The Making of a Gigolo (5) - Jill Trimble

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

Chapter Five

Bobby rode his bike to Jill's. His mother was still upset about the picnic she was going on with Prudence and Ted. He knew that, because she had burned the pancakes she served him that morning. He hoped she calmed down enough to have some fun.

He had an assortment of tools in his bag because he wasn't quite sure what he was going to work on. Jill met him at the door in exactly the same outfit she had been wearing the last time he came over. Since he had made specific comments about that outfit, he suspected she was up to something.

"What do you want me to work on?" he asked.

"I don't care," she said. "I didn't actually get you here to do any work."

"Oh?" He set his tool bag down.

What Jill Trimble wanted, since about noon, the previous Wednesday, was to parade in front of Mark Trimble ... pregnant. Mark, while he was married to her, had been the stereotypical jealous husband. Part of her mistake was letting him get in her panties before she walked down the aisle. He assumed she'd let others do the same thing. After they got married, he'd asked her over and over again if she'd done this, or that, with anybody else. Later, he'd berated her if she even talked to another man, or looked at one for more than a few seconds. During one shouting match he'd called her a slut. What hurt the most was the fact that Mark wouldn't even try to get her pregnant, while he obviously did the opposite while he cheated with Nancy. His lies at the diner proved, to her mind, that he was still insanely jealous of any other man paying attention to her, even though they were no longer married.

So she was quite convinced that, if she got pregnant, especially if she wasn't married to anybody, it would be what would hurt him most. And the last thing she wanted to do was get married again. She was a firm believer in the old adage "Fool me once ... shame on you. Fool me twice ... shame on me."

It was a half-baked plan ... one born of frustration, anger, and the spirit of revenge. She knew she was good looking. She'd already been hit on a number of times since her divorce, but the men who hit on her were not suitable, in her estimation, to help her with her plan for revenge. She couldn't just go out and troll in bars. She was not a slut, despite Mark's conviction that she was. It was while she was serving a young man who came into the diner that she thought about the handsome young man who had repaired her washing machine.

Not only was he handsome, but he was a real gentleman too. He'd looked at her. She'd caught him doing that a couple of times, though he didn't leer, like the others. He was honest about things too. When he scolded her about wearing revealing clothing, she'd been angry, at first, but then she'd realized that what he'd said made sense. She had no idea that, once she'd decided to do this crazy thing, and started thinking about finding a mate, that her basic female mind would look for the best genetic standard in the tribe of men around her. Bobby was the only man she'd met who stood head and shoulders above the other candidates, in that way. All she knew was that, as time went on, she thought of him more than all the others.

What she didn't know was how to go about seducing him. She'd never tried to seduce anyone before. It had always been the other way around. As a first step, she wore the clothing he'd warned her about wearing. It was an instinctive move.

"What did you call me here to do?" asked Bobby.

Now she was stuck. He was here, and she was here. She looked at him, and her heart gave a little flutter. He really was so handsome, and strong. Her belly started fluttering too, as she looked at his hands, and wondered what they'd feel like on her body.

"Can't we just spend time together and have fun?" she asked, unable to think of anything else to say. With him so close, her mind was roiling and it was hard to think. Still, her voice had clear overtones that Bobby recognized as being sexual.

"Well, I suppose we could do that," he said, cocking his head. "Except you already told me that's not what you're interested in."

"Can't a woman change her mind?" she asked, defensively.

"Sure she can," said Bobby. "Women do that all the time. Sometimes they even have a good reason for it."

He was trying to lighten the mood, because, as she talked about having fun, her demeanor was very, very serious. Something strange was going on here. He could tell that. It was almost like she was flirting with him, except that she wasn't acting like any woman he'd ever seen while she flirted.

The joke flew right over her head.

"I thought you liked this outfit," she said, looking nervous.

"I do," he said.

"Then don't you want to try to kiss me, or something?"

He stared at her.

"No," he said.

"Why not?" she asked. She looked less nervous now, but more confused.

"Have you made any coffee this morning?" he asked.

She blinked. "No."

