At home with Melody

This story is completely fictious!

Chapter One

From a distance Travis watched as a tall young woman walked the pavement outside a large college, with her shorter, less elegant, friend. Melody was considered by most on campus; too prim and proper; too out-of-touch; too rich; too untouchable for even the more popular of jocks. Still, she was undeniably beautiful, and no male failed to glance whenever she passed by.
Travis didn’t careless what others thought about her character. To him she was the embodiment of both grace and beauty, a true goddess. He had noticed a lot about her during the year. The way she walked on those long slender legs, her sweet voice, the long off-blonde, slightly wavy hair, the chocolate brown eyes, small nose, even white teeth; natural full lips—a born model in anyone’s book. Yet there was more. Travis had often noticed those far away stares, the touch of sorrow in her eyes.
He continued to watch.
If others had been watching they would have claimed he was obsessive, but others didn’t pay him any attention, for he was far too unremarkable.
On this day, Melody Evans was dressed in tight fitting, fluffy pink sweater and designer hipster jeans that melded perfectly with her crotch and round, small ass. She carried books, rather than a satchel, and was mostly feigning interest as her younger friend, dressed in a sexy short, pleated, blue skirt and tight top, was once more raving about the captain of the basketball team. He was a tall African American, with a killer smile and a cute butt. Melody wasn’t that interested. She had heard April rave on about boys so many times before that it had become like background noise. Still she smiled and nodded appropriately, keen not to upset her closest friend.
They were an unlikely pairing, two girls from completely different worlds. Being a year apart, they didn’t even share the same classes or circle of friends, yet they were so often seen together.
And from the college’s wide steps, Travis continued to watch as the tall and the short—the beauty and the want-to-be—walked side-by-side, until they disappeared from sight. Having seen all that he could, he rose and reentered the college.
In a large music room he removed his violin from its case, and alone, began to play. Anyone else who had shown such aptitude had long since moved away from the ridicule of school jocks, to music schools out-of-state; however his sole parent did not have that kind of money.
As he played, he closed his eyes and thought of Melody—so beautiful, so misunderstood. What was her hidden story?
In his mind, in a flowing white dress, Melody, the drama major, danced barefoot on stage—a spirit lost to the music. But then her big brown eyes sprung open and immediately spotted him there, in the dim light. He hit an off-note. The spell was broken. The violin returned to its case.

