The Making of a Gigolo (3) - Sherry Winston

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Chapter two

Sherry's emotional level stayed high ... so high that it scared her. She'd grown more or less comfortable with Sam, over the six years she'd been married to him. She'd thought she was in love with him.

Now, though, she wasn't so sure. She certainly never felt anything for him like she felt for the naked man lying next to her. She felt a tug from him, on an emotional level, that screamed for her to be closer to him, even though her sweating, naked body was pressed against his.

"I think I love you," she whispered, not meaning to say it out loud.

Bobby opened his eyes and turned his head, to stare into her big blue eyes.

"You don't love me," he said. "You love this."

"But it feels so strong!" she insisted.

"We don't know each other," he said gently. "You can't possibly love me." He reached over to tweak the nipple that was exposed. "You love this."

She shuddered, feeling her loins catch fire again, and was amazed. Just that one little touch made her want him in her again, and she had begged him to stop, not ten minutes past!

"Maybe you're right," she sighed. "I don't know what to feel. I should feel bad ... but I don't."

"I'm glad," he said. "What just happened was good, and shouldn't carry any guilt with it."

"But I cheated on Sam!" she moaned. "I belong to him!"

"You don't belong to anyone but yourself," corrected Bobby. "All you did was please yourself."

"You make it sound so simple," she whined.

"It is simple. We made love. It was good. Making love is good."

"If we made love, then why doesn't that mean I love you?" she asked, clearly frustrated.

"All right," he said, patiently. "If you want to believe that because we made love, some of that love will always be shared between us, then I agree. Even if we never do it again, we'll always have the memory of what happened. That kind of love, I'll admit to."

"You don't love me?" she asked, her voice somewhere between sulky and hopeful.

"If I didn't care about you, I wouldn't have done that with you," he said. "If you want to believe that means love, then I can't argue with you. But I think you know what I mean when I say we can't love each other. Not yet. It could happen later, as we get to know each other better."

"We're going to keep doing this?" she asked.

"I certainly hope so," he said, smiling.

"Right now?" she asked, suddenly impatient. That this man wanted her made the fire in her belly burn brighter.

"I have to wait," he laughed. "It wouldn't do you any good right now."

That caused her to look down at his groin. Even soft, it was twice as long as Sam's ... maybe longer. It was wilted, but still formed a tube.

"Yours looks different," she said, again, not meaning to say it out loud.

"How many have you seen?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

"Two," she answered, automatically.

"Do you think it would taste different too?" he asked.

She reared back, shocked. She'd heard of such things, of course, but only whores did that. He saw the shock on her face.

"I'm told it's not that bad," he said softly. "One woman even tells me she loves the taste."

"Who!?" she gasped.

"A housewife ... just like you," he said.

"Oh!" she gasped, as it became clear to her that he was serious. "I could never do that!"

"All right," he said. "I just thought you wanted to go again."

"I do!" she blurted. Then she blushed. She thought that was astonishing, that she could blush, with her naked body pressed to his.

"That would make it hard again," he said.

"But that's ... nasty!" she whispered.

"You don't have to do it," he said. "It was just an idea."

"It's all ... yucky," she said, staring at the white coating on his organ.

"All that is, is what I put inside you," he said. "Did it feel yucky then?"

"No," she whispered. "I loved it."

"I loved putting it there," he said.

"It felt so different," she said softly. "Everything about you is different."

"That's the answer, then," he said, stretching. "I'm interesting, because I'm different ... and you have that interest confused with love."

Sherry marveled that she could be so disgusted with him, but be completely unwilling to pull her skin away from his. It confused her.

"Have you ever taken a bath with a man?" he asked, suddenly.

"Of course not!" she said, almost giggling.

"Take a bath with me," he urged.

They did, and as soon as she settled into the water, and leaned back against him, she knew she was a fool for thinking that this was, somehow, perverted. When his soapy hands slid around her body, she realized that she had shut out many things in her life, because she didn't understand them, and what she didn't understand, she was afraid of. When his fingers gave her an orgasm, right there in the water, she wanted to shout for joy, but kept it to a groan of satisfaction instead, because the bathroom window was right next to her neighbor's house.

Her mind was further stretched when he took her back to her bed, where she eagerly spread her legs for him, shamelessly, as he stood at the foot of the bed and drank in her nakedness. She knew she should feel like a slut, displaying herself for this man she'd only known for a morning, but the look of appreciation in his eyes just kindled the fire in her belly again. Her eyes went to his prick, which was long and hard again, and she held out her arms to him.

