Filling In For Beth - Part 10 free porn video

Sorry for the long delay. Writing can be a chore sometimes. While many parts of this chapter have been complete since the beginning it's taken a while to fill in the blanks and quite a bit had to be reworked. A story never really ends, and I could polish forever, but I'm going to call this the conclusion for Morgan's adventures for now, so I can work on some other stories. Thank you all for you're encouragement. Hope you enjoy. Filling in for Beth - part 10 "What have you done!?" I shouted at Tom. "I spent all morning getting that suit ready!" "I'm nervous and I got hungry," he said sheepishly. He filled the doorway of the exercise room, looking lost. Streaks of liquid darkened the lapel of his blue jacket and there appeared to be bits of cereal stuck to his collegiate stripe tie. He was so agitated he practically pranced in place. Yesterday he'd acted like this was a normal, monthly board meeting. I pushed down my irritation and dismounted the rowing machine. A T-back bra held my breasts high and steady, all covered by a super light T- back tank that flared over tight yoga pants, clothes that make me feel secure enough to exercise. Sweat trickled down my stomach. "Strip down. How much time do you have?" "The board meets at 6:00, so plenty of time. I just wanted to get there early to glad-hand some of the alumni and plead my case, you know?" He tossed the jacket on the exercise bike, loosened the tie with a finger and lifted it over his head. For a moment he looked kind of nerdy then he quickly undid a few buttons and pulled the shirt over his head too. "You're gray suit is in your closet. I'll press a shirt and see if I can clean the tie. Stay away from the kitchen." He looked relieved to have a plan of action and even chuckled a little at the joke as he turned to leave. The tie was easy and a pair of clean white dress shirts already hung in my spacious laundry room, they just needed a touch of the iron. He hadn't reappeared by time I was done so I ran up the stairs two at a time with the giant shirt held high to keep it from dragging. Parts of me bounced despite the firm athletic wear. His door was open and he sat in my place in gray slacks, tying the second shoelace. The vanity stool looked small under him. "I'll hang your stuff right here," I said. He wouldn't have done anything but, just to make the point, I only took one long step inside, just enough to reach the doorknob, then retreated. The bed was covered with papers. He wasn't ready to go at all! I itched to help but remained outside the door as he approached. His forehead glistened with sweat. I'd never seen him so nervous, even before big games. "Thank you. I'm just so damned nervous, I'm not thinking straight," he said, slowly closing his eyes and shaking his head as he donned the crisp shirt. His nervousness transferred itself to me. I fiddled with the the hem of my top, smoothing the soft microfiber over my hips for something to do with my hands while he pulled the already knotted tie over his head and settled it in place. "They're not going to do anything, are they? I mean, they can't, can they? Not right before the season! You spent all year building a great freshman lineup, right?" He was very proud of his 'great freshman lineup,' which I knew little about back then, but the words and my nervousness seemed to calm him down. His face softened, his pants dropped and he smoothed the shirt front and back over conservative white linen boxers that I'd never seen him wear before. "No! No, you don't need to worry about anything like that," he said reassuringly. "The board controls the budget, so they could conceivably do anything they want, but..." He cocked his head and considered while he slowly bent to pull up his pants. "No. We're OK. I mean, they might want to renegotiate some things but nothing major." He pulled himself up straight and tall to buckle his belt, looking much more powerful and confident than a few minutes before. "Do you need help organizing your presentation?" I asked, peeking my head around enough to indicate the mess on the bed while remaining in the hall. Tom adjusted his clothing right in the doorway, a couple of feet and a world away, then he suddenly stepped across the barrier. He was even taller than normal in his Oxfords. My butt bumped the wall. "That's all in the car. Can you fix my tie?" He said, holding his chin up. A few red dots indicated a recent, close shave. The knot was right at eye level. I reached up, made the adjustments and couldn't prevent my hand from smoothing it down his chest. When I looked up he was smiling. He ran his finger down my bare shoulder, giving me a chill. "You're not worried, are you?" he asked, making it sound like a crazy idea. He gripped my neck, bent and kissed me before I could react then turned and strode back across the doorway. He whipped the gray suit jacket on with a flourish and turned to me. "Don't look so worried! I have it all under control," he said with a nod that may have been more for his benefit than mine. To this day I don't know if he was telling the truth or just putting on a brave face for my benefit. It doesn't really matter. There were about a thousand other things to worry about, right? Like, why was I standing in the hallway because I was afraid my buddy would strip my clothes off if I stepped inside his bedroom? Or, even weirder, why did he seem to think this whole dance was somehow normal? He stepped across the threshold again, sucked in his waist to fasten one jacket button and stopped at attention. "How do I look?" he asked, chin up. I felt short. My breasts and butt felt pointlessly heavy and my hair was damp and flat. But Tom looked great; tall, powerful and, thanks to me, sharply dressed. Tom is the ideal I've dreamed of being my whole life, when I was well and fit, and here he stood, decked out in the clothes I picked for him, ready to take on the world. The questions screamed inside my head: "Why are you so tall and strong while I'm short and soft and plump? Is that fair? Why am I here and what do you want from me?" One thing was certain though. "You look great!" I said. I wanted to reach my arms around his waist and lay my head on his hard chest but was afraid to touch him. "You're incredibly handsome, Tom," I said in a hushed tone before I could stop myself. My face flushed. Where did that come from? He smiled, pleased but apparently not that surprised. He touched my arm again, kissed me quickly on the top of the head then walked to the top of the stairs and gave me one last pose. "I think I like the gray better," he said firmly. Then he grinned sideways and wiggled his brows mischievously."And don't worry. This is what I do." He descended the stairs with his head held high and gave me a confident wave from the bottom. I had some part in that, right? When he was gone I checked the girl's rooms even though I'd just cleaned them in the morning then returned to Tom's room, after his presence dissipated. He was still there in his dirty clothes on the floor and the cluttered bed and the smell. I stepped across the threshold and waited. A chill passed through me. What would he have done with this outfit? I kicked off my sneakers like he does, still tied, one in each corner, then shucked down the damp yoga pants and pulled up my plain cotton panties, also damp. The top was like a short dress. I shucked it off, threw it away and reached behind me to pop the bra clasp. Oops, it's in the front! I couldn't help smiling, wondering what Tom would have done with that. The bra dropped behind me. I squared my shoulders, fought the urge to touch or cover myself and began picking up clothes. I bent at the waist in a way that made my breasts swing out loosely then resettle each time, slowly, the way I imagined a sexy woman shows off her body. Could he possibly think these pale, floppy things attractive? The mirrors showed every imperfection; blotchy