Chapter 2
Nearly eight years went by and Kimberly grew to love Saturday nights. In the same manner that some kids developed and affinity for watching animals, she developed and affinity for watching her parents make love. She turned the closet into a comfortable little box seat, piling in pillows, snacks, and even a Walkman. To say the least, she was prepared for any all-nighter which might transpire.
It became a hobby of hers to see how long her dad could last. Sometimes twenty minutes, sometimes forty minutes, sometimes an entire hour. She noted that he was hornier on clear, cool nights, than on hot muggy ones. And she noticed that certain foods improved his performance. For instance, whenever he drank wine and ate a salad, his libido became insatiable. Whereas if he ate hot dogs, hamburgers, and drank beer, he seemed to doze off early. Naturally Kimberly encouraged her mother to serve wine and lettuce regularly.
Kimberly also went to the library and read everything that there was to read about sex. Masters and Johnson, Kinsey, Hite, Boccaccio, Heffner. She immersed herself in the subject at an early age, and became quite the authority by the time she was twelve. While most of her classmates were still learning the location of a penis on a male's body, she was learning the delicate techniques of vasectomy and in vitro fertilization.
No longer did she want to be a detective like those morons depicted on television. Now she wanted to be a sex researcher like Kinsey and survey people by asking intimate questions. Or maybe open up her own clinic like Masters and Johnson and watch beautiful couples fuck each other all day long—and get paid for it. If business got bad, she figured that she could secretly videotape the best-looking couples ball each other, and then she could sell the finished videos to underground porno outlets. She calculated that she could pull in a tidy profit on the side from such a nefarious endeavor.
Kimberly loved the way her daddy stuck his penis in her mother. She enjoyed watching the big long olive-skinned cock sliding upward and inward, slowly but surely into the peaches and cream body. She enjoyed seeing the joyous expression on her mother's face as she accepted the shaft into her liquid depths. The eyelashes always fluttered and her mouth always dropped open in a voiceless gape when the crown slipped past her gates of paradise.
Kimberly liked the fact that her mother was always willing to spread her legs as wide as possible. Pamela had no inhibitions about presenting Tom with a wide-screen Cinemascope view on Saturday nights.
And the youngster liked the way her mother grunted and groaned and begged for cock once she was worked up. And she liked the way she lost complete control when an orgasm neared. And the way she locked her legs and rode up and down on the cock. And the way she screamed, "Fuck me, Tom!" at the top of her lungs each and every Saturday night—after Kimberly had been put to bed.
Week after week it was a beautiful performance. In fact, as the years wore on, her mother became more demanding with sex, taking the initiative more than not. She was the one who stepped out of her clothes first on Saturday nights. She was the one who reached for the genitals.
Ironically, Tom seemed less interested in sex as the years wore on. Part of the blame for his lack of enthusiasm might have resided in the fact that he kept getting fatter and fatter. To say the least, he was turning into a chubby pudgeball. And there was little doubt that beer belly was beginning to have a detrimental effect on his weekly sexual performances. He just couldn't shove the old dick into the snatch the way that he used to. And even when he did, he enjoyed the act less because he perspired more, and tired easier.
To say the least, his less than enthusiastic performances were having a pronounced effect upon Pamela's psyche. She grew more irritable. More often than not she was on edge. And because she was on edge, she was always barking orders at Kimberly. Hardly an hour went by when she wasn't saying, "Do this! Do that! Do this! Don't do this! But do that! And do this, and this, and this!"
Youngsters will put up with a certain amount of bullshit from their parents. It's part of the deal of being a kid. But unreasonable yelling and screaming can have a serious effect. The kids can get ticked off. Sometimes they'll scream, "Fuck you! I've had it!"
For several months Pamela had been a royal pain in the ass to her daughter. And like most teenagers Kimberly had gotten royally fed up with the tantrums. Of course, the youngster knew what the problem was. After all, over the last few years she had seen the sexual aspect of her parent's marriage deteriorate right before her very eyes. For every pound that her father gained around his gut, his stamina diminished by one minute. Ten pounds equaled ten minutes. Twenty pounds equaled twenty. Thirty pounds equaled thirty. Kimberly had figured this out because she kept a score card and a stopwatch handy in the closet. After all, she concluded that if she wanted to be a sex researcher she needed to have done some research on sex.
And what better subjects to study than one's parents.
It didn't take a mathematical genius nor a sexual therapist to realize that Pamela was in dire need of cuntal satisfaction. Kimberly figured that little hole of hers was probably burning up, needing relief in the worst way. If her mother had been a cat she would have undoubtedly gone out prowling.
One Sunday morning while Kimberly was having breakfast, her mother nervously walked back and forth across the kitchen floor, as if she were a man awaiting news of an infant's delivery in a hospital maternity ward.