"Be patient," he said, crawling onto the bed. "We're not in a hurry."

"I am," she panted.

"I want to taste you," he said.

Her mind grappled with what that meant, and then epiphany burst into her consciousness like the sun exploding, as he leaned down and sucked at her pussy lips. Before she could breathe, he found her clit and sucked at it too, biting it between his lips, and torturing it with the tip of his tongue. A violent jerk of her hips dislodged him, and she raised her head, her mouth open in a silent scream, as she saw him dart in to capture her stiff clitty again. He slid his hands under her butt, and pulled, welding his face to her pussy.

Then she did scream hoarsely, as her body was wracked with more of that delicious electricity as an orgasm burst in her loins, and flooded her mind. She couldn't think, except to concentrate on the pleasure as it jolted her body, making her arms fling to her sides, as if she were welcoming the sun to touch her body all over.

Before she could adjust to that, he was up and over her, and that wonderful pressure was back as he slid deep into her. She was helpless, and even her stomach muscles deserted her as she lay and just felt him slide in and out, and grind against her. When his lips descended on hers, it was while she was enduring another orgasm, and the tangy taste of her own sex only added to the explosion of feelings that felt like it was consuming her body in fire.

Her ears picked up the soft grunts he was making, and she realized that he was spurting in her again. This time, instead of heat, she felt like it was a balm, that was soothing her overheated, burning body, and she clasped him against her, finding the energy to wrap her legs around him.

"Don't ever stop!" she gasped, with the last of her breath, as he poured her full of soothing nectar.

This time, he pulled her completely over, on top of him. She lay like a wet rag, spread out on his body, her pussy still spasming.

"I don't ... believe this," she panted, her cheek on his chest, his heartbeat pounding in her ear.

He simply stroked her back, with the long fingers that felt wonderful, wherever they touched her.

He told her he could only go twice more, before he had to leave.

She whined and moaned that it wasn't enough, even before he had ridden her to three more glorious orgasms. She was quite sure, at one point, that she would die from the pleasure, but she never did.

Then, quite suddenly, she was satisfied. It was the third offering of his thick, rich seed that seemed to suddenly calm her. This time, that offering took on a deeper meaning, as, finally, she remembered that this was how babies were made. He had filled her with enough of that seed to make ten thousand babies in her. Her mind warred with her. She had been married for six years, and remained childless. But Sam had never come remotely close to doing what Bobby had done. The thought that Bobby, in one day, had given her more than Sam had given her in six years, was sobering. What would she do if this exciting man had gotten her with child? She tried to think about the last time she'd bled. She was so regular that she didn't think about it much ... didn't pay attention to it, other than to get through the cramps, and pain of it all.

She got up. Her thighs were messy with his spend. She looked down to see a runnel of white, slipping down her inner thigh. She imagined she could feel the weight of what was left, inside her, weighing down her belly.

"You need another bath," he said, almost startling her, with his voice.

"I need you to leave," she said. "Before I want to do it again!"

"You're feeling guilty," he said.

She looked at him, so calm and relaxed on the bed. His spermy penis was lying there, as if to remind her that it had just spurted inside her. She might, at that very moment, have his baby growing inside her, and still, all she could think about was crawling back in bed with him.

"If I don't love you, I shouldn't feel like I do," she said, trying to voice how strongly she felt.

He bounded up off the bed, and started to get dressed. She felt panic seeping into her, at the thought that he'd leave and never come back. In almost self defense, she pulled on the panties he'd taken off of her, hours ago. She looked around for her bra, but couldn't see it, and pulled on her sweater, buttoning the lower three buttons. It felt cloying and hot already, and she wanted to take it back off.

She followed him back into the front room, where his tool bag was and stood, mutely, as he picked it up and slung it over his shoulder. His hair was mussed, but he still looked beautiful to her.

It was bursting from inside her ... demanding to be known. "Will I ever see you again?" she asked.

"Of course," he said, and she felt a rush of both relief, and shame that she could be so eager to cheat on Sam again. "If you want to," he added.

"What happened here today?" she asked, helplessly.

He stepped toward her and took her in his arms so quickly that she was shocked by it.

"You needed something," he said into her lips, his nose touching hers. "I did too. We gave it to each other."

He kissed her, lightly, gently, and pulled back. "You're so beautiful," he sighed.

She wanted to strip naked on the spot, but he left, before she could.