"Well, go make some, and let's talk," he said.

"I don't want to talk!" she said impatiently. "I want to ..." She didn't finish, not because there wasn't anything on her mind. She didn't finish because what was on her mind was so undefined that "get pregnant" just sounded crazy.

"Okay," said Bobby, folding his arms across his chest. "Then take off all your clothes."

"What?" Her eyes darted around.

"Take off your clothes," Bobby repeated. "I want to see you buck naked."

Bobby's choice of words was significant, in this case. Mark, especially when he'd been drinking, loved to say "I want to see you buck naked!" Making her strip for him had been one of the games he had played that established his domination over her. He had liked to order her around, especially in the bedroom.

She felt white hot rage suffuse her body and scowled ferociously.

"I will not!" she almost yelled.

"Then make some coffee," said Bobby, "and let's talk about whatever it is that's gotten you all riled up."

She wanted to throw him out. He was ordering her around, just like Mark had. Her response, though, was complex. When she stood there, and he reached out and put his hands on her shoulders, turning her, and then giving her a gentle shove towards the kitchen, habit made her do exactly what he was telling her to do. Her mind was screaming not to do it, and telling her to throw this bum out too, but it was so much easier, just like it had been so much easier with Mark, to just do whatever it was he said to do. This war within her waged for a hundred and twenty seconds or so, while her body went on autopilot, her hands reaching for the coffee filter, and filling the carafe. She punched the on button almost viscously, and turned around to see him sitting calmly at the kitchen table.

"Why don't you want to kiss me?" she demanded, out of frustration.

"I didn't say I don't want to kiss you," he said. "I said I wasn't going to try to kiss you."

"But you're a man!" she blurted.

"Sit down," he said.

"Don't tell me what to do!" she yelled.

"Please sit down," he said, his face not changing.

She wanted to scream. Nothing was working out for her. Mark was making her crazy. The men who leered at her were making her crazy. This man was making her crazy. She'd held it all in until now, and she felt panic as she felt her eyes filling with tears. She didn't want to cry in front of this man, but she knew it was going to happen. In a paroxysm of anger and frustration, mixed with not a little fear that her whole world was collapsing, she ran from the room, seeking refuge in her bedroom, slamming the door and tumbling onto the bed, where she bawled. She buried her face in the pillow, and let it all come rushing out in long, body-shaking sobs.

She had no idea how long she'd been submerged in the sea of self pity that had tried to drown her when she finally stopped crying and rolled to stare at the ceiling. She had settled into a mood of darkness, disgusted with almost everything, including herself. While Mark wasn't the prize she'd though he was when she married him, she hadn't been able to keep him. She couldn't understand why he'd want to get Nancy pregnant, but not her, but that rejection was what hurt the most. If she'd have been calm enough to think about it logically, she'd have been relieved that he hadn't gotten her pregnant, since he was a piss poor husband, and would probably make a piss poor father as well. But she wasn't calm enough to do that, and she moved on to berate herself for chasing away the nicest man she'd met since she got divorced. Bobby hadn't done anything wrong, but she'd chased him away anyway.

With a sigh, she dragged herself off the bed, and wandered, more or less, back to the kitchen. She almost staggered with surprise when she saw Bobby sitting at the table, calmly sipping from a cup.

"I poured you a cup," he said. "It might have cooled down a little too much by now, though."

She looked at the cup, sitting across the table from him.

"You're still here," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He made no comment, and just sipped from his cup again.

"Why are you still here?" she asked, her voice louder.

"You didn't actually ask me to leave," he said. "If you want me to, I will."

"No!" she blurted, and then felt foolish.

"Okay," he said, not reacting to the emotion that had been in her voice.

She had no idea what to do. She didn't understand him at all. She had acted a fool ... had run from the room like a little girl ... but he had stayed. For lack of anything else to do, she sat down and took a sip from the cup he'd poured. It was cold, and she got up, dumped it in the sink, and poured a fresh cup. She sat down again, and tried to sip, but it was too hot now. With a sigh, she set the cup on the table.

