Archive-name: First/telesite.txt

Archive-author: D. Claire

Archive-title: Telescopic Sights





Part 1.



When I was around 14 we moved to Jamaica, which is an island in

the Caribbean Sea.  My father was big in imports at the time, and

he moved to there to run that end of the business while my uncle

ran the stateside end.  We had a lot of money and we moved into a

hell of a nice house next to the beach.  It was a big, two story

job and the attic had been converted into a bedroom, and that's

where I lived.  I had a little terrace and I could walk on it and

sunbathe or whatever.  It gave me a beautiful view of the ocean

and of the two houses that were on either side of us.  West of us

was an old house that looked like it was built back in the 1700s. 

The one on the east of us, though, was very modern.  It was a two

story structure, with huge windows that let in tons of light.  If

the sun wasn't glaring the glass, I could see most of the house

through those big windows.  Both houses lay a couple acres away.



A few months after we moved there things went kind of nuts.  My

mother couldn't stand being away from her friends and family back

in Chicago, which is where we were from, so she went back and

lived there.  My father got through it by spending most of his

time at work, and when he wasn't at work he was asleep or off

somewhere trying to drum up more work.  



When I turned 15, I was getting big on astronomy and all that,

and my father bought me a big Meade telescope.  It was great. 

The sky was clear and there were tens of thousands of stars to

look at late after dark.  When I got bored, during the day I

would pan the telescope across the beach or the ocean to see

whatever there was to see.



Well, it didn't take me long to turn the scope on the houses at

night when they turned on the lights.  The old house wasn't much

to look at, because the windows were small and the curtains were

always closed.  And for awhile, it didn't look like the other

house, the one with the big windows, would have much either.



One night, a couple months after I got the scope, I was trying to

see if I could find a nebulae to look at.  I wasn't having a

whole lot of luck, of course.  And I was about ready to give up

when some headlights caught my eye.  The next door neighbors were

driving up, and for a kick I thought I'd watch them.  So I spun

the scope around and watched them drive up to the house and  park

in front of the house.



For some reason I'd never paid attention to them before, but boy,

was that a mistake.  The door opened and I saw the driver get

out.  He had gray hair and he looked like he was in his 70's,

anyway.  He was wearing a tux.  Out the other door came this

woman.  She looked like she was in her thirties.  She was wearing

a black gown and some jewelry, and had her hair pinned back.  I

didn't get much of a look at her but I could see she was a fine

piece of work.  If her front was as good as her back, I was going

to be in for a treat.



They walked into the house and closed the door, but the lights

went on and I could see them walking through the house.  Those

huge, big, crystal clear windows were really paying off.  They'd

flip on the lights and walk through the room, then turn the

lights off behind them.  I could have followed them through it if

I was legally blind.



Well, they disappeared up the stairs and I just stood back and

waited.  Then I see the bedroom light up.  The man walked in and

took off his coat, threw it on a chair, and then sat down on the

bed and pulled off his shoes and socks.  Then he pulled off his

tie and unbuttoned his shirt and pants, pulled them off and threw

them all on the chair.  In about twenty seconds he was down to

his t-shirt and boxers.  He walked over to the dresser, pulled

out some clothes, and walked into the bathroom, and the door

shut.



While he's doing this, the girl walks in, and she's talking and

slowly undressing too.  She barely had her jewelry off by the

time the old guy went to the bathroom, but she kept talking

anyway.  She took off her shoes and walked into this big walk-in

closet, but I could still see her because the closet faces me,

but the light was off and I couldn't see her very well.  She

unzipped her dress and stepped out of it, then hung it up.  She

pulled out the pins in her hair and shook it free, then she

walked back into the room.



Now she was back in the bright light and I couldn't believe what

I was seeing.  This woman was a work of art.  She had bright,

fire-engine red hair, that was wavy kind of soft-curly and hung

about a quarter of the way down her back.  She had creamy white

skin, not-ghostly white, but a really fine white considering

she's on Jamaica, where just about everyone is either black or

sun-tanned.   She didn't have any freckles, either.  The last

time I saw a woman with skin like that, it was years later when I

saw an Annette Haven movie.



She was wearing a black bra and a black half-slip, at this point,

and nude colored nylons.  She unzipped the half-slip and stepped

out of it, and then she raised one of her legs onto the bed to

roll off her stocking.  I couldn't believe my eyes.  She was

wonderfully built, with a small waist and moderate hips and long,

dancers' legs that looked like they could have reached back over

her head.  Her stomach was flat and she didn't look like she had

an ounce of fat on her.  And as she had that foot up on the bed,

I could see a little hint of pubic hair peak out from the leg

hole of her panties.



Okay, I'm not made of stone.  I was rock hard at this time.  I

felt like my pants had shrunk a size and the base of my dick

ached, like I was going to snap it off at the base.  I stepped

out of my pants and kicked them out of the way, and then I

shifted my briefs to let the family jewels hang out.  My dick was

pointing up at the moon and my balls were finally swinging free.

The cool evening breeze wafted across me and ooooh, it felt good.



When I got back to the scope, she had the other stocking off and

was just pulling her bra off.  She had the most beautiful breasts

I've *ever* seen on a woman, and I've seen a respectable number

since then.  They looked like a c-cup, mounted precisely in the

middle of her torso, half-teardrop shaped with big, beautiful

nipples that pointed straight out in front.  She raised her hands

up and cupped them, and started to rub and kneed them as if the

bra had been too tight.  A lot of women have tits that like and

they're soft and look like they're filled with jello, but not

these.  They were firm and they didn't bounce all over when she

moved.  Those babies were made to last.



Finally she stepped out of her panties and I got to see her bush. 

It was a moderate triangle--enough that I couldn't see her slit,

and she didn't go in for that bikini wax crap, but it wasn't

thick and tangled and out of control, like some I've seen.  This

woman was a class act all the way.



About this time, the bathroom door opened the old man walked in,

wearing pajama bottoms.  His hair was wet, so I figured he

probably took a shower.  He kissed the woman on the lips--nothing

much, just a long-married peck, and climbed into bed.  The woman

pulled out a negligee and walked into the bathroom.  Ten minutes

later she came out, wearing the negligee, and climbed into bed.



I stood there stunned.  By this time my dick had softened a bit,

but when I got into my own bed it was hard and fiery hot.  It was

laying back on my belly like it was on fire.  I should probably

lie at this point and describe a long, satisfying jack-off scene,

but since I've been sticking to the truth so far, I'm going to

admit something embarrassing--*I didn't know about it.*  



Sad, I know.  But I grew up being kind of a loner, and at the

time the M word wasn't being talked about like it is today.  For

anyone who doesn't know it, when you're stroking yourself and you

don't know any better, the build up to an orgasm feels just like

you're going to urinate.  I'd messed around a little, but I

always quit because I thought I'd end up peeing all over myself

and for some reason, I could never get in the mood in the

bathroom.



I was getting off all right--I'd wake up with jism all over me

and the sheets, but as far as I knew, I just had to wait for it. 

Jesus, I was innocent.



So I lay there in bed, squirming against the sheets and my dick

feeling excruciatingly good, but stopping before I made a mess. 

