Ron: Just A Growing Boy, Part Iv free porn video

Nancy Webster opened the door to the office of her boss, Eugene Pearson. On a tray, she was carrying two mugs and a note pad. She put the tray on a table, and handed one of the mugs — it contained decaffeinated coffee with cream and sugar — to Eugene. She was wearing a tight knee-length skirt, and when she took her seat she showed off her slim legs up to the mid thigh. Nancy sipped from her mug, she preferred green tea, and waited on her boss.

Gene looked up from his computer screen. "Oh, great," he said, spying the coffee. He took a loud slurp and saluted Nancy with the mug. "Thanks, I needed that," he told her. His eyes lingered on her legs, not to mention her breasts, silky blonde hair and beautiful face.

"You're welcome," said Nancy. She sat poised with pen in hand and the notebook on her lap. They talked business for several minutes. Nancy brought him up to date on her various projects. Without realizing it, Gene had been using her more and more to delegate responsibilities throughout his company. She loved it.

Gene sat back in his chair and took another loud slurp of his coffee. "One more thing, I want you to find that young man we were observing the other day."

Nancy knew by the look on his face that he was talking about the boy in the e-mail - the one with the unusual cock. "Did you discuss that e-mail with your wife?" she asked.

"Yes, loudly and at length," he said sheepishly.

"And?"

"And we have agreed to disagree for the time being. Neither of us wants a divorce," said Gene.

"I see."

"We have separated, of a sort," he said. "I've moved into one of the guest apartments at the pool." He sniffed. "It's larger than the home I grew up in, so it's not much of a hardship." He gave Nancy a lascivious smile. "As I recall, you expressed an interest in that young man"

Nancy said, "Well, in the heat of the moment..."

"And we'll recapture that heat," Gene said. "Look, I bet that boy wasn't as young as he looked. He's probably some gigolo my wife hired. He shouldn't be too hard to find."

Nancy decided that if they had stopped discussing business, then she was going to stop her dutiful assistant's act. She stood and went to Gene's side. She steadied herself with one hand on the back of his executive's chair and bent over. Her heavy blonde hair brushed his face and her breast rested on his shoulder. With her free hand she cupped his crotch and gave it an affectionate squeeze. "And what happens when I find him?" she breathed in his ear.

Gene glanced to the side. He could see the curve of her ample breast above her bra cup through the gap in her blouse. "You ... you could have your fun with him of course, and I ... I..."

Nancy let her lips brush the shell of his ear. "You want to watch, don't you?"

"No ... I ... I..." he stuttered even as he tried to capture her hand between his legs.

Nancy suddenly straightened, pleased that she'd reduced her boss to the level of a schoolboy trying for a grope. She brushed her hair over her shoulders and said, "I'll attend to that matter, right away." And with that, she left his office.

A few minutes later, Nancy sat at her desk. Eyes closed, she slowly swiveled her office chair from one side to the other in contemplation mode. She'd been concerned that Gene would reconcile completely with his wife, because you never knew which way love would take someone. They had been very close early in their marriage — the amalgamation of their names, Ka-Gen, was the name of Gene's company. But in the matter of sex, which woman in his life held sway? Was it the nice looking wife who barely noticed his sexuality, or the busty blonde assistant who seemed to crave his cock?

Of course 'seemed to' were the operative words there. Eugene knew what she was doing in fucking her way into a position of power. Somehow though, he seemed to be putting the situation in denial. Of course, now it looked as if he wanted to heat up their relationship by asking her to put together some sort of threesome. Nancy picked up a Montblanc pen and twirled it through her fingers. She wondered how she could bend this situation to her advantage.

First things first though, after passing three levels of computer security she brought up the video of the mystery male and Karen Pearson getting it on. It wasn't hard to isolate a good picture of the boy before he disrobed. She put that picture in an e-mail and sent it off. Picking up her phone, she tapped out an extension number using the end of her pen.

"How can I help you, Ms. Webster," said a thin, male voice a few seconds later.

"Good morning, Herb," Nancy said to Herb Bush, the head of security for her company. Herb Bush had done something in the federal government — something he couldn't talk about — before coming to Ka-Gen. He was very good at his job and you needed someone very good to keep out the foreign and domestic spies in the software business.