April and Melody lived in the same tree-lined street, which is how they came to know each other in the first place. Yet the modest, two-storey, mortgage-laden house they come to stand in front off, was in stark contrast to Melody’s mansion at the end of the street.
“Coming in,” April asked? They generally shared more time at April’s house than at the mansion, however, on this particular Friday Melody had other things on her mind. “I’ve got my lines to practice,” she replied, “The plays only weeks away.”
“We can practice together, like we usually do.” April did not, in fact, attend drama lessons herself.
Quickly realizing her mistake, Melody added, “and I’ve got other things to do as well, maybe a bit later.”
“You’re not going to disappear into your own little world again, are you, not on a Friday night, you know how I hate that?”
Ignoring the inference, “ring me, we’ll get together later and go out if you like, I just need to change and do a few things.” April looked unconvinced. Melody added, “Look, I’m sorry, okay, but really, I’ve got to catch up on Mr. Wilkins’s class.”
“Too busy watching his butt, I bet.” However, the truth was that unlike other girls in her class, Melody seldom ogled her young, good looking, English teacher. She was a diligent student who was in the top few in all of her classes. Certainly Mr. Wilkins was undeniably cute, but passing English was more important. Good grades seen as her way out of Summerville, as far as she could get, perhaps even as far as Hollywood.
“He gives a lot of homework.” She stressed.
“I wish he gave out other things,” a knowing glance and a familiar smile. “I wouldn’t mind doing a little detention under him.” April loved being provocative. Melody, however, was so used to this kind of talk that she didn’t even bother with a comment. “Later, then. Okay?”
And she left.
At the mansion, she actually sighed. She preferred her friend’s house a lot more compared to this overt display of wealth. ‘Stuck-up rich bitch’, a jock had once called her. There were enough rooms for a number of families to live comfortably, yet there was only herself, an older brother and her seldom-at-home parents. At least she had her huge bedroom in which she really did get lost in at times.
The white, wide, double door entrance opened to a large foyer. To the left was a huge living area with adjoining open kitchen, to the right, a more formal, but still oversized, lounge room, with convincing but artificial wood fire; their was a sixty-inch widescreen panel television with accompanying small, but very effective and stylish speaker system. Wood furnishings were refined and dark and uncluttered, the large three piece lounge suite, crushed, indigo blue, leather. The deep carpet was off-white; an impossible colour to keep clean, yet clean it always was. There were many other rooms besides.
Running along one wall of the wide sparsely furnished foyer, were railed stairs. The carpet here was, with short pile, although still too pale for practicality, more suitable to traffic. It was to these wide stairs Melody immediately moved.
The second floor also had numerous rooms, her own at the end of an arched corridor that passed by her brother’s room.
In the safety of her own space, a little ashamed at the lie she had told, she threw her books on a computer workstation. There was no pressing schoolwork and she knew her lines better than most in her drama class. However, after a long week, she craved time alone, time not to think of April’s hoped conquests, time to escape flirtatious eyes that she was not always comfortable with, and her inadequacies in communicating with the opposite sex; an opportunity not to be answerable to anyone but herself.
Her bedroom had everything, including a spacious ensuite that did not join with any other room. In the duel-head shower she lathered herself and washed away the worries of the week. It felt good to have shower gel on her perfect tits, her flat stomach, to linger between her legs, rubbing her swollen clit, her skin tingling all over.
After drying off, she returned to an idea that she had been developing throughout the afternoon: Her own little ‘play’, which was something very different than what she had been rehearsing in the school drama.
A short hunt later, with a decisive and slightly impish smile, she changed into an outfit she had acquired over a year prior. It was a cheerleader’s outfit. Back then, she had actually contemplated joining the squad, however April had not been accepted, and that was simply unacceptable to Melody; and so, in the end, she had secretly bought a copied outfit, and practiced at home. Not even April knew she did this, or the real reason she still owned something never intended to be seen in public. Melody often lived in an imaginary world, which did not always include dolls or her more serious future acting plans.
And continuing to try to sate her wandering adult thoughts, still warm from the shower, she brushed her long hair; added two blue ribbons to form ponytails, then carefully painted her fingernails red and blue—the school’s colors. A sweet smile in a long mirror, she looked incredibly innocent, yet totally seductive, then she fluffed up the many decorative pillows that sat atop a heavily patterned quilt; that, in turn, draped across a white four-poster, double bed.
She sat down on one side.
Much of her room was filled with delicate, often childish things that should have been stowed away in the mansion’s large attic years ago. There were at least twenty different teddy bears, fifty or more dolls, and two huge dollhouses, cute mostly animal posters, long white lace curtains hiding two arched windows, a flowery frieze and several sparkling crystal mobiles. But not all could be considered a young girl’s fantasy. Along with the computer workstation—where her schoolbooks now sat—and other white furnishings, immediately in front of the lace-trimmed bed, was a large white TV cabinet. Inside the cabinet were an unnecessarily large TV, a VCR and a DVD player; the three items connected to a small but expensive sound system. Many folk would have been happy to have such an elaborate set-up in their main living area, let alone in a bedroom. It was as though her parents’ thought filling their children’s lives with extravagant gifts might placate for the lack of time they spent with them.
It did not.
Yet at that moment, Melody was not about to complain. Let her parents enjoy their self-indulgent world, the consequences of their actions would one day take care of themselves—one day, when she was far away.
She reached down, and with a small gold key, unlocked the bottom drawer of her bedside table and retrieved yesterday’s mail. It looked so innocent, it always did, a small, nearly flat, white padded envelope containing a DVD. She believed no one in her family ever questioned her mail; for, as a drama student, she had collected obscure videos and DVDs from all over the country for a number of years now. Little did her parents know that some mail had, in fact, come from discrete adult outlets.
She rose, placed the DVD in the player, grabbed the remote, and then moved back to the bed. After finding a comfortable position, half-lying, half-sitting on the stack of pillows, she perused the DVD case. The jacket spoke of a highly erotic couple’s movie with a ten rating. Using the Internet, she only ever ordered material she hoped would have high production quality, even if the stories were generally lacking. However, she had quickly learnt that even a high rating did not always guarantee good viewing. For this reason she paid particular attention to details. The glossy cover looked promising: the two girls featured were beautiful, the setting, a touch exotic, the film company well known, and the director proven. One of many small pictures on the back showed a well-cut African American did appear in at least two of the sex scenes. Perfect; just what she felt like; and with DVD features she could select the appropriate scenes instantly.
She may not have been paying much attention to April’s obsession with the young basketball captain, but that did not mean she didn’t imagine what a good looking African American might be like to fuck—with his beautiful black dick. 
She’d seen several African-Americans before on other videos, but not in a while, and now she could hardly wait. Would he be big, they usually were? She had told herself many times that size was not important, and she truly believed it—two of her three vibrators were actually rather small—yet over time she had developed quite a voyeuristic nature, and now the thought of seeing a big black cock had her fairly squirming.
Really, Mel, she thought, how did you get to be like this, and at only twenty? I think you’ve got problems, girl. But rather than chastise herself further, she only smiled, before then placing the DVD case on the side-table.
Leaning back into the pillows, with knees bent, she sought the best possible position. Her short cheerleader’s, white pleated, skirt, fell to her waist, revealing simple white cotton panties.
Slowly, as though putting on a show for an invisible observer, the cheerleader cum-make-believe porn princess, parted her knees until she could see the TV more easily while showing off all of her pussy gap. With the skirt and panties, she wore white socks, new sneakers, and a blouse that was covered by a tight fitting blue sweater, emblazoned with the school logo.
‘Melody does Suburbia,’ she said, while examining her red and blue fingernails one last time. They were quite dry now.
She pressed the remote, and made some selections.
A preened, very beautiful and rather young looking woman was now getting to know a tall, athletic, African-American. Although, hardly interested in the dialogue, Melody was instantly transfixed by the casual manner in which the two actors conversed. Indeed, they seemed quite comfortable with each other, a fact that was always important to Melody, and an indicator that this could very well be worth its high rating—a touch of love and a caring approach almost as important as the sex. The accompanying mostly piano and rhythmic percussion drums played quietly in the background, the slowly rising meter, matching the unfolding scene well.
A last fluff of her pillows (she was always particular about comfort when it came to pleasing herself), then again leaning back, she parted her smooth, slender legs a little wider, an exquisite erotic view for her imaginary audience. Was she the only girl in the world who did such things, she wondered fleetingly?
Very quickly the scene was heating up, almost too quickly. However, Melody did not ‘pause’ or ‘rewind’, instead she reached for a set of small cordless headphones, and placed them over her pretty head. It was a totally unnecessary precaution in the empty house, might even have hindered her when listening out for her parents or brother, but then no one was ever allowed in her bedroom without her permission, and no one had ever broken that rule. The real reason for the expensive headset was so that she could have the volume close and as loud as she liked, totally immersing herself in eroticism.
On the large screen, smiling, looking remarkably innocent and relaxed, the half-dressed, girl lay on pillows in a similar fashion to Melody. The camera panned down to show the black man preparing to shave the girl’s wonderfully pink, slightly moist, pussy. It had been some time since Melody had watched a scene like this, and she enjoyed the novelty, finding it erotic enough to already have a hand gliding up and down her own silky smooth, right inner thigh. She ached to play with her cunt, but it was too soon. What would it be like to put your complete trust in someone else—a male—while having your pussy shaved like that—dangerous, yet exciting.
And this was for real. The only other time she could remember having seen a girl being shaved, with loads of shaving cream hiding most of the pubic area, and with questionable camera work, she was sure it had been largely faked. 
The man wiped the newly shaved area with a towel and the camera zoomed in. Melody pressed ‘pause’. She didn’t believe she had lesbian tendencies, yet couldn’t help but admire how perfect the woman’s clean pussy looked; the folds, the clit hood with that little love knob just pecking out, why was it that she liked the look of a pussy almost as much as a cock? She had adopted the practice of leaving only a small patch of short soft hair above her own clit for some time now, and could control regrowth with a simple, bikini-line, cream; indeed, her preened cunt showed no signs, whatsoever, of soreness—as though it was always meant to be without hair. But what would it be like to have a lovely man do it for her?
And her hands continued to glide up and down her thigh, skin electrified.
The camera panned back to the girl’s smiling face. She had pretty blue eyes, and looked totally relaxed. Then, on elbows, with one fingertip held sweetly to her teeth, she made such explicit requests that Melody’s ears burned.
A graphic close-up followed, where the girl was using her fingers to draw back already moistening pussy layers, even revealing a slight gape.
The African American followed up by using his pearly white teeth to bite gently on her folds and hood, then with long fingers, he rubbed all around her perfect clit and used his tongue to flick and lick and delve deep into her ever widening cunt hole. She sighed and sucked in air, lost to passion.
Good camera work insured all the frames were in perfect focus—true professionalism, maximum quality. Melody slid her hand closer and closer to her white panties. How would that long tongue feel, buried in her own sodden cunt or was she too tight to even be able to take it?
And the black man’s flicking tongue continued to tease the almost too young girl’s clit, causing quivers of delight, that had Melody raging with as much desire. If anyone could see her eyes right then, they would have had no doubt how truly turned on she was, she simply loved to watch sex.
More erotic chatter. Words usually considered obscene, dripping like honey. And dripping like honey, too, was the slippery cunt opening; and while juices flowed, one of the blonde’s hands massaged the black man’s bald head.
A camera was once more on the actress’s pretty face, focusing on her ecstasy. Melody’s hand was now in the small hollow where the elastic of her panties met her inner thigh. With just two fingers, she slowly rubbed. She loved to tease herself while imagining what others would think of her playful and erotic behavior; a major contrast to the elusive life she actually led.
A sustained close-up of the handsome man, licking, sucking, using saliva, little twitches; and between squeals the blond continued to encourage.
Melody could stand it no more. With legs still widespread, her hand now glided over her panties, it felt delicious; she held her crotch tight, then pressed with her fingers, causing a little dent to occur, where her glorious cunt hole was.
Slowly, teasingly, she rubbed her aching, still concealed, clit. It would be so easy to now rip down her panties and furiously wank, but that was not the way she wanted it, on this particular day. 
Seemingly from nowhere, the man produced a huge transparent dildo. Melody had never seen one quite so big before, and from the expression on the young actress’s face, neither had she. In fact, so convincing was the girl’s shocked look, Melody could have believed that this was not part of what they had rehearsed.
“You must be joking,” said the giggling starlet, “I can’t take all of that.”
The smiling man waggled it. “Think of it as practice,” he wickedly laughed.
For what, thought Melody, what did this man have to offer that could possibly match a thing as big as that?
“Just be gentle, okay,” said the blonde, who looked like she had no intentions of stopping him. Melody noted the girl’s short socks and pretty sneakers. They almost matched her own. She liked that.
He gave another wry grin.
This was not quite like the porn Melody was used to watching. Indeed the actress could well have earned an academy award, if the awards ever accepted such raw material. As for the rippled dildo, Melody thought it far too big to be enjoyed. Still, this was just a movie, and the dildo was certainly visually stunning.
She ‘paused’ the movie, rolled over, and from the still unlocked bottom drawer of her bedside table, retrieved a round mirror. It was two-sided, one side reflecting an image twice its size. She laid it down beside her, then once more pressed the ‘play’ button.
Loud in Melody’s ears, “oh shit that thing’s big.” A close-up showed the man using two hands to roll the head of the dildo around and around the girls failing vagina. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he pushed it in. Her vagina visibly popped, the dildo’s head was swallowed. It looked so delightful that Melody quickly rewound and watched it in slow-mo—recorded proof that a cunt could fit just about anything inside it; and proof, also, that Melody really was a voyeur.
“You can do it,” lost to fantasy, Melody excitedly called out. “Take that toy,” and, willing the girl on, her own legs stretched further apart, her hand now gliding more quickly over her white panties, her cunt like an oven of desire.
The actress gave a little squeal as the toy penetrated further and further. Melody placed a finger on her own clit, and through the cotton, began to rub.
A longer shot showed the actress less worried and more enthused. Melody rubbed faster. How could that thing possibly have fitted? And faster still. A close-up now showed the man, in a screwing fashion, maneuvering the transparent probe, in and out, edging deeper and deeper with each thrust. Then he pulled it quickly out, the girl’s deep hole popped like a mouth. The camera stayed there for a moment, while the girl slowly rubbed her clit. Juices flowed, her gape was more pronounced. Then back in, the toy went. More noticeable now, was how the girl’s vagina was coating the huge dildo cock with copious amounts of cunt cream.
Melody slid several fingers down and pressed into, then rubbed all around her own hole. She was damp. It felt exquisite. She reached for the mirror, then using the side with the enlarged image she examined how very damp the crotch of her knickers had become. 
The thick love wand, glistening with womanly dew, was at least five inches in, when the black man produced a small vibrator.
Melody was so transfixed she momentarily stopped exploring, to simply watch. The vibrator was switched on. It hummed delightfully. The man carefully placed it to one side of the girl’s hooded swollen clit, and all the while the giant phallic probe remained in place. So clear was the focus Melody thought she could actually see juices, leaking. ‘Rewind’, yes, the twitching girl was definitely dripping wet by now. Excellent, most porn starlets didn’t appear to get as wet as this, as wet as Melody did herself, this was refreshing, and extremely horny. 
Panning up. The blond was biting her lip as though barely able to stand the amount of pleasure she was enjoying. She cupped her concealed breasts, and gently squeezed. The camera drew in close, then down her stomach, to where the dildo continued and the vibrator was clearly heard as it circled all around that swollen clit; and then, surprisingly quick for a porno, the girl had one incredibly massive orgasm that, with tears shown in her eyes and quickly panning down, even more juices flowing from her cunt, looked far too real to be faked.
Melody placed the mirror on the bed and cupped one of her own hidden breasts. Her hand was full. It felt wonderful: Too wonderful to leave at just that.
So she removed her blue sweater, and undid her white blouse. She had not bothered with a bra. With her left hand, as though still aware of an invisible audience, she ever so slowly removed her right tit, to then show off how very erect and long her nipple was. She touched and gently pulled at it, then cupped her whole breast. At times like this, it was so wonderful to have tits.
Her other hand then continued to explore her moistening panties. She could orgasm quick, herself, she had no doubt, but it was too soon.
On the screen, the dildo was taken out and the man sucked it clean, his actions taking Melody a little off-guard. She’d seen it done a dozen times before, and although she liked to taste her own juices, the thought of a lover devouring large amounts of pussy juices like that, was somewhat confronting.
Now the actor moved to a kneeling position on the bed, his crotch stopping immediately in front of the starlet’s delighted face. He was dressed in a white T-shirt, and bulging loose-fitting shorts.
Melody sat up. This is the moment, she thought—the unveiling—and she wanted to give it the full attention it deserved.
But this movie was a tease, the blonde chose to gently fondle and squeeze that wonderful bulge before then leaning forward and kissing it all over. Finally, she hooked her thumbs over the elastic and pulled down to reveal gray bikini jocks so full and strained, that Melody literally gasped in delight.
Again the actress lovingly teased. “Come on,” Melody said aloud, but rather than spoil the agonizing play, she chose not to touch the ‘fast forward’.
Then it popped out.
Unbelievable! The biggest, blackest, veined cock, Melody had ever clapped eyes on. Cocks like this, were supposed to be myth, yet there it was, perhaps a full foot long. And it just bobbed there for a while—huge and beautiful. When the wide-eyed blonde did grab at it, her fist concealed less than half of its size. 
Now Melody really did need the remote. On ‘pause’ she again fluffed and arranged her pillows, then sank back into a more comfortable position. When she spread her legs this time, unable to ignore her aching heat any longer, she carefully pulled aside one leg of her panties to finally expose her nearly bald cunt. Any man watching such an act from such a beautiful, innocent, young college girl, would have cum in their pants at such an exquisite picture of pure adult delights. Melody’s pretty pussy, with large clit, was porn star perfect.
She pressed ‘play’.
The camera drew back a little.
“Wow! That is the biggest cock I have ever seen. So this is what you were preparing me for?” said the cute young blonde. An extreme close-up followed, where only the girl’s mouth was visible. She opened as wide as it would go. The massive cock head came into frame. A smile, displaying even, white teeth, a little giggle, then, rather than take it in, teasingly, she flicked it with her tongue and scraped the head gently with her teeth.
Melody used her fingers to spread her slippery folds and pull back the hood of her clit. Then she looked in the small handheld mirror. How could that not impress? She released the hood, placed the mirror to one side, and with two fingers, started to play at the sides of her raised tension. Extreme, almost unbearable, pleasure, like every frigging movement was the closest thing to an orgasm one could be without actually exploding. It took a deal of control now not to increase her speed and take herself over the edge.
The blonde then had to stretch her mouth and use all of her oral and hand skills to make-up for her inability to take in all of the massive cock presented to her. The volume at which Melody had her headphones set at, exaggerated the accompanying erotic slurping and sucking sounds. She briefly wondered at how that must feel for a man. However, there was nothing wrong with the way it felt to then slowly sink a finger deep into her thoroughly damp tight hole. Then she rubbed her cunt juices all over her clit; and repeated this process several times, her own moaning now matching anything from the headphones.
The oral lovemaking was explicit and erotic and lovingly shot; but even so, it went on for too long and she was just about to reach for the remote, when the scene changed. It was worth the wait. A close-up now showed the man positioning his magnificent rod in front of that newly shaven pink cunt. What a simply beautiful pussy! And how wonderfully happy the actress looked, as she was again, about to have something plunged into her beckoning hole. With her fingers, she drew back her labia and the cock came forward. As expected, there was a certain resistance, but so dilated and slick was her vagina that the large head soon popped in; then out and in and out and in, slow, accompanying squelching and occasional popping in the headphones. It took some time before the man attempted deeper penetration. Then came gentle slapping noises as his heavy, hairless black balls, contacted with the girl’s perineum and anus. Of course, with a cock that big, total insertion was out of the question.
A shot of the girls face, she was in heaven. Yet in such ecstasy, she still reached down and started to play with her swollen clit. Her action hardly necessary, thought Melody, considering the huge black cock had stretched the girl’s cunt to the point where the sliding wet shaft caused maximum friction on that erect little button. However it was visually pleasing, and Melody loved to see a girl play with herself while being fucked, it was always more authentic.
And now total jubilation set in, as sweetly the girl said, “Fuck me with that big dick of yours. Shit that’s huge. Look at it! Watch it going in my little pussy.” And the girl, herself, watched, enthusiastically, “It’s so pretty. I love your black cock. It feels so tight. I’m so wet. You fill me right up.” She pulled back the hood of her clit. The camera showed a slow-mo close-up of her tiny erection riding high above that massive wet rod. Looking straight into the man’s eyes, “I love you fucking me.” And her continuing relaxed state only confirmed how much she was truly enjoying what looked to be the fuck of her life.
Melody ‘paused’ the movie once more. From the bedside drawer she retrieved a flexible toy. It was small in comparison to what the blond had taken but more than adequate for her needs. Now she eased off her sodden white panties, then spread her legs once more, and reset the last part of the DVD. With the fun-handle inches from her own dripping cunt, she pressed ‘play’. Black cock was once more positioned in front of that fully exposed screen pink pussy. This time, as the cock pressed against resistance, at the very same time, Melody’s toy entered herself. She tried to match the rhythm on the screen of both the fucking and the clitoral stimulation. Added was the occasional grope of her wonderfully bobbing breasts.
And she masturbated like this right through the wet, noisy scene, able, only because of years of practice, to hold back her release until matched by the actress’s second orgasm. When she did finally explode, it was earth shattering, causing her to call out. Fortunately, no one else was in the house. Then, quivering, she sumptuously lay back, relishing the depths of being a woman. 
However, the scene was not quite over. With Melody now watching more in appreciation of the quality of production than real desire, the handsome man pulled out his excessively long fat dick. She loved to watch a man explode—something that could not be faked—but a large number of her more recent DVDs had moved on from simple ejaculations onto stomachs and breasts.
And sure enough, the girl got to her knees and voluntarily found a position at the edge of the bed, where her mouth was level with the throbbing wet dick. Melody reached for the ‘stop’ button, but did not press. “Yuk.” She said in anticipation, but not with any real commitment.
The most astonishing thing was how this young girl—perhaps no older than Melody herself—showed no sign, whatsoever, of revulsion; even smiling, while looking up into the eyes of her lover. And the man took his time. Slowly masturbating, swelling even further—if that was possible—arching back, and shooting several healthy loads of very white cum, directly into the girl’s eager mouth. And the girl drank it as calmly as though it was milk. She then used her fingers to retrieve drips, before sucking and licking the failing cock completely clean. Now that has GOT to be acting, thought Melody, and I don’t think I could ever be as good, not that I would ever want to do anything like that. Some of her earlier fantasizes had actually been of herself starring in a quality porn flick, with lots of men adoring her. 
Suddenly she was once more the Melody that everyone else knew—prim and proper, intelligent and aloof, able to wear tight clothes while still appearing as virginal as she truly was.
She took off her headphones.
On her bedside table, the phone was ringing; and downstairs her mother was returning from a shopping excursion. It was not typical for Melody’s Mother to be home so early on a Friday evening. 