To Kimberly the situation was obvious. The woman hadn't gotten her fair share of cock from the husband the night before, and was yearning for satisfaction. She indeed was strutting around like a queen cat in heat, shaking her ass like she was sending out a salacious telegram to any male who might happen to be in the vicinity.
But the crisis between Kimberly and her mother drew to an explosive head when the teenager accidentally dropped a prized teacup on the kitchen floor, smashing it into dozens of small pieces.
Her mother looked at her and screamed, "Damn it, Kimberly! That was one of my finest cups."
Kimberly knew that another tirade was in the offing, so she tried to nip it in the bud by saying, "I'm sorry, mom. It was an accident."
"Accident! Ha! That's a likely story."
"No really, mom. I'm serious. It was."
"I won't have you lying to your mother. Go to your room this instant, young lady."
Kimberly didn't budge. Her mother behaved as if she were Mrs. Attila the Hun.
There was no doubt that this woman needed cock!
From Kimberly's amateur psychoanalytical studies she realized that irritable people frequently lost their sense of logical reasoning, and could become real bastards personality-wise, to friends and family alike. One psychological defect fed on the other and could create a totally warped individual, both socially and psychologically. That's what happened to Hitler. She hoped that it wouldn't happen to her mother.
Suddenly the youngster got an idea. Maybe she could get her mother off of her back by concocting a scheme which would provide her with an entirely new thrill. Kimberly, being a bright kid, worked out a plan to get even with her mother. Yet, it was one which fit into the overall scheme of things in the household.
The youngster decided to play it cool and let bygones be bygones. She needed to convince her mother that she was sincere. "What's wrong, mom?" Kimberly asked in her most genuinely sincere tone of voice—the one which she had practiced a lot for church recitals.
"Never mind," her mother replied indignantly, tossing her long blonde hair back off of her shoulders. She wasn't willing to admit to her daughter that she had lost her temper over something so trivial as the breakage of a teacup.
Pamela didn't understand what was wrong with her lately. Nothing seemed to be going right anymore. She seemed tense all the time. She was nervous. If she had been a smoker, her symptoms could be associated with a withdrawal from nicotine. But she wasn't a smoker, and never had been. Yet, she was jittery as hell.
Kimberly could see that her mother didn't have the foggiest idea what was wrong. However, the older woman didn't know that Kimberly knew every intimate detail about her.
"C'mon, mom, tell me what's upsetting you. You seem to be getting worse and worse as each week goes by."
Pamela breathed deeply, sighed, and said, "You wouldn't understand."
"I might. Try me."
The older woman fixed her lovely blue orbs on her teenage daughter and smiled. "Believe me, honey. You really wouldn't understand."
The youngster wanted to ask point blank if she were having a cock problem, but decided against it. Teasing her mother at that instant could prove to be unwise. So she simply asked, "Is it a woman's problem?"
Pamela smiled and laughed. "You are growing up, aren't you?"
"I'll be sixteen next year. But let's not talk about me. Let's talk about you. Could your irritability be associated with sexual difficulties?"
Pamela was astonished at the openness of the question. "Well yes, you can say ... er ... something like that."
"Does it relate to daddy?"
"Let's just say that we're having some marital difficulties. But then, I'm not alone. I think that all marriages go through this phase sometime in the course of their existence."
"What phase is that?" asked the precocious teen.
"Oh, honey! You wouldn't understand."
Kimberly decided to begin the game. She took a deep breath and explained, "My psychology teacher says that married women have a lot of trouble with sex these days. Is that right?"
Pamela's jaw dropped. "Who ... what teacher said that?"
"One of the sexual psychologists that we've got at school," Kimberly lied.
"Our local high school now has sexual psychologists?"
"Yes. It's a new fad. All the public schools are adding them to the staff."
"My word! I hadn't heard a word about it." Suddenly the beautiful older woman was quite attentive to her daughter. She was now all ears. "What exactly did he ... or she ... mean by women having trouble with sex nowadays?"
Kimberly smiled wickedly and replied, "Well, he said that if a woman got the marital blues it wasn't wrong for her to go out and get a little on the side."
Pamela's eyes got as big as saucers. Her breathing stopped. "They're teaching that in school!" she exclaimed.
"Yes. It seems that sex surveys prove that adultery actually strengthens a marriage."
"What!" Pamela shouted in disbelief, nearly falling backward in her chair.
"Yea. According to researchers: The woman who plays around, stays around."
Pamela was turning a deep red. Not from anger, but from embarrassment. She wasn't quite sure how to react to this startling news.
"I haven't shocked you have I, mom?" Kimberly asked, trying her best to keep from laughing.