"I just sent you an e-mail," she continued. She waited, knowing that he would be bringing up the picture.

"And who's this strapping lad?" he asked a few seconds later.

"That's what I'm hoping you can find out for me," Nancy said. "I suggest that you start with the students at the school where Ms. Pearson works."

"Is he some sort of hacker?" Bush asked. There were numerous attempts every day to break into the company's servers.

"No, I just need an ID for now. I'll let you know if it's something important."

Bush harrumphed into the phone, but he and Nancy worked well together so he didn't push the matter. "I'll see what I can find out," he said. They said their goodbyes.

Nancy went to work on another project. Only thirty minutes had passed when her phone chirped and she saw Bush's name on the screen. "Yes, Herb?" she said when she answered.

"I've found your boy," said Bush. "His name is Ron Fuller, and you were right about him being a student at Ms. Pearson's school." He went on to give Nancy his address and phone number.

"That was quick," Nancy said.

"The marvels of modern computers," Bush said. "Anything else I can help you with?"

"Actually, there is," she said. "Can you get someone off company to follow this ... uh ... Ron Fuller? I need to know when's out somewhere in public, besides school."

She could hear Bush rearranging himself in his chair. "That can be expensive. I'll need an OK."

"Route the voucher directly to Mr. Pearson, he'll sign off on it," Karen said.

"Alright," Bush said in a resigned tone. "How do you want to handle the information?"

Karen hesitated. She hadn't considered that detail. When she didn't speak, Bush said, "Tell you what. The operative can contact me and I'll send you a priority text message."

Damn he's good, thought Karen. He realizes I'm trying to keep this at arm's length. "That'll be fine," she told him.

Slap, slap, slap, slap ... the steady tattoo of thighs hitting on thighs and ass filled the room. Ginny Fuller was on her hands and knees in the center of her queen-sized bed. Her lover was behind her, giving it to her good — doggie style. "That's it, baby," she moaned, "no one's ever filled me like you do." Slap, slap, slap ... she concentrated on keeping up her side of the rhythmic pounding by thrusting her ass back and forth. The sexual tension made her crumple the bed sheets in her fingers. It wouldn't be long now. She could feel her orgasm building. Her lover clasped her heaving hips with both hands and threw their hot fuck into high gear. His massive cock ravaged her dripping cunt. He'd screwed her through two cums already and now he was moving twice as fast. He was a tireless fuck machine. A slick, delicious feeling flooded her whole body. She felt her pussy spasm around the big fuck-stick. "Oooooh, yeahhhhh!" Ginny sobbed. Thrilling ripples of pleasure shot through her. Her hot cunt milked the oversized dick that continued to pile drive. She heard a grunt and suddenly a hot flood of cum stretched and filled her cunt. She could feel the lava hot surges of cream flow from her pussy lips and sheet down her legs.

She felt the log of a dick withdraw from her soaked cunt. The bed bounced as her lover moved, and she fell over onto her side sated and exhausted. She watched as the smoothly muscled body of her lover, his only slightly drooping cock arching obscenely large from his crotch, turned in her direction.

"We're still going to the mall, aren't we?" he asked.

"Yes, honey," she told her thirteen year old son, "as soon as we get ready."

"Cool," Ron said. "I get the bathroom first."

Nancy looked up into the face of Daniel Price. His eyes were closed in concentration, or passion or maybe they were closed simply to keep out the sweat that was flowing from his brow. He was a good looking guy with a square jaw and unkempt dirty blonde hair. His skinny, yet muscular body, and scruffy beard completed his bad boy look. That look was at odds with his job as a nerdish programmer at Ka-Gen.

At present, Daniel was doing his best to absolutely fuck the shit out of Nancy's slippery pussy. They were both working on their fourth orgasm of the morning and it wasn't happening fast enough for her. She stretched out an already wide spread, and very agile leg, and kicked him in the ass with her heel. "Come on, you son of a bitch, FUCK ME!" she demanded.