She glanced at him, her eyes almost bouncing off of him in their hurry not to be caught looking at him. It didn't work. He was staring straight at her face.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

"No," she said. "It wouldn't do any good. My whole life is fucked up."

"I can't really disagree," he said. "I don't really know you well enough for that, but from where I sit, it looks like things might not be as bad as they are for some."

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"Well, you have a job, and a nice house. You managed to get rid of a loser husband. You're still young and pretty, and you're intelligent. That's not such a bad hand to hold."

In fifteen seconds he had pointed out five things about her that she hadn't taken the time to appreciate. She was almost shocked by his casual references to the positive things in her life that she had forgotten about during her pity party.

"Why did you stay here?" she asked, impulsively.

"I figured you needed somebody to talk to," he said.

"You're the strangest man I've met in a long time," she said.

"Why?" he asked. "Just because I care?"

"Why do you care?" she asked, her voice tense.

"I care about a lot of people," he said. "Does it offend you that I care about you?"

"No," she said, defensively. "I'm just surprised, that's all. You don't even know me."

"That's another reason why I stayed," he said. "I'd kind of like to get to know you."

"Why?" she asked.

"I don't kiss women I don't know, or feel something for," he said.

She blinked. When he'd said he wouldn't kiss her, she'd just assumed he was rejecting her.

"I had a bad week," she said, finally, testing the waters.

"Why don't you tell me about it," he suggested.

She started haltingly ... slowly ... describing what had happened, and how it made her feel. Like a snowball rolling down hill, she gathered momentum. Her cry had helped, but this was like spewing out stomach contents that were contaminated, and making her nauseous, and, by the time she was finished, she felt like she'd vomited all over him.

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping her mouth, unconsciously. "I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"I don’t mind," he said softly. "You did have a bad week."

Then, because she felt so comfortable with him, she told him the rest of it ... her plan for revenge ... and why she had acted like she had acted when he arrived.

He smiled, and she felt terror that he was going to laugh at her, and say something like "You really thought I'd want to make you pregnant? You silly slut!"

But what he said was, "I knew something was wrong. You weren't acting like yourself at all."

Again she was amazed. Instead of telling her what she was acting like, he concentrated on who she really was.

"That's a pretty poor reason to bring life into the world, you know," he said, bursting her bubble.

"I know," she said. "It was a stupid idea."

"It was a brilliant idea," he said, throwing her for another loop. "It's not a good reason to have a baby, but it's a brilliant idea. I've known guys like him, and it really would drive him crazy."

"You think so?" she asked.

"Oh yeah." He grinned.

They sipped at the coffee for a little while. She felt a lot more comfortable, and a lot less tense and upset.

"Can I ask you a question?" she said.

"Sure."

"I thought you thought I was ... um ... sexy," she said.

"I do," he responded.

"So, when I threw myself at you ... why didn't you ..." She didn't finish.

"I told you. I don't kiss women I don't care about. A kiss is something kind of special, to me. Would you kiss a tree?"

"No," she said, almost giggling at the thought. "But you do think I'm sexy?"

"I've always thought you were sexy, even before I met you," he said.

"How could you think I was sexy before you met me?" she asked, confused.

"Your picture ... at school," he explained. "I had a lot of fantasies about the girl in that picture."

She remembered his comment, in the square, about seeing her picture at school. What ran through her mind was of a kid, staring at that picture, like boys stared at pictures in Playboy. She looked at Bobby. He was no kid. Not by a long shot. She felt the butterflies in her stomach again at the thought of this specimen of manhood dreaming about her.

"I think you're kind of sexy too," she said, without thinking.

He grinned.

"So ... what do we do now?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

"I brought my tools," he said.

She felt her mood dip, a little. She knew he wasn't rejecting her, but it felt like he was. She gave herself a mental shake, and stood up to act like an adult.

They went through six little jobs, with him showing her what needed to be done, and then either doing it himself, or having her do it. She didn't realize it, but, as he asked casual questions, he got most of her childhood out of her, and a number of stories about her life as a high school student. She hadn't gone to college, choosing instead to marry the quarterback, right out of high school. She realized now that that hadn't been the smartest thing she'd ever done. It was responsible for both her failed marriage, and the job she was stuck in, and would probably be stuck in forever.

