The Making of a Gigolo (2) - Martha Thompson

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3

Chapter Two

It was a week later, and Bobby had just come in from morning chores, when Mamma told him that Mrs. Thompson had called, to see if he was free to come over and fix a hole in the wall. Mamma said they'd had a nice chat, and that she'd thanked Martha for the pears, which had been succulent and sweet.

He called her back, and arranged to go over that afternoon.

When he got there, she was dressed in much more youthful clothing, wearing a skirt that came two inches above her knees, and a flowered blouse.

"Thanks so much," she said. "Arthur fell, and his hand went through the wall, over there." She pointed at a fist sized hole in the wall, about four feet off the floor.

"Fell, huh," said Bobby, realizing that something bad had happened here.

"He knows better than to hit me," said Martha, nervously, aware he hadn’t accepted her somewhat lame excuse for the hole in the wall, "but sometimes he gets angry when I try to get him to stop drinking. I hid his bottle, yesterday, and he got mad."

"Where is he now?" Bobby asked.

"He went fishing," she said, her face straight.

"Are you in any danger?" he asked.

"No ... please, Bobby, don't worry about me. He won't hurt me." She waited until he nodded. "Can you fix it?"

"Yes," he said.

She watched, as he cleaned the edges of the hole, and put in a backing board. He'd brought plaster with him, and he added water and dabbed it into the hole, smoothing it with a stiff piece of cardboard, because he didn't have a trowel.

"It will need to be painted later," he said.

"Of course," she said. "Thank you."

"He probably hurt his hand, doing that," said Bobby. "He went clear through the lath, behind the plaster."

"I don't care about that," she said. "He's a man. If he's so stupid as to do that, then he can live with the consequences."

She took him to the sink, where he cleaned his hands.

"Shall I pay you now, or when it's painted?" she asked.

"Later is fine," he said.

"Um ... do you need any more ... pears?" she asked, blushing.

Bobby heard the invitation in her voice. He'd heard that same tone of voice when he was at Tilly's house ... the times he wasn't there to repair anything and Jake was "taking a nap". He looked at this woman, who lived with such a worthless man.

"We still have eight or ten left," he said.

"Oh." She sounded disappointed.

"I would like to look again, though," he said softly.

Her eyes widened.

"Would that be all right?" he asked.

"Oh my!" she sighed. "I don't know. That would be terribly ... naughty."

"Would it really be any naughtier than picking me more pears?" he asked.

"Ohhhh," she moaned. "I don't know. I don't know if I could just ... show you!"

"Well, why don't you sit down ... over there," Bobby said, pointing at the couch. "I'll help you."

"You will?" She sounded dazed.

She let him lead her to the couch, and he held her hands as she sat, demurely, her knees firmly together. She looked lonely, sitting on the big couch alone. Bobby sank to his knees in front of her, and put his hands on her knees, his thumbs inside them.

"What are you doing?" she asked, breathlessly.

"I'm going to look at something beautiful," he said softly.

"Ohhhhhh," she moaned.

He started sliding his hands up her legs, pushing her short skirt toward her lap. Her eyes opened even wider as her legs became bare.

"Are you wearing underthings?" he asked.

"No," she whispered.

"Good," he said.

"Oh Bobby," she moaned.

"It's all right; I'm just going to look. That's all."

"Ohhhhhh," she whined.

She wiggled, as his hands stroked the tops of her thighs and her mouth fell, to hang open as all of her thighs were slowly uncovered. He took his hands off her skin, to lift the skirt, bunching it up around her waist, and uncovering her dark pubic hair.

"I can't believe we're doing this," she whispered.

"It's just looking," he said, sliding his hands back down her thighs, to her knees.

"This is ... terrible!" she gasped.

"This is beautiful," he countered.

His thumbs put slight pressure on the insides of her knees. He looked at her face, and watched as her eyes shifted from his hands, to his face.

Staring at him, he felt the resistance against his thumbs slacken. He exerted more force, and, slowly, her knees came apart. She held her breath, and her eyes got a wild look in them. He slid his hands up her thighs again, smoothing them against her flesh.

