Cumming of Age

If she thought she had earned some special place in my heart because of the scene in my office, I was trying to let her know to forget it. She looked like I had punched her in the stomach, tears welling up again.

"No, Robbie. You don't understand. That was beautiful. Truly, truly beautiful. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed that, and how much I look forward to fucking you again. Really fucking you. Fucking your incredible amazing body and brains out until you beg me to stop. And we will. But don't think you have an exclusive on me, or that I won't share you with others – at least with Greg...for now. Do you understand?"

The thought that she had given me something beautiful, that I truly appreciated counterbalanced the image of being just a fuck toy for me to share.

"Thank you, Sir. Thank you again for your beautiful cock. I can't wait for Thursday." She collected her bags and walked out the door.

After it shut I collapsed on the stairs, shaken and shaking. The sweet memory of her cunt sliding on my cock wasn't enough to overcome the panic and pain I was feeling. It had been at least two years since I'd fucked my wife...the memory of her body was the last straw. I broke down and cried, sobbing like a little kid.

The image of the cop coming to the door, hat in hand. The one image I couldn't erase. "You'll need to come down, Mr. Torken. I'm sorry, sir." The visit to the morgue, the three bodies laid out. The questions by the Asst. District Attorney – formalities they said, but there was a hint of danger.

"Did you know she was wearing the device, Mr. Torken?" The "device." The fucking device. Why the fuck did you wear that thing, Mary? Where did you get it? When did you start wearing it? Did it have anything to do with the accident? I laid awake nights wondering if she had just put it on and was saving it as a surprise for me, or if our scenes had ceased to satisfy her and she was finding ways to deepen her need. The "device." A fucking spring loaded metal contraption that must have hurt like a mother-fucker. There was no way she could have concentrated on her driving...with the kids in the car. I swore at her, in my mind, in the middle of the night, raging through the house. What the fuck had she done?!

She'd lost fucking control of the car, that's for sure. One of those things you see in Drivers Ed class videos: a set of circumstances, not one of which is a problem, but put together and they're fatal: a slick road, a bad street light, kids acting up in the back seat (who knew for sure, but likely) and a mother-fucking spring loaded trap on your cunt, biting into your lips every time you press on the gas...or the brake.

Fucking bitch!

"Tonight's the night, buddy boy," I comforted myself, forcing my feet under me. "You've been saving that bottle for a special occasion, and if this isn't it, nothing is." I found myself in front of the liquor cabinet, rummaging around behind the cheap shit to the 15 year aged single malt. I knew I shouldn't be drinking to feel better, but I had a reason to celebrate: I'd just fucked Robbie Brooks! And not just fucked her, popped her cherry!

In 30 minutes I'd be wasted...and hungry, so I called for take-out before I downed my first glass. The amber liquid burned smooth down my throat and warmed my insides. I could still feel her around me, her arms on my neck, her cunt sliding onto my cock.

I woke up sprawled on the couch, the TV showing cheap Chinese kitchen gadgets and artificial jewelry. All of the lights were on, buckets of Thai food were half eaten and open on the coffee table. The drapes were open and it was still dark outside. I swore in relief at the fact I was still dressed – on a bender maybe, but at least not a public nuisance. I padded through the house turning off the lights and trudged to bed, the pain reduced to a dull tenderness deep inside my skull.

* - * - * - *

When I awoke for real, I was surprised at how small my hangover was. A headache, some cotton-mouth, but otherwise, fairly clean. That's why good liquor makes all the difference, Phil. I made my way downstairs, dreading the mess, but dreading the basement even more so. I had work to do and no emotional breakdown was going to stop me from getting to it. I tried not to think about Thursday: that train had left the station and there wasn't much I could do to stop it.

After a stiff cup of coffee and dry toast, I lugged my aching soul down to editing room, intent on spending the day finishing up several small jobs I'd put off for too long. I fired up a browser to check my portfolio while the production equipment booted. The little voice I tried to ignore most of my day whispered sweet nothings in my ear, and still feeling the echo of her delicious cunt, I listened to it. I turned the browser away from my financials and looked at the past night's recordings from Robbie's bedroom.

