The Accidental Gigolo Pt. 02

"Snot," she grinned at me. She reached around behind her back and found the catch of her bra. Bringing her hands back in front of her, she held the cups over her breasts and gave me a surprisingly shy, but nonetheless eager, look.

"So you've dreamed about these?" she asked. "They're awfully big."

I laughed.

"I don't think I've heard the expression 'awfully big' applied in that context," I smiled. "I think they're perfect. You do remember I saw them this afternoon, don't you? When you were squeezing that one there as you played with yourself?"

She flushed a bright red, but she offered no resistance when I reached forward and slowly pulled the bra out of her hands and away from her chest.

"God, I can't believe this," she gasped after I had pushed her back onto the pillows behind her and I had fastened my lips around her left nipple.

"Shut up, Laura," I took them off long enough to give her that order.

"Yes, sir," she smiled.

It was a soft, sublime substitute for actual sex, but after I had learned my way around her breasts, and after she had performed a similar examination of my cock, we both knew what was going to happen next.

"Ready?" I asked her.

She smiled and nodded, and crossed her hands in front of her.

"Behind, you little slut," I said. She eagerly complied, and when she was ready I flipped her onto her back, her hands cuffed beneath her, and sat between her spread legs.

I gave her a light slap with the back of my hand, right between her thighs.

"Oh!"

"What do you want to do now, Laura?"

She gave me a coy look and kept her mouth shut.

I slapped her again, and got another "Oh!" She smiled at me. We played a few more rounds, and finally she had had enough.

"Fuck me," she whispered.

"OW! I said 'fuck me," she whined after I had slapped her again.

"And you think that's good enough?" I asked with another slap.

"OW! Terry!"

"You think your little silent act doesn't merit some punishment all by itself?" I let my voice get harsher and slapped her one more time.

"OW! Jesus, Terry. Please now, honey, please."

I spread her thighs just a little bit more and slid inside of her. Her eyes rolled upward into her head and she locked her legs around me. Using one hand to steady us on the bed — there were still a lot of mechanical aspects of this whole thing that I needed to work out — I reached forward with the other and began to knead one of her wonderful breasts.

"Harder," she hissed after a few minutes of fucking.

She had said that this afternoon, and I wasn't really sure what she meant by it. "Faster" would have been pretty obvious, but "harder?" Did she mean deeper? I can't go any deeper, lady, it's not like a TV antenna.

"Harder, you little fucker, harder."

I started slamming my pubic mound against hers.

"My tit, you bastard," she gasped. "Pinch my — oh, fuck!"

Her body started shaking and her legs stiffened around my waist. Her arms strained against the cuffs, revealing her well-muscled biceps.

"Terry!" she screamed.

I hadn't come, but she looked exhausted. Pleasantly exhausted, to be sure, but exhausted nonetheless. I pulled out and lay on the bed, pulling her head onto my shoulder and cradling her in my right arm. I left the cuffs on, of course, and after another half hour or so I reached down to grab them.

"Terry!" she awoke from her little nap.

"Slut," I hissed. "Did you come that time?"

"Yes, master," she smiled.

"Did I?"

Her smile vanished.

"I'm sorry, master," she pleaded. "Please, let me do it again. I didn't realize."

"I guess not," I chuckled. I pulled her onto her knees once more and got behind her. For a while, I just enjoyed the view: Laura Stone on her knees in front of me with her hands cuffed behind her back, her hair sweated and disheveled on the pillow. It was, I smiled to myself, a pillow that had never come close to producing a dream as good as real life was turning out to be. And right in front of me, of course, was that magnificent ass. I reached down and slowly traced my middle finger down the crack, pausing briefly when I reached her crinkled hole.

"Terry, no," she was suddenly wide awake, her head turned to the side, her eyes wide with alarm. "You can't."

I didn't like being told I couldn't do something. My mother had told me that too many times, sometimes right here in this very room. But I had no idea what I was being told I couldn't do. I froze. Maybe she'd give me a hint.

"Terry, my ex-husband only put it in there once," she said with as much sternness as a handcuffed woman could muster. "And he wasn't anywhere near as big as you."

Put it in — oh my God. OH MY GOD! Did this woman really just tell me that her ex-husband had fucked her in her, well, her butt? Was she serious? I grabbed the handcuffs and pulled her back toward me, until her ass was just in front of my very stiff cock.

"Oh, God, Terry," she groaned. "At least get some lube."

"Some what?"

