Chapter 5
Madge just couldn't control herself, and she continued to laugh. After a few minutes she restrained herself and told Gail that she thought it was wonderful. Gail merely smiled and felt pretty good about the whole thing.
Madge looked at Gail and then laughed again. "You mean to tell me that you actually sat his ass on the toilet and rimmed him right there in the movie house?" Madge laughed again, as a ludicrous image filled her mind.
"Yes," Gail said, "and it was the best damn rim-job that I ever gave anybody, if I do say so myself." It had to be the best, for it was the only one that she had ever given; of course she didn't want Madge to know. She was afraid that Madge would get the wrong idea about her if she knew the real truth.
Gail had had quite an experience, putting her lush tongue into the boy's ass-hole and tasting his semen. All that had really changed her outlook on things.
Madge brushed an imaginary crumb off of her bosom and told the girl that she was welcome to stay for some more coffee, but that she had to go.
Gail asked where she was headed and Madge replied that she was doing charity work for the blind. She read for them at a place called The New Light. Gail asked what sort of thing she was doing.
"I've been reading for a man who's studying for the bar exam. He's very brilliant and retains everything. It's more rewarding than just making tapes. I'm taking the car. Can I drop you some place?"
"No thanks," Gail replied. "I've got some shopping to do. And then I've got an appointment to talk to Mr. Sealey."
"Sealey?" Madge frowned questioningly.
"You remember my mentioning him," Gail declared as she followed her friend down the corridor to the elevator. "Old Mr. Sealey, my father's attorney. He's trustee for my estate."
Madge grimaced. "I remember. You pointed him out to me once on the street. He must be about 104 years old! What does he want? Is he ready to turn over all that cash to you?"
Gail barked a short, sarcastic laugh. "I doubt it," she remarked. "He's got something on his mind, though. He phoned me earlier this morning, asked me to drop by around one o'clock. We'll see."
They said goodbye in the lobby. Then Madge phoned downstairs to the garage man and asked him to bring up the car. It was a trim, olive green Ferrari. By now Madge had paid out almost as much in speeding fines as the original cost of the car, but she didn't care. It had everything she wanted in a car: looks, speed, pick-up. It made her feel like a panther in a herd of cows.
Fifteen minutes later she pulled up just outside her destination. The New Light was a great, rambling, chocolate brown structure on Manhattan's West Side. It had originally belonged to a small religious college. Now it was devoted to the relief and assistance of the blind. It had a staff of paid instructors who taught useful arts like weaving, carving, music, and other skills that might help blind persons function effectively in the world and overcome their handicap.
In addition, many well-to-do persons like Madge Winthrop gave freely of their money, time, and services on a regular basis to help the work of the charity-supported institution.
Madge checked in at the desk just inside the door. "Go right up to Room 504," the receptionist instructed her, with a smile. "Mr. Ferris has already arrived. He's waiting for you."
Just as she entered the elevator, Madge collided with a rather dynamic man of about thirty-five. "Oh, good morning, Mr. Millner!" she cried. "Excuse me for bumping into you, but my law student is waiting for me. I'm late."
Mr. Millner smiled as he went on his way. He was the director of The New Light Institute. He was fairly new on the scene, having been hired only within the last three weeks on the strength of his brilliant work at a similar institution in San Francisco. He replaced old Mr. Sturgis, who had been growing increasingly infirm and was half blind himself!
Madge alighted at the fifth floor and literally ran to her appointment. Bursting in at the door, she cried, "I'm sorry to be late, Mr. Ferris. Have you been waiting long?"
Ted Ferris smiled. He sat rather primly on a hard chair with a book on his lap. "Not at all, Mrs. Winthrop," he replied in his quiet, cultured voice. "I just got here myself." He held out the book. "I'm ready whenever you are," he said.
Madge flashed him her most brilliant smile as she took the book. She couldn't help lavishing her most winning smiles and gestures on him, even though they were lost on his blindness. It just seemed the natural thing to do. What a fine-looking man! About twenty-eight years of age, of medium height. He had a narrow, thoughtful face and the kind of dark complexion that made Madge certain he must have Spanish blood somewhere in his background.
She threw him a final glance before she opened the book at the point where they had left off at the last session. She couldn't help wondering how he always managed to be so neatly dressed and groomed. Who was it that tied his tie for him so precisely? Who parted and combed his hair with such meticulous care? Who matched his shirt with his suit? Certainly he couldn't manage these things on his own. Was he living with a girl? She wished she could pry the answer from him. But he seemed unwilling to discuss his personal life on the few occasions when she had tried to make small talk.
Madge read for about twenty minutes. At the end of that time, Ted Ferris said, "Thank you, Mrs. Winthrop. Let's see if I can play that back to you now. I'm going to summarize what you just read. Please stop me whenever you see I've missed a point."
