The Accidental Gigolo Pt. 02

"Uh, thanks," I said.

"You bet," he laughed.

Pam was glowering once again.

Chris was done now, of course, and had moved over near the sinks. I doubted he had any intention of using one, but that was where he was standing.

"So what are you doin' here, dude?" he asked.

"Um, actually stuff for Ms. Lee," I said, watching Pam's eyebrows widen in surprise. "She wants to try some software feedback stuff for class, and my mom — she's friends with my mom — suggested she ask me to help."

"Shit, man, I knew she was here somewhere. You ain't gonna tell her about the palace, are you?"

"Not a word," I said. "Nothin' leaves this room, Chris."

"Thank, dude, I'll get Jack to burn you a disk. So you mean Pammy's like been to your house?"

"Yeah, a couple of times last summer," I nodded.

"So like, what was she wearing? I bet you got some awesome views, huh?"

"No," I was grinning broadly as I looked at Pam perched on my thighs, her legs spread in front of me. "Pretty much the same as at school, in fact."

She stuck her tongue out at me.

"Bummer," Chris said. "Well, I better go. Coach is gonna be lookin' for me."

"You had Sunday practice?" I asked.

"Nah, it's this community service shit. I been scrubbin' off graffiti. I just came up here to make a final check."

"Oh, yeah. The graduation requirement," I nodded. I had already completed mine.

"Shit, no," he said. "They caught me paintin' it, so they're makin' me clean it off."

I smiled and looked up at Pam. She was angrily mouthing the words "shut up" to me. I smiled and mouthed back, "bite me."

"See ya dude," Chris laughed. We heard the door bang open and then close behind him.

"What the fuck were you doing?" Pam hissed.

"Just chattin' with the man," I smiled. "Guess we better head back to the palace, huh?"

She blushed again as she got off me, and I pulled up my pants. I quickly uncuffed her and headed for the door.

"Can I have my thong back, please?" she whispered.

"Later," I said. "Let me make sure everyone's gone first."

Leaving her there, I picked up my bag and walked down to the window at the end of the hall, which had a nice view of the parking lot. I waited five minutes while the coach and a couple of other fuckups got into the only other cars in the lot, finally leaving Pam's Trans Am all alone. I walked back to the bathroom and pushed open the door.

"Let's go," I yelled in.

"Give me my clothes!" she yelled back.

"I'll be at the palace! There's nobody else in the school right now, but I can't guarantee they won't arrive later, you know."

I was sitting at her desk when she finally slipped into the room. She had left her keys in her pants, of course, and her pants were in my book bag with all her other clothes. So I had taken the liberty of unlocking her desk drawer. She glared at me as I pretended to inspect the vibrator.

"God damn you, Terry," she said, standing there with her legs spread and her hands on her hips. She looked absolutely nothing like the authority figure she would have been if she had given me that look two weeks ago. Of course, she would have been clothed two weeks ago.

"So, which is it?" I asked, looking at the pink initials on the vibrator's base, "the pounding one or the pleasing one?"

"Terry, give me that," she advanced on me sternly with her left hand out.

"I intend to," I said, holding it out of her reach. That stopped her short just as she reached the corner of the desk. Her outstretched hand dropped to rest on the desk, and her other hand appeared to clutch at her thigh. I smiled as I watched her rising and falling chest attest to the increased rapidity of her breathing.

"You like that idea, don't you?" I asked her.

"I, um," she stammered.

I flicked it on, and the effect was astonishing. Not on the vibrator, of course. The vibrator just buzzed a little in my hand. But Pam's knees almost buckled. The muscles of her left arm tightened as she sagged against the desk.

"Terry," she whimpered.

I turned it off again.

"Ms. Lee?"

"Terry, oh, fuck! You little bastard," she said when I turned it off again.

This was not only incredibly surprising, it was also a lot of fun. Not to mention incredibly erotic. I mean, God, this woman was getting off on the sound alone. Evidently she had been doing a lot of practicing. I held it up in front of me again.

"Well?" I asked. "The initials?"

"They're mine," she sighed. "Pamela Piper Post. Post is my maiden name."

"So you have a monogrammed vibrator?"

"Yes."

"A gift, I assume."

Her silence was answer enough.

"From?" I prompted her.

She bit her lip.

"Do you remember the caption of that picture on my phone? An arrangement? A little tit for tat? Or I can just turn this on again. Kind of like that Pavlov guy, you know?"

