Chapter 2
Roger Dutton arrived back in home territory, New York, on a Tuesday night, his order book full, his testicles empty. He gave his wife a cursory peck on the cheek, told her he was tired and went quickly to bed. The next day, he would have to report to his boss, Frederick Gessner. Gessner was a man who often worked out of his house, rather than his office. He managed a network of 15 salesmen all over the country, seeing that their orders were processed to the factory, making sure commissions were paid, talking over any problem areas, etc.
Dutton arrived at Gessner's home in suburban Great Neck at about 9:30 the next morning. Gessner's coed daughter, Abigail, opened the door.
"Hi, Abby," Roger said brightly---he'd known the girl for four or five years now and, like the dirty old man he was, admired her busty figure and sensuous face greatly. "Home from college?"
"Yes, Mr. Dutton," the girl said, smiling and opening the door wide for him. "It's summer vacation."
He walked into the house, looking at Abby as much as he dared. The girl was wearing a tennis dress that displayed those perfectly sculpted legs and was pleasingly tight on top. "Your dad in his office?"
"Yes. I think he's waiting for you."
Roger walked back toward the office in the rear of the house. He'd wanted to prolong that conversation with Abby, if possible, but there really was no way. Still, even the look at her he'd gotten had stirred that cock of his.
"Morning, Roger," Frederick Gessner said, "how was it?"
Roger opened his briefcase and spread out his sales slips. For nearly an hour, the two men went over the papers.
"Seems to me that you've done a good week's work, Roger," his boss said, clearly pleased.
"I wanted to get a good send off before vacation time."
"Oh, that's right. You're taking two weeks off. What did you have in mind?"
"Well," Roger said, "I'm going to spend some time with my family. And I'm going to spend some time at the office. I have to get my files in shape. Ever since we lost that secretary---Marion, I think her name was---my desk work has been in a terrible state."
Gessner nodded thoughtfully. "Strange girl, that girl. I'll never understand what happened with her."
Dutton shrugged. It was a well-chosen and carefully delivered motion. He knew exactly what had happened to the girl. She'd started getting obscene pictures in the inter-office mail. He knew all about it because he was the one who'd sent the pictures. He hadn't intended her to bolt and run. He just wanted to warm her up for his advances. Can't win 'em all, he thought.
"Well, at any rate," Gessner went on, "why don't you report back here before you take your next trip. We'll discuss the new line and work up some promotions." He stood up, ending the interview.
Dutton and Gessner shook hands and Dutton headed for the front door, hoping to catch another glimpse of Abby. No luck. The girl had evidently gone off to play tennis.
It was a beautiful day, a bright, sunny, warm summer afternoon, exactly the sort of day, Roger Dutton said to himself, on which New York girls like to stroll braless around the streets. And any time the New York girls were walking around braless, Roger wanted to be walking around gazing at them.
He thought for a while, then boarded the Long Island railroad. In about a half hour, he was walking up the steps of Penn-Station. He hopped a cab, getting off at 59th St. and 3rd Ave., near Bloomingdale's, one of the best girl-watching places in Manhattan.
Roger wandered down 3rd. Ave., watching the passing parade.
And it was a marvelous parade. The streets were nearly filled to capacity with shoppers, at least half of them, or so it seemed to Roger, being lovely young girls, high school girls, college girls, secretaries, young wives. They were wearing miniskirts, shorts, pants, tank tops, outfits that showed bare midriffs (everything between the bottom of the breast line and the top of the. pelvic girdle), filmy little tops in which fleshy tits jiggled invitingly, sandals that laced up the leg to the knee, bare feet, bare arms, bare legs, just about anything that could be legally bared.
Dutton followed a blonde teenager down the street, watching her ass move up and down in her tight blue jeans, her long blonde hair swinging teasingly back and forth over the clasp of her halter top. For an instant, he tore his eyes away from that bouncing baby fat ass and saw a tall brunette headed toward him, a girl with astonishingly blue eyes, tits like ice cream cones and hot pants that as recently as 12 months earlier would have gotten unfavorable attention from the law.