So, she stripped naked after he left, throwing the sweater across the room, and leaving her panties on the floor. She went to the kitchen, and got a glass of tea, feeling foolish, walking around the house naked. She felt wet on her thigh, and looked to see another runnel of thick, white spunk, flowing down her thigh. She stood stock still, trying to remember when her last period had ended. She couldn't, and went to the bathroom. Her box of feminine napkins had only one missing. She went to dig into her purse, and pulled out her checkbook, opening it to the register. There! Sander's IGA. It was the last time she'd shopped there, and that's where she'd bought the box. The date was exactly ten days previous to today's date.

She looked down at the sperm, running out of her pussy. Sam never put enough in her for any of it to run out, even if she went and sat on the stool, afterwards. His comment echoed in her mind: "One woman even tells me she loves the taste."

She reached and scooped, bringing the viscous fluid up to examine it. It had a pearly look, with streaks of clear and white in it, almost artistic looking. She sniffed, but smelled only musk. Not believing what she was doing, she stuck her tongue out, and touched it to the silvery white stuff on her fingers.

Nothing.

She realized she hadn't actually gotten anything on her tongue, and stared at it again. This had come from him. This was his essence. This was part of what had made her feel so gloriously alive and happy.

She licked her fingers, and immediately wished she hadn't. She'd gotten too much! Her mouth hung open, and she lurched toward the sink, to spit. She stubbed her toe and, in the pain of it, closed her mouth. Her stomach gave a reflexive heave, before she actually tasted it. She stood, leaning over the sink, thinking about what was going on in her mouth.

It didn't taste bad. It wasn't the kind of thing she could say she loved, or even liked ... but it wasn't unpleasant at all. She sat on the toilet, because her knees were suddenly weak. She had acted like a whore, all day long. She had put something in her mouth that she would have bet the farm she'd never ever put in her mouth. She was sitting, stark naked, with sperm dripping from her pussy. She might be pregnant from a man she'd met just this morning. Her world had been turned completely on its head.

She took a breath, still tasting him, and let it out slowly. A thought wiggled its way into her mind. "When will you call him again?" She giggled, and then started laughing. It was just too ridiculous.

Her world might have been turned upside down, but all she could think of was when she could get it to happen again.

They met for lunch, like they did every Wednesday. Martha examined her friend, who appeared to be quite normal in every way.

"Well?" asked Martha.

"Well what?" replied Sherry.

"Did you call him?"

"Call who?" asked Sherry, obviously feigning ignorance.

"Did you!?" barked Martha, leaning forward.

"I got my radiator fixed, if that's what you mean," said Sherry, her voice airy.

The baby fussed. Martha couldn't feed him there, in the diner. She got out a pacifier and the baby sucked at it avidly, and then spat it out in disgust.

"When was the first time he worked for you?" asked Sherry.

"I don't know," said Martha, trying to get the baby to take the pacifier again. "About a year ago, I guess."

"And little Andrew is what ... three months old?" Sherry's voice was still light, as if her comment meant nothing.

Martha darted a look at her friend, and frowned, but didn't say anything.

"Come on," said Sherry petulantly. "Tell me."

"Tell you what?" said Martha, her voice careful.

"Andrew is his ... isn't he." It was a statement, and not a question.

"That's ridiculous!" Martha tried to snort.

"You sent him to me, Martha ... you practically forced him into my house."

"I did no such thing!" said Martha defensively.

"You knew how lonely I was ... how much I needed ...” she paused, and looked around, "a man," she whispered. "You knew I'd call him, and you knew what would happen."

"So, it did happen?" Martha leaned forward, an eager look on her face.

"Oh, it happened!" said Sherry, explosively.

"I told you!" said Martha. "Didn't I tell you?"

"No, you did not tell me!" said Sherry. "I was in no way, shape, or form prepared for what happened to me, Martha Thompson!" Sherry sat back and folded her arms.

Martha couldn't tell for sure what was going on in her friend's mind. Her voice sounded almost angry, but she wasn't rigid, or hostile. Her eyes glazed over as she remembered how Bobby had made her feel, and then cleared.

"I suppose I should have been less circumspect," she admitted. "He is a handful, isn't he." That was also a comment, rather than a question.

"My word," sighed Sherry. "What am I going to do now, Martha?" She unfolded her arms and leaned forward. "I can hardly think of anything else!"

"He is good," said Martha, smiling for the first time, and feeling better.

"Good is not the word I would use," said Sherry. "He went all day!"

