AMY free porn video

'The little bastard!'

Amy snuck one hand across his mouth, the other under the waistband of his jeans, and jerked him backward from the cracked open door he'd been peering through. Tim jumped with shock and tripped over his feet because Amy pulled him so hard. Still, she managed to keep him upright, and stifle the grunt of surprise he made, as she bundled him through the adjoining door into his own bedroom.

"What on earth do you think you're doing, Tim?" She asked in an angry whisper as she released him.

"Nothing... "

"Liar!"

Amy slapped him across his face with the full flat of her hand.

"Fuck, Amy! That hurt."

"Amy? Is that you?" The voice came from his mother's bedroom.

Amy wagged a finger in warning at him - not that he was going to do anything, not with that furious expression in her eyes. She slipped out of his bedroom, and quickly moved to the other end of the corridor not.

"Hi, Susan. Yes, it's me."

"What was that noise?"

"I... I tripped over something. I'm ok, nothing broken."

"Is Tim with you?"

"He's around somewhere. Why? Do you want him?"

"No... just wondered. I'll be down in a little while. You can help me with supper."

Amy crept back to her cousin's bedroom door and beckoned him with a finger. She'd bawl him out downstairs, and not where her aunt might hear. He shook his head, a hand still pressed to the side of his face. Amy could see the redness from across the room, but she didn't care — he deserved it.

'Now!' she mouthed fiercely. 'Or else!'

He shrugged, rising off the bed, and Amy led the way downstairs to the room the household used as an office, thinking it to be about the furthest from her aunt's bedroom. She leaned back, her bottom conveniently resting against the edge of the desk, folding her arms across her chest, and waiting for him to come into the room.

"Close the door," she said firmly. "What the hell do you think you were doing, Tim?"

"Nothing!"

"Don't start that again, unless you want the other side slapped too. What were you doing?

"I was just going to the bathroom. I wasn't doing anything."

"Well, I watched you 'doing nothing' for at least two minutes with your head bobbing up and down. Trying to get a better view, were you?"

"I was just passing! I was trying to see if Mum was in."

"Oh, you've lost your voice have you? Couldn't call out? Don't you know peeping is wrong? You can't go peeping on your mother. You can't go peeping on anybody! Do you understand?"

Tim stood looking at the floor wearing a sheepish expression, from what she could see, and eventually nodded his head.

"I'm sorry. Are you going to tell Mum?" he asked, finally looking up, a slightly anxious expression creasing his face.

Amy couldn't tell whether his contrition was genuine — it had all the right components but she thought he might be faking... the blush, for one thing — she'd hit him so damn hard she couldn't distinguish blush from redness.

"I'll not tell, not for the moment, but... I want you to call my office in the morning and make an appointment. We'll have a talk about this problem you appear to have — on a professional level."

"Amy! I can't do that! I don't have a problem."

"Yes, you do Tim," Amy said in a gentler voice. "And you'll have a bigger problem if I tell your mother. So, do as you're told. The first thing you do tomorrow is phone my office and make an appointment."

Now he was blushing.

He sauntered shame-faced out of the room. Amy raised a hand to her mouth to silence a chuckle.

- - - - - - - -

"He was peeping! Honestly. His head was bobbing backwards and forwards, up and down, trying to get a better view of you. All the while he was rubbing himself off through his jeans."

"Oh dear," she laughed. "I should have made sure the damn door was properly closed."

"What were you doing, anyway?"

"You know... I get a little bored in the afternoons. Tim is usually at college. I'd forgotten he'd finished... and didn't expect you for supper so early. I was keeping myself amused."

"Yes... I can easily imagine. I've had the pleasure of watching you amuse yourself."

They weren't lovers, not really, just two people who decided to shun the rigors of middle-aged dating and who cherished a certain intimacy enhanced by familial ties that added a frisson to their play; theirs was a relationship of unsullied mutual pleasure.

"Do you want to watch now?"

"No... Aunty," she added for emphasis. "I'd much rather you do me. Catching Tim peeping has made me quite horny."

- - - - - - - -

The intercom buzzed — 'Tim is here', and Amy pressed the reply button, "Thank you, Mary. Five minutes then show him in."

She'd just finished entering up the notes on her last patient when Mary knocked lightly on her door and showed Tim into the consulting room.

"Hello, Tim." She smiled. "Sit yourself down." She pointed to the sofa along one side of her office. "Get comfy."

She watched his nervous glances around the room. He's clearly embarrassed, she thought, whether that's because he's here at the centre, or because he's shamed-faced about why he's here... I shall discover.

She moved from behind her desk and into an armchair, close to Tim, straightening her pleated black skirt beneath her as she sat, and arranging the matching jacket to hang neatly on her slim frame. She looked up and smiled inviting him to ask the obvious questions she could see in his expression.

"I didn't realise Mary worked with you."

"No reason why you should, Tim. You two have never really been close, not when you were growing up. When did you last see Mary?"

"We were just talking about that, while I was waiting. We both reckoned it was my fifteenth birthday party."

"So, that's what, almost four years ago?"

Tim nodded. "Well I'm guessing she looks at you differently now you've reached adulthood, you're no longer 'the baby' of the family."

"Mary's your receptionist." Tim asked.

"Well, yes - amongst other things. She's just completing her ther****t training. She's been working with me part-time, while studying."

"What exactly do you do here?"

"What do you think we do here, Tim?"

"I'm not sure. I thought you worked as a psychiatrist, a ther****t, or something."

"That's partly right. A lot of our work involves psychoanalysis and therapy. We specialise in sexual therapy, helping people overcome a wide range of sexual problems that darken their lives and sometimes the lives of people they come into contact with."

