Chapter 11
When she was inside the guest house she ripped off her dress, turned on the shower, and washed herself, cleaning the blood from her beautiful thighs, jamming a tampon up her vagina.
Every thought was pure agony, the luxury of the cottage which she was leaving, the mirror in which she had so enjoyed watching herself and Jerry, herself and Jerry and Mae, herself and young Roy Flack, all of it lost, the sweetness of her life here, and her belief that she was secure.
"Secure, my ass!" she said.
She thought of the "ironclad" contract. "It's not worth a shit!" she muttered. "Sure, I could screw the principal on the fifty-yard line. But not his baby boy! I can shove the contract right up my ass!" She was sobbing, thinking of the bleakness confronting her. All the rich man had to do was call in the District Attorney, tell him what had happened. Then where'd her contract be? "Contributing to the delinquency of a minor," that would look good in her record. No more teaching ever.
"Peters, you're a Goddamned jerk!" she muttered. And then, knowing that she had never meant to harm anyone, least of all Jerry, or Lew Jonas, or his family, she sat on the bed, no longer strong and beautiful, but slack, beaten, a lost soul.
She heard the door open softly, but didn't look up. Probably an unhappy fifteen-year-old boy, shocked to learn he was losing his fucking friend, unable to do anything about it.
She was shocked almost into a faint when a big hand came down on her shoulder, and a deep voice said: "Hey, Mala! Don't cry, my dear! There's nothing to cry about!"
Even when she looked up through her bitter tears and saw big, gentle Lew Jonas, it was hard to believe. She was naked, her cunt stopped with a wad of cellulose, her face wet with despairing tears, and he was smiling at her, taking her chin in his hand, repeating: "Don't cry! Please, Mala!"
It was too much for her. She found her face pressed against the smooth flannel of his slacks, into the concave warmth of his crotch. Her arms were around his strong hips, her tears were gushing again, but this time they were tears of hope, of relief. And just this much pressure told her another thing-there was a very large cock hanging in those slacks. Not a hard one, certainly, but getting that way.
"Oh, Lew," she sobbed, "don't play cat and mouse with me! If I have to leave, tell me! I know what I did was rotten, rotten, bad!"
He tugged at her hair, forcing her to look up. His smile was gentle. "You don't mean that," he said. "You mustn't say it, you mustn't think it!"
The terrible load which had been on her heart, hard and cold as ice, began to break up, to flood away in a warm stream.
"If you say so, Lew," she murmured.
He pulled her head to his crotch again, holding her face against him in a fatherly way. She did not feel his hidden cock throb, but she sensed that it had grown slightly.
He was talking somewhere up there above her head, but she did not pay attention. The fact that this great and good man had, somehow, found it in his heart to forgive the unforgivable was making her cry. She tasted tears, her mouth was flooded with saliva, she was working quietly on his belt, then on the fastening of his slacks, then his zipper.
"Oh, don't, Mala," he said, but he did not move her head. Instead, he was leaning forward, his hands on her naked shoulders, bracing himself, as she fumbled the big, near-hard cock out into the open, ran the soft, steamy foreskin back, and took the big head into her mouth.
She sucked gently for a moment, running her tongue all around the glans, digging the soft tip into the two crevices alongside the cord. Above her, the kindly man was groaning, and his hands were gently holding her blonde head.
In a rush of understanding and emotion, she let the cock slip out of her mouth and hugged him hard, her cheek against his cock and the sweat-dampened ruff of pubic hair around it. He had forgiven her, indeed, if he had not pushed her away.
"You're a saint, Lew," she whispered, and he laughed just a bit chokily.
"Not much of a saint, considering," he said. "But Martha-well," and his voice dropped off. "Damn it!" he cursed. "I've always despised a man who discussed his home sex life!"
"But there are some things Martha draws the line at?" Mala said, her smile hidden from him. "Oral sex, for example?"
"You understand, Mala, don't you, my dear?"
"I understand that Martha doesn't dig oral sex. I don't understand why!" she said. "Oh, Lew, it's so delicious! It's got so much character!" She mouthed the big head again, and sucked it as though it were a ripe and juicy plum. "I don't know why any woman wouldn't love to suck this beauty!"
He laughed, one short bark, and groaned: "Easy, Mala! I'm not used to anything this, uh, hot and wonderful!"
