The Making of a Gigolo (12) - Janet Griswold

by Lubrican

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

Chapter Six

By March, the twins had been out on enough dates to suggest that they were thoroughly interested in boys now. The problem was that they always went out together on these dates. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem. Most parents (or older brothers) would actually prefer that a young, inexperienced girl be with her sister on a date. What could be better, in terms of being chaperoned? What made it a problem was that neither Bobby nor Mirriam understood the intricacies of the twin relationship, which meant there was no chaperoning of any kind going on.

By March, the twins were experts at getting Chuck off. If he closed his eyes, he could tell which girl had her fist around his prick, by the way she stroked him. Matilda's grip was always tighter, and faster. Betty gripped him more loosely, but her hand always went up and onto the knob, like she was petting it, in the process of jerking him off.

Both techniques were eminently successful.

On this particular night Chuck learned that while he was getting his rocks off every time they went out, which was just fine with him, the girls were a little less satisfied with things. That turned out to be a product of familiarization with the process of getting Chuck to spurt. It was fun, but, after a while, they knew what to expect.

Not only that, his repeated gasps, moans and gyrations, as he shot his spunk up into the air, suggested that their own orgasms, had when they got home and were in the privacy of their own room, could be a lot stronger than they were, even when they helped each other get there. They had talked about their pact, and had decided it was time to let it come to term. After all ... they were both there.

Chuck learned this when Matilda asked him a question.

"Chuck," she said, as she jerked her strangling hand along his hot, stiff rod. "Do you love us?"

What man, in that situation, is stupid enough to say "Gee, I don't really know. This love stuff is still a little vague to me."

"Yes!" he gasped, feeling his balls begin to gather themselves for the finale.

She let him spurt before she pursued, further, the goal of the twins for that particular night. Getting him to cum was part of that goal.

Betty took over, and milked him dry, while Matilda dangled a stiff nipple in his gasping face.

"Do you love us enough to do exactly what we tell you to do, and nothing more?"

"Sure," he panted.

Then his world got a lot wilder as the twins stood, and slipped off their lower clothing, something they had never done.

Standing naked in front of him, Matilda explained.

"We want you to get us off, like we get you off," she said. "But you can only touch us with your fingers ... nothing else! Got it?"

Chuck, to be fair, wasn't quite all there at that moment. Four naked breasts was like some drug. Call it Marijuana. When two naked pussies were added to that, along with the knowledge that he got to play with those two naked pussies, it was more like mainlining heroin.

He didn't collapse and die, though. Sex isn't a deadly drug. Not at his age.

Which is how Chuck ended up with the middle finger of his left hand hooked in Matilda's pussy, and the middle finger of his right hand hooked in Betty's pussy, while both young women bucked and groaned, naked, on either side of him.

He was the meat in a very interesting sandwich. Matilda's plan to make him squirt, and therefore render him harmless, as far as his penis went, was overly optimistic. Being a healthy young man, and being unfamiliar with either pussy he was playing with, he got hard again long before he got either of his girlfriends off.

There were a lot of discoveries that evening. Chuck's discovery was that just putting your finger in a girl doesn't guarantee anything at all. He expected the girls to explode in ecstasy, and demand to be fucked.

That was not to be.

The girls discovered that simply having a boy's finger in your pussy didn't mean it would end up the same way as when you put your own finger in your pussy. What he was doing felt good, but it wasn't quite right. Or at least effective. They both discovered that technique really matters.

Another thing the girls discovered was that Chuck's finger, bigger than their own, felt ever so much better than their own slim digits. It was impossible to ignore the fact that his prick was bigger ... and longer ... than his finger. If some's good, and more's better ... too much should be just right.

In this case, "some" was their finger, "more" was his finger, and "too much" ... well, isn't it obvious to you too?

Had Chuck known what each girl was thinking, he quite likely could have gotten his prick in them that night. His machinations got them very hot, but did not bring the kind of relief they just knew was waiting for them ... somewhere ... just over the horizon.

Chuck, however, was a bit distracted, by two girls trying to teach him how to properly fingerfuck a woman. That's a little like carrying on two conversations about how to do something, and each person is trying to get you to do this thing in a slightly different fashion.