Amy paused for a moment, watching the little gestures and movements clearly expressed in his face and body language as Tim absorbed the salient content of her statement.

"Do you know why you are here today, Tim?"

"You told me to make an appointment."

"Yeesss... but do you know WHY you are here?"

"I guess you want to shout at me some more."

"I'm not going to shout at you," she said in her calmest, sweetest voice. "I was very angry with you on Monday, surprised more than anything, and I sincerely apologise for slapping you. That was wrong of me. I didn't ask you to make an appointment so that I could shout at you. What I would like is for you and I to discuss your little problem, like adults. Do you think we can you do that?"

He nodded sheepishly, already squirming a little at the intensity of Amy's look.

"It's is a common enough problem for boys — I'm sorry, young men of your age. Nothing that we can't resolve today, or perhaps with a further session."

She talked with him for a few minutes, mostly about what he planned to do now he was going to university, softening up stuff, just to get him talking. Amy already knew most of it from his mother, and slowly, she skilfully steered their conversation toward his friends and social life before plunging in.

"When you masturbate..."

"What?" Tim asked with a startled expression, his hands involuntarily moving into his lap.

"Masturbate, wank, toss off... what ever your generation calls it... "

"I don't," he blustered, glancing anywhere around the room except where Amy sat.

"Look at me." She commanded in a tone impossible to ignore, waiting until Tim's eyes returned to her. "Yes you do; all eighteen year olds masturbate, both boys and girls. There really is no point in pretending otherwise. Ok?"

Tim nodded... after a moment's reflection.

"What I want to hear from you is, when you masturbate, who are you thinking of? Is it a girlfriend, a girl from the internet, your Mum, or maybe it's me... or is it a boy?"

She spoke each component on her list slowly, letting each one register before moving to the next, closely observing his reactions, silently noting Tim's expression, when his eyes opened wide enough for them to drop out, and when his cheeks flushed with colour.

"Amy!"

"Tim, I thought we were going to be grown up. Anything you say here, anything that happens here, will never be repeated; it is completely and absolutely kept within these walls. So tell me, please, whom do you think about when you are masturbating?"

"I... I'm not... I can't."

"Ok. We'll take them one at a time if that will be easier for you. Let's start with boys. Do you ever think about boys when you masturbate?"

"No! Of course not!"

"I didn't think so, though you shouldn't dismiss male on male sexuality so lightly. There is absolutely nothing wrong in following that path, if that is where a person's happiness is to be found. Ok? So, don't rush to judge. Let's move on.

"The Internet next, that's really easy. I take it you look at porn, yes?"

He wrinkled his nose, and then nodded.

"Well, I'd be very seriously worried if you didn't. So, tell me what you like? Blondes? Brunettes? Redheads? Young girls, older women? You're of a good age to have a serious crush on older women."

Tim said nothing, just turned a deeper shade of red. Amy had dealt with worse.

"Ok. Let's try something else. What about breasts? Do you like large ones, little pointy ones, big nipples, introverted nipples...?

Pussies — do you like them shaved or hairy, spread or teasingly tucked between thighs, wet or dry...?"

Tim moved his hands over the threatening bulge in his trousers.

"Penetration... lesbianism," Amy continued. "Girls masturbating. Do you like to see girls masturbating, Tim?"

He nodded once and squirmed in his seat, trying not to be obvious, trying to get comfortable.

"Good. We are beginning to get somewhere. Now, when you are looking at the pictures of these girls masturbating, who are you thinking of? Is it just the picture on the screen, or do you fantasize, with a particular girl in mind?"

"Varies... If the girl is... you know... hot. Sometimes it's girls I know."

"Do you have a girlfriend, Tim?"

"Yes."

"Is she nice. Sexy?"

"She's ok."

"Ah... I take it from your less than enthusiastic response that she doesn't let you do anything. Is that it? Girls can be really awkward just at the age when you long to plunge headlong into discovery. Girls need to be wooed, they need you to be confident, and responsible, and above all else, they need you to be loyal and trustworthy. They are not going let you into their knickers if they think you'll be straight down the pub to boast about it.

"So, I imagine you get frustrated because she won't let you touch her, and you turn to the Internet for a bit of relief? That's perfectly normal for your generation. My generation had to rely upon magazines, with all the problems of where to hide them so parents wouldn't discover them. Is it your girlfriend that you visualise when you look at pictures of girls masturbating?"

"Be difficult. I've only ever seen her with her clothes on."

Amy regarded him in silence for an uncomfortably long time, watching him fidget, and imagining the conflicts and desires stirring his emotions.

"You are at that wonderful curiosity stage of imagining what a real pussy looks like and the screen images don't quite get you there; an abundance of curiosity and no way to release it. Tell me, Tim, was that why you were sneaking a peak at your Mum? Were you simply curious, or do you actually think about your Mum when you're wanking?"

"Amy... come on, that's not fair."

"Well... do you think about me? I'm only five years younger than Susan... but I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say I look at least ten or twelve years younger."

Tim cast his eyes round the room looking for some place to hide. "I'm not saying anything else. Do you have a toilet?"

Amy observed him for a moment, professionally, but with a deep smouldering gaze from Tim's point of view, which seemed focused around the level of his waist.

"Yes. Through there," she finally answered, pointing to a door.

Amy watched Tim shuffle to the treatment room, smiling, wondering quite what he would make of it. She looked at her watch, and thought she'd give Tim ten minutes, moving to her desk and pressing the intercom button.

"Mary, Tim's on channel 2 if you're bored."

Amy called up the treatment room video camera on her computer screen, noting Mary had wasted no time in logging on. Amy pooled her skirt onto her lap, and settled to watch Tim while her index finger drew figures of eight across the tight stretched fabric of her panties, using the end of her nail to focus the sensations.

