Chapter 4

Word of Charlene's break-up with Sal spread quickly. But there was no sudden flood of interest from other boys. For one thing, examinations were starting and at Charlene's school, examinations were taken seriously.

For another thing, Sal was a popular guy in the school. No one wanted to hurt his feelings by leaping on her as soon as she'd put him off.

And finally, there was that problem which had plagued Charlene in her relations with the opposite sex for long years.

Charlene herself.

Charlene's stunning good looks and her somehow aloof aura literally scared off most of the boys her own age. To be sure, there were always guys who came up to her on the street and made blunt suggestions.

"Hey ba-BEE! How'd you like to get your pussy sucked, sweet tits?"

She ignored the man in the hardhat standing knee-deep in a street excavation and kept right on walking. Sure, there were guys that came on to her. But they always came on to her like animals.

Too bad, too; he was kind of cute.

No, what Charlene was looking for was a man. Not a fumbling, uncertain boy, not an inexperienced kid, not some muscle-headed bimbo whose most suave approach was to follow her down the street making slurping and sucking sounds -- but a man.

Like her mother's man.

Derek knows how to treat a woman right. She remembered what she'd seen through the partially opened bedroom door the week before.

Yes, like that.

She stopped into the pharmacy and picked up her prescription for birth control pills, then boarded the subway for home. She tried to push her social thoughts aside and psych herself up for the examinations to come. She had to hit the books and hit them hard.

At Charlene's school, examinations were taken seriously.

Her mother called her at five.

"Hi, Charly."

"Oh -- hi, Mom."

"What's wrong, baby, having a bad time with the books?"

She wanted to tell her mother what was really wrong. She wanted to say, No, Mom, not the books -- the boys. Too many boys, Mom, and not enough men. Not enough men with hot, knowing hands and talented, expert tongue and long, thick, hard cocks and the moves to use those cocks.

She caught herself, stopped that line of thought. What's wrong with me? I'm turning into some kind of nymphomaniac or something!

"Ahhh, you know how it is, Mom. Hate to be tied down to these dry old books." And mentally, she added: Especially when I'm sitting in such wet pants.

"Stick with it a little longer, Charly. Pretty soon it'll be vacation time. When you come back from visiting your father we'll go away for a couple of weeks."

"Sure, Mom. I'm just a little down."

"Well, I'm going to be late tonight."

"Big date with Derek, huh?"

Her mother's chuckle was low and throaty. "Getting predictable, huh?"

"You bet. But that isn't all bad. He seems like a nice guy." Meaning: He knows how to make a woman glad she's a woman.

"Um-hm. Well, don't you stay up too late with those books. You have to be fresh and alert for your tests tomorrow."

"Don't worry. Have a good time, Mom."

"Thanks, Charly."

Yes, indeed, her mother was going to get her share that night. But not Charly.

Damn!

She opened her math book and set to studying, assuring herself that she'd make up for the lost time and fun after exams.

"Time to get up, Charly!"

As always, her mother's voice was brisk and happy. Charlene opened her eyes and stretched her arms high over her head, savoring the feel of her bare breasts moving with her action.

"Are you awake, Charly?"

"Sure, Mom." She glanced over at the clock, feeling well rested and lazy.

It was nearly eight.

"Holy -- hey, Mom --"

"I let you sleep. You don't have any exams till noon today. I'm going, now. Have a good day and don't worry -- you know your stuff."

"Bye."

She got up and washed her face, then pulled on a light dressing gown. It was long and loose and feathery.

Charlene went down the stairs to the kitchen and put the kettle on, then sat down and stared out the window. There was the familiar older couple, taking breakfast on the terrace of their apartment and reading their newspapers.

And then she heard a sound.

Derek!

The sound was unmistakable: someone tossing on a bed.

So he's finally sleeping over. Wondered how much longer it would be.

The kettle boiled and she made herself a cup of coffee. She thought about her exam and how well prepared she knew she was for it. She thought about swimming at the health club after school. She thought about the visit to her father's that would come in a few weeks.

But no matter what she thought about, her thoughts always seemed to return to the same thing:

Derek.

And whenever her thoughts returned to him, she found herself with two vivid mental images. One was of Derek hovering above her mother as Charlene had seen them in the bedroom that night, with his hard, thick cock glistening with the secretions of her mother's pussy, plunging and diving, pumping up and down, in and out, stretching the wall's of her mother's cunt and --

Stop it! she ordered herself.

But mixed in with that was another mental image, this one of Derek's lean, taut body naked in her mother's bedroom, gently undulating on the waterbed... naked, with his prick long and limber and lying limply along his strongly muscled thigh.

She tried to force that thought from her mind as well.

Exams today, she told herself with noble resolve. Exams -- I wonder if he's got a hard-on?

She felt the familiar ache in her nipples, glanced down and confirmed with her eyes what her senses had already told her: they were stiff, swollen with blood. They stood out, clearly limned against the fabric of the dressing gown. And between her legs, her pussy was starting to throb with warmth. The tight little tunnel of her cunt was rapidly soaking with aroused juices.