They took a break at lunch, and she fed him leftovers from the fridge. He didn't complain, and she noticed that he spent a lot more time letting his eyes roam around her body. She didn't mind. Not only that, she enjoyed it. It helped restore her self confidence.

After lunch, there were only two more things that they could do that day. Other repairs needed parts, or tools he hadn't brought with him. The last thing he tackled was a drain in the bathroom sink that was running slowly. It was in the bathtub. He removed the drain cover and, with a hanger, made a probe to go into the pipe. He fished out a gooey glob of hair that made her go pale. She had to turn away, as he put it in the stool and flushed it.

"You should see my house," he joked. "With eight women, I'm cleaning out drains all the time."

"How can you stand it?" she moaned, still feeling queasy.

The drain still ran slow. He plunged it, while she held a rag over the overflow, to seal the system, but it didn't work.

"I was afraid of that," he sighed. "I'll have to go under the house."

She had no idea where the entrance to the crawl space was, but he walked around the house and found it easily. When he had the panel removed, she stared inside.

"It's dark, and dirty in there," she said.

"Yup."

"You can't go in there," she moaned. "There's bugs and all that under there!"

"Can't be helped," he said.

She watched as he wiggled into the hole and disappeared, dragging his tool bag and the hanger he’d used before, after him. Less than a minute went by, but it seemed like a long time to her and she got down on her hands and knees to peer into the darkness.

"Are you okay?" she called.

"I'm fine." His voice sounded faint.

Another ten minutes went by and he called out to her to close the drain and fill the tub half full. She ran and did that, and then returned.

"I need another hanger," he called out.

She ran and got that and kneeled at the opening to tell him she had it.

"Can you bring it to me?" he yelled. "I've got parts lying on my chest, and don't want to move."

"I can't come in there!" she yelled.

"Sure you can," he called back. "Nothing to it."

"I'll get all dirty!" she yelled.

"Yes, you will," he yelled back.

"There are spiders!" she complained.

"I scared them all away!" he yelled back.

"Can't you come get it ... please?" she begged.

"No," he yelled back. "And could you hurry? There's water dripping on me and I'm lying in mud."

She steeled herself and got on her stomach. As soon as her head and shoulders were in the hole, she berated herself for doing this stupid thing, but her stubborn streak drove her on. She was surprised, immediately, to find that there were vents all around the house that let in a surprising amount of light. It wasn't really all that dark. She could see him, ten or twelve feet away, lying on his back. The ground was dry, at least where she was. It was interesting to see that the house was held up by square columns, made of brick, spread every five feet or so. She wiggled forward, the hanger in her hand, and felt the dirt scrape her exposed abdomen. She had the disgusted thought that she was ruining her halter top and shorts, and should have changed into something else.

She saw the water dripping on him, as she got closer.

"Where is that coming from?" she asked, reaching out to give him the hanger.

"The tub drain isn't sealing properly," he said. "I got the cleanout cover off, thank goodness. I need a snake."

"Snake!" she screeched, bumping her head on the underside of the floor as she jumped.

"No," he laughed. "Not that kind. A plumber's snake is a long cable that you can stick down in the pipes to break up a clog. I'm using a hanger, but it isn't long enough." She relaxed, and lay there on her elbows, as he twisted the two hangers together to make a longer wire, and then fed that into a hole in a big, black pipe where the dripping water was coming from.

"Ahhh," he said, sounding pleased. "I hit something."

He jerked the wire, moving it in and out of the hole over and over again. Then he moved it in and out more slowly, as if he were feeling for something.

"I hope that's got it," he said. "I don't really want to come back down here."

"Me either," she agreed. "I can't believe I let you talk me into getting under here this time!"

"It didn't hurt you a bit," he said.

"It ruined my clothes," she complained.

"They're just dirty. I already fixed your washer," he laughed. "That will solve that problem."

