Ed McCaffrey's Penile Lubricant Ch. 01

Chapter 1 - The training begins

Why had she let her mother do it? Why had her mother agreed? It was just so wrong.

Susan Settle sat demurely in her neat school uniform waiting for Mr Lovell and Mr Canning as her mother had told her to do. She bit her lip. It was not as if they were young men or middle-aged men, but even so... could her mother not have found a nice lady to fit her? It was so unfair. All her friends had long ago 'grown up' and become womanly - at least in shape. Samantha with her, actually absurd and impractical, boobs had developed so early, but even Eve had swollen and grown years before. All of eighteen and only now was there any sign of growth to Susan's breasts. Finally, they were budding and the nips getting larger and something was swelling behind. Her mother had said it was time she had a brassiere - a training brassiere. It was not as if she had not developed elsewhere. Womanly things had happened down below years before. Her chestnut bush was full and lush. Very full. Very lush. Both Samantha and Eve had said in the changing rooms she needed a 'trim.' Eve had gone one step further and shaved hers all away. Samantha had laughed and said Eve looked like a young girl from the waist down and Susan like a young girl from the waist up. Eve had found it funny: Susan had not. She was eighteen after all, the same as her friends.

Not funny, but nor was the thought of the two old gentleman, one from next door, coming around to fit her for a training brassiere. Why? Her mother had explained one of them had worked for years in a department store in the lingerie department and was expert at brassiere fitting. Really? It was a little bit difficult to believe. Why the second man? Her mother had laughed at the face she had made and said she need have no worries 'they're as bent as a butcher's hook.'

Certainly, they dressed very neatly, and their hair was always combed and tidy. It was not, though, as if they lived together. Mr Canning lived next door and Mr Lovell up the road in a block of flats.

The doorbell rang and there they were on the doorstep carrying a suitcase.

"Good afternoon, Susan. Is your mother home?"

"No, she's gone out. She said I was to wait for you and let you in to..." Her voice faltered. She was going to have to take her white blouse off for these two gentlemen. The bag was placed down upon the floor and opened. Inside were white things.

"Would you like a cup of tea." It both put off the event and was polite. Susan busied herself as the two greying old men sat and waited, neat and professional in suits and ties. Indeed, they all had ties. Susan had her school tie, striped in green and white but hers would need to come off whilst she was fitted. She did not think they would want her just to take her blouse off and leave her merely with a tie around her neck. That would look a bit strange. The tea was served.

Already upon the coffee table Mr Lovell had set out several neat white cellophaned packages. Training brassieres in various sizes. Her eyes kept returning to them and the thought she was soon going to have to undress in front of these two men. Well, take her top off anyway.

"Well, Susan, shall we begin?"

"You want me to... shall I take my blouse and my tie off."

A nice smile from Mr Lovell and a gentle nod of his head. To Susan it seemed as if he was sympathising with what she needed to do. How much easier for her had it been a nice elderly or even young lady... rather than not just one man but two.

She began undoing her tie so conscious both men were watching her. Their nods encouraging, as she pulled one end through the knot. Taking a tie off is easy, unbuttoning her blouse one button at a time less so. Of course, not really a proper exposure until she pulled both leaves apart. Susan bit her lip. Just be casual, she thought, just do it as if undressing for bed. Normally she just threw her clothes on the chair in her room any old how but down in the lounge Mr Canning had picked up her tie and was carefully rolling it up, ever so neatly.

There was no alternative. Susan had to do it. She pulled and there she was all at once naked from the waist up in her skirt. Not that there was a great deal to see and that was the problem in the first place. There were no gasps, no knowing glances between the men, just reassuring nods as Mr Canning took her blouse and smoothed it as he carefully folded it. He would be feeling its warmth from her body.

"Good, Susan, very good. Your breasts are budding nicely. They will grow shapely and well, particularly with the right training." Mr Lovell was reaching for one of the white packets, extracting a white brassiere. Flimsy, soft material with straps.

"Arms straight out Susan, that's it. Let me slip it on."

Mr Lovell's fingers seemed practised, his fingers easily catching hook and eye at her back, his nimble fingertips adjusting the straps, tightening and loosening. And then shock, his fingertips were touching the edges of her breasts, easing the material.