And somehow I managed to go to sleep. 





Part 2.



I was sexually ignorant but I wasn't stupid.  I knew the

neighbors were the Frenches, because we occasionally got a piece

of their mail.  I figured the woman was his wife instead of his

daughter, considering they shared a bed.  But I went down to the

big library in Kingston and looked through their newspaper morgue

to make sure.  After awhile I found a picture of them attending a

charity function, and the cutline identified them as Mr. and Mrs.

Irwin French.  



Except for the trip to the library, I pretty much lived at the

telescope for the next couple weeks.  It was summer and I was out

of school.  Normally I bummed around the beach or I tried to

raise some extra money.  I was big into photography at the time,

and I'd go around selling photographs any way I could.  I took

pictures for tourists.  I took pictures for real-estate agents. 

I took some pictures of wrecked cars for insurance.  Usually,

when I didn't have any better ideas, I'd ride around looking for

pictures I could sell to the newspapers.



But like I said, I quit that and for awhile and became a near

permanent attachment to the telescope.  After awhile I learned

when they left and when each one got home.  I didn't see her nude

again--she'd usually strip down to bra and panties and then

shower, and when she came back into view she'd be wearing a

nightgown.  And if there was any fooling around, they weren't

doing it in the house.



What got me hooked, though, was that there was other action in

the house.  They had a maid who came in every day and did some

housework.  She'd show up in the afternoons and do the dishes. 

She cleaned those windows until they were invisible.  She did the

laundry and the dishes and had a cleaned a the rooms on a

rotation.  Then she would cook them dinner and have it laid out

when they got home, and then she would leave.   During the

mornings I supposed she did other people's houses.  This same

woman did our house once a week.



Her name was Ellie and was a native.  She was a tall, middle

aged, rather handsome black woman with huge tits that looked like

basketballs, grafted onto what was otherwise a normally

proportioned body.  Her blouses always looked like they were

going to burst at the seams, and it was easy to see the starched

white bra she wore underneath.  



One day, a couple weeks after I had started watching the house, I

saw Ellie drive up and go in.  By this time I had taken the

camcorder and hooked it up to the telescope, and then ran patch

cables over to the VCR.  I could sit back on a chair or the bed

and see what was going on all the time--at least in the bedroom. 

I had to manually move the scope if I wanted to see another room.

And I could record in case I was out or if something interesting

happened. 



It was a hot, muggy day and I was bored to death, and I flipped

on the tv for some reason, just to break the monotony.  I sat

back in a chair reading a magazine and glanced occasionally at

the tv.  Normally I didn't watch her do her work, but I was bored

and decided to watch out of idle curiosity.  I had a chair pulled

up and I sat there looking through the scope.  I had a vague idea

of her routine, so I was only paying half-attention when I

noticed that she showed up in the master bedroom immediately

after doing the dishes.  



She closed the door and then walked over to the dresser. 

Normally Ellie left the door open, stripped the bedsheets and

flipped the mattress, so this change in routine caught my

interest.  She went over to the dresser and gingerly began

looking through the drawers.  She quickly ignored all the ones

that had men's clothes, but she paid more attention to Mrs.

French's stuff.  



In the bottom drawer, Ellie reached way back and pulled out a

box.  She closed the drawer, opened the box and looked inside.  I

moved my chair up close to the tv so I could get a close look. 

Ellie slowly pulled out something that looked about the size of a

cream-colored flashlight, but one end was rounded and the other

had a cord trailing out of it.  



The bed was unmade, and Ellie pulled the covers off onto the

floor as if she would strip it.  Then she started unbuttoning her

blouse, and laid that aside.  Then she pulled down her slack

pants and put them with the blouse.  I was really in shock now. 

I was seeing my own maid in her underwear.



She didn't go for the fancy stuff like Mrs. French.  The bra was

a big, white cotton style that covered most of her skin, and the

panties were tight, white cotton that seemed two sizes too small. 

At this point I could see she was a little heavy, unlike Mrs.

French--she had seven kids and that would account for it, but she

was pretty well proportioned nonetheless.



Ellie wasn't like Mrs. French when she stripped--Mrs. French did

it a bit more slowly and carefully, and seemed to revel in the

release from the bondage of her clothes.  Ellie pulled off her

clothes in a more matter-of-fact way, as if she were disrobing

for a doctor, and dropped her clothes on the floor.  She unhooked

her bra and released her massive tits, and stepped out of her

panties, in the same disinterested way.  Then she bent down and

plugged in the thing she had fished out of the box.  She climbed

onto the bed, lay back on it, and stretched languidly.  



My dick was made of granite by this time, and I peeled off my

shorts and briefs, and I sat back bare-assed on the chair with my

dick throwing off waves of heat.



In contrast to her disrobing, she now seemed much more careful

and attentive.  She ran her fingers up and down the length of her

body and bowed her legs to reach her calves.  She gave herself a

simple rubbing massage up her legs, then up her abdomen, around

the giant mounds that were laying back along her chest, and up to

her neck.  She even rubbed and rippled her rear-end and lower

back.  When she was finished, she started to work on those

humongous tits of hers.  When she was standing they were

watermelon shaped-long and wide, with giant, brown nipples on the

ends that pointed to a place on the floor about four-feet ahead

of her.  Now, on her back, they lay like sacks of flour that were

anchored in a v-shape to the center of her chest, with the heavy

ends hanging off over the side.  But she worked her fingertips

all over them--up the sides, on top, underneath, and around until

she got to the nipples.  At first she would lightly touch and

brush them, and then she began to rub them with her fingertips,

playing with the little nub on the end.  



After a short while of this, her right hand went down to her

crotch and began brushing it.  Ellie had less pubic hair than

Mrs. French.  It was tight, kinky black hair that was rather

thick on top sparser down the sides.  At first she ran her

fingers along the side of what I could make out was her slit. 

Then she started moving her whole hand over the triangle, rubbing

it lengthwise.  Her left hand wandered her body, often juggling

and playing with her nipples, though occasionally it would slip

down to her crotch as well.



Finally, she reached over and took the gizmo and switched it on. 

I could see it blur slightly, and by that time I figured out what

the heck it was.  She ran the vibrator all over her body,

spending a bit of extra time on her tits, and then it went down

onto her crotch.  First it lay along the length of her opening,

and then she would move it away for a moment and then bring it

back.  Then it would be down in the area between her vagina and

her ass, and then back up on it again.  



She was squirming around a little when she started to put it in. 

First it went in a little way and was back out.  Then she sunk it

down until it looked like there was nothing left to hold onto but

the cord, and then she pulled it back out again.  She'd lay it

across her slit again, then in, then out, and then up to her tits

or along her cheeks, and then back on it and in it again.



I was squirming myself by this point.  My head of my dick was

beet red and the skin was so taught I thought it would pop.  I

touched it with my fingertips and pulled it away from me, and I

felt a wonderful mix of pleasure and odd pressure way down in the

small of my back.  It felt good, and I ran my hand along the

shaft, feeling the heat and the tautness of it.  