Chapter Two

April was no more than five feet and four inches tall, and when she sat casually, dressed in denim and light sweater, next to Melody with her habit of sitting quite straight-backed, she looked all the shorter
The diner was full of noise. Had they not arrived at a reasonable time, they would have failed to find a free booth. The fear was that they would soon have to share.
“He wanted to know what I’m doing later.” April seemed in a hurry. “Can you believe it, Clayton ringing me!” She reiterated, her green-blue eyes, ever alive.
“Be careful. You know what he can be like.” The only hint of Melody’s earlier escapade, was a few tiny flecks of nail polish that she’d failed to fully remove, they went unnoticed.
“Like what, Mel? You tell me. He might want to have a little fun. And what’s wrong with that? Did you stop to think I might actually want to have fun? Clayton asks me out and all you can say is, ‘be careful’.”
“You’re my best friend. I’m supposed to look out for you.”
“Yes, but just because you have a problem subscribing to fun, doesn’t mean I have to. I’m a big girl now,” an almost humorous comment, considering her size and youthful appearance. “And unlike you, Mel, I happen to like boys.”
Melody wasn’t going to bite, or mock. “You can have fun and still be careful,” she said, “That’s all I’m trying to say. Clayton might be good looking, but he does have a rather poor reputation.”
“No kidding, Mom, a reputation for having his way with girls. So what! Do you think I just want him to kiss me? And he’s more than just good looking. He’s a total babe, and the best player on the team. All the girls want him.” April caught Melody’s look-away glance, “except you, of course. The mystery of the modern world; the girl with the mostest, wants the leastest. Honestly, Mel, sometimes I wonder about you. If I didn’t know better I’d swear the rumors were true.”
“That I’m a lesbian,” Melody had heard the rumor so many times it held no sting, “Or that I was sewn up at birth?”
“Well I know you’re not a lesbian. Not that that would bother me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you giving me permission, or something? Like you think I’m holding back on you?”
“No. I said I know you’re not. I just don’t see that there’s anything wrong with liking girls. That’s all. We all wonder at times.”
“Do we?”
“Look, forget I said anything.”
“So if I’m not a lesbian, then I must be sewn up, right?” And Melody smiled in hope of changing the mood.
“Got to be,” April followed with a soft laugh. “A body for sin and all you want to do is catch-up on homework.”
“Looks can be deceiving, maybe I’m a closet nymphomaniac.”
“And I’m Whoopi Goldberg. You look at a few adult sights on the web with me and you think you’ve lived dangerously. When was the last time you even took time to…”
“Not here, okay. Let’s not talk about me.” April was forever suggesting Melody explore her own sexually. “Where does Clayton propose to meet you?”
“He gave me his address.”
“Oh, April, listen to yourself! He’s not asking you out. He just wants to have sex with you so that he can brag to his mates about his latest conquest.”
April was stung. She tried vainly to laugh off the suggestion that that was all it was, but in truth she was hurting more than she wanted Melody to know. Having fun was one thing, and she loved sex as much as anyone, but being someone’s reason for bragging rights, was something else. And how often was Melody wrong? Never.

While the girls talked, a silent observer looked on. Travis knew most of the places where the girls hung out. If he missed them at one, he’d go to another, until they eventually turned up. He’d been doing this for the last six weeks and never did he think he’d been spotted. Indeed, no one really took any notice of him, just another nerdy loser trying to look cool, by hanging around joints where cool people did.
While drinking soda and eating fries, and trying to look inconspicuous, inside he felt terrible—like a Peeping Tom. Yet he couldn’t stay away, he just had to have one more look. Maybe he might even be noticed tonight. Certainly he fantasized about that moment, but what would he do then? Could he act as though this being there was accidental, or would they know he had been spying? 
With the crowd pressing, he was bumped, and at that very moment April looked up. “It’s him again.” “Where,” but before Melody could swing around, “don’t look. I want to see what he does,” and April tried to glance without being too obvious. “He’s looking this way. He’s looking at you, or at least the back of your head. Maybe he has a hair fetish.”
“That’s not funny.”
In a lowered voice, “it’s not funny with him following us around everywhere. It’s creepy. Damn nerd.”
“Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”
“That’s what you said last time, but here he is again; and in here. This is hardly his crowd…and on a Friday night! He looks like a fish out of water,” and feeling sure that he had no interest in her, she chanced a better look. “He’s still got his school sweater on for shit’s sake.”
“He’s pretty good you know,” then recognizing April’s confusion, “the violin. They accompany us,” she spoke of her drama class. 
In a strained whisper, “Melody, what does it matter how well he can play the violin, he’s a pervert. He watches you like a hawk. Probably plays with his little wiener while looking at you in last year’s yearbook.”
“Stop it, April. You don’t know that. Maybe he’s just trying to fit in.”
“Rubbish, and you know it, he’s here for you, and no other reason, a pervert if ever I saw one. You come across all-knowledgeable about Clayton, yet you can’t see when someone’s following you around like some creepy Peeping Tom. He should be reported.”
“And what do we say? This is a public place, and I’ve never seen him following us outside. A lot of guys look at us. I’m kind of used to it.”
“A lot of guys look at you.”
“And you, April!” But April looked utterly skeptical. Melody stressed, “You’re far more sassy and sexy than me, April, and everyone thinks so. You have a wonderfully cheeky smile and a cute bum, which you don’t hide very well under your skirt,” a little grin, “and everyone just loves your enthusiasm for life. I think you’re far more attractive to men than I am. I’m just a gangly, quiet girl that guys only look at, because I have nice breasts. And we both know guys will look at any girl’s breasts.”
“Oh shit, Melody, I’m going to vomit. You don’t really believe that dribble, do you? And if you think I’m sexy, than perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps you really are a lesbian,” said without any real bite. “I’ll say it for the hundredth time, you’re the best looking girl in Summerville; and not just because you have those horribly perfect tits. If you can’t see that every guy around constantly gives you the eye, than you’re truly blind. I’m just lucky to pick up a few scraps when they realize you’re not interested in anything they have to offer. Certainly, not in anything,” the slightest nod, “he might have to offer.”
“He’s not that bad, quite cute, really.”
April looked again, this time catching Travis’ eye. She poked out her tongue, then turned back to Melody. “If you like weirdos. And my little brother dresses better than he does.”
“Maybe we worry too much about how we look.”
“Shit, Melody, listen to yourself. You sound like you’re defending him. He’s a creep. He makes me cringe. And if I were you, I’d watch my back. Don’t let him get too close, okay.”
“Maybe we should move on if it bothers you so much.”
April looked again, “No need,” a short laugh, “seems I scared him off.”
As Travis departed into the night, some of the local football team entered the diner. They had just finished a late afternoon practice session and were ready to party. At the back of the pack was Clayton. As though a homing-beacon, through the crowd, the very first thing he noticed were the two girls at the far end.
Not one to hold back, he pushed through. “Hey, April…so much room, and only the two of you. Some might think you were being rude.” He then signaled for April to shove over, so that he could sit down. He called over to a friend. The tall guy was a little hesitant in taking a seat next to the school’s ‘unattainable’. Clayton simply winked at Melody though they had been close friends most of their lives. Melody wished so much that she could suddenly disappear. “What do you reckon, hey Mel, what say the four of us go to Thunderbolts? Dance a little, drink a lot, and party hard afterwards. My place is free of olds at the moment,” another hideous wink. “You do dance, don’t you? A drama student who doesn’t dance, that wouldn’t sound right.” A comment purely designed to get a reaction. Truthfully, Clayton had seen April and Melody dancing at Thunderbolts on more than one occasion.
“She dances,” said April, defensively, but following with a laugh. The idea of male company already had her head in a spin, and her clit twitching. “And she drinks. She just doesn’t drink like you do,” A feigned look of disapproval.
“Ah, that hurts. Now you’re calling me a drunk. I’ll have you know I only…”
The friend called, Wayne, interjected. “Get drunk every weekend.”
For some reason that Melody was unable to comprehend, this was seen as funny, and even April laughed. Times like this she wondered what happened to her friend’s sensibility, it was as though she was a different person, not one Melody particularly liked. “I don’t really feel like dancing tonight,” she said so quietly she would have to repeat herself.
“Not again, Mel.” April looked pleadingly. “Come on. Let’s have some fun for once.” Still Melody looked worried.
“And I promise,” said Clayton, now slinging an arm around April’s shoulders, “if you’re not having the best time of your life, I’ll take you home myself.”
“I bet you would.” April elbowed him. “I think that’s what she’s afraid of.” But there was no depth to her mocking. The school jock, with his arm around her, how terrific was this? Another, more nervous laugh. “Look, Mel, if you’re not having fun, we’ll just leave, okay.”
“No you won’t. Melody’s a big girl now. She can look after herself.” Clayton blurted all too loudly. Then less forced, “you’re not trying to tell me the rumors about you two are actually true, are you?” An attempt at humor, however, to Melody he simply looked like an animal of prey.
Turning to her unwelcome company, Melody said, “Wayne, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, Wayne,” said the big beafy boy. “And Clayton’s right, we can take you home any time you want. All you have to do is say the word.”
“Thanks, but really, Wayne, I’m sorry but I don’t feel much like partying tonight.”
“Got things to do, I suppose,” said April, with a hint of frustration.
“Just not in a partying mood, that’s all.” Melody’s eyes suggesting her friend should not pursue the matter further.
“And when do you let your hair down? Asked Clayton, “I’m sure, if you gave us a chance we could show you a good time. A time you wouldn’t regret.”
“Come on, Mel, please!” April pleaded.
“You go. Have fun. Don’t let me stop you. Thunderbolts gives me a headache,” the ‘headache’ line was secret code which was supposed to mean that it was the wrong time of the month for her to feel particularly comfortable out having fun. She hoped April was unaware how much of a lie she was purporting. “Ring me later, if you like. Anytime.” And she rose, signaling her intentions to leave.
April would plead further, but it was useless, the mere mention of ‘fun’ had caused Melody to shrink back into her shell, and it was obvious nothing was going to pull her out.
Truth being, with Clayton’s hot body next to her, April didn’t have the will to pursue her friend’s shyness. It could wait another day, it always did. As for the ‘headache’ story, April was not ignorant. She knew it was a lie, but what could she say when in a room more than half filled with ogling men?