Daniel bit his lower lip and whined, but he managed to increase the tempo of his plunging hips. Unlike their mutual boss, Gene Pearson, Daniel had a thick eight hard inches between his legs. She loved the way it stretched her cunt lips, and the way it sawed in and out of her hole. The erotic waves of sex washed through her. "That's it fucker, that's it, that's it," she cried. They were on a king-sized bed in a two bedroom condominium in an exclusive gated community. The condo was on the books at Ka-Gen as a combination corporate retreat and guest house, but it was actually Nancy's residence. Daniel Price was pretty much Nancy's too; he was merely an adequate programmer, and he knew that keeping his job meant keeping Nancy happy.

"AH FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," she yelled as she wrapped her legs around Daniel's waist and ground out her cum against his hard body.

He shuddered in her arms as her clutching pussy milked another orgasm out of his body, not that there was much evidence of it; she'd pretty much drained him dry. Daniel collapsed half his body weight on her.

On the nightstand next to her bed, Nancy's cell played a jaunty tune. She stretched out an arm and checked the display; it was Herb Bush. "Hello," she said after taking the call.

"Thought I'd give you a call instead of a text, the Fuller kid is at the North Clift Mall," Bush said.

"Good, thanks," said Nancy. "I'll check back with you in less than an hour." She cut off the call. "Danny, get off," she told the hot body lying on top of her.

"Mmmph," was his only response.

His hand was draped across her shoulder. She grasped his palm, bending it to a right angle and then she pushed and twisted at the same time.

"Ow, ow, OW..." he cried in increasing volume as he rolled away in pain. "You don't have dislocate anything." Daniel flexed his aching wrist a few times and threw his arm over his eyes. His shriveled dick looked red and sore.

Nancy stood from the bed and said, "Duty calls, hop up."

"It's Saturday," Daniel said in mumbled protest.

"Go," said Nancy. "I'm out of here in fifteen minutes."

It was actually twenty minutes later when Nancy checked her look in the full length mirror of her bedroom. Daniel had disappeared. She had showered just long enough to erase the smells of sex and sweat. She'd dressed in slacks and a belted jacket by Donna Karan. The dark slacks showed off her ass nicely, and the beige cashmere v-neck accented her prominent tits with a bit of cleavage. Makeup, a hint of gold jewelry and sensible pumps completed the outfit of a young business woman who intended to be noticed.

Putting her bag over her shoulder, Nancy took the elevator to the ground floor parking garage where her car, a nearly new, metallic blue Corvette Z06 was parked. It was a sexy looking car for a sexy looking owner. She entered the car, started the five hundred plus horsepower engine, and with a chirp of the wide rear tires she was off to the mall.

She got on the cross town expressway; it was two lanes going either way. There wasn't much traffic and she was content to follow a delivery van that was doing slightly over the speed limit. A pickup in the left lane slowly came abreast of her car and then began to creep past. The driver had a cell phone to his ear. His right wrist was flopped over the steering wheel and he was making all sorts of gestures as he spoke. It was obvious that his mind was more on his conversation than his driving. That was when Nancy heard the unmistakable flat staccato sound of a barely muffled four cylinder engine. She checked her side mirror and saw that a street racer type — it was a Honda or maybe a Mazda — had run up behind the pickup.

The pickup finally managed to pass Nancy and now the loud streeter was even with her car. There were two teenage boys in the car and they openly ogled Nancy and her Corvette by turns. She shifted her gaze to give the boys a cool once over and then she grinned evilly.

It was hardly the first time she'd grinned at other drivers. It had begun when she was five. Her father bought her a five horsepower go-cart for Christmas. He took her to their back yard where he'd laid out a figure eight track with some old boxes. He made sure that she was strapped in and that her helmet fit just right and then he yanked on the rope starter a couple of times to get the motor running. Once the little engine sputtered to life, Nancy pushed her right foot down as far as it would go, and she didn't let up until the little single cylinder engine ran out of gas.

That had been only the beginning of her karting career. Her father owned a power equipment business that sold and serviced lawn mowers and other lawn equipment. Most of his advertising budget went into the karts that Nancy drove in competition. She developed the habit of giving a nasty smile to the boys as she out braked them or stole their line into a corner just as she zoomed past.

That didn't make her popular and she had to absorb some hard looks and angry words. Those looks from the boys took a turn when she began to develop. By age sixteen she had a body that even the most unrevealing race wear couldn't hide.