Madge put the book aside and simply listened while Ted began to summarize the text. But her mind wandered almost at once. Her eyes roved greedily over his neatly masculine form. He had to be living with someone. Only a lover could have groomed him so beautifully! And he didn't seem queer. No, the woman's touch was obvious! She wondered what they did in bed. Did she have to show him where to put it? Was she blind, too? If she was a sighted person, was she dominant? Did she, perhaps, sometimes force him to perform sexual acts that were disagreeable or repugnant? Who knew? Who knew what went on behind the doors of such a household-perhaps very strange, very bizarre things!
Her speculations excited Madge more with each passing moment. Sitting there, absolutely alone with this fine-looking young man, she began to fantasize situations in which she and he would explore sex to its utmost limits. As her imagination roamed, Madge felt the need for fulfillment. Unbuttoning her blouse all the way down the front, she commenced to play with her tits. She spit on the nipples to lubricate them, then rolled them between her fingers. She cupped her oddly-shaped breasts in her hands, squeezed them and mauled them as she imagined Ted licking and sucking them.
The young man continued to recite, entirely oblivious of the obscene little drama being played out before his eyes. Before his poor, dark, unseeing eyes! Now Madge had lifted her skirt. Skimming her panties down below her knees, she stuffed three fingers up her vagina and began to masturbate furiously. All the time, the young man sat stiffly in his chair, continuing to speak of cases, precedents, and other law matters with the utmost seriousness.
Scarcely three feet in front of him Madge sat, both tits spilling lasciviously out the front of her blouse, swinging, bouncing, the delightful molds of jelly-like flesh jittering madly with every stroke of her deep-thrusting fingers as they roamed familiarly among the swamps and morasses of her pulpy cunt folds. A tangy, crystalline fluid ran along her thighs and ripped onto the floor. Her legs were scissored as wide as she could get them and she was bent nearly double, her face nearly grazing her twat as her ecstasy mounted.
"Is there a naked woman in this room?" Mr. Ferris' voice cracked like a sudden whip.
"What?" Madge literally could not believe her ears. She raised her head. "What?"
"I said, is there a naked woman here?" he repeated. His tones were sharp. She had never heard him speak in any but the gentlest of tones. "I smell something," he went on. "It smells like a naked vagina. It couldn't be anything else. My sense of smell is very keen. Why didn't you inform me another woman had entered the room, Mrs. Winthrop? And why is she in the nude?"
Madge sat for a full half minute, her head bowed in shame, before she found the strength to reply. "There's no other woman in this room, Mr. Ferris," she said at last. "Only me."
His face went tense as he said, "Do you mean, is it possible that-that-"
"Yes," she finished for him. "It's my pussy you just got a whiff of. I'm not naked. Not entirely. My tits are hanging out and my skirt is up around my waist. People tell me I have luscious tits, Mr. Ferris. And they say my pussy is like a piece of delicious, tree-ripened fruit, very fleshy and juicy and aromatic. It's me you smell. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to know. I thought it was my little secret."
"But why? Why have you exposed yourself in front of me? I just don't-"
"I've been playing with myself," Madge admitted softly. "I've been sitting here, finger-fucking myself ever since you let me stop reading. You're a very attractive man, Mr. Ferris. Ever since we met two weeks ago, I've been wondering what you were like in bed. I've wondered how big your cock was. I've thought how beautifully that handsome, narrow head of yours would fit between my thighs. I'm sorry, Mr. Ferris, I know I shouldn't talk to you like this. But just tell me one thing, this girl you're living with, is she good to you? She better be. You deserve the best!"
Mr. Ferris' tenseness evaporated in a hearty laugh. "I'm not living with any girl!" he cried. "At least not the kind of girl you have in mind. I live with my mother. I don't have a girl friend."
"But if you don't have a girl friend, how do you know when you smell pussy?"
He laughed again. "I've been around," he admitted. "You've got to understand I wasn't always this way. I was engaged to be married when I lost my sight in an automobile accident seven years ago." He paused. When he spoke again, his tones were tinged with bitterness. "When the girl learned I'd never see again, she dropped me like a hot potato! Since then, I've never so much as dated a girl. It would be ridiculous for me to even think a woman could find me attractive, now."
Madge's heart went slushy soft as she saw the tragic look that flitted across his features. "It's not ridiculous at all!" she cried. "And I wouldn't waste any time brooding about your fiancee. Good riddance is what I say! You'll find someone, I know you will. You won't always be living with your mother."
He shrugged. "It's kind of you to say that," he said. "But I'd rather not even think about women at this time. Will you continue reading, please? I have a great deal of work to cover in the next few weeks."
Madge swallowed hard. "We can read any time," she protested. "If you don't pass your bar exams this year, you'll pass them the next. It can wait. But there are other things that can't wait. You're still young and attractive enough to make a girl cream in her pants. Look what you've done to me! But you won't always be, handsome. Let me help you! Let me introduce you to some girls. Let me help you break out of your shell!"