He took a round black thing off his chest and threaded it into the hole he'd been poking the wire in. He tightened it with a wrench.

"Okay," he said. "Now go up and let the tub drain. Make sure it's at least half full of water when you start, okay?"

"Got it!" she said. She turned around and wiggled back toward the hole. As she crawled out, she felt suddenly strong and successful. She looked down and moaned at the dirt on her stomach, clothing, and the front of her legs, but ran into the house. She had to add water to the tub, and then flipped the lever that let it out. She couldn't tell if anything was happening or not, so she ran back out and knelt at the access hole again.

"I did it," she yelled.

"It sounds like it's running pretty well," he said. "Go back and watch the drain. What we're hoping for is a whirlpool."

She ran back in, and immediately saw that the level in the tub had dropped by half ... much faster than it had been doing. She saw the whirlpool he was talking about and yelled excitedly. She heard his muffled yell through the floor, and ran back out. She waited, until he wiggled out of the access hole.

"It goes much faster," she said happily.

"Show me," he said.

She took him back to the bathroom, where the tub was empty. She closed the drain, ran water until it was a quarter full, and then opened the drain. The whirlpool appeared almost immediately and she clapped her hands, bouncing on her feet, an old move from her cheerleader days. She turned, as she jumped, to see him watching her breasts bounce.

She stopped, and looked down.

"I'm a mess," she moaned. "You got me all dirty!"

"I'm a mess too," he said, grinning. "I got all dirty because of you."

"But we fixed it!" she squealed. "I can't believe I crawled under my house!"

"We did fix it," he said, smiling. "You know," he said, "The bathtub works better ... and we are both filthy ..."

The innuendo in his voice was impossible to miss. Her eyes jerked toward his. He looked right into hers.

"Could I talk you into washing my back?" he asked.

She felt flutters in her belly again. She had called him here to get naked with, but now, for some reason, she felt nervous about that.

"Would you wash mine too?" she asked, her voice almost timid.

"I'd love to," he said.

Even though she'd decided to take the plunge, so to speak, Jill had no idea how to begin. She knew she should take her clothes off, but her built in modesty, while it allowed her to expose some of her skin, made it very difficult for her to just take her clothes off in front of him. She stood there, uncertainly.

Bobby had no such qualms, but he knew she was nervous. He had seen the desperation in her earlier offer ... her display of sexuality. He had decided he might be able to meet her needs, and he liked her. A lot of women would have flatly refused to crawl under the house, and he thought she was pretty brave to have conquered her fears. So he didn't want to push her. He decided on something a little less provocative, though it was still a step forward.

"I think the washer will get these stains off," he said, reaching out and touching the dirty tips of her halter top.

Jill looked down to see his fingers tracing over the tips of her breasts, and she took in a deep breath of air. It was just a natural reaction, but it made her breasts move toward his fingers. She watched as his fingers moved to the knot that held the halter top together in the front, and she got a little dizzy as she watched that knot come undone. Her mind was moving much faster than his fingers and knew that, in seconds, her breasts would be bare to him. Her dizziness caused her to reach out and put her hands on his shoulders.

Bobby saw her reaction, and wanted to smile. Her hands could have gone to his, stopping him, but they hadn't.

"Let's just get this in the washer," he said softly, pulling the garment apart.

Her breasts fell free. They were very white, with areolas that were only a tad darker than the surrounding white flesh. Her nipples were only a shade darker than that. Had he been standing twenty feet away, they would have been invisible. He stood there for a few seconds, watching her nipples begin to push outward.

"Beautiful," he sighed.

He looked up and found she was staring at them too. As if she could sense where he was looking, her eyes came up to his. There was a mixture of both passion and fear there. He didn't touch her bare breasts.

"Let's get those shorts in the same load," he said. "My clothes too."

He started working on his own clothes, pulling his shirt off. He knew, by now, that his chest was impressive to many women, and he tightened the muscles there in a little display of masculinity. She stared at those muscles and her breath, which she had been holding, came out in a rush. He was in even better shape than Mark had been, the first time she’d seen his naked chest. She'd had to remove her hands from his shoulders, when he stepped back to remove his shirt, and her feet made little steps, to retain her balance. She still felt light-headed.