Her team, made up of her father and a couple of guys from the shop, were preparing for the upcoming season. Dad had applied for support from their engine supplier, Maxkartpower. Their previous season had gone so well, he had thought that with more money they could contend for a national championship. A representative of Maxkartpower was coming by to look at their operation.

But things took an odd turn that day. With a sickening feeling in her stomach, Nancy watched as the paramedics loaded her mother into the back of an ambulance. Good ol' Mom had stood on the top rung of a step ladder while cleaning, and then she had stretched out just a hair too far. The ladder had tipped over, trapping her foot. In the twisting fall, Nancy's mother had broken both bones in her right calf.

Nancy's father walked up beside her. He put his arm around Nancy's shoulder and said, "She's in no danger, she'll be fine. She'll ache and be a pain in the ass, but she'll be fine." The emotion in his voice belied his attempt at a light tone. "Now, I'm going to the hospital with her. You'll have to meet the guy from Max."

"No, Dad," Nancy protested. "Can't we put that off?"

"I know how you feel, baby, but I got the application in late. This guy is seeing us only because we're on his way to some convention."

"Sam or Jackson can talk to him," Nancy protested, naming her father's two employees who made up her karting crew.

Her dad shook his head. "Those guys volunteer too many hours as it is. Besides, you'll make a much better impression than those two grease stained monkeys."

Nancy sighed a long sigh of teen angst.

"Good," said her father, knowing that was all the acquiescence he was going to get. From his back pocket, he pulled a wallet the size of a paperback book. It was his personal data storage. He thumbed through a thick wad of notes and business cards, finally picking out a shred torn from notebook paper. He handed it to Nancy. "Here's his name, Bret Harrington, and his flight number and well, you can see the rest."

"Okay, Dad," she said with resignation as she took the paper.

He gave her a hug. "I'll tell your mother where you are," he said. "Although, I might wait until she's sedated," he muttered. "Anyway, come by the hospital when you can."

Nancy nodded. "Tell her I love her," she said to her father's back as he hustled toward his truck.

She went into the house and checked on Harrington's flight. It was on time, even so, she decided that she had enough time to shower. Thirty minutes later, she was dressed in fashionably faded jeans, navy v-neck tee shirt and a pair of pink Keds. She took the family Explorer; it was like driving a battleship in comparison to her kart, but she arrived at the airport in good order.

Nancy held up the sheet of paper with 'Harrington' she had printed on it with a magic marker. She joined a line of people with similar signs, along with people who obviously knew who they were looking for. She watched the flyers come in from the plane, trying to guess which man he might be. She imagined someone like her father — middle age, thinning hair and a paunch. Indeed, there was more than one man like that. Some of them were peering at the signs, looking for their names. One man in a wrinkled suit squinted at her sign. She was about to speak to him when a voice said, "You must be Nancy Webster."

Nancy shifted her gaze into a wonderfully blue pair of eyes. "Yes ... yes that's me," she said. She took in the rest of the man who had just spoken. Good Lord, she thought, he looks like a soap opera star. Bret Harrington was tall, thirtyish and gorgeous. He had full, dark hair, a square jaw and dimples. His lean frame was dressed in khakis, a denim shirt, navy blazer and a pair of expensive looking loafers. As they shook hands, his eyes wandered down to her chest.

Caught you looking, thought Nancy. "My dad couldn't make it," she said as they walked their way out of the terminal. She explained about her mother's accident.

"I'm so sorry, that's awful," Bret said.

"I guess you're stuck with me for a tour of the shop," Nancy said.

"I don't think 'stuck with you' is the appropriate phrase," he said with a warm smile.

They went to the lot and retrieved the Explorer. Nancy negotiated the highway toward the city. As they neared the exit for Bret's hotel, she asked, "Would you like to go straight to the shop? Your hotel is the next exit."

"Please, let's stop at the hotel first," Bret said.

When she pulled to a stop outside the lobby, he checked his watch. He rubbed at his chin in thought for a couple of seconds and said, "I'll tell you what. I really need to make some phone calls. Why don't you join me here for dinner, in say two hours? Then we can talk business."

Nancy hesitated for only a second. Her father had insisted that she take care of this guy so she couldn't honestly complain about any time restraint. Besides, dinner with Bret was an attractive proposition. "I can do that," she told him.