4:35PM – she walks in and immediately strips off her clothes, flipping on the light so I can see her. She is crying, wiping her eyes as she sits at her desk, firing up her computer. I stare at that body and know I can have it any time I want (as long as it's Tuesdays or Thursdays, I smile). She types furiously, wiping tears and looking up at the camera. She's entering something in her journal – a place I've not asked to go yet, and may never. If she offered, I might not refuse, but I'm concerned about taking everything away from her just yet.

4:40PM – she throws on a robe and leaves – probably going to the bathroom. Why she puts on a robe is beyond me. Maybe her mom is already home or may arrive before she returns.

4:50PM – she re-enters and disrobes, standing in the light to let me see her: exposed and open. I stare down at her pubic hair and see she has trimmed it into a pattern – a heart? Oh shit! She sits on the bed, and takes out her textbook, spreading her legs for me as she reads and does homework. I know where this is heading – she'll be there until dinner – that could be at least an hour – with little motion, not even her fingers playing with herself.

I shut the browser down and tried to concentrate. Eventually my profit motive won out, as it usually did, sublimating my sexuality as usual.

It wasn't until my stomach complained that I resurfaced, figuratively and literally. Coming up into the kitchen I realized the house was a disaster. I hate having food out and I could smell last night's dinner beginning to turn. Mustering the energy necessary to get things cleaned up, I raced around the living room picking up my dishes and muttering to myself about my level of stupidity.

"How could you have fucked her? What were you thinking you stupid shit? This isn't what you signed up for!" My anger fed my cleaning frenzy. Like a whirling dervish, or a white tornado, I scooped everything up and dumped it in the trash. An hour later I had wiped the evening's trash off the surface of the rooms. If only I could wipe the whole day's events that easily.

I didn't want to think about Thursday. I couldn't face my feelings about seeing her again. And Greg. Shit! I didn't want to think about it. I prepared a sandwich and took it down to my workbench, committed to burying my troubles in my work.

Some days things go wrong no matter what you do: you might as well have not gotten up in the morning for all the work you don't get done. This wasn't one of those days. For whatever reason, everything I touched went exactly as planned. I finished the first piece, notified the client and posted it on the server. I finished the second piece and sent it to the next contractor in line. I was about to start the third and final piece, when the client called me and told me to wait – there'd been a change and he wouldn't have the footage to me until Friday. It was 4PM and I was done for the day.

I gave myself a break and went to see a movie – some zombie slasher thing with lots of tits and blood and blades. It was exactly what I needed.

* - * - * - *

Thursday morning greeted me like a warm embrace. I wasn't fooled by my apparent happiness: I'd been on these emotional roller coasters before. Not clinical enough to warrant medication, but I knew this one was going to be a doozy. I showered, dressed, made my breakfast and got down to work. It wasn't going to be a hugely productive day: I had meetings in the morning and then the two kids in the afternoon.

Whereas the day before I had sweated about what to do with the two of them, today I couldn't have cared less. Robbie would do what she had been training to do; Greg, whatever I told him – it was his first day and he didn't know any better.

I was startled by the door bell and looked up to see it was already 1:30. I hadn't had any lunch and was a little disoriented – who would be calling on me at 1:30? It still didn't register until I opened the door and saw him there, dressed in an old sweatshirt and torn jeans.

"Hello Mr....erm, Phil..." He smiled a little goofily. "Can I just call you Mr. T? I don't feel comfortable calling you by your first name."

"Whatever makes you feel good, Greg. Come on in." I bit my tongue as I was about to ding him for being early. None of that with him today. I needed him.

I offered him some water and showed him the area I needed the boxes moved into.

"You'll have to move a bunch of this stuff out of here – I'll need as much floor space as we can open up. I figure you can move the cabinets into the dining room...in fact let's see if everything can fit in the dining room."

He took the water and scoped out the dining room...another smart kid: don't move anything 'til you know where you're dropping it.

"We'll have to move the table against the wall – will that be okay?"

I never used the dining room. Hadn't used it but three times since we'd moved in as far as I could remember. I assured him whatever he needed to do to clear up the space in the living room would be fine with me.

