Amy

He started too gently, and too quickly, stroking her shins, almost impatiently.

"Slower, firmer, and don't forget my legs have backs," Mary whispered.

Ah... better, he takes instruction well, Mary thought. I wonder if he can take charge, probably not yet, doesn't have the confidence, but he will do before I'm finished with him. Good, finally he's moving forward, don't move your feet, girl, let him get used to having his ball sack on your toes.

She parted her knees fractionally, just to encourage him, and made little appreciative sounds as his hand caressed the inside of her thighs, wriggling her toes a little and feeling him move, adjusting his position and giving her more freedom to cautiously explore.

Mary parted her legs, sighing dreamily, not entirely for effect, for she was enjoying herself, and she heard him breathe, almost a growl, as his eyes moved to the gusset of her panties where Mary was quite sure the evidence of her arousal showed; and in parting her legs, her feet had to turn, and in turning, she could slide one into his boxers to find the heat she succoured, almost feel his heart pounding.

Her own heart began to falter as his traced the lace-embroidered trim of her panties, following where the edge rounded to her bottom. She raised her hips, easing his path, and the pulse of him lay burning along the underside of her foot, twitching, as he reached forward to cup her bottom, seeping, as his fingertips latched on the waist of her panties. He slowly eased the fabric down under her bottom, hesitantly, not for nervousness... for pleasure. Mary wrapped her toes along him, stroking with her foot and he began to shake, excited, groaning expectantly and forgetting her panties, hands clenching the cheeks of her now bare bottom.

"Try not to come. Save it," She whispered.

With her toe, she dug a hole in the woven paper of the disposable boxers, tearing through it, pushing it away with her foot, releasing him so he was naked and erect, quivering, still gripping her bottom; and his nakedness sought to fill the room.

His hands relaxed, gaining control again, and Mary helped him, her hand touching his as they struggled to do the simple thing. She put her panties behind her head, and lay back again, exposed, vulnerable, glistening, waiting.

For a brief moment he was unsure, feeling he needs guidance, until Mary's laden aroma veiled the room and all that could be seen was a touch away, a fingertip, stroke soft like warm honey, rising to his touch. He moved closer, leaning in, the blush of his cheek warming her thigh, and he startled her by sinking down, suckling, as if at her breast, greedily, an infant taking fill, nosing, wetting his face, unabashed, scarcely aware of Mary's little moans, and her quickening breath, and her hips rising to meet his tongue, or her hand now in his hair, rocking his head, increasing, forcing, until he was just there for the ride, and Mary, wanton, blanked of anything but her own desire, fucked his face with almost brutal force, trapping him in the final throws, breathless, back arched, dribbling off his tongue.

- - - - - -

"Oh my God! Did you see that?"

"Yes. I'll be having words with my daughter tomorrow."

"You don't think she was faking it then?"

"No. No way was she faking that. She's not supposed to get that intimate with clients in the treatment room, not even your son. Look at her, she's spent. Poor Tim doesn't know what to do. He's puzzled and confused. Not the right result."

Amy continued, "There is a real art involved, detachment is the key. Keep things on an almost medical level, so the client is instructed, stirred at the physical level, but not the emotional level. She's supposed to guide him, not satisfy herself at his expense.

Moving for her clothes, Amy remarked, "We'd better get dressed. I imagine, following that little display, she'll be wanting to take him upstairs."

"Do you want to stop her?"

"No, that will punish Tim more than Mary. He'll think he's done something wrong. I'll talk to him next week, see how he's feeling, make sure he's not becoming emotionally attached. God, she can be a selfish little slut at times."

- - - - - -

"Oh my God. Jeepers. That was something else." Mary laid-back, arms spread, legs spread, dissipating heat, restoring contact with the rest of her body. "Give me a minute."

Tim, crouched between her legs where she'd released him, didn't know what he was supposed to do. Was that it? Am I supposed to get dressed, or what?

"Did you cum, Tim?"

