chums in school or fall into the clutches of some streetwalker or scheming slut. But if he were to be initiated by a nice decent girl-a girl who enjoys sex and doesn't have hang-ups about it and knows the score-it would make a man of him.'
Dinah's blue eyes widened. 'You-you mean-you want me to-to break some boy in? My gosh, I don't know-'
'You'd be giving him the gift of manhood, and I think, since you love flattery, you would be enormously flattered by the way he'd respond to you. Plus which, my own gratitude would take the form of a very substantial bonus long before our regular profit-sharing dividend in October. As much as a thousand dollars, I should say.'
Dinah stared at the brunette matron for a long moment, her cheeks still vividly red. Then, cat-like, she flicked her ripe lips with a pert pink tongue, squirmed in her chair, and murmured huskily, 'That sounds keen, Mrs. Woodling. What would I have to do? Of-of course, I wouldn't want Mr. Gregory to-'
'I told you, this is just between us girls, Dinah. He won't find out from me. As to that, I might even help you make up his mind to marry you so you wouldn't go on being a distraction to every eligible male who walks into the shop.'
'Gosh-would you, really? Well, I-I guess it- wouldn't do any harm, if nobody found out. Who is this fellow, Mrs. Woodling?'
Rachel Woodling took a deep breath. Then she leaned forward and began to explain…
Rachel Woodling had treated herself to supper at, Don Roth's Blackhawk at Randolph and Wabash, that nostalgic restaurant where, a generation ago, such famous bands as Kay Kyser, Hal Kemp and Coon Sanders had played for Windy City night-on-the-towners. It was a little after eight-thirty when she let herself into the old Gothic house, her eyes widening with surprise to find her blond stepson sprawled in a liv-mg-room armchair, wearing only pajamas and slippers, puffing nervously at a cigarette and watching her entry with an ill-disguised smirk of satisfaction.
'Hi there, Mummy,' he greeted her with a nasty little chuckle. 'Heather's off on a date-I guess you know that, though-and she won't be back till late, most likely, so it's just you and me for now.'
'You and I, you mean, Timmy,' she corrected with a friendly smile which took more effort than the youth realized. Turning back to lock the door, then to face him, her pulses began to quicken and there was a hollow feeling at the pit of her belly, for his eyes were fixing appreciatively at her charcoal-brown nylon-sheathed thighs,- then detailing the rest of her with a deliberate.and prolonged intent.
'Yeah, sure. You still gonna do what you said you would for Heather'n me, are ya, Mummy?'
'Till the month's up, Timmy. Yes, I always keep my word.'
'Great!' He got to his feet, moving towards her, the cigarette dangling from a corner of his mouth. 'Let's go to bed, then. Only this time, I want you to blow me, Mummy. Okay?'
Her face turned crimson. Though she understood the nakedly crude term, she had never done that, certainly not for brutish Matt Varney and not even for Timmy's own considerate and sensitive father. That was why it took a tremendous effort to retain her poise and to adopt a conciliatory, even cordial tone as she said, 'Let's go upstairs, then. Besides, I've something to tell you, Timmy. A little secret just for the two of us.'
'Sure, I'll listen. Now let's go,' he ordered callously.
As she led the way into her bedroom, she could feel the boy's eyes on her, and a warm wave of sensual awareness made her shiver, knowing that in a few minutes she would be little more than a whore to her husband's precocious, young son. And, since she was gambling her entire future on this infamous bargain, Rachel Woodling suddenly determined to play her role surpassing well; in short to be a more than competent whore. For if she could bring it off with young Timmy, then, once with his father whom she truly loved and respected, it would be so much easier to take an erotic initiative which might once and for all be the very cure which Timothy Woodling needed for his humiliating impotence.
And so, just as the blond boy moved to the door to lock it with a smug bravado that proclaimed his perverse desire to exploit their bargain to the fullest, Rachel quietly said, 'Timmy, do you know whether your sister has a vibrator?'
Startled by the unexpected question, he gaped at her for a moment; then, with a snigger, retorted, 'Yeah, sure she does. Heather's hep, she's no square bimbo like you, Mummy.'