When Melody arrived home, she was surprised to see her brother, Anthony’s, sports car in the drive. However, there was no surprise when she climbed the stairs to find Anthony’s room was being occupied by more than one person, the sexual play loud enough to make a prostitute blush.
For a moment she listened. Then almost subconsciously, a hand pressed into the crotch of her jeans. Her brother was eighteen months older than herself, and was considered by April to be very handsome. His current flame was a slender, pretty, girl, with a perky personality, who was around about Melody’s age. The thought of the two fucking behind the closed door, had Melody rather excited. Very occasionally she even found herself wondering what her bother was like at sex. She had never heard any of his ex-girlfriends complaining. Perhaps he had a really nice dick and was good at fucking with it? But how could she think such things about her own bother. And she resisted the temptation to play with herself more fully and crept passed, entered her own ‘keep-out’ zone, donned her headphones, and feeling a little guilty at getting turned on by her brother’s antics, started watching a non-erotic Hollywood epic, instead.
Although one of her favorite films her mind was elsewhere. What was Travis’s story? On the odd occasion when she had taken notice of him, he had played the most exquisite violin, perhaps the most gifted musician in the school. Why did guys always have to be jocks for April to be interested? But still, was he really following her, was he a Peeping Tom?
Although her upstairs bedroom could hardly be seen through either window, she suddenly thought to check the street outside. It was empty. She drew the curtains to the point where not even a slither of the room was visible. Then she turned on her computer and checked her email. She had heard of people being terrorized this way, however, except for expected unauthorized advertising, her mailbox was found to be empty.
Relieved, she returned to her bed. Just another boy fighting with his hormones, she told herself. A smile crossed her face. She knew what it was like to be ‘hormone-happy’. From her bottom drawer, she withdrew her new DVD and gave it a kiss—that beautiful big black cock. There would be other nights, however, to admire the rest of the film.
Instead, her thoughts turned to her friend, April. What risks was she taking? Melody really didn’t like the way Clayton looked at them both. Her friend always claimed to be able to control the situations she got herself into, but could Clayton be controlled? Could he take, ‘no’ for an answer…not that she imagined April was acquainted with the word? ‘Be careful, girl,’ she whispered, and for the first time she thought she should not have left. What sought of friend was she? Okay, she was afraid of where the evening was going, but surely she could have hung around long enough to give April her support, if she had needed it. But that was dumb, April was a pint-sized energy ball who could down any man with a good kick to the balls—and she wouldn’t hesitate, if necessity arose. It’s a shame she dyes her hair so blonde, though, she thought, it makes her look like she’s inviting trouble. And those skirts she wears. 
What was she suggesting? She wore jeans, herself, that were so tight you could easily make out her feminine gap. Some would call her a prick-tease, no doubt, but her clothes made her feel sexy and she was not about to change her style for anyone. Still it wasn’t such a problem for her, because she wasn’t the one going out with boys like Clayton.
She didn’t go out with boys, full stop: a mystery even to her. ‘Why?’ She asked herself yet again, ‘What’s wrong with me? Why don’t I want to go out and have a little ‘fun’? Doesn’t mean I have to sleep with them? I’ve got a voice. I can say ‘no’ if it doesn’t suit me. But then why would I want to say no? Why am I holding back…the only twenty-year-old virgin left on Earth? Do I still think some man is going to sweep me off my feet, and charge off into the sunset on a white horse? I know that doesn’t happen, yet still I cling to my virginity like a turtle to its shell. What’s more, I know I would love sex. I like everything about it…At least, I think I do. I love watching. Maybe I’ve become a pervert. The female equivalent to an old man in a rain-jacket visiting adult movie houses, late at night. But when I’m at school I don’t think like this. I don’t spend all my time watching Mr. Wilkins’ butt. Well not all the time. I can separate fantasy from reality, so how did I get to be so mixed up?
Lost to questions she’d never be able to answer in one night, she turned back to thoughts of her friend. “Be smart, April, and please, please be careful.”

Chapter Three

On the wooded outskirts of Summerville, is a white mansion—known affectionately as the Manor—so large it dwarfed even Melody’s parents’ house.
On the lawns and circle drive of this opulent, many-pillared palace, were enough luxury cars to satisfy a family of sheiks. One of the cars was a white, late model, Mercedes, owned by the Evans’s.
Inside the Manor, in a room at least half the size of a basketball court, under soft chandelier lighting, was the majority of the owners of the cars. These were no ordinary people, and this, no ordinary gathering; for these were the unthinkably rich, gathered to party like the middle class could only ever dream of.
It was a masked costume party, and with so much wealth at their disposal, no amount of effort had been withheld. A pirate looked as though he’d stepped right out of the pages of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island. A musketeer the very image of Alexandre Dumas’ adventures. And there was a Robin Hood, a Batman, an Edward Scissorhand; and amongst the women, Maid Marion, Heidi, Lady Guinevere, Queen Elizabeth (the hostess), a policewoman, a nurse, Fairies, Angels, a cheerleader, and every other fantasy character imaginable…a wonder of organization that so many had not duplicated another’s disguise.
And while the color and splendor, dipped and swirled, pranced and paraded, a masked band, dressed in very formal wear, played splendid classical music. To compliment the music, were the gliding, tireless, black masked, waiters and waitresses, their attire, the first real hint that this was no ordinary costume party.
For although the waiters wore smart jackets and white shirts and bow ties, where pressed black trousers should be worn, there were a series of different ‘Action Man’ style boxer shorts, plus sport socks and shoes. The waitresses were French maids with tiny dresses, black stockings and pointed shoes, their barebacked costumes, far too small to be authentic wear. Their job was to carry drinks in elegant, long-stemmed, crystal glasses, on large silver trays.
Although, at the rear of the room there was a table almost as long as the room’s width that was covered in the most decadent of food, most couples preferred to dance on, while allowing the male staff to bring them morsels. 
One of the masked waiters, carrying his tray, was a short distance from Mrs. Evans, when she curled a finger in his direction. He came to her—a corseted lady of turn-of-the-century fashion—then presented his tray of samples. But it was not food that she sought. Instead, she reached forward and as casually as one might feel fruit in a market, she grabbed and plied the waiter’s silky boxers. As his wonderful cock swelled, “makes a woman hungry,” she said, before, from the tray, then pinching a cheese cracker in her long fingers. When she ate, she fairly devoured the small morsel; then she turned on the waiter and once more grabbed his concealed cock, and for a while, played masterfully with it. “Maybe later you might have something else I could sample.”
“We are at your service, madam.” the waiter replied without a hint of losing his composure. When he turned away, it took some time before his boxer’s ceased to be strained.
“You fancy the waiter?” her husband, Melody’s father, asked. He was tall and had short fair, wavy hair, and stood little more than an arm’s length away. 
“And you, Zorro? What is to be your conquest tonight? An Angel, one of the Maids, Heidi, I’ve seen you eyeing off Miss. Universe.”
“But where’s the mystery with her?” The young, stunning brunette was dressed in a striped bikini and wrap, her voluptuous figure very evident.
“Not enough layers for you to peel off?”
“Exactly. I like a little more subtlety than that.”
“But she’s terribly attractive, don’t you think?” And they both looked to where the masked beauty queen had last been seen dancing. However, Robin Hood had already taken a fancy to her, and was making very obvious advances.
“Too late it seems,” said Mr. Evans, admiring the way Robin Hood kissed the nape of the girl’s neck, while reaching around and openly fondling pert tits. “I don’t mind…Actually I rather fancy little Bo Peep over there.” Little Bo Peep, was less-than-average height, blonde, wore a sparkling pink butterfly mask, and carried a hooked staff that was decorated with a series of white and pink ribbons. Under her authentic looking fairy tale dress, were many layers of white petticoats that were complimented with white stockings and pretty bow shoes.
“A little young?” the seriousness in her tone, the first indication that she disapproved of his choice.
“And ‘Action Man’ over there, how old is he?”
“Tom,” then she lowered her voice. “Tom, I know who the waiter is, and he’s closer to thirty than twenty. She’s got to be no more than twenty-one or two at best.”
“How can you tell? She’s wearing a mask…And how could you possibly know who the waiter is, anyway?” And he looked over to where the waiter mingled. He had no idea, himself.
She lowered her voice even further. It was usually forbidden to use names at these parties, “look at his hair, Tom; and his build, and I’m sure I recognize that ring on his little finger. He should have taken it off.”
“Who then?”
“Lower your voice.”
“Who,” he reiterated in a whisper that drew her in closer?
“It’s Melody’s English teacher, Mr. Wilkins.”
“Are you certain?” Then realizing his exaggerated tone, he leant forward and continued in her ear, “you felt up our Mel’s English teacher?” However, although shocked, he was not really upset; rather, such a thought had him quite excited.
She turned to his ear, “yes dear, I had his cock in my hand, and later I intend to have it between my legs. What do you think about that?”
“You are the wickedest woman to walk the face of the earth…And I love you, my dear Mary Poppins.” The Closest character he could think of that fitted her costume.
“Does that still mean you’re going to chase after Little Bo Peep?”
“Just want to help her find her sheep.”
“What if she recognizes you, as a wolf in sheep’s clothing?”
Something in her voice had him further concerned. “You don’t really mind, do you? We agreed not to question each others choices, but if you would rather I…”
She pressed a finger to his lips. “It’s okay. I wish you well. Just don’t be disappointed if she thinks you’re a little too old for her liking.”
“Don’t jinx it, I’m forty-five, not seventy, and you keep telling me I don’t look my age. And I don’t know how you can possibly be so certain she’s so young, anyway?”
“Perhaps,” but she was certain, the masks often hid telltale age-lines, but that skin, the look; it was all too perfect for a woman over thirty; and not always were the guests middle-aged, idle, and rich; indeed, it was known that some were ‘hired’ from upper class establishments out-of-town. It was common knowledge that many of the French Maids were not only paid for serving food. “Good luck, then.” She tried to smile, but her heart wasn’t in it. Little Bo Peep, whether a call girl or not, may yet have a father that was no older than her husband, and although she had promised herself not to think like this, with a daughter in the same age group, she still found the thought a little disturbing.
Where was Mr. Wilkins, she tried to console herself, his cock might be just the thing to help her forget Little Bo Peep. And after a quick nod, she moved away to mingle with others.

April had danced as much as anyone else, had laughed and shouted to be heard above the din in Thunderbolts, but what she had not done, was try to match the boys unrestrained drinking. Let them get drunk, perhaps then they would be easier to control when the time came for the evening to wind-up. At least, that was the theory.
It was nearly one in the morning when talk turned to alternative entertainment. April had pleaded her case to leave them to it. They had not proven to be quite the ideal company she had thought they might be. However, Clayton was the boisterous type when drunk, and, indeed, would not take ‘no’ for an answer. ‘Be careful’, she heard Melody’s warning ringing like a bell in her head, as she reluctantly got into Clayton’s car. And always Wayne suggesting she had nothing to worry about.
The drive was hair-raising, yet was nothing compared to what was to follow.
“I said I would ring Mel. Do you mind?” April was nervously standing in Clayton’s rather smelly lounge room. She had not known, until then, that when Clayton had said his house was free of parents, he had actually meant that his parents were in Europe on an extended vacation, and he and Wayne shared it together. She was having very definite second thoughts.
The boys both complained, but did not prevent her from using her mobile phone.
Melody was asleep when her own mobile rang. They talked, April finishing with a guarantee that all was well. 
But if she thought her extended conversation with Melody would deter the boys, she was very mistaken. And later, when she insisted on leaving, their wails of protests were excruciating enough for her to give in.
She stayed.
And she drank too much.
Perhaps if the boys were even drunker still, they would lose interest. Instead she got drunk herself.

