tagMatureSunday Scholarship

Sunday Scholarship

byjay.palin©

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Part 1

"Glen, come upstairs after we close, please. I need to talk to you," said Rosemary – under her breath, yet pointedly – as she passed behind me. She was the second-in-command, behind the owner, of the drug store where I worked to support myself as a 20-year-old, pre-med, sophomore college student in the mid 1960s.

What could she possibly want? I wondered, as I locked the front door behind the late-shift pharmacist after he left for home. Shutting off the outside lights at 10 p.m., I swept the floor and emptied the day's trash into the dumpster behind the store, locked the delivery car inside the back gate, and went upstairs to Rosemary's office, where she was counting the day's receipts.

"Wait a few minutes," she said, brusquely, as she completed a tally from a cash drawer. I stood a few feet away, unbuttoning my pharmacist's smock from my neck and down one shoulder, and wanted desperately to sit down. My days were full: 8 a.m. classes 'til one, a quick bite for lunch, at the drug store by two and working 'til ten – with a snack on the run – then a sandwich over the books until I fell asleep at 2 or 3 a.m. That schedule was repeated consistently, six days a week.

Rosemary finished counting the receipts and turned to look up at me from her swivel chair. Her gaze swept from my face to my toes, making me uncomfortable since she was wearing the sardonic half smile that she'd used so often to intimidate employees. "Did you lock up?" she asked, looking through the window in the upstairs wall that afforded her a view of the entire store and the adjoining pharmacy below.

"Yes, and swept as well," I responded.

"Good. Then, turn off the inside lights." I moved to the upstairs bank of switches to do as she'd ordered, and walked back to her desk, standing over her, perhaps more closely than I should have. I looked down at her small, shapely form – her luscious, curvy legs crossed under a tight, black skirt, with a snug, multi-colored silk blouse tucked into it – and knew that I was frightened of this woman. Not only was she a tough boss who ran the retail operation like a top sergeant – the other employees called her the ice woman – but she was gorgeous...and she wielded her beauty like a rapier when dealing with men.

We all wore pharmacy whites in the store, men in half-sleeved smocks and women in lab coats. But unlike the other female employees, only Rosemary wore her lab coat open, which exposed her generous C-cup bosom and full, scrumptious thighs under tight skirts or dresses. Each day she'd put on a freshly starched white garment, and would turn the collar up, making her look saucy and impudent as compared with the other women. She was no more than 5'2" tall, maybe 34-22-34, and her flawless oval, Irish face was framed by short, gently curled, black hair with eyebrows of the same color. Her creamy, ivory complexion was always made up beautifully, as were her riveting blue eyes, which now looked up at me with more than a hint of knowledge that she could make me squirm and do anything she wished. Though in her mid-thirties, I estimated, and childless, I could only imagine the power that she must've exercised over her husband, a firefighter who had the reputation of being a blustering jerk.

"I saw what happened last week...downstairs...with Barbara," she said. I watched her full lips, darkened with a near-burgundy lipstick, contemptuously form the name "Barbara," who was the boss's tall, lissome, longhaired blonde wife. Occasionally, Barbara would spend a half-day in the store to help out in the pharmacy.

"Oh? What happened?" I asked, trying to appear innocent.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about!" she flared. "You were taking inventory back in the pharmacy, and she stepped around one of the shelves to fasten her nylons. You got an eyeful of her under her skirt. You blushed...she gushed, and then she backed you into a corner, touching you all over and apologizing, as if it'd been her fault. Gawd, it was sickening!"

I remembered the incident. I also knew that Barbara liked me. But, I thought it was because she wanted me to date her teenage daughter, Sandy, her child with the big boss, Bob, whose father had started the business as a pharmacist a generation before. I knew Bob respected me as a hard worker, and was mentoring me, urging me to attend pharmaceutical courses in conjunction with my pre-med classes. Regardless, I'd put the memory of Barbara's soft, milky white thighs in perspective, after I'd memorized the image of her fastening a stocking to her garter belt over a pair of wispy, lace panties. I had a rich sensual imagination but, after all, I knew my place.

"It was an accident," I mumbled, backing away, since Rosemary had stood up to demonstrate body language that was decidedly threatening.