Ellie was starting to bump and grind, and she had the vibrator in

and out.  Mostly it was in, and she started pumping it in and out

of her, and every few strokes she'd angle it back up to the top

of her vagina, and then she'd arch her back and buck her butt

like something was biting it, and then she'd plunge back in and

stroke.  And her left hand was grabbing at those tits, going back

and forth and squeezing them--lightly but firmly, and rubbing

them while her right hand pumped that vibrator.  



And then she started shaking.  She held the vibrator about half-

way in and pulled up on it, and I could see her tits jiggle and

the soft skin on her belly jiggle, and her left hand was pawing

and kneading the sheet, and her butt was twitching up and down

and her head thrashed from side to side. 



And after moment, it was over.  She lay there and ran her hands

over her, and pulled out the vibrator and ran that across her. 

And then she lay still for few minutes.  



I couldn't stand it by now.  I thought I was going to piss all

over myself like I was some kind of pre-schooler, and I ran to

the bathroom.  My dick softened up and I relieved myself.  When I

got back, Ellie was dressed and had stripped the bed.







Part 3.



I saw Ellie repeat the performance a couple more times, but she

kept no set schedule.  I got one on tape and I only spot-checked

her after that.  I couldn't be there all the time to monitor the

house like I had been.  



As I said before, I was sexually precocious but I wasn't born

yesterday.  I decided I wanted to see more of Mrs. French, and I

wanted to see her up close and personal.  I couldn't figure it

out.  She wasn't getting it on with her husband.  The box in her

dresser made me figure I'd be in for the same kind of show from

her as I'd seen Ellie put on.  But that hadn't happened either. 

Hell, I'd only seen Mrs. French's tits a couple more times, and

that was when she was dressing to go to work.  



I couldn't figure out how to meet her.  She worked for the

British Embassy and when I started hanging out there, I never saw

her leave the building.  Her husband worked for a British

shipping firm, and he would drive her up, drop her off, and pick

up her up in the evenings without fail.  I couldn't think of any

way to get into the embassy on business.  So while I learned more

of the Frenches, I thought a lot about how to meet her, and I

went about my freelance photography business.



It was during this period that I arrived back at the house right

about noon.  I had taken my morning photos and I would hang

around the house before taking my late-afternoon shots.  I walked

in and smelled the cleaning solvents that Ellie used to clean the

house.  I had forgotten it was her day to clean up.



Ellie and I were pretty friendly.  Ellie's husband had played AAA

baseball in the states and was a minor league coach.  He was gone

a hell of a lot of the time, playing or coaching in whatever

league was going at the time, but he'd stop home to say hi to his

wife from time to time, and Ellie would end up with another kid.

She liked and followed baseball, particularly the Dodgers (her

father-in-law claimed to have played with Tommy Lasorda in the

Caribbean League), so we often talked about baseball.  And

sometimes other things.



Ellie came down with the laundry and started the washer, and we

talked about the Dodgers for a little while.  And then after a

long pause, in an off-hand manner, she said:



"Be seeing a lot of interesting things with your telescope?"



Oh shit.  I had it pointed at the French house all the time now. 

I only rarely pointed it back at the sky.



"Oh, yeah," I said.  "I'm getting some wonderful pictures of

Venus right now."



"Uh-huh," she said.  "You best be not caught taking pictures of

the Venus across the way, because Mr. Venus might not be too

understanding."



"No, no, I'm not--"



"I know I'm just a maid and I have seven kids to wear me out and

I never finished high school, but I'm not blind."



"I'll stop."



"I'm not telling you to stop.  I'm telling you that you don't

want to get caught, 'tis all."



"Okay, I understand."  I was sweating like a pig, now.  



"You don't have a girlfriend, do you?"



"Uh, no."



"I grew up in a house full of boys, and I've got four boys of my

own and one on the road.  I know about boys.  You know what I

mean?"



I didn't, exactly.  I was sweating like a pig.



"Your sheets, boy.  You have the wet dreams."



Oh, Sweet Jesus.  I went ice cold.  I started to shiver from the

cold.  I couldn't believe she was talking to me about this.  



"I do your laundry, I can tell.  You are visited by the night

demons, aren't you?"



At this point I didn't see any reason to lie.  She had caught me

every other time.  The woman wasn't educated, but she was sharp

as a tack.



"Yeah."  It was all I could say without my teeth chattering.



She gave me a long look.  And then she said, "I can fix it so you

won't be soiling your sheets any more.  At least not by accident. 

And you'll be happy you learned how.  It won't hurt, and you'll

thank me when you're done."



I had no idea what to say.  I just sat there looking like an

idiot.



"I'm not talking about anything that'll take away your abilities,

it just channels them a little differently."



"Uh, okay."



She smiled.  She had a beautiful smile.



"Okay, come on up to your bedroom."



She walked upstairs and I followed her closely.  She was wearing

a skirt today, but I could see her legs from the knees down,

bare, and I began to think about what I had seen her do.



We got up to the attic and closed the door.  "Take off your

clothes."



"Now, wait a minute--"



"C'mon.  If you don't like it, we don't have to do it again.  And

I won't tell if you won't."



I took a deep breath and let it out, and then I peeled off my

shirt.  I kicked off my shoes and my socks then, feeling myself

turn icy again, I dropped my shorts.



Ellie looked at me up and down while I stood there in my jockies,

dying of shame.  She asked me to sit on the bed and she pulled up

my chair and sat down on it.



"Do you know why your penis gets hard?"



"Yes."  And I felt a stirring, just talking about it.



"It does get hard, doesn't it?"  



"Yes."



"What do you do when it stiffens up?"



"Huh?"



"What do you do?"



I thought about it.  And decided to be honest again.  "Wait for

it to go away."



She smiled again.  "Is it hard now?"



I felt my face burning up.  "It's getting there."



"What will it take to get it the rest of the way?"



"I don't know--"



She smiled again, and this time she unbuttoned her blouse.  She

pulled it off slowly, like she was doing it for the first time.  



I'd seen it before, but never up close and personal.  It was just

like the bra she had on before, only this one was black.  It was

heavy and built for support instead of show.  But unlike the

other one, this had a large scoop cut out from the top to show

off her cleavage.



"Feel it," she said.



I reached out slowly and touched it.  I started with the straps,

which were heavy and coarse, and bit down into her shoulders.  I

then went down toward the top of the cup and moved down the side. 

The fabric was heavy but woven, and I could feel the patterns

underneath my fingertips.



She took my hands and I felt like I was being shocked with

electricity.  Her hands were dry and her fingers were strong, her

skin soft with light callous.  But they were gentle and knowing. 

She took my hands and held them, and she slowly moved my hands

all over those cups.  She brought them up on top and felt her

skin. Then down the sides for form, and then underneath, where I

felt the weight they carried, and finally up front where her

nipples would be.



"How is it now?"



She didn't need an answer.  She had me stand up and then she

slowly, carefully, pulled my briefs over my dick and down my

legs.  My dick was hard and long, pointing up about thirty

degrees, and the head was bright red and the shaft taut.  



"Lay down on the bed."



I reclined back on the bed, and she sat on the chair next to my

bed, leaning over my crotch.



"Give me your hand."