Immediately beyond the ballroom was an enormous grand foyer, and in the middle of this, a very wide carpeted staircase, the dark wooden handrails intricately carved, and the newel posts, gothic. To the right of the railing, standing on the marble floor, was Tom Evans. He was fully dressed in his black, heavily embroidered, Zorro outfit. However, he did have his fly open.
Little Bo Peep was sitting nearby, on a wide step. She was masked and fully dressed. Every bit as casually as Mrs. Evans’s earlier behavior, she reached through the railing and slid a small hand inside Tom’s pants, her skillful action, causing him to press against the opening between the dark rails.
Moment’s later his full appreciation was clear for all to see. With her small fist, she slowly pumped his lovely cock, before then opening her pretty little mouth.
Such was her relaxed and experienced manner—while others were continuing to use the stairs—Tom was certain she was indeed paid well for her inclusion in the party, and not just another daughter of a guest: A fact that helped to quell his own apprehensions at her possible age. But then just as he was admiring her large, clear azure eyes, dark long lashes, pale blue eye shadow speckled with glitter, just as he was nearing fulfillment; taking all of his cock deep into her mouth, her mask brushed the railing and slipped up. Instead of righting it—as would have been expected—she simply continued to suck until he felt he could last no longer. “I’m going to come.” He whispered hoarsely.
“Then come.” She said cutely, before calling to a nearby maid. “We need Champaign, please.” The French Maid had a silver tray; atop, three long-stemmed wineglasses. One was handed to the sitting Bo Peep. Mr. Evans, straining to contain himself, refused an offer. Bo Peep drank half of the contents of her glass, then casually resumed sucking and pulling on Tom’s throbbing cock until he did indeed explode. Some cum missed the wineglass, and landed all over her hand and arm. She did not mind, simply handing the glass with the floating cum to the maid, before then licking off what had missed. “Yummy,” she said, with a cheeky smile on her sweet face, “very tasty. Thank you, Mr. Zorro.” Then she licked his cock clean.
Has to be a pro, gasping, he thought? Yet, now spent and able to think a little more clearly, looking down, he was somewhat chilled. She was very young. Was he crossing a line he thought he would never cross? She couldn’t possibly be as young as his daughter, could she? But surely this was far too late for such disturbing considerations, and hadn’t she been meticulously chosen by the owners of the house—clean, reliable pseudo staff and known guests? At forty-five, everyone looked young to him, she could just as easily be in her late twenties, he tried to console himself, unconvincingly. 
Not long after this time, another French Maid, taller than the first, presented herself to Bo Peep and Tom, as the two shared a short cigar. After having provided them with an ashtray, “Is there anything else you might like,” she politely asked. She did not now carry a large serving tray, which was a sure signal that it was not food or beverages to what she was referring.
By now Bo Peep’s experience, rather than age, had Tom less worried about circumstances. “So what’s on the menu tonight then?” he asked the waitress.
“There’s the gamesroom, where we have a number of new items; there are some new toys we have in our collection…Whatever you desire.” The brunette smiled delightfully, “perhaps you might like to try our special package.” 
“Hmm, sounds interesting. What’s in it?”
“I’ll be right back.” The brunette again gave the loveliest of smiles. She was very attractive in quite a different way than the bright popstar looks of the young blond.
She nodded then departed for a nearby lengthy table that held an interesting array of items. On one end, a middle-aged Fairy was laying on her back, legs apart, being wildly screwed by an enthusiastic Spiderman.
As though all was right with the world, Little Bo Peep smiled up at Tom.
Patricia is right, early twenties at best, Tom thought, but tried not to show any hint of apprehension. 
When the waitress returned, she held flat in her arms, a large black attaché case. She presented it to Bo Peep who still sat very relaxed on the stairs.
Bo Peep leant forward and pressed the gold locks. When it sprang open, inside, on black felt, presented like precious jewels, was an assortment of exotic adult toys. “Wonderful,” said Little Bo Peep. “And do they happen to come with someone to demonstrate them?”
“Naturally, madam. We are always at your service.” It was a game, really; and Tom knew it. The Maid was too old to be calling the young lady a ‘madam’, and it was most likely that Little Bo Peep was ‘hired’ just like the maids, and simply playing out the role of invited ‘guest’. 
“Then I require you to give us a demonstration, before you completely ravish my body.”
“As you wish, madam.” And with a friendly smile the waitress gave up the last of her more formal persona, and came to join them on the stairs.
Bo Peep admiringly handled a few of the items in the case then turned to the Maid. “You can start with this big fellow in the middle.” She pointed to a pale pink dildo that was a perfect replica of the real thing. “I’m sure Zorro here would love to see you push this fat cock all the way into your lovely pussy.”
“It would be my pleasure, madam.” The attaché case was set further aside, on a lower stair, the toy retrieved; then the French maid turned her full attention on herself while her guests watched. After frilly French knickers were taken down, that big pink toy was gently slapped against a trim pussy, before then slipping gracefully in. It was magnificently explicit, people still stepping passed, while the maid’s legs rested wide on the steps, dildo rotating and sliding in and out, ever wetter; Little Bo Peep appearing to enjoy the show every bit as much as Tom.
And being the good maid that she was, she soon turned her attention back to those she entertained. When she gently pushed up the many pretty petticoats of Little Bo Peep’s costume, Tom could not help but stare agog at such erotic perfection. Bo Peep had been dancing the night away in exquisite lace top, stay-up, white stockings, and no panties; and what a beautifully presented completely shaven moist pussy it was.
No sooner had the maid begun a hands-on demonstration, and Tom was forgetting any earlier concerns about age. Just two extremely well preened call girls providing sophisticated adult entertainment. And how well the girls toyed with one another: A variety of dildos and vibrators sliding in and out of lovely pussies, the top of the French Maids’ costume taken down so that Little Bo Peep could suck gently on prominent dark nipples.
Then they turned their attention to Tom. “I think you should fuck this good gentleman,” Little Bo Peep said sweetly to the Maid.
To Tom, “I am totally at your service, Mr. Zorro, sir. Would you like me to play with your sword?” said the half-dressed maid. Although her knickers remained off, her black stockings, held up with a suspender belt, were still on, along with black short-heeled diamond-studded, shoes.
Tom came around the railing to find a sitting position on the stairs. His renewed erection, along with his balls, sat prominently out of the zip in his pants. The French Maid sucked his veined cock for a little while, before calmly retrieving a condom from the attaché case and rolling it down over the shaft. Then she sought a position on top, legs well apart, knees bent, facing away from him. Little Bo Peep grabbed his throbbing member and helped hold it in position, as the Maid calmly sat down, to ensnare his cock in her welcome cunt.
It slipped in effortlessly, right down to the trimmed hairs on his balls.
And using the stairs for support, the Maid gently rocked back and forth, and moved up and down, pussy juices soon coating the transparent condom.
At one point his cock popped out. To this, Little Bo Peep, leaned forward, sucked the condom clean, then replaced that delicious cock once more in the Maid’s wet hole. Then she tongued the Maid’s clit, patted it, and gently played with Tom’s bouncing balls.
Fucking resumed in earnest, forcing Little Bo Peep to move back and resort to intermittently using her fingers, rather than her tongue, to squeeze the top of the maid’s folds, then she smacked the girl’s clit.
Tom was overwhelmed with desire. However, before he was allowed to come, Little Bo Peep decided she desperately needed a turn.
And so, on the stairs and often using the railing as support, he expertly took turns fucking them both.
Just as he was about to explode, he was asked to return to his original position on the stairs.
The condom was removed and discarded. With willing mouths and hands, the two girls shared his cock until he could stand it no longer and powerfully came all over his black Zorro pants. Another passing Maid, using a hand towel provided for this very purpose, dutifully cleaned up the sticky mess like it was the most typical duty a maid carried out.
He sighed, accepted a wine, finished his short cigar, then followed the girls to a room, on the other side of the foyer. This was the gamesroom.
There was conventional gambling tables and a wheel for those who cared for such things, but more prominent was the selection of sexual practices that many had quite a deal of money riding on.
How quickly could a Maid suck and jerk two Waiters off at the same time, and who would come first? How far could two other Maids, sitting with legs wide apart on a long L-shaped lounge, using their dexterous pussies, pop table tennis balls—pussy cannons? A Maid was measuring both the girth and length of three waiter contestants, to see who had the largest dick. 
However, the most extreme contest actually came from a guest, rather than any ‘hired’ help. The longhaired, Lady Guinevere stood in heeled boots, on a pool table, while several very engrossed masked men looked on. She had her long decorative purple skirt hitched up to her waist. Tom watched in amazement as a Waiter continued to add small weights to one end of a gold chain, which reached her ankles. Following the chain up, Tom’s eyes came to where it split into two, the duel short chains then linked to gold rings that stretched the Lady’s pierced labia.
She endured.
More bets were made.
More weights added.
To Tom this kind of practice was more disturbing than erotic and thus he moved on.
Exotic gambling was not all that went on in this huge opulent room. While some perused magnificent large paintings and sculptures as casually as one might in a public gallery, others gathered at one end around a menagerie of gadgets and unique furnishings.
Prominent, was a big round table that was covered in ruby red, studded, leather. This was a rotating table.
Lying on one half was Miss Universe being happily fucked by a tall pirate. On the opposing side, squatting on bent knees with sway back, was a half-dressed, slender, Wonder Woman. An overweight and short, Batman, needed to rise up on his toes to get his surprisingly large dick, fully buried inside her willing and exquisitely exposed pussy.
Tom was momentarily fascinated; especially when the table rotated, and partners were swapped, Batman appearing somewhat relieved that Miss Universe retained her lying position, permitting him easier access.
Tom laughed softly. The girls, Little Bo Peep and the French Maid, who had remained with him throughout, openly giggled.
There was another observer nearby—a guest dressed as a nurse, her uniform too short and too tight to be genuine. Her white shoes and stockings and panties had been removed, but not her pink, silver encrusted mask; and she slouched, with one leg over an arm of a large leather armchair.
To her, the table held no humor at all, only lust; and appearing as though in the privacy of her own home, she ignored onlookers and calmly played with her fully shaven pussy.
Now to Tom, this was erotic, and for a while he stood and watched the actions of the thirty-something, blond nurse, rather than the table. The nurse finally acknowledged him with a smile, then rose and moved to the table. She played with the couples; hands cupping concealed breasts, then holding a set of balls, fingers frigging both clits of the two female participants. Without a word being spoken, Miss. Universe moved off the table to allow the nurse to take her place.
And so the fucking carousel continued.
And for a while Tom continued to watch lustfully, while Little Bo Peep started to play with the returning bulge in his pants. She was masterful—not too harsh, nor too soft.
The French Maid left their side and went to the table, and while the Nurse, lying on her back, was being fucked by the Pirate, the attractive Maid undid the top of the Nurse’s uniform. Large breasts were then sumptuously teased.
A well-endowed African American male guest, wanting to replace either Batman or the Pirate, stepped forward. Tom took this as an indication that perhaps it was time to move on.
Through a large glass archway was an adjoining room, which was still considered part of the ‘games’ area. In it on yet more expensive leather seats, sat several older gentlemen, smoking cigars. Nearby was a dentist’s chair, a loveswing for the more athletic, and a dildo pumping machine positioned at the end of a slender black leather table. These devices were not being used. However, another apparatus was. A policewoman was blindfolded—rather than simply masked—and was lying with legs straddled in a gynecologist’s chair. Several pseudo doctors, wearing authentic looking white robes, with an assortment of shiny metal instruments, were examining her private parts. One hollow instrument spread her cunt so wide Tom felt compelled to peek inside. The open-ended instrument was taken out and gloved fingers slipped in and out of her dilated hole; followed by a large black police baton.
And other things, besides, went on, in these most extraordinary rooms. Much to Tom’s utter delight, Little Bo Peep chose to spend the greater majority of her time by his side.
Chapter Four