"No ... no honey," Pamela replied, unsure of what to think about her young innocent daughter and the damned public education system. She was utterly amazed at how far the city schools had progressed in discussing sexual matters. She had been under the impression that they just talked about the function of titties, penises, and vaginas, not about ... infidelity!
And yet her daughter sounded as if she had studied the subject thoroughly. Pamela became curious. "How do you know that infidelity would solve my problem?"
"Mom, you've got all the symptoms. You're nervous, fidgety, and on edge. You're frequently tense and irritable for no reason at all. Small incidents can send you into a senseless tantrum—like me, breaking this teacup. You've got all the signs that you need sexual relief. In other words, you need penis. It's written all over you."
Again, Pamela was startled by her daughter's blunt diagnosis—but damn if she wasn't right. She did need penis. She needed it badly. Tom just couldn't satisfy her anymore—now that he had developed that beer gut and that ugly-looking middle-aged spread. It was awful fucking someone with a belly the size of Santa Claus. A beautiful woman shouldn't have to put up with something that gross.
"You ought to go have yourself a fling, mom. Take a vacation. Get some cock. You might go crazy if you don't."
Pamela looked at her daughter and said, "Honey, women don't go crazy from needing penis."
"You want to bet? Why do you think there's more women in mental hospitals than men?"
Pamela shook her head.
"It's because a lot of them don't get screwed more than once a week."
That statistic concerned Pamela greatly. She never got screwed more than once a week. She leaned forward and asked, "Are you serious about that?"
"Absolutely."
Pamela was now very concerned. What if her daughter were correct? She'd only been getting screwed once a week for the past fifteen years. And as she'd gotten older she noticed that she needed more penis. Once every Saturday night just didn't satisfy her anymore. Now she wanted it on week-nights and holidays. Maybe those sex researchers had uncovered some new evidence. Maybe what her daughter was saying was true.
Kimberly could see that her mother was thinking things over. She decided to add some fuel to the flames. "Yea, they showed a film in class ... "
Pamela's eyes lit up. "Tell me about it," she insisted.
"Apparently the government has established these hospital-like treatment facilities all over the country which resemble the mental ward from 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.' A lot of horny women are sent there for rehabilitation. A lot of the beautiful women walk around all the time whispering the word 'cock' over and over."
Pamela nearly fainted. My god! she thought. Kimberly is describing me. I do need cock. I'll surely go nuts if I don't start getting it more than once a week.
"What was the name of this film, Kimberly? I'd like to take a look at it."
The young girl hadn't expected this question. She had to think quickly. "Er ... I don't remember the precise name, but Mr. Eldridge has a copy in his storeroom."
"Good. I've got to go see this for myself."
"That wouldn't be a good idea," Kimberly said.
"Why not?"
"Mr. Eldridge likes to discuss explicit sexual matters in private."
"Good. I'll call him up and ask him for an appointment."
As the beautiful woman rushed over to the phone, Kimberly wondered if she hadn't gotten herself into really big trouble. After all, this was her mother she was fucking with, not some stranger. She realized that the only way for this scheme of hers to work would be for Mr. Eldridge to play along.
Kimberly had used Bill Eldridge's name because every kid in high school knew that he was the horniest man on the faculty. He had at least three affairs going. One with the English teacher, Mrs. Abrams. One with the Science teacher, Mrs. Duncan. And one with the PE teacher, Miss Stevens.
Kimberly thought about the women that Mr. Eldrige was involved with and quickly came to the conclusion that he would really like her mother. After all she was a tall blonde beauty possessing a knockout figure.
Only a few moments passed before Pamela had Mr. Eldridge on the line. "Er ... excuse me, sir, but are you my daughter's psychology teacher?"
Kimberly hid behind the couch and snickered as she listened to the conversation.
"I suppose so. I'm the only certified psychologist on the faculty. Now, what can I do for you?"
"Well, my daughter says that you're sort of an authority on ... er ... sexual matters."
Mr. Eldridge was suddenly all ears. "Well, I suppose I am. What exactly do you want to know about sexuality?"
"I'd like for you to bring that sex education film over to my house so I can view it."
"Sex education film? What sex education film?"
From the corner, Kimberly was suddenly worried. Maybe Mr. Eldridge wasn't going to bite the bait after all.
"The one which shows what happens to women when they don't get enough penis. You know, the one that shows them walking around a hospital mouthing the word 'cock'."
Mr. Eldridge had to cover the mouthpiece so that he wouldn't be heard laughing. He immediately realized what was going on. Another gullible parent had fallen for a kid's hokey stories. When he regained his composure he decided to play along. "I'm sorry that I don't have that film here with me anymore. It's been loaned to another school for a few weeks. But, if you'd like me to come over and discuss sexual matters, I'd be more than happy to."