"I know, I know," said Martha, completely forgetting where they were, as she unbuttoned her dress and opened her nursing bra, to give Andrew the nipple he wanted so badly. He made humming, gurgling noises as he drank greedily. Martha paled, looking around, and turned sideways, so her back was to the rest of the diner.

"Look what you made me do!" she hissed.

"I think Bobby made you do that," said Sherry, grinning. "Just look at him ... his hair ... that chin ... his shoulders ... those blue eyes ... he's Bobby all over!"

Martha looked helpless. "You can't tell anyone! Please! Arthur knows, and he's adjusted to it. It's why he stopped drinking!"

"I won't tell anyone," sighed Sherry. "I may be in the same situation."

"Already?!" gasped Martha.

"I don't know," said Sherry, shrugging her shoulders. "I know he left me so soaked ...” She blushed at how ribald her comment was.

"That's Bobby," sighed Martha. "He always left me dripping."

"I have to have him again," moaned Sherry.

"Of course!" laughed Martha. "Bobby's not the kind of man you have just once."

"I'll get pregnant for sure!" moaned Sherry.

Martha disengaged Andrew from her nipple, and expertly flipped the bra closed. She handed the boy across the table to a startled Sherry, who took him instinctively. She cuddled the little boy as Martha repaired her blouse.

"Feels good in your arms ... doesn't he?" commented Martha.

"You know I've always wanted children," said Sherry, frowning.

"Well ..." said Martha, reaching for her baby, "now you can have them."

Sherry did a lot of thinking in the week before she was forced, by her own nervousness, to call Bobby. His mother answered the phone.

"Mirriam? This is Sherry Winston," she said, into the phone.

"Sherry, how nice to talk to you," said Mirriam. "How have you been?"

"Oh, fine, I suppose," said Sherry, dropping into her normal slightly disgruntled persona. She didn't feel nearly as disgruntled as she had a week ago. Now she was merely frantic to feel Bobby's body against hers ... in hers. "Um ... Bobby fixed one of my radiators last week," she went on. "Another one's started to knocking. I wonder if he could come around and do something with it too?"

"I think so," said Mirriam. Sherry's voice, when she said "Bobby" had an overtone of something that pricked up Mirriam's ears. It was almost a note of hopefulness. "I'll have to ask him. He's out in the barn, doing something to the tractor to get it ready to plow snow. I can go ask him if you want me to, or I'll have him call you back."

"I can wait," said Sherry.

Mirriam put the phone down. Sherry had sounded almost eager to wait. Mirriam was no fool. She'd seen Martha Thompson's baby, and it looked nothing like Arthur. She'd kept her peace, but her radar was pinging, based on the note in Sherry's voice. She went to the barn, where Bobby was stripped to the waist, despite the cool autumn weather. He was wrestling with a big piece of metal, trying to get a bolt into it.

"Sherry Winston is on the phone," said Mirriam. "Something about another radiator that needs fixing."

"Oh, okay," grunted Bobby, straining. His muscles bulged, and Mirriam watched as he shoved the metal, and the bolt popped into place. He was handsome.

"When shall I tell her you'll be over?"

"Tomorrow," said Bobby, reaching around the metal to thread a nut onto the bolt he had just gotten in place.

Mirriam went back to the house and picked up the phone.

"Sherry?" she said.

"Yes! I'm here," said the woman.

"He said he can get there tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Sherry's voice sounded almost sad. "What time?"

"He didn't say, Sherry," said Mirriam.

"All right," said the woman, now sounding disillusioned. "I guess that will have to do."

"How's Sam?" asked Mirriam, acting on impulse.

"Gone, as usual," said a miffed sounding Sherry.

"That's too bad," said Mirriam.

"I suppose so," said Sherry, having no idea that her response was much less spirited than it might have been just a week or two ago.

That, plus the rest of the conversation, which was lackluster, to be polite, was what convinced Mirriam that the radiator at Sherry's house wasn't the most important problem, in terms of how Sherry felt about things. What seemed to be the most important thing on her mind was ... Bobby.

Mirriam didn't get a chance to talk to Bobby alone until way after bedtime. What with Mary, Florence and Beverly being old enough to stay up past eight, it was closer to ten before it was quiet enough ... and private enough ... for Mirriam to talk to her son, who was reading a book.

"Bobby? I'd like a word with you," she said.

He looked up. "Okay, Mamma. I'm right here."

"Close your book, baby," said his mother.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm worried about something," she said.

"Maybe I can help," he offered.

"Maybe you can," she said.

"Okay," he said.