I did, and this time she ran it all over my body.  She only

touched the back of my hand, but with it she felt me all over in

much the way she had first explored herself.  She got to my

crotch, which felt like it was on fire, and started to carefully

play with my balls until they relaxed and the sack became soft

and smooth.



"Now listen, because this is important.  I want you to go out to

go down to the store tomorrow and buy some hand lotion.  I've

brought some with me today, but you will want your own.  Hold out

your hand."  She squirted some of the thick liquid into it. 



She rubbed it lightly into my hand, and then she took it and

began, using my hand again, to rub it all over my stiff dick.  I

thought I was going to go nuts at this point.  My lower back was

sending me all kinds of insane, glorious feelings.  The shaft of

my dick was sending me all kinds of insane, glorious feelings. 

And I started to feel something welling deep inside me.



She wrapped my hand around the shaft and began stroking it

lightly up and down.  I could feel it welling up--going through

the tubes toward my dick.



"Stop," I pleaded.  "I'm going to pee."



"Just relax," she cooed.  "Let it come."



"I'll make a big mess."



She continued to stroke my hand up and down my shaft.  "We'll

clean it up, don't worry."



"Please--"



"Relax.  Let it come."



The last thing I could do was relax, but I resigned myself to it. 

Peeing was, though I had never really thought of it, and somewhat

pleasurable experience.  The release in particular.



I could feel it come up, rushing like water through a geyser.  It

got to the base of my penis.  I stiffened for it.



She pulled my hand to the head and I brushed a spot on the

underside of it for a second, and I could feel the hot liquid

going up the shaft at an incredible rate.



I felt like I was pissing all over myself, for about a split

second.  And then I felt something else.  My dick was spasming

like mad and I was pumping, and with every pump I could feel

liquid cursing from my balls up through my dick, and it felt like

I was emptying a reservoir of it.  And hot, white semen was

literally leaping up, like the first spray from a fountain, and

coming down all over me and my hand and legs and my stomach and

the bed and Ellie.  The small of my back felt like something was

wrapped around my spine, tightening around it, and the end of my

dick was sending waves of *release* *release* *release* feelings

to my brain, and the shaft was sending *pump* *pump* *pump*.  My

dick felt totally out of control, like it was going to tear out

of my hands and spray wildly.  Ellie somehow kept me stroking as

my brain went on overload.  I gasped and quaked and shivered, and

the pleasure spot on my dick began to hurt.  Ellie stopped me

stroking at the base, and I started to relax.  Semen was still

coming out from the involuntary jerks and spasms, but it slowed.



Ellie stroked me a couple times to milk the last of it out, and

then walked over to my bathroom.  She came back a moment later

with a damp washcloth and began to wipe it up.  I just lay there

like I was paralyzed, as the semen grew cold on my skin.



There was quite a bit to clean, but she got the bulk of it that

was on us.  "Go take a shower," she said.



I felt like I rag doll as I pulled myself off the bed and somehow

managed to get into the shower, and I washed myself off.  When I

got back my bed was stripped and Ellie was sitting on the chair,

watching the videotape I had made of her with the vibrator.



I froze.  I had no idea what to say about it to her.  I couldn't

believe she would kill me, after what she had just done with me. 

But I was not thinking rationally at this point.  I had no idea

what to expect.



She broke the ice.  "Did you like that?  What we did?"



"Yes."



"Did you ever do that before?"



"No."



"I see you have a tape of me."



"Yeah."



"Do you like it?"



"Yes."



"We can do things for each other.  We're both lonely a lot of the

time.  We can help each other out.  Like today."



"You're going to come over and, uh--?"



"This is between us.  We don't tell anyone."



"Yes, I agree."



"Come here and sit on the edge of the bed."



I did.  I was naked.



She rewound the tape and started it going again, and we both

watched it in silence.  About halfway through she looked at me--

my crotch actually, and saw I was stiff again.



She stopped the tape.  "Here's something we can do together."

She licked her lips and kissed the head of my penis, and then

started kissing it all down the shaft and back up the underside. 

She got to the sensitive spot at the bottom of the head and I

bucked.  She smiled, told me to lean back, and began to lick it.



"Does that feel good?"



"Oh, yes."



She licked it until it was wet all over, and then she closed her

lips around it and sucked it in.  All of a sudden, I could feel

her tongue under it, going up and down the underside, and the

walls of her mouth sucked in tight, and her teeth lightly pulling

the skin, and the roof of her mouth.  She sucked me in and then

out, and then in.  She stopped and licked me all over and then

engulfed me.  With her fingers she tickled whatever part of my

shaft was exposed and my testicles.  



It took longer this time, but once again I could feel it coming. 

This time I didn't feel so apprehensive.  She increased her suck

stroking as it grew near, and I felt my hands grabbing the

sheets.



She took me as far as she could, her nose buried against my

crotch, as I once again lost control and pumped semen into the

back of her throat.  She made light nibbling motions with her

teeth and played about me with her tongue, and then slowly

withdrew, making sure to milk out as much as she could.



Again, I was back on the bed, exhausted.  She pulled her blouse

on and looked lovingly down at me.



"I'll show you some other things next week.  In the meantime, you

do what I showed you before.  And get the hand lotion like I

said--you'll chafe otherwise.  And don't wear yourself out, or

you won't feel like playing next week.  You understand?"



"Yeah," I said, languidly.



"You go ahead and watch the tape as much as you want.  And be

sure to clean up thoroughly when you're done, you understand? 

Shower.  Clean yourself up.  Strip your sheets and launder your

clothes if you soil them, got it?"



"Yes."



"You don't, you'll smell awful and it'll make me sick."



"Okay."



"Remember, don't go overboard.  You save some energy for me."



I smiled.



She smiled back, leaned down and gave me a soft peck on my cheek. 

"I'll go down and finish up."



I drifted off to sleep.  But when I woke up, I was dry as a bone.







Part 4.



The next two weeks Ellie couldn't come by because her kids were

sick, so when I got her note, I thought I was going to explode. 

I'd bought the hand lotion and I was bringing myself off nicely

by hand every night, but I was limiting myself to once a day and

God, it was difficult.  I don't know how I lived through the days

when I was at the mercy of fickle dreams.



I found Ellie's note in the mail.  It said:



     Save yourself up.  The Frenches are gone Saturday

     night.  You can spend the night with me.  

                                    Ellie.



It was a Tuesday, and I almost had to tie my hands to the bedpost

to keep away from my crotch.  By Friday night I thought my balls

were going to explode, and I swore they were each noticeably

heavier.  I was getting hard-ons all the time and having a

horrible time getting rid of them.  It was getting so I got hard

just looking at the garden hose.



I told my father I was going to fish early the next morning with

a friend of mine, and I would be spending the night at his place. 

And with his usual amount of interest I had no hassle about it. 

I stayed out of trouble so he had little reason to worry about me

anyway.



When I left I took a small duffle bag with a change of clothes,

figuring that even my father might wonder why I came home wearing

the same clothes I'd had on the day before.  I told him they were

going to pick me up in town and I'd walk in.  So when it got

dark, I walked off and disappeared down the road, and then cut

across to the Frenches'.  



Ellie opened the door for me and let me in.  She was wearing a

simple shirt and skirt.  Nothing racy, but it was nicely tailored

and it really showed off her bosom.  Instantly I had three legs.