Pamela felt a great sense of relief. She was excited. The thought of talking to a real live sexual authority meant that she might recover from her mental depression. "Sure. That would be okay. Why don't you come right over."
"No problem." He got her address and then asked, "By the way, what did you say your name was?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Pamela Marchini. You have my daughter, Kimberly, in your psychology class."
Mr. Eldridge sat bolt upright. "You're Kimberly's mother?"
"Yes."
He was beside himself. If the mother were a more mature version of the daughter, he realized that he may be stepping into pussy heaven. After all, Kimberly was by far the prettiest looking girl in any of his classes. She was already a knockout. Goodness knows what she would be like in a few more years. "I'll be right over."
Pamela hung up the phone and breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he could help her. Maybe she didn't need to go to one of those pouting pussy homes.
"What did he say, mother?" Kimberly asked
"He's coming right over. We're going to discuss my marital problem."
Kimberly still didn't know if she had overplayed her hand. She worried that Mr. Eldridge would come over and reprimand her. "I'll just go up and wait in my room, mom. If you need me, call me, okay?"
"I will, honey."
Hardly any time elapsed before Mr. Eldridge drove in front of the house and parked his car. He walked up the steps, rang the doorbell, and waited. He still didn't know what was going on, but he had a hunch. No doubt the young girl had gotten angry at her mother and this was her way of showing revenge. If the woman were a fat old bitch, he would simply explain things as he saw them and be on his way. On the other hand if she were young, attractive, and shapely ... hmmmm.
The front door opened and a woman stepped forward and said, "Well hello. You must be Mr. Eldridge."
He was flabbergasted by the sight in front of his eyes. The woman was a virtual blonde goddess. A walking Venus. A talking Aphrodite. He had never been this close to anything this great looking in all of his life. She was Cheryl Tiegs, Racquel Welch, and the top ten contenders in the swim suit competition from the Miss America contest all rolled up into one gorgeous female.
The idea of ratting on the girl and leaving the scene was suddenly abandoned. "Hello. I'm Mr. Eldridge," he said with a shit-eating grin. "But you can call me Bill."
"Very well, Bill. Step right this way."
He brushed past her but kept his eyes focused on her magnificent tits. They appeared to be the size of firm little cantaloupes, just waiting to be fondled. He had fantasies about licking them, sucking them, and sticking his rock-hard dick between them for a genuine tit-fuck.
Pamela directed him to a chair in the living room and said, "Here. Please sit down. Would you like anything to drink?" she asked with an all-American smile.
"Er ... yes," he replied. "I'd like a cup of tea, or coffee, please."
As she turned and scurried away to the kitchen, he surveyed her backside. He had a hard time controlling himself. The woman looked as good from the rear as she did from the front. A long narrow waist. Long lean legs. And an ass which could stop a runaway freight train. And she moved it too, wiggling it like she was serious about cock.
He wondered what a woman like that would be doing asking a high school psychologist stupid sex questions. There was little doubt that a woman having a gorgeous body like that could get all the cock she wanted. Oh well, he'd simply wait and find out what her problem was.
She returned after a few minutes, carrying a tray with two teacups. "Would you like tea and sugar?" she asked.
"Please."
She picked up the sugar cubes and asked, "One or two?"
At that moment he had two on his mind. After all, she had two of the most magnificent tits he had ever seen, and two of the best looking asscheeks this side of Harlem. And as she bent over, their shape was accentuated that much more.
She finished pouring her cup and sat down, smoothing her dress along her firm thighs. "So, my daughter tells me that you're quite the sex expert."
He coughed several times and asked, "What exactly did she mention about me?"
"She said that you know ... about women ... with my kind of problem."
He took a sip of his beverage and asked, "What kind of problem is that?"
She looked around, set her teacup down, and said, "I'm worried about being put in one of those hospitals. You know ... the kind for women who need sex all the time."
"Er ... what all did Kimberly say ... exactly?"
"She said that there are hospitals all over the country which resemble the mental ward in 'One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest'. She said that they're for beautiful women who need sex constantly, and yet, can't get it."
He looked at her. She was obviously sincere. The expression on her face told him that. "Why does a beautiful woman like you have trouble with sex?"
"My husband has developed a beer gut during the last several years. Sex is no longer pleasurable for me. It's more of a drudgery. A thankless chore. No fun. Kimberly told me that in your class you explained that it was all right for a married woman to have an affair."
"I did?"
"That's what she said."
"Oh yea, right. Right. I remember now." He was playing around for the sake of the game.
She looked down into the teacup and quietly asked, "I was curious to know what you said about infidelity."