When he undid his shorts, and began to push them down, her hands fluttered to her own. Her instinct, somehow, was not to let him get ahead of her. Her own body's natural rhythms took over then as she gave her hips a little wiggle, to get her tight shorts past them.

They stood, a yard apart, each dressed in only underwear that covered their loins.

"Why don't you start these," he said, bending over to pick up his own clothing, and her halter top. She was still standing in her shorts. "I'll get the tub filled."

"Okay," she gasped, taking them from him and covering her breasts with the wad of clothing. She stepped out of her shorts and bent to get them. When she stood up, he was bent over the tub, working the faucets. His tight ass was bare. She backed up, toward the door as he stood up.

"Wait," he said softly. "You may as well do these too."

He reached to pick up his briefs from the floor. When he stood up she was holding her breath again. She didn't know whether to be relieved, or unhappy that his manhood hung limp between his legs. She decided to be relieved, because even flaccid, his penis was impressive. If it got hard ... when it got hard ... she knew she was going to make noises and was already blushing because of it. She averted her eyes. Her arms held the clothing to her body and he had to hook his underwear under a finger.

"Okay," he said.

She had no memory of walking to the utility room and opening the washer. She realized she was just standing there, and let the clothes all fall into the washer in a bunch. She had to move them around, and putting soap in was just a habitual thing she didn't have to think about. It wasn't until she had set the timer and turned the machine on that she realized she still had panties on. She took them off and threw them on top of the load.

She remembered every step of the journey back to the bathroom. She couldn't believe she was actually going there. He was naked in there, and she was naked too. Her plan for revenge had flown out the window when she saw his naked chest. She couldn't fathom why she was doing this, other than she felt a need ... a drive ... to be in there with him. It was impossible to accept that they might make love. In her entire life she had made love with only Mark, and she couldn't picture herself with any other man.

Thinking of Mark brought some control back, as anger resurfaced. Mark was why she had decided to do this in the first place. Her step steadied, and lengthened a bit. She realized she had been creeping toward the bathroom, stealthily, and walked more normally.

He was already in the tub, already under water, leaning back, with his eyes closed. His head rolled toward her.

"I made it hot. I hope it's not too hot for you."

With his head sideways, it was impossible to tell what he was looking at, but she flushed anyway. She was completely naked in front of him. She resisted the urge to cover herself with her hands, and went to feel the water.

"It is hot," she said, her voice rough and dry.

"Just take your time getting in," he said. "It's not so bad that way."

Just getting in the tub took every bit of willpower that she had. First she had to decide whether to get in facing him, or the faucet. She realized facing him would mean hanging her breasts right in front of his face and, for that reason, chose the other. Then, as she lifted a foot to step between his legs, she realized she was exposing her most secret place to him. She felt like she was doing that intentionally, wantonly, even though she couldn't help but do it.

Bobby watched as her leg lifted, and her sex was exposed. Her pussy lips were closed tightly, and almost white, as if they were straining against each other. Her vulva did not protrude at all and, other than a crease in the skin, there was nothing that would make even a small bump in the crotch of her panties, if they were pulled tightly against her there.

She stood sideways to him. If she sat down ... and she either had to do that or get back out ... his legs would press against her hips, and her backside would press against his ... crotch.

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to sit. Her whole body was tense and she winced as she sat too quickly and the hot water hurt a bit.

"It will be more comfortable if you lean back," he said, his fingers on her shoulders, pulling gently.

As if in slow motion, her upper body tilted, backwards, an inch at a time, until her shoulder blades impacted his chest. The hot water came up over her breasts as that happened. Suddenly, whether it was the heat, or because she had been tense for so long and just couldn't stay tense any longer, she relaxed against him. She realized she couldn't feel his penis against her, and couldn't decide whether that was good, or bad.

"Feels good to just soak," he sighed, his hands on the outside of her elbows.

