The Making Of A Gigolo 9 Amanda GriggsChapter 4
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The Making Of A Gigolo (9) - Amanda GriggsChapter 2 free porn video
While Florence was being impregnated by Ted, the brother she would no longer need that night was away from home again.
His original agreement with Chester Chumley was to provide “relaxation” to Chester’s wife, Felicity, one night, every other week. Friday had been chosen by Felicity, as the night when, every other week, Bobby would sleep with her all night. The obverse Friday night was supposed to belong to Annie, who was Felicity’s maid. He had gotten both of them pregnant, a little more than a month ago.
Neither woman, however, was satisfied with one opportunity to lie heaving and groaning with passion, beneath Bobby only every other week. In truth, they loved the time they just spent lying there with him after making love, just as much. Chester was firm, though. He felt like it was his fault that both women had become infatuated with Bobby, but he wasn’t going to just let the man take over his whole family. He insisted that his wife sleep with him every other Friday night.
So, the women came up with a solution of their own. It was simple, really. On the night that belonged to Annie, Felicity crawled in bed with him long enough to have three or four orgasms, and get filled up with the sperm that had already impregnated her. Then she got up to go take a shower and sleep with her husband. That left Annie the rest of the night with Bobby. Of course, the next Friday night, it was reversed. Annie let Bobby ring her bell, and then left, so that Felicity could have the rest of the night with him.
Since they tended to want to start around seven or eight in the evening, both women had the time with him they craved, and both women got some attention every week.
Neither woman was far enough along with Bobby’s baby to show any signs of being pregnant just yet, which meant that both women could be taken in any position, with no discomfort. Both women had learned, too, that sometimes, when Bobby was very rough with them, it was deliciously fun. Whoever got him all night was fortunate enough, in her own mind, that she got to see all the different faces of Bobby’s lovemaking. Rough ... gentle ... sweet ... quick ... maddeningly teasing ... using only his mouth, or fingers ... the variety was as prolific as the orgasms they had with him.
After six Friday nights with him, both women were thoroughly addicted.
Another member of the Dalton family was out, with a member of the opposite sex on Halloween night too. That was Linda, who was Bobby’s seventeen-year old sister. She was out with her boyfriend, Paul. They had been going together now since the last fourth of July carnival, when she more or less fell in love with him at first sight.
Paul, a verified science and math geek, had been totally unprepared for a girl like Linda to get interested in him. She was one of “those girls” to him, a girl who was not available to someone like him, or his friends. He had geek friends who were girls, but they were different.
That there had been another date, after he took her on every ride in the carnival, had been the pinnacle of his life, to that point.
She had been dragging him to higher and higher peaks ever since. He had spent four months in an almost constant state of amazed gratitude that she was still interested in him. He knew it couldn’t last, but he was enjoying the hell out of it while it did.
Late in July, she had kissed him ... over and over. He had almost spurted in his pants and was horrified by his boners, which she ignored, even though each time he got one it stuck out like a sore thumb. He knew she was aware of them, but she never said or did anything about it. He was still embarrassed by them, but not nearly as much, any more.
In August, she took him skinny dipping, at night, in the pond on her farm. She had kissed him then too ... naked ... in the water. Nothing else had happened. Nothing else needed to happen. He had found perfection. He was the perfect gentleman, both because that was just part of his value system, and because he didn’t want to do anything that was “too far” or “too fast” or might risk the unbelievable joy he’d stumbled into.
In September, she got tired of him being a gentleman. She had taken his hands, and just put them on her breasts, without saying a word. Then, while he felt, and squeezed, almost insane with the ecstasy of touching a girl’s breasts, while she was kissing him like she meant it ... she had touched the front of his pants ... which was sticking out like a sore thumb.
He had almost cried when he spurted, just from her touch. She knew what had happened, but she kept kissing him anyway, telling him what a compliment it was.
She wasn’t a slut. He knew that. He’d have fought anyone who called her that, even though anyone in the school could probably pound him to a pulp. Sluts would have sex with anybody. And she didn’t have sex with him ... not really. It was more like she was pulling him closer and closer towards that terrifying activity. At the same time he could tell that, while she wanted to go closer and closer, she didn’t want to go any faster than she was making things go. He was relieved, in one sense, because, if she was willing to take charge of things like that ... he didn’t have to. That was good, because he was clueless about what to do next. And even if he’d have known that, he thought ... he wouldn’t know when to take the next sexual step.
Not that those things were all they ever did. Not at all. In fact, those tantalizing, excruciatingly pleasant moments of passion were rare. They spent three evenings a week together now, doing homework together, putting picture puzzles together or some other activity. She helped him, for example, with various science experiments he wanted to do. He came to realize she was much more intelligent than the goofy, somewhat ditzy front she put up for most people.
