diging into him like tiny, burning, fleshy daggers!
She was beginning to approach her climax now, although in his own excitement he was unaware of this.
Moaning in her mad abandon, she flung her haunches up to meet each surging drive of his flesh, savouring every inch as it pierced her throbbing cunt like a dagger of burning flesh.
"Faster! Faster!" she screamed, "I'm coming! Make me come... oh make me come!"
He hardly knew what this meant, or at least, was not really capable for nowing anything except the clinging, burning walls of her vital cunt, sucking at his nob like a thousand hungry, avid mouths.
He drove his prick into her madly now, almost with a conscious desire to stab her and hurt her with each furious stroke.
She began a regular, moaning sob... still bucking her fanny up to meet the bite of his cock. Her eyes were closed and her head was thrown up and she pushed her quim up to swallow all the prick he could offer her. Her titties slapped together and danced in a mad erotic jiggle.
The pace of their loving had increased now until Tony's buttocks were almost a blur as they flashed down between her writhing thighs.
She suddenly gave a vivid scream that rang through the quiet house.
Startled, he momentarily paused in his stroke. She yelled in anguish and gripped his buttocks, her nails sinking into the hard cheeks, and pulled him violently down on to her, causing his cock to rip into her with such violence that it seemed to stab into her veren vitals.
She gave a shrill scream of lust and seized his hips and worked him in and out of her for a few violent strokes, then her legs sagged back to the rug and her head fell sideways and her tits danced to her loboured breathing.
"Spunk into me!" she moaned. "Come right up into me! I want to feel it all hot in me! Fill me up with your come!"
He worked himself into her, the memory of the swift flush of her spunk as she had ejaculated, hot in his mind. He feld his balls tense and in a mad frenzy of movement he plunged his hot penis in and out of her burning wetness.
Suddenly he paused on an outward stroke, his nob just inside the lips of her grotto. Then with a guttural groan, he sank his prick in her softness to the very hilt. Their hair kissed... his balls slapped her bottom and she reared to meet the gush of come that spurted from his rigid tool deep into the soft cavern of her furry nest.
She gripped his buttocks tightly as he gently eased his prick in and out of her, squeezing the last of his seed into her ravenous, dilated quim.
As his motions died to nothingness and he collapsed exhaustedly on her round belly, she locked her hands around his hard buttocks.
She softly wriggled her hips and her cunt soothed his burning, dying horn with sensitive, appreciative massage.
"Wasn't that lovely, darling?" she asked, softly.
He nodded. He couldn't speak.
"Did you have a big come? It feels as if you did. I'm all sticky with it. It's lovely."
"Marvellous!" he panted. "I've never felt anything like it."
"Belter than wanking your little girls?" she laughed.
He smiled and nodded. "I'll say!"
"I felt it come into me," she hissed. "It was like a jet of hot milk. When you take it out it'll come out and run down my thighs!"
"It'll be out in a minute," he said. "I can feel it slipping."
She held him tighter. "I want it to stay in as long as it can. I shall feel lonely and empty when it's gone!
They kept their mounts together but slowly and inexorably his now limp penis began to slip from the clenched, striving lips of his lovely mistress. She held her thighs tight together but suddenly, with a soft, delicious sound, he slipped out of her hotness.
They smiled at each other and she kissed him passionately.
"It even feels nice resting on my thighs!" she smiled.
"I love you!" he cried, kissing her madly.
"Do you?" she sighed. "I suppose I love you, or wouldn't have you lying naked on top of me with my legs wet from your love. But is it love, or do we just like doing this?"
"I love you!" he repeated, kissing her hard breasts and taking her nipples into his mouth and tickling them with his tongue.
She wriggled.
"I could most certainly love you," she said. "But you're young, there'll be others. I expect that it'll just be my lot to teach you!" She kissed him.
"What would your husband say?" he asked, suddenly.
She shrugged and they laughed as his balls slipped between her legs at the movement.
"Do you care what he'd say! Anyway, don't let's talk about him."
"Is he cruel to you?" asked Tony.
"Of course not. Don't let's talk about him."
"All right. I... I say, Margaret."
"Yes, darling?"
"I think... I think it's getting hard again!" She slipped her hand between them and felt his not, sticky tool.
My goodness, what a man! I think it isF
He blushed. "If you play with it it will get hard again,' 'he said.
"Then I'll soon fix that!" she laughed.
She moved him off her and he lay beside her. She took his warm softness in her hand began to ease his foreskin back and forth over his nob.
"Yes, it is getting stiff again!" she cried in delight.
He smiled and dipped his finger into her wet quim.
"Aren't you sticky," he said.
"Most of it's yours," she laughed.
They played with each other for a few moments.
Suddenly they were struck into rigidity by the sound of a door opening. They both sat bolt upright.
Margaret's hand shot out for something to cover herself but it was too late.
There, standing in the door way was Agnes. Beside her stood a young boy of perhaps seventeen, dark, handsome and with a calm, insolent face and thick fleshy lips.
"Christ?" gasped Agnes.
"Pardon us!" said the boy.