Chapter 2

Inga saw Mr. Marcus watching a porn tape and found his stash of adult magazines. Did Inga tell anyone what she saw? And where might Inga's visits and continued exposure lead? If Inga was a service station, would Mr. Marcus fill 'er up?

I choked on my cereal with Harriett's first words after getting home from her latest business outing. "You didn't take advantage of that sweet girl, did you?"

"What do you mean?" Did Harriett suspect something? I never laid a hand on Inga despite her prancing around in her underwear.

"Her ministry is only two hours a week. I didn't invite her to cook and clean for you all afternoon."

"I didn't give her household chores." Nor any personal sexual ones. Not that the thought hadn't crossed my mind. But I was being good, for a change. "She cleaned up 'your office'.""Good. I expect you to keep the house in order while I'm away." She dragged a finger along the surface of the kitchen table. "You know how I need for the house to be kept tidy." But who would care for my needs, the physical ones? Not Harriett. Never Harriett. One day, when Zenellis sends me my first royalty check and I'm financially independent, maybe I'll leave Harriett and her frozen demeanor towards sex. I pointed towards the ceiling. "Do you really expect to use that part of the attic on a regular basis, as an office?""No, but I can use it to store marketing and training materials, and then we can deduct that space as a business expense. Smart, hmm?"Harriett was gaining incremental business savvy. I only hoped her improved perception didn't expose my extracurricular sex or porn stash.

After a quick twenty-four hour visit that was a living hell compared to the four days when she was absent, Harriett flew off again. Those business jaunts gave her great pleasure and added a few bucks to the household stash. I counted the days until Inga's next visit. It was difficult, deciding between my normal daily masturbation or saving myself. Hell, there wasn't any promise that I'd get into Inga's panties, pussycat decorations or not. I settled on jerking off every other day, as a compromise, careful to put my erotic source material away.

Finally, the day. The doorbell rang twenty minutes early. Was Inga as anxious to be together as I was? Peeping through the glass pane, it wasn't her. An Avon woman, perhaps? Her make-up and decorum were high class and precise. Under other circumstances, I would have been pleased to let her in and let her do her spiel. Who knows? Maybe she was selling women's lingerie and would be willing to model the latest nighty fashions? I opened the door and smiled warmly. "I'm sorry. The lady of the house isn't here. If you'd like to come back some other time-"

She stuck out her hand. "I'm Inga's mother. May I come in? There are some things I'd like to discuss with you."

Damn! Inga ratted me out. The porn film, the magazines. But I never touched her, not once! Well, there was that hug in the bathroom when I wrapped her in a towel, but that was harmless enough.

I extended my hand to shake. Her grip was firm. I had the fleeting thought about how her grip would feel around my dick. Damn, my mind slips into the gutter so easily. "Can I get you something to drink, Ms.-?"

"Doctor. Dr. Stephanie Crumholtz. A glass of water, if you please."

I led the way, from the entry hall into the living room. "What kind of doctor are you?"

"I'm a practicing psychotherapist."

Practice is supposed to make perfect, but I didn't know a psychotherapist from a psychiatrist from a psychologist. No reason to display my ignorance. "Oh."

Dr. Crumholtz parked herself on the couch. As I walked behind her, she opened her coat and struggled to get her arms out of the sleeves. She wore a boat neck blouse, where the boat was the Queen Mary. The front scoop collar hung loose. When she bent forward to extract her arm from a sleeve, I got a great view of cleavage and uplifted breasts, probably from one of those Wunderbras. She had measurements Inga could strive for, when she got older. The good doctor glanced up, caught my stare, and hugged the material to her chest.

I hurried into the kitchen, embarrassed at having been caught. I took a deep breath, brought out the glass of cold tap water and placed it on the coffee table in front of her. She was still holding the front of her blouse close. I'd spooked her good, having come to lecture me about corrupting her daughter. Now she was armed with evidence of lascivious behavior.

Since she had taken a place in the center of the couch, I was forced to select one of the facing chairs. "It's nice to meet Inga's mother. She's a very kind young lady." I folded my hands in my lap. No reason to show a partial erection to this stranger.

