Chapter 5

Within a month, the beautiful young Bridget had got over the episode and had nearly recovered from the loss of her mother. When Father told what he had seen in court, the judges did not bother to bring either Bridget or myself in for questioning. Brenda, to her credit, did not bring all the sordid details out in court, partly because she did not want to indict herself. She still wanted to get her daughter back with her, and her only possibility was to be contrite and to ask forgiveness.

It didn't work. The court awarded Bridget to the custody of an aunt who was now traveling in India and who would return three months hence. Until that time, because the juvenile homes were no fitting place for a frightened young girl who had done nothing wrong, the court allowed her to stay in our home.

When Father left on business trips, he no longer left us in the charge of deaf old Aunt Hattie-he hired a professional nurse to come in. The nurse was big, strong, and rather handsome-and her hearing and sight were both perfect. Her name was Marcia Henderson, and except for an overwhelmingly mammoth bosom, she seemed a quite normal-looking and attractive person.

On the first day that I saw Marcia, as I peered down at the street from the hallway window on the second floor of our building, I believed that she was carrying a pillow in her dark suit coat. When she stepped from the carriage, I was certain that she was going to fall on her face from the sheer weight of her enormous breasts. When she turned, I realized why she had not fallen-her great buttocks seemed to protrude as far in back as her breasts did in front. She was almost perfectly balanced in that respect, and the overall effect was quite astonishing.

I remember my first thought: wouldn't it be delightful to see her in the raw-in a side view, of course? But I quickly dismissed the thought, because Marcia Henderson was at least thirty years old, and I had young Bridget to care for. And my penchant was and had always been for the younger flesh.

"This is Miss Marcia Henderson," Father said as he introduced her to Bridget and myself. We shook hands with her, and I liked her right off. She had extremely blue eyes, set wide apart, and a grand smile that warmed my heart when she turned it on me.

"Such a handsome lad and a lovely girl," she said, winning both our hearts immediately. "I think we shall get on right well."

"Thank you," we said in unison.

After dinner on that first day, Father announced that he would leave the following morning for Brussels. He would be gone his usual fortnight, but he assured us that we would be well cared for and that we had nothing to fear. He had already told the nurse about the horrifying experience with Bridget's mother-who had been placed in a hospital under the care of a brain doctor. She looked at us with a great deal of compassion and pity, and we squirmed uncomfortably under the look.

We were uncomfortable because we knew how much guilt was on our shoulders. That feeling of guilt had kept us apart during the long period of the court trial. But I had high hopes that Bridget would loosen up quite soon. She had been looking at me in a strange way in recent days, and I was certain that she was hungry for me-as I was for her.

The following morning, we went in the carriage with Father to the railway station where he was to get his train to Southampton. From there, he would go by boat to Le Havre and thence by railway to Brussels. I wanted to go with him, because I was curious about the Continent; I also wanted to stay, because my aching loins were curious to know if Bridget was ready for me.

Throughout the long, agonizing day, we played children's games in the parlor with Miss Henderson, and she exclaimed time and again what delightful children we were and marveled at how well we had recovered from our terrible experience. If she had only known!

At bedtime, she kissed us both on our cheeks and tucked us into our respective beds. When she leaned over to tuck the covers around my neck, I caught a good glimpse down the top of her dress and could scarcely believe my eyes. Although I was seeing only a small percentage of her breasts, I was looking at more tit than most women have altogether. I longed to at least place my erected animal between the great mounds of flesh, but I knew that it could never happen.

I waited for more than an hour, until I heard Miss Henderson mount the stairs and go into her own room at the opposite end of the hallway. My penis had already erected mightily from my own playing with it and my thoughts about Bridget. When I heard the nurse and thought again about the enormous titties, it throbbed almost painfully, and I knew that I at least had to see the great globes, even if it were impossible to touch them.

I slipped out of bed and eased out into the dark hallway. I could see the dim candlelight reflecting through the transom over her door, and I sneaked down the hallway to it. I pulled a chair from father's bedroom and situated it firmly in front of the nurse's door. I didn't want to take a chance on falling from a wobbly chair, as I had from the table in my room.

Slowly, I got onto the chair and was just barely able to see through the transom. When my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw Miss Henderson leaning over her washbasin, washing her face. She had taken off her long dress and stood iii her corset, long black stockings, and garter belt. My tool throbbed at the delectable sight, but I resisted the urge to encase the hungry beast in my hand. I needed both hands to steady myself on the chair, and I clung to the ledge beneath the transom.