white skin that never sees the light of day, a trace of a scar, a too thick waist in spite of bony ribs and shoulders and then there's my face and hair. Where to start? Without makeup, with my hair pinned back, I looked blank, unfinished and sexless. What was Tom thinking when he kissed me? I knelt by his bed, closed my eyes and pictured him there. It was too strange, like I was saying nightly prays in the hospital, only to Tom. He'd probably like that, so no. I tried over by the dressing table, one hand on the stool as I settled to my knees. No. That would be like he was invading my safe zone. I settled on a spot near the door, under the TV. Not very romantic but then, he hadn't been romantic in this room yet, so I wasn't expecting anything like that. My breasts tingled, imagining his hands and mouth, and I hugged them hard. He made it clear how to get back there again, all I had to do was ask, but what next, after he's hard and my breasts are worn out? I was ready to get it over with, curious, even eager to finally face this hidden monster and either tame it or, what? Run away? That wasn't an option. Most of all though, I wanted Tom to be happy and that meant either stepping aside, making it clear I'm only interesting in the nanny job and avoiding his room forever, or stepping up and taking care of my man. Like Taylor. And Beth. That's what I had to do but when I pictured the scene it was Beth on her knees, begging angelically. I couldn't choke the words past my vocal cords, even alone in the bedroom. + "But why is Rachael in charge?" Susan whined loudly. Her mouth was full of eggs, her nightgown was on inside-out and her hair stuck up on the side in a wide spray. In the morning light her head appeared to be on fire. Rachael sat quietly, pleased with Tom's plan. Her hair was brushed into long waterfalls of brown that cascaded over her shoulders. The outbreak of pimples was expertly covered and her eyes and lips were unusually dark. Tom probably thought she didn't use makeup. "Morgan needs a night out sometimes too," he said with an infuriating shrug, putting blame on me without explaining anything. Classic Tom. "We haven't decided anything yet," I said loudly to the room. "I never agreed to leave you two alone!" "Do you know a good baby-sitter?" he asked with a smirk of certainty. Both girls protested that indignity. The thought of Tammy in our house, waving from the doorway as Tom and I left, passed through my mind for a frightening moment. "I didn't even agree to go!" I said. The girls, seeing their chance at a night of freedom fleeing, protested again. "You have to go," they said in unison. "You have to go," Tom echoed. "I already told everyone I was bringing a date." The cliche words were there: 'I don't have anything to wear!' but I bit them back. Couldn't he take someone else? The girls were just too young of course. An image of Tom in his best suit with Nadine on his arm drifted into my mind, making my blood run cold. This was something I needed to do, but dreaded. And what did 'everyone' and 'date' mean anyway? "You shouldn't scrunch up your face like that. It'll get stuck," Susan said, quoting me with her mouth full. I tried to fix my face by smiling at Rachael. She sat up even straighter and batted her eyes innocently. There was humor in her voice but with a worrisome edge of calculation. She wanted her night of freedom. "I just think Morgan deserves to be pampered once in a while, after everything she does for us." I suppose I should be gratefully for times like those, when all the people I love are together, eating the food I prepared, hanging on my every word. But the constant decisions are stressful too. I mean, what would I wear? There was no time to see Nadine. And what was Rachael up to? + "We need to finish up. You're dad will be home soon," I said loudly, stroking on mascara in the vanity mirror but aiming my mouth toward the closet door. Rachael popped out in a full length black dress, satin with a built in velvet top, sleeveless. A belt made of silver disks gave her hips. Even on the tightest hole it was too long so that it hung down slightly, puckering the velvet badly. She stood on tiptoes to prevent the hem from touching the floor. It was too big for her, plain and simple. "Too formal, and too big for you," I said. She pinched the sides of the dress, lifted, turned and disappeared back into the closet with a rustle of fabric. I started on my eyebrows with tweezers and a new pencil Nadine suggested. Rachael reappeared holding a dress made of layers of yellow chiffon. "What about this? Dad would love you in this," she said innocently. I think. He probably loved the view when Beth wore it. "I'm not wearing anything strapless. I'd be pulling at it constantly." She shrugged her father's shrug and returned to the closet. "Why do you always run out of the room before Daddy gets home?" She asked from far away. I dabbed foundation on my neck and chest and pretended to not hear the question. She returned this time with a brightly colored dress with wide blue straps and a matching waist band. The high waist made the top part, the boob part, look too small. There would be cleavage. The bottom was a swirl of blue, green and white. It looked long enough but far too airy and light to wear in public. "This is what Mom wore when it was hot and muggy," she said. She hung it on the vanity hook and brushed the light material lovingly. "That looks a little casual. Shouldn't I wear, like something that covers my arms and everything?" Rachael pinched the sides of the dress, lifted, then tip-toed across the room and sort of leaned on the bed. She shrugged and absently brushed her legs, enjoying the fine material, working on her answer or waiting for mine? I gave myself one last inspection. Eyes balanced, complexion smooth and consistent from forehead down and lips neutral but moist, just what I expected from Rachael. The rest of the makeup would come later, right before we leave. I turned and brushed the front of my cotton day-dress, preparing to stand and shoo her out so I could try on a couple of dresses again. It was going to be a hot and muggy night. She played with her hair, twisting a thick strand over one small velvet mound. She blinked and cleared her throat. I really don't like to leave questions unanswered. "It's a combination of things," I said, nodding sagely so she would understand the deep complexities and also to buy time. "Sometimes it feels like your Mom is here, you know?" "Absolutely!" she replied, happy at the thought. "I feel that all the time!" Then she reconsidered and grew grave. "Oh, I see. You and Daddy, right?" She looked around the room, considered again and brightened. "But it's OK. That's what she wants. Its like she's here helping you!" That gave me a creepy feeling to be honest but let it slide. Rachael appeared satisfied with the answer. "And what have you got planned for tonight?" I asked in return. She pursed her lips, lifted the dress and tip-toed back to the closet. She turned in the doorway. "I was going to wear this dress but it's too big. And I'm supposed to call Jenny Moore tonight." She tried to make it sound like a school assignment but she's not a good liar, so I waited. Jenny Moore is 14. She stamped her foot. "Jenny has a boyfriend." "So Jenny is going to tell you all about boyfriends, huh?" I asked, perhaps sounding a little hurt. Her answer surprised me. "Maybe I want some independent corroboration," she said with her nose in the air and only one stumble on the last word. She looked regal in the black dress. "Well, don't believe everything you hear. You know you can ask me anything," I reassured her for the thousandth time. "I know," she said with a sweet smile. "Are you and Daddy going to dance tonight?" "There's not going to be dancing," I said with a laugh. "And if there is I won't be doing it. And I can't imagine your Dad dancing either." She just gave the Tom shrug and