He started on his own, since he figured he was here anyway. By the time Robbie rang the bell he had already moved several pieces and had worked up a sweat. As I let her in, he was taking off his sweatshirt; he had nothing on underneath. The first thing she saw when she came in the house was her crush starting to strip.

"What the f...?" She looked at me completely mystified.

He looked over to see her staring at his fairly impressive pecs and smiled goofily. "Hey Robbie. Wassup?" He set down the sweatshirt and took another drink from his water.

I turned to her and nodded – she knew the drill. She walked up stairs with her stuff; a minute later she returned, buck naked, her eyes to the floor.

"Holy shit," Greg exhaled as he came back into the living room. "Holy shit. What the fuck?" He stood there gaping at her, taking her body in.

"So, Robbie. Greg has gotten some of the lighter pieces moved, and was waiting for you to move the sofa and that entertainment center." Nothing unusual for me in the situation.

"Hold it a sec, Mr. T. I....uh...I didn't think she'd be...I mean that Robbie...that you'd be working without any clothes on."

I looked over and could see his dick beginning to press against the fabric of his sweat pants. I shrugged as if to say, 'does it make a difference?' I sat down on the couch. This was going to be interesting.

Robbie, for her part, just looked over at him, silently pleading with him to not make any more of a deal about it than it already was. But as smart as Greg was in some ways, he wasn't on the same channel.

"Robbie? Is this okay with you?"

She looked over at me, waiting for me to give her permission. She had no idea what she was supposed to do.

"Hey Greg. I told you there was more going on here than just house cleaning, right?"

"Yeah, but...shit...shit." He just stared.

"Look if this is going to be a prob...."

"Listen, Mr. T. If she's working naked, I'm gonna work that way too."

And before I could even react, he had slipped his pants down, along with his briefs. His cock was sticking out at half mast, the blond curls around his dick a halo.

Robbie looked as shocked as I felt, bringing her hand to her mouth and letting out a little squeak.

"Well, the days of chivalry surely aren't dead, are they Robbie? Hey, Sir Galahad, like I said before, whatever makes you feel good. The thing is, though, you didn't have to go to all that effort. Robbie," I turned to her, "why don't you show Greg what you've learned this past month?"

She shook her head and stood stock still, her feet rooted in the entry to the room. I could see the panic on her face and the struggle: she knew I would punish her for not complying, but she couldn't see herself sucking me off in front of the guy she wanted to date. But she knew. She knew before she 'd gotten here it would come to this. It was just a little sooner than she had expected.

I lifted a finger making it clear I wouldn't be patient.

"You won't believe this, Greg. Watch what she can do."

And to her credit, she was on her knees, her hands on her ass, her mouth undressing me in record time. Greg was standing a little ways away, he could only see her from the back, but I watched his mouth drop as she had my cock out and into her throat in less than 30 seconds.

"God that feels great, Robbie. The way you have my cock so deep in your throat. You really like that don't you? I can tell the way you're pumping me you want me to come as fast as possible. Is it because you don't want Greg to see you doing this, or because you love the taste of my sperm so much?" She moaned as my head swelled in her throat, or maybe from the realization that this was really happening and she was getting off on it.

"Greg. Come over here. Right there," I pointed to a spot directly behind her. "You think she doesn't get off on this? Have you ever felt a woman's cunt before?"

She skipped a beat as she realized where this was going, but the little trooper, she didn't stop, she didn''t say 'turtle,' 'cause this was giving her the high of her life. She wanted me to go where this was going.

"That's it...you might have to..ahhhh, yessss, that's great, Robbie....you might have to kneel down behind her. That's it. Just slip your finger between her legs there...just rub it along her cunt lips (she hates when I call it her cunt, don't you, Robbie?). Feel that? I bet it's soaking wet, right? Am I right?" I was looking straight at him over her shoulder, seeing his confusion at how she could be so turned on, how this could be happening, how his cock could be so hard, so near such a gorgeous creature throat fucking her boss.

"Taste it, Greg. I bet you've never tasted pussy before. It should taste wonderful, if I remember correctly. Maybe you need to slip your finger in a little deeper and get it really wet. There, that was it. See how she almost lost it there. She's going to come if you keep doing that....oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, whatever you're doing, just keep doing that. Yeah. Yeah. Go. Go. Go. Robbie, here I come girl. I'm going to shoot my load down your throat Juuusstttt thuuuuuh waayyy youuuu liiiiiike ittttt." I couldn't see straight anymore, the last thing I saw before I closed my eyes was Greg sucking her juices off his finger.