In the end, Chuck had to handle them one at a time. Matilda got frustrated first, because he just didn't seem to be listening to her. He was also right handed, but none of them thought of that. Then, he had to get on the other side of Betty, to be able to use his right hand, to do what she was insisting he do.

Betty's subsequent orgasm, which finally roared out of the dark into her body, and which she felt had been well earned, convinced Matilda that one-on-one was the best way to go. While Betty lay there trembling and gasping, Matilda squirmed between Chuck and her sister, threw her legs open, and went in pursuit of her own orgasm.

Had the girls taken the time to reflect on things, they might have come to the conclusion that, it being their first time and all, they should not have had such high expectations when they launched this new chapter of their relationship with Chuck. What actually happened, though, was that they had to work so hard to get what they had gone after, that they were a little disappointed.

Not that they blamed Chuck. After Matilda got him to move his finger correctly, and had her own very good, but not quite as strong as anticipated, orgasm, they also learned how quickly a young man can recover. He was obviously trying hard, and was obviously very interested in the proceedings.

In gratitude for what they had put him through, they did him again.

That was when both girls, looking at the nice, long, hard thing in their hands, realized that too much might be just right.

Again, if they'd stopped to think about it, they might have realized that they were out of control. They had gone from not being much interested in boys at all, to wanting to fuck one, in a very short time, all things considered. Their arrival at the point of being interested in males ... as males ... had been somewhat retarded. But, as most youngsters discover, once the interest is established, things seem to take off rather quickly after that.

Of course, the immediate problem was ... they had never been put on the pill, like their older sisters. They were well aware of the dangers of that spurting prick. But, like 99.9% of all teenage girls, they weren't about to go to their mother and say something like, "Hey Mamma, remember when you put all the others on the pill? Well it's our turn." You just didn't do that. You didn't want Mamma to know that you needed the pill. That was sure to cause ... complications.

They didn't tell Chuck about all this, of course. But they talked about it later that night in their room. They flipped for it. Matilda lost, which was why, the next day, she was the one who had to sneak into the men's bathroom at the Apco gas station on the highway out of town, and figure out how to feed the machine the coins that would get them two extra sensitive, wildly colored, ribbed prophylactics.

It was cold, but not bitterly so. There had been eight inches of snow during the night, and Bobby had shown up asking Constance if she wanted to go sledding.

"We're grown up, silly," she laughed.

"That doesn't mean we can't go sledding," he said.

She ended up going with him, muttering about how crazy she was, and how juvenile he was acting.

The "sled" turned out to be the inner tube from a big rig truck, almost five feet in diameter, and totally un-steerable. The first time down the hill, she was scared, so he simply sat in the middle of the tube, and pulled her down on his lap, like he was a chair. Both were bundled up, so his hands on her chest, holding her against him, were neither sensual nor particularly noticeable, especially since, as he jerked her onto his lap and put his hands on her breasts, her momentum started them down the hill.

That spinning, bumpy ride, with Constance screaming like she was on a ten story roller coaster, left her laughing. It also convinced her he was right. You were never too old to do this.

She went down once by herself, lying on the tube. She decided that wasn't as much fun. Part of that decision was because she hit a bump and flew three feet in the air, only landing half on the tube when she came down. She bounced sideways and rolled in the snow, which seemed to seep into every part of her clothing. Then she had to go chase the tube and drag it back up the hill. When they went together, she didn't fall off and Bobby pulled it back up.

So, from then on, she rode him while he rode the tube, whether he was sitting in it, and she sat in his lap, or he was lying on it, and she was lying on his back.

An hour later, the snow on the hill had been packed down and a bump they hit caused them both to go flying. They rolled over and over, snow flying everywhere, getting into the necks of their coats, and coating sweaty faces. Bobby lay there, arms flung wide, on his back.

Constance crawled over to him, worried at first, but then she saw the plumes of his breath rising from his face. Her face hovered over his, as she checked ... just in case.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Gotcha!" he yelled, reaching for her head. He pulled her down for a quick, very cold kiss on the lips, which she did not resist in any way. Then he let her go and her face went back to where it had been, seeming to hang in space over his.

"I love you," she said softly.

"I know," he said, smiling.

"I always have," she said.

"I know," he said again.

"I still miss him," she said, staring down at Bobby.

