The Wilkerson Institute

"Mr. deFrame? Terry asked me to look you up," said a very young woman. If she wasn't a minor, then I didn't know anything about women. Which might be the case anyway.

"Oh?"

"Yes. I'm Julie, and Terry said you'd be wanting a tour this morning of the school. And perhaps of the rest of the grounds?"

Now what exactly did that mean? Around here, I couldn't be at all sure. I casually looked the girl over. Slim, almost willow, quite pretty. A little above average height. Light chestnut hair. A junior "student"? Or perhaps not, I had no real way of knowing.

"Well, I was planning on a walk anyway. We'll just put some purpose to it," I said.

"Excuse me, Mr. deFrame," interrupted a young woman behind the front counter. "Your appointment for tomorrow morning with Mr. Wilkerson has been moved up to nine. He called to say his schedule had opened up. Is that all right with you, sir?"

"Yes, quite. I look forward to the meeting."

"Very good, sir."

I turned back to Julie. It was only then I noticed that for the first time in my visit one of the staff type individuals wasn't in some type of uniform. Well, I gathered that none of the girls were part of the permanent staff. But what else could I call these highly decorative worker bees. Perhaps, uniforms were only worn on duty. But if so, wasn't this tour duty? Every step took me deeper through the looking glass. I resolved to simply wonder silently.

Julie wasn't in one of the chic, short and tight, suits the other reception and concierge ladies were wearing. Instead, she was dressed quite becomingly, in a loose, high necked sweater and a tartan plaid skirt that dropped about halfway between her knees and her ankles. But not a simple plain skirt. This was some kind of wrap skirt that buttoned on one side, and was held together at mid-thigh by a large brass pin. Through the slit, where the wrap overlapped, I could glimpse long, lightweight, black high heeled boots, but not the heavy and shiny kind worn by leather fetishists. No, these were of some very thin, stretchy, matte fabric. Strange boots? Stockings with shoes built in? Whatever they were, they seemed quite long, disappearing above the gap where her skirt swung open as we walked.

For, imperceptibly, we had begun our walk, Julie slipping her arm in mine and leading me outside. It was cooler today, and I mentioned it to her.

"Yes, there's a front moving in. We're supposed to get rain tomorrow. Maybe the next day also."

"It's beautiful down here. Is the weather always this nice?," I asked.

"Well, summer is really hot and humid, or at least this last one was. But I haven't really been here long enough to say."

I was tempted to ask how long she had been here. But something, maybe the way she said it, made me stop. Somehow I knew that this would open some old wound. Old wounds don't have to be that old to be deep and painful. But it also made me realize that this girl, if she hadn't been here a full year, was young. More questions for Mr. Wilkerson.

We walked through more of the gardens, and for the first time I saw what appeared to be some of the permanent staff. Several healthy young men were working in the gardens, wearing official looking work clothes, supervising several of the girls weeding and tending flowers. Again, something in their manner, and the way they gave orders to the girls, told me these weren't locals just called in to mow the lawn. And then it struck me! They weren't Mexican. Oh, they had dark tans, but they were just tans, not a Latino's skin coloring. And I realized that all of the women I had seen so far were North American Caucasian. No blacks, no Latinos, no Orientals. Curiouser and curiouser. I was in a small enclave of the white US in the middle of the Yucatan Peninsula.

Eventually, we came to a low building behind a hill from the main resort area. Less than a mile away from the main area, it was completely hidden and unseen, and I suspected for most of the guests, unknown. But as we entered, I realized the building actually was built into the hill, and was larger than it appeared.

"This is the school and dormitory for all of the students," said Julie.

"Do you live here?," I asked.

"Last hall, second floor," said Julie with a smile. "And no, you can't see. The dorm rooms are completely off limits," she said, guessing my next question.

"Why's that?"

"Hmmm, well, Mr. Wilkerson says it's simply our place, where we can kick back and do what we want. No orders or anything." What an interesting fellow, this Wilkerson. "Anyway, it's just a bunch of dorm rooms. I mean, like mine is just a disaster right now!," she laughed.

Leading me on, she continued. "Now down here are the classrooms. There's only six, and we go to classes either mornings or afternoons. Or did Terry tell you this already?"

I assured her that Terry hadn't told me much at all. "Just keep going, I'll let you know if you repeat her."

"Okay." She led me up to a window that opened onto a small classroom. Inside, a teacher was standing at a blackboard, demonstrating something involving English and sentence structure to a small class of young ladies. "Now, they can't see you. It's a one way mirror, like on TV." Goggle-eyed I stared at the students.