"Bastard. It was Maryanne Nelson."

"Ms. Nelson gave you a vibrator?"

Seriously? Could this get any better?

"But you were married when you started teaching here," I pointed out as I scratched my chin. "So the only reason she would use your maiden name is if..."

"I was a student here. Class of 1994. She was my French teacher. Are you happy now, you little — Terry!"

"So I guess you must have been one of her go-go girls," I turned it off again. "Or more likely one of her cum-cum girls, huh?

"So this part obviously goes in — there," I nodded toward her pubic mound. "And this little guy does what?"

I flicked the smaller extension with my finger and looked over to see Pam redden once again.

"Ms. Lee?"

"Stimulates my..." she trailed off.

"Your?"

"My clit, you bastard."

"Well, gosh, you know I'm sorry our zucchini didn't have one of these last week for you. On the other hand, you did seem to like him anyway, didn't you?"

"Terry," she whined. The hand that had been on her thigh was slipping around to her front.

"Before you play with yourself," I stopped her, "I think Mr. Vibrator deserves what Mr. Zucchini got, don't you?"

I held it in my lap, and after the tiniest of delays she bent at the waist and began to blow "me." The clit stimulator poked her in the jaw on her first trip down, so I turned it to one side. On her next trip down, I turned it on, and I swear she came right then and there. She grabbed at my pants with both hands, and her body trembled as she moaned and did her best to breathe through her nose. Finally, she pulled herself off with a loud gasp. I grabbed hold of her hair and held her in place as I slipped out of the chair.

"You stay right there," I smiled. "I'm just gonna lock the door and lower the blind on this window."

"Oh, God," her head started to come up. I pushed it back down.

"Stay," I said again. "Don't make me handcuff you to the desk, Pammy."

She was there when I returned, her hands resting on her chair, her ass still pointed toward the door, her long legs still slightly spread. I pulled off my own clothes and moved to stand directly behind her.

"I guess now that Mr. Vibrator's had his blowjob, I suppose you're going to want to fuck him."

"I'd rather fuck somebody else," she said softly, wiggling her ass at me.

"I don't know," I said. "Mr. Somebody Else hasn't had his blowjob yet. I think we should finish taking care of Mr. Vibrator first."

I slowly pushed it inside, listening to Pam moan. I pulled it almost all the way out, and pushed it in again. I pulled it completely out, watching how her ass followed it ever so briefly before accepting that it was finally gone. And then I gave her something else. It actually felt pretty good to know that I was longer and thicker than her vibrator.

"Terry!" she squawked, pushing herself erect as she leaned on the desk.

"Yeah, Mr. Somebody Else decided to do without his blowjob for the moment. Here."

I put the vibrator on the desk in front of her and got down to business.

"Knock yourself out, lady."

She groaned as I started fucking her in earnest, but she wasn't so far gone that she didn't pick up the little guy, flick the switch, and reach down to touch him to her clit. I could feel the vibrations as I stroked her, an unusually pleasant sensation that had me on the verge of climaxing within less than a minute. Fortunately, Pam herself was on the verge of climaxing, and as soon as she felt me start to shoot deep inside of her, she dropped the vibrator on the desk and simply spread herself forward as she started to shake.

"Oh, God, Terry. Oh, God. Oooooh!"

That's right, my little vibrator pal, let's see you do that to her.

We remained in place for another minute or so, both of us enjoying the delightful little aftershocks that Pam "suffered" from after sex. Finally, I pulled out and reclaimed my seat.

"Now it's my turn," I smiled.

She still hadn't moved yet, so she just looked back at me over her shoulder.

"One more," she whispered. She closed her eyes one last time and shuddered again. "Oh, yes.

"Now it's your turn," she dropped to her knees in front of me. "Oh, boy, is it your turn. I can't believe how turned on I am by this, Terry."

She was talking now in between long licks of my shaft.

"Your big cock, the school, the handcuffs, even that fucking little Chris Cannon."

"Actually, he is kinda little," I nodded. "I've seen him in the locker room. So's Jack, for that matter. Maybe Sherry herself will pay me a visit."

"You don't need Sherry," she smiled at me.

"True," I said. "I have you."

And Laura, I thought.

"And when I'm nice and hard again, we're gonna get dressed," I told her.

Her face fell.