"Lube," she panted. "I know your mother's got lube somewhere."

Lube? Did she mean like grease? By this point, of course, I was unwilling to ask, and I was certainly unwilling to borrow some sex aid my mother might have somewhere.

"You want this lubed, bitch?" I asked her. "Is that what you want?"

"Please," Laura begged me.

"I got some lube right here," I said, reaching down to push the head of my dick a little lower, until it lined up with her slit. I pushed forward and gave her ass a slap.

"Now, cum, bitch."

"Oh, fuck," she screamed, writhing beneath me once again. I could actually feel myself getting wetter as she climaxed, and after a few more seconds I pulled out and returned my dick to its earlier location. I shoved it into her, and she screamed again, not in pain but in the same tone she had used when her climax first started. God, it was tight, and I found myself spraying in less than ten seconds. I pulled out and this time opened the cuffs.

Laura instantly turned on me, jumping up to her knees.

"God damn it, you fucker, if you ever do that again, I'll... I'll..."

"You'll what?" I laughed at her.

"I'll bring some real lube," she smiled. "If you'd gone a couple more seconds it could have gotten real painful for both of us."

"I don't think we have to do it again," I said. "It was more of an experiment."

She smiled and lay back down on the pillow.

"Some experiments need to be repeated in order to ensure you got the proper results," she purred, stretching her arms toward me. "Now give me a half hour of hugging, and then I have to go."

"Don't want to run into Mom?" I snuggled into her.

"Looking and smelling like this?" she giggled.

"Good point," I said.

"I wish you could come over tomorrow and finish the lawn," she reached down to toy with my limp cock. "I have a bush that needs a lot of attention."

"I'll be over Saturday, little girl," I said, tracing my finger around her nipple. "You'll just have to be patient."

"Fuck patient," she pouted.

"That'll be fun," I agreed. "You can be the nurse and I'll be the fuck patient."

I could see the wheels starting to turn in her head already.

"That would be fun, wouldn't it?"

Chapter 6: The Accidental Blackmailer, Part Three

As I cycled to the school late on Sunday morning, I was starting to have doubts about whether I was going to be able to survive this entire weekend. Laura had left at eleven last night, and I had finished tidying up and airing out the room just before my parents breezed back into the house. In fact, I had only spotted Laura's handcuffs underneath the bed less than twenty seconds before my mother showed up at the door to my bedroom. Laura had obviously forgotten them in her departure. In any event, I had quickly stuffed them in my bookbag. I could cycle by her house on my way home from school and drop them off. The only potential problem with that plan was that Laura might want to make it hard for me to leave. Or just make it hard, period. After my upcoming meeting with Pam Lee, I wasn't sure whether anything, even Laura Stone, would be able to make it hard that quickly.

Pam was waiting for me outside the school, nervously switching her weight from one foot to the other. A cold front had come through overnight, the first real sign of fall. She was looking the other way when I approached, studying the other cars in the parking lot. I had a nice, long look at her black, leather motorcycle jacket and skin-tight jeans. She finally turned as I coasted toward the bike rack.

"It's about time," she hissed.

I gave her a sideways look as I locked the bike to the rack.

"Phone call for you, Ms. Lee."

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and tossed it to her. She opened it with a quizzical expression on her face, and then shut it just as quickly as a deep flush spread over her dark complexion. It was a full, uncropped picture this time. She was reclining on a sofa, naked of course, her legs spread but with her hand between them. She had an eager expression on her face that clearly evidenced her desire for something. It wasn't the best picture of her "College Spread" spread, but it was my favorite caption: Maybe we can come to some sort of arrangement. A little tit for tat? Or how about a little tit for a nice, big that? The phone's screen wasn't big enough to let her read it, and I'm sure she didn't remember what it said. But I would be happy to remind her. She followed me, silently, into the school, only speaking once we got closer to the computer science room.

"Are you sure you can do this, Terry?

I found her tone annoying, the way she emphasized the word "you."

"Well, gosh, let's hope so, Ms. Lee," I smiled. "Cause if I can't, I'm gonna have to start sharing you with assholes like Tony Carboneau and Mikey Portman, the guys who flunked shop last year. Or little Joey Turner — you know, the kid with the big glasses who hands out the water at the football team's timeouts. I bet all three of those guys are surfin' the net, lookin' for porn, every day."

"I'm sorry, Terry. I'm just nervous," she confessed as we reached the computer science room. "I had to steal the key to this place from Mrs. Carson's desk and the old battleaxe could come in any minute."