She seemed to take forever to wash her face, but she finally finished and turned toward me as she dried. With her dress gone, I could see the immense expanse of white flesh above the line of her tight corset. I licked my lips at the sight and wished that she would remove the ridiculous garment so that I could feast my eyes on all of the enormous breasts. Almost as though my wishing had brought about the fact, she began to unlace the tight corset, and quite soon she was standing in her huge brassiere and long knicker-type panties. She slipped out of the panties first, and I was surprised that her bush was not the beastly creature I had known on other older women. It was merely a small triangle of auburn hair that glistened almost red in the candlelight.

Then she struggled with the brassiere, and I counted the seconds as I waited for the glory of those enormous jugs to be revealed to me. She turned sideways, and I saw that her buttocks were truly enormous and jutting. Suddenly the snaps came loose on her brassiere and the great globes dropped a tiny bit. The brassiere slipped away from her, and I let out a small gasp of pleasure and surprise. The brassiere seemed large enough to have made me a pair of baggy trousers.

But her bubbies! They were so large, they were positively unreal. She turned toward me again, and I saw them straight on. Her nipples were a dark pink and lay like precious stones on the ends of her giant lobes. In all my dreams and wild imaginings, I had never conjured up a set of boobs even half the size of these magnificent creations. She seemed to be made half of tits and half of other portions of her body. If the woman weighed a hundred and twenty, it was an easy guess that her titties weighed an even sixty.

She leaned over to take off her stockings, and the great breasts swung beneath her and seemed to expand with the pressure. My God, how big could they possibly get? I had never been over-fascinated with bubbies-they were wonderful playthings and provided a perfect companion to a good screw, but I had never looked at them as sexual entities in themselves. But the sight of those mammoth and perfectly shaped white monsters gave me a sexual amusement that brought a crystal-clear bead of sex juice to the head of my stanchion.

I could not resist it this time. I slid my hand into my pajamas, clutched the throbbing, aching, rampaging tiger, and, with a quick flurry of strokes, beat at it for a few seconds. I looked back inside the room and saw that Miss Henderson had reached for her nightie and was preparing to put it on. I hoped that she would not put it on or even go to bed-that she would just stand there by the light of the candle and allow me to feast my eyes on her naked titties for the rest of the night.

But she slid the nightie down over her head. Although it was a huge nightie and hung loose on her, it was not sufficient to allow her enormous breasts full rein. The thin silk material fairly clung to her bosom and outlined the dark pink nipples in their every detail.

Just as I was preparing to get down from the chair, Miss Henderson began walking toward the door. I thought she was going to take down the covers on the bed, but she did not stop at the foot of the bed. "Good Lord!" I croaked under my breath. "She's coming to the door!"

Before I could leap from the chair, the door opened and Miss Henderson was smiling up at me with that wonderful, compassionate smile.

"I hope you have enjoyed the show, Louis," she said softly. "Now come inside and explain yourself to me."

She put the chair back in Father's room while I waited for her. I stood stark still beside the bed and tried to will my erection to flaccidness. But it would not be deprived of its yearnings. When she came back, she closed the door and went quietly to the bed. She sat down facing me, and the scene was sharply reminiscent of the time when the maid, Melinda, had sat on her couch before me and had spread her legs to me.

"I'm waiting," Miss Henderson said. "Why were you peeking at me through the transom? Surely, a boy of your age cannot find anything interesting in seeing a woman dressing for bed. Why did you go to so much trouble?"

I lowered my head and stared at the floor. It had not occurred to me that a nurse would not know that a boy of fifteen was perfectly capable of having feelings of sexual yearning. Surely a nurse, of all people, would be aware of such a thing. Or was I an unusual case? I didn't know. All I knew was that older women-and even young girls-seemed to want to teach me things and I always made out far better if I let them have their heads.

"You poor child," she said at last, flashing that great beautiful smile again. "I guess none of us will ever know how much effect that horrible night with Bridget's mother had on you-and on Bridget. In spite of the horror of your beating, you must have gained some curiosity about the woman's body, and you came here to satisfy that curiosity. Is that it?"

"I suppose so," I said. "I don't know."

For the first time, she noticed the bulge in my pajamas. She stared at it for a long time and then looked into my eyes again.

"It has been a long time since I was fifteen," she said, "and I suppose I have forgotten what it was like at that age. All I remember is that I was almost fully developed at that time, and boys were always teasing me and pinching at me. I suppose that is why I never married. I grew frightened of boys because they always seemed so fascinated with my ... with my bosom. Are you fascinated by my bosom, Louis?"

I shrugged and tried not t o look at the enormous titties and the stark impressions of her dark nipples.

"I shall tell you something, Louis," she said. "I am thirty years old, and never once have I allowed a man to place his hands on my bosom. Many men have tried and have pinched me there, but never have I allowed a man to place his hand on my breasts in the interest of love. Do you believe that?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Do you also believe that I have never let a man do-do anything else to me? Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"What am I saying?"