pointed at the light dress. "Mom always danced and this is what she wore when it was hot." She closed the closet door behind her. For privacy or to keep me away from other dresses? ++ The thin polyester dress covered my knees in the car and when Tom helped me out in a dark area of the parking lot I was too busy checking my hair and makeup one last time to worry about legs. The night was warm and so moist that my bare shoulders and Tom's hand felt clammy by the time we reached the door. The cold air of the lobby hit me like an arctic blast up the skirt. Goosebumps rolled up my arms and cool polyester danced round my thighs and hips. I felt suddenly naked, inside a school no less. A young man in a red jacket took tickets from a matched pair of older couples. The men were portly, with tufts of gray hair sticking out the sides and back, in well worn suit pants and white shirts open at the neck, like maybe they each left a work jacket and tie in the car. The ladies figures were obscured by loose, pastel sundresses, one pink, one lavender, that reached almost to the floor. They both watched their husbands and clutched long shawls around their otherwise naked shoulders. They'd had their hair and makeup done. I checked the hem of my dress again and prayed the ladies wouldn't look my way. A knee barely peeked out yet cool air touched me all over. Tom's hand was on my back, like he might propel me forward. I slipped aside. "I can't do this. I feel naked," I said under my breath. Tom regarded me calmly. I rubbed my arms to indicate nakedness. "Did you want me to get your coat thingy out of the car?" He asked, pushing the door open, ready to exit. We'd only stepped inside the building and my first crisis: Wait here, naked, cold and alone or make the muggy trek to the car and back. "I'll be back in a second," he said, then he was gone, striding at a pace I couldn't hope to match in three inch wedges. I stood up straight and took inventory again. The lady in pink gave me an appraising look then smiled and nodded a greeting, causing my heart to leap unexpectedly. I smiled back and gave an awkward wave then bit my lip, conscious of my dark nails and matching burgundy lipstick. Hers was subdued and matched her dress, soft pink. She turned to follow her friend through the doors, still smiling, guided by her husband's hand on her back. The air didn't feel as cold once I got used to it and the plain black drape Tom held for me really helped. He handed the kid the tickets then almost shoved me through the doorway into a large hall dotted with clusters of people. I clutched my 'coat thingy' tight and shielded my upper half with the purse while Tom surveyed the room. Music came from somewhere but nobody was dancing. There must have been a dozen little groups, most included at least one stout young man in a team jersey. There were plenty of middle-aged men dressed in slacks but there were also quite a few women, wives of professors or alumni fans presumably. Most of the women wore cool, flowing dresses that covered their knees. There were a lot of bare arms and quite a few naked shoulders but most of those were covered with a wrap of some kind I was glad to see. So far my dress and makeup didn't appear to be too far off the mark. Nobody pointed or called me a slut. Taylor's husband, Jim, stood out in a room full of tall men. What was he doing here? He spotted me, perked up even taller then suddenly broke away from the group he was part of. In seconds he was almost on us. Behind him I could see Taylor too. Blonde curls fell around naked shoulders. It looked like she was apologizing to the group before following her giant husband. I braced myself for impact. "Coach Hannover!" Jim cried with satisfaction, like he'd made a discovery. He didn't even look at me, just thrust out his hand at Tom. "I've been wanting to talk to you about something." Tom had to look up at someone for a change so it was hard to read his expression but he gripped the hand and shook it firmly. "What can I do for you, Jim?" He asked, like they were old friends. Did they know each other? What could that mean? Jim hunched forward and pointed a finger vaguely, possibly my way. His head cocked to the side thoughtfully and he frowned, like an owl with indigestion. "My wife recently convinced me to watch some football and, well, frankly, it was terribly fascinating. I have a lot of questions," he stated. "Fire away!" Tom said with an indulgent smile. One hand still touched my back reassuringly. "Well, I've been looking at your stats for last year. Very interesting stuff," Jim said mysteriously. "Yeah? Find anything useful?" Tom asked seriously. He leaned closer and his hand withdrew. Taylor appeared on Jim's arm, all hair and freckled flesh above layers of green gauze. Strapless. I was instantly dying to know how she kept it all up! She held a martini glass up with perfect green nails and flashed a huge, knowing, green smile at me then looked up at her husband and poked him with a nail. "Honey. You should at least let people get inside the room," she said, plenty loud enough for him to hear. Neither man acknowledged her, which was surprising since I could barely take my eyes off her breasts. You'd think Tom's tongue would be hanging out but the two men were already lost in a world of football or statistics or whatever. They didn't even introduce us. "How about we let the men talk? Let's get you a drink," Taylor said. She took my arm and pulled me toward the bar, away from Tom, and I followed reluctantly, afraid to leave his long shadow. She was only half his size and shook and bounced delightfully when she walked, which reminded me of the wiggle of my own breasts and legs. The men went on talking, both of them using their hands wildly, completely oblivious to our absence. A cluster of men near the bar weren't so oblivious. Eyes watched us approach. Taylor didn't seem to mind when I moved to hide behind her. She glanced their way once then shook her hair and gave me a long, appraising look. Her makeup was light, just enough to give her eyes a hint of green. She wasn't hiding her age. It wasn't over the top but the whole green effect was almost whimsical. Over her shoulder I could see then men watching her butt. Or hair. Or legs. Who knows? "I love your dress," she said excitedly. "And your hair? You're finally showing your pretty face!" She held her hands out like she might grab my head for a kiss. She was wearing sandals, no heel, which made me feel big, and she smelled good too. A new perfume? She was so close and so sexy, but men were watching and her husband and Tom were right behind me. I panicked and started back. Her face dropped for a second then turned into a determined smile. "You're more twitchy than ever. That's OK." She said. Her bare arm lifted and the bartender was there. Had he been there all along, listening to us? "A white wine for the lady," she said without turning her head. At that point I was probably beet red. The trusty, overstuffed leather purse was a shield. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm just. This is..." I scanned the group of men again; Five professor types hung on the words of a towering athlete, black with thick dreadlocks. They'd all lost interest in Taylor's ass. "It's OK honey," she said soothingly. She glanced over her shoulder then back. Her hair whipped. "Just relax." She lifted a glass of pale liquid from nowhere and smiled. It was just Taylor. Up close you can see the tooth. My heart settled enough to lower the purse and take the glass. I pinched the stem like her and my hand looked as pretty as hers, just a different color, burgundy. She tapped the glass with a nail. "Have a sip, Sweetheart. Relax," she said. She lifted her own glass slowly, leading me, and tossed back the last of her drink with a flourish. Was I supposed to drink the whole thing? I took a good swallow, to wet my lips, then another to clear my throat and then one more because it tasted so damned good. Warmth flow into my stomach. Hair tickled my shoulders, hoop earrings bumped my neck and wine and lipstick were on the tip of my tongue. Taylor smiled and stroked my arm lightly. I relaxed and lowered the heavy purse so that it bumped my leg, reminding me for a moment of my legs sticking out, protected by only the sheerest, nude pantyhose. There's always something. "I've certainly got my work cut out for me," Taylor said, giving me another long look up and down. "You really need to unwind. And this is just the place to do it!" She tapped my glass again and I threw it back with Taylor's flamboyant air, a sort of joke from the salon. It was cool and sweet going down and made the situation sort of familiar. "That was good," I said with a gasp, surprising myself. "That's enough for now. Next we need to do something with your luggage." She hooked my arm with hers and pulled me away. Her arm was cool and smooth and irresistible. We swept past the guys, who never looked down, dodged past a group of boys in prep-school jackets trailing a blond Adonis who might have been the star quarterback and parked ourselves behind two youngish men in the familiar academic uniform of dark pants and white shirt. Each of them held a small purse and a crumpled sweater as if they might explode any second. They handed the items over to the coat check boy with obvious relief. I gave up my own items more reluctantly. The wrap I could sacrifice but there was no way I could leave my phone or makeup or a million other things! She pointed out a half dozen women nearby with bare-shoulders and empty hands. I handed over the heavy purse and turned. "What do you do with your hands?" I asked innocently then blushed, remembering Tom at my breast for some reason. Taylor didn't notice. She scanned the room, planning her next move. My hand moved by itself to stoke the back of her brown arm. She turned and smiled then slid closer. Her hand touched my back, our hips bumped softly, hair touched and our perfumes mingled. I was afraid to move. "Which one is Reggie?" She asked inches from my cheek. I couldn't see where she was looking for all the hair. He was to our right, behind another group of men, alumni maybe. Milton stood beside him like a bodyguard, hair slicked back, biceps attempting to rip his thin black V-neck, clutching a tiny beer bottle in one hand and waving the other angrily. Reggie, in a team jersey, just smiled that bright smile and watched the crowd. I pointed. "Oh my!" Taylor shouted. "I knew they would be big but that one is just ..." she trailed off and her hair shook. "Yep, that's the perfect pair for Tammy and Nadine alright. Introduce me!" My heart sank. What could be worse than Nadine with that jerk? That would be a disaster. Taylor pulled and I resisted. "Milton's a jerk," I said quickly. "You don't want to meet him." "Now I really do want to meet him. I know how to handle jerks," she replied confidently. She threw back her hair and squared her small shoulders, ready for battle. Reggie saw us coming and slugged Milton to get his attention. Milton ran one hand across his hair before turning. He took in Taylor hungrily but his face had the good grace to fall a little when he spotted me. A quick glance checked to see if I was armed with condiments. Taylor stopped when they towered over her, I made the introductions quickly and each man took her hand for a moment and had a good look at her boobs. "This is Morgan's first time at one of our little alumni 'meet and greets'. Are you showing her the ropes?" Reggie asked. "This is my first time too," Taylor said, scanning the not so little crowd. "Yeah, 'cause I would have remembered you," Milton rumbled deeply. "Thank you," Taylor said brightly, like she actually appreciated the oily compliment. She appraised him up and down, hands on ample hips. "And I would have remembered you too, big boy." Milton grinned and licked his lips, preparing to say something crude. Reggie interrupted. "Can we get you ladies drinks?" he asked, nudging Milton hard. They both nodded and smiled. We shook our heads 'no.' "I can introduce you to the best offensive line in the conference," Milton offered. He pointed to a group of four huge boys in jerseys, huddled together for photos. Four more Miltons, just what we needed. "No, thank you," Taylor said cheerily, making decisions for us both. Her hair shook like a living thing, transfixing the men. Milton slicked his hair and licked his lips. "It was nice meeting you boys," Taylor said suddenly, before he could speak. "But I think I hear music." She took my hand and led me quickly away across the room. I spotted Tom addressing a trio of alumni couples, barely 10 feet from where we left him. Jim wasn't far away, towering over a pair of academics, weaving something in the air with his hands. Taylor guided me toward the open double doors in back where music thumped loudly, just the two us, hand in hand. The warm night air was like passing through a curtain, into another world. The only light was a rectangle of colored bulbs above a mass of heaving bodies, bouncing to the beat. "Come on, let's dance!" Taylor yelled into my ear then she set off, still holding my hand. She found a space inside the group of moving people then turned and stared at me seductively. Her hips waved rhythmically under the loose skirts and her hands raised above her head as if lifted by stings at her wrists. The dress clung heroically above the nipple line. People moved and shook to the music in various ways all around us and the sexiest woman in the room wanted me to dance with her. What was I supposed to do? "Let yourself free," Taylor shouted over the music. "Move your hips." Outside the ring of people the world was dark. It was like we were alone. Taylor shook her head and hair waved wildly. Her arms fluttered lazily in the air like she might lift off the ground any second and soft breasts quivered and bounced t above a cloud of green. I tried to imitate her motions a little. My hips and shoulders rocked side to side and I let my eyes close for a second. She was still there, arms high, lost in her own dreamworld. I lifted my arms higher and higher like her. Warm night air caressed my naked underarms but I was confident they were neat and tidy. The dress hem didn't rise too much and breasts held. I closed my eyes again and let the music flow over me. It was like flying, alone in the clouds. I forgot Tom and everybody for a glorious moment. Taylor was there whenever I opened my eyes, showing me the way. I shook my hair like her and let my boobs and big ass fend for themselves for a while. Who knows how long we danced? Faces swam into view from time to time, mostly tall men trying to interpose themselves between us for some reason. Sometimes Taylor and I had to dance so close our breasts brushed before they got the message and even then they wouldn't leave. I could see them in the dark, watching her move. I was sweaty and gross and didn't care until Tom's face swam into view above me. He was dancing stiffly, biting his lip and looking at my chest and I suddenly became self conscious and covered myself with my arms. They were clammy. "I want you to meet some people," he shouted over the music, still dancing, sort of. He lifted his chin in greeting to someone behind me and waved at someone else. I felt really self conscious. Taylor stopped dancing too and was watching closely near Tom's elbow. "We should freshen up first," Taylor shouted, reaching for my hand. Tom surveyed her for naked skin, checked me as well, tried to figure something out with his weak brain, nodded, pointed at his wrist then pointed to the doors. "Ten minutes, outside the bathrooms!" he shouted, loud enough for everyone dancing to hear. There was a short line so, by time I emerged from the stall with everything dabbed dry and my clothes all positioned properly, it was well past the ten minute mark. I could