"Don't bullshit me, kid!" she hissed. "I've seen your kind before, a poor boy weaseling into a rich family. Just 'cause you're gonna be a doctor doesn't wash the crap off your boots! I don't care if Barbara wants to nail you...or have you screw her baby daughter. You're not in their class! You know why we call her Santa Barbara? 'Cause that's the name of that big apartment complex they own north of town! You're not gonna pollute that blood line...not on my watch!" she trilled, her breasts heaving in what I thought was excessive anger.

I was speechless, and my pulse was over 100 beats a minute. Part of this might have been because I was on time-release Dexedrine – diet pills – just to stay awake, given my demanding schedule. But I needed this job, so I absorbed Rosemary's invective. I raised my arms in a helpless, submissive pose and started to turn away, trying to avoid more of the same.

"Don't ignore me when I'm talking to you!" she spat, grabbing me firmly by the sleeve. The hair rose on the back of my neck. Teenage memories of my mother being a screeching, abusive harridan flashed in my memory. I was also tired and hungry. I wanted to go home, have a sandwich, then study, study, study. The last thing I needed was this woman's authoritarian mistreatment. My nostrils flared and I wheeled back toward her. Her eyes narrowed with a glint, sensing my sudden anger at her restraining touch, then they softened and she took one step backward. "What are you, six-foot-two? 185?"

I nodded.

"Well...you're a disturbing influence...I mean...on the women here. Arlene's okay, since you've been out with her daughter and I heard that you showed her...uhh...a good time. But, Kay! She's pushing fifty and she acts like a schoolgirl around you!"

Arlene! I thought. That poor, neglected woman! Cute, with high energy, in her late thirties, not getting enough at home, she'd taken to applying leg makeup to the bruises on her calves after we'd "worked late" several nights in my old Chevy when her husband had been working or was out of town. A few weeks later, her slutty teenage daughter, Dawn, had been just as horny...every bit as physically demanding...who now periodically dropped by the store, wanting me to drive her home and grapple with me on the same backseat that I'd entertained her mother.

And Kay! Sweet, lonely, heavy-limbed Kay, an expert at fellatio, who'd worshipped me from her knees as if I'd been a young Prince, many times in the back room. All of these prurient images made me feel suddenly guilty. But, what was a young, vital guy to do? "Rosemary...I'm sorry. I just want to work...and study. Uhh...can I sit down?"

"Grab a seat." She seemed to soften, sitting down across from me in her chair as I collapsed onto one nearby. "Look. My job is to run this place. I want you to stay away from the boss's family. With the other women, use these," she said, pulling a box of a dozen condoms from a desk drawer. "Even on prescription deliveries...I don't want Bob getting sued 'cause his boy wonder has gotten one of our female customer's pants full."

I took the box of rubbers and asked, "Is that all, Rosemary? I've gotta get home and hit the books."

She dismissed me and I drove home slowly. She was right. I was poor...financially strapped. I'd wasted two of my three years in high school, having devoted them to girls, but in my senior year I'd seen the light and pulled a 4.0 average, which had gotten me into the university. My parents could've helped me, but their conditions had been too strict. So, without a scholarship, I needed to work to support myself, which meant I had no social life. Sex, then, had become brief, furtive assignations with several unlikely women. Lonely or damaged women, mostly.

A high school acquaintance who'd gotten pregnant by someone other than me spent a few nights at my apartment, until I'd sent her and her infant child back to her suffering parents. Another high school girlfriend, who'd married too soon after high school, divorced after a few months and spent weeks with me until she, too, was sent packing in favor of my education. Most recently, there had been the women at work, and one of their daughters. Sexual loneliness, then – interrupted by bouts of furtive passion – was my lifestyle. I relieved the resultant tension on the night of Rosemary's chewing out by jerking off in the shower.

A few days later I was preparing to deliver prescriptions to customers. Before leaving, Rosemary dropped another one in the basket, saying, "This one just came in...for Ms. Thompson. Deliver it last, then take an hour or two for a dinner break. You've worked your ass off today and deserve it."

I looked at her, puzzled, since her kindness was out of the ordinary, and said, "I'll take a book along, so I can read while I eat." That was something I did regularly.

"Whatever you say, Glen," she murmured. I could've sworn that her eyes seemed soft, kind and understanding.