Dutton came to a dead halt, made the merest pretense of looking into a store window, then turned on a dime and went after the brunette. He kept a respectful distance from the girl, one calculated to keep her within his field of view at all times. But his attention was almost ripped way from the girl when he saw a gaggle of college kids walking by, dressed like they were on the way to the beach.
For a dirty old man, this was shopper's heaven. Except of course, the girls weren't for sale. Momentarily, Roger Dutton fantasized a time when he could have his choice of what he saw. He envisioned a moment when he could command them all into a large room, have them strip at his request, then examine them all minutely, disqualifying all with bodies and faces even slightly less than perfect and walking away with a half-dozen or so of his choice.
He let the idea run rampant through his mind as he watched the girls. About half the girls he looked at---and his gaze was bold indeed---looked back at him. There were raised eyebrows, haughty stares straight ahead, knowing little smiles, curious glances and, occasionally, total indifference. Of course, it didn't really matter to Roger. He wasn't trying to pick up a new conquest. He was merely giving his eyes an opportunity to experience ecstasy.
What he saw, not surprisingly, was transmitted to his brain, which reacted in its own special way, sending a stream of impulses throughout his body. His cock, that most favored part of him, began receiving signals that targets were in sight---or at least that's the way it acted, taking aim at every passing young lovely. There was a pleasant tingling in his loins, the kind of sensation that told him he was really alive.
He let it grow until he had a partial erection. A few quick motions with a hand in his pocket and his clothing was arranged in such a way that his state wouldn't be improperly obvious to anyone looking at him. By now, Roger's mind was buzzing with thoughts of fucking. It was a standard reaction on his part, something so natural that, short of sleeping, there was no way he could have halted it, short of going to sleep. And Roger Dutton wasn't about to go to sleep.
He gave his cock a little squeeze in his pants and marveled at how good it felt---no hands, no thigh squeezing, nothing fancy, just a little twitch on that cock muscle. Then he saw a beautiful young girl walk by, her black hair hanging loose, her tits bobbing with each step. "How would you like to feel this in your twat?" He . asked her silently, the words audible only in his mind. He gave a squeeze on that cock muscle, imagining that it was inserted deeply into the girl's pussy. She walked past, of course, eyes high, a neutral expression on her face, totally unaware of what Roger was thinking.
Then another one walked by, a 14-year-old, by the look of her, her face chubby with baby fat, her body well filled out. He gave another squeeze to his cock muscle and the organ twitched pleasurably in his trousers.
Two girls, secretaries apparently, passed Roger, lost in talk, laughing to themselves. The salesman fucked them both-at least in his mind's eye.
Roger Dutton spent his day fucking every good-looking girl he saw, at least in his mind's eye, his erect cock twitching and jerking against his jockey shorts. After a while, he got so turned on that he couldn't resist a visit to the nearest porno shop. There, he picked out a selection of books and magazines, stuffing them in the briefcase he happened to be carrying.
The day wore on. Roger grabbed a sandwich at Chock Full O'Nuts, then went into Bloomingdale's to browse. He actually looked as though he was paying attention to the merchandise. Actually, his eyes were on the shoppers, the female shoppers. He followed the prettiest ones from department to department, up and down escalators, even out on the street on one occasion.
After a while, Roger glanced at his watch. It was past 4:00. Soon, rush hour would start. The subways would be mobbed. Especially the Flushing line, the subway he used to go home.
As a salesman, Roger had spent precious little time on the subway. Today would be an exception. As he thought about it, he got an idea. The more he thought about it, the more excited he got.
Somehow, Roger managed to stay away from the subway until rush hour was well under way. Then, at about 5:00, he went down into a subway tunnel near Bloomingdales, bought a token, and boarded a downtown local for Grand Central Station.
The downtown local wasn't very crowded. In Manhattan, at least, it's the uptown trains that get crowded first---the trains headed for the wealthy upper East side. Roger . Dutton had no intention of taking one of those trains, at least not today.
At Grand Central, he braved the scurrying crowds, attempting to find the Flushing line, the subway that ended in the center of the Queens area known as Flushing, after passing the site of the 1964-5 World's Fair and the home of the New York Mets, Shea Stadium. Roger's apartment house was a short block from the last stop.