"On a Sunday?"

"What else has she got to do?"

Evidently Ms. Lee shared the student body's opinion of our principal's secretary-slash-gatekeeper-slash-guard dog. She was really more like one of those bridge trolls because there were times when she would let you pass. We just had no idea when those would be.

Pam unlocked the door, and I located one of the newer, faster computers and sat down to get to work. I was going to be there a little while, setting my program up, testing it, actually running it, and then removing it from the computer without leaving any footprints. Pam, on the other hand, was going to leave a very definite set of footprints. She spent the first fifteen minutes pacing from one side of the room to the other. At first, she would glance over my shoulder when she passed, but after she realized that what was on the screen was as incomprehensible to her as, say, French is to some other people, she went back to straight pacing.

"Didn't you bring a book or something?" I asked, trying without success to hide my annoyance.

"I thought it would only take like fifteen minutes," she explained.

"It's gonna take even longer if I have to listen to you walking around like that."

"I'm sorry," she said as she pulled out a seat.

She just as suddenly got up and announced she was going down to the teacher's lounge. She returned in 15 minutes with a magazine and took a seat behind me. That lasted maybe another fifteen minutes, until she started drumming her fingers on the desk.

"You're not helping," I said as sweetly as I could.

"Well, what do you want me to do?"

I turned and gave her a big smile.

"Don't you have an office? A room of your own? Shouldn't you be there, getting ready to show me how grateful you are?"

"Here?" she squeaked. "At school?"

"Here," I nodded. "At school."

"But there are other people..." she started to protest.

"Who could come in at any minute and see me using the school's computer for something highly unethical and possible illegal," I interrupted her.

I watched her think about it a minute, and then she smiled.

"Okay," she chirped.

"Now go," I said over my shoulder as I turned back. "Put the key back in Mrs. Carson's desk. I'll lock the door when I'm done and then I'll meet you. Room 218. Oh, and here, take my bag."

It took me another half an hour, but by the time I was finished, I was satisfied that the only inappropriate pictures that a Google search for "Pam Lee" would turn up would be the blonde former Playmate and home video star. I was also satisfied that there was no way anyone would know that I had been here today. Slipping the disk into my pocket, I pulled the locked door shut behind me and headed upstairs.

I peered into her darkened room through the window in the door to her room on the Language Arts hallway.

"Pam?" I said softly as I pushed open the unlocked door. "Ms. Lee?"

She had clearly been there. Her leather jacket was draped over the back of her chair. Maybe she had to visit the ladies' room. After about five minutes I was starting to get worried. I went back into the hallway, and when I pulled the door closed behind me, I realized my mistake. This was Room 221. I had a very distinct recollection of telling her that I would meet her in Room 218. But I also remembered telling her she should be in her office, "getting ready." Well, where the hell was Room 218? I walked down the hall. Room 222, across the hall, was Mrs. Valentine's room. Room 220 was Ms. Nelson's room. Room 219 was Miss Sanchez's room. There was the little boys' room. Room 217 was Mr. Storey's room. Oh, shit.

I walked back to the boys' room, still not quite believing that the school administration had actually assigned it a number. Other than Freddy Richardson, who had cornered all the drug-dealing at the school, who needed to identify a specific bathroom? But there it was in small numerals, two-one-eight. I hesitantly pushed the door open and saw my bag beneath the two sinks.

"Madame?" I said quietly.

"Fuck, Terry," she hissed, "what the fucking hell were you doing?"

She came out of one of the stalls, wearing nothing but the tiniest of thongs. Damned if Laura Stone hadn't pegged that.

"I, uh, I thought you were going to be in your office," I stammered.

"No, I'm here in fucking room 218 where you fucking told me to be. How do I get these fucking things off?"

I had actually been so surprised to find her in the boys' room, wearing a thong and nothing else, that I hadn't noticed that her wrists were handcuffed together.

"How did you get them on?" I was desperately trying not to laugh.

"I opened up your book bag to put my clothes in to get ready, like you, um..."

"Requested."

She gave me a snippy smile.

"And these things just fell out. And opened up. I saw the catches on them and I figured they'd be really easy to get off, but they're fucking not."

"Actually, they fucking are," I said, pushing myself off the door and walking toward her. "You have to press them at the same time."

She tried to twist her wrists around to press the two catches simultaneously, but by that point I was already across the room. I grabbed hold of the little chain between the two cuffs in one hand and backed her up against the wall.