"I know that too," he said, still smiling. "You'll always miss him."

"Thank you," she said, leaving the details of what she was thanking him for somewhat amorphous.

"You're welcome," he said, knowing that it didn't matter what she meant.

"I'm cold," she said.

"Hot chocolate!" he barked. "We need hot chocolate!"

They spent another hour at her house, drinking hot chocolate, and letting the warmth of the house seep into cold flesh. A lot of it was spent in silence.

Then he left.

Janet opened the door with a beaming smile.

"You want to know something?" she asked.

"Sure," he said, taking his jacket off.

"I was thinking about you today," she said, moving to slide her arms around him, and press herself up against him.

"Well, you asked me to come over today, so that's not so strange," he commented, kissing her forehead.

"That's not what I meant," she said, rubbing her breasts against his chest. "What I meant was that now, when I think about you, I don't get nervous anymore."

"I'm glad to know I don't terrify you," he grinned.

"I'm serious, Bobby!" she said, trying to drive one sculpted fingernail into his side. Her finger bent, and he didn't react at all. "I've been talking to the men who come into the IGA."

"Of course you do," he said, sliding his hands over her back. "You're the manager. You have to talk to customers."

"Not like that," she said, impatiently. "Before I just answered their questions, or dealt with their complaints. Now I chat with them. It's not so scary anymore."

"Not all men are bastards," said Bobby. "A lot are, but not all."

"Oh thanks," she sighed. "I was feeling better about men, and now you remind me that a whole bunch of them are bastards."

"Look," said Bobby. "You can be more afraid of men than you should be, and you can be not afraid enough. Those are the extremes. What you need to do is find the middle ground, where you aren't afraid, but are still careful." He kissed her lips more quickly than she wanted him to. "Now, is that all? I have things to do, you know."

"No that is not all!" she said, holding him more tightly. "And you know it, buster!"

"Oh, I see," he said, grinning. "You want me to help you remember that some men are bastards."

He stooped, suddenly, and put his shoulder in her stomach. She yelped as he stood, and she was suddenly draped over his shoulder. He took her to her bedroom, as she kicked feebly, trying to get air into her lungs. He threw her on the bed, and she bounced as his hands went to the waistband of her jeans.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, her eyes showing concern.

"I'm showing you a man can be impatient," he said.

"I know about that already!" she said, kicking at him. "I don't like this, Bobby!"

He got her jeans open, and the zipper down, and pulled them down off her hips.

"Bobby!" she squealed.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "You know that."

"But you're being so rough!" she complained.

"This is rough," he said, rolling her halfway over and smacking her butt with one hand.

"Ow!" she yelled.

"This is impatient," he said, rolling her back and covering her body with his as he kissed her.

This kiss was not short. It wasn't rough either. It just told her, in no uncertain terms, that she was going to get fucked.

Then he stopped doing that, and pulled her panties off, as she tried to keep them on.

"Bobby! My ex-husbands used to act like this!" she complained.

He won the battle when she decided not to let her panties be ripped to shreds, and let go of them.

"Did they act like this?" he asked, forcing her knees apart. His face dove and he licked and sucked her sex.

"Ohhhhh," she moaned, relaxing a little as she felt his tongue digging between her pussy lips. "Noooo, they never did that!"

He lifted his face.

"I want you, Janet. I need you. I've been thinking about doing this for hours. I'm not going to stop. Did you get on the pill yet?"

"No!" she gasped, her fingers moving toward his head, intent on pulling his face back between her legs.

"Then I hope you're safe, 'cause I'm going to fuck you for hours."

Then his face was back between her legs, and she was humping her pussy up against it. She had no idea how he did it, but a few minutes later he had no pants on. His shirt and her top were still on as he crawled up and filled her with thick, hot prick.

This was not the gentle, calm Bobby, who lay there under her. But ... he wasn't violent either. Not really. Not in the same sense that her ex-husbands had been. And he didn't just plug in, squirt and then go drink beer either. When she felt herself being filled, she was just beginning to warm up. It felt wonderful, but he was being so rough that she was still a little nervous.

That fled as he stroked her patiently, and she caught fire. He kept going until she had an orgasm, grinding against her and kissing her while that electrified her body.

Then he got off of her, and his fingers worked at the buttons of her shirt.