"That you're a virgin."

She smiled at me again and took my hands in hers. She deliberately rested her hands on her thighs and turned them so that my skin was touching the smooth silk of her nightie. I didn't know for certain what was coming, but I knew that something good would come of it.

"Can you keep secrets, Louis?" she asked. "So far, there has been nothing for either of us to be ashamed of, but I fear that I have reached the end of my rope. I knew you were out there in the hallway as soon as you came. I heard you get the chair from your father's bedroom, and I thought about stopping you then. But I began to think, and thinking is a dangerous thing sometimes. I thought of all the years that I have avoided men, been afraid of them. And I thought of your handsome, sensitive face and your large, trusting eyes. I thought of the way you haye smiled at me all day long. I am not afraid of you, Louis, although you are obviously a young man. Are you afraid of me, Louis?"

She raised her hands, and mine with them, until they were touching her jutting breasts. The feel of that soft flesh against my hands caused my dork to jerk under my pajamas, and I noticed her eyes drop and return quickly. Her lips began to tremble, and I knew that she had been telling me the truth. It was incredible and it was impossible, but this grown woman truly was a virgin.

"No, ma'am," I said. To let her know that I was telling the truth, I pressed my hands forward into her breasts. She opened her mouth and sighed, and I knew that I was going to score. Although she was older and I had this strange penchant for young flesh, the size of her breasts had drawn me to her. And now this new knowledge-the realization that she was a virgin-drew me even closer and I yearned for the feel of her virgin flesh against my hot, trembling body.

"Don't be afraid," she said in a hoarse whisper. Her voice was quavering from her own fear and nervousness. It was crazy. "We can stop at any time if you become frightened. Would you like to come to bed with me for a while?"

I wanted to leap onto her and bury myself between the fantastic titties. I wanted to lunge at her, to rip the thin silk from her body and ravage her as a full-grown man might take her. I wanted to pry her legs apart and ram my throbbing hard pecker into her virgin nest. I could hardly restrain myself from doing all those things, but I knew it would only frighten her and the whole thing would come to naught. So I nodded innocently.

"Would you feel better if I blew out the candle?" she asked in a kind, soft voice.

I looked around the room, pretending that I would be afraid of the dark. She got that message. What she didn't know was that I was burning so hotly to see those mammoth tits again that blowing out the candle would be akin to sacrilege.

Slowly, she unbuttoned the top of my pajamas and slid the cotton garment from my slender shoulders. She feasted her eyes on my bony frame, spotted with muscles here and there, and looked down at the bulge in my pajama bottoms again. Her nurse's training helped overcome her sexual apprehensions, and she pulled the drawstring and the pants fell to my ankles. She gasped at the sight of my cork, which was growing more and more every day and, as I was to later learn, was already slightly bigger than the average tool. Her hands reached out tentatively, and I knew that if she touched it, it would be difficult to get her away from it. And I wanted her naked before we started.

"Can I remove your nightie?" I asked, averting my eyes in mock shyness.

She smiled again, and I knew she had been too shy to suggest it herself-or even to do it herself. She stood up before me, was greatly relieved that I had taken this small initiative. I lost no time in grasping the hem of the long, sheer nightie and pulling it up along her white, shapely frame. When I uncovered her small auburn bush, I thought about thrusting my face into it and licking at the lips that I knew were hidden there. But it would betray more knowledge than I was supposed to possess, so I resisted the urge and went higher with the nightie.

The material balked when I reached the great, jutting breasts, and I tugged harder. One big breast nipped free and bounced in front of my eyes. I felt my hard pecker jerk against her thigh, and I was beside myself with desire. I wanted to insert the hungry jack into her obviously willing pussy while I completed the task of removing her nightie, but I contained myself. All good things come to him who waits, or something like that.

When the nightgown had been taken over her upraised arms, she pulled me gently into her arms, pressing her entire body against me, from shoulder to toes. The marvelous breasts flattened delightfully against me and felt, indeed, like a soft flesh pillow that had been thrust between us. I began to fear that my fascination and preoccupation with her tits would prevent me from attending properly to the real source of her offered delights.

When we fell back onto the bed, I lost my head completely and buried my face in the great white mounds. My lips kissed every inch of her tits as she moaned in ecstasy and closed her soft hands over my rampant pistol. I took her giant nipples into my mouth, one at a time, and sucked so hard that she began to squeal out, partly in pain, partly in delight. I wanted to continue the play, to build us both up to fever pitch, but I knew how it had been the first time for me-I had plunged quickly into Althea-and I knew that it was always expected of virgins to be so eager and untried that they could think of nothing but copulating quickly.