We walked up to the master bedroom and she dimmed the lights to a

pleasant level.  I was just starting to take off my shirt when

she told me to stop.  She would do it for me.



She had long, ebony fingers, and they slowly traced the outlines

of my shirt seams.  They traced the places my shirt met my skin. 

She would pop a button, then gently run a finger tip down the v

of my shirt along my skin, and around.  And then she would pop

another button and do it again.



Finally she got my shirt off, and she pulled off my belt.  Not

just unbuckled it, but pulled it out of the loops, too, and

dropped on the floor.  The knelt down and lowered my trousers,

feeling my legs gently as they went down.  And then slowly, to

the point where I thought I was going to scream, she pulled my

briefs away and down my legs, then off and into the heap on the

floor.



I felt six feet long and made of steel, with lead balls hanging

from my groin.  I started feeling my muscles spasm like I was

going dry pumping my semen all over the room.  Ellie pulled the

spread and the top sheet off and laid me back on the mattress. 

Then she laid down beside me.



She started by running her hands all over me again, tracing my

ribs and my collar bone and whatever else caught her fancy.  She

stroked my inner thighs and the bottom of my feet.  She reached

over and started to kiss and suck my nipples, and I thought I was

going to come for sure.  She put her hand gently around my penis

and held it still, and she kissed my nipples and she used her

other hand to rub my stomach.



"Calm down, baby.  Calm down," she said.



Then she moved down to my crotch and she began to lick me, and

she began to massage my balls, with always makes me feel

wonderful.  She licked me while she stroked my thighs and the

backs of my knees and my stomach.  She put her mouth on the head

of my cock and all of a sudden I lost control and I was coming in

her mouth.  She kept up with me and gulped it down.  And when I

was done, she kept her mouth on me.  She started licking and

sucking on it again, with her hands doing their dance on my balls

and the area between my dick and my ass.  She sucked on the

upstroke and licked on the downstroke, and then reversed feeling. 

I went from hard to firm to hard again.  Then I felt one of her

fingers playing around the edge my asshole, and I shot off again. 

This time I had it buried deep, and she continued to gently pump

me until I was dry.



When she finally let me out, my dick collapsed on my belly and I

was beside myself with pleasure.  She came up to me and straddled

me, sitting lightly on my stomach.  "Undress me."



I reached up and undid her buttons and had the shirt off.  There

was that big, white bra that I'd seen through the telescope.  I

ran my hands over it again, feeling the textures, but this time I

felt the skin around it and compared.  And when I was ready, she

leaned forward until those heavy breasts lay on me.  I reached

around and unclipped her bra and let it flop loose, and then I

held her in a hug.  Her head was next to mine and her hair was

tickling my nose, and I could feel the rough brassier fabric on

my chest, and softer skirt fabric on my belly, the nylon

stockings against my legs, and that hot, dark, soft skin under my

hands.  I started to rub her back and her shoulders, her ribcage

and her spine all the way down to her waist.  I brought my hands

back up the sides and I felt the sides of her breasts as the

fabric dropped away.  She raised up a little I looked in her

eyes.  I bent up to kiss her but she pulled away.  I worked my

hands along the sides of her breasts and her torso, and she

slowly started to rise up again, until finally the bra was laying

across my chest and her nipples came into view.  I reached for

them, but she stopped me again, and moved my hands to her skirt. 



I unzipped her skirt and ran my hands down her thighs as it fell

off.  She climbed off me and let the skirt drop to the floor, and

I could see she was wearing only pantyhose.  I pulled myself up

to the edge of the bed and began rolling them down and off her,

kissing her legs liberally as I went.  When I looked up, she

smiled back at me, and got back on the bed.



When I joined her, I sent back to her chest and started on her

breasts.  I felt them like she had me, gently but firmly.  I felt

their give and take.  I felt their weight.  I saw how much I

could hold at any given time.  I pushed them together and up and

back.  I kissed the undersides and massaged them all over, until

I got to those saucer sized areolas, and I let my tongue do the

rest.  I then stopped and played with it with my fingers--rolling

it and tweaking it lightly.  Then, with some hesitation, took it

into my mouth and began to suck on it.



It felt better than I had expected.  It was warm and soft and

hard at the same type, and I played with it with my teeth and

tongue and lips, and finally I tore myself away and went after

the other one, lest it become jealous.  While I did this, her

hands caressed my neck and shoulders and ruffled my hair.



Finally I decided to move on, and I worked my way down her body,

around her triangle, and finally got back to it.  I'd never seen

a pussy before, so I gently stroked it and used my fingers to

unfold and explore it.  The lips were soft and rather large, and

there was a little nub at the top.  And when I touched it she

would gasp and writhe a little.  The area was wet, and found it

easy to push my fingers in and explore, while I looked intently

at her sex.  When I looked up, I saw her eyes were closed and her

hands were caressing her breasts.  She was breathing a little

quickly but deep.



She opened her eyes again and pulled a pillow under her neck to

prop her head up, and smiled at me.  "Lick it with your tongue. 

I'll tell you how."



I licked the lips first, and then I followed her directions--the

lips, deep inside, then the little button on top, then around

outside, and the button again.  After a short while I got the

hang of it and directed myself, and gaged her breathing patterns

on whether I was doing it right or not.  After a few more

minutes, I could feel her stiffening and her staring to shudder,

and I knew she was starting to orgasm like I had seen her.  I

knew her button was the most sensitive--like the underside of my

dick, so I cradled it with my lips and sucked gently as she

started to buck and grind her crotch against face.  Her hands

were on her breasts, but she grabbed the sheets and started to

claw them.  She moaned "oooh, ooooh, ooooh" for what seemed like

ages.  Slowly she calmed down and breathed regularly, and I did

it to her two more times.



Exhausted, she motioned me to come up beside her, and we wrapped

ourselves together tightly and caressed each other's bodies.  



Finally, after it seemed like we had been drifting along like

this, I couldn't stand it anymore.



"How was I?"



"You were wonderful," she sighed.  "You have a lot to learn, but

you'll do great."



"What's next?"



She smiled and stretched, and we lay like that for who knows how

long.



I looked up at the walls and started seeing shadows form and fly

across the walls.  They were headlights.  Someone was driving up

to the door!  I jumped up, naked, my dick and balls bobbing

around in front of me.  I looked down out the window and saw the

French's car pull to a stop.  



"Holy shit," I hollered.  "They're home!"



I wheeled around and saw Ellie was up and already had her pants

on.  I never saw anyone--man or woman--dress that quickly.  I

started stumbling around for my clothes and Ellie grabbed me. 

"Strip the bed!"



"I got to get dressed," I yelled.



"Strip the bed!  You can get dressed later.  Do it!"



I don't know what made me do it--maybe the tone of her voice--but

I decided I had better do it.  I quickly pulled the bottom sheet

and the pad off the mattress and threw it on the floor next to

the other bedclothes.  When I turned back, I saw Ellie was pretty

much dressed.



"Help me turn over the mattress."



I couldn't believe it.  I was still not wearing a stitch of

clothes, looking at a fully dressed woman who started to lift the

mattress up, while the owners of the house were opening the front

door downstairs.