He managed a thin wisp of a smile. "You really are very nice, Mrs. Winthrop," he said. "Could I, could I just run my fingers over your face a moment? I haven't the slightest idea what you look like at this point. Would you let me do that?"
"Of course," Madge replied. Inching her chair closer, she took his right hand and touched it to her face. "Go ahead," she said.
He ran his fingers lightly over her features. He briefly touched her hair and neck. Then he said, "I didn't realize you were such a pretty woman. You have slim, aristocratic features I've always admired."
"Thank you," Madge smiled. "But don't evade the issue. What's the verdict? Will you allow me to introduce you to some girls?"
He shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Thanks, but no."
"Perhaps you need to have your memory refreshed," Madge asserted steadily. "You admit its been seven years since you dated a girl. Perhaps you need a strong reminder as to what they look like. I'm a girl, Mr. Ferris. Refresh your memory."
"I don't know what you mean."
"You know what I mean. You've already examined my face. There's much more to a woman besides the face."
"I can't imagine what you're suggesting!"
"You know what I mean. How about those lovely, soft, kissable, suckable things that decorate a woman's chest? My tits are hanging out. You wouldn't even have to unbutton my blouse. They're hanging only an inch from your face."
"I won't. I don't want to hear about it!"
"And that's only the beginning. If you could see, Mr. Ferris, you'd know that I've pulled my skirt up over my waist and allowed my panties to droop to my knees. Now I'm taking them off. Now I'm entirely bare underneath. If you could see, you'd have a close-up view of my blonde pussy. But why do you have to see it? You have sensitive fingers. If you passed your fingertips over my belly and my cunt and my thighs, if you felt the softness of my flesh and the wetness of my pussy lips and the smoothness of my ass you'd say who needs eyes! How much do you know about women, anyway, Mr. Ferris? Take me, for example. The lips of my cunt are big and fat and spongy. My cunt is like an enormous peach that someone has carefully slit with a sharp knife and folded back the skin a little ways, and then pried open the juicy, flavorful meat. It even smells and tastes like a peach, at least that's what my male friends tell me. Of course, maybe they're just flattering me, I don't know! Why don't you tell me, Mr. Ferris? Let me sprinkle some of my cunt juice on your lips. Tell me if there's anything offensive about it!"
Madge delved her hand between her legs. It came up dripping with her sticky honey. She smeared some on the man's unwary lips. He started to wipe it away with his sleeve. Then his tongue flicked out and tasted it gingerly. "Have mercy, Mrs. Winthrop," he groaned. "Don't you realize what you're doing to me?"
"As I was saying," Madge went on imperturbably, "my twat looks so big and wet and swampy on the outside, that it looks as if you could just fall in and drown if you weren't careful! But inside I'm as tight as a thirteen-year-old. How long has it been since you've had a thirteen-year-old girl, Mr. Ferris?"
"I-I've never had intercourse with an adolescent. The very idea repels me. I do have some principles, you know!"
"Oh, come on," Madge taunted him. "I don't believe that. I'll bet you were quite a tit-twister when you were a boy. But it's still not too late, you know. Blind people have parties, don't they? I know you do. How's a person to know another person's age if they can't see him? I'll bet there are lots of teenagers at those parties. And I'll bet lots goes on, too. After all, who's going to know if a guy suddenly lifts a girl's skirt and starts to handle her pussy? Who's to know if a girl reaches out and zips a boy's fly down and takes out his dick? So what's to prevent a well-spoken man like yourself from engaging a twelve or thirteen-year-old in conversation and then, when you feel the moment is ripe, fucking her wherever she happens to be sitting or standing?
"But I was starting to tell you about my own pussy, how it's as tight as a young girl's. Let me show you what I mean-" She gripped Mr. Ferris' reluctant hand and guided it within the pulpy lips of her soupy-wet vulva. Then, seizing two fingers, she slammed them all the way inside her. "Didn't I tell you I was tight?" she breathed, clutching his hand in an iron grip while he struggled to drag it loose. Oh, it felt delicious having a man's fingers twisting and writhing inside her vagina like two maniacal snakes! It was almost as good as a screw with his long, sensitive fingers scraping, jerking, floundering about, diddling her clitoris, battering the yearning folds of her pussy lips and all the time setting up a slurpy, sloshy racket that could almost be heard in the corridors outside.
Her teeth set, her face a mask of pure lascivious desire, Madge gasped. "Was I right? Am I tight? Isn't my pussy as tight as a little girl's?"
Finally Mr. Ferris succeeded in extricating his hand. "Please, Mrs. Winthrop!" he cried. "Suppose someone should hear us in here? Suppose someone should come in?"
