Tutoring Miss Picket - Her POV

'No fight left in you to fuck, again, commander?' I found a bit of resentment rising in my throat as I felt myself to be in the same satiated state of being. Nearly an hour before I had had enough and felt like I was done for the night. Daddy and Mommy dearest proved that wasn't so as my body ripped and roared through another explosive and perverse sex session.

"Thank you, Holley, thank you, thank you!" he breathed into my belly button over and over then finally planted a light kiss upon my glistening clit. I felt my body trembling as the afterquakes re-ignited, jolting through me for a third series of orgasms. I felt Mom's arms wrapping around us for a group hug before she and Daddy helped to release me from my bindings. Neither of them offered or suggested another family first event for the morning hours.

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My familial tutoring had begun that February evening in the basement studio. It way different than my birthday celebration right before Christmas. That celebration had brought me cake, ice cream, and a champagne room celebration at the clubhouse. That one included a male stripper prancing around the party room much to the delight of my girlfriends! But this night's revelations about my parents sexual predilections created a basement celebration having explorations of cock, cunt, and 'lick her' all over action until everyone was exhausted.

I had gone down into the basement that night, sans my virginity, but still a naïve eighteen-year-old girl. I ascended the stairs with my parents, naked, after four-o'clock in the morning as an exhausted filly that had just won the Kentucky Derby and was now destined to be treated as a familial source of endless pleasure.

During those last few months of high school, I spent considerable time in 'intense tutoring sessions' in the basement, sometimes alone with my Daddy or my Mom - or frequently both, learning far more than a girl could acquire in the backseat of a car with some inexperienced boys!

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Fall schedules for the university pre-med school stuff was a couple of months away and Mom suggested that I dip into a junior college summer course to get the feel of college life before the fall semester started up at the university. I found an intro course to medical studies. It looked easy enough, nothing too demanding and it did have some community service time that might garner some points with the university. So, I enrolled. The class, as it turned out, was a breeze. But I liked the idea of the community outreach aspect of the course. We were assigned to do home visits for elderly shut-in individuals and write a journal on the visits thrice per week. My assignment was Mrs. Clara Fogerty; in a community near my home. She lived in a 'retirement village' I found when I called and spoke with her about visiting on Monday.

I knew about first impressions. I knew about older folks and how they viewed my normal dressing style. I figured that Miss Clara would be made from that mold. So for Monday's attire I chose a conservative pleated black skirt, the longest one I had, and a simple, boxy, white shift blouse, something my Mom bought long ago and that went immediately into the back of my closet - until Monday.

I knocked at Mrs. Fogerty's door, mentally practicing a cheerful 'hello' introduction. When her door opened I got a look of consternation and immediate rejection before I could even introduce myself. That was followed by a gruff, "Oh, God! I've already been saved, sister, and no I don't have time to listen to how you can do me one better!"

I was shocked! As the door began to swing shut, I found my voice, "Ah! Mrs. Fogerty! It's me, Holley, Holley Picket. Remember? We have an appoint - I'm from the college!" I finally shouted out.

The door stopped, then opened wider. The gray-haired petite lady of about eighty-years-old stood staring at me for a moment, then grinned, "Sorry Missy, you're dressed like one of 'those' pamphlet ladies out to save souls. Sorry about my abruptness." She remarked as she waved me into her home and directed me to the kitchen table.

"Sorry, too! If your Mom made your wear that awful outfit, today!" She giggled as she took in my attire, "A girl with your bod should be dressed in something that shows off your ass - assets!" Her grin, clued me in that 'assets' wasn't the word she was originally going for!

"Yeah, right! That's what I keep telling my parents, Mrs. Fogerty!" I giggled having instantly found a new, think-alike friend.

I quickly ran through my introduction speech: the who, the why, the what it's about stuff from our class notes and got all her vitals down. It was then just a matter of the finishing up the 'well-being' questions we had to submit for the class and community outreach program data.

Do you have someone who checks in on you on a regular basis, Clara?

"Sure, my neighbors all do. We go out and check our mail together at noon everyday so we know who is still alive. That's what you want to know, right?" Her mirthful answer took the question with good humor.