And then came the decision as to how to get the bugger into her virgin hole. If I guided it in, she might guess that I had prior knowledge of such matters. And it was obvious that I could not depend on her to be expert. I deliberately raised my buttocks and allowed my prod to probe around in the auburn bush until it struck the soft, wet meat of her vagina.

She gasped and gripped my lean back so hard that I thought she was going to break me in two. And then the hungry animal seemed to find his own way, and I felt the flared helmet of my pecker insinuating itself into the tight channel. She had not been lying-she was a virgin in every sense of the word. She squealed and she moaned and she bucked and she panted and then actually began to cry as the throbbing monster would not be denied access to her untried territory.

I pushed harder with my hips and, with a final surge of power, drove him in to the hilt. She gasped when my sword reached its hilt. I was more than delighted with the situation. For the first time in my life, I was screwing an older woman and enjoying it. Her older flesh did not repulse me or cause goose pimples to form on my skin. I imagined that she was only thirteen and was merely overdeveloped for her age. It was easy, because she acted like a girl of thirteen, a shy, retiring, but willing girl.

We lay for some moments in that position until the pain had subsided in her vagina. I busied myself with sucking on her nipples and rubbing my hands over the vast expanses of her titties. It occurred to me that we had not yet kissed, and I raised my face to hers and placed my lips against hers. Her lips were soft but closed, and the first kiss was somewhat flat. I parted my lips slightly and ran my tongue over the outer edge of her lips, and they parted. I kissed her hungrily, passionately, and in a few seconds, she was responding in kind. It was positively incredible to be teaching a thirty-year-old woman, and a nurse in the bargain, how to make love. Perfectly incredible, but true!

When I was certain that the soaking of our organs had eased the pain and had fully lubricated her love tunnel, I pulled out until only the knob of my dork was inside the lips of her vagina. With a shy look on her face, she raised her head and looked down between her enormous breasts at our union. She gasped at the sight and threw her head back onto the pillow in the classic look of agony and ecstasy.

I plunged forward, driving my animal in to the hilt once more, and she gasped.

"Oh, my little Louis," she cried. "Oh, my sweet, wonderful little boy with the beautiful smile."

I started up a steady screwing and knew that my long weeks without pussy would cause me to come quickly. At first I drove at her slowly, as a novice might, and she responded awkwardly, driving her buttocks up sharply at one time, dragging them up slowly at the next.

To help matters along, I shoved my hands under her and cupped the great ass, pulling it to me as I plunged downward into her tight, gripping, juicy cunt. She gasped at the feel of my hands on her buttocks. She was he best I had ever had, mainly because her enormous buttocks provided an excellent prop and cushion for her mouth. Her pussy was high, and I was able to plunge every millimeter of my cock into it without having to fight with her thighs. I dropped heavily, enjoying the grinding crunch of our pelvic bones as we came together. Then I withdrew just as quickly, timing my upward thrust perfectly to keep from uncunting.

Finally, she pulled out all the stops.

"Oh, my God, my darling Louis, my darling boy," she cried. "Oh, fuck me. Do it to me. Kiss my titties. Bite my titties. Fuck my pussy, you darling boy, slide that great prick in and out of my poor pussy. Oh, my God, why have I waited so long and read so many books about this? Oh, my God, my Louis, fuck me, it is so good!"

My premonitions about premature ejaculation had been correct. I wasn't even halfway through a normal screw before I felt the sperm boiling in my ball and knew that I couldn't last more than a few more strokes.

Well, I would make those count, and if necessary I would continue humping the delicious puss until the juices were ready to boil again. I increased my tempo, while my tongue probed her mouth and sought hers. They met and intertwined, and her legs came up around my back, squeezing, pressing, pumping.

I came in a great burst of pent-up steam, and the hot spunk jetted into the virgin twat. She jerked mightily under me, and from the pressure of her legs and the cries that came rolling out of her throat, I knew that she was coming too. She jerked again and again as her spend thundered out of her in roll after roll after roll.

Finally, we lay in a molten heap on the bed with my narrow chest buried deep in the hollow of her gigantic breasts. My arms and legs collapsed like limp buggy whips, and I lay in her auburn saddle like a sleeping traveler. She caressed my face and smoothed my curly blonde hair with her soft hands, and her voice hummed a lovely melody in my ears. In spite of her awkwardness and lack of ability, I knew that I would have to count this as the best-or second-best-piece of tail I had ever experienced. She was even better than Althea-and that was going a far piece.

But it was not over, not entirely. After a long moment of relaxation, she raised her head and kissed my soft hair.