Paul wasn’t stupid either. It was obvious that, while she was not a slut, she had done all these things she did with him ... before. She was too accomplished at it. But he didn’t know who she had done them with. She had been completely centered on him since the night of the carnival, that had so changed his life. She didn’t go out with other boys, or even flirt with them. She was friendly, and he had personally seen two jocks ask her out. She had said, “No, I have a boyfriend ... but thanks.” She hadn’t asked him to be her boyfriend. She hadn’t told him he was her boyfriend. It was almost like she had just decided it, quite suddenly. It wasn’t like it didn’t really matter what he thought about it. It was more like it was simply a fact of life.
Not that he was complaining.
His parents loved her. She was a “nice girl”. They knew that. They didn’t have to tell him to leave his bedroom door open, when she was there, doing homework with him. She always left it open herself. She never touched him, or kissed him when they were in his bedroom. She saved that for when they were alone.
Like tonight.
They’d gone to the “Thrill and Chill” at the movie house, where three horror films in a row had been screened. It had been a riot of thrown popcorn, screams, and laughter as a theater full of teenagers had vented their emotions, while watching one good movie and two old groaners.
But now, as they drove aimlessly around in the dark, she was cuddled up to him, with her head on his shoulder. He knew what that meant, by now. It meant she wanted to make out.
He parked behind the feed mill, in the shadows, and she crawled over the seat, into the back, almost gracefully. He followed, feeling clunky. She reached for the front of his pants on the very first kiss. All he could think about was shooting off in his pants again. He didn’t want to do that.
“Wait,” he moaned.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I don’t want ... that ... to happen again,” he said.
“Oh,” she said. “I didn’t mind.”
“Yeah,” he said. “But you’re not the one who has to stay in wet, sticky pants.”
“Oh!” she yipped. “I’m sorry,” she said, kissing him quickly. “I never thought of that.”
“I like doing this,” he said, weakly.
“I love doing this,” she sighed. “With you,” she added.
Her original touch had gotten him hard. Her words finished the job, and he felt the tip leak.
“I don’t know what to do,” he moaned.
She was quiet for a minute.
“Paul?” came her soft voice.
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
It hit him like a ton of bricks. He had been living a dream for four months ... a fantasy, that had gone on and on as he watched in disbelief. He had worried every day that she would tire of whatever it was she was attracted to in him, and go away, to leave him a crushed and empty shell of his former self.
“Do you love me?” she asked. Her voice sounded scared.
He couldn’t speak. Her eyes were wide and white, in the dark. She expected him to say something, but he had no breath. He nodded frantically, in panic.
“Can you say it?” she asked, with something else in her voice that he couldn’t recognize.
He nodded frantically again. He realized he was gasping for breath. He held up one finger, telling her to wait. He felt like he was going to pass out.
She waited, silently, and he had never been so thankful in his life that somebody had done what he asked her to. Slowly, he got control back, breathing deeply. He tried to think analytically, since that calmed him, usually.
“Just a minute more,” he panted.
Still she sat, silent ... waiting.
Finally he felt like he could move forward. He had to have some answers first, though ... he needed to understand this, or it would sweep him away, and he didn’t think that was wise. If there was even a single chance that she meant what she’d said, he didn’t want to run any risk whatsoever of screwing this up.
“Before I answer that,” he finally said. “Can I ask you a question?”
She nodded, like he had, only not frantically.
“Why?” he asked.
“Why do I love you?” she said.
He nodded, and was proud that he could do it normally. Just her words, asking if that’s what he meant sounded like music to his ears.
“I’m not sure I can put it into words,” she said. “I just know I do. I knew it on the Ferris Wheel.”
“Clear back then?” He was astonished.
“It’s much stronger now,” she said, as if that were the most reasonable thing in the world to say. “You’re sweet ... you care about my feelings ... you don’t treat me like I’m stupid.” She took a breath. “You make me laugh, and you make me want to do the naughtiest things.”
His prick leaked again.
“You think I’m pretty,” she went on. “I think you’re handsome.”
He blinked. He was the farthest thing from handsome there was, in his opinion.
“You’re smart. You help me with my homework, and I actually understand it when we’re done. My grades have gone up a whole grade point since last year, and I’m not falling behind in any of my classes.” She seemed to stop to think. “I love the way you kiss me, but that gets back to doing naughty things. I already said that one,” she said, matter-of-factly. “I don’t know ... I just can’t put it into words.”
Paul felt the panic squeeze his body, and a maniacal laugh built in his chest. With strength from someplace he didn’t recognize, he clamped down on it all.
“You did pretty well for not being able to put it into words,” he said.
“I have to know if you love me too,” she said, quite seriously. “It ... matters to me.”
“I’m a geek,” he said.
“I know that,” she said. “I don’t care about that.”
“Jocks ask you out on dates,” he said.
“I don’t want to be with them. I want to be with you.”
“I’m afraid,” he moaned.
“Why?” she asked.
“I’m afraid you’ll leave me,” he sighed. There. It was out. He was a stupid geek, who didn’t have any self confidence.
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