Without consciously thinking about it, she raised one hand to her breasts and rubbed her palm across her nipples. She pressed hard, trying to massage the ache from them. She succeeded only in heightening the urge growing between her nubile hips.

I wonder if he does have a hard-on? It couldn't hurt to peek in and look -- just look, could it? Of course not. No one would have to know.

She pushed back the chair and stood, the dressing gown moving with quiet sibilance against her smooth flesh.

She strode gracefully down the hall, leas lone and smooth beneath the dressing gown. She could feel the silky fabric moving across her buttocks with each step, moving like a feathery caress over her soft skin, arousing her still more.

It can't hurt just to look and see, she told herself.

She paused outside the door to her mother's bedroom. Her breasts heaved, drawing the material tighter about the luscious swellings of creamy tit-flesh, pulling the fabric back and forth over her stiffened nipples and causing the ache in them to grow almost unbearable in its intensity.

It can't hurt just to look.

She gripped the doorknob tightly, turned it carefully. The door swung ever so slowly inward, opening wider. She peeked through, found she could see his reflection in the mirror on the dresser, just as she had seen...

... Derek and her mother, locked together, joined by the fleshy pole of his hard cock, pumping up and down and in and out, faster and faster, her mother's labia drawn tight about his shaft and his prick itself gleaming in the dim light flooding through the window behind the bed, her mother's legs jerking and kicking high about him as she reached for yet another...

But that wasn't good enough. She wanted to look directly on it. That was important. That made a difference.

It can't hurt just to look.

She pushed the door open still wider and stepped into the bedroom.

He was naked on the bed -- but his back was to her.

No -- no -- that's enough. It isn't meant to be.

But it can't hurt just to look.

She moved quietly, silently, across the plush white carpeting to the side of the waterbed. She was standing over him, daring to breath but little more. She looked down at his nakedness.

And saw it.

So that's what it looks like.

To Charlene, it was as though she were looking at a disembodied penis. Her eyes saw nothing else except his genitals. She stared at it, focused on it, examined it, took it in. His cock was long and limber and lean, just as she'd imagined. She'd half-hoped that he'd have a piss hard-on or an erection from a hot dream, but, she figured, her mother had probably drained him dry.

I would have.

She scrutinized his prick. It was almost as long, limp, as Sal's was hard. It wasn't particularly thick. There was a single large vein twisting slowly about the side to the underpart of the shaft, wending its way from just behind the smooth, meaty glans to disappear into his hirsute pubic rug.

She finally took her eyes from his penis, then -- only to gaze at his balls. They were partially hidden by his position, but what she could see gave her plenty to look at.

His balls were a little bigger than Sal's, too -- but there was something about them, something about the way the flesh of his scrotum wrinkled, something about the long, twisting hairs growing out of it, that literally screamed virility at her. She imagined those big balls producing semen, lots of it, gobs of it -- and she imagined his balls jerking and jumping inside the tightened flesh of his scrotum as he came, sending hot spurts of creamy jism burning home inside a cunt.

She imagined it firing into her cunt.

And as she imagined it, her arousal increased.

Charlene felt the throbbing in her nipples as clearly as if it were for the first time, the yearning in her cunt returning with a vengeance to remind her of how unsatisfied she was. She rubbed the lips of her lightly haired slit through the dressing gown. She felt the fabric dampen, then become sodden beneath her fingers, then raised her hand to her nose and sniffed it. The odor of her own aroused sex turned her on even more and she returned the hand to its task. Again and again, the lips of her pussy were drawn tight against her protruding clitoris, sending thrills of excitement through her.

She suddenly realized that she was going to come if she continued.

She stared hard at his prick, imagining it pumping in and out of her own pussy, reaming out her own cunt -- but such fantasizing was partially defeated by the fact that his cock was soft. It was difficult for her to imagine enjoying getting fucked with a limp cock.

What if I -- touched it?

She knew, in the back of her mind, that touching his prick would be dangerous. For all she knew, he'd awaken -- and how would she explain that to her mother?

But then another thought came to her: certainly her mother played with his cock while he slept. And she guessed that it wouldn't take much of a touch to make his dick stiffen and --

Still rubbing her cunt through her dressing gown, Charlene leaned forward. Her breasts hung, full and ripe and firm against the fabric. Looking down the open neckline, she could see her thrusting tits all the way to the nipples. She could feel their weight as they swung slightly forward.

She put one hand out and very v-e-r-y carefully touched the tip of her forefinger to the soft flesh halfway down his shaft. Immediately, his dick jerked.

She snatched her hand back and watched. His cock swelled a little bit -- but not fully.

All that with just one finger.

Again, she put out the hand. Again, as her finger came into contact with his penis she felt a shock of excitement course through her, as if along some magical conduit leading directly from her fingertip to her quim. And again, his cock jerked and swelled, though this time the growth was a bit slower.

Charlene paused, holding her breath, waiting to spot the slightest indication that he was awakening from his slumber. But as near as she could tell, he hadn't even noticed her toying with his cock.