"Don't worry about that," she quickly rejoined. "Nobody ever comes up to this floor. You could commit murder and nobody would discover it for a week. But tell me, am I refreshing your memory? Are you beginning to remember what women are like? Heavens, Mr. Ferris, if you lost your eyesight seven years ago, you've missed the greatest era ever in asses! I mean, its gotten to be a contest with young women to see how brazen they can be in wearing skirts that barely reach up to the bottoms of their crotches, and letting their panties creep up into their cracks so their buttocks hang out for the whole world to see! But I'm sure you know all that, Mr. Ferris."
"No ... no-"
"Oh, you've got to be kidding! Do you mean to tell me you've never groped your way onto a bus or along the sidewalk and suddenly felt your hands fumbling with some sweet young thing's soft, dainty rear end? Sure you have, you sly thing! I'll bet you made the most of it, too. What female is going to protest if she suddenly finds an attractive blind man feeling her up by accident."
"I never did."
"You mean to say its been all of seven years since you've handled a woman's can? Since you've run your hands up underneath her skirt, fondled the rear of her thighs a little, played with her garters and garter belt a minute, then slowly delved your fingers inside her panties, admiring the soft, slippery feel of the nylon, then sinking your fingernails into those two warm, squishy cushions that every woman carries around to sit on? Feeling your hands jerk and slither as she contracted her ass muscles to show you how much she loved having you explore around back there! Oh, Mr. Ferris, if it's been that long, you mustn't lose another minute!"
Once more she took his hands firmly in hers. She guided them around behind her back while she pressed her hips almost against his face. She let his hands rest lightly against the moist tops of her buttocks while she whispered, "Go ahead, Mr. Ferris, feel them up. Do anything to them you wish. Squeeze them, maul them, pinch them. My ass is yours for whatever you want to do to it."
Now she bent her body forward, allowing her breasts to graze ever so lightly against his face. "Ooh! I didn't mean to do that!" she squealed.
"But now that I have, well, why not go all the way? Listen, Mr. Ferris-" and here she bent very low, almost speaking in his ear. "I'm afraid I sound like a horrible slut to you. Do I?"
He gulped and remained silent.
Madge allowed the custardy softness of her tits to crawl with spidery slowness up and down the man's face, back and forth, against his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Then she said, "Maybe you're right, Mr. Ferris. Maybe I am being too daring. Perhaps we should get back to the reading. Would you prefer that?"
Mr. Ferris remained immobile, his face up-tilted, his mouth slightly open, his expression curiously blank. His fingers remained anchored in her ass. Now, hesitantly, his lips began to quest for her nipple. It found the crinkly little protuberance and held it.
Madge began to feed the immense sausage of her breast into his mouth. Very deliberately, like a mother lovingly coaxing food into a weary child, she nursed the succulence of her breast into the blind man's starved mouth.
"Eat it," she urged gently. "Lick it, chew it, whatever you like, Mr. Ferris. Take my tit all the way into your mouth, if you like. Lick it all over first, then suck it in until my nipple is all the way inside your throat. No, please don't stop feeling my can. My ass is so hot with love for you, Mr. Ferris, and your cool hands feel so good."
She gazed down, her breathing becoming more anguished as she watched him fumble with his zipper, then extricate his penis from the folds of his underclothing with maddening slowness.
"Why, it's dripping!" she cried. "You naughty fellow. You didn't come in your pants, did you? Oh no, I see it's only the pre-come. I'm glad for that. Let's do this often, shall we? You've got a lot of lost time to make up, don't forget. And from now on, we won't have to meet here. You can come to my apartment where we'll be much more cozy and comfortable, and where we'll never have to worry about anyone blundering in on us."
But in fact, someone had already blundered in on them, although neither wasj aware of it. Precisely two minutes earlier, the institute's director, Norman Millner, had arrived outside the door and, hearing voices, had stopped to investigate.
Mr. Millner, as director, was one of the very few people at the institute in a position to know that none of the rooms in the building was truly private. It was not necessary to open a door to see everything that occurred within. The former owners of the building, an extremely puritanical religious sect, had equipped each and every door with a wide-angled peep hole, adroitly concealed behind a brass numeral plate.
Mr. Millner had not truly intended to spy. When he took over the chief post at the institute only three weeks earlier, he had become worried at the obvious lack of security. There were no guards and if the receptionist happened to leave her post for a moment, an intruder could easily enter. "We have to protect these handicapped people," he notified the board of directors at their first meeting. "Let's get some guards in here. Until we do, I'm going to try and keep an eye on things myself."
But when he appointed himself to the post of part-time policeman, Mr. Millner hadn't the slightest idea he'd be called on to break up a scene like the present one. He went white with anger as he saw Madge feed the glowing whiteness of her tit into the blind man's throat, while Mr. Ferris, in turn, thrust his hands ever more boldly into the delectable nooks and crevices of her lasciviously writhing crotch.