The deliveries went quickly and, as I approached Ms. Thompson's front door, I was looking forward to as much as two hours of my own time. The door was open as I rang, I announced myself, and a pleasant female voice behind the outer screen door said, "Please come in. I have to get my purse." I walked in and my eyes adjusted to the dim light, revealing a neat, modern apartment, with a grand piano in one corner. I stood just inside, being cautious enough not to venture further, and in a moment a very attractive, chestnut-haired woman in her mid-thirties came from another room. Barefoot, she was about 5'7", and dressed only in a long robe...a black, silky thing with flowery characters on it. Her voluptuous body looked like fine, contrasting alabaster. "That was a fast delivery. What's the total?"

"$19.95, ma'am," I responded.

"Here's twenty...keep the nickel," she giggled, and reached down to pick up a glass of red wine from a side table and appraise me with deep green – almost feline – eyes, as she drank half of its contents. "Want some wine for a tip...while you're here?" she asked, still holding her glass close to her lips and watching me while she scratched the curvy ankle of one bare leg with the toenail of the other.

I broke a cardinal rule by accepting the drink, but figured that a two-hour break would eradicate any trace of alcohol. "Sure," I said. "Can't stay long, though," as I followed her beckoning fingers into her kitchen. Her hips twitched at me from under her robe as she led me deeper into the apartment. The kitchen radio was playing some soothing, classical music.

"My pills – Clozanepam – are for nervous seizures. I ran out of 'em so had to have some wine instead. Now that you're here, I'm glad I did," she said suggestively, raking her wavy, shoulder length hair back from a smooth, pale cheek. She'd leaned back against the kitchen sink and a flawless, peaches-and-cream thigh now split the front of her robe. Her eyes watched mine drop to her appetizing flesh.

"Are...uhh...do you play the piano?" I asked nervously, gesturing with my head toward the instrument in the living room.

"Mmm...I teach piano. Cancelled my classes for the day, though, 'cause I'm not feeling well. A little more wine...maybe a nap...and I'll be as good as new. D'you play?"

"Nah. Took some lessons as a kid, but never followed up."

"You should have. You've got the hands for it. Large...strong...long fingers," she said, finishing her glass. Then she shivered, visibly. "Mmm...I'm a little shaky. S'more wine. Could you open this?" she asked, sliding an unopened bottle and corkscrew toward me on the sink board.

"Sure, but then I'll have to leave." I uncorked it and she slid both of our glasses to me, touching my hip with her crotch. My heartbeat spiked as I felt her body's heat through my pants. I poured her glass half full and put down the bottle.

"See!...so strong!" she said, grabbing my hand in hers and kneading between my fingers. Then she suddenly pulled my hand to one of her breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra, and the firm swelling under her robe filled my palm. For several moments we just looked at one another, as her nipple grew hard. "Mmm...that feels nice," she murmured, as my gaze fixed on her jugular, excitedly pumping blood to her brain. "Sooo...nice," she repeated, as her robe was now somehow open and two magnificent, firm, breasts poked out, their pink nipples pouting excitedly up at me.

She had both of my hands now, and was stroking herself with them, up, down and around her tits, then lower – spanning her soft, white belly – to her full, auburn bush, which caused her to tremble and gasp. "Miz Thompson...I...I really have to go. I'm...uhh...work...ing," I stuttered.

"Nnn...nooo...you can't...nowww!" she whined, and swiped one of my fingers up her sopping slit. Her labia were greasy with her thick juices and she leaned her head back with closed eyes, whispering, "Yessss...use more fingers...right...there...yessss...there!" She'd eased her arms around my waist, spread her legs and opened herself up to two of my digits that now were hooked under her pelvic bone, massaging her G spot. "Nnngghh...yeah!...yeah!...yeah!" she grunted, as she threw an arm around my neck, ripped open the high collar of my pharmacist's smock, and raised herself off the floor, locking her ankles behind my knees.

I was now fully erect in my pants and my legs began to cramp a bit because I was carrying her. I reached with one hand to the sink board to bear our combined weight and that's when she orgasmed, shuddering and spasming against my embedded fingers. She started to scream, then locked her mouth to my clavicle, well below the collar line, to mewl through her climax for nearly a minute. By the time she'd finished, the end of my cock was raw from rubbing against my shorts, and returning to work was the last thing on my mind, as I stripped off my white smock to my underlying tee shirt. I was no more than a step behind my pharmaceutical customer as she pranced naked down the hall to her bedroom. My mouth watered as her pear-shaped buns jiggled at me and she giggled like a wanton teenager who'd gotten exactly what she wanted.