"Yeah," she sighed in response, as she realized he was right. Leaning back against him, instead of the cold, hard tub, really was nice.

"Feels nice to have you against me too," he said.

His skin was slippery in the water, and she couldn't help moving sideways an inch, and then back, to slide over that skin.

"Yeah," she sighed again.

They sat there for minutes, just sitting there, touching each other. Every minute his hands stayed on her elbows, she got more relaxed. She had expected those hands to move and grope ... to be demanding ... to try to take control of her body. But they didn't, and her fear slowly leached out of her, until she felt like she could go to sleep. By fractions of an inch, her neck muscles relaxed, letting her head go back, until it rested on his chest, just below his shoulder.

"I could go to sleep," she murmured.

"If you do, we'll wrinkle up like prunes," he said.

The way he said that suggested that she had a choice. She could go to sleep, if she wanted to. Sex was not required. She suddenly understood that he was saying that ... depending on her wishes ... all they really were doing was ... taking a bath.

Her fear left her completely, and was slowly replaced by something else. She concentrated on the feel of his flesh against her back. The butterflies came back to her stomach. Mark had never done this with her ... never just sat and relaxed in a tub of hot water. He had always been demanding, telling her what to do, and how to do it. She realized her hands were lying on his legs, just barely below his knees. She stroked his flesh with her fingertips.

As if that gave him permission, his own fingertips slid up her arms to her shoulders, and his right hand slid across her upper chest, as if he were gently washing the dirt from there. Again, she expected his hands to move to her breasts, and she tensed a little, but, instead, both hands slid back down her arms, to the insides, as if he were simply washing them, coming around to slide back up the outsides of her arms, and back to her upper chest.

"I can't reach your back," he said into her ear.

"My back isn't really dirty," she sighed.

"Soap?" he asked.

The soap dish was on the wall, and she lifted her right hand from his leg and reached for the bar. His hands came up in front of her and took it, creating lather, before he put the bar back in her hand. He soaped her upper chest, and the part of her shoulders he could reach. She refused to lift her head, making it impossible for him to do anything else but explore other areas of her body he hadn't touched yet. As his hands slid down from her upper chest, she took in a big breath of air and arched her back, unable to stifle a moan as he finally touched her breasts. His hands slid over them, though, not fondling them, but going to her stomach, and her breath whooshed out. His fingertips just grazed her pubic hair, and came back up.

She wiggled against him. He hadn't gone far enough. Her fear had been replaced by a need to be touched ... and he wasn't touching her!

"Ohhhhh," she moaned, frustrated.

"What's wrong?" he asked in her ear.

She shivered at his hot breath on her ear.

"You're teasing me," she sighed.

"Me?" he asked. She could hear the grin in his voice, and see it on his face, in her mind's eye.

"Yes, and you know it," she said more firmly.

"You thought I'd do this," he said, cupping her breasts and squeezing them.

"Yes!" she said, again firmly.

"And maybe this?" he asked, his fingers finding her nipples and squeezing them.

Streaks of pleasure shot from her nipples straight to her pussy, and she wiggled against his chest.

"Yeaaaaahhhhh," she groaned, the word extended.

"The problem is," he said, moving his hands over her breasts in circles, "it makes the soap go away, because my hands are under water." He squeezed her nipples, and his fingers didn’t slip off of them.

"You're seducing me," she moaned.

"I thought you were the one seducing me," he said, laughter in his voice.

"Just don't stop," she said, strength in her voice.

Her passion built as he continued to tease her, stroking her here, and there, but never quite making it into a real petting session. Finally she sat up, and let him wash her back. Then they turned around, and she washed as much of him as she could reach. She tried to reach around him to get to his penis, but he kept leaning forward, until she ordered him to stand.

"I will," he said, "but you may not like what you see."

She didn't understand until he stood, and then turned around to present her with his salute to her desirability.