First, the range of ages was considerably greater than anything I had expected. Some looked in their early twenties, others no more than late teens. And their uniforms! They all wore long gowns and high heels. The gowns were in a variety of light pastels, and seemed slit quite deep both at the front and back, top and bottom. Like sheer, opaque, evening gowns.

After a few minutes, I stepped back and walked on down the hallway, Julie trailing behind me. The next two classrooms were in use, one teaching algebra or math, the other where the teacher was pointing to a large map of the world. Same range of ages. Same uniforms.

But the next three windows showed nothing. The rooms inside were dark, and nothing could be seen. "What's taught in here?"

"Oh, that's the sex lab."

"Huh? What?," I asked incredulously. My jaw must have dropped to the floor.

Julie looked at the expression on my face and laughed heartily. "Sex lab! At least that's what we call it. The actual course is called something like 'Theoretical and Practical Aspects of Human Sexuality'. Or something like that, anyway. But we just call it 'Sex Lab'." She laughed again, a bright, smiling laugh. "Oh, if you could only see your face!"

"I imagine," I said. "Sex lab, huh. I can't imagine. I mean I really can't imagine." I simply shook my head.

"Yeah? Wanna see?," she asked. Not waiting for a reply, she went to the first door, and opened it. Walking in, she turned and hit a switch next to the door. "Come on in." Julie motioned me in with a hand. "Come on, it's safe!" She laughed some more.

Grinning ruefully, I stepped across the threshold. Looking around, I felt even more embarrassed by what I saw. It was just another classroom. Several diagrams and cutaway drawings of men and women lined the walls. It looked just like a biology classroom, and I said so.

"Uh, huh. That's part of the course. I guess that's the 'Theoretical' part. Doc Henson teaches some of this," agreed Julie. Then the girl laughed again. "Wilma and Fred live in the closet."

"Wilma and Fred?," I asked stupidly. I had a sneaking suspicion that much of what I was saying in sex lab sounded stupid.

"You know, the Flintstones?" Julie walked over to a closet and opened it up. Coming closer, I could see a pair of mannequins, one male, one female, inside. Both had on some leopard spotted toga type outfits. "God only knows when, but somebody once dressed them up like this, and we just keep them that way. They come to all our parties!"

Now it was my turn to laugh. The dorm sounded a lot like my freshman dorm in college, constantly on the verge of expulsion and/or arrest. Regaining some composure, I walked through an open doorway to the next classroom. But it was dark, and I couldn't see anything until Julie passed me and headed to the door, turning on the lights.

Now this was a bit more what I had suspected. In the front of the classroom were three standard size beds, in the rear, a semicircle of chairs. Instead of blackboards, corkboards lined the walls, with pictures and diagrams of all manner of ways and positions to have sex. More than a few I had never seen before.

"This must be the 'Practical' part," I said dryly.

"About as practical as you can get." responded Julie.

"And what's in here?," I asked her, turning towards the door leading to the last classroom.

"One could say that's where advanced classes are taught," she said mysteriously.

"Hmmph." I marched in. Knowing where the lights were now, I soon had them turned on. I turned and looked on a scene worthy of Fellini.

Along one wall were a number of shelves containing what must be one of every vibrator, dildo, and sexual device known to mankind. Some I couldn't name but had heard of, some I couldn't even guess about! Parts of the wall had shackles and chains mounted. No beds or desks, but a few padded benches, stools, couches, and armchairs. A trapeze swung gently from the ceiling, as did a chair with the bottom cut out. I knew what that was for!

"Holy shit!," I exclaimed.

"Like I said, advanced techniques."

"I guess!" I stared for several minutes, and then opened the hall door and stepped out. Leaning back against the wall, I took a deep breath.

Julie followed behind me, turning off the lights. "Are you all right, Mr. deFrame?," she asked, a look of concern on her face.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, just fine," I responded. "That's just a little bit much, though, don't you think?"

"Oh, I don't know. You get used to it, I guess."

"You mean...you?..."

"Yep. We all have."

"Wow!" Looks were deceiving. No matter what these girls ages were, they knew more than any girls that age I had ever known had ever known. No wonder the techniques performed on me had been so flawless. These girls had training! Practice does make perfect!

I stood up again, and Julie took my arm. "That's really about it," she said. "I mean, there's the libraries, but you wouldn't want to see the one here."