It took Tim less than a minute to work out that the second light switch turned on a projector. Amy used the images for sexual therapy treatment — most were erotic rather than pornographic, although there were a few cum shots, vaginas and mouths — nothing Tim wouldn't have seen on the Internet. Tim, like a k** in a candy shop, didn't know quite what to look at first. The images, two and three times life size, were great, but so was the range of dildos on the shelf by a treatment couch. He'd not seen those before; well, only pictures. He picked one up, a pink one, and sniffed it.

"Did you see that, Amy?"

"Yes, quite funny."

"If I'd known, I'd have left my panties for him. Ooh, he's unzipping."

Amy quickly leaned forward, pulled up a sub-menu and loading images of herself, just her pussy and breasts, for Tim to enjoy.

"That's not fair. Put some of me up."

"Which ones, Mary?"

"The ones where I'm using that same pink dildo. Ooh... he's into it."

"Leave the line open Mary, I always enjoy listening to you."

Amy stretched back in her reclining desk chair, pushing her bottom into the seat and pulling the fabric tighter across her labia as she snuck her hand in from the side of her panties, enjoying the tight pull of the thong fabric across her anus rocking herself in the chair for effect. With two fingers, she worked herself off watching Tim spray with looping spurts onto the tiled floor and listening to Mary's gasped mewing through the intercom.

Amy cleaned her fingers on a citrus scented wipe (it masked any sexual odour that pervaded the office) and dropped it in the waste bin. Tidied herself, shut down the video and the intercom, blowing a kiss to Mary as she did so, and looked at her watch — eight minutes. 'Time flies when you're having fun,' she thought.

Tim emerged shyly from the treatment room and took a couple of steps into the office, turning his head back to the door, disbelieving where he'd been.

"Where were we?" Amy asked, with complete nonchalance, once again in her armchair as if she'd never left it. "Yes. I asked you when you masturbate; when you cum, do you imagine it is me you're unloading yourself into. Do you imagine it's my pussy, or do you imagine it's your Mum's?"

"I... What's that room for?"

"It's a treatment room for clients with serious sexual problems. Some people have to be stimulated to express themselves sexually. We can, if we think it will help them, show them pictures, teach them to masturbate, by themselves, or with a partner; and sometimes we teach them how to fuck. I don't think your problems are really all that serious, Tim." Amy struggled to keep her face impassive. "So I'm afraid you won't be getting to see our private porn collection. Are you going to answer my question?"

"And all those dildos — why so many?"

"Don't play naïve. You know full well what dildos are for. You've seen them in porn shots. Different girls and women like different things. Different colours for example. The dark ones excite some pale-skinned women and some dark-skinned women are the opposite. Some women can't get by without the bunny ears to stimulate their clitoris — you know what the clitoris is?"

"I've heard, seen pictures."

"Well, maybe we can ask Mary to demonstrate."

Tim turned so swiftly in the direction of the door to reception that he almost fell over.

Amy smiled. "Don't look so shocked. Come and sit down, before you fall over. Our primary function is to educate, so that our clients, such as you, know what they are doing and don't go fumbling around causing grief to everyone they touch. If we think our client will be best served by a personal demonstration, then that is what we do. You would be surprised how few men actually know where the clitoris is and how to give it the attention it deserves."

Tim sat, his mouth wide open, wondering what depth of ineptitude he'd have to display to get a 'personal demonstration'.

God, I love working with young men, Amy thought. They are so deliciously transparent. "You still haven't answered my question."

"What question?"

"Good heavens, Tim, concentrate! When you are cumming, whom do you imagine you are pumping yourself into? We appear to have narrowed the choice down to me... or your Mum, unless of course you now want to add Mary into the equation?"

Tim's eyes moved of their own volition back toward the reception room door and he tried to imagine Mary, what she might look like. He could only really remember her from the party four years ago when she was wearing shorts and a top and she seemed chubbier then she was now. She had spied him ogling her. She'd been drinking and sidled up to him, teasing, begging for a birthday kiss, tonguing his ear and whispering, 'Come and see me when you're old enough. I might have a surprise for you.'

"Hello, I'm over here. Are you going to answer me?"

Tim shook his head, trying to remember what Amy had asked him, and let his mouth run away with his thoughts.

"It was too dark to see anything really in Mum's room, and how could I imagine your... thingy..."

"It's called a vagina, pussy, fanny, or cunt... but it is not a thingy." Amy said, with just the right tinge of mock irritation.

"Well, I couldn't anyway."

"Yes, you could. You are not really trying. Each of us is an expert in imagining, and we can project our deepest and sometimes our crudest desires onto the images we need to see."

Amy reclined in her seat and crossed her legs, turning his way, knowing he would just be able to see the pale skin of her upper thigh above the lacy elastic tops of her stockings.

"For example, if I close my eyes," which she did. "I can easily imagine you wanking. I can see you standing naked, a young muscled frame, your hand clutching your shaft, working it up and down, and I can imagine creamy ropes of cum spurting — you shoot lots because you're young — that changes as you grow older."

Amy opened her eyes, catching Tim, mouth agog, and eyes transfixed on her now slightly parted legs.

"Close you eyes Tim, and imagine me. You know what I look like, my face, my body shape, shouldn't be too much trouble there. I am sure you can easily imagine my breasts, even though there pretty much hidden by my blouse and jacket. They are small, and even now, despite my age, almost like pyramids, little volcano peaks on my chest, crowned by tiny little button nipples that need to be stimulated to show properly and set in a pink areola about half an inch across. Can you imagine them, can you make them appear in you head?"


"Yes," he croaked, opening his eyes.

Of course you can, sweetie, Amy thought, you've just seen pictures of them.

