Big Bob Hennigan's eyes were drawn to the three or four inches of bare, golden skin that showed between Vixen's loose-fitting top and her low-slung jeans. The girl was obviously in good shape, her body taut and toned, her spine a shadowed trench. He felt a flutter of arousal and ignored it as he watched Vixen sitting on the floor and playing with a bunch of three- and four-year olds including his own stepson.
Vixen heard Mrs. Morrison greet the man behind her and then call, "Jason, your daddy's here."
The boy got quickly to his feet, made a face at the girl sitting cross-legged before him and ran to his father. Vixen got up and turned. She blinked and took a step back. Mr. Hennigan had Jason on his shoulders, the boy's hands in his short hair, and together they nearly touched the ceiling. The man must weight three hundred, thought Vixen, and he'll have to turn sideways to get those shoulders out the door.
"Hi," Vixen said, "glad to see you. Your boy's got a nasty habit and you should talk to him about."
Hennigan wrinkled his forehead, and Jason stuck out his tongue.
"He bites people when he gets angry," Vixen said, looking to her boss for support. "Nipped two girls today."
Mrs. Morrison nodded. "It's true, Bob. He's a bit of a bully. If he bites anybody again, he'll be out of here for a week."
Hennigan nodded. "I understand. He won't do it again. Ain't I seen you before?" he asked Vixen as other parents began arriving to pick up their children.
"Don't think so," said the girl as she began picking up toys and tossing them into the big wooden box in the corner.
Hennigan went out and buckled his stepson into his pickup and then sat and lit a Camel. That brought it back to him. He had seen her before. In fact he remembered giving her twenty bucks. He handed his son a lollipop from the glove compartment and got out of his big truck and waited, finishing his cigarette and then flicking away the butt. When Vixen emerged and strode toward her Mustang, he yelled "hey," at her and totted over.
"I remembered," he said, looking down at her and smiling. "Out at the Kitten. We talked about quarterbacks. You said Marino was the best you had ever seen." He wondered how he ever could have forgotten such a fine rack. His huge cock stirred.
Vixen nodded, surprised and a little embarrassed.
'I ain't see you out there again," Hennigan said.
"I like this better," Vixen said, "working with the kids."
He had to fight back his desire to reach out and grab Vixen's jutting breasts which were right there, a foot away. "Uh huh. Wonder if these folks know you used to strip?"
"Doubt it," Vixen said, feeling a bit uneasy. "Only did it that once."
Hennigan nodded, licked his lips and smiled. "I'd like to see you bare again. How about it?"
"Right here?" Vixen asked with a grin. The conversation excited her somehow, and her sexual needs were strong since the dean was the only man she had enjoyed in almost a week.
"No. Got to get home and feed the kid. I make good spaghetti. You could come and eat with us."
"And then?" she asked.
"Well," he said, smiling, "well, then we'll see. Maybe you can dance for me."
"Sounds like blackmail," Vixen said.
The big man shook his head and crossed his chest with his forefinger. "Honest, no funny stuff. Ladies' choice."
Vixen cocked her head and looked at him. She had mounted a couple of good-sized football players in her younger days and a big lacrosse player when she was a freshman, but nobody the size of this man. She wondered how big he was where it counted.
"OK," she said, "I'll follow you." She slid into her car and watched him jog back to his truck, noting his immense butt, the weight that would be behind his pile-driver once he was in her. She felt excited, sexually stimulated, the way she did when she wore that little green dress. She took a deep breath as she put her car in gear, warm between the legs.
Bob Hennigan, it turned out, worked for the college as an all-round handyman and the boy wasn't really his. He did both plumbing and electrical repairs, replaced broken windows and mended desks. He had worked for Seaside for six years, since he got out of the Army, and he liked his job. He was married but his wife had left him, in fact, he admitted over his third beer since supper and his son going to bed, she was his second wife. The first one had divorced him after two weeks of marriage; actually her parents had it annulled, he told her ruefully.
"Too bad," Vixen said, sipping her first can of Miller Light, a taste she detested.
"Yeah," he said. "It's my size, I reckon. No, I'm sure. I've always been big."
"They must have known that when they married you. No way to hide your size. What are you, six-six or so?"
He nodded his head. "Yeah, but guess I should have shown them this." He stood up, unzipped his khaki pants and flopped out the biggest cock Vixen had ever seen, dangling limply it looked a foot long, like a length of violet-streaked fire hose with a mounded head that appeared to be as big as her fist.
"Geeze," the girl said, putting down her beer can. She felt her pussy crawl and tremble. It was bigger than any of the weapons her father's porn stars had sported, even the plastic ones.
Hennigan nodded and put his penis away. "So you can see the problem. The woman who had this boy when I married her, she ran off with an insurance salesman and left him with me. Said she'd send for him. That was mid-June. Don' knew where she is now."
Vixen smiled. "Next time, you'll know better. I suspect you're right. That's a monster."
Hennigan nodded, drained his beer, took a deep breath and said, "How about it? Want t'try it?"
Vixen blinked and shook her head.
"How about just sucking it?" he asked.
"No thanks," she said.
"It's been three months," he said. "I really need it. You're the prettiest thing I ever seen out there at the club. You've got a great pair a'jugs. Just looking at you makes me hard."
"Why don't you ask one of those girls? Some of them do it after hours."
"They want too much, three hundred or more, most of them. I can barely keep this place and feed the kid."
.... There is more of this story ...