Chapter 8
The "experience with Pete Foster's young brother bothered her considerably. She had broken her vow with herself almost before she made it-and with a boy barely on the edge of puberty!
And yet, even with the stain of guilt inside of her she knew perfectly well that she had done with Tim Foster no more than he wanted. No more than he had probably dreamed about a thousand times, jacking off to each and every fantasy that came bubbling up in his excitable young brain.
If she had not done it with him, somebody else would have. Either another of Pete's harem of middle-aged females-or some sultry little whore of his own age. And, after all, why should she deny herself the simple pleasure of initiating an oversexed boy into the deeper mysteries and joys of sex with a mature female!
It was all rationalization, but for the time being it helped her live with the reality that she had cut off the real supply of her sensual nature.
She had told Willy that there was to be no more sex between them, and she intended to keep that promise.
As for Willy, the next week was a strained one between them. He was sullen and moody, barely speaking to her at breakfast. He didn't come home early from school anymore, and sometimes when he was very late coming home and she complained in a motherly fashion, he would merely give her a bored look and offer some weak excuse about the basketball coach keeping them too long.
But on her day off she discovered some evidence in Willy's room that made her mind steam with jealousy.
Hidden away almost carelessly-even contemptuously-in his bureau were a dozen more pornographic magazines. If anything, these magazines were even more explicit and filthy in the sexual activities of the photographed models within. One magazine was nothing but an endless collection of close-ups of the female sex organs-open, wet, aroused pussies. A wicked lineup of spread thighs, hairy and pouting cuntal lips, distended clitorises, and the ringed fingers of the various women eagerly pulling apart the thickened folds of their own slits for the camera.
Another magazine showed one single female being used by four different males at the same time. In one picture, blotched with the dried sperm stains of Willy and his friends, the female was being sodomized by one male, fucked in the cunt by another, screwed in the mouth and between her tits by the other two. And the expression on the wanton model's face showed that she was enjoying the lascivious tribute to the hilt.
Still another magazine specialized in the female-on-top position. Picture after picture showed a series of voluptuous, beautiful girls and women mounted lewdly above the willing and prostrate bodies of naked males. In every picture the females had some or all of the violently erected pricks lodged deliciously between the clasping lips of their cunts. Some of the younger, smaller females seemed to be trying to get incredibly large cocks all the way up to the balls, accommodating from nine-to eleven-inch pricks until nothing was showing below the hair-rimmed circles of their pussies but two love-bags filled with hot sperm on the brink of discharging.
The magazines both aroused and upset Miss Harble, but it was not their discovery that incensed her the most. It was what she found on the other side of Willy's bureau drawer, placed right on top of his neatly folded stack of under-shorts-and placed there as if to mock her in case she snooped.
She found at least three pairs of girls' panties, all of them wrinkled and soiled, smelling not only of the pubescent, sexual odors of young female cunt, but bits of them stuck together here and there by what could only have been the sperm ejaculated from an excited, teenaged prick.
"Peggy Sue Williams," Miss Harble muttered, hatefully. "That immoral little tramp has been letting Willy fuck her!"
But even that circumstantial evidence was not the final straw. Close to the balled panties she found several notes, all scrawled in the close, careful hand of a girl, and all attesting to the worst suspicions Miss Harble was forming.
"Dear Willy," she read, picking out only one of the lurid notes to read aloud. "Can you meet me after English class again? We can do it at my house this afternoon because Mom will be gone to her club until late. I loved the way we did it yesterday, and I can't imagine where you learned to fuck like that. I got so hot and bothered last night just thinking about that beautiful strong thing between your legs that I couldn't sleep. I used to think that Fred and Joe were good, but did you know you made me cum five times yesterday. I mean, I never knew a boy who could just go and go and go like you! I hope you think about my pussy as much as I think about the groovy way you can ball-and I just can't wait for you to stick that cute tongue of yours up into my snatch again ... you know how it tickled me last time ... how yen just made me cum like crazy ... oooooh, I love it when you eat me, Willy!! '"
Miss Harble felt weak and hot all over when she let the note drop from her hands.