"No, you said... "

"Ok, pull me up."

She reached for his hand, leaned onto him, found his mouth, kissed him, licking where she'd wetted him; her hungry little mouth feverishly found his lips, his tongue, tasting him, tasting herself on him.

"Emm... pussy juice, you taste of my pussy juice. You liked it, didn't you? You like to feed on my pussy and my breasts."

She snaked a hand behind his neck, pulling him onto her, nibbling his mouth, tongue dancing.

"You want more?" she spoke the words into his mouth, and brought her sweet laden fingers from between her legs as he nodded his head, pushing her wet fingers between their mouths for Tim to savour and for her to enjoy his pleasure.

"Just keep kissing me," she whispered and shuffled forward, reaching between them, finding him, guiding him onto the slippery fold of her sex, working him in the slit, letting the head take measure of where it yet might slip. It took no time, he was already overloaded with sensations, and he tensed, stopped kissing her, and wet her, copiously, while she stroked along his shaft. Mary started giggling, still keeping her mouth on his, still flicking her tongue, until he relaxed, her giggling infectious.

"Who'd have thought?" she whispered "So sexy. I haven't cum like that in more time than I care to remember."

She pulled away, her hands on his shoulders, looking down between them where it rested joined to her by a tiny ivory coloured pool of semen.

"Are you ok?"

"Yes, mostly. It was all a bit of a blur."

"Well... first time and all that, it's easy to get carried away. You were close to perfect, Tim. I mean it, it was fun, it was as sexy as hell, and it was good. Mostly for me but we'll make amends. Come on, let's get sorted," she said, wiping herself with her panties then tossing them into the sink. "Leave these things here. We can tidy in the morning."

"What?"

"I thought you wanted to fuck me. I prefer to be fucked in my bed; my apartment is upstairs. You coming or not?"

"Are you sure? Is it... you know?"

"Actually, I'm past caring. I want to see if you can fuck me as well as you can do everything else. Can you bring that pink dildo you like so much, and the jelly? If we've time, I'll show you how to use it, on both of us."

She took his hand and led him across the office, the telltale scent of citrus betraying its recent occupants. I hope they've not moved upstairs, she thought, opening the door from the reception room and leading Tim up the flight of stairs.

"My apartment," Mary said, turning on the lights and showing him in. "It's small but has everything I need."

She moved across the room to draw the curtains and could sense Tim watching her from the doorway. When she turned, she caught his almost adoring expression, although it bothered less than she thought it might.

"Come on, you. Bathroom."

She figured a diversion, while she thought out how to play this. She turned on the taps of the bidet and adjusted the temperature.

"Sit down there, facing me."

She wondered when he was going to speak.

"No, I want to do it." Mary said as he went to wash himself.

"I can... "

"Shhh, trust me."

Mary knelt on the bathroom mat and lowered her hands into the stream of water, directing it onto him. He flinched, then decided it wasn't going to scald him and felt her hands gently wash away traces of his recent exploits, easing back his foreskin, glancing up at him mischievously as she smoothed her fingers behind the bulbous head of his rapidly thickening prick.

"Nice?" she asked moving her hands, cleaning between his bottom, making him flinch again.

"Yeh... it's indescribable."

Mary finished, passing him a bidet towel.

"My turn, or your turn, which ever way you choose to appreciate it," she said, taking his place on the bidet.

He knelt down, looking slightly apprehensive.

"I've never done this before."

"I should hope not. I'm jealously going to lead you to do lots of things you've never done before. Just be gentle, let your fingers feel their way."

Tim had never in his wildest fantasy dreamed of doing this — it seemed beyond intimate, cleaning between the folds of her sex, finding protrusions and hollows, crevices and openings under his fingertips that brought trembles and sharp intakes of breath... from both of them. He let his fingers be his eyes, and kept his own eyes on Mary, learning from her expressions where she liked to be touched, imprinting his newfound knowledge to steer the same path again in the dark. It was also a first for Mary, as she'd never let a man do this for her, or a woman. Quite different from sharing a shower, this was powerfully sexual, and its eroticism and his caring tenderness caught her by surprise. Gentleness was not her usual desire.