"What do you think, Mr Canning?"

Again, shock when the other man touched her. Not on the straps or the edges of the material but right upon her breasts, his fingers pulling upwards on both right to her nipples, feeling how much she filled the soft cotton. His head swayed from side to side as if he was thinking.

"I... there is plenty of room to grow and Susan will grow, only I wonder if there is too much. We will be back regularly to check the fit, Susan. I do think a smaller cup."

Mr Lovell was already undoing the brassiere and almost immediately Susan was half naked again, her breasts, such as they were, out in the open.

Another packet, another brassiere, indeed a further two until the men were satisfied. Their hands roamed freely over cup and strap.

"That looks perfect!" The two men stood back and nodded encouragingly to Susan. "Go and look in the mirror."

In the privacy of the bathroom Susan looked at herself. The brassiere looked so good, so white and well fitting. She put on her blouse over it. That looked good too. She trooped downstairs thinking the fitting was over. Four steps from the bottom she halted. Upon the coffee table were now a selection of white knickers.

"Are you happy with that, Susan?" Her eyes were on the knickers as she nodded.

"Your mother asked whether we had matching knickers for you. We do. Now let's see your waist size."

A tape around her waist. Relief from Susan that she did not need to take off her skirt. Mr Lovell's tape encircling; his hand pulling it tight against her.

"This size, I think." The cellophane scrunchy sounding in his hand. "Run upstairs and put them on, Susan."

She was going to have to try them on but, not do so with the men watching. It was a relief. In the privacy of her bedroom down came her knickers inside her skirt, the cellophane unwrapped, and the new white knickers pulled up. They fitted perfectly. Susan ran down the stairs.

"They're great! They fit just right."

Mr Lovell reached for the clasp of her skirt. "Let us see."

No! But she could not say it, the words did not come out as she let Mr Lovell undo the clasp and lower the zip. Without the support from around her waist gravity took over and the green, pleated skirt slid to the ground leaving Susan in just brassiere and panties, white undergarments against her skin. Perhaps almost naked but not different really from wearing a bikini on the beach.

A smile from Mr Canning, not lascivious or unkind, rather a sweet and knowing smile. She followed the direction of his eyes. In her hurry to put on the knickers she had been less than careful, stray chestnut curls had escaped under the elastic and showed golden brown against the white of the cotton.

"Not quite tidy," he said, and to her surprise and dismay his hands reached out and ever so gently and carefully he lifted the elastic and tucked her curls in. His fingertips inches from her sex.

"Better," he said.

Mr Lovell asked her to turn and it was then his fingertips in her elastic, under her bottom cheeks easing the material into what was, presumably a better position. Even slipping fingers under the waist band at the front, lifting it over where more of her pubic hair showed.

"Nice and neat. We like neat, don't we Mr Canning."

"We do indeed, Mr Lovell. Susan looks very womanly, very fine. Mrs Settle will be pleased."

Mr Lovell was packing the cellophane wrapped brassieres away in his case. He lifted the empty wrapper of the brassiere Susan was now wearing and looked at her. "Do you think you should be wearing your new training brassiere when your mother comes home or is it best for her to see it neatly in its packet?"

He reached, his hands over her breasts. "A very good fit."

Under the cotton her nipples were hard. She had felt them firming when the men had been adjusting her new knickers. She felt the touch of the palms of his hands the more now her nipples were firm.

"Have you been playing with these?"

The question so unexpected and so intrusive. "I... what you mean?"

"Helping them to grow."

His hands were manipulating, squeezing and fingering her breasts. He pulled at her nipples with finger and thumb until they were elongated, pulling her breasts out from her body.

"Girls sometimes, play with their breasts to encourage them to get bigger; don't they, Mr Canning?"

"Indeed, Mr Lovell, and their pudenda. Girls play a lot with their pussies. Do you Susan?"

Susan's eyes were wide. Mr Lovell was undoing her brassiere.

"I think we should look."

"Yes, Mr Lovell, we should indeed!"