"You see, Tim, that wasn't difficult. You can imagine anything you want. Now my vagina... "

She drew her skirt slowly up her legs, exposing her stocking tops and white embroidered panties nestling between her thighs.

"Do you like the word vagina, Tim, or shall I use cunt or pussy?"

Tim snapped his mouth shut and moved his hands again to conceal himself.

"Vagina... is... is good."

"Vagina is very good, Tim, but they are all different, I'm sure you've noticed as much from your forays on the Internet. A lot of girls, and women, like to express their individuality through styling their pubic hair, mine for example is trimmed to a simple vertical dark bar, about yay wide, and a hand width high. I don't have any hair on my labia, or underneath. I prefer it that way, its so much nicer for a man or a woman to touch. I love being stroked just on the skin, and I like a lot of tongue, licking and probing me, and that's so much better without all the hair in the way.

"I've those funny inner lips that poke out between my labia, like knotted elastic, slightly darker than the surrounding skin. I think it looks nice especially with having no hair there, and being shaved down there means the hairs don't get caught up in the lip folds. I was forever scratching myself before I started shaving. Mary, on the other hand, is completely bald, smooth as silk. She looks like a c***d, not a woman of twenty-two... and she tastes like an angel."

That was all it took — he choked back a squeal as he ejaculated and hoped the stain wouldn't show on his trousers, his face scarlet from trying to control himself.

Amy watched him for a moment, trying hard not to smile; she really got a kick out making a young man cream just from the description of her body, and the last line invariably tipped the balance. She let him recover some of his poise.

"Well, Tim, I think that has taken your mind off your Mother, do you agree?"

"Yes," he gasped.

"Good. I'll ask Mary to come in and help you clean up." Amy moved back to her desk and clicked the intercom open.

"Mary, can you come to the treatment room and give Tim a hand."

"I'm sorry," Tim whispered.

"Tim never ever be sorry, or ashamed, or embarrassed over something as natural as ejaculating. The entire purpose is to make you understand that sex is perfectly normal, natural, and fun. But not with your Mother, please, Tim."

"Come on, Tim, let's get you sorted," Mary said, coming into the room helping him off the sofa.

Mary closed the door quietly, wondering if her Mum had already turned the video camera on.

"Take your trousers off and I'll sponge them clean for you. Come on, no need to be shy."

Tim turned his back to Mary, unfastened, unzipped, and lowered his trousers, passing them to her without turning around.

"I'll put the slide show on again. You might as well watch it while I'm cleaning these. There are some clean boxers on that shelf if you want a fresh pair. They're those paper disposable types, no need to bring them back."

"You knew I was watching then. Before?" Tim asked, helping himself from a box on the shelf and moving behind the treatment couch to change his underwear.

"Oh yeh!" she said nonchalantly, "There's a little camera up there. I watched you gloop all over the floor. I got pretty sticky myself; that's me, by the way, with the pink dildo," Mary said pointing at the image projected on the wall. "I think you liked that one. You certainly twitched when it came on."

"Did your Mum... did Amy watch as well? Why were you watching?"

"Yes, she's your consultant... of course she watched. She's probably watching now. Give her a wave. Make her laugh, wave your prick at her."

"Mary!"

"What?"

"How can you be so blasé? She's my cousin, you're my...."

"Second cousin or something... I can never remember how that works. At least neither of us is your Mum. That's just naughty. Well, not naughty exactly, it just sometimes leads to horrendous guilt and screws up peoples lives, better to find sex elsewhere. If you want sex, go out and get yourself a girlfriend. Don't go snooping around your Mum.

"As for watching you... apart from the fun," she said teasingly. "It's useful to see how a client reacts, body language, reaction to images, inhibition, or lack of. All pointers to the way your mind and body works. You were perfectly normal by the way. We would both have been much more concerned about your mental condition if you'd not jacked off. But mostly, the camera is there for security, our clients, and our own. Oh, and thank you for cleaning the floor, I don't not what it is in semen, but it's a bugger to get off these tiles once it has dried on.

"There, I've cleaned your trousers. I'll leave them on the heater to dry while I give you the rest of your treatment. Hop up on the couch."

Mary wriggled and shucked off her white medical style gown, letting it pool on the floor around her feet, stepping over it, then picking it up and hanging on the door hook.

"Mary! What are you doing?"

"Don't look away Tim. Oh... that's Mum by the way, on the wall. I think she has the sexiest pussy I've ever seen. What do you think? I'm going to have to turn the projector off. I need you to concentrate on me. Ok... have you seen enough?"

Tim, not yet on the couch, his head turning this way and that at Mary's instigation, wished she would just stop from talking for a minute. She was making his head whirl; he was not at all sure what was going on.

"What's going on? You've been showing me pictures of yourselves? That's... "

"Nice? Is that the word you're searching for? It had better be. We are not going to project just any old images for clients. Well, there are a few, warm-up images I suppose you could call them, but the rest are mostly me or Amy."

Mary wasn't going to tell him they also used pictures of his Mum — it would defeat the object of the exercise.

"It would be pretty shallow of us to be counselling on sex and then use a bunch of exploitive porn images to titillate, don't you think? Get up on the couch please and face me."

Tim moved himself onto the couch, as instructed, still struggling to come on level terms with the last few minutes.

"Why are you looking so shocked? Is it me in my underwear or the pictures?"

She didn't stop to let him answer. She knew from experience, the last thing he needed was to think. Her job, very simply, was to keep him, like a surfer, riding the crest of a wave.

"Anyone would think you'd never seen a woman in her underwear, well... I suppose it is pictures only, in your case. This session is to teach you to respect the female body. We like to send our male clients away fully equipped to appreciate a woman, with some pointers on how to make a woman feel good, and some tips on making love to her."