Since he didn't know what she was talking about he asked, "What did Kimberly say I lectured on?"
"I didn't get everything, but she said that extramarital affairs were all right if a spouse was sexually unsatisfied."
Bill had to hand it to the young girl. He would have to give her an A for creativity. She had bullshitted her mother into believing nonsense. "Of course! That's exactly what I said," he replied with a smile.
"Could you elaborate on it?"
He had to think fast. He had to make up a bogus theory right on the spot. He knew that he could do it. He had done it hundreds of times for his bogus classes. "Well, whenever you get an itch down there between your legs, it's perfectly all right to have it satisfied by someone other than your husband. It's no longer frowned upon by society, and is actually quite healthy for the psyche." In order to reinforce his advice he asked, "You do fool around, don't you Mrs. Marchini?"
"I'm almost ashamed to admit that I don't. I've been married to the same man now for seventeen years. I thought that he would always be able to take care of my sexual needs."
"Ah ha!" he exclaimed. "You see! That's where you've been wrong. Marital sex always loses its luster after a given amount of time." He was doing his best to sound like one of those bullshit professors he had back in college. Some of them could talk their way out of anything. "Familiarity breeds contempt. Looking at the same person day after day becomes dull. You know their habits, their routines, their attitudes. On the other hand, variety is the spice of life."
"So, you're saying that we've merely gotten bored with each other?"
"That looks like it."
"Does this mean that I should get a divorce?"
"Oh no! It merely means that you should play around. Spread your thighs for a few new guys. Open up and let some new come in."
She blushed at his sexual reference. "But I don't know any other men?"
"Come on! A lovely lady like you! You could grab a guy off a street." He decided to take a chance. "Or hell! Better yet! Why not me?"
Pamela looked at him in astonishment. At first she thought he was joking, but then she saw he wasn't. She blinked several times and stared at him. He really wasn't such a bad looking fellow. At least he didn't have a fucking beer belly. Although he could use a bit more hair on the top of his head, he had broad shoulders, narrow hips, long legs, strong arms, and a large chest. Now, if he only had a cock which could measure up to her wildest expectations.
In the meantime, he scratched his head. He wondered what her trip was? Surely the woman wasn't as naive as she pretended. He realized that he could obviously make time with her—but would he want to? She seemed to have a screw loose in the upstairs balcony. Perhaps she wasn't as well-educated as he had earlier thought. He had been under the impression that she might be as smart as her lovely daughter. But that was apparently not the case. "You're not an alcoholic, are you Mrs. Marchini?"
"No."
"You're not on drugs or anything, are you?"
"Of course not," she replied with a slightly indignant tone.
"Have you ever been hospitalized for any kind of mental illness?"
A look of deep depression washed over her beautiful and angelic face. A tear welled in the corner of her eye. "That's what I'm afraid of, doctor. I don't want to be admitted to a place where beautiful women walk around whispering the word 'cock' over and over. Help me avoid a place like that. Please."
He was going to correct her for calling him a "doctor". After all, he only had a bachelor's degree in psychology. But he figured that he would let her error slide. Little mistakes like that could get him a long way if he played his cards right.
"Exactly what is it that you feel you need out of life?" he asked.
"I need sex," she replied with a sniffle. "Or at least more of it."
He looked from her eyes to her breasts and then back to her eyes. If this woman were serious he might get to knock off a piece of her ass before the afternoon was over. He decided to see how far he could push her. "Pamela, is there anything wrong with your body?"
"I don't think so. I keep myself fit and trim. I do calisthenics regularly. I eat properly. No junk food. No cholesterol."
"Well, why don't you remove your dress. I'd like to have a look."
She didn't flinch at all. She seemed to accept the request. "Maybe we better go to the bedroom."
"Yea. That would probably be the best idea," he said, trying to keep a straight face.
She stood, turned, and motioned for him to follow her. He would certainly do that—anywhere she wanted—any time at all.
She walked up the stairs ahead of him. He couldn't get over the magnificent shape of her ass, nor the way it seemed to sashay back and forth as if it contained springs.
"Right this way, doctor."
He stepped into a typical middle class American bedroom and said, "Maybe you better close the door and lock it."
"Good idea. I wouldn't want my daughter to hear what's going on."
But, of course, Kimberly would. At that very moment she was perched in the closet peeking through the crack. "This is gonna be good," she said softly. "Horny Mr. Eldridge and my mom."
"Now, let's see those tits," he said with his eyes open wide in a salacious stare.
"Goodness!" Pamela replied. "I didn't know that doctors referred to breasts as tits."