almost feel Tom tapping his foot outside while apologizing to a crowd of important people. Taylor was already at a sink, applying green lipstick. She waved me over. "I need to get back out there. He said ten minutes," I told her. Two other woman sharing the next mirror paused and watched. "No, you need to fix your hair and makeup before you go out," Taylor said. "But he's waiting," I protested. Both strangers laughed. "She's young," Taylor told them while laughing herself. She took my arm and pulled me to the mirror. Yep, I did need some work. "We don't go out until we're beautiful. And making them wait is half the fun, right?" The other women laughed and nodded in agreement. A brush appeared and for a moment it was like being at Nadine's. + We hadn't missed anything. Tom was forming what appeared to be his staff and a number of his players into a loose line near the exit, backs to us. The music had stopped and there was a crowd near the coat- check. Tom spotted me and waved urgently. Taylor waved away my thanks and pushed me toward the line of massive men. "Go on. You look great. Smile!" She stood up straighter and held her head high, reminding me to to do the same. It was so reassuring to know everything was perfect from head to toe. Three women told me so in the bathroom. There were a two other women in line: A perky blonde held Jason's hand and a very fit, petite women in a tight blue sheath with at least a 4" heels occupied the spot between Tom and Reggie. This was the mysterious 'Reggie's wife' but there was no time to talk. Somehow I ended up last in line. Fortunately it moved fast, like everyone was in a hurry to get home. There was a Dean of something then a string of professors and alumni that nobody could hope to remember. Tom introduced me only as 'My date. Morgan.' The ladies from the restroom went by and we laughed about making men wait. Jim and Taylor went past and we were finally introduced. She hung on his arm as they left, shamelessly adoring her husband, the tallest man in the room. Reggie's wife, Susan, was introduced and ushered away. A couple of women scowled at me and a lot of the men couldn't keep their eyes up. Tom disappeared and returned with my wrap and purse, small in his hands. Did he think they might explode? I stepped into the wrap, relieved him of his burden and pointed myself toward home. The door opened as I approached and Tom smiled in a mix of humor and anticipation and guided me through. His arm was very supportive across the parking lot and into the car. We drove home in silence. His hand caressed my leg when it wasn't working and I let it roam as it pleased. Was he teasing me? His fingers touched my inner thigh once or twice but that was it. He clearly liked the feel of the polyester dress on my legs, just like me. I squeezed his forearm, right there, almost in my lap, hairy and warm. It's very large and firm and a little scary if you let your imagination run wild. + Both girls wore asleep on the floor on a large blanket, a picnic scene, nightgowns stained with melted ice cream and their faces smeared with a mix of makeup, chocolate and the orange of cheese puffs. They looked like small, passed out clowns. Tom carried them upstairs where they managed to clean up then stumble into nightgowns then bed. The living room was a disaster area. I attacked the worst parts and saved the rest for tomorrow, when I would have help. His door was open and he was just coming out of the bathroom in fluffy pajama pants that sat low on his hips, no shirt. Those mysterious muscles dove under the waistband, pointing. He sucked in his stomach when he spotted me outside the door, I could tell, boosting my confidence. I stepped across the threshold, closed the door and locked it, loose and ready for anything He kissed me first, hard and aggressive, just to show who's boss. Then he fumbled finding the hem of the loose dress, hands slid up my sides to the band, the whole thing went up, something caught on a bra cup and continued on over my head on with a slight tearing sound. One cup ended up twisted at my neck, a whole white breast exposed to the cool air. Tom stared at it like he didn't know what to do. "Suck me," I said eagerly, honestly short of breath. He hesitated, controlled, waiting. I swallowed and tried again. "Suck my fat titty. Please," I said as best I could. He smiled suddenly, gripped my boob so fast it startled me even though I'd just asked for it, and his head ducked down to suck a nipple into his hot mouth. It was difficult to balance, but he held me up with a hand behind my back. He found the bra clasp, thank God, paused long enough to threw the thing away like it was on fire then he attacked my other breast, bringing balance to the world. I stood on tip-toes, held his arms and enjoyed the waves of electricity that ran though me. It was like dancing, only better. He came up for a gasp of air then kissed me hard again, invading my mouth with his tongue. It's funny how easy it was to let go, knowing he would never hurt me. When he gave me another chance to speak the words came out all by themselves. Those words every man wants to hear. "You were right," I said quietly, gripping his thick arms and pushing my tits into his warm chest. I looked right up into his eyes. "Everything you said is true. I do want to get your cock out, and I want to kiss it and suck it. It's all I can think about." He was hard because of me, I could feel it, and he wasn't backing away. I was saying the right words so far. A hand found my hair, gripped tight and pulled my head back until I could barely see his face, giving me a taste of what lay in store if I continued. "Are you sure slut?" he asked. It's like being slapped. But there was only one way forward. "Yes, I'm sure," I said. I let my knees loosen and bend so that his grip relaxed too and I could see him, watching me placidly up above. What was he thinking? My hands shifted down his body to his firm butt and I let my cheek brush the super soft bulge. I looked up. "May I suck you cock, please?" I asked. It was right there, pressing against the thin waistband! "That would make you a cock sucking whore," he said from way up high and I didn't see any point in arguing. I hugged him around the legs and pressed my mouth and chin into the side of his cock, gauging it's size. The pajama material really is super soft. "Then I want to be your cock sucking whore," I mumbled into his crotch. "Please." He let me grip it and trace its size. It was still difficult to gauge what I was working with in the loose folds of the pants. I touched his hips and traced the surprisingly smooth and firm muscles then hooked the pants and slid them down quickly, all the way to his knees. He was wearing red bikini underwear! His erection overflowed the waist of the girly garment, pressed tight against his hairy stomach. An inch of lurid purple peeked at me, pinched by the elastic band. I felt sorry for it. I kissed the exposed skin quickly, testing my own will, and it grew, trying to get out. I was causing that! His balls looked huge in the pouch. They needed to be freed. His dick flopped out then bounced to attention. I'd already decided how nasty I would get and sure enough, Tom guided my face right to his hairy balls the instant they were exposed. He was very hairy back then, and kind of smelly, so all I could really do at first was hold my breath and pinch the disgusting loose flesh with my lips. I nibbled, grabbed the hot meat laying across my face and moved my hand up and down. The smell was tolerable. Pulling the heavy dick to the side, I looked up at Tom. He had the nicest smile! He wasn't laughing at me, or angry, or freaked out that I was touching his dick. He looked so happy. I couldn't help moving my hand up and down and he smiled even bigger. God, his cock was hot and my nails looked sexy as hell too. His hand guided my head. "Oh God yeah. Lick my balls slut," he said in a low moan. He