Carol reached out and took the boy's trembling hand in hers. She looked deep into his eyes, eyes that betrayed the wicked thoughts that were racing through the innocent boy's own mind. She knew that his innocence, like Joey's was only due to lack of sexual experience. She could see that the kid
thought about fucking all the time. This confrontation with a sultry feminine charmer was making him terribly tense and self-conscious. She loved that look of childish self-consciousness, loved the foot-shuffling, loved the bobbing of the boy's Adam's apple, loved the quick shifting of his glittering blue eyes, loved the way he kept brushing his light-brown hair out of his eyes nervously. She had to fuck the good-looking boy, had to teach him the joys of sex just as she had taught his brother.
Carol drew the kid towards her. When he stood before her looking totally innocent and scared nearly to death, she put her hand firmly on his shoulder and pushed downward insistently. The boy resisted at first, just like a puppy. When he succumbed to the pressure of her light but insistent feminine hand and the dark hypnotizing fire in her lovely eyes, he fell to his knees before her, looking up at her beseechingly.
"Michael, my little lover, you seem afraid of me," she smiled wickedly. "There's no need to be afraid, Michael. All I want you to do is massage my sore ankle." she said, crooking her leg and holding her foot up by his face, knowing perfectly, well that he could see all the way to the crotch of her damp panties, panties which clung to the parted lips of her aroused cunt.
Michael felt more excited than he had the first time he'd gotten a hard-on, and much more afraid. Miss Chambers was so scary that he could hardly look at her, scary in a way he had never experienced before. There was so much of her all
of a sudden, so much of her that he hadn't seen before. She had big boobs swelling under the front of her dress. He hadn't even noticed that before. And she had long, soft-looking legs, legs that were even prettier than his mother's. He hadn't noticed her legs before, either. And she had that thing between her legs that all the men talked about and that he had always wanted to see. He could almost see it now. In fact, he knew that he could see it if he had the nerve to look up her dress. It was awfully dark up there, he knew, but he knew that he could get a good look at it, if only he wasn't so scared. He didn't dare let her think he was looking at her there.
"Well, aren't you going to massage my foot, darling? Or would you rather just sit there looking up my dress?" Carol said sweetly.
"Oh, Jesus Christ!" Michael cried, knowing that he had been caught peeking between the luscious lady's legs. "I wasn't! I didn't!"
"Of course you did, Michael. You looked right between my legs. You wanted to see my cunt!" she said, emphasizing her last word.
"Oh, God! I wouldn't do that! Really!" the boy sobbed.
Carol still held her foot near his handsome smooth face. She touched the side of her perfumed foot to his cheek. She saw a little tear beginning to form in his eye and wiped it away with her toe.
"Don't worry, Michael dear," she said, looking sympathetic. "It's not the end of the world, Michael, at least it doesn't have to be. Do you know what would happen if I told your mother
and father that you were looking up my dress? Do you know how terrible that is, darling? Do you know how embarrassing that would be?" she said, suddenly feeling the powerful position in which she had placed herself.
"Please don't tell Mom and Dad!" the boy cried. "They'd kill me, Miss Chambers! I didn't mean to! I didn't! I couldn't help it, Miss Chambers!"
"Yes, darling, I understand," Carol sang. "I realize that you couldn't help yourself. You're just a curious boy, like all men your age. You were curious about my twat, weren't you, Michael?"
"I guess. Jesus, I couldn't help it!" he sobbed, her dirty words making him feel awfully strange.
"I suppose you wanted to see if my cunt looked the way you'd always imagined, Michael. Have you seen pictures of a woman's cunt?" she asked, her own voice exciting her more and more by the minute.
"Pictures? God, no! Of a… a woman's…?" the boy stumbled, his eyes wide, his jaw slack.
"Of a woman's cunt. Of her cunt, Michael. C-u-n-t! Come now, my boy, we all know about cunts. Your brother has some pictures of a woman's cunt, your brother Joey. Doesn't he let you see them?" she asked, feeling wicked.
"Joey? No! I mean, I know he has 'em. But he never lets me look at the pictures. He says…" the kid began, his words tumbling out of his mouth all by themselves now.
"He says you're too young for that sort of thing?" Carol asked, still stroking the boy's face with her foot. "Of course we know that he's being
silly. Your age has nothing to do with it! You're quite old enough to take an interest in such things. Doesn't Joey want you to grow up to be interested in girls? It's so silly! I think you should be allowed to see a woman s cunt, Michael. Doesn't your mother ever let you see hers? While she's showering or getting dressed?" Carol asked.
"God, no! Mom wouldn't let me see her like that! No way!" young Michael said, soothed somewhat by the soft stroking of the woman's foot against his cheek.
"That's just terrible, Michael dear. You Masterson men would never learn anything about sex if it weren't for me. I won't tell your parents on you if you go ahead and massage my ankle like a good boy," she smiled.
Carol closed her eyes in bliss when she felt the boy's hands on her foot. His hands were a bit cold at first, attesting to his extreme nervousness. His hands grew steadily warmer, however, as he stoked the silken skin of her foot. Carol's seething cunt grew warmer, too. She had to let the kid see her twat. She had to introduce the eighteen-year-old young man to fucking.
"Michael, were you upset when I asked you about being massaged?" "Were you hun?" Carol whispered. "Is there something I should know?"
"Christ, no!" the boy gasped.
"Something tells me you're not telling the truth, darling," she said sternly. "Out with it! And if it doesn't sound like the truth, I'll get on the phone and call your mother. Imagine a boy your age looking up my dress!" she said.
"Jesus! I don't want to tell you! I don't want to tell anyone! I promised I wouldn't tell anybody!" the boy said.
"But you must tell, Michael. And keep rubbing my foot while you tell me all about this little secret. Out with it! No lies! I can tell very easily when a young man is lying to me. My, but your hands feel good…" she sighed.
"If I have to tell," the poor defenseless boy muttered, barely audibly. "I hurt myself once and Mom made it feel better. That's all," he said so quickly that Carol hardly heard him.
"My goodness, Michael, slow dawn! Where on earth did you hurt yourself? It must have been a terribly private place to cause you such embarrassment. I want to know. What happened, Michael?" she said.
"I can't tell!" the boy said, almost crying.
"Very well!" she replied, reaching for the phone on a little table near the settee.
"No, no! I'll tell! I caught my… my 'thing' in my zipper," he said, his face turning bright red.
"Your thing!" Carol laughed, unable to control herself.
When she realized how serious the confession was, she felt the dizzying tunings of depravity stirring deep inside her cunt.
"But you said your mother massaged you once when you got hurt. Are you telling me that she massaged you there?" Carol asked, sitting up suddenly, fascinated by this unexpected turn in their conversation.
"Well, I didn't want her to," the boy whispered,
as if afraid to speak out loud.
"Are you telling me that your mother rubbed your 'thing' for you when you hurt it? Joyce did that? Joyce? With all her prudish ideas about how to raise a family? When did this happen, Michael?" she asked, her pussy seething with nasty excitement.
"A couple of weeks ago," he said in a muted voice.
"Did it make you feel good, Michael? How did her hands feel when she touched you there? Were they warm? Were they soft?" Carol hissed, patting the cushion at her side, inviting the eighteen-year-old boy to sit beside her.