What the hell do they think this is, a whore house? He was muttering furiously under his breath. He moved to wrench open the door, then he paused.
As he well knew, Carlton Winthrop, Madge's husband, was one of the most conscientious supporters of The New Light Institute. Every year, without solicitation, Carlton Winthrop had come across with a check for twenty thousand dollars. Would it be wise to antagonize the Winthrops?
And yet, how far could he let Madge go? It was obvious, as Millner listened at the door, that she had enticed Mr. Ferris. It was obvious that she had cold-bloodedly bared her body and served it up to the young man like a rich, juicy steak on a silver platter. Charity? Even charity has its limits.
He stood there in the corridor, fists clenched, desperately trying to come to some decision. A sudden squeal of feminine laughter from inside brought his eye to the peephole once more. What he saw caused him to flush fiery red.
Madge was giggling uproariously as she said, "Oh, you really are out of practice, Mr. Ferris! You bit my tit. Do you realize that? Look, I'll show you the tooth marks!" Dragging her saliva-sopping boob from the deepest recesses of the man's gullet, she plopped it mischievously against his face. "Oh, I forgot, you can't see them!" she cried. "But they're there, take my word for it. Just for that, I'm going to punish you. I'm going to make you kiss my ass. No, apologies won't do!"
Bending nearly double, Madge saucily thrust the split cushiony melon of her luscious rear into Mr. Ferris' face. "Now," she said imperiously, "do you know what I'm going to force you to do, sir? I'm going to compel you to kiss my ass-hole while I reach all the way between my legs and jerk your prick. And you can be sure I won't be too gentle, either! Not after the way you bit my poor tit, you naughty, naughty thing!"
Outside, Mr. Millner stood aghast as he watched Madge flex her body completely double to reach through her knees and seize the man's stiffly straining club. She then commenced to jerk it roughly. Not that Mr. Ferris appeared to be suffering terribly! On the contrary, he seemed in seventh heaven as his mouth and tongue rampaged freely up and down the bushy ravine of Madge's ass crack, delving deeper and deeper through the matted tangle of hair as it strove desperately toward the jeweled treasure of her ruby pink ass-hole so tightly snuggled beneath her blonde thicket of curly crotch hair and now awash with torrents of sweat.
"Oooh!" she squealed again. "Now I know you've been lying to me, you bad thing, you. Your mouth feels completely at home in my ass. You've done this before and not too long ago either!"
Norman Millner stood outside the door, his eyes clamped tightly shut, his nails digging into his palms in an agony of frustration. "Shit ... " he muttered. "Holy shit!" He walked toward the elevator like an automaton. A monstrous erection threatened to rupture his zipper at any second.
He was still convulsed on the torture rack of indecision, but now it had nothing to do with Madge Winthrop. His real problem was Francine Blair.
Francine Blair was a lovely young blind woman-in her early twenties, Millner guessed-who was studying music at the institute. She was well on her way to becoming a virtuoso violinist. She found it convenient to practice her instrument at the institute since the other residents at her hotel complained of the noise. She practiced every day from ten in the morning until three in the afternoon in one of the special sound-proofed music room; on the fourth floor.
Norman Millner had had a hard-on for Francine Blair from the very first time he set eyes on her. Since Francine had no roommate or parent to guide her, she frequently left her hotel room in a shockingly undressed state. Her sole concern was for her music. On arising each morning, she would hastily devour a cold breakfast of juice and rolls in her room, fling whatever garments first came to hand on her amply endowed frame, then rush off to the institute, violin case in one hand, her white cane in the other.
Often, therefore, her magnificently molded breasts were half falling out the front of her negligently buttoned blouse. Since she never took time to don lingerie, and since many of her skirts and dresses were of some cheap, nearly transparent cotton, the most intimate details of her breathtakingly sculptured anatomy were often displayed with a clarity that would have been termed brazen in a sighted person. Her habit, too, of sitting on the bus with her voluptuously contoured legs gaping wide, her rust-red pussy hair flaring like a bonfire between her thighs, caused many a mesmerized male to drift many blocks beyond his customary stop every morning.
Every day for three weeks, Norman Millner had fought a solitary battle with himself. Every day he had allowed himself to visit the music room, to chat amicably a minute or two with Francine, then to move on to business. Until this morning, Mr. Millner had never seriously considered the possibility of losing his self-restraint. But now, now with the memory of Madge Winthrop's insolently naked body fresh in his mind, with the image of Mr. Ferris' tongue and mouth romping audaciously over Madge's breasts and ass, and with the searing picture of her hand deliriously jerking and twisting his purple-knobbed prong with a reckless frenzy that threatened to snap it off at the base, made Mr. Millner turn weak as water inside.