"Mrs. Thompson's little boy, Andrew, is coming along right well," said Mamma, as if she were just mentioning it. Bobby knew better, though. Mamma rarely said anything that didn't have a purpose.

"I suppose so," said Bobby, carefully.

"And Tilly Johnson ... her new baby is a healthy one." Mamma looked at him, as if she expected an answer.

"I guess that's true too," said Bobby, fully on guard now.

"If Mrs. Winston was to turn up pregnant ... people might begin to wonder about ... things." Mamma leaned back in the chair. The look on her face was like she was just gossiping with her friends.

"Now why would they do that, Mamma?" asked Bobby, putting a puzzled look on his face. “She's a married woman."

"Yes, she is indeed, and she just hired you recently ... just like Tilly and Martha hired you."

"I've done work for lots of people, Mamma," said Bobby, innocently.

"Yes, you have," she agreed. "But the women who have troubles at home ... isn't it kind of funny how, when you've worked for them, things seem to get better and they get in the family way?"

"Mamma, I've heard about the birds and the bees in school, if that's what you're getting at. I'm a man, Mamma." Bobby sat back and waited.

"Yes, you are a man," she agreed, again. "That might be the problem, honey. Some women lose their heads when they're around a man."

"I guess you'd know about that," said Bobby, nodding his head. He didn't smile.

She blushed. "Those were hard times for me, Bobby. You were just a toddler, and I had the whole farm to work, by myself. I needed Joe."

"I know that, Mamma," said Bobby. "It's just natural for a woman to need a man around."

"They killed Joe, Bobby," said his mother. She sat very stiffly, suddenly. "I don't want anything to happen to you."

Bobby got up and went to his mother. She looked up at him, her eyes moist, and he pulled her up out of the chair. When he hugged her, he noticed her large breasts, pressing into his chest, but he hugged her tightly anyway.

"I learned a lot from Joe," he said, stroking her back. "He taught me, and I learned things from watching him. I'm not going to get hurt."

"You don't know that!" she moaned.

Bobby pushed her back, but didn't let go of her.

"Arthur knows who Andrew's father is," he said.

His mother's eyes widened. She had been trying to be circumspect about things, but this admission shocked her.

"I told him myself," said Bobby.

Mirriam felt her knees begin to give way, and felt his strong hands help her stand.

"I told him I'd do it again if he didn't straighten up and fly right." He didn't mention his threat to kill the man. There was only so much his mother could take. "He and I are mostly friends, now," Bobby finished. "Martha doesn't need me anymore."

"You can't just go and dally with any woman you like," moaned Mirriam. "It just can't be! What if some poor woman is ruined?"

"Were you ruined, Mamma?" asked Bobby. "I don't remember much about my father, but I don't miss him either. He could have stayed. He could have stayed and run the farm, and raised my sisters. Joe came back. Joe always came back when you needed him. Are you sorry you had them?"

"Of course not," she moaned. "They're the light of my life! You're the light of my life! I couldn't take it if they took you, like they took Joe."

"I know you worry, but I really think you shouldn't. Jake knows about Tilly too. In fact, he gave his permission."

"Don't you lie to me Bobby Jordan!" gasped Mirriam.

"I'm not lying. I helped them too. The first one was an accident, but then they found out he can't get her pregnant. They want one more too, Mamma, but they want to space them out a bit."

"What about the others?" moaned Mirriam.

"There aren't any others," said Bobby, fibbing a little. There had only been that one day with Sherry Winston, though her calling him back made him think there might be more. Her husband was gone even more than Arthur had been. If the man was fool enough to neglect his woman, then he had no call to complain, at least as far as Bobby was concerned. If he came home, and stayed there, and took care of Sherry, Bobby would be perfectly willing to leave her to him.

It was his hug that sidetracked Mirriam. She hadn't been in the arms of a strong man since Joe, and Bobby's arms reminded her of what that was like. Not only that, he was the spitting image of his father, who she had loved, but who was gone when she needed him most. She knew it was a lost cause to try to steer him away from women who needed a man, both because Bobby was a man, and because she knew how it felt to be a neglected woman. Nature would win out.

"You must be careful, honey," she finally said. "You must always remember that jealousy causes rage, and sometimes that leads to killing."

"I'll be careful, Mamma," said the young man, as young men always do. Like all young men, he felt invincible. But he was also now aware of her worry, and he knew she'd stay worried, or get worried at the slightest sign of trouble, and that, more than anything else, is why he thought, from that moment on, about being careful.

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