undone without her even suspecting? Not that she minded, Paula guessed. After all, it would have been brazen for her to start undoing them herself. She remembered the rumblings and teeth gnashing that occurred every time a boy of her own age was so bold as to… but that was largely why she preferred this blouse.
None of which had anything to do with the moment. Mr. Costello was pulling the blouse forward off her shoulders and she wasn't even putting up a token resistance. 'Mustn't get your lovely clothes all wrinkled,' he said smoothly and finished pulling the white material down her arms. Paula lay on his day bed, now clad only in her saddle oxfords, bobby sox, below-the-knee skirt, and a thirty four 'C' cup bra of green satin. She remembered irrelevantly that it was, at least, the same color as her undersized panties.
She had to do something, say something. He was a nice old man and she liked the clean male smell of his body but this was getting as dangerous as back seats on Saturday night. 'Uh, what did they do to prevent accidents back in the Stone Age?' she asked brightly.
'Any number of things, all of which I'll be delighted to show you,' Mr. Costello said. 'But to put your lovely legalistic mind to rest, your present partner is undoubtedly the safest choice on this benighted planet. Not only am I a very old man and probably well past the age of procreation, but also, having done my familial duty to society many years ago, I took advantage of a bit of surgery which has been known and practiced at least since Aristotle's day. The operation, despite propaganda to the contrary, is irreversible. There is no way on earth that I could ever render the most willing candidate pregnant, thanks to a vasectomy which has stood the test of thirty years.'
Benumbed by this facile flow of verbiage, Paula only caught the word 'vasectomy.' It was a word she knew. It was, she had known for some time, the principle reason why she was an only child and if the priests wanted any more, then let them raise them, her harried father had snapped.
But Mr. Costello had not been idle. While explaining these details he had been systematically and efficiently removing his own clothing and stacking it in a neat pile over one arm of the easy chair. The other arm held only her blouse. But while Paula was noting this inequity she felt capable fingers working at the waistband of her skirt and a moment later she was doubly thankful that she had at least had the foresight to choose bra and panties of the same color.
Had she been more knowledgeable of male thought processes, she would have realized that Mr. Costello would not have cared what color her bra and panties were. He was already busy pulling off her saddle oxfords and before she had time to cavil his arms were behind her back, lifting her half off the day bed as he found the hooks to her bra. Now that, Paula realized, was something new. Only twice had fumblers of her own age gotten that far and each time the boys had been thwarted by a total inability to get a bra unhooked. Mr. Costello had been around.
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,