Within her new white knickers, her massed curls pushed and shaped a bulge at the front; not quite a man bulge but a degree of mounding most of her friends did not show. She did not want to show herself to these men. She was so conscious of just how hairy she was down there.

Susan felt almost paralysed as Mr Lovell's finger reached for her knickers and started to lower them. She so did not want the men to see her naked - but down they came. Her breaths were coming in short, sharp pants not from sexual excitement but from embarrassment. Knickers at her knees and then in Mr Lovell's hands. She tried to cover herself, put a hand over her hair but to no avail. Mr Lovell lifted it aside.

"It's very soft," said Mr Canning as his fingers stroked, pushing at the hair and letting it spring upwards once more, "like stroking a cat." He smiled, "Here pussy, pussy!"

Perhaps it was meant to reassure. A piece of levity.

Mr Lovell tapped at her thighs encouraging them to part and then he lifted his own hand up and cupped her sex. "Yes, hair here too, Susan. You are very much a woman. With your new training brassiere helping your breasts and your fine wide hips and this beautiful chestnut hair you are a very promising young woman.

Susan was unsure, what was she meant to say or do?

"Well, time for us to go, I think. Now where did I put the wrapper for these knickers?"

"It's upstairs, Mr Lovell, I left it there when I put them on. I'll run and..."

"I'll come with you, Susan, best if I fold them."

The naked girl led the men upstairs. A naked young woman taking two old gentlemen to her bedroom.

"How very nice, Susan, you do keep your room all tidy." The men were looking at her room, at her set out scents and makeup, at her posters and things.

"So, this is your little bed where you sleep and dream and think your thoughts about nice young men. Perhaps you have even had a nice young man here in your room. Have you Susan? Perhaps even petted, let him place his hand on your chest or between your legs; perhaps undone his fly and petted him."

Susan swayed, feeling light-headed. Mr Canning was asking such personal questions. She felt she was about to faint.

"I think it would be best, Susan." It was Mr Lovell's soft voice. "It is so very difficult for us to help you with your brassiere and your knickers. We get these swellings. Even at our age."

She sat down on her bed with a bump. Naked bottom there on the duvet. She blinked, trying to clear her mind and see clearly. She looked up and there in front of her were two erections. She had not seen flies being opened and penises released. They stood there between Mr Lovell and Mr Canning's thighs, pointing upwards. They did look sort of uncomfortable. Yes, indeed, swollen and in need of some easing, some relief. Poor men. It must be so uncomfortable.

Susan blinked and opened her eyes. She stared at the plastic bottle, a plastic lotion bottle on her bedside cabinet. Had she been using the lotion to masturbate with? But when and where had she bought it? She blinked trying to focus. Had she been asleep? She was on her bed, in her room but naked. She felt as she did after she had been playing with herself but... but... what had she been doing, why was she there? Her nipples were hard, and her breasts felt as if she had been really squeezing and playing with them. Looking further down herself, she could see her springy mat of chestnut curls, beyond the flatness of her stomach but... but what was that? Lotion? Had she used rather a lot? And then she remembered the training brassiere fitting. Had she come upstairs afterwards and played? Had the fitting in some way set off thoughts of Michael or Jose? Or, or... her forehead furrowed; had those two men been in her room?

Again, she looked at her thighs, down beyond the matted hair of her pubis. There was so much 'stuff' there. Her breathing was still harsh. Had she really... no she could not have been; those two old men could not have been in her room. It must all have been in her mind. And the stuff... she touched herself, touched the translucent goo; it was sticky, warm and tactile. It got between her fingers.

She reached for the plastic bottle, and held it looking at the label. She did not remember it at all. 'Ed McCaffrey's penile lubricant.' It was a stylised logo but there was no real mistaking the upright penile shape at its bottom and the upwards 'Y' of 'McCaffrey's' clearly representing a massive ejaculation from the rounded shape below. 'Ed McCaffrey's penile lubricant - looks, tastes and smells just like the real thing. You won't find better. 99% of housewives can't tell it from semen.'

What? What! She unscrewed the lid. Beneath, the plastic was so in the shape of an unsheathed knob and the hole for the lotion was not round but oval just like... And the bottle had a long neck... no question about what that could be used for; the instructions on the back talked about 'deep internal application.' Susan squeezed and a dollop spurted out between her breasts, just like...