She stood there with her teeth closed together in a heating spasm of hatred and jealousy-as if Willy had betrayed her.
But she had the whole afternoon to think about it, and when she was more calm she realized that it was she who had driven Willy into the prurient arms of a scheming young female like Peggy Williams. After all, a boy like her nephew had to find expression some way for his awakened needs-passions she herself had pushed along-and if she didn't or wouldn't satisfy him, he would only naturally find someone who would!
For the remainder of the afternoon, she paced the apartment like a caged tiger. A dozen times she paused before the telephone, wanting desperately to call Willy at school and tell him to come home early again-with all that would imply.
But she did nothing, and the slowly building, treacherous itch between her legs seemed to signal the dark nymphomania she had found herself fearing for weeks now.
"I will get married," she droned to herself. "I must if this terrible lewdness is ever to-"
She was interrupted by the phone-and she grabbed for it in silly, feverish haste. She hoped wildly and wantonly that it would be Pete Foster once again, offering his stud services.
"Hi, Aunt Mary," Willy's voice said, huskily, "how's your day off?"
"I-I'm fine, Willy," she breathed, trying to keep the bubbling nervousness down. But despite herself, her voice edged up as she said, "Why did you call, dear?"
"Oh, nothing much. Say, I was wondering if it would be okay for one of the guys to stay all night with me. We've got this math deal to do, and you know how lousy I am in math. Old Tom is a real whiz with numbers."
She could hardly hide her disappointment.
"I suppose it will be all right, Willy. Will your friend be eating dinner with us?"
"Naw, we'll grab a hamburger. You don't have to bother with anything, Aunt Mary-and thanks a million."
"Goodbye, Willy."
When she put down the receiver she felt very old and defeated. And she knew she had nothing to look forward to for the evening but a lonely dinner and a few hours of reading. That and the biting knowledge that Willy no longer needed her-not with a pretty and willing young girl to satisfy his desires.
She did eat alone, and it was some time after that when she was upstairs in her own bedroom that she heard Willy and his friend come into the apartment. She waited, expecting Willy to bring his friend up for introductions, but when she heard her nephew's bedroom door close against the muffled gaiety of their boyish voices, she sighed and dug out a book to read.
It was almost two hours later that she stretched, yawned, and removed her reading glasses. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was almost nine o'clock. She had not heard a peep from downstairs in quite some time, she realized, and she gathered that the boys were hard at work on the math project.
She slipped into her gown-not the sexy peignoir this time-and went quietly downstairs to the kitchen. She made a pot of hot chocolate and filled a plate with cookies; then carried the refreshments to Willy's door.
She had to knock only once before Willy opened the door, pencil in his mouth, a sheaf of papers in his hand.
"Hey, wow," Willy grinned, gratefully, "this is really great of you, Aunt Mary."
And then she saw the other boy over Willy's shoulder, and a small, prejudiced quirk of surprise passed through her body.
The other boy was black-taller and a bit older looking than Willy. He was a typically rangy, lean black teenager with pronounced negroid features. Thick, sensual lips, large eyes, and a quick, polite smile.
"This is Tom, Aunt Mary. He's practically an Einstein in geometry."
"Cut it out," the black boy said, smiling proudly.
"How do you do, Tom," she responded. "I'm glad Willy has somebody to help him with his math."
Tom grinned, showing even, white teeth in his handsome, swarthy face. "Thanks for letting me stay with Willy tonight, ma'am."
"You're very welcome."
"And thanks for the goodies, Aunt Mary," Willy chimed in. "But we'll be hungry as pirates in the morning."
"Bacon and eggs and pancakes ought to take care of that," she smiled. "Is that all right with you, Tom?"
"Sure is, ma'am."
"Well ... goodnight."
They both walked with her to the bedroom door, and both wished her goodnight as she left the room.
On her way back upstairs she couldn't help wondering if Willy would show his black friend those dirty magazines. But something made her doubt it. Tom had looked so intelligent-and acted so polite-that he was probably more of a moderating influence on Willy than anything else.
Back in her bedroom she read a bit longer, then put out the light and fell into a deep sleep. The day had been more exhausting than she had thought, and sleep came to her easily.
