He rolled off her and lay on his back, exhausted and delighted. "Boy oh boy oh boy, that was great, Shirley. But I always thought that only queers, you know, homos, did it that way."
"Silly child. Of course not, Paul baby. A woman has erotic zones all over, and the anus especially is the next best to her clitoris, and it's much tighter, and so that way we both get satisfied. Any com plaints?" she asked.
"Lord, no," he replied. "But I never knew any girls that did it that way before."
"That was your trouble, honey," she laughed. "All girls know is put-it-in-the-cunt. No variety, no technique, no talent. That's why you need your big Momma to teach you all these things. Now you just lie down and put your handsome head on my breasts and let me cuddle you, baby doll. You're my man, my lover, my boy. I'm going to take real good care of you in every way you've ever dreamed of, angel. That's it. You nurse those big breasts of mine – they're all yours, pretty child."
I closed the secret window through which I'd been observing Paul and Shirley, and returned to my office. It looked like we'd recruited another satisfied client.
I fiddled with some necessary garbage paperwork for a while, then shortly before eleven, Jim Fieser, the sheriff, came in accompanied by a tall gentleman about fifty years old, well-dressed and conservative-looking. I shook hands with Weldon Stone as we were introduced, and directed Jim and Stone down the hall to their assigned room. In a couple of minutes, Betty and Linda entered, and I told them where to head.
"When do I get you again, Doc?" Betty asked. "You are the greatest cocksman I've ever known, and you sort of spoiled me. Although," she added, "we're havin' a real ball this way, I gotta admit."
"Yeah, me, too, Doc. I'd like a repeat ride with all your special varieties the first chance you get," Linda chimed in.
I promised that it would be real soon, and they went on down the hall. In ten seconds, Betty was back, mad, stomping, cursing, irate.
"What the Goddam hell is going on here, Doc? You just blew the whole shebang! Do you know who's in there with Sheriff Jim? Judge Stone! The same son of a bitch that put me on probation eight months ago for being a juvenile delinquent. Good God! How in hell did he get into our club? My God, Doc, we're all dead now." She was crying and hysterical. "He's sent up a dozen kids."
"Whoa, baby, let me check this out," I said, and was striding down the hall as Betty almost collapsed into my desk chair.
I burst into the room. The sheriff and Judge Stone were both naked and Weldon Stone was fondling the enormous tits that Linda wore so proudly. His cock was being petted and stroked by Linda, and she had it half hard when I dashed into the room.
"Jim, is he a judge? And what exactly is the score?" I asked.
"Oh, hell, Doc, relax. Weldon likes his young cunt as well as the next guy, and we've hit a couple of peace officers' conventions together. He's okay – I'll bet my life on it, Doc, old buddy."
"Betty says he's put her on probation, and he's sent up a lot of the kids," I persisted.
"May I interrupt? And thank you my dear, just wait a moment and we'll resume," he told Linda. "First, let me remind you that the only children I've sent to reform school are the ones convicted of their second felony – and then only for theft or violence. Never on any moral turpitude counts. Because while I could never before dare to avail myself of any of the beautiful pussy and young tail that's been running rampant in this horny town, neither was I about to waste it by getting it buried in a stupid reform school. No, I've had to go two hundred, five hundred miles away for my teenage nooky, but not any more. Right, Sheriff? And now, Doc, if you'll excuse me, I have a tender snatch staring in my hungry face that very definitely needs devouring. See me in about an hour if you have any further questions."
With which comment he slid down before Linda's tiny crack and began licking, tonguing, massaging, with such enthusiasm that I was positive the dirty old man was very sincere in his quest for young quail.
I returned to the office, and told Betty what had transpired. I also reminded her that we held the ultimate in blackmail over the old boy's head from now on, and anyway she was with Jim, and if she felt that she got screwed on the juvenile sentencing, here was her best opportunity to screw him – literally – in return. She blew her nose, wiped her tears, and philosophically went down to get what she came for.
By the time the morning circus was over and I had dashed over to the hotel coffee shop for lunch and got back to the office, it began to look like Grand Central Station. The four young kids who had to come to me at their parents' request and insistence, I had assigned to individual rooms, to await my turns at counseling them and exploring their problems.
Then Dorothy Wilson, Harold's wife, came in, followed almost immediately by Agnes Fieser, Sheriff Jim's wife. They were a little out of the pattern, and I sure as hell didn't have any time to waste with ordinary, run of the mill psychiatric patients. I didn't need the money, and I was not about to waste the time, either.
I took Mrs. Wilson to my office first, promising Mrs. Fieser that it wouldn't be a very long wait. As I shut the door, Mrs. Wilson ("Call me 'Dottie', Doctor") started in with a long list of complaints – physical, mental, psychic, emotional. I stopped the spillover of her verbal dam with: "… so get to the point, Dottie. I think that an awful lot of your problems are frustrations, and the rest of your headaches and hassles are merely the symptoms of sexual deprivation. Pardon my bluntness, but we are all trained to get right to the root of the matter, and I firmly believe that that is what's the matter."
"Oh, Harold was right. He said you were such a brilliant doctor. And yes, to be frank, Doctor, that is one of my big problems. Harold hasn't been paying a lot of attention to me – physically, that is, of course – the last few years, and maybe I am a little frustrated. He used to be so lustful, so – this doesn't go any further does it, Doctor?" I reassured her on that count. "And he was so horny and randy. But nothing much the last few years. And I'm lovely and don't know what to do. Even earlier, maybe we didn't have it too wonderful – he was always so rough and in so much of a hurry."
I interrupted her, and told her that I could fix her up mentally, emotionally, sexually, to where she'd be more satisfied than ever before in her life, and then she got started on her dreams.
"I never went for the John Wayne type, Doctor. I've even got a little flirtation going with our paper boy. He seems such a sweet young child, always so clean and polite and quiet and gentle." She was almost simpering. "I guess I'm just a little girl at heart, Doctor." God, how coy could a fortyish matron get?!
"Fine. Fine, Mrs. Wilson. Okay, yes, 'Dottie'. Well, you just go into the second room down the hall and I'll get back to you in a few minutes," I said. "If you want to, just disrobe and lie down and relax. The blinds are drawn, and it'll be nice and quiet. I'll get to you in a few minutes," I promised. I returned to the outer office and talked to Agnes Fieser. She said that the sheriff had said that I seemed to know what I was doing, and by the time we scratched the surface, I could see the need for privacy, so I sent her down the hall and told her I'd be there in a moment. I'd seen Bob Cook, the druggist, coming up the walk. I told him to wait in the lobby a few minutes while I finished with another party, and then went down the hall to Mrs. Fieser.
As I turned to lock the door behind me, I heard Agnes Fieser's voice.
"Look at me, Doc. Am I half bad?" And I had to agree, as I surveyed the soft, full breasts and the lush rounded hips that she wore so gracefully. Her pubes were prominent, and through the thick, dark foliage I could see a glimpse of a hairline crack. She smelled arousingly delicious, clear across the room.