"Inga spoke to me about your fixation with large breasts."

Doc doesn't beat around the bush, and Inga has a big mouth! The paused porn film with breasts filling the screen. My Juggs magazines, hidden upstairs in the attic. My comments about checking one's self for lumps. A natural conclusion, I guess. Oh, and then I take advantage of a tit shot down her mother's blouse. Nice work, Harvey. I could claim this was all a mistake, but then what? 'I'm not interested in large breasts.' And she replies, 'Oh, then you like Inga's smaller ones perhaps?' This was a no win. Time to take my lumps and hope Harriett doesn't get word. "I'm sorry Inga was exposed to that." I was careful not to apologize for doing it, just that Inga saw it. After all, a man's castle is his masturbatorium.

"I'm quite disturbed, after all of the background checks I'd performed, that this would come out." She wrung her hands. "After all, I can't have my daughter in jeopardy from perverts or psychopaths."

Background checks? And I passed? Maybe Harriett did. Was she more upset at what Inga saw, or that her checking was deficient? "I assure you, I pose no threat to your daughter."

"It's too late to request an alternative family, and with your wife traveling, I believe we're stuck with you. However, I'd like to offer you free counseling, to assist you with your problem," she continued.

That's a switch. No harassment, no lecture, just an offer to cure me. Who said I want to be cured? And anyway, I don't have a large breast fixation. I like all sizes. "And how would you do that?" I asked.

"Counseling sessions at my office. No charge, as I said."

"It's a kind offer," I replied. No way was I going to get analyzed about a fictitious sex problem. "Let me think about it."

Her voice sounded like a military command. "My office, tomorrow, at 4:30. Or, I'll inform Harriett."

Damn! Okay, so this would be my penance for getting caught with my pants down. Metaphorically. "I'll be there."

She reached for the glass, holding her blouse from sagging, and took a large sip of water.

The doorbell rang. The doc stood and went to answer it. I didn't complain, since I was sure who it was.

Inga stood in the doorway, again in her blazer/blouse/skirt/stockings uniform. She held a garment bag in one hand, a small duffel in the other. "Mama! What are you doing here?" The two females hugged.

I was jealous. Inga never hugged me. Neither did her mother, just a handshake.

"Just stopping by for a chat with Mr. Marcus about your ministry." Doc kissed the top of Inga's head. "He had nothing but positive things to report."

Yes, about how perky her tits looked before I wrapped her in a towel, and how her round and firm ass filled out her panties. "You're doing a great job," I said. "I told your mother to be proud."

She pranced past both of us. "Hello, Mr. Marcus."

"Moving in?" I quipped. I knew just what bed I'd offer her - mine.

"Don't forget, I'll be by to pick you up today," said Doc.

Inga waved the clothing bag as she jogged up the stairs. "I didn't forget. See, my change of clothes."

I prevented myself from turning to watch Inga's skirt wave as she ascended the stairs, so I missed her unblemished thighs.

"I'll see you soon, Mr. Marcus," said Stephanie.

I'd been warned. Show up tomorrow, or face a top-to-bottom search of my house for my porno collections, plus whatever penalty Harriett chose to apply. There was something missing. A warning, 'Stay away from my daughter!' or something similar. Perhaps she thought my fixation with big tits made her daughter safe from my advances. Shows that someone with a doctorate doesn't know everything.

I held Stephanie's coat while she pushed her arms into the sleeves. She stepped past me onto the stoop, and then paused. "Of course, it goes without saying, that you'll keep your hands off Inga."

I nodded vigorously and held up the Boy Scout three fingers. She probably took it as swearing a promise. I meant 'read between the lines, sister.'

Inga had put her clothing and tote bags upstairs and was already coming down, panties flashing as she lifted her knees high. No pussycats today, instead pink flowers. "I got an IM from Mrs. Marcus."

"An instant message?" So, Harriett was IMing now? "What did she have to say?"

"She's fine, and she wants the pantry cleaned, top to bottom," Inga said.

Taking the pantry apart and putting it back together, ignoring the cleaning in-between, was a Herculean job, not a two-hour quickie. Harriett was being unreasonable, after just advising me not to take advantage of Inga's ministry. "You'll never finish that today."