Stopping a subway conductor, he got directions to his train, scampered down a long series of steps and through a passageway and finally found himself on a subway platform that seemed to be inside a huge tunnel. On one side of the platform, trains headed West, toward Times Square, two stops away. At this hour, trains headed in that direction were practically empty. On the other side were the sardine---packed trains headed toward Flushing. They'd just picked up passengers at Times Square, and then at Fifth Avenue.
Roger Dutton scanned the platform anxiously. It was filled with businessmen, dumpy housewives on the way home from a shopping trip, teenage boys, construction workers and more than a few young ladies. Three of the latter were standing in a small group, anxiously awaiting the next train, ready to push themselves in. The platform was just about full by this time, but Roger managed to sidle over to the three girls and station himself behind them.
Then, Roger heard an unmistakable rumbling from the end of the tunnel leading from Times Square. In a moment, the train would be at the platform, he knew.. There was some anticipatory movement on the platform and he again found it necessary to adjust his position slightly.
At least one of the girls in front of him was a real beauty---about 20 years old, he guessed, with a slender, shapely body encased in a pleasingly tight blue pants suit, with long brown hair. Though she was standing with her back to him, Roger got a glimpse of her face---a sweet, innocent face, whose outstanding feature was lovely, luminous light brown eyes. The girls she was talking to weren't bad either, but neither was as pretty as she. There was a little blonde---or at least that was the color of her hair today-with big tits and a big ass, and a tall, too-thin black-haired girl with pointy tits that clearly weren't restrained by a bra.
Suddenly, the train roared out of the tunnel, rumbled up beside the platform and screeched to a stop. The doors slid open with a clank. Then, the rush was on. Everyone on all sides converged toward the open doors and Roger felt himself being swept along, all his careful positioning made meaningless. The doors had not opened directly in front of the spot at which he was standing, but, instead, four or five feet down. He moved toward the open door as quickly as possible. It was beginning to look as though he wouldn't even be able to get into the train. That was just as well. They girls had somehow got in before him and there were people between him and the brown-haired girl in the blue pants suit he fancied.
As it worked out, Roger was the last person to get through the door. For at few moments, it looked as though all was lost. He was so squashed in that there seemed no possibility of getting to where he wanted to be. Then, people started shifting positions, the elderly and the obese ploughing through the crowd in an attempt to get hold of a strap, the newspaper readers trying to find a way to open their papers.
Roger had little hand in what followed. He was pushed and pulled, pummeled and poked. At any rate, by the wildest of coincidences, he found himself exactly where he wanted to be: tightly jammed against the back of the girl with the blue pants suit. Behind mm was a huge Black woman---280 pounds worth of her at least, more half of her weight unconsciously pressed against him. He was surrounded on both sides by commuter-types. The effect was that he hardly had an inch of room in which to maneuver. But that was all he needed.
Roger moved his feet slightly and shifted his pelvis a bit, until his crotch was directly against the brown-haired girl's ass. He felt the sap begin to rise once more.
"I just can't stand these crowds, Wendy," the short bottle-blonde said to her brown-haired friend.
"Me neither. But my limousine has a flat tire, Irma."
The remark drew laughter from the other two girls. Ordinarily, Roger might have crept closer to Wendy very gradually, until he was tight against her without her realizing what had happened. But the packed subway made that totally unnecessary. She couldn't realize---at least not yet---that he'd chosen her purposely, that he wanted to be jammed against her in exactly this way. Roger felt his cock begin to grow; The train plummeted through the tunnel under the East River, the thin band of water that separated Manhattan from Queens, and ground to a stop at the first station in Queens. The doors opened and a few more people rammed themselves into the already overflowing subway car. Then, the doors shut and the trip resumed, the train now lurching from side to side. With each lurch, Wendy's ass pressed against Roger's growing cock. For once, he made no effort to rearrange his clothing so that his erection would have room to grow unobtrusively. Instead, he let his prick stand straight out.
If Wendy sensed anything, she didn't let on. The conversation between the three girlfriends continued inanely. Now, they were on the subject of men. Irma, the blonde, was talking about her boy friend---and about the fact that he only wanted one thing from her. The black-haired girl snorted and said she'd be delighted if her boyfriend made a pass. Wendy laughed at the appropriate places, but made few contributions to the conversation. Roger's cock was now fully erect. It was pressed hard against the girl's ass cheeks, aimed at the crack in between. The train lurched again and this time Wendy made the first subtle movement that might have been interpreted as showing that she realized what that thing was that was practically sticking up her asshole. She shifted very slightly, moving her ass crack out of the way of Roger's cock.