She drove home and immediately called the hospital. She was put through to her mother's room. "Hey, Dad," she said once he had answered the phone. "How's Mom doing?"

"They put her on some heavy duty pain killers. She's been dozing on and off. The orthopedist said that he'd have to put a rod in her tibia. They're going to operate tomorrow sometime." They speculated for several minutes about how they were going to care for her mother once she was home. Then Nancy filled him in on Bret Harrington.

"He's not some lecherous old coot?" her father asked.

Nancy laughed. "No, as a matter of fact, he's thirty something and very handsome," she said.

"Damn, I think I'd like a dirty old man better than a young one. But I know you can handle him."

They said their goodbyes. Nancy took a quick shower and then began the task of deciding what to wear. Bret's hotel catered to business men and tourists, so she wanted to wear something nice, but casual. The dining room was likely to be filled with people in t-shirts, shorts and flip-flops. She settled on a pair of forest green shorts that were of a decent length — as her mother would have said — and a gold, sleeveless top. It was gathered at the waist so as to hint at the style of a bustier. She put on eye liner, lip gloss and just enough powder to smooth her face. She slipped into a pair of sandals with a low wedge. She'd be eye to eye with Bret now.

She drove back to the hotel and arrived a few minutes early. Bret was seated in the lobby, tapping at his Blackberry. He stood as she entered and gave her an appreciative look. The dining room was nice, if a little noisy. They both had steak, potato and salad bar. Bret had a couple of glasses of wine, while Nancy had to stick to iced tea.

After the meal Nancy drove them to her father's business. She parked next to the repair shop, and they entered through a side door. Nancy very carefully cut off the burglar alarm and flipped on the lights. They had to walk through a maze of mowers that were waiting for repair in order to reach the corner that was devoted to her kart.

"Here we are," announced Nancy as she gestured with a wave of her hand. Her kart was on a waist high stand. One of the rear wheels was off where one of the crew had been working on the brake. On the wall was hung an extra chassis and other major components sat on a nearby shelf. Everything was spotless. Her father insisted that his crew spend the last twenty minutes of the work day in cleaning the shop and returning every tool to its storage area.

"Very nice," said Bret. He looked everything over; he even opened drawers and eyed the racked tools. "Do you have your budget and race schedule handy?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah," said Nancy. She had forgotten about that. "It's in the office." She picked her was back across the repair area, walked down a hallway and entered the shop's office. This was the domain of Florence, an elderly lady who kept the books and acted as cashier for the business. A folder sat squared up evenly on the blotter of her immaculate desk, right where Nancy's father had said it would be.

She turned to leave the office, but Bret had trailed her and was standing in the doorway. She handed the file to him. He glanced over the papers, nodding his head as he read. When he closed the file, Nancy asked, "So, how did we do?"

"Well," said Bret, "there are three levels of aid from Max: A, B and C. We give C-level to pretty much anyone who buys our engine. It's just some advanced technical support. B-level teams get free hats and jackets and some travel money when they show the Max advertising. A-level teams get all that plus engines that have been breathed upon, as the saying goes, by our racing experts."

"Oh, I see," said Nancy. "So where do we stand?"

Locking his eyes on hers, Bret stepped near and leaned past Nancy in order to put the file back on the desk. His chest was almost brushing her tits when he said, "Your team is a solid B, but very near to qualifying for A."

Nancy didn't back away. She didn't even glance away from Bret's steady gaze. "What puts us up to an A-level?" she asked softly.

"It depends on my judgment of the team, and of the driver's commitment. How committed are you, Nancy?" he said just as softly.

Nancy wasn't sure who kissed who first, but their lips met. Oh my God, he can really kiss, she thought. He tasted of wine and the mints they'd had after dinner. His lips were firm and moist and his tongue was very playful. Not like the high school boys she was use to. They tended to go for her tonsils immediately.

Bret couldn't believe this was happening. He was happily married and had a child. He didn't need to insinuate a bribe to get sex. But this girl was unbelievably hot. She wasn't shy, and she didn't act coy. He bet that a boy who made at pass at Nancy either got laid fast and hard, or got kicked in the balls. Her tongue was fluttering around in his mouth, and those two glorious mounds of her breasts, the ones he'd been trying hard not to stare at all evening, were pressed firmly against his chest. Damn, he was hard. His dick was a steel rod in his slacks and he knew she could feel it.