"And then we're gonna check the parking lot, and if there's nobody in it, I'm going to take you down to the teacher's lounge and handcuff you to the big ol' couch that's supposed to be in there."

Pam smiled at me and pulled her mouth off my cock one last time.

"You mean the couch where Maryanne and I sixty-nined two weeks ago during the football game?" she teased me before returning to her task.

That was enough. I was ready. Apparently I was just another potential subject for one of Mr. Pavlov's experiments.

Chapter 7: The Accidental Casanova

With the last two weekends under my belt, I was actually quite disappointed with the way that this one was starting out. My plan to visit Laura and trim her bushes was scotched when her son announced that he was coming home from college for the weekend. My backup plan fell through, too, when Pam informed me that she and Maryanne Nelson had a day of shopping planned. She laughed at my invitation to bring Maryanne; a vibrator was apparently as close to a naked man as Ms. Nelson was willing to get.

Quel dommage, as we say in Français.

It was a particular dommage since Pam and I hadn't been able to finish our little schooling session. There was another car in the parking lot when I went to look, and it turned out to belong to Mrs. Carson, the ogre who worked in the office that was right next to the faculty lounge. After we learned that, we decided to just call it quits for the afternoon, because I knew that my mother would be calling Pam soon to find out where I was, and Pam's house would be the first place she would start looking. To top if off, Laura wasn't even home when I stopped by to drop her handcuffs off, so I left them in the garage, and left a message for her on her answering machine.

And it was even more of a dommage because I had the house all to myself for the whole fucking weekend, and for the rest of the week as well for that matter. Dad was upstate, preparing for some big trial. Mom had left on Saturday morning to attend a week-long district attorneys' seminar. It didn't officially start until Monday, but she wanted to get there early to network and to polish the talk she had to give, "A Paradigm for Pedophile Prosecutions." She was very excited by it. I decided to wait until it came out on DVD.

By noon on Saturday, without any of my playmates available, I had cleaned the house and finished the laundry. This weekend's college football games were unusually boring, and by two o'clock, I was fast asleep in front of the television in the den. The first thing that penetrated my consciousness was sound. It wasn't enough to wake me, but I was able to piece together later the sounds of the sliding door to the patio being pulled open and slammed shut, and of a voice muttering, "Old and saggy? Old and saggy? I'll show her fucking old and saggy!"

It was at that point that I opened blinked open my eyes, filling my brain with the vision of Natalie Winston as she stepped in front of the television and yanked open her shirt to reveal a floral bra whose lacy half cups were nearly filled to overflowing.

"Do these look old and saggy to you?" she demanded. "Oh, shit, Terry! Oh, God, I thought your mother was here all alone this weekend."

She yanked the sides of her shirt across her chest, but by that time I'd already shattered the American and world records for going from zero to sixty in the human male reproductive system. I was, you might say, full of myself.

"Uh, no," I finally found my voice. "She went to a conference. I'm the one who's alone this weekend. Um, sorry."

"You're sorry?" she uttered a slightly hysterical laugh. "God, I'm so embarrassed. Oh, shit, I popped the buttons. Did you see where they went?"

Was she serious? Did she actually think that I was going to spend any precious seconds looking around for buttons while she dropped to her hands and knees on the floor? If anything, this angle was even better. Her shoulder-length auburn hair was nowhere near long enough to interfere with my view of those nice, plump breasts hanging beneath her, breasts whose tips were just barely covered by fabric. Finally, she realized that I wasn't being much of a help on the button front, and looked up at me to see what I was doing instead.

"Oh, God," she sank back to a seated position and covered her face with her hands. "What next?"

I was tempted to stare at the gorgeous legs extending from the hem of her short, denim skirt, but she was sobbing, and I instinctively dropped down beside her and took her into my arms.

"It's okay," I said, pulling her into my chest. "It's okay."

"It's not okay," she sniffled. "My hus-hus-husband just ran off with some little slut from one of his classes, and she-she-she said that he probably wanted a-a-a —"

"The answer is no," I interrupted her.

"The what?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"The answer to your first question," I said, with more confidence than I felt. I swallowed hard and continued, mindful that if I screwed this up I could get slapped back into next week. "They're not old, and they're not saggy. They're wonderful. They're exquisite. They're absolutely perfect."

She shyly lifted up her face to look into my eyes, and finally managed a little smile.

"Yeah, and how many have you seen?" she teased me.