"Mary I'm not... we're not going... "

"No... we're not. Not unless I get carried away." She winked. "Look, just relax, Tim. Nothing unusual is happening here. This is normal standard practice, though usually we don't do this until the second or third session. Mum... Amy obviously thinks your problem isn't too serious. She'd have spent a lot longer with you otherwise."

Mary cupped her breasts, threatening to spill them from her bra, and continued, "Good heavens, isn't this what you've been longing for, to see a real woman's body? I'd rather satisfy your curiosity by letting you see mine than have you peeping around and getting yourself into trouble. There is nothing wrong with voyeurism in and of itself, but trust me, it works better within a relationship where you can tease each other beyond the point of endurance and end with cataclysmic, mind-bending sex, than by peeping through keyholes or windows. Peepers always get caught, because in the end, they actually want the other person to know they are peeping."

"Emm... I suppose your right. I won't be doing do it again. This is your job then? Showing off your body to men?"

"And women. Women can have complex sexual frustrations, quite often more complicated than men's. Sometimes a marriage is on the point of breaking down because a man who's good in most respects wants to do something with his wife that she finds objectionable for reason of culture or background—like going down on her, or anal."

She turned away from him and patted her bottom, teasingly, enough to make Tim blush anew.

"The wife wants to save the marriage, so we help her to overcome her reticence, give her confidence and a degree of control so they can both enjoy their lives instead of ending up as another broken marriage statistic.

"Sex is normal. Even so called abnormal sex is normal. Sex is pleasurable. Sex with love is even better. Rather than have you go fumbling around in the dark, possibly wriggling through several layers of clothes, and quite probably giving some girl an experience that will haunt her for years, it is better that I show you what is what, and how to do the things that most girls and women will enjoy." She said, running her fingers under the elastic edging of her panties, and watching his eyes follow her hands.

"And to answer your question, yes, this is part of my job. Another part is staffing the reception and a third part is counselling, like Amy did with you. Usually, in here, I work with older men and Mum... Christ, I'm going stick with calling her to Amy... Amy works with younger men; we generally get a better response working that way 'round. Amy thinks you have too much of an older woman interest, so you've me to tease you."

"I think you've both teased me enough," he said, his hands strategically hiding the swell beginning to tent the freshly donned bowers. "I've learned my lesson. You can stop now."

"Oh no, I'm only just warming up. Besides, I have an exhibitionist streak in me, it has been a long week, and I'm enjoying making you blush. I remember making you blush once before, years ago, though I can't for the life of me remember what it was I said to you—see, you're blushing again. Relax, Tim, you are here to learn and enjoy. I guarantee, what you learn today will pay handsome rewards to your future relationships; girls love a man who knows how to make them feel special, a man who isn't just interested in getting himself off."

"Now pay attention; breasts." Mary cupped her bra-clad breasts. "Have you taken a girl's bra off?"

"Never had that sort of luck." Though, just at the moment, as he watched the bulging upper surface of her breast quiver against its restraint, Tim was beginning to wonder how much luckier he could get.

"Undoing a girl's bra off is important. Undressing a partner is very symbolic in a relationship; you need to learn how to do it properly and expertly. Nothing puts a girl off more than a guy fumbling, trying to undo her bra. You have to realise that getting to the bra taking off stage is a huge step, a girl builds up confidence to allow you to do it, then you fumble around, the moments gone, and she backs off. And that's it... you've lost your chance, and both of you are frustrated. Sit on the edge of the couch. Right, put your arms around me and undo my bra."

Mary snuggled up to Tim, quickly putting her own arms around his lower back, pulling him onto her body, relishing in the feel of his erection against her tummy. Tim fumbled around, not really knowing what he was doing, concentrating, eager to see Mary's breasts and not thinking too much of her body, warm against his. She gave him to a silent count of thirty and then backed off him, turning around so he could see how the fastener worked.

"See, if I was your girl, I'm fed up. You're messing with it and I've gone off the idea. Practice undoing it and doing it up again for a minute."

Mary stood still and let him practice, his fingers tickling her back, sending nice warming tingles through her body, not sexual, just nice.

"What you need to do, Tim, is find a mate, preferably a girl, but a boy if you have to — borrow a bra and practice. I'll lend you one of mine if you like. Ok, that's enough. Do it up again, please."

Mary turned to face Tim once more, took his hands, and guided them behind her back. "The skill you need to acquire is to unfasten it instantly. Learn to do it with just one hand, because I guarantee your other hand will be busy elsewhere. Now, undo it, please and I'll give you a tour of my breasts."

"Are you sure you want to do that? We are relatives. Isn't that what Amy was annoyed at me for?"

"It's sweet of you to ask. I don't have a problem with it. As for being relatives, it is a pretty slim link in our case. I think I could fuck you without having a legal problem. I'd have an ethical problem, because you are a client, but we're outside of office hours. I've stopped working for the day and this is family business." She called out. "And I don't suppose Amy is going to charge you, so nah... no ethical problem. Why? Do you want to fuck me?"

She stroked his face, giggling at his startled expression.

"Don't answer that. We're getting ahead of the programme. Relatives. Well, it's all relative." She slipped her bra off, watching Tim's eyes light up. "Relativi-titty, you might say. What do you think?"

"They are... gorgeous!"

"Emm... they are not bad. Bigger than Amy's, smaller than your Mum's — oop's I'm not supposed to be mentioning the 'M' word. I don't like my nipples much, prefer Amy's. She makes me sick. She's forty, and she has a better body than me. Listen to me, I'm nattering away, and of course, all you want to do is touch them. Right?"