He felt like a man in a dream as he left the elevator at the fourth floor. His feet and hands were numb as he fumbled with the doorknob a moment, then silently opened it and went inside where Francine was diligently rehearsing her scales. He licked his lips. "Oh, take me out of here," he prayed. "Save me from temptation. Make me turn and walk out of here. I'm weak, make me strong for just three seconds. Give me the strength to walk out of here and not come back. Not today. Not ever-"
He closed his eyes and waited for divine intervention. None came. When he reopened his eyes, his lust was a blast furnace under full draft. He stepped toward Francine.
That morning, the girl was wearing a thin blouse of cheap satin-like material. Her nipples and enormous aureoles were like great hot coals, threatening to scorch their way through the sleazy fabric. Her pussy hair was a scarlet beacon, only dimly obscured by the gauzy, tissue-like material of her miniskirt. Her splendid bare legs swayed as she played the bow exuberantly over the strings of her instrument and her tits threatened to swarm out the half-unbuttoned front of her blouse with every sweep of her arm.
Mr. Millner took another step. He fell silently to his knees before her, lifted the hem of her skirt, and planted a reverent kiss on her thigh just below where her magnificently outcurved belly became transmuted, by slow magic, into the wetly gaping wound of her intoxicatingly fragrant pussy.
He knelt there, head bowed slightly, waiting for lightning to strike. Waiting for the shriek or protest that would spell doom to all his ambitions. Anticipating the complaint, the formal charges by the board of directors, the inevitable demand for his resignation. If he were lucky! The girl could press criminal charges, he was well aware. She was within her rights. What he had done was wrong, wrong, wrong. ...
But somehow, lightning never struck. Instead there came a gentle gurgle, an amused sigh. "Is that you, Mr. Folger?" Francine asked softly, allowing her arms to fall to her sides.
Millner was thunderstruck. Fully half a minute passed before he regained the power to speak. Then, forgetting all caution, he asked sharply, "Folger? My music director? What made you think it was Folger?"
The girl started. Her mouth fell open. Then, obviously shaken, she stammered, "Oh-oh, is that you, Mr. Millner? Heavens, I was so sure it was Mr. Folger!" In her confusion she dropped her instrument. It fell with a thump at her feet.
Millner rose to his feet. "It felt like Folger's mouth, is that what you're saying, Miss Blair?" he stormed. "Is it customary for Mr. Folger to kiss you on the thighs'-between the legs? Is that the sort of thing that goes on in my music department?"
The girl started to cry. Her sightless eyes sought about the room for some support, some encouragement. Panic-stricken, she blurted, "Yes, yes, he does. But I don't mind! Please, Mr. Millner, don't make trouble for him!"
"Make trouble for him!" Millner raged. "He's fired. As of this minute. The degenerate! Of all the nerve!"
"Fired?" she said anxiously. "Oh no, please! Mr. Folger never hurt me or anything! He was always gentle with my pussy. Not like some of the others-"
"Not like some of the others!" Millner was struck completely dumb for about fen seconds while he struggled to collect his thoughts. "What others? Do you mean to say-"
At that moment, the door opened softly behind him and a man started to enter. He had no more than crossed the threshold than he caught sight of the director. His face flooded with color. He tried to speak, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. He attempted to back away, bat Millner caught him up short.
"Slade!" Millner barked. "What are you doing in here? I'm not aware that your handicrafts department has been transferred to the fourth floor!"
"I-I guess I must have got off the elevator at the wrong floor," Mr. Slade stuttered. "I don't know how I could have made such a mistake!"
"We'll discuss it later," Millner rejoined icily. "See me in my office in half an hour, Slade!"
"Yes, sir," Slade murmured wretchedly. He withdrew, closing the door behind him.
Millner turned to the unhappy girl once more. "All right now, Miss Blair," he began, "please don't upset yourself. I realize you're an innocent party in all this. But I've got to get to the bottom of things. A lot of things are happening here at the institute that disturb me very much. Tell me about Mr. Slade. What does he do to you? I want to know everything. In detail!"
"Well," she said faintly, "the first thing he usually does when he enters is to sneak up behind me and put his arms around me. He unbuttons my blouse or slides my dress down over my shoulders and starts to play with my breasts. I don't mind it, honestly I don't! He thrusts his knees against the back of mine and sort of rubs his whole body against me for a minute. Then he lifts my skirt and I can hear him unbuckle his belt. He drops his pants and I can feel his huge cock sliding through my legs from behind. At that point, I take his dick in my hand and play with it for a minute. Ihen he hands me my violin and I go on practicing, just like before. And while I practice, he's running his hands over my tits and belly and fucking my crotch without actually putting his penis inside me, because he's still standing behind me and only the tip of his penis ever touches my pussy."
"How long does this go on?" Millner cried incredulously.
"Sometimes as long as an hour. I don't really object because I can practice just as well with his cock sliding in and out between my legs as I could if I were alone. Better sometimes because it can get awfully lonely just practicing, practicing all the time."
