Gosh! Was this really happening? She really hadn't intended for it to go this far. It had always been fun of a sort to wrestle with boys, to get a mild turn-on and amuse herself with their discomfiture. Boys were too easy to divert. They would believe anything-even that it could be the wrong time of the month for three weekends in a row.
But Mr. Costello, she abruptly realized, was far from being a boy. If she were to offer excuses now, begin stalling and making vague promises for tomorrow or next week or next month Mr. Costello would give her that same tolerant smile of amusement which came whenever she wandered far afield in her girlish efforts to establish some rudimentary relationship between the law and life as it is lived by the breathing, suffering victims of the law.
"Uh, what're you going to do now?" she asked.
"That depends entirely on what you'd like me to do," Mr. Costello said gallantly. But she noted that without even asking what she would like he bent over her, kneeling now beside the bed instead of sitting on it. He gave her a perfunctory kiss and before she was quite used to the sensation of a kiss backed up by a mustache that mustache was tickling its way down her throat, across her chest, and then he was fastening his lips right over the hard, throbbing nipple of her pink aureoled left tit.
It was the first time anyone had ever practiced that delightful exercise on Paula. She felt a deep surge of excitement course through her virgin body. It felt almost like an electric shock. She was tingling from crotch to eyebrows and she knew suddenly that she was blushing all the way, blushing all over her whole body and he must be watching her blush because all she had on now were her fuzzy white bobby sox and those bought-a-year-ago green panties which cut so interestingly into the outline of her firm little just-blooming bottom.
Without missing a lick, he switched smoothly to her other nipple and began running his tongue in delightful, unbearably and erotically ticklish circles around the sudden rock hardness of her tiny virginal nipple. Gosh, did it ever feel gooood!
She had experimented in her bath, in the loneliness of her narrow bed, running her hands over her body and pretending they were somebody else's. The experiments had suggested that great things lay in store for her once Paula found a partner for these experiments-preferably some male who would be clean, discreet, and would never even think of making her pregnant.
Now she realized to her delight she had exactly the sort of partner she had dreamed of. She wondered if this project had really been in the back of her mind even before Mr. Costello had learned she was interested in the law. Or had she actually become interested in the law only after she had become interested in Mr. Costello?
She wondered what would happen if ever she were to confess that she had always had ambivalent feelings about this ever-so-nice old man. What would he think if she were to tell him she knew he had been making up excuses to hold the ladder, to look up her skirt and admire the contours of her firm little ass-finding excuses to jiggle the ladder and grab that little ass least she fall and bump her lovely bumpers. Then abruptly she knew he was doing it again. Without missing a lick on her firm little nipples, his hands had discovered her ass. Smoothly, he was peeling her green panties down.
CHAPTER 11
Harry Riggs's abrupt end for end switch had caught Paula unprepared. One minute she had been staring eight inches of cock in the face as he squatted astraddle her tits and the next minute he had abruptly changed his mind and decided to do a little tasting of his own.
Her lush body had been prodded and pummeled until she lay on her side and now he lay on his side too end to end, facing her, his eight enormous inches of erection once more poking blindly toward her face, only this time Harry had jumped the gun. He had grasped her knees and spread them, diving unceremoniously to place his mouth over her suddenly gaping cunt.
It had all happened so abruptly Paula was totally unready. As his hands came off her knees and his wiry embrace settled around her ass she felt her thighs close around the bulk of his head. She wondered if he was trying to heat her up with some kind of mechanical gadgetry, and then realized with a little start that those twin foci of heat that were burning her thighs-those were Harry's prominent ears!
Then his tongue violated the gap between her widespread vulval lips. As he ran that rasping organ up one soft damp inner lip and down the other she felt a sudden thrill of erotic delight. Her belly began to thrum as every tiny tissue inside her reacted to the rub of love. Gone were her worries and inhibitions. The son-of-a-bitch might be a male chauvinist pig, might be totally unacceptable from a social or financial standpoint. But with a mouth and tongue like that… it felt so good she almost forgot about his cock.
But that thumping throbbing essence of maleness was waving wildly only inches from her face, searing her with the radiation of hot, hard masculinity. She struggled to control herself, tried to remind herself that this was rape-carnal knowledge against her will, that Harry was committing a felony and would have to be punished for his effrontery. It didn't work.
All she could think of was that mouth pressing lips to her lips, pressing tongue to the passion-swollen super-sensitized inner surfaces of her thrumming cunt. He was devouring her, eating her pussy with such gusto that she knew he would not stop until the last morsel of her lusting body had been consumed.
It felt so wildly, so wonderfully good she could not think of anything else-could not think at all, only revel in the sweet sensuality of that questing tongue roaming at will in the tender trench of her took his.
His sensual tongue seemed to have an instinct for the most tenderly ticklish, erotically sensual, and sensitive parts of her pussy. He licked up one lip and down the other, drove his tongue deep up her vagina and poked in delightfully new directions, stretching that receptive membrane in ways as sensual as they were strange, filling her, thrilling her in ways not even eight erect inches of cock could do.
Some tiny, still sane comer of her passion-riddled mind kept trying to tell her it was still rape, that he had forced himself on her not once but twice now and that, no matter how nice it might feel, she had excellent and socially approved reasons for wishing this little bastard, this lovely tongued little bastard were dead-destroyed before he could finish destroying her already precarious position in society. Jesus! What could she do if somebody were to find out she was being laid by one of her parolees? The papers would have more fun with her than they had had with Watergate.
But while she was struggling to remind herself that she had a mind Harry Riggs's agile tongue finally stopped licking up and down her labia, ceased sounding the empty well of her vagina. He paused a moment and caught his breath and then, with unerring aim, darted the tip of his tongue once more between her gaping labia to touch the round, marble-hard knob of her passion-swollen and supersensitive clitoris.
Paula's noise was not exactly a scream. It was more a wail, a shriek compounded of equal parts of joy and despair. She knew the last barrier had come down, that no matter how she might despise this little man with the big cock-no matter how she might despise herself for succumbing to him, her body was reacting in ways totally alien to her legalistic mind.
It was useless any longer to pretend she was anything else but a slave to her body, to her passions. This little bastard could do anything he wanted to her. She was powerless to resist and she knew it and he knew it and "Ooooooooohhhhhh!"