The dream she had was something special ... the kind of dream she had been bothered with as a growing girl. It was quite frankly a sexual dream, and the longer it went on the more erotic and lewd it grew. She dreamed that she was lying on a table under a bright, bare light bulb. She was completely nude, and both of her legs had been tied quite widely apart. Somebody was in the room with her-a shadowy figure she couldn't make out-and he approached her stealthily with something in his hand that resembled one of those old-fashioned backscratchers she had seen at her grandmother's house.
In her dream, the figure hovered briefly over the table, and then touched her exposed cunt with the tip of the scratcher. It was a pleasurable feeling, and her pleasure grew even more pronounced as the figure worked the tickling tool gently over the pouting lips of her pussy until it was buried snugly right at the center of her sex. She moaned softly in her sleep and moved her legs, trying both to avoid the penetration of the instrument and to encourage a deeper exploration. The dream fantasy rolled on toward its inevitable conclusion-with her tender, yearning cunt contracting deliciously around the probing end of the stick while at the same time she jerked and throbbed with an unbearable ecstasy.
And then she woke up.
The room was pitch black, but even in the darkness she could see the real form sitting boldly beside her on the bed-and the thick and working finger inside of her pussy was certainly anything but a dream!
She bolted up on her elbows, only to feel a strong hand holding her in place.
"Don't move," the soft but husky voice hissed at her.
She knew at once that it was not Willy's voice-and only too well that the hand holding her and the finger twiddling shamelessly into her cunt belonged to the black boy named Tom!
"Let me GO!" she blurted.
But instead, the strong fingers tightened almost painfully into her shoulder and pushed her helplessly back into the pillow. Then the dark face hovered above hers, and she could make out the gleam in the boyish eyes, the dark softness of the heavy-lipped mouth.
"Old Willy's asleep, ma'am," Tom whispered, his breath hot against her face. "He told me all about what you and him have been doing-and he showed me some of those sexy magazines. I got so hot I just couldn't sleep!"
The words rang with a sharp familiarity in her head, and then she remembered that sluttish note that Willy's girl had written to him.
Despite the fact that a sixteen-year-old black male was holding her down on her own bed with his finger lustfully maneuvered all the way up her vagina-she felt very little panic. She could tell by the nervous husk of his voice and the way his hand was trembling on her shoulder that he was much more frightened than she was. That he was doing what he was doing out of that burning need for sex that Willy and every other boy his age experiences.
Besides, that wicked, long finger felt beautifully nice lodged to the second knuckle between the fat lips of her cunt!
"Go back to bed," she breathed, threateningly.
"Lemme fuck you first, ma'am," he pleaded, his voice as low as the crouch of a panther. "I'm so murther-fuckin' horny I'm going to die!"
He had lapsed into a typical Negro dialect with those last words that brought a twitching smile to her face. But she realized that half of her smile came from another source-from the fact that Tom's devilish finger was rubbing now along the relaxing walls of her pussy, moving in and out of her budding cunt, teasing her, arousing her.
She felt the cones of her tits begin to harden, the nipples start to perk and point. But it was madness, anyway. Sheer madness!
"Go away," she whimpered moving her captured thighs only to have his finger move with her-funneling even deeper toward her womb.
"Let's fuck," he groaned. "Lemme show you how good I can make it feel. Lemme fuck you ... lemme fuck ... fuck, honey!"
With each obscene repetition of the magic word he manipulated his lusty finger in a wider, hotter circle, driving her helpless pussy into the shape of a hot, wet muffin of need.
"Willy," she hissed at him in the darkness, "Willy will find out!"
"He don't know shit. He's asleep downstairs-good and asleep cause he jacked off. But I didn't do it. I saved it for you."
As he announced his good news he felt confident enough to release her shoulder. And immediately his hand found her tits. He moved his large hand hungrily from one of her swelling breasts to the other, lightly and deftly squeezing and pinching on her nipples until they were popping upward strong and firm.
Her hand brushed outward and touched his bare skin. His chest felt like black velvet against her fingers. She dropped her hand nimbly downward and touched his leg and the edge of his shorts. It thrilled her to know how bold he had been, coming up the stairs to her bedroom dressed in nothing but his underwear.