Upstairs there were ten luxurious bedrooms that were set aside for private encounters.
However, as demonstrated by the rooms below, most of the voyeuristic guests didn’t bother with such unnecessary privacy; and thus there were always plenty of free rooms for those less inclined toward extreme exhibitionism. Considering what she hoped might eventuate and still fearing the idea, on this particular night, Patricia Evans was one of these few less extroverted.
The large door to the upstairs bedroom that she now occupied was locked, and added to this was a seldom-used ‘do not disturb’ sign. Some actually saw this kind of practice as rude, but right then she didn’t care, the thought of absolute privacy, all that mattered. 
In the beautifully furnished room with her, was a masked Mr. Wilkins; and, for the first time in all of her party experiences, a second man was included—a certain Robin Hood had already been successful with Miss Universe, and had quickly moved on to more interesting conquests. Mrs. Evans, with all her layers, now considered more interesting.
She could have simply requested that the waiter alone attend to her—it was quite common for this to happen—however she did not want to be so obvious in her dreams of having sex with Mr. Wilkins. Better no one knew how often she’d actually fantasized about this exact, completely improbable, encounter. However, would reality live up to her expectations? And with her less-than-shoulder length, black, straight hair and blue eyes—Melody’s features having come largely from her father—would he be able to recognize who she was? In her mind, she had little doubt. What would it be like then when they met at school functions?
But this was not the time to be thinking of such things, she reprimanded herself, this was time for fun.
Still, and more immediately, could she actually take on two men at one time? She had never tried anything quite that adventurous before, and was not even certain how she was supposed to behave. Was it too late to retreat to the relative safety of the ballroom? She checked her large fabric mask yet again. It was more secure than Bo Peep’s had been. 
With her discomfort becoming ever more apparent, the Waiter, now standing by the king-sized bed, said, “perhaps, Madam, I could return at a later time when you might be needing refreshments. If that is what you would prefer?” A rather ridiculous statement, considering he had already brought with him, a full bottle of wine on a silver tray, with three long-stemmed glasses, and an assortment of condoms. 
All too quickly, she replied. “No. No, please…I don’t want you to go…Stay.” Then trying to sound less flustered, “I believe you have something better than Champaign that you might be able to offer me.”
Robin Hood, simply ignoring her uncertainty, kissed her softly on the cheek then followed with a gentle hand that felt the frilly high neck-collar of her buttoned-up, white, lace blouse. Following, he ran his hand down, inside her short black jacket, until he could press against breasts that sat above a corset. “Don’t be shy, my Maid Marion (not her costume), merry will be your loins when my arrow enters thee.” His hands then wandered freely over her waist, her shoulders, neck, then back again, to lightly squeeze her breasts.
Looking for better comfort, he carefully maneuvered himself onto the bed, until he was, with legs enveloping her, in a sitting position immediately behind, where he could hold her against his toggled green vest. “Rest thy weary head on my shoulder, while thy humble manservant sates thou quiet hunger.” He motioned to the waiter, who looked a little confused. He motioned again, making it more obvious that he wanted the masked waiter to come to the edge of the bed, then kneel and spread the good lady’s legs.
With measured steps, Action Man, cum Waiter, Mr. Wilkins, approached, then knelt. Robin Hood nodded approvingly.
When the Waiter looked up, Patricia Evans drowned in his eyes. The large black mask could not hide how dreamy those bedroom eyes were, like mesmerizing pools of pleasure, transporting her to a world of dreamy sexual freedom. 
And slowly the Waiter ran his hands up the classy lady’s fine stockings. It felt so delectably seductive. He stopped at her knees. With both hands he calmly parted her further. Set before him were lacy satin, black panties, which he openly looked upon with adulation.
These were not stay-up stockings, and were supported by a black suspender belt that the Waiter had no trouble unclipping, the patterned black stockings, then slowly rolled down. Her fashionable short boots were taken off. The stockings followed. He massaged her small feet then sucked each of her toes.
It felt exquisitely sensual.
Now Robin Hood was not about to be outdone.
Reaching around, he started unbuttoning her jacket, there were only two buttons, when completed, he folded back the stiff material to better reveal her very lacy, blouse; and although still concealed behind the smooth fabric, it was rather obvious that above the corset, she wore no bra.
Now in a better position than before, and with easier access, he caressed and kneaded her lovely soft breasts, before carefully pinching her erect nipples.
Action Man was now cradling feet, then kissing carves and knees, and leaning more forward, her sensitive inner thighs. He came to her panties, so prettily set out in front of him, and there he paused to once more admire them, before then beginning to play. Mrs. Evans, way past modesty, relaxed her knees to the point where he could easily fit his head and hands between her legs, to do as he wished.
Robin Hood took a moment to simply watch his compatriot. With tender care, the Waiter was continuing to gently rub the mound concealed under those panties, before pulling them aside, to fully reveal her perfectly trimmed, moist, dark pink cunt. Mrs. Evans was watching just as closely.
Hurry up, she was thinking, eat my cunt.
He looked up straight into her eyes then out came his wide tongue. Making sure she was watching, the first slow lick took in near all of her pussy. Then he used his hands to open up her exquisite womanly folds. Fingers dipped into her hole then rubbed the hood of her clit and everywhere else. His tongue flicked and flicked and teased every part of her sensitive slit. At one point, like a vacuum cleaner, he sucked in her entire clit. And he pressed a thumb against her anus.
She thought that was all he would do.
She was wrong.
Using saliva, he slicked his thumb, before squeezing it in where only her husband had ever gone before. The whole length disappeared. Very slowly he maneuvered it in and out, while continuing with his tongue on her cunt. She literally oozed desire like a leaking gel pack.
Robin had her blouse undone now, and moving more to one side, leaning over, held her left tit and gently sucked and bit just her left nipple. Then he moved on to her corset, which simply had to come off if he was going to ravish all of her flesh. And he was good; taking it off as though he’d removed dozens of corsets in his time.
Action Man sucked and licked and poked and flicked, with no sign of tiring. Robin Hood now on knees, immediately behind, still supporting Mrs. Evans, was able to run his rough hands down to her waist and hold her there, an erogenous zone Mrs. Evans would not have thought he’d have considered. While the passionate eating continued unabated between her legs, Robin lightly pressed in and down on her waist.
This was simply too much, she was going to explode, but did she want to come so soon? With careful breathing, she had willed herself to hold back in the past; however, with two men working on her overtime, was such self-control possible?
Robin Hood was not yet finished with her tits, his mouth returning to suck in almost her entire left breast, her nipple fairly reaching his tonsils. Then his wet tongue went to work rolling around and around, avoiding the very tip. His other hand gently grasped her right breast.
Mrs. Evans almost cracked the Waiters head with her orgasm.
They were not finished—far from it.
Drinks were served.
Light banter and a few laughs followed.
Then, with Mrs. Evans seated in an elegantly curved wooden and material small chair, the Waiter came to stand in front of her. “Would madam like to see what other refreshments we have on offer?”
She looked up into his dreamy eyes, and smiled knowingly.
It was the only lead he needed.
And so he stood there, below his smart black waistcoat and neat white shirt and bow tie, were his silky daredevil boxers, striped sports socks and basketball shoes. A hand went to his shorts and he blatantly squeezed and fondled the full length of his concealed erection. Mrs. Evans could not help but lustfully eye the prominent bulge. She was flushed and as horny as hell, her previous orgasm almost forgotten.
Cock, I need cock, her eyes were saying.
The Waiter was good at reading eyes.
The boxers had an opening; through it he pulled his rigid cock out and presented it like a gift. She actually caught herself licking her lips. It was not the biggest cock she’d ever seen, but poking straight out like that, it was beautiful all the same.
Robin Hood was not about to be upstaged, he had a deliberate tear in his green tights, through which he pulled aside a black leather g-string, to allow his own weapon to bounce free—as though about to enter a cockfight. It had a large head and a noticeable bend to it.
And it was big.
While it bobbed, she eyed it just as lovingly. All cocks were beautiful as far as Patricia was concerned, and here she was, in a private room, with two of them—and all for herself.
Where to start?
Action Man made her decision easy. He took down his boxers, and while still retaining his sports socks and sneakers, came up to her so that his yummy penis was only inches from her face.
She grabbed it, that initial grab sending a current through her body.
Robin Hood stepped forward. Again she grabbed, again like a current of electricity. There she was, sitting, still partially dressed in her turn-of-the-century outfit, two wonderful cocks in her hands. She played with them while periodically smiling and glancing at the cocks, as though admiring her favorite toys.
Then genuine lust took over. She simply had to have them—in her mouth, in her cunt.
She started by pulling them toward her warm mouth. And she deliciously sucked one after another with genuine enthusiasm, the differences in both shape and size only making it more interesting. It took an effort to remember to be generous, laughing at times, when one suitor looked to be jealous at the attention she showed the other.
“I think the good lady should lay thou self down and allow us to show our appreciation of her good manners.” Said Robin Hood, thus marking an end to simple foreplay.
As though easing her into what would later be an all-out fuck session, Action Man’s smaller cock, with thin, clear, condom in place, was the first to enter her moist folds.
Lying on her back on the bed, she candidly watched as the full length disappeared inside her.
It was a slow and deliberate fuck, that pretty cock slipping in and out like it was a well-oiled machine. Mr. Wilkins is fucking me. It surprised her how much she delighted from such a thought.
Robin Hood, now without his little green cap, but still with green tights on, with his cock bobbing about, came to the bed and started on her breasts again. He was so good at that, like sucking tits was his forte. However, if she thought that was all he was going to do, once more she would have been very wrong.
In the same missionary position, as though silent signally was going on that she wasn’t aware of, the two men swapped places.
While watching a condom being unfolded, stretching the thin sheath to its limits, Oh shit that dick is big, was her first mental reaction. Instead of lust, her eyes momentarily filled with fear. Could she actually take it? Would it cause her to tear? She had never heard of anything like that happening before, but then she had never seen anyone fucked by a weapon so big. It looked like it had grown even bigger than when she’d sucked on it. Then she noticed the rubber ring at the base. Supposedly this would stop him coming too quickly; it also caused increased swelling. When had he put that on? Too much seemed to be going on without her knowledge. Like she was in a sexual dream, which she had no power over. She wanted out, but didn’t have time to express her wish.
With her mouth gaping, he eased it in.
It fitted.
Her fears abated.
Lust returned.
Somewhat amazed, she then watched as this second dick slid in and out more comfortably than she would ever have imagined. It was neither better nor worse than the first cock—just different; and she utterly loved the differences.
While she was being screwed, kneeling on the bed, Action Man again presented his dick to her face, he had removed the condom, and it looked delightfully naked. However, finding sucking a little difficult while the bed rocked, she chose to simply play with his lovewand. He did not seem to mind.
Doggy style: First, with new condom in place, Mr. Wilkins, then Robin Hood; and while Robin fucked, the former caressed her back, shoulders, cupped her swinging breasts, and kissed her flush on the mouth.
Mr. Wilkins is kissing me, almost as good as the sex! 
But even this was not the end: A first for both Mr. Wilkins and Mrs. Evans, but not Robin Hood, all of his expertise needed to accomplish the next extraordinary feat.
At first Robin was on the bottom, his large cock, protruding from green tights, deep in her fully expanded, wet cunt, she had her hands on the bed, legs well apart, her butt presented to Mr. Wilkins. 
Was she really going to do this, too late to have second thoughts?
Per Robin’s instructions, Mr. Wilkins was applying plenty of clear lubricant to both her anus and his condom.
And after less resistance than what Mrs. Evans had feared, it slid in.
There it stayed, deep inside her rounded bum, while slow fucking continued from below.
It was a strange feeling; two cocks rubbing together, barely separated by a stretched inner membrane. Then Mr. Wilkins began to carefully move his dick in and out. It was better than strange. It was good. Like having nerve-endings ignited that had always wanted to be seduced like this.
And this was not the only position they tried. Those two men, with their very different dicks, fucked her like their very lives depended on satisfying her every desire. The Turn-of-the-Century, upper class lady, left wildly exhausted, if not a little sore.
And how she glowed later, like at forty-three she was a teenager again, experiencing sex for the very first time.

Around four in the morning, while returning home in their car, Patricia Evans wondered at all that had taken place both with herself and her husband. Little Bo Peep had hung around her husband too long for her liking; and had been happy to walk around without replacing her broken mask, unafraid at what others might think. That was not how things were done at the Manor. And she was young, no more than twenty at best, certainly young enough to fit into Mr. Wilkins’s English class, without anyone questioning her age.
It did not seem to help that she now knew that the girl was ‘hired’: Too young to be a call girl, too young to be invited to the party, too young for her husband to be drooling over. The fact that he had actually fucked her might not have been so hard to take, if the scamp hadn’t flaunted it so openly.
And what of Mr. Wilkins, a man perhaps more than ten years her junior, and indeed, Mel’s English teacher.
Mr. Wilkins and Robin Hood…Together!
What’s more, Mr. Wilkins had fucked her up the arse! The only man, other than her husband, to have ever done so. Mr. Wilder, with his super-dick, had not even tried, thank goodness. At least she’d come prepared, but had never thought she’d have seen such a thing through. Usually, although they played dumb, she could guess who was behind the masks, but she had not known who Robin Hood was. She had done unthinkable acts with a complete stranger and Mr. Wilkins. She touched her lips, remembering that kiss.
Usually, by the time Tom pulled up at their drive, they would have already shared the details of their conquests, yet on this particular night they had ridden in relative silence.

Chapter Five

Meanwhile, two blocks from Melody’s massive home, having woken after a reoccurring nightmare, Travis turned his bedside light on. He lived in a less affluent street, in a small, somewhat rundown two-storey house. His attic room was barely big enough to contain a single bed, scant furniture, an old computer, and a small TV. What he did enjoy, however, as much as Melody, was privacy. He had only one parent—his mother—and she seldom ever bothered him once he had entered his own domain. For this reason, and at such a late hour, he felt quite safe in retrieving several pornographic magazines from under his mattress. However, although his response to the explicit photos was immediate, he was still not satisfied.
With his young cock gently bobbing through the open fly of his pajama shorts, he rose from his bed and went to his small sliding cupboard. From the top shelf he retrieved something other than adult material. It was last year’s college yearbook.
So often had he looked at Melody’s picture that it was as though the book knew exactly where to open.
While kneeling on the bed, with pornography still present, he gazed upon that perfect face, and believed he could actually see the quiet sorrow hidden behind those beautiful brown eyes. He had never thought of her lustfully before. That was, in his mind, a sin. Laid out before him, was his sad goddess, not some stow-away sex object.
But this time his dick had its own mind. Glancing to one side, a hardcore magazine was still open in the middle, a beautiful African American woman had her dark fingers buried in her very pink pussy; the contrast with Melody’s fair complexion was somewhat of a turn-on.
His dick tingled with urgency.
A hand went to it.
Melody, so sweet, so innocent, was it true that she was still a virgin, just like he was? With her looks, and at twenty, it seemed so unlikely? But not everyone was like April, and Melody was a goddess—beyond mere mortals—she would not simply waste herself on oversexed college jocks.
He glanced again at the beautiful black lady. A picture showed her spreading her pretty pussy with long fingers. She had painted her fingernails pink, and for some inexplicable reason, Travis found this added touch, erotic.
Back to Melody.
His fist began to slowly pull on his erection.
Madonna’s song, ‘like a virgin’, came to mind, he had seen the infamous ‘In Bed with Madonna’ tape recently, and could vividly remember the provocative stage performance that had accompanied the song.
He closed his eyes.
Melody on stage, no longer the goddess, but rather a seductive sex kitten; Melody with her long smooth legs; with her firm breasts, with flowing hair as wild as her eyes, Melody naked on a large bed, fingers thrusting in and out, wildly masturbating her perfect pussy .
He opened his eyes and glanced away from the yearbook to that beautiful black and pink cunt.
What was Melody’s pussy like? Did she have big pussy lips that could be spread like curtains, or were they more discreet? Did she shave beyond just her bikini line? Did she shave completely? He liked pictures of young shaved cunts. Was it pink or dark or pale? And most of all, did she masturbate? The thought of her shoving her long fingers deep inside herself, rubbing her clit with pussy juices, sent Travis into a spin.
What would his cock feel like sliding in and out of her pretty princess pussy?
And, as he jerked his cock, he pursed his lips and blew so softly his breath would not have extinguished a candle, rising tension putting paid to any feelings of guilt associated with thinking such things about his goddess.
When he came, rather than the yearbook, he had time to turn and splatter hot cum all over the pornographic magazines.
Guilt followed like a thundercloud.
Using toilet paper, while quickly cleaning up, stowing away, and spraying the room with deodorant, he promised himself he would never again think of Melody in this way.
He would fail.
Dismally.