Do you know the names of your next-door neighbors?

"Checking on my mental acuity, Holley, I see. Sure, the neighbor to my right is Mr. Johann Von Goethe." She answered as a matter of fact. My face went into startled mode as though I had been shifted back in time some four years ago.

"Holley! You okay? What's up, girl?" Clara was chuckling as her sinewy hand wiggled my knee to bring me out of my stupor.

"Doctor Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe, you said, Clara?" I asked incredulously as his name rolled off my tongue like musical notes to a symphony.

'Could it be my Johann? How incredible would that be?' I wondered, still deeply in thought.

"That full name sounds about right, Holley!" Clara's mirthful laughter continued, "He used to teach at that snooty Barrington place; the one for rich kids, some time ago. He and Emma moved in right before he retired. They were really excited about having time to travel the world and go back to see his homeland again. Poor Emma never got to do any of that. She succumbed to heart failure the next year. He hasn't been the same without her, you know."

"It's my Johann!" I blurted out in delight, then too late, my embarrassment jumped on board. I should have been feeling empathy for Johann's loss, but instead I was ecstatic at realizing it was my Johann, before I could stop myself!

There was a bit of an awkward moment before Clara responded.

"Sorry about the snooty remark, Holley!" Clara's voice took on a somewhat contrite tone as she quickly put two and two together; realizing that I probably knew him from Barrington's School for Advanced Learning. But her demeanor instantly dropped the concerned look as it quickly turned into a smirk, "Had the hots for Johann did you now, Missy?"

I could feel the flush of my cheeks turning rose petal pink. My blurted-out remark made it patently obvious to Clara that I had a major crush on Dr. Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe that still continues from ninth grade through today. His name always rolled off my tongue and sent a tingle all the way to my toes - and stopped in the middle to jill my quim as you might well imagine. You never, ever forget your first love! Ah, Johann!

Needless to say, the rest of the afternoon was spent learning about my Johann's life after Barrington and how Clara detailed his seemly lack of interest in life after his Emma passed away. Her remark about him needing to find a purpose in life, or a new love life, sparked several old ambers that I carried in my heart. Together, Clara and I resolved to remedy that situation. We planned: the when, the where, and the details of the how. The playout took place on the following Wednesday's visit.

I arrived at Clara's place about 10:30 that morning. We ran through all her vitals and questions required for the second visitation for my classwork. Clara seemed to grow antsy after that bit of paperwork was out of the way. There was nothing left to do, but prepare for the big reveal. "Where's your costume, Holley?" she snickered barely able to contain herself.

The first step in our plan was to arrange a chance encounter at the mailbox at noon with Johann. Clara had suggested, with my bombshell figure as she put it, I just needed something that 'wouldn't get me arrested' to go out and retrieve her mail while he was also at the mailbox. As Clara put it so succinctly, "You need something to wear that will get his putter to stand up!"

I opened the backside of my backpack and pulled out what my mom calls her 'Daisy Duke' outfit. I borrowed it from Mom's and Dad's basement fantasy closet. It was designed to be a snug fit on Mom, but would definitely be a butt-pinching tight fit on my larger 36-26-36 hour glass figure. Hoisting up the top for a better view, Clara practically laughed her ass off when she realized it was more like a pole dancer's string outfit; as she called it. Mom had modified the jean-shorts by cutting away nearly all of the jean material, leaving just the pockets hanging down. The rear end was cut to curve up and over while exposing as much of her butt as it could possibly show without cutting the seams away. The halter top was much the same, just enough to cover about two inches of nipples, as minimally as possible. I didn't tell Clara it belonged to Mom, or that Mom had a pole in the basement as well for special dance lessons, just that I had used it for a Halloween costume a couple of years ago. Clara didn't need ALL the family details!

Watching Clara's excitement made me feel happy. It was so nice to bring some joy into an older person's life. While I didn't know much about Clara, I could tell she had lived life on her terms and didn't have any aversions as to using titillation to get the attention she wanted from men; it seemed. I imagined that she was quite adept at that in her young age. The pictures of her hanging on the wall showed an attractive woman when she was much younger.