She looked up at him, smiling, holding the big, warm organ in her hand. "It's not hard," she said. "And I know you're not impotent. It's, what? Not fear of failure. You need never fear anything with me, my dear. I owe you too much!"
"Conditioning, I guess," the big man answered quietly. "It's hard to keep up interest by yourself."
"Undress," she ordered gaily. "Take care of your shirt; I'll get the rest." Then, when he was as naked as she: "Lie down here, on your back. That's right. Put your feet on the floor. Oh, Lew, don't feel badly because it's not hard! I love it this way. Really I do!"
She sat comfortably between his extended legs, more or less sideways to him, on her left hip, and held his cock gently to her lips, kissing its head, looking up at him as he got up on his elbows. Her pussy, hot and swollen where it had, during her deep dejection a few minutes earlier, been dry and anesthetized, throbbed softly, compressed between her thighs and buttocks.
"I'll come pretty soon," Lew said. "Since we're not, well, doing anything together, will that be all right?"
She kissed his cock all the way from head to root, taking one of his big balls in her mouth and rolling it in that hot, slick bath of warm saliva and working lips. When she removed it, she twinkled her eyes at him. "Anything you do is all right," she whispered.
With his soft, warm cock so sweet and tender against her tongue, she thought of this wonderful person, this kindly honest, generous man who should have been at the height of his sexual powers, but who was doomed to a half-life because of a maladjustment with his wife, the woman he loved. Her tears began to flow, and she moved to get on her knees, pulling his legs across her shoulders.
She felt his body tense, and there was just a small feel of throb in his big, soft peter, and then her grateful mouth was awash with his warm flow of jism. Not hot jets, just a rhythmic tide that gushed gently into her throat, over her taste buds, refilling her mouth after each swallow. He's got plenty in there, she thought happily. He's a lot of man In a week or two, with a little work and a little love, I'll have his cock as hard as a billiard cue.
Her cunt felt hotter, itchier, fatter, as it always did during her period, especially on the first day, and she got up very carefully. Lew did not miss the significance of her movements. "You need a cum, too, don't you, my dear?" he asked softly. "Get up here; my penis is no good, but my tongue's long and hard!" and allowed himself a small laugh.
Still careful not to let her cunt lips rub together, lest she fall into a fit of orgasm, Mala got to where she could kiss him. "Don't talk like that," she admonished him. "I'll just lean against your arm; that'll make me cum. Honest, Lew! Stop, Lew! I've got a tampon in it; I've just got my period!"
He held her with fierce tenderness. "You sit right where I was, and let me worry about your condition," he said softly. "Get your knees up, put your feet on my shoulders. Ah, my dear, that's beautiful! So open, so sweet!"
He looked up at her. "I'm so grateful to you," he whispered, tears in his eyes. "What you've done are doing for Jerry. It's what I hoped." He looked down at her opened cunt, and a bit of spittle appeared at the corners of his mouth. "You see," he said very low, "there was a, well, a Mala Peters in my life, too. When I was Jerry's age. Someone who taught me to be a man, who taught me what being a woman should mean to a girl! I've never forgotten."
Relaxed and happy, Mala was warmed by the unshakable knowledge that all of this was not too good to be true, that it was, in fact, now better than she had ever dreamed. Not just all the juvenile sex she wanted, but a God-given chance to repay this generous soul, to recreate his manhood, to hold his sweet, outpouring cock in her cunt as well as in her mouth.
In the tall mirror a few feet away, she could see the reflection of her pussy, and once again she knew that love she felt for this taffy-haired, wet-lipped possession. She could see her breasts, too, their big nipples so hard and dark with heat and love and excitement. Her inner lips, so swollen on account of her condition, were almost as dark as the nipples.
She felt a sweet, unbelievably moving pull inside her, and saw Lew's hand in the mirror. "My God, Lew!" she cried, as she saw the scarlet-dripping ball of cotton he had dragged from her wildly throbbing vagina, "don't! Oh, Jesus, Lew! Oh, suck me, darling! suck me! Ooooohhh! OOoooooohhhhh God!"
And then, as his mouth came up her flowing slit, his lips and tongue drawing on her bursting clitoris, she locked her strong legs around the man's dark head, holding his face to her cunt, letting herself cum and cum and cum, while tears of happiness overflowed her eyes and wave after wave of the most intense orgasm flooded her. She was secure. She was happy.