Just like what was already upon her fingers. Artificial lubricant or... but it could not be.

"Susan - I'm home!" A call from below. Susan's eyes went wide and a bit wild. Her mother couldn't see her like this! She screwed back the lid and threw the bottle under her bed and dashed for the bathroom. A shower and very much a wash.

Towelled and dry, Susan opened the bathroom door and stepped out to hurry to her bedroom to dress. Her mother was there, waiting.

"How did the fitting go?"

Susan was held in conversation, telling her mother about the brassieres and then the knickers. "You didn't really ask them to fit me for knickers, did you?"

"Oh, yes! Such nice old gentlemen, kind and knowledgeable. Two sweet old queers. Absolutely the sort of gentlemen a mother can leave her daughter safely with. I'd let them sleep in your bed. Yes, with you! If they and we were say caught in a storm or something. So kind."

"But, Mum..."

"I think, Susan, perhaps you need to do something about that." Her finger pointed at her daughter's now dry and 'lotion' free curls; they were fluffy and full. "If we are going on holiday and you want to wear a bikini..."

"Yes, Mum, I'll get a razor or something."

"No, dear, you might nick yourself. Mr Canning used to be a barber. He'll have a sharp razor and strop. I'll ask him. He's shaved lots of men's..." she paused, "faces. I'll ask him."

"No, Mum, I'll..." But it was no good. Once her mother's mind was made up. This was worse than having a brassiere fitted. Would be worse. It wasn't just like taking her blouse off, this would be, well, intimate, as intimate as a gynaecological examination - well almost. There would be no need to insert anything into her - of course.

The evening was spent on homework, after she had shown her mother her new brassiere and knickers. Her mother seemed very pleased and said she would ask Mr Lovell for a second set. A little bit expensive but she was sure they were worth it. "Aren't they a couple of old queers - I mean dears!"

Bedtime came and Susan changed into her pyjamas. For a few moments she stood in front of her mirror naked, had Mr Lovell and Mr Canning really seen her naked like that? She could not quite remember but if Mummy sent her to be shaved there would be no hiding anything. Her fingers touched her springy curls. Did she really want to lose them all? Could she ask for just a trim? Idly her finger stroked, sliding in her little divide. Wouldn't it be good to have a boy there now - Michael or Jose, it didn't matter. Or, she grinned at herself in the mirror, why not both? One prick in each hand. What would they think of that?

Beneath her bed the bottle of lotion, she crouched down and felt underneath the bed, turning as she felt it and looking back at herself in the mirror, her bottom in the air and her sex so exposed. What a view for Michael and Jose!

Susan looked again at the bottle. Plastic and squeezable with a long penile neck and a domed cap to it. Almost respectable in shape - almost - though with the cap removed the neck so took on the shape of an erection, the knob beneath the cap so very, well, 'knob' like. 'Ed McCaffrey's penile lubricant' with its so obviously explicit but stylised logo.

In bed Susan played. At first her fingers upon her breasts but then stroking them with the bottle. It was not that long before the cap was sliding between her legs, slipping upon her own wetness. She had not yet released the lubricant from the bottle. Should she? Well, of course.

The neck of the bottle began its inward journey. So good to feel the domed lid pushing her open - quite wide! Smooth long strokes. But then Susan undid the lid. A much more rugged experience, the acorn shape under the lid, the rings around its base like a retracted foreskin. It was that much more stimulating, that much more real, that much more pleasurable.

Really good in fact. Lovely thoughts of Michael or Jose in her bed doing things - well one thing really and so very much what the bottle was doing. And what would Michael or Jose do sooner or later? Well, the bottle would do that right at the 'moment.'

Susan had her orgasm and at that moment she really squeezed the bottle. She could feel it, the force with which the lotion was expelled deep into her body. In the morning it came running out, down into her pyjamas bottoms as she went to the bathroom. "Oh," she said in surprise, remembering what she had done. It was sticky and messy. Susan showered, the wet patch on her pyjamas clearly showing as they lay, discarded on the floor.