"Oh sure," he stuttered, worrying that he had made an irreparable faux pas. "We do it all the time. Especially us sex therapists. We've found out through years of counseling that people like earthy language instead of technical jargon. It makes them feel more at ease using the common vernacular."
"You know, I kind of like it. It sounds sexy. Not so clinical. More down to earth." She reached behind her and unzipped the zipper.
Mr. Eldridge continued his line of bullshit by saying, "Yea, over the years we've found that women especially like to talk dirty when they come to see us."
"Really?"
"Oh yea. They like for me to refer to their anatomy with the grossest street language." He paused for a moment to let that statement sink in. "Would you like me to refer to your individual body parts that way?"
She blushed slightly before replying, "Well ... I guess so. Although I'm not used to a doctor using those terms."
The straps slipped off her shoulders and down her long delicate arms. She wiggled her upper torso slightly, causing the most magnificent pair of tits he had ever seen on a female came into view. "You've got a nice pair of knockers there, lady."
She giggled. "It's strange hearing someone besides my husband say that."
Mr. Eldridge nearly had a heart attack right there on the spot. He had never bothered to consider the possibility that she might be married. "Er ... he's not around, is he?"
"No matter if he is, he'd understand. After all, you're a doctor."
Bill became quite worried. "Er ... I have to know that I won't be disturbed. It's important that the physical examination be conducted without any interruptions whatsoever."
She saw his look of concern and quickly answered, "No. He's away for the day. He's not expected back until late tonight."
"Good. That gives me plenty of time." He wanted to reach forward and embrace her. Actually, he wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her in the middle of the floor, but he figured that would be uncouth and loutish. And of course no man wants to sound like a common lout around a beautiful dame. He looked back at her body and commented, "You have very large nipples."
"Is there something wrong with that?" she asked anxiously.
"Oh no, no. Quite to the contrary. Large nipples are a sign of beauty. It's a sign that your tits are in terrific shape."
"But what does it me in terms of sexuality, doc?"
"Er ... the larger the nipple the more likely the woman is to please her man."
"But I want to be pleased, doctor. Me! I'm the one who's starving for orgasm."
"Perhaps you better remove all of your clothes. I have to examine the entire body."
Bill was finding it difficult to stand straight. He had a hard-on the likes of which he had never had before. The damn thing was tenting the front of his trousers. It looked like he had a live kitten wiggling around down there.
The dress fell to her knees and she stood before him, clad in only the briefest, shearest pair of bikini panties imaginable. Her pubic mound could be seen clearly through the thin fabric. Even the slit of her pussy could be discerned without any extra effort at all.
"You may remove your underwear," he said with a gulp, barely able to speak. He blinked his eyes. He wondered how doctors did it. Sure, he understood how they could handle the sight of women who weren't very good-looking, but women who resembled Pamela could give a hard-on to a lizard. There had to be a fucking taking place in those hospital examining rooms.
He feasted his eyes on her body. She was the living embodiment of a sailor's wet dream. Everywhere a woman was supposed to be shapely—she was shapely. Everywhere a woman was supposed to be rounded—she was rounded. There wasn't an ounce of fat evident on her body. She was lean and firm and the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. How any husband could let someone so gorgeous remain sexually unfulfilled was a mystery which left him dumbfounded. The guy was obviously a jerk.
When her pussy popped into view, he nearly choked on his tongue. Damn! If it wasn't the prettiest sight he had ever seen. Blonde and oval-shaped. Pouty and without much hair. The kind that a man could really get his face into.
He smiled and said, "Lady, you've got the best looking body I've ever seen."
"Oh surely you've seen hundreds like mine, doctor."
How could he admit to her that this was his first "official" examination. "Well, I have seen a few in my time, but yours is still remarkable."
"What do you want me to do?"
He wanted to tie her up and fuck her brains out, but he kept himself in check. That treat would come soon enough. "Why don't you lie down on the bed with your knees bent and your legs spread wide. I have to check to make sure that your cunt is functioning normally."
She walked over to the edge of the bed, sat down, leaned back, and scooted toward the headboard. When she felt that she was in position, she brought her knees up and then spread them as wide as possible.
Holy shit! Bill thought. I'm staring into paradise. I don't know if I can keep my sperm in my pecker. It wants out so damn badly.
"Close your eyes, lady. I want to try something."
She did as requested.
Bill couldn't hold himself one second longer. He reached down and unzipped himself. He pulled out his rock-hard cock and aimed it at her golden blonde cunt. Without further ado, he placed his magic eight-inch wand at the center core of her vagina and pressed forward.
"Oh! Oh!" she moaned. "What are you doing?"
"I have to test to see if you're okay down here."
"But that's your penis," she said with some alarm evident in the tone of her voice.