"Oh?"

"Nah. I mean, the one here just has textbooks and encyclopedias and books like that. The interesting one is in the main building."

"I hadn't noticed," I told her. "What makes it so interesting?"

"Well that one is for the patrons. The textbooks have nothing to do with reading or writing, at least."

"Really? No kidding?"

By now we were back on a path to the resort. Along the way, I asked Julie where the jogging track was. "I'd like to run some this afternoon. It's been a few days, and I need to stay in shape."

"Sure. It's over here," she answered, leading the way. We walked along the track until we were back to the resort building. "One lap equals two kilometers."

"A mile and a quarter."

"Close enough." Julie led me in a side door and we ended in a hallway off the lobby. Leading me through a pair of French doors, she said, "This is the main library."

It was a small room, but several bookcases and sets of shelves divided the room into a few alcoves. No desks or study carrels, but some nicely appointed couches and love seats. It had been a long walk. I flopped down on a love seat, and Julie sat down to the left of me, crossing her legs.

"Well, kid," I said. "That was quite the nickel ride."

"Maybe so. I'm sorry if I went on and on. I should have stopped sooner."

"No, no," I said. "Absolutely fascinating! Wouldn't have missed a minute of it." I reached over and patted her knee were it stuck out of the tartan plaid. "Hey, I gotta ask, just what are these things?," I asked, rubbing her knee. "Boots or weird stockings?"

Julie shifted the skirt so that both legs below the brass pin came into view. "Sort of both. They're kind of stockings with shoes built into the bottom."

"Really?"

"Uh, huh. One of the patrons noticed them in a Playboy and mentioned them one day. So Mr. Wilkerson ordered a few pair."

"Aren't they hot for Mexico?"

"Nope. They're really quite light and they breathe great. But not all the girls can wear them. Some are allergic to the fabric, or whatever. Like them?"

I smiled. "Yes, I do. Quite a bit. Just how long are they?"

Julie gave a sly smile. Reaching down, she unpinned the pin holding her skirt together, and placed it on the table beside me, reaching across my lap to do so. The back of her hand rubbed across my crotch, not so innocently. The skirt gapped open quite a bit more. "Fairly long, don't you think?"

"Um, yes." My mouth dried considerably. Julie's legs were exquisite, long and lean, and very curvaceous. She moved them and crossed them the other way. The skirt parted even further, and I suspected the boots went all the way up.

Julie leaned back across me and picked up a large, coffee table size book from the table. This she handed to me. "This is one of the many books in the library here."

'The Illustrated Kama Sutra', the cover proclaimed, above a picture of a scantily clad couple in an interesting position. Nothing untoward could be seen on the cover, but neither did it leave any doubt as to what the position was for. "Take a look," said the young girl.

I slowly leafed through several pages of the book. The couple were in all the pictures, he in a turban, she in various transparent veils. The printing and artwork were excellent, the photos tasteful, if explicit, the positions quite varied. But I could keep only one eye on the pictures, as beside me Julie moved one hand to the side of her skirt and undid the button at her waist. I was right, the boot tops did go all the way up, right to the dark brown curls at her groin.

Julie shifted her pert ass sideways and lay her head in my lap. As her hand rubbed the erection I had had for the last five minutes, her teeth began to undo my belt. Amazingly, without using her hands, she undid my belt, the snap, and the zipper. The first time she used her hands was to pull my engorged cock out of the pants leg it was residing uncomfortably in. Tugging my pants lower, Julie immediately took my cockhead into her mouth.

God, what tongue action! Knowing now how these girls learned this stuff didn't alter my admiration a bit. It might even have increased it. Talent like this needed training!

Julie's tongue swirled around my glans, even probing my urethra. Breathing through her nose, she still managed to suck like Dracula going for the jugular. Fuck the damn book! I tossed it to the side, and put one hand on her back, and the other on her head.

While it wasn't meant to be so, Julie took the hand on her head as a sign for more. Without skipping a beat, she sank her head lower into my lap, seamlessly moving into a deep throat action. I think my favorite part was when I was fully buried in her mouth, her cheeks bulging, huffing and puffing around me, and she began to gently shake and wiggle her head. Damn near moved me off the seat! My left hand rubbed her back (no bra!) while my right hand rubbed the back of her head, moving her long hair out of the way, so I could watch. Jesus! I could do this forever!