He nodded, perhaps a bit sheepishly, but rapidly forgetting why he'd been called to the consulting rooms in the first place.

"Be my guest... but before you do, here are some do's and don'ts. Don't touch breasts with cold hands. I've never yet met any girl who enjoys that straight off, Playing around with ice cubes or lollys is different, that's consensual. So, do warm your hands first. Yours are warm enough. Don't squeeze them. They are not putty, unless a girl tells you that is what she wants. So, do be gentle, especially at first. Don't use teeth on nipples unless a girl asks you to, rather nibble with your lips; you can apply more than enough pressure that way. Ok... I'm going to guide your hands first, show you how I like to be touched... feel away."

- - - - - -

"Look, Susan."

"She's damn good. My little boy is completely mesmerised. Look at his face! He's in heaven."

"Look at his cock, straining at the leash."

"Is Mary going to let him fuck her?"

"I should think so. She is insatiable. If I hadn't persuaded her to do this job, she could easily have ended up whoring. I'd have made sure she did it properly, quality clients, not street work. No, she's too talented to be wasting herself sleeping around. This job is perfect for her. You can see how much she's enjoying it; see her eyelids flickering, head thrown back exposing the erogenous zones around her neck. Tim hasn't noticed; she'll lead him there, when she's ready. I think she will take him home, fuck him in a bed. That's what she prefers. Poor boy won't know what hit him. Anyway, we have rules, no fucking in the office."

"What... not even me." Susan pouted.

"Well, you, my dear Aunt, are a very special client," Amy murmured, moving a hand from Susan's breast, first cupping her damp cunt, then sliding two fingers into her with practised ease. "I've never had a client so difficult to dissuade from the path of i****t. Kiss me."

Amy pulled back from the embrace, panting from a quite unexpectedly vigorous assault.

"Wow! You're excited. I've a new dildo harness... do you want to try?"

"And you put all the blame on me for this dalliance? I sometimes wonder if you actually know what you are doing... at the professional level. I'll try, but leave the big screen on. I want to see my little boy's face when Mary makes him cum."

- - - - -

Mary eased Tim off her breast, slowly, as she was enjoying his suckling. He's a natural, but then most men are, she thought, instinct probably, though Tim's definitely in the best ten-percent. She enjoyed having her breasts suckled, properly that is, a nice nuzzling suck with the lips far enough in to take the nipple into the mouth, and squeeze from behind with the tongue swirling across the sensitive end.

She'd once had an orgasm from a client who insisted it was possible to orgasm from breast stimulation alone, a woman who'd perfected exactly how and where to apply pressure, though she'd cheated, in Mary's opinion, by a finger hovering like a butterfly at the entrance to Mary's vagina and what tipped Mary over the edge was not knowing whether or when she was going to be penetrated.

Suckling, done well, always got Mary wet; she was wet, and tingling, and later, she decided, I'm going to fuck him till he begs for mercy, but I'll let him think it's all his own doing, that he's too sexy to resist.

"Ok?" Mary asked, putting on her soft caring voice. "You'd better stop, Tim, you're getting me excited."

She stepped back from him, play acting a little more excited than she actually was for his benefit, smiling warmly, and admiring the more than evident tenting in the disposable boxers he'd donned, thinking how the clearly expressed masculinity of his lower body contrasted with his smooth boyish face and red-flushed cheeks.

"You sure you've not done that before? Some girl is going to be very happy."

Tim blushed even more, if that were possible, and shrugged his shoulders in a half embarrassed kind of way.

"Hop up onto the end of couch, lover boy, and face this way."

She indicated to where as she was placing a couple of pillows more or less in the centre of the couch, and Tim's eyes betrayed his excitement. Mary sat cross-legged facing him.

"Calm down, or you'll explode... again. We'll deal with that in a while. We've plenty of time. Now, pay attention once more.

"Panties and what's inside them. If a girl is letting you see or touch her panties, she's already pretty much made up her mind where she wants things to go; not me, of course, because I'm working, sort of, though I don't mind telling you, Tim, I'm enjoying this, my breasts are still tingling." She touched her breasts, gently squeezing with her fingertips.

"Anyway back to panties, you can spoil her mind-set in a flash by being over-eager. Don't go diving straight in. It's the most intimate part of a girl and she wants to be coaxed, especially at first, to open herself to you.

"There are other times when a girl can't wait to be taken, she won't care about gentleness or foreplay, she'll just want to get your prick inside her, and for you to ride her like the devil; but I don't imagine you will be meeting one of those just yet." Not until I get him upstairs Mary told herself.

"So gentleness is the key. I'm going to lay back and I'm going to try not to think of you as my second cousin or whatever, and I want you to do what you think will persuade me to let you take my panties off; I'm not going to guide you, like I did with my breasts. You are on your own. Ok?"

She held his eyes, trying to reassure him, despite his nervous breathing, this was what she wanted—he didn't know quite how much, or how desperately, she was beginning to crave being touched.

"Ok... but are you sure."

Mary, aiming for maximum seduction, gaped open the front of her panties teasingly and peered down. "Absolutely. Now it's a little icky down there because you got me so excited. If you don't want to... "

"No... I want to."

"Ok, then remember what I said, don't go diving straight in."

She smiled sweetly and lay back across the cushions, effectively raising her pubis off the couch, and bent her legs at the knee, moving her feet forward until they were just in front of his groin, knowing that if he wanted to reach her panties, he would have to move to where her feet could caress him.


He started too gently, and too quickly, stroking her shins, almost impatiently.

"Slower, firmer, and don't forget my legs have backs," Mary whispered.

Ah... better, he takes instruction well, Mary thought. I wonder if he can take charge, probably not yet, doesn't have the confidence, but he will do before I'm finished with him. Good, finally he's moving forward, don't move your feet, girl, let him get used to having his ball sack on your toes.