"Louis," she said in a whisper, "I hope you won't think me terrible, but I have read a great number of books about this and what people do. I'm sorry that I was not very good at it, but you were very good, and I hope you will remember this first one as I will remember it. What I would like to do now I have never done, of course, but I have read of it. Will you indulge me and not think terribly of me?"

"Of course," I said. "What is it?"

She couldn't tell me, in her shyness, but she demonstrated. She pushed me from her, and laying me back on the bed, she got to her knees beside me. The great, hanging breasts touched my stomach and caused my still-erect tool to jerk again. Suddenly, she dropped her head to my pubic region and, clasping my dork with both hands, rammed the throbbing knob into her mouth. Her tongue lashed my animal, and as her mouth slid down the length of my tool, I realized that she was licking me clean.

The sensation was phenomenal. The nurse kept at me with her tongue and her lips until all the evidence of our lovemaking had disappeared from my penis and balls. Then, deciding that she had liked the feel of the knob between her lips, she returned there and began a tremendous sucking and tonguing that left me weak and dizzy. As she continued, though, the juices began to stir once again in my loins.

Of course, she was not aware of this at first, and feeling slightly foolish at her actions, she withdrew from my aching tiger. I grasped both hanging nipples and thrust my buttocks upwards, close to her lips. She got the message and plunged the knob back into her mouth. While I worked on her hanging breasts, she kept up the kissing, sucking, tonguing, and slobbering on my tool until I was once again near climax.

Suddenly, she began a stroking motion with her head, drawing a large portion of my shaft between the wet, pressing lips. I could feel the velvet tip stroking against the soft part of the back of her mouth each time her head lowered and the ecstatic sensation of her lips on the sides of my tool when her head raised.

I blasted off quickly, firing staccato bursts into her mouth. I fully expected her to leap back and to let the second charge of spunk arc into the air, but she stayed with me, sucking every drop into her mouth and swallowing it in great, delighted gulps. When she was satisfied that nothing more was to be offered, she lay back on the bed and pulled my head to her breast once more.

"I hope you don't think me terrible, Louis," she said. "But I want to remember this night for the rest of my life, and I know that what I just did will help me not to forget a single detail. You do understand, don't you?"

In the days that followed, my life took a radical turn for the better. After several weeks without any sex at all-other than my own now unsatisfactory and unsatisfying manipulations-I was suddenly plunged into a pure Mecca of love. Bridget finally came out of her doldrums and began creeping into my bed long after the apartment was quiet. And every chance she got, Miss Henderson was inviting me to her room, where with each episode she became bolder and bolder and our lovemaking sessions became so powerful and encompassing that I literally began to fall in love with her.

Because of the insane actions of her mother, Bridget was reluctant to show any wildness in her actions, so my sessions with her were brief and sweet. With Miss Henderson, it was quite another story and she seemed keen on trying something different and wilder and more violent each time I went to her room. One warm evening, she got out all of her imagine underclothing and put on a regular fashion show for me, dressing and undressing before me in the manner of a strip-tease artist.

When we had tried almost everything we could jointly think of, she brought out her books-those badly printed creations which cannot be sold on the open market and are circulated privately from person to person-and we read of the escapades of others and, as best we could, imitated them.

Father came home for three weeks and then, typically, took right off for another business junket to Stockholm. On this trip, he would be gone for a full month, and that left us loads of time to bone up on every possible sex act in the books, so to speak.

But there was one thing we had not done-one thing that had been in the back of my mind ever since I first saw the buxom woman at the curb getting out of the carriage in front of the apartment building. I wanted to screw her between the breasts. I had already humped her in the posterior section and had learned that she loved it tremendously. And she had taken me in her mouth so many times that it was becoming mundane.

I broached the subject one evening, and she seemed surprised.

"Why, Louis," she said, "how could you possibly do that?" .

"I don't know," I said. "I've never done it. But I would dearly love to try if you're willing."

She was willing, but I knew that it would not be a satisfactory arrangement for her. To pay the piper, I prepared her for the session be pressing my face into her perfumed, furry thatch and kissing the ruby lips of her vagina. Once I got started, I decided that I liked it and began probing the interior with my tongue. She humped and bucked and thrashed all over the bed. I kept at her, probing deeper and deeper with my tongue and pressing my lips and tongue against all the areas of her labia. She finally spent, and I left her aching twat and moved my lips up across her body to the gigantic mounds.

After a great deal of kissing, sucking, and pulling on her nipples, I straddled her stomach and placed my cork in the hollow of her breasts. Then I grabbed the great globes and pressed them together until my tool was completely hidden from sight. She looked down at her own titties and saw that my instrument was gone. She laughed and threw her head back with delight. She even helped by pressing her breasts together more tightly with her hands.

