Fork 13

Mocha, purse, mall, lingerie. Instead of a skirt and blouse this time I bought a party dress and heels.

I decided to waste less time before establishing with the henchmen that yes, I was going to fuck them, so after my preliminary speech about time-loops, I positioned Hoffman with his back to the wall and his pants around his knees, I hitched up my dress and pulled my panties aside, and I backed up into his cock. We were getting a good screw on with me doing all the work, bent over and shaking my ass on his thing while the other guys watched.

I guess I must have said something slightly different to Dr. Sykora this time around, because there was a knock on the door. “This is Margo Zimmerman,” a woman’s voice called from the other side. “I was told there’s a project taking place here that might benefit from my expertise.”

Valentine looked to me for approval, and I shrugged, having no idea what to do. So he let her in.

Mrs. Zimmerman was parent-age - like forty or more. She looked like an office worker, with a business skirt, white blouse, and reading glasses on a chain around her neck. Her hair was short, black, and curly, but there were wisps of gray that I guess she didn’t care to dye.

“ ... And apparently that project involves gang-banging a twelve year old,” she said when she saw me grinding on Hoffman’s dick.

“Fourteen,” I corrected. “I’m almost in high school.”

Valentine and Cruz thankfully repeated to her what I had told them about my mission, while Hoffman and I changed positions and finished. He set me on a barstool and stood between my legs, banging me determinedly until he came.

Mrs. Zimmerman showed no signs of objection, but she wasn’t warm either. Cruz asked the question that was on my mind: “If you’ll forgive me, ma’am, what exactly is your expertise?”

“I’m an actuary by trade,” she began as if this were an ordinary business meeting, “but that’s probably not why I was invited. I do have a master’s in education, but I suspect the doctor sent me because of the twelve years I spent fulfilling my patriotic duty to ‘support our troops’.”

“So you’re an expert at fucking like our time-loop Lolita here wants to be,” Valentine paraphrased.

“Yes.”

One of the first deficiencies that Mrs. Zimmerman identified, based just on discussions, was my awareness and control of a guy’s impending release. I needed to learn to slow down and keep a guy going until it suited me for him to come. I was instantly in awe of my new teacher; it had never occurred to me that I could be in charge of that! She told me that the henchmen I’d been working with were poor practice subjects since I already knew their tolerances. Instead of using them for this exercise, she went out into the office for a few minutes, and then came back with a guy - a twenty-something office worker - wearing a blindfold.

“Introduce yourself, Miss Bell,” Mrs. Zimmerman commanded.

Not knowing what else to do, I took his hand and shook it. “Hi, I’m Gretchen. Thanks for helping me with this.” He was too confused to answer.

Mrs. Zimmerman made him lie on the couch. It was my job to pull his pants down and suck his dick. It was funny-looking with a really big head, but I adapted. I managed to back him off the first time he was about to come, but he surprised me the second time around.

The blindfolded guy left the room and Mrs. Zimmerman filled in the gaps in my blowjob education. Apparently you can sense a whole lot about how far along a guy is by holding his balls. And apparently you can exert a lot of control by how you hold his shaft.

She brought in another blindfolded guy, and this time I stopped him just short of coming a couple times. When Mrs. Zimmerman told me, “Finish him” - like in a martial arts movie or something - it only took me twenty more seconds to get him off.

“Very good, Gretchen,” She told me with genuine appreciation in her voice.

We decided to take a break from blowjobs, and, I don’t know if anyone claimed it was a lesson, but Valentine and I started making out on the couch. It was quiet and serious and maybe even romantic. His eyes made a connection to me like I’d never experienced. This wasn’t just sex. When he reached under my dress and took my panties off, a tidal wave of emotion knocked me senseless. I didn’t think it was love, but I felt a sort of belonging and contentment with this man. He took off his shirt - his body was phenomenal - and then his shoes, socks, pants, and underwear. Then he helped me out of my dress.

Somebody adjusted the room’s lights and they went dim. Nobody was making a sound. Valentine climbed on top of me on the couch and penetrated me. All I could do was sigh along with his gentle thrusting. I probably should have been doing something extra, to make the experience stand out for him, but I couldn’t. Half of the time I had my eyes closed because it was all just too much - they physical feelings and emotional ones.