Amy Ch. 03

byParis Waterman©

The next morning came all too soon. Amy was up at dawn, refreshed and happy despite getting in at 2 that morning. As she walked into the bathroom her nipples grew hard and she realized they were more than a little sore from Darren's teeth and hungry mouth.

They still tingled and she recalled how he had used his tongue... and everywhere he'd used it. She looked in the mirror and smiled, touched her swollen lips gingerly and grinned as she recalled with delight how she had sucked on his Henry.

She heard the downstairs toilet flush, and knew her mother was up. Then she grimaced as the memory of Darren's ejaculating in her mouth, and how stunned she had been by it. She reached for the mouthwash, and gargled for a full minute. Then she brushed her teeth.

Terrible, she thought, Disgusting  that he should want her to do that. And then she laughed at her reflection in the mirror, pointed at her image with a mouth still full of toothpaste and said, "Disgusting? Then why did you do it?"

The answer came back to her in an instant. Because you damn well wanted nothing more than to take his Henry and cram it down your slutty throat, that's why.

She rinsed her mouth out and spit the residue into the sink, recalling how poor Darren had profusely apologized at the time. He had been so sweet in every respect that she had managed to swallow his stuff the next time.

NO! Be truthful, at least to yourself! Her conscience was speaking to her! You swallowed his stuff every time after that and loved it. That makes you a lying bitch as well as a slut.

Her conscience rambled on, And what of that nice young man? Didn't he lap your juices without complaint, and wouldn't he have continued doing so, except that after coming so many times, you were worried he might hurt you?

"Well it's true," she whispered to her mirror image. "Alice Lewis confided to me that a person could die from making love, and I fully believe it after last night."

Did you wake up in the hospital? Her conscience asked with a leer in its tone.

No, but... You used him. That makes you a slut!

"Am not!" Amy retorted aloud, resorting to a child-like rebuttal.

The strange argument might have gone on, but her mother called out that breakfast was on the table, and this was the day, and she had better get a move on. Amy took another two minutes before she was satisfied with her appearance then made her way downstairs and had her last breakfast with the family.

Not long after, Amy said her good byes and there was much crying all around. The whole family went to the train station with her saying more good-byes, with much hugging and kissing. Then the family waved until the train was out of sight.


Amy purchased a coke, and leaned back in her chair, her ticket ready for the conductor, and thought about the future and the recent past, specifically the night before. Before she knew it she fell asleep.

She woke to the conductor's sonorous voice calling out, "Grand Central Station! New York City!" and then fumbled around getting her things in order.

She discovered she had plenty of time, and wound up sitting nervously waiting for the train to stop.

Amy disembarked from the train with a queen-like elegance. She'd practiced this move and several others in anticipation of her arrival. Still, she was taken aback as she entered the huge, cavernous main room of the Grand Central Station.

She took her time looking around, and absorbed as much as she could. This is the big time, she told herself; and hefted her luggage only to realize she was famished. Moments later she was sitting at a dining room table in the Oyster Bar on the lower level of Grand Central Station. She gazed in wonder at the height of the ceilings with their white tile. Then she caught herself, and silently admonished herself not to act like a country bumpkin.

Surreptitiously, she looked about her, trying to find someone famous, but found only businessmen and women and several commuters like herself.

She had no difficulty in hailing a cab outside the station, all it took was for her to raise her arm, and a yellow cab pulled up alongside her. The driver was polite, although obviously from a Middle Eastern County. Amy checked her watch. She had two hours before she was to meet her Uncle John at his office.

"Take me to the Fulton Fish Market," she told the driver, as she settled down and crossed her long legs. She noted with some satisfaction that the driver's eyes were examining her. Then she read the meter rates and went into financial shock. It was $2.00 for getting in the cab. $.30 for each quarter mile and $.30 for each 30 seconds stopped in traffic! Plus the tip! This was one expensive town, she thought.

Then a smile crossed her face, as she figured it wouldn't be long before she was a star earning six or seven figures, and she slipped into a dreamy fugue. As they passed by the Givenchy Boutique on Madison Avenue, Amy returned to reality, promising herself that when that time came, she would surely shop there among other exclusive shops and stores around town.

Amy knew from all the literature she'd devoured, that the best way to experience New York was to walk. She recalled that the grid system the city is laid out on makes it easy to navigate, and that was probably the best way to get a feel for the city and its inhabitants.

As she left the cab on Fulton Street, she paid attention to the "Walk - Don't Walk" signs at the corner. The cars stopped, but people on bikes and rollerblades didn't, and she had to weave her way across the street to the river's edge using caution.

Amy knew something about the Fish Market. She'd read extensively about New York City. The Fish Market was housed in two main adjacent open-air structures, where wholesale buyers—mostly restaurant employees—filled orders and bargained on goods during the early morning hours.