And then her hand found his prick.
She gasped softly as her fingers closed around the rigid, immoderately stiff column of his sex. It was sticking up out of the open fly of his shorts like a dark totem of adolescent lust.
She had heard those stories all her life about the sexual superiority of the black manand the oversized pole of meat her fingers could barely circle seemed delightful proof of the old wives' tale!
"So big," she whispered, her lips twitching with a greed she couldn't disguise. "My God ... so long and big ... so stiff."
She heard him grunt softly, driving his finger possessively deep into the very matrix of her cunt.
"Gonna fuck you with that big thing," he breathed, hoarsely. "I'm gonna give you all of that fuck-meat you want."
She knew she was doomed-doomed to let him do whatever he wanted to with her willing body. The amorous throb of her pliant cunt around his demanding finger, the pointing hardness of her libidinous tits. And the darkness of her bedroom only added to the honed heat of her lusty ache.
She brought her other hand over to grasp his stalwart penis. The big thing was like a club in her hands, a stony club of promise. The kind of boyish, potent prick that can stir the deepest emotions in a thirty-five-year-old female with an itch to be fucked.
"Take your shorts off," she whispered, raggedly.
His finger came slurping out of her ductile cunt on command. He stood up beside the bed, black and shadowy, and quickly unbuttoned his shorts. She could see his enormous young prick in horizontal profile against the dim light of the window, and the sight of such a prize tool sent a ripple of whorish delight through her loins.
She managed to get off her pajamas just in time to let him come crawling over her body.
She had never felt so wanton, so liberated in her sexual desires as she did at this moment. After all, her prejudices ran deep in her middle class blood, and she couldn't quite rid herself of the notion that anything goes to a black man when he is dying to fuck a white female. She could only think of him as a horny stud animal-all hard-on and panting hotness.
She barely hesitated before taking a short gulp of breath and hissing her most Jezebelian needs into his dark ear.
"Lick my pussy, Tom! Get down between my legs and use your lips and tongue on my cunt!"
"Yeah, baby!" he chuckled, merrily.
She had hardly caught her next breath before she felt the wiry hair of his head brushing roughly against the inside of her thighs. His hands slid under the melons of her buttocks and lifted her up like a ripe fruit. Then she felt the first long, wet lap of his eager tongue lengthways along her pussy and moaned with the sweet pleasure of it.
He lapped her a dozen times in one certain way, then varied it so that the flat of his tongue was licking her spreading cunt sideways-licking right into the coils of cuntal hair, matting the whiskery edges of her slit with the hot saliva from his mouth.
She moaned again, and pushed her pouting pussy hard against his grinning lips.
He ran his tongue into her twat so suddenly and so deeply that she thought she would climax immediately. But her joy only buzzed and bubbled around the tip of his tongue as he wriggled it juicily and inside the sleek folds of her cunt.
She began to go slightly mad with lust.
"Eat me!" she purred, pulling her toes in against the bottoms of her feet. "Show me what you can do with that pink tongue! Eat me like a whore!! "
Her lecherous words seemed to turn him on like an overdose of Spanish Fly. He buried his whole head between her legs until his ears were flat against the insides of her thighs. His mouth completely covered her burning hole, and with the expertise of a born black satyr he began to literally fuck her cunt with his long tongue.
She lay for the next few long moments without moving a muscle in her whole body. She allowed him to feed boldly and deeply on the succulent softness of her yielding slit. His tongue drove over and over into her right to the roots, and each time he got it inside of her he drew it out with a rotating, powerful lapping action that brought her right to the brink of an exquisite orgasm.
She had never had her gash eaten so well!
She moaned now, made mewing and purring noises deep in her throat while she held his head locked in place with her thighs. He was sucking her like a maniac, and the last few hot seconds ticked by as she approached her peak.
The total pleasure came, tittered on the brink, then spilled over in a gush of liquid thrills against his rogue tongue.
And he was still licking on her glistening cunt when the bright flash of light turned the dark room briefly into day.
She had only time for one fleeting glimpse of two grinning figures in the bedroom door.
And the one with the flash camera was Willy!