And then she exploded. I could practically hear her gushing onto the floor, her high-pitched moans muffled by my meat in her mouth. She didn't move her hands, but she couldn't stay on her knees, especially after Greg put his finger back in her cunt. She tipped over onto me, sucking my cock harder as he clumsily finger fucked her.

"What the fuck....what the fuck is going on here?" He sat back, his cock harder than any I'd seen in person. He blushed seeing how exposed he was, but I could tell he was pretty far gone and needed some relief.

"Robbie," I said quietly, putting my hands on her head. "Why don't you tell your friend what you are?"

She slipped off my cock with a small protest and looked up at me and then down. She knew she was going to be in for it one way or another. She turned around, still on her knees using her hands on the sofa to help and was about to say something when she saw his cock just a foot away from her.

"I...shit...Greg...I'm a cmdafjst"

"What was that, Robbie? I don't think Greg heard you clearly. I certainly didn't hear you very clearly."

"Greg. I'm Sir's cum slut." She had turned to face him, her muff and breasts blotchy from her orgasm.

"It looks like Greg could use some help, Robbie, what do you think?"

"Cum slut?" He was confused – maybe he'd never heard the term before.

She shook her head trying not to give in, but I knew, she knew, it was a lost cause. She had to taste him. She was thanking me silently for putting her in this position. She had hoped this was going to happen. Actually, later on she confided that this went so much better than even her best fantasies, she couldn't believe it. But part of that was the torture of blowing (literally and figuratively) her crush.

"Greg, have you ever had a girl give you head before?"

He shook his head in amazement that this was happening. He didn't know what to do.

"Get comfortable. Lie down, sit down. Stand up. Whatever you think will be easiest...for you. Don't worry about the cum slut. That beautiful little cunt wants to make you happy...isn't that right, Robbie? Just as long as you can suck down his cream...tell us, Robbie. Help Greg understand you really want to service him."

She closed her eyes, even as she inched towards him. "Greg. It's true. What Sir says is true: I can't help myself. I would love to taste you, to take your beautiful, hard, hot cock into my mouth and suck down your cum. Would that be okay?"

He gulped and made some kind of noise, sitting down and spreading his legs. In that position, his cock was practically touching the top of his curls. She'd have to bend way over and press her forehead against his navel. So intimate. So touching. So fucking wonderful to watch. I almost cried seeing her take the guy she had designs on into her mouth within five minutes of being in the house.

She hadn't been on him for more than 30 seconds when he started to pant and bring his hands up to her head. "Shit, shit shit shit...I can't hold it any more...here it comes." And then she grunted and slurped and I could tell she was surprised about something. Probably how fast he came, or maybe how it tasted. She'd just have to tell us as soon as she was done.

"Well, kids," I said avuncularly, zipping up my pants. "When you're done there, you can get to work. Robbie, I give you permission to suck Greg any time he looks like he needs it. Or even if he doesn't look like he needs it. Greg, treat her with respect: she has a safe word, 'turtle.' If she says it, you must stop. Immediately. Whatever you were doing. Do you understand?"

He looked up from her slurping on his cock and nodded, dazed.

"She has a safe song, in case your dick is so deep in her throat she can't speak." I demonstrated the song. "Same rule. You stop if you hear it. If Robbie so much as intimates you have done something to violate these very simple rules, your secret is out. You got that?"

He nodded, panicked for a second and then looked back the top of her head.

"I expect the room cleared and the boxes up before the end of the day, kids. I'll be in the basement."

The day progressed as I had hoped – a little weird, with Greg bopping around naked right alongside my little slut, but he was well built and well hung. I watched from my monitors: he followed her every move like a puppy. So sweet. So in trouble. She had already literally eaten him and swallowed him, pretty soon, from the way she was taking the lead, she'd do it figuratively as well.

She came in as usual when she was done and presented herself. Greg followed but hung back at the door, unsure where he was supposed to go.