"That's the way we sex researchers have to check. We have to see how snug you are in your pelvic region. It could be that you're too tight for your husband. Now, just close your eyes and lie back. This will only take a few minutes."
"Isn't this illegal?" she asked. "Isn't there supposed to be a nurse present?"
"My dear, you're the one who asked me over here at a moment's notice."
"Well ... all right. But I didn't know that sex research was so ... rudimentary."
"Ah ... you'd be surprised at how we academics gain our knowledge."
From her secret hideaway in the closet, Kimberly was watching everything which was transpiring. By god! She had actually done it. She had actually contrived a scenario whereby her mother was willingly putting out! She now knew what her master's thesis would be.
As she watched Mr. Eldrige get into position, she hoisted the hem of her dress and bunched it around her waist, holding it in place with her left hand. With her right hand she reached beneath the elastic of her panties and felt her pubic mound. Mmm! It was moist and wet. Just like mom's was at that very moment.
She stuck a finger into her slit and began rubbing it up and down the length of that magic furrow. And when her digit was good and moist, she slipped it inside the vagina and began pumping it in and out—just like Mr. Eldridge was doing at that very moment.
Meanwhile Pamela arched her back as the cock slid into her and said, "Ahhhhh! I needed this. I really needed this."
"Mmm. Quiet lady. I'm testing."
"You test all that you want. It feels terrific."
Bill had his dick in the most beautiful cunt on the face of the earth. It was warm, tight, and moist. It was everything that a horny bastard could ask for. Surely he had done something right recently to get to nail a broad like this. And she wasn't happy to just lie there either. She was writhing and thrashing her body about like a well-trained Brooklyn hooker.
He reached down and fondled her breasts. They were true marvels to behold. Firm, not squishy. Well-rounded and upturned, not sagging. They were the kind of tits which women in Beverly Hills paid handsomely for. Schoolboys drooled over similar beauties, and artists from around the world tried their damnedest to sculpt them. To put it simply: they were the apotheosis of feminine perfection.
Pamela breathed heavily. Yes, Bill certainly did have a cock which measured up to her expectations. And he knew how to use it too. Wow! Did he ever! But then, of course he would know a great deal more than the average man. After all he was a medical doctor specializing in sex research. He tested cunts all the time with his pecker.
Kimberly watched the massive penis burrow into and out of her mother, while at the same time finger-fucking herself. She found this better entertainment than MTV. It sure beat the Disney Channel.
Pamela lifted her long lovely legs and wrapped them around the doctor. She wanted to hold him as tight as possible. She needed his come. She wanted his come. She had to have it.
Kimberly watched from the other room. She was surprised that her mother was bucking and thrashing about more with Mr. Eldridge than she did with her dad.
"Oh cock! Cock! Give me cock!" Pamela begged. "I want cock! Please give it to me."
Bill laughed. "What do you think I've been giving you, lady? Marshmallow pudding?"
"Oh cock! Glorious cock! Mmm! There's nothing finer. Mmm! Mmm!"
"I'll tell you a little secret."
"Mmmm, what's that?"
"I think that cunt is pretty special as well."
"Mmmm, Mmmm. Mmmm. Oh! Oh! Oh! I'm going! I'm going! Arrrrgggghhhh!"
He looked down at the blonde beauty. His fat dick was still buried in her tight nether aperture. Their sexual secretions were still mingling. Even though his meat was deflating, her vagina was still nibbling. He watched her labia moving by themselves. Together they resembled a hungry little mouth. However, instead of needing food, it needed cock. Instead of sucking on lollipops, it sucked on dick.
"Lady, you definitely pass inspection," he said with a smile while patting her firm tummy.
She was just coming down from an ecstatic sexual high. She felt terrific. She felt wonderful. She felt fucked. Royally, completely, expertly.
She felt his hand pat her tummy. For some reason that seemed like the sweetest sensation in the world. Like a farmer tending her little garden. After all, he had just planted a few billion seeds in her hothouse.
"Mmmm!" she moaned with a sense of well-being. "I wish I would have known about this kind of treatment a long time ago. I could have been walking around in a state of perpetual sexual bliss."
"They say that fucking makes a woman smile more often. The Chinese have a proverb which states that a sexually satisfied woman smiles frequently."
"You know, I've heard that somewhere before," she replied. "I think that's why that little Melissa Cunningham always has a smile on her face. Rumor has it that she fucks like a mink."
Bill was proud of himself. He had managed to bullshit his way through the afternoon. And even more incredibly, he had managed to knock off a piece of ass on top of it. Ha! Now he knew how a university professor felt. Bullshitting his or her way through life, and being paid handsomely for it.