He finally yielded to his growing discomfort, and, after a struggle, managed to get a hand down to his crotch. There, he adjusted his pants and let his cock take its normal position, pointed straight upward. He'd only just moved his hand away when the train lurched once more and Roger again found his cock jammed hard against Wendy's ass.
This position, he decided, was considerably more comfortable than the previous one. It was also much more exciting. Each time the train lurched, which was quite often now, Wendy's ass rubbed against his cock, which was by now as hard as granite.
After a few minutes, Roger added little lurchings of his own. Did Wendy realize what was happening? It all depended on what was going through her mind, on how sophisticated and aware she was. A girl used to crammed subway rides might not think a thing about it, Roger told himself. She might not even realize that there was a man behind her, or so Roger thought.
He was getting extremely turned on by now. He had just enough room to move his pelvis around, to rub his enormous erection up and down against the girl's ass. It was firm and rounded, a very nice ass to rub against, he thought. He imagined the girl unclothed, then he imagined himself naked, the two of them still wedged tightly together.
"Whatcha doing tonight, Wendy?" the dark-haired girl asked her friend.
"Oh, I don't know," Wendy said, considering. "There's supposed to be something good on TV."
"No date?" Irma asked.
"No!"
"I don't know what's the matter with you, Wendy. You're such a good-looking girl, but you still can't seem to find any really decent guys."
Roger could see Wendy nod. What an ironic moment. She couldn't find guys, but a guy had found her. He increased his motions against her, sending new thrills through his swollen organ.
"All they are is hands," Wendy said sadly. "I'm looking for a man who will respect a woman."
The ironies deepened. Could it be, Roger wondered, that she still doesn't realize what I'm doing to her? Rhythmically, he pressed his erect cock against the pretty young girl, the only thing between them a few layers of clothing.
There was no return motion on Wendy's part, but neither did she try to move away. Was she totally unaware of his excitement? Could she be that innocent?
"Well, I don't know," said the black-haired girl. "I've had plenty of duds in my time and I think I prefer the animal type. They can always be tamed, you know, if that's what you have in mind."
"Yeah," the blonde girl piped in, "there's nothing worse than a dud."
Roger was dripping with sweat, he suddenly realized, his shirt sticking to his chest like wet Kleenex. He was breathing hard and his cock was pounding in his pants. At this level of excitement, restraint and reserve began to disappear. And so it was with Roger Dutton. The speed and intensity of his movements increased. Only a corpse wouldn't have realized what he was doing, and yet Wendy made no move to get away.
He was humping against her now, his motives and desires crystal clear. Anyone watching him carefully would have realized what he was doing---that is if he I could have been seen. But the subway car was so crowded that only his head could be seen. He did his best to keep his expression neutral, even as his body shifted into high gear.
Then it happened. Wendy made a slight, tentative move against him, a move not caused by any train lurching. Roger rubbed back. Wendy repeated the action, this time more firmly. And Roger rubbed back, aggressively. He felt twitchings in his balls---the semen was gathering. I And so it went, Roger rubbing his huge hard-on against the pretty girl and the pretty girl rubbing back, with growing enthusiasm. And yet she never turned around to see who it was she was humping with. She never betrayed the slightest sign that something unusual was taking place.
As Roger's excitement grew, he became bolder and bolder, shoving his cock against the girl, holding it in the crack between her ass cheeks, wiggling it around suggestively. And Wendy received it all willingly, shifting her ass around to increase the contact, evidently taking her own sort of pleasure from it all.
Then, a new thought occurred to Roger. He slowly moved his hand between his own crotch and Wendy's shapely ass, palm outward, his fingers caressing the girl openly. Still, she made no objection.
"Let's go into Gertz department Store when we get off the train," the bottle-blonde suggested to her girl friends. "I saw in the newspapers that they're having a sale on clogs."
"That's a good idea," the black-haired girl said. "My clogs are shot. You come with us, Wendy?"