Chapter Six

Melody rang April the next morning, but was greeted with an engaged tone. She tried twice more, only to be met with the same result. It was about eleven, and no matter how late she had returned home, her friend should at least be awake by now. Maybe the phone was accidentally left off the hook.
She went to visit. 
April’s mother opened the door, and said that her daughter had only just left for the mall. Both thought it strange that she had not phoned. Melody and April usually shopped together. Further inquiries revealed that April had arrived home around three in the morning—an hour April’s mother did not approve of. Perhaps that was why April sought to be alone…to escape her mother’s wrath.
At least she was safe, Melody thought, as she entered the massive shopping centre. However, when she found her friend at the ice creamery, she was not so sure. 
What followed was the most evasive conversation Melody could remember ever sharing with April.
All weekend it was like this. Worse was April’s mood. Not only did she only play with her ice cream, and speak far less than usual; she gave far too many hints that she wanted to be left alone. Melody seriously worried about what she had done by leaving her friend alone with Clayton. Yet, when mentioned, shrugging her shoulders, April continued to be elusive.

On Monday, at college, having given up looking for April, Melody spotted Travis near her locker. He did not see her. She watched from a distance. He was doing something with her lock, then was gone.
When she approached, she found a small pouch dangling. In the pouch were a fine, gold bracelet, and a note. The note read, “I am sorry if I have offended you in any way. It was never my intention to do so.” It was not signed.
Melody held up the bracelet. It was beautiful. But what a strange thing to do, and how did he think he might have offended her? By spying and being caught by April, perhaps? But then why not sign it? Did he really think they did not know who he was—that he could remain anonymous?
Instead of putting it on, she stowed it in a pocket.
She was about to enter her first class of the day when Clayton pulled up. As he did, he said, “seen April about?” Melody was so taken aback, she didn’t know how to answer. “April.” He reiterated. “Have you seen her? Is she okay?”
“I…why shouldn’t she be okay?”
“Nothing. No reason.” He shrugged off the comment. “She knows how to have a good time.” His grin a little strained. “Pity her friends are not so forthcoming.”
“What happened?”
However, Clayton was already moving away, leaving her to contemplate what ‘nothing’, might mean. She fingered the bracelet in her pocket, and what should I make of this?
By lunchtime, Melody was truly worried. She used her mobile to ring. April was home in bed. Bad headache day, she didn’t want to talk.
The last class of the day was drama. Melody was on stage rehearsing her lines with another girl when the play’s director called a halt. “Raylene, dear, you’re concentrating so hard on remembering your lines you’re forgetting to feel the part,” said the female director. She was thirty-something, always seemed to have masses of wayward hair, and dressed very much like a flamboyant art student. The class loved her animation. Melody thought her inspirational. “I’d rather you forgot a few lines and actually became the character.” She used her hands to express a need for greater depths of emotion. “Mel is suicidal. She’s just lost her greatest love. Please, dearest, try again, and lets see some real emotion.”
They tried again, but still the big-breasted, somewhat stocky, redheaded Raylene, fell short of expectations. “You two look beautiful up there,” said the teacher. “This will be our best performance yet, but we’re going to have to work at it a little harder if we’re to be truly ready in time. We’ll give it one more go, okay. Sorry, but I think we can still do a little better.” Then one of her sudden inspirations, “No wait, I have an idea. Take a break for a while.” As she went to leave she dismissed the rest of the class. “Thanks for your efforts. You were all quite fantastic.” And she threw her arms in the air to accentuate how fantastic.
Although Melody seldom minded how often their drama class went over time. Today, consumed by thoughts of April, she was actually in the middle of constructing an excuse for at least leaving on the bell, when the director returned.
Reentering the hall, immediately behind the director, was Travis. He had his violin case.
“Okay then.” The director began. “Travis here is going to play the scene while you perform.” She had stolen him from his last class of the day.
Completely taken aback, Melody forgot her reasons for leaving, and was unable to prevent her teacher continuing, “from page twenty, beginning with you, Mel.” To Travis, “thank you.” And nervously, he withdrew his violin and began to play. Before Melody had even begun, he hit a sour note. The teacher turned. “Unlike you Travis.” She had noted his talent on more than one occasion, and looked a little surprised by the poor start. “Sorry,” said Travis, unable to look up, in fear of catching Melody’s eye.
He started again. This time it was perfect, and playing with such feeling soon transported Melody beyond time and space, to a realm of sorrow. Her words then wept, and Raylene found her character too; and as they played the stage, it was as though all of life had been condensed into this one moment.
It was not until the director, with a tear in her eye, clapped enthusiastically, that Melody realized they had reached the end of the scene.
“Exquisite. Absolute perfection.” And the teacher clasped her hands together in front of her face. “Watch out Broadway…Watch out Hollywood. My baby’s are a coming.” To Travis, “and you keep playing like that young man and you’ll have orchestras begging you to join them.” She clapped her hands again. “Enough for today.” As Melody and Raylene came from the stage, after placing an arm around their shoulders, the teacher reiterated, “really well done…Now why don’t one of you young ladies escort this handsome man back to his class, and if Mr. Battan is still there, please apologize for me. They were in the middle of their own rehearsals I’m afraid.”
“Its okay,” said Travis who was already moving off. “The class is already finished. I won’t need to go back.”
“You don’t want one of these lovely ladies to accompany you?” She smiled wryly. However, rather than answer, he simply avoided further eye contact, before speeding away. “He’s like a scared little mouse,” she said, adoringly.
Raylene returned with a chuckle, “our Mel tends to scare off the boys.”
“I can’t really imagine that. Melody Evans scaring off boys! She’s gorgeous…They must be mad.”
“Don’t look at me,” Raylene added, “I think she is too.” She looked briefly at Mel, and grinned. “And when she’s in Hollywood, they’ll regret they didn’t get to know her a little better.”
“Stop it Rayls,” said Melody. “You’re the one who was fabulous just then. All I was doing was following your lead.”
“You were both fabulous.” Their teacher started to move them toward the hall door, “now go home. And be young. And laugh a lot.”
“No matter how much I practice my lines I’ll never have Mel’s million dollar looks.”
“You always have to have the last word,” said the teacher to Raylene. “Just remember, there are as many parts as there are looks.” A remark she often made when a student complained about their appearance. Another was, ‘all looks are individual, and individuals are whom directors hire.’ She often had trouble with female students who would not stop comparing themselves to girls like Melody.
In the corridor, “if you ever want to practice your lines, I’m free most nights,” Raylene spoke to Melody, while standing a little too close.
“Maybe later, when we’re closer to opening night,” was all Melody could think to say. She never quite felt comfortable around Raylene, not that the girl made any obvious passes.
“Okay, but I’ll be waiting. We really need to practice this as much as we can. It’s not long now.”
What was that wink supposed to mean? Had she simply been ignoring the inference behind many of Raylene’s actions? 
All was quiet when Melody arrived home. Her mother worked part-time at the Evan’s law firm and was often not home during the afternoon.

Chapter Seven

As for her father, he was the chairperson of the long standing family business; and although small, the clientele were the well-paying rich, ever looking for so-called ‘legal’ loopholes to protect their millions.
The position of chairperson would generally require a lot of responsibility and dedication; however, this was not the situation at Evans’s. Tom’s father had set-up the company, and before he had handed it over—a year before his death—he had ensured that the firm’s four other partners could do the job of eight. All of them were talented, consumed by wealth, and willing to protect the source of that wealth at any physical expense.
Because Tom was not the dedicated lawyer his other partners were, he often found time for play. This allowed him to frequent five different leisure clubs. These included a gym; Summerville’s more exclusive golf club, Rynfern; a yacht club; a spasmodically visited tennis club and a further nameless social league.
Over the years, much fun had been enjoyed in all of these recreational facilities; however, clubs were not Tom Evans’ only idea of fun.
He followed the stock market, loved to watch sports, and delved in Real Estate. Some of his Real Estate ventures were not even known by his wife, the most significant being a three-storey building, which was out-of-town.
Summerville had more than a quarter of a million residents, so it was hardly a town, but a town is what the locals referred to it as.
Considered out-of-town, yet so close it almost married with the outskirts of Summerville, were the beginnings of another major center that, as you traveled through, grew to more than twice the size of Summerville. Also were other large townships and wealthy homesteads that dotted a very fertile farming region, before melding into even larger cities beyond.
More than sixty percent of Evans’s clients came from out-of-towners. Amongst these, was ‘Mr. Jones’, as he called himself (not a real name). He was one of the firm’s most affluent businesspersons, and one of the most dubious. The firm had saved him millions over the years. However, last year, for reasons too unethical for any of the partners to want to pursue, while successfully avoiding a jail term, he had found it difficult to pay up his debts.
This had led to the oddest arrangement, and one that the other partners knew nothing about. ‘He’ll do good next year,” Tom had argued to the board, “not as though we haven’t overcharged him in the past.” Although disgruntled, knowing the account was potentially worth millions, the board had eventually accepted the fact that Mr. Jones had largely avoided the previous year’s extravagant fees.
However, these were greatly distorted facts.
Mr. Jones had simply preyed on Tom Evans’ interest in Real Estate; especially lucrative, ‘out-of-town’ properties. And by way of paying his legal fees—fees that the firm’s board did not know the full extent of—had offered Tom the three-storey building.
However, this is not where the story ends, for Mr. Jones was actually using what was initially a rundown building in a surprisingly elite area, as a small-time but relatively clean, brothel.
It had taken less than a breath for Tom to recover from this discovery, and less time than that to seize on the potential beyond mere property investment.
He would pour more than four hundred thousand dollars of his own money in, to convert the establishment from small-time, to a high-class, well sought after, brothel; where the attractive working girls, would bring a smile to the face of the even the most fastidious of clientele.
And these were not simply dolled up, two-bit, drug addicts, feeding their habits. They were highly professional, well groomed, and clothed to look more like sophisticated ladies of high society than tarts.
There was even a small male service, where several very fit and attractive young men, were hired to discretely satisfy the cravings of, in general, rich bored housewives. This usually involved house calls, rather than the women visiting the establishment.
All those working in the Wishing Well were provided with dental and health plans, along with an in-house gym. And above all else, many lived on the premises, making it—at least on paper—a housing venture, rather than a place of business.
What’s more, there were no losers in this deal. For indeed, even though the ‘tenants’ knew otherwise, at least by the clientele, Tom Evans did not want to be seen as the majority owner that he was; and thus, for all intensive purposes, Mr. Jones remained the landlord, who had had a dramatic change of style. Such was the rise in profits, that Mr. Jones’s now minor holding, actually brought him in more money than before, with virtually no hands on, needed; insuring his fees at Tom’s law company, were being well met.
Tom had employed a well mannered, considerate, young man, Mr. Wilder, to manage the Wishing Well, and was greatly pleased with his selection. Not only had Mr. Wilder proven to be honest and trustworthy with the books; on a part-time basis, he was a well sought after gigolo to a select group of very rich female clients.
The working girls simply loved Mr. Wilder and Tom, more like friends than bosses; and the business itself was seen as the best and most protected conditions they could possibly hope to be working in.
And it was quite devious, really, how Tom kept dropping the name, the Wishing Well, into luncheon conversations with the wealthiest of his law clients. Few ignoring the chance to visit an out-of-town, discrete, high-class establishment, where they could be treated like kings, while fucking the most beautiful women they could ever imagine.
Indeed, the Wishing Well was doing very nicely, thank you very much, the four hundred thousand-dollar investment could yet be turned into a profit; and as a lawyer, Tom was ensuring this money was well hidden from the IRS, his firm, and to a lesser degree, his wife. He wanted to tell her, just didn’t quite know how she would react to his initial hefty outlay, and even after their long agreement on sexual freedom, he still held doubts about what she might think about owning a brothel.