"It's all right," he said, still looking in her face.

Her eyes held a pleading look, as he kept spreading her knees apart, until they hit the couch, and she was completely open. He saw her eyes glistening.

"Don't cry," he said. "I won't hurt you."

"You don't understand," she moaned. "I want this!"

"I do too."

"But I shouldn't want this!" she gasped.

He ignored her.

"I'm going to look now," he said.

"Ohhhhh," she moaned.

He looked down, and there she was, open for his inspection. Her pussy lips were fat and full, completely unlike Tilly's tight small ones, which he had to pry apart each time he pushed his prick into her. These lips were parted, a slim slit of darkness between them. They looked shockingly pink, below her dark, wild pussy hair.

"Gorgeous," he whispered, leaning down.

"Oh damn!" she moaned.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm getting wet!" she whined.

"You're just excited," he said. "That makes me feel good."

He slid his hands around the outsides of her legs, hooking the back of her knees, and pulled her buttocks to the edge of the seat cushion. Her butt rode off the back of her skirt.

"What are you doing?!" she moaned.

"I just want to see it better," he said, his voice still soft. "It looks delicious."

"Delicious?" She sounded confused.

He looked up into her face. "Sure, hasn't Arthur ever tasted you?"

"What?!" she gasped. "Of course not!"

"Too bad," said Bobby, leaning down, before she could move. "He's a fool if he hasn't."

Her reaction as he fastened his lips to her lower ones, and thrust his tongue into that little dark slit, was both athletic and violent. She voiced a gurgling scream, and her legs tried to close, but couldn't, because his body was between them. He found her clit, which was just as fat and swollen as her pussy lips had been, and sucked it into his mouth, clamping his lips down on it hard. Only his arms around her, pulling her lower body against his face, kept her gyrations from throwing them both onto the floor. He spread his knees wide, for stability, and while she wailed and cried out unintelligible words, he sucked her to orgasm.

He left it at one, knowing that he'd already done too much, broken his word, in fact. He'd promised only to look. He just couldn't resist it though. She was a nice lady, with a bastard for a husband, who deserved better than she got stuck with. He was quite sure she'd kick him out of the house, and never call again, but he wanted to leave her with this one orgasm to remember him by.

Because of Tilly, he could judge when her orgasm had peaked, and was falling off. He sucked and licked, just for a few more seconds, as her hips took on that thrusting rhythm that Tilly's did, when she was cumming, and then crawled backwards, pulling her skirt down, as his hands came from around her.

She lay there, gasping, her head thrown back on the back of the couch, her eyes closed. She didn't close her legs, and looked too limp to be able to do anything. Bobby closed them for her, arranging her skirt so that it covered her thighs.

"I'm sorry," he said, standing up. "I shouldn't have done that. I couldn't resist though. Every woman should feel that at least once. You deserve to be treated better than you are."

He stood, and turned to leave.

She said nothing, still lying there limp on the couch.

He really didn't expect to hear from her again. He had some fleeting concern that she might make a formal complaint, but then decided that, since she had shown him her pussy when she picked the pears, she might not want to have to explain that ... formally. The phone rang, and his sister, Matilda, was the winner of the mad scramble to get it. She listened for a few seconds and said, "Oh, okay, hold on."

Matilda turned to her brother. "It's for you. Don't be too long. Amanda is going to call me."

Bobby looked at the eleven-year-old girl, who he had noticed was beginning to get bumps where she had been flat, and took the phone.

"Hello?"

"Bobby?" Her voice was soft. Very soft.

"Yes?"

"I ... ah ... just wondered ... um ... when you were going to ... um, paint that patch."

"Oh, hi," he said brightly. "I could probably do that Saturday, if that's all right. It will depend on whether the wheat is ready to cut or not."

"Saturday," she said softly. "Yes ... that would be wonderful. What time?"

"Any time you like, after I check the grain." he said. "Unless we have to cut it."

"What if you came for lunch? You could paint after that ... couldn't you?"