She became more daring.

Now Charlene reached out and actually gripped the slight swelling of his cock just behind the depressed ring in the shaft under the glans with her thumb and forefinger. She could feel the urgent pulsations of blood through his prick as its swelling slowly resumed until, finally, Derek's dong was at full, raging erection.

Now that's a man's penis! she thought excitedly as her two-fingered grip moved very lightly up and down, back and forth a quarter of an inch at a time over his dick flesh. His cock stood up and away from his groin and his thighs, hard and reddish-brown, the glans looking swollen and virile. Slowly, she curled the other fingers of her hand about the throbbing length of rigid meat. Her grip was still restrained and light, but the excitement coursing through her veins was growing still more intense.

She stood there, one hand wrapped around her mother's lover's cock and the other thrust between her legs, massaging her swollen pussy lips through the filmy fabric of her dressing gown, bent over the waterbed. Her nipples were stiffened and aching with hot blood, yearning for a man's lips to suck them, a man's fingers to tweak them, a man's hands to fondle them, a man's mouth to suck them.

She pressed upward with the hand between her legs, urging herself closer to the orgasmic peak she felt rising within her lovely, nubile body. Harder, faster, closer -- and then she was clutching at his rigid dick fiercely, no longer thinking of the dangers of the moment and what she was doing.

When he suddenly groaned and shifted on the bed.

Charlene froze, suddenly too frightened to do more than just stand there.

Derek rolled over onto his back on the bed beneath her.

Charlene didn't even have the presence of mind -- or perhaps the will -- to remove her cock-gripping hand... or so much as loosen her clutching grip.

"Cripes, Liz," Derek groaned, calling her by her mother's name, his eyes still closed, "don't stop, now. Suck my cock a little."

She swallowed, nervous. Suck him?

Charlene was indecisive, uncertain. If she went down on him -- something she'd never done with a man before -- he was guaranteed to awaken. On the other hand, if she didn't, he might awaken anyhow.

Either way, it meant trouble.

She began moving her fingers up and down over Derek's formidable meat again, hoping perhaps to whack him off and thus relieve the pressure in the man's big, hairy balls. He might roll over and go back to sleep again. He still wasn't fully awake.

Her hand quickened on his cock. Derek's hips were beginning to shift uncomfortably with her movement and she began to hope she might actually see his semen jolting from the tiny slit in the head of his prick, that she might even be able to --

"Charlene!"

At the sound of his agonized, amazed voice pronouncing her name, Charlene jerked away from him and started backing across the room. Almost as an afterthought, she pulled her hand from between her legs.

But it was too late. His eyes were wide open -- and fixed on her.

"I, uh, well -- " she began, words stumbling out between suddenly dry lips. Abruptly, she turned and reached for the door.

"No! Don't go!" Derek's voice whipped at her, turned her towards him almost against her will. She looked at him, unable to keep her eyes from the iron-hard bar of cock flesh rising from his groin.

"Come over here, Charlene," he said quietly, commandingly.

As she half-stumbled towards him, barely breathing, his eyes caressed her delicious body through her diaphanous dressing gown. She approached him and he held out one hand towards her.

She watched her own trembling hand reach out, saw his fingers close on hers. He drew her gently closer till she stood beside the bed, looking down at him, her eyes as before seeing only his cock in all of its raging, swollen glory.

"Why did you stop?" he asked hoarsely. "That's not very nice, you know." As he spoke, he led her hand down, forcing her to bend at the waist. Her fingers brushed his thick pubic mat, then the flesh of his thigh -- and finally touched his prick. She could feel the heat of his cock, the pulsing power in it.

"That would be prick-teasing," he said, his eyes on hers -- and her eyes following the all but automatic movements of her fingers on his prick as he released her hand. "You wouldn't want to be a prick-teaser, now, would you?" he asked.

"No," she breathed, the word barely audible. She couldn't seem to concentrate on what he was saying, on what she was saying. Her thoughts would only focus on the ferociously swollen prick her hand was caressing and mauling and exploring at the juncture of his thighs.

His hand came up along her leg, lifting the dressing gown above her knees, to her thighs, his calloused fingers moving across the incredibly smooth, sleek flesh of her legs even as the fabric rose to expose them like a curtain being raised.

His hand was scant inches from the meeting point of her legs and the moist grotto between when he pulled it away. The dressing gown fell back into place. His hand moved over her again, this time molding her thighs through the fabric as it moved higher. His fingers were gentle yet firm as they found and softened the flare of her nubile hips, then measured the indentation of her slender waist. His hand roamed to her belly, so taut and flat, heaving with the arousal and promise of what was to come. She felt his touch, dampened and yet intensified at the same time as he ran his splayed fingers and palm upward. Easily, without dense transition, his hand was covering her left breast, savoring the full thrust of the firm mound of flesh. Her nipple was pebble hard. He rubbed his palm over it, slowly moving his hand over the spike point of turgid flesh in circling movements that whipped her lusts ever higher, ever hotter.