She parted her knees fractionally, just to encourage him, and made little appreciative sounds as his hand caressed the inside of her thighs, wriggling her toes a little and feeling him move, adjusting his position and giving her more freedom to cautiously explore.

Mary parted her legs, sighing dreamily, not entirely for effect, for she was enjoying herself, and she heard him breathe, almost a growl, as his eyes moved to the gusset of her panties where Mary was quite sure the evidence of her arousal showed; and in parting her legs, her feet had to turn, and in turning, she could slide one into his boxers to find the heat she succoured, almost feel his heart pounding.

Her own heart began to falter as his traced the lace-embroidered trim of her panties, following where the edge rounded to her bottom. She raised her hips, easing his path, and the pulse of him lay burning along the underside of her foot, twitching, as he reached forward to cup her bottom, seeping, as his fingertips latched on the waist of her panties. He slowly eased the fabric down under her bottom, hesitantly, not for nervousness... for pleasure. Mary wrapped her toes along him, stroking with her foot and he began to shake, excited, groaning expectantly and forgetting her panties, hands clenching the cheeks of her now bare bottom.

"Try not to come. Save it," She whispered.

With her toe, she dug a hole in the woven paper of the disposable boxers, tearing through it, pushing it away with her foot, releasing him so he was naked and erect, quivering, still gripping her bottom; and his nakedness sought to fill the room.

His hands relaxed, gaining control again, and Mary helped him, her hand touching his as they struggled to do the simple thing. She put her panties behind her head, and lay back again, exposed, vulnerable, glistening, waiting.

For a brief moment he was unsure, feeling he needs guidance, until Mary's laden aroma veiled the room and all that could be seen was a touch away, a fingertip, stroke soft like warm honey, rising to his touch. He moved closer, leaning in, the blush of his cheek warming her thigh, and he startled her by sinking down, suckling, as if at her breast, greedily, an infant taking fill, nosing, wetting his face, unabashed, scarcely aware of Mary's little moans, and her quickening breath, and her hips rising to meet his tongue, or her hand now in his hair, rocking his head, increasing, forcing, until he was just there for the ride, and Mary, wanton, blanked of anything but her own desire, fucked his face with almost brutal force, trapping him in the final throws, breathless, back arched, dribbling off his tongue.

- - - - - -

"Oh my God! Did you see that?"

"Yes. I'll be having words with my daughter tomorrow."

"You don't think she was faking it then?"

"No. No way was she faking that. She's not supposed to get that intimate with clients in the treatment room, not even your son. Look at her, she's spent. Poor Tim doesn't know what to do. He's puzzled and confused. Not the right result."

Amy continued, "There is a real art involved, detachment is the key. Keep things on an almost medical level, so the client is instructed, stirred at the physical level, but not the emotional level. She's supposed to guide him, not satisfy herself at his expense.

Moving for her clothes, Amy remarked, "We'd better get dressed. I imagine, following that little display, she'll be wanting to take him upstairs."

"Do you want to stop her?"

"No, that will punish Tim more than Mary. He'll think he's done something wrong. I'll talk to him next week, see how he's feeling, make sure he's not becoming emotionally attached. God, she can be a selfish little slut at times."

- - - - - -

"Oh my God. Jeepers. That was something else." Mary laid-back, arms spread, legs spread, dissipating heat, restoring contact with the rest of her body. "Give me a minute."

Tim, crouched between her legs where she'd released him, didn't know what he was supposed to do. Was that it? Am I supposed to get dressed, or what?

"Did you cum, Tim?"

"No, you said... "

"Ok, pull me up."

She reached for his hand, leaned onto him, found his mouth, kissed him, licking where she'd wetted him; her hungry little mouth feverishly found his lips, his tongue, tasting him, tasting herself on him.

"Emm... pussy juice, you taste of my pussy juice. You liked it, didn't you? You like to feed on my pussy and my breasts."

She snaked a hand behind his neck, pulling him onto her, nibbling his mouth, tongue dancing.

"You want more?" she spoke the words into his mouth, and brought her sweet laden fingers from between her legs as he nodded his head, pushing her wet fingers between their mouths for Tim to savour and for her to enjoy his pleasure.

"Just keep kissing me," she whispered and shuffled forward, reaching between them, finding him, guiding him onto the slippery fold of her sex, working him in the slit, letting the head take measure of where it yet might slip. It took no time, he was already overloaded with sensations, and he tensed, stopped kissing her, and wet her, copiously, while she stroked along his shaft. Mary started giggling, still keeping her mouth on his, still flicking her tongue, until he relaxed, her giggling infectious.

"Who'd have thought?" she whispered "So sexy. I haven't cum like that in more time than I care to remember."

She pulled away, her hands on his shoulders, looking down between them where it rested joined to her by a tiny ivory coloured pool of semen.

"Are you ok?"

"Yes, mostly. It was all a bit of a blur."

"Well... first time and all that, it's easy to get carried away. You were close to perfect, Tim. I mean it, it was fun, it was as sexy as hell, and it was good. Mostly for me but we'll make amends. Come on, let's get sorted," she said, wiping herself with her panties then tossing them into the sink. "Leave these things here. We can tidy in the morning."

"What?"

"I thought you wanted to fuck me. I prefer to be fucked in my bed; my apartment is upstairs. You coming or not?"

"Are you sure? Is it... you know?"

"Actually, I'm past caring. I want to see if you can fuck me as well as you can do everything else. Can you bring that pink dildo you like so much, and the jelly? If we've time, I'll show you how to use it, on both of us."