"That would be great," he said, meaning it. He was elated that she'd called.

"Okay," she said, more loudly. "I'll see you then."

"Great!" said Bobby.

He hung the phone up and turned to find Matilda and Susie standing there.

"You got a girlfriend?" asked Suzie, who was twelve, and had more bulges in the right places than Matilda did.

"No," he said. "She's a customer."

"How come you don't have a girlfriend?" asked Suzie. Matilda looked interested too.

"I live with the most beautiful women in the world," he said, grinning. "Who could compare with them?"

Suzie stared at him.

"Jenny Timmons has a brother," she said.

"I know that," said Bobby.

"He's rotten," said Suzie. "He treats Jenny horribly."

"Some men are stupid," said Bobby.

"You're not," said Suzie. "I like you."

He swept her up, giving her a hug and swinging her around, making Matilda yelp and jump back, to keep from being hit.

"I love you," he said. "I have no idea why, but I do."

Suzie was grinning from ear to ear when he put her down. Matilda stood and crossed her arms.

"If you try that with me, I'll kick you in the shins!" she said, looking disgusted.

"Okay," said Bobby. "How about this instead?"

He darted to her and tickled her mercilessly, until she fell to the floor, squealing and screaming her laughter. The noise drew Linda and Bev, the next two oldest girls, and they piled onto Bobby's back, trying to tickle him, and aid their little sister. Suzie happily joined in, until there was a squirming mass of humanity on the floor. When they kicked over a chair, Mamma stopped them.

They slowly got up.

"You should get a girlfriend," said Suzie, who had started the whole mess. She grinned and ran for her room, but Bobby didn't chase her.

When all the other girls had faded away, Mamma, who had folded her arms when she was barking orders for them to break it up, looked at him sternly.

"She's right, you know. You should have a girlfriend by now."

"When I meet her, I'll let you know," he said.

"Humph!" snorted Mamma.

When Saturday got there, he took care of his chores first. He harvested a handful of wheat, and rolled it clean between his hands. The seeds were fat and brown. He could still crush them between his fingers. Not ready yet.

He reported to his mother, then headed off for Martha's.

He didn't quite know what to think, when she opened the door for him. She didn't have on a skirt this day, which suggested that his earlier attentions were no longer welcome. She was wearing shorts, instead. On the other hand, the halter top she was wearing was fairly bursting with her breasts, which pushed what looked like acres of white, creamy flesh into a deep, long cleavage that was exposed by the garment. Naturally, he looked, and, as his eyes rose to her face again, she was looking at where his eyes were.

She neither said anything, nor blushed, but simply said, "Hello," and stepped back to let him enter.

Lunch was ready. It was picnic food ... deviled eggs, potato salad, baked beans and smoked ham, sliced thin, to make sandwiches with, or be eaten with the fingers. A bowl of mixed black and green olives, lettuce and sweet pickles was on the table too.

Initially, Martha's conversation was light, and about nothing of consequence, and she didn't display any nervousness at all. It was almost eerie, from Bobby's standpoint. She was acting like nothing had happened at all.

It wasn't until he opened the paint and painted the patch, which took all of ten minutes, at the very most, that she said, “You're much more experienced than I would have thought."

"Painting isn't that difficult," said Bobby, paying attention to the edges of his paint, and trying to feather them out so they'd match the rest of the wall.

"I wasn't talking about painting," said Martha.

"Oh," said Bobby, shooting her a glance. She looked relaxed.

"Where did you learn to do that?" she asked.

"It wouldn't be polite to tell you that," he said. "Just like it wouldn't be polite to tell anyone that I did it for you."

"For me?" she asked.

"It was fun for me," he admitted, "but it was really for you."

"That's very sweet," she said. "I imagine it left you feeling ... nervous."

She obviously wasn't mad, so he decided to approach her as if they were much better acquainted.

"Us guys have ways of dealing with that problem," he said, grinning.

"Us girls do too," she said, nonplussed. "It isn't nearly as much fun as what you did though."