"Sure," Wendy said, just as normally as if she didn't have some stranger's cock jammed tight against her ass, just as if she wasn't dry humping with the guy.
Roger was now so excited that he was practically shivering with nervous energy. He had his hand cupping one of Wendy's ass cheeks now and he was rubbing against her so purposefully that he was sure to come if he kept on like this.
Boldly, he reached his hand between the girl's legs, pressing his fingers against her asshole, reaching through her legs to touch her cunt. Now, for the first time, she gave a noticeable reaction---a sharp intake of air. But her girlfriends were so busy talking to each other that they didn't realize anything was happening.
For her part, Wendy started moving her ass against Roger's cock in small, tight circles. She was short of breath herself, Roger noted with glee.
It was the strangest scene he'd ever been in. The trained rushed along, making its stops, loading and unloading passengers---but staying crowded. All around him, people were reading newspapers and paperback books, talking to each other, watching the stops, looking bored, sleeping, sweating, thinking about millions of things---and totally unaware that in the midst of all of them, two people were engaged in a strange but exciting variation of the sex act.
If things went on much longer this way, Roger knew, he was going to cum in his pants. It would be a mess---and a visible stain. He wanted to cum badly, but not that badly. Then he realized that he had another option. He withdrew his hand from Wendy's crotch and fumbled momentarily with the zipper. The girl could evidently feel what he was doing, because as he unzipped his fly and took out his engorged cock, her-ass began to jerk against him in undisguised passion.
Roger's cock was now rubbing directly against the fabric of the girl's pants suit. He snaked his hand back between her legs and started feeling her up. Her ass wiggled against his cock in response.
By now, he was breathing pretty hard, panting almost. But so was Wendy.
The bottle-blonde looked at her with concern. "You all right, Wendy?"
"Sure," she said. "Just a little tired." It wasn't much of a sentence, but Wendy barely had the breath to utter it. As the train made its stops, the sardine-effect began to ease. Roger knew that he had to complete his little act before much longer or he'd have a subway car full of spectators. Frantically, he rubbed his cock against the pretty girl in front of him. The thing was jerking and twitching now in anticipation of the ultimate ecstasy. In front of him, his fingers were having the same effect on Wendy. Her ass was bouncing merrily and she seemed nearly unable to control her actions.
He felt it all gathering in his balls---a man-sized load of semen, manufactured for deposit in some hairy twat. Well, this time it wouldn't get that far, Roger thought. It would be deposited on that blue pants suit he was rubbing against. Perhaps it would soak through and the girl would feel it. Maybe it would even drip down inside the girl's panties, running down the crack between her ass cheeks. The thought was all he needed---a couple more shivering jerks and the sticky white stuff shot out of his cock.
Spurt after spurt of it landed on Wendy's pants suit. A few moments later, the girl herself gave the smallest shiver and sigh and her ass jiggled as if someone was tickling her wildly.
Roger rubbed himself against the girl to get the last of the semen from the end of his prick, then he withdrew his hand from her crotch. He slipped his cock back inside his pants and zipped up.
Only a moment or so later, the subway doors opened once more and about a third of the people got out. This time, some of the seats were emptied. Without so much as a backward look at Roger, Wendy and her girlfriends found three seats together and sat down. Roger clung to one of those floor---to-ceiling posts, gazing at the girl who'd just provided him with so much pleasure. She seemed to be pretending that he didn't even exist.
Looking at her, Roger let the fantasies flow freely. He thought of getting her name or telephone number, of getting her alone someplace and really putting it to her. He thought of getting his hands on those bulging tits and ramming his fingers up that twat for real, not just feeling her through her clothing. The only problem was approaching her. A dozen schemes went through his mind, none of them very satisfactory. Time was drawing short. Two more stops and it would be the end of the line. The train slowed and stopped, the doors opening and closing at the Shea Stadium stop. A few people got off.
Roger screwed up his nerve and moved toward Wendy, who didn't even look up at him.
"Excuse me," he said, as the train pulled into the Flushing stop. "Didn't you used to go to school... " The girls rose, jabbering among themselves, as if he didn't exist. For just an instant, Wendy's soft brown eyes met his. There was only the slightest trace of a smile on her lips. Roger stood holding onto the pole, unable to move toward her or out of the car. She brushed by him, . her tits briefly touching his arm.