lifted even higher on his toes and I tried to fit one in my mouth. It was just too big and hairy so I lapped at the disgusting hair and worked the hand some more, bringing another moan. His sounds of pleasure were unbelievably exciting. No woman was ever this excited by my touch! I looked up and could see those ab muscles clenching tightly. His head was thrown back in ecstasy. I pictured Beth with me and everything was OK. The shaft of his cock was smooth and hot in comparison. When I licked the ridge below the glans it bucked and swelled in my hand like a living thing. My touch was doing that to Tom! My own small groin ached in sympathy. I engulfed the musty tasting head of his cock eagerly, lapping that sensitive spot and working my hand quickly up and down in a way that must have felt great because he groaned so loudly I thought he was about to cum. I tried to flinch away but too late! Both hands gripped my dead and he forced himself deeper, against the back of my throat. He was softer than the vegetable I'd practiced with but still too big to enter. I gripped his cock tighter and held on, tongue out like a good girl. He began to thrust. Tom had my hair in a death grip, fucking in short little thrusts that got faster and faster while he panted like a marathon runner. The struggle only lasted a minute or so. "That's right! Suck my cock," he said over and over as the fucked. I closed my eyes and fought to keep him from going too deep and to keep my teeth back, trying to be the best hole I could be. The rest of me bounced freely but there was nothing I could do about that. He froze. "Ho," he said in a long sigh. His cock swelled and a foreign taste, like sweat or tears, crept into my mouth. He said it again, a deep "Ho" like he'd been punched in the stomach. His legs gave out a bit and he trembled, like he was having convulsions, but I couldn't see anything but pubic hair. He thrust a few more times. "Oh God!" He breathed at last. His cock convulsed, the first spurts hit the back of my tongue, then he was just everywhere. I shut my eyes tight and concentrated on breathing. It was in my cheeks and around my tongue, slimy and musky but surprisingly tasteless, then it was trying to escape the seal of my lips. He kept pumping and pulling my hair. I always imagined a girl could just swallow the mess if she wanted, clean and simple, like drinking from a straw. It doesn't work like that. When I tried to swallow the pressure was too much. I sputtered and coughed. The seal broke and warm liquid spurted onto my grip hand. It felt like a lot. I instinctively cupped my free hand to catch the mess and immediately regretted it. "God, you nasty slut," Tom said between gasps for air. I held on, afraid to move while he came down from his orgasm. I know how sensitive a man can be. We locked together like that for another minute or so until the pumping stopped and the panting subsided. Fortunately, our Tom softens quickly. The diamond hard ramrod felt flexible in my hand. There was room to attempt another swallow. It was difficult to tell if anything went down. He let me pull off. His cock was red and wet, staring at me with its slit of an eye oozing another drop. There was a big glob on my hand. I swallowed and swallowed then took him in again. The slime was gone but the funk only got worse. His cum was already growing sticky on my lips. "Go ahead and clean up," he said. One fist still gripped my hair so tightly I couldn't move. He guided my head to the white glob coating my finger. I had to suck to get it up. I did the same with the oyster in my other palm, ready for this to be over. Tom let me go and lifted his limp penis high, pinching the skin on top like it was contaminated. There was another disgusting sight, another glob of Tom's cum, suspended in a dense thicket of scrotal hair. "Get it," he said, thrusting his sack at me. "Get it!" He sounded nervous, like the drop might burn his skin any second. It didn't even have a taste, the big baby. Finally he was limp and drained, in full retreat, all the intimidation gone. I sat back on my heels. The weird thing is, what should have been profoundly humiliating felt like victory for some reason. I could still hear his shivering moans and feel his massive legs give way. The cock that was so huge and intimidating a few minutes before had wilted. It hung there, spent, because of me. It hadn't even taken that long. Now I just needed to rinse my mouth out, with bleach. I held up my arms and Tom, always the gentleman, almost lifted me onto my feet by the arms and set me on shaky legs, still in the wedges for some bizarre reason. For a second I thought he might kiss me, which would have been amazingly reassuring, or maybe at least pinch a boob one more time. I was still quite excited, in a nauseated sort of way. But no. That was the end. He was pulling up his panties. I covered my chest and watched him tuck the former monster into the little things. His cock was only a lump in the pouch. He looked at me like he might order a beer, then thought better of it. "That was amazing. Did you get enough?" he asked, dead serious. How did Beth do it? The most difficult part of the evening was not laughing and punching him in the face. My lips were sticky when I smiled and my breath smelled thick. "Yes. Thank you," I replied, practicing my manners. He obviously didn't want to make out again but a kiss would have been nice. Touching him was out of the question too, since both my hands were nasty. I never know what to do with my hands anyway, so I pushed my hair back and covered my breasts. A cloud passed over his face. He looked embarrassed! Was that a blush? "I forget sometimes," he said quietly. "You make me forget sometimes. Thank you, Morgan." He touched my hair lightly, one of the most obvious differences between Beth and me, then he pushed the mess back with a finger. He beamed his perfect teeth and handsome face at me. His hair was still perfect, because nobody had been pulling it, and his breath was probably still sweet. The muscles of his chest were hard and shifted like snakes under his skin. Every time I moved, something shook, out of control. He kept looking at my tits. It just came out of me. "You're an asshole, Tommy Hannover," I said in the same loving tone I'd used for years, except this time with cum on my breath. He grinned back the same as always, in agreement with my assessment, daring me to do something about it. I considered lunging toward him to see what he would do if I tried to kiss him. He stood up taller, keeping some distance and took a hand full of hair lightly. Safe now, his eyes sparkled and his brows wiggled. "And you're a good slut," he said. The word startled me, forcing me to back to my role, but I found didn't mind. This was Beth's role in the bedroom and she loved it. I was convinced. I understood. It was like passing a test. There had been a test, a year long test with a grueling physical challenge at the end requiring trust and teamwork, and I passed! He just didn't want to kiss me right now, which I could understand. "I should probably clean up now," I said, breaking the spell. He released me and we went about our business for a while. I fixed my face then picked up the room topless while he lay on his throne and clicked the remote. The loose boobs were annoying actually but it was funny to watch Tom trying to not look while we talked. Obviously he wanted more. I mean, it only took a few minutes for him to cum. We only kissed for a minute and he barely touched my boobs. I kind of felt bad for Tom. Crazy, right? I got a chill when he brought up the party. Would he ask about Taylor? He had other people to discuss first, deans and donors, alumni and sponsors, and a funny story wherein Milton might have learned a lesson in chivalry. I'd begun to relax. The room was clean and I was considering what to do next. Sheets covered his waist. It would be warm under there and, to be