I pushed my body forward, and the reddish tip of my dong appeared at the top of her cleavage.

"Look," I said. "A peeping Tom."

She gazed down at the one-eyed lance and blew it a kiss. I pulled him back into the flesh cavern and then began a slow and steady screwing motion in the soft, makeshift channel. Strangely, I found the sensation to be a very good one. In a very short time, I was riding her as energetically as I would have if my dork had been buried to the hilt in her pussy.

As I gained momentum and as the passions rose in my body, I began to realize something else-something that heightened my pleasure and brought me nearer the bursting point. When I came, I realized, the pearl-colored sperm would have nowhere to go but right into her dear, sweet, smiling face. The thought of my come shooting into her pretty face brought me a sensation that I had not known before. I wanted to see it. I wanted to see the surprised reaction on her face.

I continued the rough fucking of her breasts, and when I was almost at climax, I shouted, "Get ready, dear Marcia. You're going to get a load in your face."

To my great and delighted surprise, the idea appealed to her and she raised her head to look down at the appearing and disappearing head of my active dong. She opened her mouth and made her lips into a small O to catch the impending shower.

When it came, it came erratically, and I could not keep from jerking spasmodically and unevenly. The stream jetted from between the great mounds of her tits. Part of it hit the target of her mouth, but most of it sprayed her entire face, splattering against her cheeks, nose, chin, and forehead; it hung from her eyelashes and eyebrows and streaked down onto her smooth, milk-white throat. The sight was so magnificent to me that I felt a second burst coming. It shot forth and disappeared into her open mouth. I squeezed my legs together, against the mammoth mounds of her tits, in an effort to bring everything out. But she was ready for me. She pulled me forward and plunged my spent cock into her mouth and sucked the remaining fluid from the channel.

For a woman who had waited so long for sex, she was more than making up for lost time. She took to sex like a duck to water or a hound to hunting-and she was just as good at it as they at their natural vocations.

In the days and nights that followed, I worked out a schedule with the two females that kept me occupied for at least five out of every seven nights, with an occasional accidental matinee thrown in. I began to wish that Father would fall in love with Miss Henderson and marry her, then adopt Bridget. My future would be assured.

But alas, good things rarely go on indefinitely, and the following spring Miss Henderson announced her engagement to a certain Henry Sparks of Soho. I was shattered by the news. She had never told me about Henry; in fact, she had never mentioned a boyfriend at all. Although I had wondered where she went on her days off, I had never guessed it could be a boyfriend.

She recognized the shock and disappointment and that very night came to my room to get me. Father was in the house, so we had to be extremely careful that he did not hear us. We crept quietly back along the corridor to her room and, still in darkness, closed the door to her room. I felt for her, and she folded me into her arms. My skin crawled at the delightful sensations caused by the silk nightie and the soft feel of her great breasts against my chest. I erected at once and began probing the tough silk in her pubic region.

"Are you jealous that I'm getting married?" she asked bluntly.

"No," I bed. "You can do what you wish."

"But you are jealous. I can tell by the look on your face. I'm sorry I haven't told you before, Louis, but I didn't think you would really care. I met this gentleman three months ago and have been seeing him regularly since then."

Her hands slipped into my pajamas and found my erect member. I explored her great buttocks with one hand and massaged her giant breasts with the other. I was truly going to miss her fantastic body.

"I suppose a little," I finally admitted. "I know I shouldn't be, and I know that I don't mean anything to you, but ... "

"But you do mean something to me, Louis," she said. "When I am married, I want you to come see me often. We can still be friends."

I knew it was none of my business, but I had been thinking on one subject ever since she had announced her coming marriage. I pulled one breast up in my hand so that I could kiss the nipple through the fine silk, then looked into her eyes in the darkness.

"Have you and Henry Sparks ever ... I mean, has he ... ? "

"No, he hasn't," she said with a low chuckle. "He is a gentleman and, heaven forbid, he thinks I am a lady. Oh, I'm certain he doesn't expect a woman of my age to be a bleeding virgin, but he has no idea I am having regular tˆte-...-tˆtes with a fifteen-year-old boy."

I was greatly relieved and wanted her even more at that point. I gently pushed her toward the bed in the dark room, my rigid tool jerking and aching from desire. I wanted to have her mouth, her twat, and her breasts all at the same time. I would break her in quite well for good old Henry Sparks. She lay back on the bed and pulled me directly on top of her. I wriggled my body on her and seemed to squish down into her soft, waiting body. We were still in our nightclothes, but she had extracted my tool from my pajamas, and the hungry animal slipped and slid on the smooth silk as I poked at her sex with it.