"Wendy," one of the girls said, "what's that on your pants suit?"
Wendy reached around innocently and felt the spreading blotch near her ass. "Damn," she said. "I must have sat on something. Maybe a candy bar. It'll wash off. This is a wash-and-dry outfit."
And that was the last, to his great regret, that Roger Dutton ever saw of his subway love. But at least he wasn't frustrated.
That night, when he finally. arrived at home, he found that his wife's cousins were visiting. At first, the entire idea disgusted him. He hated relatives in general. But this time, his wife's cousins, whom he hadn't seen in four years, had brought along their 15-year-old daughter, Brenda. She'd changed substantially since she was 11, Roger noted, and all for the better.
"Roger," his wife Iris said, "Albert and Marlene and I are thinking of visiting Uncle Sam in Brooklyn. Brenda would rather stay home and watch TV, but you'll come along, won't you?"
Roger thought quickly. He hated Uncle Sam, who was a crotchety old man, sure to put the bite on him. He didn't like Albert or Marlene much either. And going to Brooklyn was just about the last thing he wanted to do. Besides, there was Brenda. He'd much rather sit around the house and watch TV with the teenage girl. Who knew what might happen.
"Dear," he said, "I'd love to, I really would. But I've had a tough day. I'm exhausted. I'm afraid I'll have to bow out this time."
Iris was clearly annoyed. "Roger, we haven't visited Uncle Sam in more than a year. It's simply not smart to stay away so long. There is the matter of the will, you know."
Roger nodded. "I understand fully, dear," he said. "But I'm afraid that I wouldn't make a very good impression tonight." He gave his wife a significant look, which translated into: If you force me to go, you'll be sorry.
"Yes," Iris said, resigned. "Well, that's a shame."
"I'm sure you'll represent the family well, dear."
They ate dinner-roast chicken, as it happened---in relative silence. Iris was quiet because she didn't want to provoke her husband in front of Albert and Marlene. Roger was quiet because he had other things on his mind.
"Well, Brenda," he said, turning to the teenager who was visiting his house, "I guess it's just you and I and the I TV set tonight."
"Guess so," the girl said sullenly.
"Anything good on tonight?"
"There's an old Martin and Lewis movie on at eight. But that's about it."
"Martin and Lewis, eh? Haven't seen one of their movies for a long time. Maybe it will be fun."
A half hour later, Roger and the teenager were alone in the house. Brenda was a typical teenager--long straight blonde hair, blue jeans, sandals, one of those ecology sweaters. Physically, Brenda seemed a bit younger than her 15 years. She was a little on the thin side. Her face seemed innocent in the extreme. Her tits looked large, but under sweaters like the one she wore, it wasn't easy to tell. Besides, she might have been wearing a padded bra.
Brenda watched the TV set and Roger watched Brenda, his natural horniness slowly taking command of his mind and body. After a while, he had an idea.
"You know, Brenda," he said, "I think I'm going to take a bath."
"Uh-huh," the teenager said, completely uninterested.
Roger went back to the master bedroom and took his bath-quickly. It was all he could do to keep his hands off his cock. He dried himself in a hurry, his mind buzzing with fantasies about seducing the teenager in the living room. Then, he slipped on a bathrobe---nothing more---and headed in to join her. She hardly noticed his return.
Together, they watched the old Martin and Lewis flick.
"They just don't make them that way anymore," he commented.
"Yeah," the girl said, her eyes never leaving the set.
Roger, of course, looked at the girl, the tingle quickly reappearing in his loins. His cock sprang to life as he massaged Brenda's tits with his eyes and wondered what sort of furriness lay between her legs.
"They're a lot more daring these days," he went on.
"I wouldn't know," Brenda said. "They don't let kids into good movies."
This time, she'd looked at him.
"That's a damn shame," Roger said. "I think you kids can handle anything us adults can. Even the sexy stuff."
By now, he had the teenager's full attention.
"I wish my parents felt that way."