I grabbed part of the mattress and helped her flip it over.



"Good," she said.  Now I threw your clothes in the closet.  You

can get dressed in there."



"In the closet?"



She shushed me.  I could hear them walking into the entryway

downstairs and calling Ellie's name.



"You want to get dressed out in the hall, maybe," Ellie hissed at

me.



"How am I going to get out of her?"



"I'll let you out tomorrow morning when they go to work."  She

walked over to the door and hollered down.  "I'm up her, Mrs.

French!"



"Why don't I just go out through one of the windows?"



"Because after I leave they'll turn the alarm on.  Now get in the

closet or we're both done for!"



I got into the closet.  She shut the doors behind me and it was

pitch black.  I bent down onto the floor and started to feel

around for my scattered clothes, and mentally inventories them as

I tried to put them in a heap I could find.  Then I heard voices

getting louder, and I figured they were coming up the stairs.  I

threw all my clothes against the far wall and burrowed in behind

some heavy clothes, hoping that if the doors opened that I

wouldn't be exposed.



As I stood there, I could hear the voices.  One was Ellie, and

the other was a rather mid-pitched, soft, full-bodied woman's

voice.  She had an English accent--I never found out from where,

but it sounded a lot like some of the voices I heard on the BBC

later when I visited Europe.  I guessed that this was Mrs.

French.



"I came in late today, seeing as you were gone, and so I got a

late start on everything.  I was just doing the laundry for this

bedroom when I heard you come in," Ellie said.  



"You could have waited until tomorrow, Ellie."  



"But you're back now.  I'll just put some fresh sheets on your

bed--"



"I'll do it.  You can go home, Ellie."



"It won't take but a minute--"



"No, you've done enough.  I'll do it fine."  There was no trace

of irritation in Mrs. French's voice.  She was a damn nice woman.



Ellie protested a little more but I heard her going down the

stairs.  I unfroze, figuring they had gone, and reached down to

pull on my socks.  Then I heard the closet doors start to open.



It was a great big walk-in closet, and I had plenty of room to

skulk behind the clothes.  But I was shaking like a leaf and I

feeling every draft.  And then these little double doors opened

and the light came in.  It wasn't a lot of light--I was never

able to see much from the telescope when Mrs. French walked into

this closet, but I felt like I was standing in broad daylight.  I

was hiding behind some long, dark coats, and I tried to huddle

behind them even more.



My eyes were right around the level of the coat-hangars, and I

could see Mrs. French walk in.  Her clothes (thank God) were on

the opposite side of the closet.  She turned her back to me,

pulled off her shoes and set them on the shelf, unzipped herself,

and then walked back into the bedroom.  But she left the doors

open.



Then Mister French came in.  He had a very distinguished voice,

and an English accent similar to his wife's.  I stood there

petrified, waiting for him to walk into that closet, but after a

few minutes of mortal terror, I saw him walk past the closet and

into the bathroom.  A few minutes the water started up (the

shower must have been right behind my wall).



I stood there as quietly as I could while all this went on.  My

heart had been pounding hard and I thought everyone on the cove

could hear my breathing.  I was still naked from the ankles up

and I could feel drafts across my legs.  And it felt like my

testicles were pulling back up into my stomach.



The shower stopped.  And a moment later Mr. French walked across

the room and got into bed.  Mrs. French was a morning shower

person, so I saw the lights go out and I could imagine, from what

I had seen before, what was going on.  They kissed and each

climbed into bed, and after a short while, fell asleep.



My feet started to ache.  Right in the middle, running

lengthwise.  Like I was standing on slim metal poles.  Then my

calves started ache.  First they turned to granite, and then they

started to burn.  It began at my ankles and began working its way

up.  By the time it got to my knees, I could hear snoring.



I took this opportunity to bend down and fish for my briefs. 

After a moment I found them and pulled them on.  At that point, I

felt like I was dressed enough not to die of shame.  The snoring

continued, so I found my pants and pulled them on, and then my

shirt.  



Still snoring.



I crept out from behind the clothes and pulled my shoes on.  Now

I was fully dressed and I had absolutely no interest in waiting

until they left for work the next day.  Especially when I knew

Mr. French would walk into the closet for clothes.  I got down on

my hands and knees and crawled close to the door to listen to

them.  I heard two sets of snores, and guessed they were both

asleep.



The room was dark but the moon was out, and my night vision was

good enough that I could see the furniture and the bed.  I

couldn't really tell how they were situated in bed, but figured I

couldn't wait to find out.  At any minute it was possible that

one of them would wake up.



The crawl to the door took an eternity.  I did it as absolutely

slowly as I could--almost imperceptible movements.  They had a

little striking clock in the room, and it had struck twelve-

thirty when I left the closet.  It struck one when I was next to

the door.



I looked back at the bed.  I was on Mrs. French's side of the

bed, and she was sleeping on her side, her angelic face looking

at me.  Her eyes were closed.  It was all I could do to keep from

going over there and kissing those beautiful, puckered lips.  I

reached up and put my hand on the doorknob.  I stared at those

eyelids as I turned it, trying to keep from making a noise.  The

knob stopped and I froze.  This was going to be the hardest part.



I pulled the door open, keeping the knob fully twisted.  I used

my other hand to hold onto the knob, and--never taking my eyes

off that face--I squeezed through the door.  Then as slowly and

as carefully as I dared, I pulled the door shut and then let the

knob unwind.



The door was closed and I was in the hall.  This was the darkest

house I had ever seen in my life.  I couldn't see a damn thing. 

Not in the hallway.  I tried to remember what had been there when

Ellie had led me up just hours before.  I put my hands on the

wall and crept down the hallway until I felt a door.  I had no

idea what was inside, but I figured that it couldn't be too bad.



I opened the door and peered inside.  It was a spare bedroom.  I

figured this is probably where Ellie was meant to sleep.  It was

very simply furnished--a made up queen-size bed, a chest of

drawers, and a couple doors.



I walked over to the door and opened it.  It led to the bathroom. 

This bathroom was shared with the master bedroom.  Next do that

was the closet door.  It was bare.  I figured I could spend the

night there.



Very quickly, the time came when I realized I wish I hadn't seen

that bathroom.  My bladder was full and started to hurt.  The

dull pain and pressure began to turn into a sharp, gnawing pain,

which ran all over me.  I started to get obsessed with that

bathroom.  I couldn't get the picture of it out of my mind.



I gave up and I realized there was nothing else I could do about

it.  I got up and walked over to the bathroom door, and went

inside.  It looked dangerously bright--there was a little night-

light on.  It was like broad daylight.  I gently pushed the door

that led to the master bedroom closed.  I went over to the bowl

and lifted the seat, unzipped, and aimed at the narrow strip of

porcelain that wasn't covered by water.



There was a high pitched, almost crackling sound as my stream hit

the porcelain and ran down to the water, but it was as silent as

I could go.  The stream started out easy but very quickly got out

of hand, and all of a sudden I was purging at a gallon a minute,

and the sound got louder.  The pressure was dropping but it felt

like I was passing a lead rod.