For awhile I thought I could, too. Julie's tongue action made me come twice. But each time, as my hips bucked upwards, she stopped all motions of her tongue and mouth, stopped the sucking, and firmly clamped the base of my cock. I'd heard of this before, but never had it done to me. The orgasm stopped as fast as it had started, and after a few moments, Julie started up again.

By the second orgasm, I had pulled her sweater up to her shoulders, and had reached under her to play with her nipples. These were small, pert, young tits. Julie would never grow to more than an A cup, but these were the perfect tits for the guy who thinks more than a mouthful is wasted. What do the French say? The perfect tit fills a champagne glass? Whatever. My second surge didn't take as long as the first. After this one, I stopped her and pulled her sweater over her head and off her arms. Then, naked except for the boots, I pushed her head back in my lap. Moments later I spewed for real, Julie not stopping me this time, and I groaned in joy as I coated her tonsils.

Finally, my hips stopped bucking up into her mouth and I collapsed back into the cushions. Julie continued licking my cock and balls till they were squeaky clean, but her efforts had been truly monumental, and I didn't resurrect. After a few more moments she sat upright and leaned against me, she still almost naked, me with my pants down. I turned to her as I fastened my britches. "Julie, just how old are you?"

"I'll be ninwteen next month," she said, smiling.

"Kiddo, for whatever it's worth, the lessons took. I sure never got a blow job like that when I was your age! Hell, I'm not sure I ever got a blow job when I was your age! You are one piece of work," I said approvingly.

A big smile suffused her pretty face. "Thanks! Thanks a lot! I appreciate that."

I stood up and helped her to her feet. Smiling, we dressed. I offered to take her to lunch, but she declined. Classes. Still, she walked me to the bar. And before we parted, she asked me an intriguing question.

"Mr. deFrame? You can help us in the training."

"Hmmm? What do you mean?," I asked.

"Well, class isn't enough. If you'd let me, I'll put your name on the list for training sessions."

"Just what is involved in these training sessions?," I asked carefully.

"Oh, not much. Just some nights, when you're available, one of the more experienced girls brings around one of the newer ones, so she can practice her lessons. You know what I mean," said Julie.

"Hmmm. Yes, I do. Well, okay, I guess."

"Great!"

***

After a light lunch, I returned to my room and changed into shorts and a tee shirt. This high living, the food and booze, was going to kill me if I didn't get some exercise. Of course, around here I'd be more likely to have a heart attack with some young Julie working me over instead, the girl dutifully trying to resuscitate the wrong part of my anatomy. I resolved to go out with a smile on my face.

Once outside, I trotted over to the jogging track and started to run. I ran for a full hour, sometimes jogging, sometimes sprinting. After about five or six laps, I was sweating pretty good. The poisons were almost completely out of the system. Just a bit more work to do for the afternoon.

As I slowed near the end, I spotted a young blonde watching me by the track. "Hey!," I called out. "Can you go get me something cold?," I panted.

"Sure. What do you want?"

I jogged in place for a moment. "Anything. Juice. Water. Whatever. Just make it tall and cold."

"Sure, give me a few minutes."

"No sweat," I gasped out. "I'll be back after one more lap." She waved as I took off.

I really went all out the last two klicks, and when I returned five minutes later, the blonde was standing there with a tall and frosty glass. I slowed and walked over. "Thanks," I panted out, and took the glass. Lemonade! Nectar of the Gods! I drained it in one swallow.

"Honey, that was just great. Now, which way to the pool? I need a few laps." The sweat was pouring off me, and I just plain wasn't bearable, even to myself.

"Follow me," the girl said. "I was about to take a dip myself."

"Great." I kicked off my sneakers and socks, and after picking them up, quickly caught up to her. Pretty girl. A short terry cloth beach cover and sandals. "Who are you? What's your name? No nametag?"

Smiling, she said, "Sue. And you're Mr. deFrame. And where on a swimsuit would I put a nametag?" Touché.

I was too winded to talk, so we silently went to the large pool. It looked about Olympic size, so I figured a couple of laps should cool me off pretty good. It looked fairly empty, just two couples, one at each end, one sitting on the edge, the other in the water kissing. But as I got closer it became quite apparent that the embracing couple wasn't just kissing! Their suits were laying poolside, the man was in a corner supporting himself with arms on the edge, the woman entwined about him, face flushed, eyes closed, bouncing against his loins. I continued walking past them to the other end, where I saw the other couple watching, her hand down his swimsuit, working furiously. I kept walking.