'Would you get it and bring it to me, Timmy? I think I can give you some fun tonight that you'll like very much. And when you come back, I'll be ready for you.'
'Oh no you don't, Mummy! I wanna see you do a striptease for me when I'm here, get it? No-go otherwise.'
'Suit yourself,' she shrugged. 'Just bring it back quickly, then, so I can please you.'
In a few moments, the adolescent had returned with Heather's small phallic-shaped battery-operated vibrator. He made an obscene show of putting it to his crotch before handing it to her, remarking lewdly, 'I bet I get a bigger hard-on than that when you start working on my cock, Mummy.'
'I should hope so, Timmy. Now I'll take off my clothes,' calmly she began to unbutton her suit coat, shrugged it off, then the matching skirt. 'Want me naked, Timmy?'
'Keep your pants on'n your shoes'n nylons for starters. We can go on from there,' he said thickly, licking his lips as he sprawled into a low chair near the door.
Swiftly, she doffed her white blouse and then the filmy slip, standing in white nylon panties and bra, the narrow white satin-elastic garter belt sending its narrow tabs to hug her svelte, lithe thighs and emphasize the allure of bare olive-sheened skin above the charcoal-brown hose which clung like a second skin to the sinuous, elegantly chiseled calves and quivering thighs. Meeting his eyes levelly, Rachel now reached back to unfasten the bra and let it flutter to the floor; the fine jutting pears of her breasts thrust out boldly, and the blond boy straightened, his eyes blazing.
'Timmy, I wanted to ask-I know you've seen prettier girls at school. Do you have one, by the way?'
'Hell no.' He made an impatient gesture with his hand, his lips twisted in a sneer. 'Those underage little teasers don't do anything for me. I go for a grownup cunt like yours, Mummy, if you really wanna know.'
She winced at the slashing word, but kept her gentle smile. 'No, I was thinking of a very sexy girl I know. Nice yellow hair, and a much nicer shape than mine, Timmy. Lots younger too.'
'Yeah?' he glanced at her suspiciously. 'So what about her?'
'I told her what a terrific lover you were, Timmy. And she said she'd like to try you out, that's all. She likes young fellows, honestly she does.'
'Hey, you trying to welsh on our deal Mummy? Cut out the talk and let's see some action.'
'I'm going to do what you wanted, Timmy. I just thought it would be nice for you to have a girl of your own. We can talk about it later. Now want to get some cold cream-I'll be right back.' She moved towards her bathroom, and the blond boy rose from his chair, frowning, watching her as she returned with a tube of mentholated cream.
'What the hell's that for? You gonna rub it on your cunt, Mummy?'
Her cheeks were scarlet as she forced an airy little laugh: 'No, honey, on your cock. You wait and see how nice it's going to feel. Now take your pajamas of
Again he licked his lips. 'Yeah, sure.' Shucking off the tops, he tugged down the pajamas, and grinned as he saw her eyes fix on his turgid cock; it was, she realized with an inexplicable tingling in her breasts and loins, as long as his father's, the glans oblong and pointed, set off from the heavy shaft by a deep circumcisional groove. By contrast, there was only a light blond down on the gnarled, swelling testicles, which made the organ seem even more formidable, standing out as it did from a not overly, abundant dark blond pubic bush.
'Now lie down on the bed and let me try some.. thing with you, Timmy dear,' she murmured.
'Sure. So long as you wind up blowing me, do what you want, Mummy,'' he mocked her as he swung himself onto the broad bed, pillowing his bead on his arms and smugly contemplating her. 'Walk some first, I want to see your tits jiggle. They're nice'n firm, Mummy. You're not too old for me, don't kid yourself.'
'I'm glad you like them, dear. I hope your father does too.'
'Yeah, I know, you wanna last out the month. Well, you do what Heather'n I say, maybe we'll let you finish up, maybe not. After that-hell, if Dad still wants to lay you, we'll vote on it.'
She knew he was purposely frying to reach her1 denigrate and demean her. But she had resolved to play her role as cleverly as her woman's flesh and woman's intuition would aid her beyond this callow, smug boy was the