"Terry," she murmured, squirming helplessly as she felt my other hand exploring her body, caressing her stomach, squeezing her breast, tickling her thigh, and then finally diving inside her thong. "Terry, yes."

I pushed her hands down behind her head, and lowered my mouth to her chest. I would like to think that just the touch of my lips on her nipple sent a shiver through her body. On the other hand, the fingers of my right hand could have accounted for that, too. My index and ring fingers were gently squeezing her labia lips together, while my middle finger slowly stroked the inner lips that pressed through.

"Oh, God, baby," she whispered, as I pulled back to look at the wet, hard nipple of her left breast.

I stood up again and raised her arms over her head, this time turning her around. I gently pushed her forward to the wall, flattening her breasts against the cold tile. I slipped my hand under her thong again, noticing how much of her nice little ass it left exposed. I held her in place and slid my fingers down between the two round cheeks until I could once again touch her wetness. I slowly pushed my middle finger inside her, and then let go of the cuffs to free my other hand to work her thong down her legs. I pocketed the thin cloth and reached up for her cuffs again. It was at that point that we both became aware of somebody whistling in the hallway.

The parking lot had had very few cars when I arrived, and there was nothing scheduled at school that day, so the odds of somebody walking all the way up to the Language Arts hallway to use the boys' room were infinitesimal. Even so, they were probably higher than the odds that a high school senior would have been in that same boys' room with his naked French teacher. And they were probably higher than the odds of any of the, er, incidents that seemed to plague my life. Like the time that the woman with the baby stroller knocked me off the bridge and into the lake in Prospect Park.

So the whistling was good enough for me. I hustled us into a stall and locked the door. I quickly pushed my pants to my ankles and took a seat. Pam climbed atop me, standing on my thighs and leaning back against the door. At my suggestion, she looped her handcuffs over the clothes hook on the inside of the door to help support her and keep her motionless.

The whistling stopped when the mystery whistler pushed open the door, probably about the time that he saw my bookbag and realized that he wasn't the room's only occupant.

"Bonjour?" he asked in a hideous French accent that made the word sound more like "conjure." "Qui est là?"

I looked up to see Pam rolling her eyes.

I cleared my throat.

"Why are you speaking French, man?"

"Sorry," he laughed as he unzipped himself. "Who's that?"

"Terry Martin," I said.

"Martin!" he acknowledged me cheerfully. Pam and I listened as he started to relieve himself. "Chris Cannon."

Chris Cannon was one of the football players in my French class.

"Yeah," he spoke up again. "That bitch has me trained, buddy. Every time I get anywhere near the pleasure palace I start thinkin' up French conversation in case I meet her in the hall. I saw her little Tranny in the parking lot, so she must be around somewhere."

I couldn't help but ask the question that both Pam and I were thinking.

"The pleasure palace?"

"Pammy's pleasure palace," he laughed.

"I didn't think you were having that good a time in French," I said.

"Hell, no. Except for the scenery, that place is the closest thing this school has to hell, dude. Naw, that's Jack Cranston's name for it. You know those go-go girls that Pammy's got?"

"No," I said, although Pam's glower told me that she had a pretty good idea what he was talking about.

"You know, she's got those chicks running all over, doing her errands? Go for coffee, go for supplies. We call 'em Pam's go-go girls. Anyway, one day Trish Mason discovers that Pammy's forgotten to lock the bottom drawer of her desk and she finds this vibrator engraved with the initials P-P-P."

Pam's whole body, of which I had a very good view, was turning beet red.

"So after we finish with the jokes about 'pounding Pam's pubes' and 'pleasing Pammy's pussy, ' Jack invents this whole shit about 'Pammy's Pleasure Palace.' He's got this hysterical video of her just walkin' around the school where he starts narratin' about her real career as a hooker who's fuckin' everybody she talks to. He just finished it last week. You know, dude, I think you're in it. He got this clip of her walkin' down the hall, and Jack's like, 'That's right, Pam Lee is happy to meet the demands of faculty, staff, and students. Here she is talking to Principal Harper, reminding him about his 2:30 blowjob appointment. Next it's Ms. Maryanne Nelson, who's gonna get a nice piece of pie to munch on at three. And finally, star swimmer Terry Martin, scheduled to have his big pipe organ cleaned at three-thirty.' Jack's girlfriend Sherry's like 'what do you mean big pipe organ?' You may be gettin' some action soon, dude. She's got some nice-lookin' friends."