The noise scared me so I decided I had to stop.  I counted to

three and then stopped.  I couldn't remember doing that before,

and the result felt like I was having a charley-horse right in

the middle of my penis.  The fluid backed up and felt as if

someone was pounding a fist into my crock.  But that was nothing. 

My penis had jumped as I cut it off, and last of the stream had

ran across the water--ziiip--loudly.



I stood there listening, and thought I heard a movement from the

bedroom.  I didn't think I had time to get through the door back

to safety, so I stepped into the bathtub/shower and gently pulled

the curtain a little, as the door opened.



It was Mrs. French, wearing a simple, knee-length nightgown.  She

looked like she was sleepwalking.  She didn't look over at me at

all, or around anywhere.  She just plunked the toilet seat down,

hiked up her nightgown, sat down and released.



I couldn't see much through the shower curtain, and stayed frozen

in the spot.  After a minute she was done, flushed the toilet,

and left.  She closed the door behind her.



I waited for as long as I thought reasonable to see if Mr. French

would follow her in, but nothing happened.  I finished peeing,

this time down the tub drain, and got back into the spare

bedroom.



I looked at the window and realized that there was no alarm

hookup.  If there was some sort of motion detector, I would have

set it off by now.



It wasn't just a window--it was a glass door, and outside was a

little terrace that ran the length of the wall.  I climbed out on

it and walked down to the far side of the house, as far away from

the bedroom as I could get, and swung over the rail.  I hung by

my hands and let myself gently, and only had to drop a few feet

onto the lawn.  



Within a few minutes, I had snuck back into my house and into my

bed.  I was exhausted from fear and creeping around the

neighbor's house all night, but I was still wired from it all,

and it took me some time to relax.   I stroked myself off twice

just thinking about Ellie, and drifted asleep with my cock in my

hand.





Part 5.



Two days later Ellie stopped by to drop off my duffle bag--it had

taken her that long to find it.  I had completely forgotten about

it, but Ellie never missed a trick.  She stayed long enough for a

quick blow but had to get going.  The only days I saw her were

when she came by to clean my house.  It got to where I did all

the cleaning so we could spend the entire time in bed.  



Ellie was quite a woman.  She was very touchy feely and gentle,

and she taught me how to feel textures and temperatures and make

love with my fingertips instead of my penis.  But she was matter

of fact and straightforward, as I mentioned before.  There were

no wasted movements.  She showed me which buttons to push and

when to push them.  And at that stage in my life, it was easy to

push all of mine.



We did a lot of things together, but she stopped short on two

things.  First, there was no straight sex.  Her vagina belonged

to her husband, she said.  I could lick it, suck on it, finger

it, and look at it all I wanted.  But I wasn't going to stick my

rod in it.  Not even for a second.  The same went for her back

door, though she claimed that she just didn't like anal sex. 

Lastly, there was no kissing.  That too was reserved for her

husband.  



But that left a world of fun between us.  She pushed those

massive tits together and I slid into her cleavage and came all

over her face and neck.  She enjoyed having them played with and

sucked on.  She loved massages and oral sex, both giving and

receiving.  Neither of us cared for the 69 that much, but we

threw it in for variation now and then.  One day I bought a

vibrator--er, 'personal massager'--and drove her crazy with it

the entire afternoon.  Her legs were wobbly when she left.

Sometimes we played games.  She would wrap one of those

beautiful, strong hands around my penis and expertly bring me

off, and we'd measure how far I could shoot.  She was great with

those hands.  She was better at manipulating me than I was.



But it isn't like the rest of my time was spent in a vacuum,

though.  Something interesting had started to happen.  Mrs.

French was becoming and exhibitionist.



This started a couple nights after my narrow escape.  The

Frenches routine had been pretty standard up until then, but one

night Mrs. French got up out of bed and walked over to the

sliding window and walked out onto her terrace.  It was a hot

night, she was wearing a one-piece nightgown that went down to

her knees.  She walked over to the railing and looked out at the

ocean for awhile, and the stars.  Then she reached down and

pulled the nightgown up and over her head.  



I couldn't believe it.  It was the best view of Mrs. French's

nude body I had ever seen through the scope, and it was too dark

for pictures.  I almost cried, though I wasn't entirely sure if

it was from happiness or distress.  She stood there, clothed only

in the light of the moon, and then sat down on a chaise lounge

and reclined.  



She lay there for probably half an hour, just basking, and then

got up and went back inside.  She pulled on her nightgown,

disappeared into the bathroom for a short while, and then climbed

into bed.



During the weekend she re-arranged the furniture in several rooms

of the house, including her bedroom.  Originally the bed had been

against a side wall, with Mr. French sleeping facing me and Mrs.

French away.  She swapped the bed with the dresser so now the bed

faced me--I could easily see both the Frenches easily.  That

night, which again was unpleasantly warm, she pulled off her

gown.  But this time she lay on the bed instead of going outside,

and she started to fondle her breasts.



The room was dark but I could see quite well through the

telescope.  Mrs. French filled the view very well.  She lay

there, her eyes closed, her hands fondling her firm, creamy,

perfectly shaped breasts.  She teased the nipples until they were

prominent and hard.  Then she rubbed the lower part of her belly,

right underneath her navel, until I could see it quiver.  Then

she moved down to her triangle.  She spread her legs, and after a

slight focus adjustment I zeroed in to a beautiful view.  Her

index finger began circling, occasionally brushing over her

button.  Her fingernails were short but beautifully manicured,

and she used them to gently groom the length of her labia.  Her

left hand joined it and together they began to unfold and explore

her rose pedals.  One finger in her left hand disappeared, and

then another, as her right hand came back up slightly and

caressed her clitoris.  I shifted my gaze to her breasts, which

and I could see her breathing heavily.  Slowly she worked herself

up to where I had seen Ellie ignite, but Mrs. French stopped

short and relaxed, and then brought herself up to the very brink

again, only to stop.  



She must have done this a half-dozen times before finally going

over the edge.  I thought for sure that she would end up knocking

old Mr. French over the side, but she just froze and quivered. 

It looked like she was gritting her teeth as she climaxed, being

so very careful not to make an untoward sound or motion.  I was

positive it was as frustrating for her to feel it as it was for

me to watch all at energy implode.



Finally, she caressed herself slowly, covered herself with a

sheet and fell asleep.  



When Ellie's day came I lay back on the bed, eyes closed, as

Ellie nursed my erection with her mouth.  I had been unable to

get Mrs. French out of my mind.  I imagined it was her nipples I

was sucking, her clit I was teasing, her head I held while she

licked me to a frenzy.  I saw that look of frustration, of

stifled release, on her face as I squirted semen into the back of

Ellie's throat.  





Conclusion.



A couple weeks later Ellie sent me another note. 





     Come to the house at 10pm on Friday next.  They'll be

     gone for two weeks.  Start taking vitamins, drink lots

     of fluids, and don't waste anything in the meantime.



Like last time, when Friday rolled around I felt like I was

cramping up in my crotch.  I took to walking around the house

like Groucho Marx because I couldn't stand up straight wearing

pants.  But the up side of it was that I was determined to leave

Ellie exhausted and sated and covered in semen.   