"Oh!" Millner exclaimed, shaking his head. "Is-is there anyone else besides Folger and Slade?"
"Well ... " she hesitated uncertainly. "Well, yes, there's Mr. Shaw, the speech therapist. He's never told me his name, but I know who it is because he wears this special imported shaving lotion you can identify a block away. He's sort of sneaky, I'll admit that. He follows me into the ladies' room and gets right into the booth with me. After I've finished pissing, he puts his face between my legs and licks my pussy hair and sucks me right where I piss. Doesn't that seem like an odd thing to do?"
"It does," Millner gulped. "Is that all? Folger and Slade and Shaw?"
Her face clouded. "There are others," she said unhappily, "but I can't give you their names because I don't know them, but there are others. Lots .of them. There's one man who brings me lunch whenever he comes. Hamburgers and malteds and things like that. He finger-fucks me while I eat and I jerk his cock. It seems like a strange way to spend your lunch hour, but I don't really mind because he's so gentlemanly and well-spoken. He says he'd give his soul to have me masturbate him because I have true violinist fingers-long and slim and tapering. He says he'd rather have me jerk him off than get fucked by the sexiest movie star in Hollywood. He's very flattering and I always feel perked up after an hour with him. Of course your fingers do get kind of globpy after a while. There I am, trying to munch on a hamburger that I can feel he's shot his scum all over, and he's trying to eat a cheese sandwich that's gotten absolutely drenched in my pussy juice while we were fooling around, but I don't mind if he doesn't."
"I see," Millner declared grimly. "It looks as though I'll have to fire the whole staff then! It looks to me very much as if every single male on the payroll has been coming in here and taking advantage of you. Well, a new broom sweeps clean-"
The girl's face was anguished as she protested. "Oh no, please, you can't do that. They haven't done anything bad!"
"Haven't done anything bad! Isn't it bad enough when a man walks in on a handicapped girl and lifts up her dress and-"
"And kisses her on her pussy," Francine reminded him. "They weren't doing anything you wouldn't do. If I hadn't spoken out when I did, you'd have kissed me between the legs again, wouldn't you? And then you'd have gotten bolder. You'd be fucking me right this minute, wouldn't you?" He was silent.
"Wouldn't you?" she repeated.
She was right. He'd forgotten all about that. The others-they were no more depraved than himself.
"If you blame anyone, blame me," the girl pleaded. She came toward him, her steps halting. She groped, unseeing. "Please, Mr. Millner, if you'll agree not to make trouble for those men, I'll do anything you ask!" She found him. She rested her cheek against his shoulder for a moment. "Oh, what broad shoulders!" she exulted. She ran her fingers lightly over his face. "And what strong, rugged features! A strong man like you couldn't be petty. You wouldn't be spiteful enough to fire some men just because they give way to weakness sometimes. You're not a weak person yourself, so you don't understand weakness in others-"
Millner drew hastily away. "Don't touch me!" he cried, withdrawing halfway across the room. "I've got to be business-like about this-"
Francine groped blindly after him. She took one faltering step, then another, and with that she stumbled over the piano bench and careened, sprawling, to the floor! Millner stared down at her, his eyes saucer-like at the sudden vision of bare legs, bare thighs, voluptuously rounded ass and pussy that suddenly revealed themselves as her minuscule skirt shot above her hips and her breasts tumbled out the front of her blouse!
"Shit!" he groaned as he watched her contort her gloriously contoured limbs in an effort to rise from the carpet. Her belly and her crotch formed one vast cup, a great, soft cup from which a man might drink himself into blind oblivion. Her skin was white underneath her dress, whiter than he had ever dreamed, and the rust-red pubic hair that erupted in a curly tangle just below her bellybutton, then sprawled in lush profusion all throughout her crotch and the moist, mysterious in-between areas of her exuberantly full-fleshed can, finally merging once more into the whiteness of her satiny thighs-her pubic hair was drenched and sopping with rich, aromatic juices!
Cursing, praying, mumbling incoherent prayers to unknown gods, Millner fell to his knees, ripping open his fly as he did so. Moaning, he launched his parched tongue against the sweet ripeness of her upward billowing cunt, felt it skid along the slick track between her legs and felt his avidly gulping mouth come to rest against the pulsating crater of her ass-hole. Simultaneously his hand delved furiously inside his fly to extricate his genitals. Within a second, he had freed his spring-steel cock and launched it in a surprise attack against her astonished lips!