My pants were at half-mast as I stood next to the bed, in front of her, looking down on her breathtaking, seated form. I held the box of condoms in my hand but was too slow in opening it, since Betty – that was her name, I learned later – had clawed down my shorts and inhaled my turgid cock. "You sweet...beautiful boy," she gasped, slurping at me, "I'm gonna suck you off...then I wantcha' to put your big...fat...cock inside me." I groaned as she slipped me deeply into her mouth, then pulled off. "Touch me again, honey...with those fantastic hands. An' when I cum, jus'...ram it into me. Hard! Okay?"

I couldn't believe how forward – how dirty – she was. I groaned again, this time in agreement, incredulous at the fabulous feelings she was causing in my groin. I reached down between her legs, which she'd spread and raised to put her heels on the edge of the bed, and diddled her softly with my fingers. Her clitoris was uncommonly large...and hard...and she began trembling with each rapid, moist caress of the sensitive organ. Her lovely chestnut hair gleamed in the sunlight as her lips cycled back and forth on my thickness, and the continuous moaning in her throat soon became halting grunts as she once again approached a climax. After a minute or so she came, screaming, and fell backward on the bed, with me pitching forward between her upraised knees. "Haaaaggghhh!" she shrieked, her face distorted in sublime agony, as I filled her cleft completely to my balls.

But that was just the beginning. Betty's vagina clamped around me like a quivering vise and she hammered back at my driving loins like a woman possessed. Each breath she took was expelled with a piercing scream as our bodies flailed away at one another. She bit me, tore at me with her nails, and her cunt seemed to gobble at my cock as if trying to consume it in great, voracious gulps. I'd never before experienced a more savage rutting in my life, as her claws ripped away at my shoulders, chest, back and butt in her passion. She seemed to be cumming constantly, as for many minutes her vagina gripped me like some unearthly, cannibalistic thing. Then her screams ceased and she threw her head back and froze – it seemed into one solid muscle – showing nothing but the whites of her eyes as her body seized up around me.

"Aahh, Gawd...yeah...aawwgghh...aawwgghh...aawwgghh!" I finally bellowed as her internal muscles pulled huge, hot gouts of seed from me to bathe her insides. With her calves on my buttocks, her quim sucked at me, pulling me slowly into her hot center, then thrust quickly back to grab more of me and empty me of spunk. I whimpered at the end of my orgasm, feeling as dry inside as dust, as we lay sweating in each other's arms. At the end I was still gasping in huge gulps of air, sounding embarrassedly like an exhausted beast which had lost a life-and-death struggle, trying to outrun and escape its pernicious hunter.

"Mmmm...do you make all the deliveries?" she finally murmured, looking at me with glazed, ravenous eyes. Her pussy was still pulsating around my embedded cock at a rate that would alarm a cardiologist.

"Uuhh...no. Just in the afternoons and evenings."

"Perfect!" she whispered. "Whom do I ask for, honey?"

"They call me Glen," I responded, as my flaccid dick slipped from her cunt.

"Mmmm...Glen. I like that!"

I'd never before had such a rough sexual experience with a woman, I thought, as I wolfed down a sandwich while driving back to the store, arriving just at the moment Rosemary had expected me. The tryst with Ms. Thompson had made me vow to do some research into the sexual responses of epileptics...or at least of women prone to seizures.

Part 2

"Rosemary's on the warpath!" Arlene warned as I entered the store. "She had a screaming phone call with her husband, then a call from a customer, and she's really pissed off! She's letting me go a couple of hours early tonight...said she and you could cover for me on the register."

"What's the problem?" I asked.

"Dunno. But...could you drop me off at home on your evening deliveries, Glen? My husband Cliff is on a fishing trip an' Dawn's gonna be out. We could...maybe...". Arlene's lonely brown eyes were pleading with me for illicit sustenance.

This was the last thing I needed. My tee shirt under my smock was spotted with blood from Ms. Thompson's slashing nails, and another strenuous sexual romp was out of the question. It was Saturday night, I was exhausted after a long week, and was looking forward to sleeping late the next morning.

"I'll ask Rosemary," I said, avoiding having to make a decision. "But we'll be short-handed here."

"Ohh...don't bother her. I'll take a cab. Go on upstairs and see the ice woman," said Arlene, disappointed and resigned to a lonely night of TV watching and solitary stimulation. She'd admitted to me months earlier that she masturbated regularly.

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