Nancy reached between their bodies and squeezed Bret's hard-on. He shuddered and moaned into her mouth. Even as she played with his tongue, she began to calculate just how far to take this. She ran her palm up and down the bulge of his rigid shaft. His hips pulsed back and forth, dry fucking her hand. That gave her an idea.

Bret felt abandoned when Nancy broke their kiss. Was she going to leave him with a case of blue balls? He hadn't put her down as some sort of cock tease, but you never could tell.

Nancy sat at the desk chair and said, "Pull down your pants; I think Flo has just what we need here somewhere."

He had no idea who Flo was, although he assumed she was whoever worked at that desk. His hands flew as he undid his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants and pushed them to his knees. His cock was clearly outlined against his underwear. There was a wet stain where the tip pressed against the white material. The hot teen had him leaking pre-cum already.

He watched as Nancy pulled open and shut a couple of drawers, evidently searching for something. "Here we go," she said as she pulled a tube of aloe cream out of the desk. She looked at his lumpy underwear and smiled indulgently at Bret. "These go too," she said and pulled down his skivvies to release seven inches of slender man-meat. The twitching cock had a slight curve to the left. She took the cap off the tube and squirted a generous helping of skin cream into her palm.

Bret pulled his shirttail out of the way. He was pretty sure he knew what was coming next. Nancy rubbed her palms together and then reached for his straining cock. He expected her to simply grab his dick and pound away, but to his surprise, her touch was much gentler.

She began by simply running her fingertips back and forth along the length of his pulsing dick. She tickled his balls as she let them fall across her fingers. A stream of clear pre-cum leaked from his distended slit. Nancy caught it on the tip of her finger and massaged the hot liquid into the head of his dick.

She began to stroke him lightly massaging the length of his cock with first one hand and then the other. She stroked downward with both hands for a few seconds and then upwards. Then she held the base of his cock with one hand, and with the other she worked her fingers in a corkscrew motion around the flared head.

"Oh, Nancy, that's unbelievable," he said with a gasp. He was in heaven, but it wasn't going to last. He'd been on the road for over a week with no sex, no wet dreams; he hadn't even masturbated. The pressure was too much. But she must have sensed his eminent orgasm because suddenly she stopped and went back to the light caresses of her fingertips.

She brought him to the peak once more, and once more she stopped short of bringing him off. Bret's hands fluttered at his sides. She had him dying to cum and he loved it, but it was all he could do not to grab his dick and pound away like a horny kid.

"You're killing me," he moaned.

Nancy simply smiled at the look of sexual agony on Bret's face. "Okay," she said with a wink. She formed a circle just under his cock-head with her forefinger and thumb. Then she began to rub that sensitive area with the lightest of touches.

Bret thought his cock was going to explode from the pressure brought about by her teasing touch. His cock-head was swollen and turning purple. It was only a couple of minutes but it seemed as if an age had passed before he was able to moan, "Oh, shit ... I'm going to cum ... oh, Nancyyyyy."

A shot of cock-cream leapt from the end of his dick and fell on Nancy's hand. She felt his cock pulse time and again. She twisted her hand on his dick-head as more hot, thick cream flowed over her fingers. She was impressed by amount of spunk. She laughed and said, "You were saving up, weren't you?"

"Oh, shit, baby ... yeah, it's been a while," he said as his breathing returned to normal. He felt as if he'd run a marathon.

Fortunately, Flo's desk yielded up a box of tissues. In a few minutes, they were cleaned up and Bret was zipped up. The evidence was flushed away.

"So, do we rate the A-level funding?" Nancy asked as they walked out of the building.

"Oh, yeah, no problem there," Bart said.

"Cool," said Nancy. So do you sign the papers now or what?"

"Well, it doesn't quite work like that," Bret said. "Your father will have to fill out requests for different types of funding, and..." He stopped when he saw Nancy's face begin to cloud up in anger. He held up his hands to forestall the storm. "Hey, I can prepare a letter of agreement the second I can get to my briefcase."