honest, I kind of wanted another look at the thing, just to see if I could control the situation better. The alien taste was gone but I kept searching for it in the corners of my mouth, you know? What would he do if I climbed up into his bed? "Man, you sure went for the hottest piece of ass in the room!" He said suddenly. I froze. "Can you believe she's married to Jim, that tall goofy guy I was talking to? He's a physics professor!" I shook my head, afraid to speak. Hair tickled my shoulders, raising goosebumps and I half covered myself with an arm, smoothing away the chill, squishing my breasts. He looked me up and down with a leer. "You two were fast friends from the start. Man! What a perfect pair!" He shook his head in wonder. Was he talking about us or boobs? "She's really nice," I said lamely. Tom snorted and I braced myself for an awkward question or a crude comment about my friend. I pulled the top gown out of a drawer, too sheer to put on now so I clutched it to my chest. "I watched you two on the dance floor for a long time," he said in a dreamy voice. My skin crawled, my heart fluttered and my stomach turned over, all at the same time. He looked me in the eye and shook his head. "I mean, nobody could take their eyes off of you two." I felt really naked again and confused by what he was saying. Had I embarrassed myself somehow? The little gown stretched just enough to cover both my nipples "We didn't do anything outlandish, did we?" I asked. "We were just dancing." He laughed heartily then sort of rolled his eyes and sat back. "You two knew what you were doing. She did anyway." "What?" I asked in real ignorance. I stuck a hand in the closet and felt for a robe, pulled it out and put it on. Short and silky but opaque. "Did I do something wrong?" I asked. He looked at me through his brows like I was being stupid and I began to blush. What had I done? "Every dick in the place was hard," he said, like stating an obvious fact. That's something I'd heard him say many times before, the exact same way. I pictured the dicks, dozens of them, aiming at Taylor and me as we danced with our eyes closed. It wasn't a scary image at all. A warm, excited shiver shot through me unexpectedly and my knees were suddenly weak. I considered saying something sassy in reply but that could only have one conclusion and my throat probably needed a rest. He clicked off the TV and bedside light. I tucked him in like I do the girls, with a kiss on the forehead, but let the front of the gown hang open in case that had been an invitation. He only pulled the covers up and sighed. "Good night, Honey," he said quietly. He half grinned and closed his eyes, contented and near sleep. Really, what would happen if I climbed on top of him? I smoothed the covers over his chest and flat stomach. "Good night, Tom. I had a really good time tonight," I said softly. His eyes opened when my hand came close and he looked concerned. "Do you need more?" he asked. It took a moment. More what? When it hit, he was inviting me to suck his dick again, I had to stifle a laugh. How could he keep a straight face? "No. I'm good for now, thank you." His eyes drooped heavily. I finally laughed out loud, because he looked so content and that made me happy. He just smiled contentedly. + "FASTER. FASTER!" Suzy screamed, so loudly it echoed off the nearby trees. Tom spun even faster, leaning so far back it frightened me. Suzy's legs swung limply by, again and again until I almost got dizzy just watching. When they finally crashed to the ground we were all laughing so hard it was difficult to breath. Suzy rolled over in the thick grass of our back yard and looked my way. She'd already lost one hair clip and the other hung uselessly from a strand of her hair, the whole golden mess adorned with sticks and leaves. I've given up fighting about her hair, except in the morning and before bed. "Why is Daddy so happy today?" she asked breathlessly, in complete innocence. "Come on, it's not that noticeable is it?" Tom asked, standing up and brushing off the front of his T-shirt with a toothy smile. His legs had specks of green in the curly blond hairs and there are leaves in his blond hair too. I couldn't help looking at the front of his pants. There was nothing to see there, wrinkles and a grass stain that needed to be sprayed before it sets, I just couldn't not look. It was difficult to reconcile this tame, happy man with the grunting, swearing beast from last night. "It's pretty obvious," Rachael mumbled beside me. It's a safe bet her eyes are rolling. Head buried in a book, her face was shielded by a curtain of chestnut hair. I pulled up the top of my strapless sundress anyway. That's what she thought made Tom so happy, the amount of boobage I had on display. Since her conversation with Jenny Moore the night before she'd decided it's demeaning to women when we show our breasts 'for men to stare at.' She's growing so fast. We're both growing so fast. Yes, the dress was low cut but no worse than Taylor's outfit last night and we were in our own back yard, just the four of us. And the sun felt so good on my pale flesh. "I don't know what any of you are talking about," I said, waving away the idea lightly with one hand. I used that hand to brush the hair out of my face, another girly motion I never thought about before and now do automatically. Rachael casually ran a finger behind her ear, the same motion, tucking her hair back, and I could finally see her face. We needed to work on that acne. Tom was suddenly five feet away, staring down my dress I think. The sun was just over his shoulder, making it impossible to look at his face. When I looked down, there's his crotch again, right in front of me and getting closer. I couldn't stop thinking about how it's in there, hiding and waiting, and how big it gets. He seemed to know it makes me uncomfortable so, being a jerk, he stood right next to me so that it was inches from my face. The warm sun and the hand lightly stroking my bare shoulders kept me from moving away. He never said a word, just stood there with a big-assed grin that would have pissed me off if I hadn't been the one to put it there. He was definitely looking at my tits. It was weird, after last night, with the girls right there and all. "You look nice in that dress," he finally said, running his hand over my hair. Rachael snorted and he grinned even bigger and reached over to tussle her hair the way I know she hates. His crotch was right in my face, giving me a funny new feeling in my stomach. "Gaaa! Get a room!" Rachael shouted, springing to her feet, throwing her arms in the air and stalking off toward back door. "Throw the ball," Susan shouted from the other side of the yard. Tom turned in place and launched the ball into the sun. Susan ran to get under it. "You need to go talk to your daughter," I said softly. "That's you're job, isn't it?" He stepped away to catch the ball then stepped back to my side. "I mean, I wouldn't know what to say," he muttered. His arm snapped back suddenly and the ball shot toward Susan like a rocket. She took it in the stomach with practiced ease and sailed it back. I waited and watched. The sun was delicious and Rachael was in the kitchen pretending to do something at the sink but was really peeking out the window. "You know you're better at that stuff," he said, leaning over me again. His voice was beginning to take on a whiny tone, like maybe he needed a nap. Fortunately I've dealt with pre-teen girls before. "Really, I wouldn't know what to say," he added as he launched the ball again, like that settled it. I stood up, pulling the dress down slightly. Maybe it was too much boobage on display, might as well use it, right? He didn't even pretend to look elsewhere, even when the ball landed in his hands with a 'thunk.' I preened in the sun for a moment, allowing a good long look, then I held out my naked arms. "I'll take the ball," I said. He pulled a