"You'd be surprised," I said in all honesty. "Your husband is an ass, and his girlfriend is a whore who'll dump him as soon as she gets her final grade. Now, how 'bout I get you a sweatshirt and a cup of tea, and you tell your neighbor what happened."

Ten minutes later, her with a cup of tea and me with a new pair of shorts, we were sitting together on the couch. She haltingly told me about catching her husband and his student the night before, and how the little slut had unerringly zeroed in on the single body part that Natalie was most sensitive about.

"So, I'm sorry," I interrupted her. "But in the interest of being open and honest here, are you serious?"

"About what?"

"About thinking that your, that your..."

"Boobs," she giggled.

"All right, that your boobs are anything less than perfect? I mean, what, you don't have any mirrors in your house?"

She giggled again.

"Well, they used to be perkier, you know, like her-her-hers, and Tad used to like to-to-to..."

I saw her through the next crying session, having armed myself while I was upstairs with a box of Kleenex.

"So where was I?" she finally asked after one last honk of the horn.

"I think you were about to confirm my already low opinion of your husband by telling me that he didn't like to play with your, um..."

"Boobs," she said again. "Don't you like that word?"

"I, uh, sure," I nodded stupidly. "But they're yours, so I didn't want to, um..."

"Insult me by calling them hooters or jugs?"

"Exactly."

"Don't worry, honey. I've heard much worse. For an English professor, Tad can be surprisingly crude."

"Okay. So he won't play with your boobs. He's an idiot."

"You're very sweet, Terry. Thanks for letting me vent like this."

"No problem."

"You know they say that men reach their sexual peak at age twenty," she shook her head, "and in his case it's been a long, quick fall from there during the last ten years."

"Seriously?" I asked. "I've only got two more years?"

"That's right, sweetie," she giggled. "Better get out there and start putting it to use before it falls off."

"Really? Shit."

"Oh, it's just a lot of crap," Natalie laughed before suddenly looking down at her lap. "But I tell you it sure feels like it's true."

"So when's a woman's?"

She tilted her head to give me a look sideways look.

"Thirty," she said slyly.

"So you're, um..." I trailed off again, something I'd done a lot of this afternoon.

"Two years short, just like you," she said. "Sorry, whenever I have a good cry, I always end up a little... Well, anyway, tell me about it."

She took another sip of tea.

"About what?"

"Your love life," she giggled. "All the teenage girls you've been boinking."

"Actually, that would be a grand total of, um, none."

"You're a virgin?" she yelped in surprise. "Oh, I'm sorry, Terry. There's nothing wrong with that. I think it's great when people wait. It's just..."

"Okay, first of all, no, I'm not a virgin. And it's just what?"

"Well, it was just hard to imagine a guy as cute as you was still a virgin," she batted her eyes at me. "See aren't I terrible? I told you a good cry makes me horny."

Well, she had started to tell me that, but she had stopped before she ever got to the horny part. I would have remembered that. I did remember the videotape, where Natalie had said I was cute. No, wait, that was Laura. But hell, if Natalie thought I was cute, too, I could live with that.

"So how many older women, then?" she interrupted my reverie.

"Two," I blurted out, ever the soul of discretion.

"Two," she raised an eyebrow. "College girls?"

The best way to end this discussion at this point would have been with a "yeah, college girls." An answer that would have been both impressive and believable. Unlike, for example, my answer.

"Uh, no, a little older."

"Get out."

"I'm serious," I said defensively.

"Men are such liars," she shook her head. "Next you're going to tell me you're this great lover who has older women pounding on your door to get you to fuck them."

My cock gave a little jump. Hearing Natalie Winston say the word "fuck" was a definite new direction in this conversation. I decided on humor.

"Hey," I said. "I'm here alone this weekend. You see any women? You hear any pounding?"

"They're probably taking their kids to the park," she said, narrowing her eyes as her voice grew more suspicious. "Then they'll take them to their fathers for weekend visitation and they'll show up here right after supper."

"Both of them, together?"

I was smiling, but my cock was doing more than jumping now. In the shorts I was wearing, my bulge was going to become obvious in a matter of —.

"Somebody likes that idea," she was looking directly at my crotch as she giggled again. "Guess you haven't had them together then, huh?"

"No," I said.

"Not yet," she answered. Her voice had taken on a softer, huskier timbre, and a deeper pitch. I shifted ever so slightly on the couch.

"Am I making you uncomfortable, Terry?"