"Well, they should. Hell, there are all sorts of things on the movie screens now---not just sexual intercourse, but homosexuality and Lesbianism, oral and anal sex, group sex, etc. Now not one of those things are any mystery to you or any other teenager, right?"
Brenda was completely confused. It was clear, first of all, that he'd mentioned several things she'd never heard of. But, second, it was also clear that she was intensely interested.
"Well, yes," she said. "We're not dummies, you know."
"That's exactly what I was saying. Hell, I have some stag movies in my bedroom that wouldn't shock you at all, I'll bet."
"Stag movies?"
"Sure. You know. Sex movies. Fuck flicks."
It was, in a way, the crucial moment and Roger knew it. The word "fuck" wasn't something an older man said to a teenage girl, not unless she was prepared to treat him pretty much as an equal, perhaps even a sexual equal. "Wow," Brenda said, "that's groovy. Do you show them to your men friends?"
"Hell, no. Iris and I watch them. It turns us on and we end up fucking better."
By now, the girl was paying no attention whatever to the TV set. Sex obviously interested her. She wasn't about to miss a word Roger was saying.
"Gee," she said suggestively, "I've never seen a stag movie."
"Well, you will someday, I'm sure."
"Yeah." Brenda was distinctly disappointed.
Roger's cock was completely erect now. He'd been talking sex with Brenda for several minutes now and it was enough to turn him on as he'd rarely been turned on before.
There was silence for a moment as Brenda tried to think of a way to get Roger to show the movies. She was curious as hell, as any virgin would be. But nothing had occurred to her other than curiosity.
"Listen," she said, "would there be any harm in showing me the films?"
Roger did his best to restrain an exultant smile. Once she started looking at those films, he was certain, it would be simple to seduce her. "Well, I don't know," he said.
"Please, Uncle Roger... "
"Uncle? Come on now, I'm not that much of an old fogey."
"Sorry, Roger. Please... "
"Well, I guess that one or two would be all right. The tamer ones."
"Why tamer? I'm not a child, you know. I'm 15-and a half."
Roger nodded. "OK, I'll compromise-----one tame film, one wild one."
"All right."
They went back in the bedroom and Roger set up the movie camera on the nightstand. The only place Brenda could sit was on the bed, which was exactly what Roger had in mind. There were no chairs in the room.
The first film Roger selected was on the tame side---if fucking, sucking, reaming and screaming are tame. It featured two young people---college kids, apparently. It started out simply enough---with ---the guy feeling up his girlfriend, while she played with his cock until his pants were hopelessly stretched out of shape.
Roger glanced over at Brenda. The teenager was stretched out on the bed, her eyes glued to the screen. And on the screen, the fellow was undressing his girl---while she was unzipping his fly. Brenda let out a little gasp as the man's cock became visible. And well she might have---it was a huge, dangerous-looking tool, complete with throbbing vein and purplish head. She let out another gasp as the girl's panties came off, revealing a thick thatch of tawney-colored hair.
Now that the two porno stars were naked, Roger looked at the teenager to see her reaction. The girl was still watching the screen as though her life depended on it. She seemed to be breathing a bit more quickly than usual, but Roger couldn't be sure.
On the screen, the lovers went through the usual routine---he stuck his fingers in her twat and sucked on her nipples until they were swollen and dark. Then he pulled his fingers out of her cunt hole and held them up to the girl's mouth to lick, which she did with enthusiasm. At the same time, the girl pulled on her boyfriend's dick, making the thing grow until it was truly enormous. Then she suddenly bent down and put her lips around it and started to suck for all she was worth.
Roger glanced over at Brenda. The girl hadn't changed her position a bit, except for crossing her legs. But now he was sure that she was breathing more quickly. On the screen, the young couple were sixty-nining vigorously, the man's tongue buried within the girl's hairy twat, the cunt juice glistening on his face, the girl's lips firmly wrapped around the man's huge organ. The young couple rocked back and forth in growing passion.
Roger was sitting on the bed, next to Brenda, watching her out of the corner of his eye. As he watched, she began to squeeze her legs together and release them. It was a telltale sign, Roger thought.
On the screen, the young couple broke apart from their sixty-nining and turned toward each other. The guy's cock was thunderously erect---but no more so than Roger's. The girl's cunt was positively dripping. The camera came in close as the guy slid his cock into the girl, then focused on her face, which was registering various shades of ecstasy.