The room was filled with familiar, crotch-warming sounds as my body rolled on hers and our hands explored each other. I found the great expanse of silk quite pleasurable to my touch, and in a sudden flurry of excitement, I ripped off my pajamas and threw them to the floor. I was lying naked on the silk now, and I wondered what it would be like to be inside the nightie with her. The feeling would have been sensational, what with the feel of her smooth body on one side of me and the sensual touch of the silk on the other. But it was impossible-she filled the nightgown to brimming with her monstrous tits, and there was no room for me. Unless ... Unless, I thought, I was able to fit between them.

I lifted the hem of her nightie and poked my head under. After kissing her thighs and pubis for a few moments, I pulled the nightgown material up and slid my head up along her stomach. She giggled and asked what on earth I was trying to do. I told her I was going to get inside the nightie with her, and she almost laughed out loud.

But I continued on my course, and when I reached the mighty titties, I forced my head between them. She opened the buttons at the top of her nightie and my head finally came peeping through. My head was at the level of her chin, and I forced my way on and on until our lips were touching. It was a marvelous feeling, although the material was almost painfully tight across my back.

"My God," she said, still chuckling at me, "you'll split the material in such a loud report, it will be heard all up and down the street."

I didn't care. All I knew was that the sensation of being inside the nightgown with her was unbearably beautiful. I raised my buttocks slightly, feeling the soft material rub against my ass, and inserted my tool into her soft, waiting vagina. She gasped, as she always did, and I didn't hesitate as I usually did. I rammed the animal all the way in, and she bucked like a horse when he struck but-tom.

"My, you are in a vast hurry tonight," she said. Her arms were folded over my back on the outside of her nightgown. She caressed my back and then my buttocks. "The only trouble is," she said, "how are we going to do it? You can't move enough to really make it a good one."

She was right. It had been a good experiment, but I wanted to ravage this woman tonight. For all I knew, it would be my last time before she went off to marry her stupid Henry Sparks. I slid back along the delightful route and helped her out of the nightie. When she was completely naked, she sat up and took my tool into her mouth. Her hands cupped my balls, and she seemed about to finish me off when I pulled away and bent over her body with my face just above her gaping puss. She was always ready for me to kiss that, so she lay back and forgot about sucking my dong for the moment.

"I feel like doing something terribly wicked tonight," I said. "I think we've done everything we could except possibly one."

"What is that?" she asked.

"The soixante-neuf position," I said. "It isn't really so terribly wicked, but I can't think of anything else."

I had to explain that position to her, and she was delighted with it. I explained further that we could make it more exciting by screwing each other until our juices were fairly boiling, then switching quickly to the favored position. In that way, we would be in great prime for the act and, to favor her penchant for licking me clean after a toss in the bed, she would kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. She was thoroughly agreeable.

But I had to lay my throbbing dork once again between those great, lovely globes. I placed him in the hollow, and we both squeezed the breasts against him until he was completely out of sight. I made several thrusts between her titties, and as he came out at the top, her mouth was waiting for him. Just the knob went into her mouth, but that was enough to set me afire with passion.

In a quick motion, I pulled out of the breast-pussy and flopped on top of her soft body. I raised my buttocks threateningly, and with unerring aim, she guided my Schwartz to her wet and ready puss. Once again, I plunged in to the hilt without waiting for various preliminaries. As I dabbled back and forth in a slow and gentle manner with my tool, my hands crossed the expanse of her gleaming white buttocks and found her tiny hole. I rammed my middle finger into it, and she almost cried out in surprise and sudden pain.

My lips found hers in the darkness, and her lips parted readily to accept my tongue. I rubbed my chest against her mounded bubbies and felt that I had truly found the secret to happiness and success in life. I raised and plunged into her still-tight pussy and felt the passions rising in waves throughout my body.

Then, when the time was ripe, I said, a little too loudly, "Now!"

We scrambled away from each other, and I reversed my position on the bed. As my face plunged into the wetness of her crotch and I smelled the strong, heady odor of her aroused twat, I felt her lips and tongue on my dripping pecker. I buried deeply into her snatch and licked away the fluids that had erupted from our lovemaking. Then my tongue set to enflaming her clitoris and the inner depths of her pussy, alternately, indiscriminately.

She took a great deal of me into her mouth after she had licked the entire length of my staff and my now-airy balls. Her hands gripped my buttocks, and I could feel the pressure of her great titties on my stomach and chest. Suddenly her legs came up around my head, and I felt as though I would be delightfully suffocated with love.