It took her breath away. It was magnificent. She'd never seen one that was uncut, and it looked so different to her that it was like she was seeing a penis for the very first time. She heard something and realized it was a sound issuing from her own throat. She remembered her earlier thought and almost grinned. Her fear was gone, now, and the thing she'd been trying to feel was right there. She almost grinned again as she wished Mark was here. This thing would drive him insane, both because it was hard because of her, and because it made Mark's look like a little boy's wee-wee. She reached up a soapy hand and gripped it.

"Why wouldn't I like this?" she whispered.

She was delighted when she moved her hand, and the skin on his prick moved with it, slowly exposing the head. It looked much more like a penis then, and she felt an almost cramp in her loins at the thought of this long, hard thing pressing into her.

She wanted it to press into her now, and not because it would make Mark mad. She wanted to feel this thing in her because she knew, just by looking at it, that it would go deeper than Mark's, and spread her wider than Mark's, and make her feel wonderful. She looked up at him, looking down at her.

"I need this," she said.

"Why?" he asked.

She wanted to shout at him, but didn't.

"I'm horny!" she said.

"All right," he answered.

Her eyes told him she was elated. She abandoned him, and rose to get out of the tub.

"Wait!" he ordered.

She froze, a sudden fear in her that he was going to withdraw.

"Your face," he said gently, reaching to rub at muddy smears. He stooped to cup water in one hand, and rose to dab at her face with a thumb dipped in the tiny reservoir in his hand.

She felt a rush of relief, that was replaced by shock as he suddenly pulled her to him and kissed her. His kiss was urgent and hungry, and his lips devoured hers. Within seconds their tongues were dueling and her wet body was crushed in his arms. Never had she felt such power as there was in his arms, and yet, she felt no fear. Her lust flamed and she rubbed her breasts against his chest, thrusting her pussy against his balls. She felt his erection pressed into her belly.

She couldn't stand it any longer, and pushed him back, almost slipping as she lunged to get out of the tub. His strong hand on her elbow saved her, and she danced while he stepped out.

She took his hand and literally ran to her bedroom, flopping on the bed, her legs open in welcome to him. She expected to be covered by his body ... wanted to be crushed under him, but, again, he did something she didn't expect. He did get on the bed, but he stayed on all fours and dipped his head between her legs.

This was something else Mark had never done ... would never have considered doing, and the shock of his tongue, slithering between lips that were no longer white and tight, but which had become swollen and pink, caused her to freeze, every muscle in her body tense. Her hips loosened first, letting her butt sink into the bed, and then her legs came alive as they drew her heels up, and her knees fell apart. Then muscles tightened again as she thrust her loins up into his face instinctively, lifting her butt off the bed as her breath rushed out in a delighted, "Awwwwwwww."

When her butt came back down, it landed on his hands, and she realized at that second that she was helpless, as his hands forced her pussy more tightly against his mouth. Her body jerked, as if it was being electrocuted, and her head flopped back and forth, as his teeth found her clit and bit gently.

Her scream of delight was short, because all her breath rushed out in one explosive burst. She was trying to drag in another breath of air when he moved, with lighting speed, pressed his prick against her labia, and began filling her as she had never been filled before.

Now her mind couldn't keep up with the sensations flooding her body. There was actually some pain as she was stretched, but the overwhelming ecstasy of being stuffed full of prick was a much stronger sensation. Then her clit chimed in, as his length scraped against it. All the emotion that had raged in her for a week gathered and expressed itself as an orgasm, as the tip of his prick ground into her cervix, and his lips came down on hers.

Both of them were on a razor's edge of passion and emotion. That she had an orgasm, just by being penetrated, was proof that she really did have a desperate need to feel loved. For Bobby, the memory of staring at her picture, of meeting the woman he had had so many fantasies about, of feeling her relax against him in the tub, and of her obvious need, caused a premature ejaculation as soon as he was fully embedded in her.

Her agonized groan of release was in harmony with his own desperate groan, as he tried not to flush her full of semen, because he didn't want it to end so quickly. Then, when he couldn't stop it, and gave up, his repetitive grunts, as his prick lurched again and again, punctuated his repetitive thrusts as, with each spurt, he powered forward, trying to bury himself even deeper in her.

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