She turned a full 360 degrees looking about her, but only a few scattered tourists and several restaurant workers were close by. No rude fish market workers were slamming fish-hooks into fat striped bass, as she had imagined they would, or deftly slicing up tuna and yelling sharply, "Watch your back!" as they transported crates past on forklifts.

Then she remembered it was lunch hour. So she contented herself by walking through the neighborhood and its quaint cobblestone walkways and wooden docks that clung to the land, resisting the fast moving currents trying to wrench them away and out to sea.

Amy boarded several historic ships, including the Peking and W.O. Decker, and leisurely browsed through a couple of the chain stores, which had sprouted in what were formerly, abandoned warehouses since the old market had become a major tourist attraction.

She glanced nervously at her wristwatch; saw that it was time to meet her Uncle John.

Well, he wasn't actually her uncle, but he was close to it. Uncle John, as she had called him all her life, was actually her stepfather's brother, not her real uncle. But then she had never truly known her real father, so Uncle John it was, and Amy had no difficulty with it.

She hailed another cab, and rode quickly to his office on the 700 block of Madison, just four doors down from the Givenchy Boutique.

Amy was thrilled with the elevator as it rocketed up to the 41st floor without stopping. It seemed to her that her stomach had been left far behind. She chided herself that it was just one more new thing to grow accustomed to in the Big Apple. A moment later she spied an office door with his name on it.

With a reverential motion, her fingers traced the lettering, John Prentice, Custom Imports.

He must be important, she thought, and then admonished herself. First things first, she told herself, and made for the ladies room directly across from her uncle's office.

After appraising herself in the mirror and reapplying her makeup, Amy took pains to straighten out her white blouse, and adjusted her black skirt. She felt her appearance was presentable, but if she were intent on becoming an actress she always had to look her best. A rule she had learned was that one never knew when one would meet someone of great influence, so one had better be prepared. Thank you Miss Mapelwood, Amy said to herself, smiling at the thin teacher's memory. Miss Mapelwood had died several months earlier, and Amy missed her very much, both for all she had taught her, and for being a great friend and confidant.

She hadn't seen her Uncle John in over ten years, and to be honest her memory of him wasn't that good. She recalled him as being a classic tall, dark and handsome male. Almost a Prince Charming to her memory, and she was anxious to meet him again.

Taking a deep breath, Amy knocked gently on the office door, but no one answered. Trying the doorknob, she found it open, and walked in. A receptionist's desk greeted her, but no one was in the room.

"Hello?" she called. But it appeared she was alone.

Instinctively opening her purse, she removed her compact and composed herself by touching up her lipstick and makeup once again.

Why am I so vain? She asked herself.

"Hello?" she called out once again.

There was nothing but her voice reverberating from one wall to another, and then silence.

A half-empty cup of coffee sat cooling on the desk. This told Amy someone was there. Perhaps they had stepped out for a minute, she thought, and took a Vogue magazine from the coffee table, and sat down to wait.

Five long minutes passed, and Amy found she couldn't lose herself in any of the articles, despite her penchant for staying up with the latest styles.

Amy's hearing became more attuned to her surroundings and she thought she heard some kind of noise coming from the inner office. Rising from the chair, she walked quietly to the edge of the door, and listened.

Concentrating as hard as she could, Amy was able to isolate the normal humdrum noises around her. Feeling a little giddy at her erstwhile eavesdropping, she recalled that her mother had always called her a snooper, putting her nose where it wasn't wanted. But Amy had learned far too many interesting things from being inquisitive, and that was that.

There! She had definitely heard something from her Uncle's office. But it wasn't normal conversation. Her imagination went into high gear. Could a robber have tied them up?

Amy almost flew to the reception desk, opening drawers and rummaging until she found what she'd been looking for, a glass! She ran back to the door, and quietly placed the glass against it. There it was again! This time Amy was able to identify the sound. She was positive someone was whimpering.

My God, Amy thought, they are tied up in there! Should I call 911? But she hesitated, What if I'm wrong? That would be so embarrassing.

Amy decided to listen further before taking any action. She had to be certain. There! Her eyes widened, and she found herself so excited that she had to fight off the sudden need to pee.

Someone was sobbing, she was sure of it. Pressing her ear to the glass, she listened, heard it again. It was clearly a soband then a crystal clear whimper followed, growing in volume until Amy was positive that it was surely a moan of pain.

She had her hand pressed against her groin, fighting the compulsion to urinate, concentrating on the sounds coming from her Uncle's office.

Suddenly Amy realized that what she was hearing was a series of moans. Convinced someone was being tortured, Amy made for the telephone to call the police. As she pressed the 9 tab on the phone, she heard a strained voicethis time it was clear and loud.

"Harder, John... Harder!"

"My God," Amy whispered, as she dropped the phone on the desk, then as she replaced it correctly, murmured tremulously, "They're doing it!"

Her hand went to her mouth, which had dropped open in shock. And as Amy moved from the phone to her chair and sat down heavily, she realized she no longer had to pee. Then she laughed quietly. "Everything happens in New York," she said aloud, recovering her wits once more.