sour look and danced in frustration, just like Susan does. "You're not even going to help me?" he pleaded. "Please!" I stepped closer and lifted the ball, using both hands so I wouldn't embarrass myself. He is so big he blotted out the sun but his frightened eyes made me want to laugh with joy. "I just helped you recently," I whispered, batting my lashes. "Remember?" He licked his full lips, remembering the night before, realizing his fate at last. "But what do I say?" he asked in a pleading tone that gave me a thrill. I stepped back, making room to throw and paused to consider. The ball balanced at my shoulder, on my palm, too big to grip. "Tell her you want to take her to a beauty salon but you don't know which one to choose. Then sit back and shut your mouth," I said. I launched the ball toward Susan but the sun was in my eyes and my stupid boobs were in the way. While she scrambled around the yard I stepped close to him finally and he let me inside his arms. That sour look was even worse. He hated the salon idea, but it was going to happen anyway and he knew it. I pressed all of me against him and slid a furtive hand up his shorts, very close to the prize. He smiled reluctantly and pressed back, ever hopeful. It was like I controlled the whole world. I pushed hard on his stomach suddenly, forcing him to stumble backward. "You have to lead the girls, Tom," I said, lowering my voice, throwing my hair back and attempting one of his dramatic poses."You're their role model. You have to set a good example. I know you can handle the responsibility." He recognized one of his own speeches, his shoulders sagged in defeat and his eyes rolled, so familiar. He turned away and stomped toward the backdoor. "You'll get better with practice," I called to him in a reassuring tone. That's when something hit me in the side of the head. Susan's laugh echoed behind me. + It was terribly hot and we had no plans to leave the house so, after a quick shower, I donned a super light sleeveless peach shell and some shorts that, while small, did cover my butt completely. Tom wondered around the house all day in those absurdly long baggy shorts that came to the knee, without a shirt. We ate dinner outside as the sun went down then watched a movie until the girls couldn't keep their eyes open anymore. They were so worn out I tucked them into bed a half hour early then hurried to the kitchen, eager to get the dishwasher started and the kitchen cleaned so I could enjoy the rest of the evening off. There was a new action movie on and Tom hinted that he might be interested in joining me in the living room. There was no way I was going into his bedroom again so soon. He was at the sink, scrubbing a sauce pan like he was angry at it. The muscles on his back rippled with the effort. Someone had cleared and wiped the island. The dishwasher hung open, fully loaded, waiting to be started. "Oh! My! God! I can't believe it!" I mock screamed, imitating Rachael. "Tom Hannover in my kitchen?! Washing dishes!" His arm stopped scrubbing, he turned his head slowly and looked at me through lowered brows. "Well you're timing is perfect, Miss Smarty Pants." He was smiling, a big happy smile. He dropped the pan, bumped the water off with his forearm and reached for the hand towel. He'd gotten some sun on the normally white parts of his upper body so that his back and chest had a pink glow. "Thank you for doing the dishes," I said. He shrugged and dried his hands. "I can pitch in sometimes." He waited for another smart comment, because he knew he had one coming. More than once the girls and I had speculated on whether he knew how to operate the dishwasher. But I took the high road. "And thank you for talking to Rachael. She's really excited about the salon. You did a good thing today." "Well, I can't say I like the idea of all this makeup at her age but thank you for giving me the push. They're just growing up so fast." He shook his head in wonder and relaxed his butt against the sink, exactly the spot where I spend so much of my time. He wiped his hands one last time before throwing the towel onto the counter then he leaned back and regarded me seriously. "You do a great job every day, Morgan. We couldn't survive without you." I blushed. Really. Nothing could have made me happier than those words. My face was so hot I wanted to look away but his smile held me. For a moment, everything in the world was perfect. That's when it hit me. Call it a moment of clarity. We were alone in my kitchen. My girls were snug upstairs and there was Tom standing in my spot, Beth's old place. Tomorrow I would stand in my spot to prepare breakfast before driving my girls to school. At night I would stand there happily again, before dinner while our girls did homework and later while I cleaned up, listening to the sounds of my family coming from our living room. All I had do was keep my man happy, right? It didn't have to be in his bedroom. Those muscles of his, the ones that wrap around his middle and dive into the waistband of his silly shorts, drew my eye like neon arrows pointing the way. Bizarrely, I couldn't wait to follow them. His face was blank, unsuspecting. I pushed my hair back and unhooked a button. His eyebrows raised. I took a step closer and undid another. My practical beige bra was visible. "What are you up to?" He asked with a sly grin. I ran a finger down my chest, popped another button and took another step. "It occurs to me that we're in my kitchen now," I said. "Yeah? So?" He replied in mock challenge. "Well, for one thing, in my kitchen I make the rules." I took the last steps to the open dishwasher, unhooked the rest of the buttons and let the shell drop on the floor behind me. I bent at the waist elaborately to close the dishwasher, giving him a good view. His shorts appeared to bulge but I was more interested in his face. It was beginning to dawn on him what was about to happen. I stepped directly in front of him. He reached for my boobs but I stepped away and parried his hands. "No hands," I said sternly. "Put them on the counter." He obeyed slowly with a skeptical look. I reached behind my back and caught the bra clasp. "I make the rules here," I said. "OK," he said, licking his lips. I popped the clasp and the pressure was released. My fingers brushed the delicate straps off and the whole thing fell away before his hungry eyes. I quickly scratched underneath and up my sides out of habit then, just to see what he would do, I lifted my breasts and gave my nipples a little pinch, the way I'd always dreamed of squeezing a woman's breasts. His eyes grew huge and a quick glance told me the bulge was visible. Think about it: he's hard just looking at me with my shirt off! "You don't get to move unless I say so," I said. He gave a tiny nod. As a test I stepped into his space, wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my breasts into his warm stomach. Chest hair tickled my face and a firm lump pushed against my stomach, reassuring me that he finds me attractive. I settled against him, pushed back and squeezed him close. He never moved but I could hear him breathing excitedly. When I sank to my knees it was because I couldn't wait anymore. He didn't move when I pulled down the shorts. Plaid boxers tented out to greet me. I looked up to see Tom's reaction. He was watching me with a mix of passion and curiosity. There was no sign of disgust. His hands gripped the edge of the counter top firmly, like they might stay there. We weren't in the real world anymore. We were in a place where I could do anything. His cock flopped out heavily and hung at half-mast, arcing out of a thicket of blond hair and waving slowly as if searching for something. I lowered his underwear to his ankles, having a good look in the well lit kitchen. Tom's cock is cut. The head becomes more purple as it grows. There's nothing weird about it really: long and roped with veins, straight when it's hard a