Picking up my costume, I waved it over my head and asked Clara where I should change in preparation for my 'walk of shame' to the mailbox. My thoughts were a bedroom or bathroom, but my eyes widened when she responded.

"How about ... how about right here, Holley. It's been a long time since I've seen such a young body ... without clothes on!" her demur soft voice seemed to flow across the space between us in slow motion. My time to process her words had to recheck their meanings several times to confirm that the words I heard were those she actually spoke aloud to me. Had I not spent the past four months in intimate contact with my parents, exploring my body in the basement, I would probably be beet-red at this point.

Instead, a light entertaining grin spread and then widened into a smile as her suggestion registered with my brain. I could hear Mom and Daddy mulling over the suggestion in the back of my mind, 'As long as you are safe, sugar, and are willing - then do what makes you feel good.'

"Sure, Miss Clara!" With a smile, I responded to her suggestion, "I don't mind a girl admiring me for a little while. If that's what you want."

Clara beamed a smile in return and answered the question with just a nod. She sat down on the sofa, waiting expectantly. I knew we didn't have much time before I had to meet Johann, so I put away the thoughts of a silly striptease prance for her. Instead, I stepped closer to her, giving her the Daisy Duke clothes to hold for me. I figured that she might like a chance to touch - if she wanted too. We had a few minutes.

I started with my top, crossing my arms and lifted it by the hem up and over my head without the seductive teasing that I'd usually provide at home. There I would have tarried, letting the hem hang above one tit for Daddy's delight. It would have been his eye candy as I loosened my bottom garment for his viewing, before I finished peeling the top completely over my head.

Today, since it was class day, I had worn a bra. I'd found, just as in high school, those first few days of summer class the guys, and a few girls, spent more time trying to not focus on my protruding nipples. Caught ogling them, I'd smile their way and stretch my top a little tighter for their pleasure. On the third day, the instructor had the audacity to privately ask if I could ... 'wear something a bit less distracting - up there,' as he put it. "Sure, teacher," my pithy reply answered his stuttering request. "I'd do anything for your class to be a success, you know!" I watched his face blush bright red as he stammered a thank you in my direction as he scurried away.

"Would you mind undoing this for me, Clara?"

I turned around and knelt down so that she could readily reach the clasp. As she did, her fingers slid the straps down my arms. I could tell she liked the stroking touch of her aged fingers upon my skin as they moved across my shoulder blades. Standing again, I faced Clara and unfastened my skirt letting it drop around my ankles, and I waited. I let Clara drink in the view of my naked breasts and the shear undies I wore.

"Need a little help?" Clara suggested.

"Sure, an extra hand is always helpful, Clara." It was the assurance and inflection in my voice that gave her permission; not so much for the words I chose.

Her fingers slid inside the elastic and slipped my panties down to pool on top of my skirt. I stepped out of the small wad of clothing at my feet and waited. Silently, Clara took in the full perspective of my youthful, naked body as I turned left then right for her inspection. Then, at her twirling fingers motion, I gave her a 180-inspection view, before turning back to face her.

Her fingers felt very nice as they lightly traced my quim. I could tell she enjoyed the smooth touch of my laser treated peach. Too bad, I thought, our time was growing shorter. But, Clara knew that as well.

"That was delightful!" she beamed, letting her fingers trail down my legs. I image that she had ceased her meanderings of naked bodies long ago. Someone ought to start a senior service to take care of that kind of neglect, I mused as I felt the beginnings of a moist tingle growing between my legs.

Reluctantly, she handed me the jean-shorts and I poured myself into them. Clara helped tie the top in the back for me. When I turned back around, I gave her an appreciative peck on the forehead.

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Together, we stood at the window watching the dual mailbox stand she shared with Johann. It wasn't but a moment or so before Clara bumped my arm, excitedly motioning to a salt and pepper haired man making his was out to the mailbox. I smiled as images of him flashed back to when his hair was a lot darker - less salt and more pepper. But it was my Johann, still tall and unbent for his age. He had the gait of an Adonis and I hoped to soon be his Aphrodite!

I hugged Clara, "Wish me luck!" I chortled.