"Not even if you help?" One finger dangled dangerously from Inga's lower lip.

Work in close proximity to a nubile young woman in bra and panties? Sign me up. Way up. I crossed my arms over my chest. "Nope."

"Then we'll start today and I'll finish it tomorrow," she replied.

"I thought you could only visit once a week." Did I have it wrong?

"One of my other families is on vacation, so I have the time. It's okay, isn't it, me coming here tomorrow?"

As far as I was concerned, Inga could move in. Even share my bed. She was so nice to look at, and certainly nicer to touch. If I ever took the opportunity. Which I wouldn't. Not with her mother breathing down my neck with threats to expose me. "Sure."

Inga disappeared into the pantry, a narrow room paralleling one wall of the kitchen. The "alley" was a welcome feature for storing all of the canned goods, dry goods, excess pots, pans and bowls, not to mention infrequently used appliances. The aisle was just wide enough for a ladder, which was always necessary for reaching the upper shelves. On several occasions, Annie and I had both been searching for food items in the cramped space, and needed to slip past each other. Those were the first times I'd felt Annie's breasts or ass rub against me. Funny how memories flash back.

I cleared off both the kitchen and dining room tables, to make room for everything that would be removed before cleaning. By the time I got to the pantry door, Inga was already down to bra and panties. Damn, I missed the striptease.

I sat in a kitchen chair, watching Inga parade by with canned goods, boxes, bags and appliances. Every time, she'd flash a smile. I'd smile back, then stare at her ass as she returned to her chore.

"You seem so comfortable, walking around like that," I said.

Inga carried an armful of cereal boxes. "What? You mean in my undies? This is nothing. My whole family walks around naked most of the time. Mama says it's mentally healthy."

I tried to picture Doc naked, with some difficulty. How did Mr. Crumholtz keep from wagging an erection in front of his wife and daughter? Maybe he didn't, and Inga was used to seeing a man with a hard-on.

She put the boxes on the nearby table. Inga continued, "Back where we came from, lots of families practiced nudity, except when it got too cold."

"Where was that?" Sweden? Norway?

"Ohio." She turned to fetch another load.

Next time I'm in Sandusky, I'll have to check out the neighborhoods more carefully.

How long could I just sit there, watching this barely covered nymph? When she put down the bulk food containers, her bra sagged, exposing the soft curve between her breasts.

It took more over an hour, closer to one and a half, for Inga to clear all but the top shelf. And after the remaining items were removed, there was still cleaning and putting everything back. What the hell was Harriett thinking, suggesting this chore?

"Those things up top look heavy. Can you give me a hand?" she asked.

I'd wanted to give her something all afternoon, but not a hand. "Okay."

"You should take your shirt and pants off, to keep them from getting dirty," Inga suggested.

Did I want my blossoming erection tenting my jockeys to be exposed? Not when Little Blabbermouth tells her mother everything that goes on in my house. "No thanks."

For the highest shelf, someone would have to climb our ladder to fetch the top items, large boxes and bags. "Do you want me to get them?" I asked.

"Nope, I'm fine."

That was certainly true. Inga climbed high on the ladder, to wrestle a bag of flour. God, what a beautiful ass! I closed my eyes and daydreamed of Inga, on all fours, legs spread, giving me a clear view of -.

"Mr. Marcus!"

Huh? Damn! In my reverie, I'd leaned forward, my noise poking one of her buttocks.

"You almost pushed me over." The large sack filled her arms.

"Sorry."

She bent to hand me the flour without descending. The weight nearly toppled her from the ladder. She tried to hang on, while I grabbed at the falling bag. As our hands juggled the shifty mass, Inga's breasts distracted me, nearly popping out of her bra. With a whoosh, white powder exploded, coating everything in sight. Inga looked like an angel more than ever.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered.

"That's okay. Harriett doesn't bake anyway."

That brought a smile back to her face. "We should take a shower."

Was she suggesting a joint bath? I wasn't sure I could get through that experience without violating her mother's 'No touch' rule. "Before we track this all over the house, we need to brush off the excess. No reason to clog the pipes."