"I couldn't wait," he panted. "I should have taken your shirt off. Now I can play with those beautiful breasts."

He took his own shirt off too, and sucked her nipples until she squirmed, before sliding into her again. He let her have another orgasm, and then flushed her full of hot spunk.

Twenty minutes later he took her from behind. He claimed she owed him an orgasm, because she'd had three and he'd only had one. She wiggled her butt at him as he squirted in her again.

Then, after an hour of cuddling, he let her be on top.

Chuck was hard when he arrived at the farm to pick up the twins. He'd been waiting all week to get a chance to be with them again. He'd planned in great detail exactly how he was going to probe their naked pussies with his fingers, and rub at their young clitties. He had dreams of getting them so worked up ... of being so good at getting them off ... that they'd just flop back and demand to be fucked. Such are the dreams of young men. Most young men know they're dreams, and don't expect reality to be quite that good, but it's fun to dream the dream.

He was not actually prepared for the dream to come true.

"Hi," said Matilda - he was pretty sure it was Matilda - as she opened the door. "We have to do homework."

"Shit," he muttered.

"Don't curse!" snapped the girl. She leaned closer and whispered, "Cursing does not turn us on."

"Sorry," he said, already bummed out.

"You can help us do our homework," said the girl in front of him.

She pulled him into the house. He saw their mother, a nice looking woman with big breasts, who was reading in a chair and looked up at him.

"Chuck's going to help us with that project for school we've been talking about, Mamma," said the girl who had let him in.

"Okay, Betty," said the woman. "Leave the door open please."

Some maternal instincts are automatic.

"Okay, Mamma," said Betty, pulling Chuck along by his hand.

Matilda was in the bedroom Betty pulled him to and they did, in fact, leave the door open. That's because they planned on using Suzie's room for the festivities they had planned.

"I thought we were going out tonight," complained Chuck. "I don't want to do homework!"

Matilda, having lost the coin toss, and therefore having had to be the one to sneak into the men's bathroom and buy the rubbers, also won the coin toss, in a sense. She got to go first. She reached in her pocket and pulled out a foil-wrapped packet, with neon blue letters on it.

"You know what that is, Chuck?" she asked, with a gleam in her eye.

He looked, and then swallowed. "Yes," he whispered.

"Do you still want to leave?"

"I don't know," said Chuck, carefully. He was a young man who had also dreamed of this moment, but that dream hadn't quite gone along lines like these. A man, stumbling through a dark forest, who suddenly comes upon a pile of gold coins, has to look two ... maybe three times, to make sure they're real.

"What do you mean you don't know?" asked Matilda, visibly upset.

Chuck looked around, secretively. "Come on, Matilda," he said. "Last time, all I got to do was just touch you a little. You might be playing with me."

"We're not playing with you," said Matilda, her voice low, and sounding dangerous somehow. "We planned on making this a very special night, Chuck."

Chuck blinked.

"Here?" he said, his voice broadcasting his incredulity. "We can't do that here! Your mother's right down there!" He pointed.

"You let us worry about Mamma," said Matilda. "Do you still want to leave?" The way she asked the question made it perfectly clear that he would never be asked to stay again ... or use what was still in her hand ... should he decide to leave.

Chuck's mind whirled. He equivocated, by falling back on a time-tested line intended to improve her mood. "You know I love you, baby," he said. He remembered there were two of them, and quickly looked at Betty. "You too, honey," he added.

Both girls were horny, which might explain why, even though they heard that piece-of-shit line come out of his mouth, they ignored it. They would think about that later ... years later, even, but for now, they ignored it.

"Good," said Matilda, walking past him. "I'm first. Follow me."

He did, and they went to another room. She left the lights off, and closed the door behind them. His eyes adjusted slowly, and light coming in the windows from the yard light his car was parked under began to let him see, as Matilda started to get undressed.

"Where's your brother?" asked Chuck, carefully. He had no desire to run afoul of Bobby Dalton, who looked like what Chuck would envision Paul Bunyan to look like.

"He's not here," said Matilda. "Aren't you going to get undressed?"

"What's Betty doing?" he asked. He was used to having both girls around during times like this.

"She's keeping Mamma from wondering where you and I are, but we don't have all night!" hissed Matilda.

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