"Luck, hell! The word is not luck, Holley! The word is spelled with an 'F'!" her sassy and impertinent reply cackled almost loud enough to be heard outside as I opened her door and dashed out.

Johann was preoccupied with shuffling envelops through his fingers, checking for senders' addresses it seemed. He was too busy to notice my approach; too bad for him, I thought. If he had even glanced up once, I would have put on my best Daisy Duke 'walk of shame' strut as I made my way to the mailboxes. I was sure his cock would have been stiff in his pants by the time I reached him, but that was his loss.

As it was, I approached quietly hoping not to disturb his concentration. I wanted it to be a real surprise when he realized I was in front of him looking as much like Aphrodite in modern times as I could. I felt a flutter in my heart rate for those few seconds it took as I prepared to speak his magical name. "Doctor Von Goethe?" I shyly inquired.

I let the words flow liltingly off the tip of my tongue. Those ephemeral seconds took my breath away, that and the fact that his eyes lifted from the letters in his hand to fixate upon me. The light smile on his bemused face was an unexpected pleasure. I was sure it was because he recognized me instantly and not because of the statuesque Daisy Duke image I was projecting, well maybe so; at least that was my initial thought.

My second thought came as I saw his eyes furtively glancing from my smile to check out my summer bronzed orbs with just a hint of cloth strategically clinging tenuously over my nipples. It was sized for Mom's tits and my larger sized ones were having trouble trying to stay beneath the tiny patches.

By the time my third inkling came, I realized that he was just standing there staring at me, as though I was Daisy Duke having just escaped from the Dukes of Hazard television show; mostly undressed in a skimpy, barely legal, halter top and tattered jean-shorts with the pockets hanging down below the crotch - right where Mom had taken her scissors and sliced away practically all the cloth, except the threads that bound the seams together.

We were well beyond an appropriate five Mississippi stare count and still his eyes remained centered on my skimpy, zippered groin region. My smile grew wider, realizing my Johann may not have yet recognized me, but he was certainly showing his appreciation for my late bloomer high school transformations. The ones he missed out on because he retired! But, then being the gentleman he always portrayed to the world, he came out of his reverie. Like my Daddy, I just knew by now that no matter how civil a man seemed, there was always a part of him that begged for a hard fuck every now and again; although they might not reveal it publicly!

"Ah. Yes, that would be me, miss," he finally acknowledged that I had guessed his name correctly, with a nod and a polite gentleman's grin. Of course that's how I wanted it to seem to him anyway; just a chance encounter; a moment of serendipity.

Graciously, I returned his smile. In the ensuing silence, I picked up where he faltered, "It's me! Holley. Holley Picket. Ninth grade?"

"Miss Picket?" he mused aloud. I could just picture his mind like an ancient rolodex rolling back four years to ninth grade algebra to find my name, my address, and his notes about how he loved me on the back of the card.

"The girl I taught named Miss Picket was short, wore pigtails, and had braces - so no, you're not Miss Picket - must be some imposter." I watched his grin as the images of those days replayed in his mind, "So, did you ever figure out where those two trains coming from opposite directions would pass if train A was traveling at 50 mph and train B was going 75 mph, Miss Holley Picket?"

I flushed, my face turning rose petal pink at how he recalled the details of our last algebra exam four years ago. How I struggled at that damn train question and why anyone would want to know exactly how far they traveled when they crossed. I recalled spitting out the word 'Shirt' loud enough for the world to hear rather than screaming out 'shit' as much as I had that word bottled up inside of me. but that was fucking then and was, now, just a past issue; I didn't have any of those language inhibitions, now.

"No. But I remember you making a mistake on grading my paper, Dr. Von Goethe."

"I did?"

"Yes," I replied, "That question was worth fifteen points. You took off fifteen points, but gave me twenty-five points for the answer I wrote instead, 'I don't think it matters to the people in the trains where they pass each other, just as long as they are on different tracks - that's all they would be concerned about!' So, you actually gave me more points that the question was worth. That helped me stay on the A-B honor roll that semester. I just needed those extra points to make it. But I think you knew that already."

"Maybe, maybe not Miss Picket."

"Are you lost?" he asked, as we seemed to be standing, looking at one another with no particular sense of purpose.