For the first time, Roger found himself worried. He was so excited he could hardly contain himself. If his passions continued to escalate, he would shortly be attacking this young girl. How would she react? She was a virgin---she'd said as much. Would she fight for her virtue or would the films turn her on so much that she was easy prey? And what about her parents and his wife---how long would they spend in Brooklyn? What would happen if they walked in on something they shouldn't?
It was Roger's last truly rational thought. On the screen, the young couple was fucking away, the camera zooming close so that all could see the thick shaft, shining . with cunt juice, sliding obscenely into the girl's furry pussy, pulling out, sliding in again.
Roger moved over on the bed until less than an inch separated him from his pretty teenage relative. "You know what Iris and I do while we're watching this one?" he said, using up all his breath in the process.
"What?" Brenda said. She seemed to be genuinely interested.
"This." He extended a hand, placing his fingers directly over the young girl's pussy and pressing where he knew her clit must be.
The girl practically jumped out of her skin with shock. But Roger kept his hand where he wanted it. After she settled down a bit, he took her hand and placed it on his cock. Once more, she jumped with shock. Then, she settled down, still gazing at the screen, doing her best to pretend that nothing had happened.
"Then," Roger went on, as if he were reading the assembly instructions on a barbecue unit, "I do this." He insinuated his fingers between her legs, wiggling and pushing. The crotch of her jeans was warm, almost damp. The girl was excited, there was no question of that.
"And you do this," he went on, putting his hand on top of hers---the one he'd put on his cock. He pushed her fingers so that they encircled his prick, which wasn't difficult, since he was wearing only a bathrobe. Then, he moved her hand so that it went up and down. He took his hand away for a moment and her hand motion stopped.
"No, Brenda," he said, "you have to keep it moving." He show? her again and this time she followed directions.
"Good."
On the screen, the movie was almost over. The young couple were fucking furiously, their bodies slapping together, their eyes hooded with passion.
"Now," Roger went on, "we do this." He took his hand away from Brenda's crotch and slipped it under her belt, diving down under her panties, into her pubic bush---which was surprisingly sparse and soft. The girl gasped with shock as he touched her.
"And you do this." He pulled his robe open with his free hand and put Brenda's fingers over his naked cock. She kept up the motions he'd shown her.
Slowly his hand crept through Brenda's pussy fur. The territory got steadily damper and warmer.
Finally, the girl spoke.
"Roger, don't." There was a clear note of panic in her voice.
"Why not?"
"I'm a virgin."
"That doesn't matter. I'm not going to take your virginity."
"You're not?"
"Of course not," Roger said, adding, to himself, "at least not this time."
"I'm just going to make you feel good. And you'll make me feel good too."
And that's what happened. Roger fingered Brenda off to a monumental climax, after first changing the film. And she did the same for him, after careful instruction.
"Oh, wow," she said, her chest rising and falling rapidly, "that was fantastic. Did it feel that good for you?"
Roger shrugged. "Without being a girl, I wouldn't know."
"Is it always that good?"
"It's better---when you're fucking." He reached over and fondled the teenager's tits. She said nothing. After a while, he slid his hand back down into her panties. Sure enough, she was ready again. This time, it took only a few moments until she was twisting and turning with passion, far more unrestrained than the time before.
"Oh," she said, panting, "faster, do it faster."
Roger complied.
"Oh, oh, OH,OH GOD!" she shouted.
Afterward, Roger cleaned up the films and straightened the bed. He and Brenda assumed innocent positions in front of the TV set.
"Do it to me again,. Roger," Brenda urged him.
He checked his watch. "Well, maybe once more. Everyone will be home soon, I think."
"Please... " .
Roger went to work on the girl, who responded even more quickly than before. "How long will you be here?"
"Two or three more days," she said, fighting for breath.
"Good. I think it's time you graduated from virginity."
There was the sound of a key in the door and Roger and Brenda jumped apart. By the time her parents wife came into the room, Roger was slumped in his favorite chair, feigning sleep. Brenda was watching the TV set as if nothing had happened. But something had. She wanted to be fucked. She would be fucked---and soon.