"I'm glad you had a good time," he said, putting the lid back on the paint, and pounding it down tightly with the heel of his hand.

"I don't know what to do with you," she said.

He stood up, and looked at her.

"Why do you have to do anything?"

"Do you have any idea how long it's been since a man touched me?" she asked, cocking her head sideways.

"I guess I don't," he said.

"Years," she said. "More years than I want to admit."

"That's too bad. Like I said, you deserve better than that."

Bobby shifted the can of paint to his other hand.

"Will you really keep quiet about that?" she asked, looking nervous for the first time that day.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied instantly.

"Then you can put that paint down, because my husband went fishing again today, and won't be back until late tonight. I agree with you, Bobby. I deserve better than that."

Her earlier nervousness and ability to be coy fled as soon as she un-knotted the front of her halter top and watched his eyes devour her truly impressive breasts. They were so big that they hung low, heavy and wobbling, stretching the skin from her upper chest. Her nipples were large and dark, set against huge areolas. Bobby licked his lips.

"Ohhhhh," she moaned, lifting her breasts with both hands, and offering them to him. "I love the way you look at me, Bobby."

"You're beautiful," he sighed, reaching to replace her hands with his.

She turned suddenly, trying to be coy again, and looked over her shoulder, as she went towards her bedroom. Bobby jumped, and pinched her bottom, and she shrieked and ran from him. She was no match, and he caught her at the edge of the bed, reaching around to grasp her breasts in his hands, as they fell to the bed. He manhandled her to her back, and attacked one stiff nipple with his lips.

"Wait!" she gasped.

He let go, thinking she wanted to set limits, but her attention was on her own shorts, first, and his next. While she tackled his belt and buttons, he pulled his shirt off. She jerked his shorts down savagely, and his prick popped into view, ready to do what it was intended for.

"Ooooh, I knew it would be gorgeous," she whined, fisting it, and shoving the foreskin back to bare his glans.

She was in a rush, the first time, and pulled him on top of her, flinging her legs wide and urging him to hurry. When he sank into her velvety depths, she cried out, and gripped him with both arms and legs as he humped into her.

"Oh yes!" she squealed. "I need this Bobby. Please don't stop!"

He had learned, with Tilly, to enjoy watching his partner achieve release, and how to control his own urges, and he did that now, pounding her through an orgasm while she flopped and cried out beneath him. He slowed, as her orgasm wound down, sliding in and out of her slowly, with long strokes.

"You're still hard!" she moaned.

"You've only had one orgasm," he said, kissing her chin.

She wasn't like Tilly, reserving kisses for only her husband. Martha’s husband had abandoned her, so she gave everything to Bobby, kissing him with long mashed-lip gyrations, while he speeded up and pushed her over the cliff of release again.

Tilly had also taught him, thought not intentionally, that doing this could have far-reaching consequences. Her swelling belly was evidence of that.

"I'm going to cum," he whispered into her ear.

"Ohhhh," she moaned, her hips thrusting. "You shouldn't cum in me," she groaned.

"I know," he whispered, going in deep and rotating his loins. "But I want to."

"I could have a baby," she moaned.

"Do you want a baby?" he whispered, crushing her clit as he rolled it in circles with his pubic bone.

"Noooo, I can't have a babeeeeee," she whined. "Arthur would know."

"Do you want a baby?" he crooned into her ear.

"That's ... not ... fair!" she panted. "You ... can't ... make ... a baby ... with me!" she gasped.

"Yes I can," he whispered. "I want to cum in you, Martha."

"Oooooooooh," she whined.

"Here it comes," he warned.

"Noooooooooo," she whined again.

But her legs stayed open, and her arms were still around him. Her heels dug into the covers, and her strong body lifted him up.

"Ahhhhhh" groaned Bobby, as he began to spurt in her, pushing hard. "I love thisssssss," he moaned.

She went wild under him, thrusting and heaving, until the only way he could stay in her was because she was hugging him so fiercely. Her legs stayed wide, accepting his gift, even though her voice continued to moan, "Nooooooo," and "You caaaaan't!"

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