The whimpers and moans continued, as Amy debated whether to leave or stay. Another minute passed, and Amy grew bolder. I do have an appointment, she reasoned. I have every right to be here. She thought about what she'd heard. A woman, definitely a woman's voice had said, "Harder John." John had to be her Uncle John! Oh, my God! They were doing "IT" in his office!'

Amy grew more daring about the situation, and moved closer to the door. Carefully turning the knob, she turned it easily with only a soft click, and waited for them to make some more noise before opening it a crack. That was enough for Amy to glimpse inside and discover she could easily view half the room.

Two people were on a couch. No! The woman was on the couch, the man, who must be her uncle, was leaning on the top of the couch with his face dripping sweat as it hovered over the woman's. Her hands had a firm grip on his ass, and she whimpered as he moved against her. He was inside her! Amy gawked as the whimpers grew to moans, then soft cries as the woman sought gratification.

"Harder," she croaked between breaths. "Harder!"

Uncle John responded by slamming himself into her with greater intensity, adding his weight and more pressure to each thrust.

"How's that Janice?" Uncle John barked, his voice sounding hoarse and ragged. Amy took note that his back was crisscrossed with deep red scratch marks.

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" Janice managed to grunt out each time his cock plunged into her sodden cavity.

Amy licked her lips, unconsciously, her breathing had made them dry. She realized she was squeezing her breast through her blouse in all the excitement, but didn't stop. The scene before her had her mesmerized. She decided to commit this to memory for future use in her acting career.

Uncle John continued his rhythm, even increasing it slightly as Janice's cries came at shorter and more frequent intervals. So, this was fucking, Amy thought. This was what it took to satisfy a lustful need for one another. This was a pure, animalistic desire to consume another for one's own pleasure, she thought.

Amy slowly realized she wanted desperately to replace Janice on the couch. Her mouth was open, and her breathing ragged, as she imagined his thingy plunging into her, she thrust a hand under her skirt, and found herself soaking wet. Her middle finger slipped through the wetness, and she mindlessly masturbated.

Opening her eyes, Amy discerned her uncle had slowed his pace, and was easing out of Janicethen waitingperhaps for a two count, before ramming all the way into her with one violent stroke.

Janice could only grunt helplessly as her body flounced around beneath the pummeling.

Amy tried to share the huge orgasm Janice was experiencing. One that seemed to increase in intensity each time Uncle John battered her with his big, long thingy. Why hadn't she let Darren do her last night? What was she saving her virginity for? She bit her lip as she continued to play with herself. Maybe, just maybe, she told herself, I've been saving myself for Uncle John!

Amy was stunned to hear herself think such incestuous thoughts. But then her conscience loomed up and surprised her by not condemning her for having such lewd thoughts, but suggested that having sex with Uncle John would not be incestuous, as he was not a true blood-relation.

"Oh!" She said quietly, having gotten her first good look at his staff as he withdrew it from the woman and shook it at her.

"Want more?" He inquired, already knowing the answer.

Amy responded at the same time the woman did, her lips forming the word "Yes", just as the woman named Janice, lying spread-eagled on the sofa did.

Yes, Amy told herself, I want your thingy, then chastised herself. No, I want your cock! I want your prick! I want your tool, your magnificent tool!

All the while her finger was moving in time with her uncle's cock, which was once again fully lodged within Janice's pussy. And when he paused deep inside Janice, then began circling his hips, both women climaxed.

Amy almost lost her balance and toppled into the room with the two fornicators. Slowly she sank to her knees, quivering as her orgasm reverberated throughout her body.

Amy imagined how his long, slippery prick must feel as it stirred around inside the woman under him, and came again as she continued watching them furtively from the doorway.

With every thrust of his cock, Janice moaned with pleasure. Another minute passed, then Amy noticed that Janice and Uncle John were moving slowly, as if savoring the moment. Suddenly her Uncle began pumping furiously. The veins in his neck bulged, sweat flew from his forehead. He rose up; Amy saw him pull out, grip himself tightly in his right fist, and ejaculate a thick, copious strand across Janice's stomach. A split second later, a sequence of thin ropy semen looped over both her breasts.

With a short, shrill cry, like a gull swooping down for a scrap of food, Janice darted toward his cock and eagerly devoured it. Uncle John groaned mightily, and arched his back, as Janice sucked away the last remnants of his sperm. A moment later, Uncle John dropped to his knees and rolled over, stretched out on the floor.

"I love you," Janice blatantly lied in a harsh, breathless voice.

She does not! Amy said to herself, she loves your thingy... damn! I've got to stop using that word.

Amy continued to spy on them, watching as Janice, feigning shyness, spooned a portion of his sperm from a breast to her pink tongue.

"Yeah, yeah, me too," he replied listlessly. Amy rejoiced at learning he was obviously anxious to get away from her.

Janice began to dress, and Amy decided to leave the office and return in a few minutes, and did exactly that.

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