She'd intended an ablution, a gentle discovery, but now she wished he'd experiment, probe further, take control, and she moved just enough as his stroked across the opening of her vagina to lead him. She sighed as his finger entered her, and she reached forward, gripping his shoulders, using her touch to guide him, her hand squeezing, go further, explore.

Almost imperceptibly, Mary began to move, rocking against his finger until Tim brought his other hand to her tummy, the heel of his palm under the curve of her pubis, stopping her movement, wanting to do this himself, wanting to give, and not to have Mary take, like before in the treatment room.

She made guttural noises, constructing a code transmitted through her hands on his shoulders, squeeze left, press into my pubis, squeeze right, work your finger in me, and one became two and two became three, and her breasts began to quiver, and her body to shake.

She slumped forward, letting him take control, arms across his back, biting his shoulder as the surge built deep within her and found only one route open for release. For that one moment, as the surge screamed through her body, as her nails dug into his soft skin, every sensation was concentrated on his twisting and pumping fingers, and the sound of the running water roared in her ears.

She was trembling, shaking, her head on his shoulder, a hand clutching his cheek to hers, making little mewing noises. Tim, unsure again, began to withdraw his fingers.

"Stop... No! Don't take them out. Put them back... put them back in... "

She shifted slightly to accommodate him and gripped his fingers, spasms again as she worked her vaginal muscles against his intrusion. Then she gradually grew calmer, with a sudden shiver, cold, despite her inner heat, wanting her body wrapped in his, and embarrassed that she'd revealed too much... even to herself.

"Slowly... take them out very slowly," she whispered with her lips against his neck, and even that was almost too much to bear.

She felt inflamed. His fingers had impaled her like a cutlass and left a mark destined to stay long in her memory. She kissed his neck, his shoulder where her teeth had grazed his skin, and slid off the bidet into his lap, wet, not caring, wrapping her legs around his hips, finding his mouth, hesitating, waiting for him, then kissing, fighting with lips and tongue, pulling at his hair, bending his face, his mouth, to her lips, biting, less to excite than wanting to mark. She could taste blood, his or hers, it didn't matter. His hands cupped her bottom, and he rose slowly to his feet holding her against him.

"Through there."

Tim lowered her onto her bed; she pulled him to her, reaching between them, guiding him into her. He gasped at the unexpected heat and a grip that seemed to pulse along his length.

"Don't move. Just rest there. I want to feel you in me."

And Mary worked him like that, knowing he'd take seconds, not minutes, needing to be filled, not left wanting from a few rapid thrusts. His breathing shortened, and his body tensed, and she hooked her feet behind his bottom, afraid he might withdraw, pulled him deeper. He began to moan, hands gripping her upper arms, shaking, pulsing hot inside her, coating her where his fingers had so recently stabbed her. He collapsed, overwhelmed rather than exhausted.

"I'm sorry... I cou... "

"Shhh, baby, baby, baby... shhh. It's ok. Rest there. It's ok."

Mary wrapped him in her arms, soothing him, knowing what he needed, letting him unwind until his flaccidity threatened inconvenience, and she coaxed him to move, cleaned them both with tissues, easing him under the bedcovers. She ran quickly to the bathroom to still the bidet, and then joined him in her bed.

She snuggled close to him, legs intertwined, stroking his soft still boyish face, bemused that his innocence, his lack of guile, and his desire to give her pleasure, rather than exercise his own post-adolescent lust, could leave her feeling quite so happy. Plenty of time to see where this might lead, time to make love, consensual sharing love, and just for the moment, Mary thought, my bed is his.

"Sleep," she told him. "Sleep and dream of me, and I'll dream of you. And in the morrow we'll see if our words can make sense of our dreams."

*

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