The overwhelmed girl let the turgid rod batter its way past her lips. She let it toboggan down her throat, nearly veering into her gullet. Then, slowly, delicately, she withdrew it from her mouth and began to suck the puckery tip of
Millner's foreskin as one sucks soda from a straw. "This is how it all began," she murmured dreamily as she cuddled Millner's cock against her flaming cheek for a moment. "I stumbled and fell one afternoon while I was taking my harmony lesson with Mr. Folger. I'm afraid I exposed the whole works when I fell. He couldn't seem to help himself. He was down on me in two seconds flat, spreading my legs with his hands, ramming his cock inside me, practically tearing my ass apart in his eagerness to cram as much of himself inside me as was humanly possible. By the time we were through, he had his cock all the way up my pussy, two fingers up my ass-hole and his tongue and lips grinding inside my mouth. He was licking the inside of my mouth, chewing my tongue and my lips and sucking the breath from my lungs, all at the same moment!"
She hesitated a moment, then smiled reminiscently. "I liked it," she said. "I came three places all at once, would you believe it? In my pussy, in my ass-hole, and in my mouth, all at once. You might not believe a person can come in her mouth, but she can, if a man handles his tongue right."
Millner made no answer, but continued to guzzle the rich feast that sweltered between her legs. Francine put her mouth to the crinkly nozzle of his foreskin and commenced to suck once more. He was not long in coming. When she felt his turgid dick begin to pulse beneath her gently stroking fingers, when she felt the first salty drop ooze from his glistening knob, she clamped her teeth down on the very tip of the foreskin and allowed the huge charge of steaming sperm to vomit convulsively into the sac. She waited until the entire load had erupted and his heaving penis had subsided to only the slightest tremble. Then, still retaining her grip on the sac with her teeth, she commenced to mastrubate his dick with fast, almost brutal strokes of her slim, cool fingers. She felt his balls churn, his rod begin to shiver and pulse once more, and again she felt the hot charge of living seed heave itself into the sac of his foreskin. By now, the sac was straining with its seething cargo of reeking sperm, threatening to split with its double load of simmering come.
"What are you doing to me?" Millner moaned. "My dick, it feels like it's going to bust open any minute!"
Francine freed the tip of his foreskin with a suddenness that brought a yell to Millner's lips, and allowed the explosive charge to riot within her mouth. The steaming scum spattered against the roof of her mouth, churned against her teeth, and dribbled from her lips.-She hastily scooped the dribbles from her chin with her fingers and licked them up. Then she swallowed the entire gluey mass in one gulp. A smile of blissful satisfaction slowly spread across her face.
They lay there a while, neither speaking a word. Then Francine raised herself to a sitting position. "Well," she ventured sadly, "I guess I'll have to find some place else to practice my violin, won't I?"
"Yes," Millner rejoined shortly as he sat up. His eyes seemed welded to her unhappy face.
"I knew it," she murmured. She brushed away a tear that appeared at one corner of her eye. "I knew it. I guess I deserve it. I should take more care in my dress. I shouldn't allow myself to be handled by every man that comes into the room. I know all that. But I also know what it is to be very lonely and unhappy. I thought that maybe these men were lonely and unhappy, too. I didn't see any harm in sharing a few minutes of happiness. But I guess I was wrong. I'll go. Only promise me one thing, Mr. Millner."
"What's that?"
"Promise me you won't fire any of those men. They meant me no harm."
"I promise. You can believe me, Miss Blair. I'll take no reprisals against any of them."
"All right."
Millner helped her regain her feet. Then he did an amazing thing. He took her in his arms and, crushing her semen-smeared cheek to his own, he declared, "Francine, I meant it when I said I don't want you to practice here anymore. But only because it isn't a good atmosphere for you. I'll arrange for other studio facilities you can use. Yes, and I'll arrange for a better instructor than any this institute can provide." And then he kissed her on her lips!
An expression of utter incredulity possessed Francine's features. "But-but I don't have the money for that!" she stammered. "I came here because you don't have to pay. The only money I have is the few dollars a week my father sends me-
"You're not going to think about that," he instructed her firmly. "I'll pay for everything, and no strings. You don't have to worry about my making a nuisance of myself."
"What if I wanted you to make a nuisance of yourself?" she interjected with a smile. She took his dripping prong in her hand for a second, then dropped it. A schoolgirl blush flooded her face.
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he informed her. Millner helped the girl arrange her clothing, then he retrieved her violin for her and put her in a cab downstairs.
When he confronted Slade in his office a few minutes later, Millner had lost much of his severity. Slade cringed abjectly before him. "I-I'm sorry, Mr. Millner," he whined. "I don't know what the young lady told you, but I can assure you I'll never annoy her again."
"That's all right," Millner replied evenly. "After all, you had no way of knowing that Miss Blair and I are engaged."
"Engaged! No. It comes as a complete surprise to me!"
It'll come as quite a surprise to Miss Blair too, Millner reflected with a secret smile. But not an unpleasant one. No, as he mused on the enthusiastic way in which she'd taken his erupting dick in her mouth, the tender way in which she fondled his cock at the very end, retaining the stiff rod in a circle of two fingers, while with the other three she gripped his balls. Musing on these things, he was certain the surprise would not come as an unpleasant one!