Our preliminary screwing had brought me nearly to fever pitch, and it took very few plunges into her wet and delicious mouth for the juices to begin their rumbling boil in my balls. I knew that I was a twat-hair's width from coming, and I raised my head to tell her so. She said that she, too, was nearly at the apex of desire.

I buried my face once again in her heaving, sucking pussy and let my buttocks rise and fall slowly as my cock plunged almost brutally into her mouth and throat. She was sucking mightily, and I could feel the pressure of her lung power all the way up into my stomach. I was in a special kind of heaven just then. Here I was, only fifteen years of age, and I had been indulging in conjugal sex for three years. Although I had specialized in very young girls and had abhorred my escapades with older women, I was finding endless delights with Miss Marcia Henderson, in spite of her thirty years. I knew it was the monstrous tits and her virginity that had swung the tide.

I felt the pressure reach the ultimate, and then, in a glorious burst of ecstasy, my spunk roared out of me and began jetting in bursts into her mouth. Her body bucked violently, and I knew that she was near the end.

And then it happened.

I heard the door open and saw the shaft of light that was almost brilliant in the darkness of the room. I looked up even as my instrument was still firing into the woman's expert mouth and saw the imposing silhouette of my father standing in the doorway with a lighted candle.

Within ten minutes, I was locked in my room while my father dealt with poor Marcia Henderson. In spite of my pleadings with him and my admission of all guilt, he had not listened to me. He had merely forced me to quickly put on my pajamas and had led me to my room and locked the door. Then he had walked back down the corridor to where I knew that Miss Henderson sat quivering in terror in her room.

She was not in the apartment when Father came for me the next morning. He had me dress in my best clothes, and we went downstairs to breakfast. Bridget was there, and she was gay and cheerful, obviously unaware of the cloud of scandal that hung over me and the entire apartment. Within minutes, though, she was curious about why father and I were so quiet and our expressions so glum. I hoped to get her aside after breakfast and to talk to her, perhaps to make the whole thing seem less disastrous than it was. I knew that rumors would somehow start, and these are always much worse than the truth.

After breakfast, Father took me with him to my room, where we packed all my belongings into two wicker suitcases. I thought for a moment that he was going to throw me out of the house, to fend for myself. I said nothing. I remembered the wrath he had displayed with my stepmother, and I wanted to do nothing-to say nothing-to incite that wrath upon me.

I saw Bridget only once more as we left the house and got into the carriage my father had waiting. She looked out from the upstairs hall window and waved to me as the carriage pulled away. She was more puzzled than I, but only because she didn't know what had happened the night before. The carriage went directly to the railway station, and my father went to the ticket window while I stood by with my suitcases. He returned with a long ticket in his hands.

"Louis," he said, looking at me with the sad and painful expression he had carried since the incident in Miss Henderson's room, "I'm afraid that somehow I've failed you. Being alone without a mother has created some rather unusual problems. I am convinced that the problems are not of your making, but I also realize that a boy your age must have begun to feel certain awakenings, certain feelings. Isn't that true?"

I looked down at the dirty station floor. "Yes, Father."

"I knew it," he said. "Unfortunately, I have made some rather bad choices in the females I have brought into the house, and they have led you astray. Therefore, you can understand why I am reluctant to try another nurse or maid or governess or what have you. It could lead to a similar disaster, and we don't want that, do we?"

"No, Father."

"As much as it pains me," he went on, avoiding my eyes, "I must send you away where you will be cared for properly and where there are no depraved women to contribute to what must already be fairly powerful yearnings."

My mind immediately thought of prison. Or, even worse, a boys' school.

"Where are you sending me, Father?"

"I sent a messenger last night," he said, "so that you will be expected. You will be met at the railway station when the train arrives there. I want you to behave yourself, Louis, and not give your Aunt Lois any problems."

"You mean ... you mean you're sending me to Chesterton Manor?"

He looked down sadly.

"I know it is better for us to be together, but I shall be able to visit you once in a while, and when you are finished with normal school, I think it would be well for you to attend a university on the Continent. Until then, I am afraid that I cannot provide you the kind of life a young boy should have. You don't mind living with your Aunt Lois, do you? She will be much like a mother to you and ... "

He rambled on, apologizing, stumbling around for excuses, trying to make it sound as though life at Chesterton Manor would not be all bad, that there would be rays of sunshine here and there and that Aunt Lois really and truly loved me and all that. But I had stopped listening. I retained the look of sadness and tragedy on my face, but my heart and mind were celebrating joyously.

I would see Althea. I would live with Althea. Oh God, I thought, all wrongdoers should be punished in this manner. Oh God, I thought, my prison was going to be my heaven ...

YEARNINGS BOOK TWO: THE MAN