He needed to split the scene before the husband came home. The last thing that he wanted was another fist fight like he had at Mrs. Blackwell's. He had learned from that experience that a hubby can get pretty violent over some other man using his wife's pussy. Hence, he didn't want to run the risk of being found in bed by Mr. Marchini.
"Well lady, I hate to cut this sexual session short but I've got to run. I've ... er ... got other patients that I've got to take care of."
"But doctor! Surely you just can't leave me like this! What should I do if the symptoms return?"
"I suggest that you get yourself a permanent lover—someone who appreciates your beautiful body and knows how to fuck."
"Will I see you again, doctor?"
He was going to reply that it would be impossible considering the circumstances, but one more glance at her body caused him to salivate at the mouth again. "We'll see. Hopefully you will no longer need my professional services."
Just looking at her was giving him another hard-on. He knew that if he didn't get away soon he would have to fuck her again.
As he gathered his clothes he noticed that she was petting her pussy, running her fingers up and down the length of her moistened furrow. Occasionally she would pause and dip her index finger into the open sheath.
She saw him looking at her and asked, "Are you really sure that you want to go? I could use another round of your special therapy."
To emphasize her need she spread her legs wider and opened the lips of her cunt with her fingers. He could peer directly into her womanly hole.
He buttoned his shirt and said, "I'm sorry. I've got to run. Really."
Kimberly watched him leave the bedroom and close the door. She was beside herself with joy. She had done it! She had orchestrated a triumph equal to that of the Wright Brothers. She was so heady with a feeling of success that she couldn't wait to plan the next operation. What would she try next? She couldn't wait for another lewd idea to pop into her head.
She sat back on her lovely young developing ass and smiled. Maybe she was really cut out to be a sex researcher. She seemed to have worked wonders on her mother a la Mr. Eldridge.
In the meantime, Bill ran to the nearest pay telephone and made a call. He had to tell his best friend about the incredible experience. "Harry! Is that you?"
"Sure is," answered the gruff voice on the other end of the line.
"Harry, I've got a story for you that you're not going to believe."
"Shoot."
"There's a gorgeous blonde over here by the name of Pamela Marchini. And when I say 'gorgeous' I mean it. The woman could be Playmate of the Year if she wanted."
"Sure Bill!"
"I'm not bullshitting. She's got knockers that you wouldn't believe, legs that seem to go on forever, and an ass that could stir milkshakes when it gets worked up. Anyway, she has this teenage kid who's in one of my psychology classes. I think I told you about her—Kimberly Marchini. Already she's a real looker and she's only fifteen years old. Anyway, the kid told her mother that she needed cock ... "
"Who? The kid?"
"No. The mother."
"I don't follow you," said Harry.
"The kid played some kind of a practical joke on her mother. Apparently the kid passed me off as some kind of a sexual Svengali, able to rekindle libidos and reawaken lust."
"What!"
"Yea. And that ain't the best part. The woman actually believed the kid. She called me at school and practically demanded that I service her. Ain't that a riot?"
"Holy shit! She actually fell for it?"
"Yep."
"And you got to fuck her?"
"Yep."
"Are you sure all of this is on the up-and-up, Bill?"
"I'm up, if that's what you mean."
"Cute. I meant that maybe this is a mother-daughter hooker operation."
"No. I don't think so. Besides, the kid wasn't there. I simply played along with her scheme. I believe it's just a simple case of landing in Gullibility, USA."
"I don't know, Bill. I'd be worried about something like this."
"Why do you say that, Harry?"
"I find it hard to believe that a woman who could be Playmate of the Year would need sexual therapy from a balding psychology teacher. This could be a vice squad operation or something. Maybe entrapment. Who knows?"
"No. It's like I said. It was nothing more than a practical joke played by a very bright kid on a very dumb, but incredibly good-looking mother."
"Hmph! No good-looking broad could be that stupid."
"Well, you haven't met Pamela Marchini." Bill concluded the conversation and hung up the phone. Even though he had just gotten his rocks off, and every last ounce of sperm had been deposited inside the lovely blonde's hole, he was beginning to feel a bit ill-at-ease. Maybe Harry was correct. Maybe it was an entrapment thing of some sort. Maybe one of his many mistresses was documenting evidence of his numerous perversions.
Oh shit! That meant that he might lose his cushy job as a teacher. Oh double shit! That meant that he might have to work June, July, and August. Oh triple shit! Those were the only reasons that he became a teacher.
Suddenly he brightened. He just remembered that half the faculty in his high school were fucking around on the side anyway. Some were even involved in bisexual and homosexual relationships. And that geography teacher was even suspected of doing animals on the side. They said that's why he smelled like a barnyard all the time.
Bill breathed a sigh of relief. He had nothing to worry about. If they fired him they'd have to fire half the school board.