She took his hand and led him across the office, the telltale scent of citrus betraying its recent occupants. I hope they've not moved upstairs, she thought, opening the door from the reception room and leading Tim up the flight of stairs.

"My apartment," Mary said, turning on the lights and showing him in. "It's small but has everything I need."

She moved across the room to draw the curtains and could sense Tim watching her from the doorway. When she turned, she caught his almost adoring expression, although it bothered less than she thought it might.

"Come on, you. Bathroom."

She figured a diversion, while she thought out how to play this. She turned on the taps of the bidet and adjusted the temperature.

"Sit down there, facing me."

She wondered when he was going to speak.

"No, I want to do it." Mary said as he went to wash himself.

"I can... "

"Shhh, trust me."

Mary knelt on the bathroom mat and lowered her hands into the stream of water, directing it onto him. He flinched, then decided it wasn't going to scald him and felt her hands gently wash away traces of his recent exploits, easing back his foreskin, glancing up at him mischievously as she smoothed her fingers behind the bulbous head of his rapidly thickening prick.

"Nice?" she asked moving her hands, cleaning between his bottom, making him flinch again.

"Yeh... it's indescribable."

Mary finished, passing him a bidet towel.

"My turn, or your turn, which ever way you choose to appreciate it," she said, taking his place on the bidet.

He knelt down, looking slightly apprehensive.

"I've never done this before."

"I should hope not. I'm jealously going to lead you to do lots of things you've never done before. Just be gentle, let your fingers feel their way."

Tim had never in his wildest fantasy dreamed of doing this — it seemed beyond intimate, cleaning between the folds of her sex, finding protrusions and hollows, crevices and openings under his fingertips that brought trembles and sharp intakes of breath... from both of them. He let his fingers be his eyes, and kept his own eyes on Mary, learning from her expressions where she liked to be touched, imprinting his newfound knowledge to steer the same path again in the dark. It was also a first for Mary, as she'd never let a man do this for her, or a woman. Quite different from sharing a shower, this was powerfully sexual, and its eroticism and his caring tenderness caught her by surprise. Gentleness was not her usual desire.

She'd intended an ablution, a gentle discovery, but now she wished he'd experiment, probe further, take control, and she moved just enough as his stroked across the opening of her vagina to lead him. She sighed as his finger entered her, and she reached forward, gripping his shoulders, using her touch to guide him, her hand squeezing, go further, explore.

Almost imperceptibly, Mary began to move, rocking against his finger until Tim brought his other hand to her tummy, the heel of his palm under the curve of her pubis, stopping her movement, wanting to do this himself, wanting to give, and not to have Mary take, like before in the treatment room.

She made guttural noises, constructing a code transmitted through her hands on his shoulders, squeeze left, press into my pubis, squeeze right, work your finger in me, and one became two and two became three, and her breasts began to quiver, and her body to shake.

She slumped forward, letting him take control, arms across his back, biting his shoulder as the surge built deep within her and found only one route open for release. For that one moment, as the surge screamed through her body, as her nails dug into his soft skin, every sensation was concentrated on his twisting and pumping fingers, and the sound of the running water roared in her ears.

She was trembling, shaking, her head on his shoulder, a hand clutching his cheek to hers, making little mewing noises. Tim, unsure again, began to withdraw his fingers.

"Stop... No! Don't take them out. Put them back... put them back in... "

She shifted slightly to accommodate him and gripped his fingers, spasms again as she worked her vaginal muscles against his intrusion. Then she gradually grew calmer, with a sudden shiver, cold, despite her inner heat, wanting her body wrapped in his, and embarrassed that she'd revealed too much... even to herself.

"Slowly... take them out very slowly," she whispered with her lips against his neck, and even that was almost too much to bear.

She felt inflamed. His fingers had impaled her like a cutlass and left a mark destined to stay long in her memory. She kissed his neck, his shoulder where her teeth had grazed his skin, and slid off the bidet into his lap, wet, not caring, wrapping her legs around his hips, finding his mouth, hesitating, waiting for him, then kissing, fighting with lips and tongue, pulling at his hair, bending his face, his mouth, to her lips, biting, less to excite than wanting to mark. She could taste blood, his or hers, it didn't matter. His hands cupped her bottom, and he rose slowly to his feet holding her against him.

"Through there."

Tim lowered her onto her bed; she pulled him to her, reaching between them, guiding him into her. He gasped at the unexpected heat and a grip that seemed to pulse along his length.

"Don't move. Just rest there. I want to feel you in me."

And Mary worked him like that, knowing he'd take seconds, not minutes, needing to be filled, not left wanting from a few rapid thrusts. His breathing shortened, and his body tensed, and she hooked her feet behind his bottom, afraid he might withdraw, pulled him deeper. He began to moan, hands gripping her upper arms, shaking, pulsing hot inside her, coating her where his fingers had so recently stabbed her. He collapsed, overwhelmed rather than exhausted.

"I'm sorry... I cou... "

"Shhh, baby, baby, baby... shhh. It's ok. Rest there. It's ok."

Mary wrapped him in her arms, soothing him, knowing what he needed, letting him unwind until his flaccidity threatened inconvenience, and she coaxed him to move, cleaned them both with tissues, easing him under the bedcovers. She ran quickly to the bathroom to still the bidet, and then joined him in her bed.

She snuggled close to him, legs intertwined, stroking his soft still boyish face, bemused that his innocence, his lack of guile, and his desire to give her pleasure, rather than exercise his own post-adolescent lust, could leave her feeling quite so happy. Plenty of time to see where this might lead, time to make love, consensual sharing love, and just for the moment, Mary thought, my bed is his.

"sleep," she told him. "sleep and dream of me, and I'll dream of you. And in the morrow we'll see if our words can make sense of our dreams."