She remembered the day on his casting couch when she had lain back clad only in black patent leather shoes, white ankle socks, and a pink hair ribbon. Mr. Hammel was surprisingly delicate for so large a man. Like butterfly kisses, his hands ranged over her thin muscular body, inventorying her thighs, her ass, her tiny waist, the just growing swell of tits behind her tiny virginal nipples. But mostly, his tongue was memorizing her cunt, lapping gently up and down her thick hairless lips, stopping to lick a lascivious circle around the swollen hump of her clit, tickling her till she was ready to dissolve into giggles, then sliding its lubricious way down past her hymeneal membrane to dart its tip through the tiny virginal opening and give her a titillating preview of what it would be like someday when she hung up her slippers and settled down to a life of fucking.
His hands had been so soft, so gentle in their caresses that Ted seemed actually to be floating right up off the couch. His mouth was locked firmly over her gaping cunt, sealing the cold air away, leaving-room for his tongue to tickle her to the edge of ecstasy. One hand crept over her breast until a thumb covered one tiny tender nipple and a finger the other. Tenderly, he teased her nascent tits into rock-hard rigidity. Ted felt warm waves of passion radiate from her tits, from her cunt where suddenly he had stopped licking and was gently nibbling at the swollen throbbing knot of her clitoris. She felt something strange inside her belly, a growing building tension as if a rubber band were being stretched and twisted, stretched and twisted farther and farther until soon now it would snap and she would flutter and run down like some broken toy.
The way he was nibbling ever so gently around the knob of her clit felt so good she could feel herself starting to melt, to deliquesce and flow into unfamiliar shapes. She couldn't remember ever having felt so good. Not even the hottest bath after the longest session at the practice bar had ever loosened her tired body the way his marvelous tongue was doing it. She wondered if it would be possible to have Mr. Hammel do this for her every afternoon before she put on her street clothes and went home from the dusty practice hall. It seemed such a wonderful way to end the day.
She could feel her legs moving as her thighs clasped and unclasped. Abruptly she realized that her body-the thing she had spent all these years perfecting-was suddenly out of control. She was not moving her body, her body was moving her. She felt her thin muscual thighs close tight over Mr. Hammel's ears. The warmth of her thighs over his ears provoked some extra spurt of activity from him. She felt his agile tongue dart deeper under the edge of her maidenhead. It felt so good it made her close her legs tighter around Mr. Hammel's ears and her legs over his ears made Mr. Hammel drive his tongue in deeper and faster and harder and…
She shook herself from her reverie and tried to decide what she was going to do now. She was no longer twelve. Now she was thirty-nine, built like a brick pagoda with more tits, more ass, more sheer sex appeal than she had ever had in her dancing days. And she was clad in only shorts and halter, sitting on a settee berth facing a fourteen-year-old who was thinking what all the fourteen-year-old males think twenty-four hours out of every day. What was she going to do?
Ted knew what she wanted to do. But she was not quite insane yet. She wondered though, what it would be like if she just let him touch… the boy was so hair-triggered all he needed was a suggestion of fulfillment and he would, explode and that wonderful lump in the crotch of his Levi's would dissolve into ignominious ejaculation. She was tempted to reach out and touch it. It would be one way to put an end to this crazy situation. The boy would be so humiliated he would not bother her again. Outside little John rang the bell again. She toyed with the idea. It was so outrageous she wanted to laugh. She knew the boy would be more outraged than she. It would serve him right too. Twice now he had managed to grab her ankle under some pretext. What kind of an excuse could she offer for grabbing his cock, holding it long enough, squeezing it maybe, milking it a couple of times until she felt him exploding into gallons of goo? She needed some kind of an excuse so she could draw back horrified, all prim and every inch the uncomprehending lady as the little bastard came all over his pants.
Somehow he was slouching down in the berth, getting his knees ever deeper between her own. Damn him! He was only fourteen. What business did he have fooling around this way with a grown woman? She wondered if this was the way they did things in the ghetto. She supposed it must be awfully crowded in those small apartments. Life must be very like it had been around the studio with everybody undressing in front of everybody else. Or was it? She supposed people had to share the same bed long after time to go their separate ways. Was that why 'mother fucker' was the deepest, darkest insult among ghetto dwellers? Somehow this boy had gotten the idea in his head that he was going to fuck a woman twice as old as he was. She wondered where.
Twice as old hell! She was only three years short of being three times as old as this boy. But… she supposed ghetto women aged sooner. Did the boy believe her. "Do you know how old I am?" she asked.
The boy across from her shook his head.
"How old is your mother?" she persisted.
"Thirty."
"I'm nine years older than your mother," Ted said.
"Sheeeiiiiitttt!" the boy said. "You ain't even old's I am."
Suddenly somewhere deep inside her Ted knew the boy was right. She had lived a sheltered life even if the boys around the studio had been possessed of unusual appetites. Even in spite of Mr. Hammel Ted had managed to keep her virginity until she was twenty-five. She wondered how many adventures were already behind this virile fourteen-year-old product of an urban jungle.
"You ready?" he asked.
Outside the bell rang again.
"Ready for what?" she asked in a strained voice.
"Ready to fuck?" he said. "What the hell you sittin' around half naked for?"
Ted didn't know. Or rather, she suspected that her body had known hours ago something her mind was still unwilling to admit. This was only a boy-only fourteen. But she knew with a sinking feeling that if he were to reach over and untie the bow of her halter she would be helpless. She would just stand there and let him expose the superb contours of her late-grown tits. If this boy were to stand her up and peel off her shorts she knew she would be helpless to resist. She had never felt-that way before.
Fucking with Virgil had been fun. But it had been a shared fun. She had never felt owned. This boy, she knew instinctively, could do whatever he wanted with her and she would be powerless to resist his will. She wondered if he knew it. Probably he did. She had never seen a fourteen-year-old with this masculine assurance before. Chances were this boy had dominated every woman within blocks of his own standing ground. He had the touch. She could feel it. She knew what he would feel like even before he touched her.
But my God, she thought, in this little cabin, with another boy up there who could come bursting in any minute! The bell rang again. She glanced at the portholes. Socked in solid. How long would this fog last, she wondered. Probably all night. Wouldn't burn off till near noon tomorrow. She wondered if these boys' parents were going to get all shook up and have the Coast Guard choppers out whacking around. Probably somebody at the marina would be able to talk them out of that. But meanwhile, what was she going to do? The boy reached across and slipped a finger under the cloth of her halter. He pulled her toward him.
It was-just like a bad dream. Ted knew she was stronger than the boy. With her dancer's body she could twist him into a pretzel if she wanted to. She wanted to. Why couldn't she? Helpless, she felt herself move toward him until she could feel the warmth of his body against her. He put his other arm around her, then she felt both hands fiddling with the knot where her halter tied.