bride-to-be a few minutes in the biffy so I can tidy up that part of me which seems to interest you most, you might Just want to make it official by giving me another lesson. I'll have you know my bedside technique is plenty good enough for the right guy, if you're it.'
He turned her round, gave her a smack on the bottom. 'You'll find It Just around the end of the bar. And get back here quickly. This time, you might as well remove the dress and whatever else you think might get rumpled in the educational process.'
Heather giggled, put a finger into her mouth and mumbled a teasing, 'Yes, Daddy.' As he took a mock- menacing step towards her, she giggled again and hurried off to the bathroom. Arnold Cantwell puffed at a new cigarette, glancing down at himself, and smiling to observe that he was rapidly recovering all his initial vigor as regards the size of his erection.
Then it was his turn to gasp and cast aside both cigarette and his studied casual air, for Heather had Just emerged, wearing only her garterbelt and nylons, and was advancing, hands on hips, swiveling herself to this side, then that, as she slowly approached him with a saucy little smile on her moist red lips. 'How's this, Daddy? Satisfactory?'
'Seems to me a daddy has spanking privileges when his girl is naughty.'
'Oh oh, then I better be good,' Heather teased, putting both hands back to her creamy rounded posterior as if to shield it. 'Maybe this will convince you I plan to be a very good girl. Good enough so you won't go raping any other girls down here, Mr. Arnold Cantwell.' And with this, Heather felinely sank down on her knees, and, reaching out with both soft hands, began to caress his stiffening cock while her soft lips imparted a tiny kiss to the tip of his cock.
'That's slightly better, yes. Keep going. You're still on trial, you know,' his hoarsening voice betrayed his rising excitement.
'Arnold-'
'Yes, Heather?' He put both hands to the sides of her head, staring greedily down at her.
She licked the corners of her lips with her pert pink tongue tip. 'I Just love it when a distinguished man like you uses dirty words, Arnold. I get awfully randy when you do that. I bet we'll have fun teaching each other all the words there are before we get married, bin?'
Before he could answer, she gave the tip of his cock another stinging little kiss, and then, her slim fingers entwining round his bulging shaft, opened her mouth and made him groan in rapture as she took all of him her mouth could encompass at one time, and began to slush her tongue around the throbbing spear and to suck…
Chapter 10
Young Tim Woodling glanced nervously up and down the carpeted corridor of the sixth floor of the high-rise building on North Dearborn Street, then hesitantly reached out to knock on the door marked '619.' He was carrying a tissue-wrapped five-pound box of Fannie May candy, having bought it out of his allowance at Rachel's suggestion that Dinah Williams was very fond of chocolates. As he stood anxiously waiting for the door to open, he had never looked more self-conscious and less smug.
When it did open, he gulped and blushed. Golden-haired Dinah's buxom beauty was inflammatory, limned as it was by her snug flitting dark blue silk housecoat, and the glimpse of a silver zipper just above her spectacular round, sumptuous breasts suggested a total access to her opulent pink-sheened body-for indeed, the only other thing she had on besides that garment was her thong sandals.
'So you're Tim Woodling,' she smiled. 'Come in. Oh my-is that for me? Thank you so much-how did you know I'm just crazy about Fannie May candy?'
'I-I-er-t-thought you might, I guess,' he faltered as he entered the attractively furnished one-room efficiency on which Patrick Gregory had been paying the rent ever since the day he had installed luscious Dinah as an employee of the Michigan Avenue shop.
'Now, sit right down on the couch. Can I get you a Pepsi or a Coke?'
'Pepsi's fine, thanks.' The blond boy seated himself, leaning forward and huddling his wiry body, tense and ill at ease. Dinah Williams shot him a covert, amused glance as she walked towards the kitchen, returning with two brimming glasses. Handing him one, she sat down beside him. 'My, you're tall for your age. Mrs. Woodling says you're almost sixteen.'
'Y-yeah. I will be in September.'
'You look lots older right now, you really do, Timmy. Or would you rather I called you Tim?'
'T-Tim's fine, M-Miss W-Williams,' he stammered, then hastily took a sip from the frosted glass.
'And you'll be a senior in school about then, won't you? My, that's very smart for your age, Tim.'
He squirmed, embarrassed. 'Aw, I haven't any trouble at school, and I read a lot. It's easy.'
'I wish I could say that. I had trouble keeping a C average, if you want to know.'
'Yeah, but, well, you're a girl and it doesn't matter. I mean,' he found himself hastening to correct what might have sounded like a slur, 'well, you're so pretty, you could be a model or something, and you wouldn't need good grades to earn lots of money modeling, or something like that.' Then he took another hasty sip from the glass and set it down with a clatter on the coffee table in front of the thickly upholstered couch.
'Why, what a sweet thing to say about me and you've only just met me,' Dinah Williams set down her glass beside his and sidled closer till he could feel the pressure of her resilient, ripely rounded thigh through the thin, clinging housecoat. 'I'll bet all the girls in school are crazy about a fellow like you, and maybe a little scared too.'
He uttered a jerky little laugh. 'Aw, you have to be kidding. Why'd they be scared?'
'Oh,' she teased, her smile deepening, 'because you've got such a quick mind and can see through them right off. And maybe because they feel you'd have an easy time making them do what you want-if you were their boyfriend.'
He stared down at the floor, his cheeks reddening again, for her adroit tactics had taken him completely off guard. 'I-I haven't got any steady girl. Anyhow, I don't much care for most of them at school. And anyhow, there's mostly fellows where I go.' What he had no intention of telling her-or Rachel either, for that matter-was that his high scholastic standing and his habitual smug arrogance had made most of the eligible girls shun him like the plague. Indeed, only last week, tall raven-haired Nancy Phelps, who had been chatting with two of her girlfriends as he came out of a classroom and walked on by them, had said, just loud enough for him to hear, 'There goes that sarcastic little creep.
But before his mind could dwell too long on this and other rejections, Dinah was surprisingly asking him if he knew how to dance. 'A-a little, I guess, sure,' he mumbled.
'Tell you what,' she gayly proposed. 'I'll turn on the hi-fl and we can try it. It'll be like having a date at the Aragon, only right here where we're nice and comfy.'
'That'd be nice, M-Miss Williams.'
'Silly, why don't you call me Dinah?' she rose with a sinuous movement that made him suddenly and torturingly aware of her ripe curves of bottom and thighs and breasts, walked to the stereo console (another gift from Patrick Gregory) and turned on an FM station which programmed 24 hours of popular dance music. 'There, that's perfect for our orchestra, and, you know something, Tim I sort of feel like dancing and being held in the arms of a very good-looking smart young man.
He rose, tugging at his light blue pullover sweater, glanced down at the neat cuffs of his brown dacron trousers. He had taken more pains with his grooming this evening than at any other time in his young life; he had even cleaned his fingernails and borrowed some of his father's shaving cologne to rub on his neck and armpits.
Dinah moved seductively to him, holding out her arms, her eyes warm and inviting. His face burning, young Tim Woodling circled her waist with his right arm and felt her soft fingers entwine with his left hand. He was also suddenly aware of the spicy perfume she was using and, still more excitingly, that the pressure of his arm curving round her supple waist could feel nothing though the skintight housecoat except her ripe young quivering flesh.