The cover story with my dad close to the other one.  A two week

trip (more or less) on a friend's sloop to Curacao, and wherever

else the wind took us.  No objections from him.



I got to the house at 10 with my duffle bag, figuring I could

wash the clothes at the house.  And I wasn't planning on wearing

much clothing anyway.  When I got to the door, I found a note

with my name on it.



     The door is unlocked.  I'm in the hot tub.  Through the

     entry way, right down the hall, third door to the left. 

     Leave your clothes in the hallway and prepare to get

     wet.



The house was dark, so it was a little bit of trouble to get

through the place.  Finally I got to the door and stripped.  I

opened it up.  It was hot and muggy inside.  There was some light

coming in through the open french doors against the far wall, and

in the middle of the room was what looked like a great big

barrel.  I could see Ellie was already in it, so I just walked

right up.  



That's when I realized that it wasn't Ellie who was sitting in

that tub.  The normally dark red hair looked black in the weak

light, but there was no mistaking it, nor the creamy, lustrous

skin.   I was standing there wearing nothing but an full erection

and a look of shock.



"Go ahead, get in," she said.  "I was the one who wrote the

notes."



I stood there frozen.



She was more insistent.  "Do it."



The water was near scalding, and I could feel my feet screaming

as I started to immerse them.  I managed to get in and recline,

the water came up to my armpits, and within a few moments I was

red and puffy like an overripe tomato.  Two seconds later I burst

into sweat.  



"It's nice to see you up close for a change," she said.



I gawked.  I'm a great conversationalist when I'm under the gun.



"Normally I see you behind a telescope."



I turned on the charm.  "You, uh, you, uh, you--?"



"I know all about it," she said, in that beautiful voice.  "Ever

since Ellie had you over while Rex and I were gone."  



I gulped.



"I found your clothing bag under my bed.  I asked Ellie, and it

didn't take long to get the whole story out of her."



This was sheer terror.  She didn't have a gun, but I felt like

she was getting ready to kill me.  I was a dead man if my father

found out about it.



She went on.  "Ellie's husband is back for a month, so she's

busy.  So I'm going to take over.  How does that sound?"



From hell to heaven in five seconds.  "It sounds great."



She smiled.  "Good.  I thought you'd see it my way."  She moved

her arm out of the tub and touched a button.  A ring of lights

flipped on about two feet below the water level, and suddenly the

water was clear and luminous.  The walls of the room lit up and

danced from the little waves of the water.  Her body was

iridescent.  Her hair burned bright red and her eyes were cobalt

blue.  The water distorted her breasts but I could see they

looked as luscious and full as they did before.  She reached her

foot over and began massaging my groin.  My equipment had jumped

into hiding the minute they touched hot water, but her foot began

to coax them back out.  Then she swam over to me and came to rest

along my length, with her arms wrapped around my back.  She

brought her lips up to mine and brushed them.  I tried to kiss

her but she pulled back, then brushed them again.  She teased me

like this for a moment and then planted one squarely on.  I began

to move my hands around to explore, but she broke it off.



"Stop," she breathed.  "Just relax.  Don't move.  Let all your

muscles go limp."  And then she brought her lips up to mine

again.



She held me for what seemed like an eternity.  Her tongue moved

in and began to count my teeth, feel the edge of my tongue, and

dart about in its exploration.  During all this she made me keep

my hands on her back and my penis press back against my belly. 

But it was too much--I could feel her skin rubbing mine and her

breasts smashed against me, her nipples burning on my skin, and I

erupted.  It was a fast, unsatisfying orgasm, and I felt

disgusted for fouling the water.



Again she pulled her lips away but refused to break the embrace. 

"Don't be bothered.  You'll last long now."



I don't know how long we kissed.  Finally she let me stroke her

and feel her curves, and then we got out of the tub.  I had more

wrinkles at this point than an avocado skin.  But we each towled

the other off, and it didn't matter.



She lead me by the hand up to the master bedroom that I knew so

well.  She already had the top covers pulled off, so we just

collapsed onto the bed.  I still had a towel and I painstakingly

dried her luxurious hair.  And when I was done, I gave her a kiss

on the nape of the neck.  And then another immediately below it,

and another.  She lay on her back, breathing contentedly and

fully as I kissed every inch of her torso, and lavished extra

attention on my favorite parts.  By the time I got to her pubic

hair, she was squirming languidly and wet with her natural

lubrications.



I took my place between her thighs and began to show off what

Ellie had taught me.  I used my tongue and fingertips almost

interchangeably to bring her up to what looked to be a fulfilling

orgasm--and the first of many.  She ran her fingers through my

hair as I worked, first playfully, but began to pull painfully as

she got excited.  I teased and manipulated her shamefully, until

she was desperately begging me for a release.  I made her nearly

cry with frustration as she teetered there at the top, brought up

but not quite over.  



But I was going to make sure there was no holding on this time. 

No gnashing of teeth or implosions.  When I felt like she could

not contain the tension any longer, I rolled her over the edge

into as violent a climax as I could imagine a woman having.  She

bellowed with the release, and continued to groan and carry on

with each deep breath she took.  I held her my face right on her

slit as she bucked me wildly up and down.  Her thighs pushed

tight against my ears and her fingers tore at my scalp, as she

tried to grind my head inside her.  She thrashed and moaned and

rippled and howled.  I had thought Ellie was demonstrative, but

this woman was a force unleashed.  When she showed signs of

calming down a started her up again, and continued to push her

over that brink until she was literally unable to open her eyes

and think clearly.  She fell asleep with me still gently

caressing her.  I climbed beside her, wrapped myself around her,

and drifted away.



When I woke, I was on my back and all I could see was her pubic

hair.  For a moment I thought I was still licking her off, but I

finally realized that she was sitting lightly on my chest.



She pulled herself back a little and bent down to give me a long,

warm kiss, and then pulled herself back up again.  I was hard as

a steel, and she quickly guided me inside her.  The feeling was

everything I had ever dreamed of--a close, soft, warm, moist

tunnel that I fit perfectly into.  It was the most luscious

feeling I had ever had in my life.  She gave me an angelic smile

as she held me motionless, and then she started to pull herself

off.  I couldn't bear the thought of it and bucked up to stay

inside.  She pulled nearly all the way out and then brought

herself back down again, painfully slowly, and then back up

again.  She worked me like I did her--she played me like a

musical instrument.  She made me laugh and cry.  She made me

tremble and she made me bold and she made me lay perfectly still

while every atom in my body cried for movement.  She did all the

work, as I had done earlier, until I simply could hold it no

longer.  I was getting electric shocks going along the length of

my member, pumping semen into her uncontrollably.  My groin

muscles cramped but continued to contract, and the exquisite

pleasure began to turn to pain.  I cried out.



She bent down and kissed me long, and held me.  I was still

inside her, and when she thought I was ready she did me again. 

This time she brought her hand down to manipulate herself, and we

went over the edge within seconds of each other.  She collapsed

on me, and we held onto each other as if we feared for our lives.



Eventually I found my voice.



"What's your first name," I whispered.



"What is yours?"



I looked deeply into her eyes, and answered her with a kiss.





*END*

--