While thoughts of April and whether or not she should ring again, consumed Melody, her father was visiting his secret venture.
He did this periodically, often not troubling Mr. Wilder with his presence, while checking conditions and clientele.
Sometimes he visited a certain older and wiser woman, who he considered both intelligent and attractive. But mostly he came just to admire things.
With profits continuing to grow rapidly, and conditions always found to be above expectations, seldom did he leave without a smile on his face; and on this particular afternoon, things started out in the very same manner.
This was to change.
On the ground floor, in a back room converted to look like a rich family’s massive entertaining area—not unlike the ballroom in the secluded Manor on the outskirts of Summerville—milled a number of the well-dressed working girls. Amongst them were clients smoking cigars, drinking and chatting, as though the Wishing Well was some kind of exclusive club.
Perfect, thought Tom, money to burn and the girls were barely working up a sweat. And what’s more he did not recognize any of the men, which was always a concern—he didn’t fancy running into a client from his law firm.
However, recognition did come when he looked at the girls.
First it was the French Maid. He might not have recognized her if it had not been for the fact, that fearing she might actually be as young as Little Bo Peep, he had watched her masked face more closely when the three of them had fucked on the stairs in the Manor. She now wore a tight fitting black suit, with red tie, black shoes, a man’s black hat, and her dark hair pulled back severely—a deliberate masculine look, and a complete contrast to her maid outfit, yet he was certain it was her. Unmasked, she looked closer to thirty than twenty, Pat would have approved.
But the French Maid was not the only surprise awaiting him. The building had another new ‘tenant’. Little Bo Peep was also dressed differently than when Tom Evans had last seen her. However, her pretty young face, with its sparkling smile and big blue eyes, and her bobbing blonde hair, were undeniable. She was part Swedish, Tom recalled, and her colouring quite natural.
Relaxed, dressed in an expensive blue office suit, black stockings and black heels, she sat in a ruby-red leather armchair surrounded by drooling potential clients.
Tom watched for a while. It was a well-groomed, but overweight, gray-haired gentleman of at least fifty-five, who finally stole her away from the crowd, and when she went to leave, the French Maid—now businessperson—followed behind.
Like at the Manor party, they were a team.
What a thought, the owner of Summerville’s most prized mansion, had hired girls from Tom’s own establishment, and without his knowledge. He wondered whether it was not the first time this had happened. He really should keep a better eye on the records. However, his thoughts soon returned to the present when, while watching, he could not help but consider the client’s age. He thought he was past judging such things—all just good fun between consenting adults—yet for the first time, he actually felt ill. Bo Peep was easily young enough to be the client’s daughter, but was she really as young as Melody, it looked more likely than not?
Yet as sick as he felt, he could not help but discretely follow. This was when Mr. Wilder did appear. “Mr. Meredith (although he knew his real name, an alias was always used), nice to see you. Can I get you a drink?”
Usually he was happy to see his manager, however on his occasion Tom Evans looked annoyed, while trying to dismiss the attention he was suddenly receiving. “Just a quick visit.” His smile was forced.
However, always looking to impress his boss, Mr. Wilder persisted. “You’re sure I can’t help you with anything? I noticed you looking at our new girls. Lovely aren’t they. Been here less than a week and already they’re the talk of the town. Just got this phone call from nowhere…”
“They are very beautiful. But isn’t the blonde one a little young?” They were now standing in the lobby looking to where a lift had whisked the girls and their client away. “And have you checked their health records.”
“All clear, and you’re right, she is very young. The youngest we’ve had here. But everything about her checks out. Hard to imagine a twenty-one-year-old being so experienced, but she is—a real winner in fact.” After ensuring that no other working girls were listening, leaning forward, he added, “The sexiest thing we’ve had come to us since the changeover.” Truth was that with all the changes they had made, such was the growing reputation amongst working girls, that they came to them, rather than Tom having to advertise. It had been fun at first, sharing with Mr. Wilder the job of picking the cream. In more recent times, however, he had simply left employment to his manager.
“Very lucky to find her,” Mr. Wilder continued, “The older clients pay a small fortune to be with her.” And lowering his voice even further. “She’ll do anything, you know, like a seasoned porn queen; which, by the way, her Internet records say she had a little dab at too. Pulls off that innocent look magnificently, don’t you think? Puts a sting in your pants,” he actually grabbed himself, an action quite contrary to his smart appearance, “and you noticed how she likes to work with her friend. Does that go across well! They’re a virtual gold mine.” For some reason Tom actually found his manager’s wink a little disgusting, “Manna from heaven, you might say. Would you like to watch? Together they’re simply amazing, and I thought I’d seen everything in this place?”
Rather than a verbal response, Tom simply followed. He had watched before on odd occasions, and Mr. Wilder knew it.
Several of the larger rooms on the top floor had been discreetly fitted with two-way glass, allowing unimpaired viewing for those hidden behind, in what were known as not-so-secret, concealed Peeping Tom rooms. The room Bo Peep had accompanied her old, slightly obese client to, was called the Fantasy Palace.
“I just need to know how well they treat our clients…” Tom began, while Mr. Wilder drew short of the Fantasy Palace’s door then slid aside a small painting and unlocked a secret narrow door, that looked very much like part of the wall paneling.
“Yes,” said Mr. Wilder, “Of course, I understand. We must maintain our high standard. We’ll have drinks later if you like. I’m sure you’d like to check the books, it’s been a particular good month.”
He left.
As always, after seating himself in an armchair, one of two, what struck Tom first, was a feeling of vulnerability—as though he was the one on view. It took a moment to adjust. 
Inside the Fantasy Palace, on this particular day, made out to look like an office, the leering gentleman was already seated in a large, low, black leather chair, some distance, in front of a large, mostly glass, office desk.
The pretty young blonde sat behind the uncluttered desk, on a fabric swivel chair, that had thin black arms. With smart small glasses and a concentrated face, she looked completely authentic, and she began to type.
The flat panel monitor was slightly to one side so that she could address any visitors, such as the gentleman. Finally she looked up. “Mr. Lane will be with you soon.” She said, “Is there anything I can get you while you wait?”
“No,” He replied in a slightly gravelly voice.
She began to type some more. She typed well. A wall clock ticked. She looked up. “It’s my break time,” she said, more to herself than the gentleman. She stopped typing and went to a coffee machine. She looked so smart in her short office suit. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”
“No.”
“She came back to her desk and sat then cupped her coffee mug as though to warm her hands, and sipped. While she sipped, she eased back a little, uncrossed her legs and relaxed further.
The gentleman was watching her every move.
She began to part her legs, a little at first, then further, then clamped closed, before parting again, a kind of relaxed swing. The table had no front to it, and in his low position, the gentleman had an unimpaired view.
Tom Evans was angry, she was too young to be doing these things in front of an old man, no matter how well he paid.
And he was jealous.
She had made him feel so important at the party, like she was his girl. They had only briefly conversed on the fact that she ‘entertained men’ for a living, and even then it had only been after his continual probing. As a true professional, rather than reasons of shame, she was more dedicated to making Tom feel one hundred percent the centre of her world, than just another client. It had been an intoxicating feeling, one so young and beautiful, appearing infatuated with an older man.
She was his, and he suddenly didn’t want to share her with anyone.
But the scene went on regardless, legs casually swinging open and closed.
He wanted to stop her but if he did that, what would she think, she was a call girl, not a girlfriend; and Mr. Wilder, considered a good friend now, saw nothing wrong with her current employment?
He thought of leaving.
But did not.
Now those legs were spread and held blatantly apart. Was he actually feeling frustrated by the fact that the older man had a better view than himself; was he that much of a voyeur, actually wanting to watch a girl roughly the same age as his daughter, seduce this old man? For a second he even thought about Melody. What was his daughter look like doing that? How could he think such a thing?
His pants were swelling. He wanted to fight it, but couldn’t.
Perhaps if he saw Little Bo Peep in the true light of her profession, he might think less about the feelings she had stirred in him at the Manor. He was ashamed he had thought about her like that at all. It was not what his wife and he had agreed to. 
Maybe just.
Maybe watching was exactly what he should be doing.
Beyond the glass she sipped more coffee, then peered over her eyeglasses and mug, and knowingly, teasingly, parted her legs wider still. Her black pantyhose were crotchless, and she wore a silky red thong. “Busy morning,” she said, mischievously, “girl needs to relax a little now and then. And this is my break.” She put the mug down. Now a hand went below the table and slowly traveled up her spread right leg. It came to rest on her neat tiny panties and without a care in the world, she started to rub and pat her concealed mound. “Are you watching, Mr. Thomas?” She asked cheekily. “I think you are.”
He did not answer.
“Yes, you are, aren’t you? I can see you staring under the table. You’re looking at me playing with myself. Do you like what you see?” She ran a finger seductively along her slit. Then she pushed her whole hand inside her panties and plunged several fingers deep into her hidden cunt. She closed her eyes and blew a breath, then she pulled out her fingers and rubbed all over her clit; her mouth and pretty eyes now open.
Still Mr. Thomas did not answer.
“I don’t mind,” she continued, “I want you to watch me. I want you to watch me play with my pretty young pussy. But I think it would be better if I wasn’t playing all by myself.”
He said and did nothing.
She moved a hand to her smart blue secretary jacket, and slowly undid the buttons and let it full apart. “My daddy says I have pretty titties too. Would you like to see my pretty titties, Mr. Thomas?”
Finally, a strained whisper, “Yes.”
She undid her white blouse. She had a lace red bra that opened at the front. She carefully unclipped it and parted the left side. Her mid-sized breast was as perfect as she had promised, and better was her long erect pink nipple. She teased it. All the while, her legs were still wide apart. “Do you think they are as pretty as what my daddy says?” And now she fully exposed both.
He took a second to catch his breath, “Yes.”
She gently squeezed them. “But how can I know that you’re not just saying that, just to keep me happy? What does your friend say? Does he think I’m pretty?” She looked directly at the bulge in his pants.
Stupidly he asked, “my friend?”
Instead of answering, making it more obvious, “I need you to prove to me that you think I’m pretty,” she said confidently, “Why not let your friend come out and play.” Now she had one hand gently squeezing a perfect tit, while her other hand carelessly wandered all over her inner thighs and red knickers.
The gentleman was past reservations, and quickly unzipped his fly and pulled out his raging hard-on. It was not the most beautiful cock, but the blond eyed it like she’d never seen a more perfect form. Now she rubbed her panties with more force. “Please, Mr. Thomas. Please play with it. I want to see you pump that pretty thing of yours.”
By now the invisible Tom Evans was storming with frustration. But no longer was there anger, he simply wished he could see under that table a little better.
The door of the Fantasy Palace suddenly sprung open, and in walked the pseudo businessman, Mr. Lane. “Mr. Thomas. I do apologize. I appreciate you waiting,” But then realizing how her secretary was hurriedly trying to rearrange herself, and that Mr. Thomas was concealing himself,” She quickly added with a smile, “I see your wait was not as tiresome as I feared.”
The real businessman said nothing.
After looking at the clock, “Your break again?” Mr. Lane addressed her secretary.
“Yes.” Said the blond, shyly.
“And we all know what you like to do on your breaks.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“Don’t be sorry, you’re entitled to your coffee breaks, and I don’t wish to tell you what to do in them. But now you’ve left poor Mr. Thomas here, all frustrated, and that’s NOT a good thing.”
“I’m sorry…Truly I am.”
“Well what are you going to do about it, Miss. Pennyworth? Mr. Thomas is a good friend to this company.” The irony to the situation was that although her appearance was accurate, the Mr. Lane character had a perfectly feminine voice.
“What should I do?”
“Stand up, Miss. Pennyworth.” Mr. Lane commanded. Then she forcefully grabbed the back of the office chair and pulled it on castors, until it was brought around in front of the desk to within five feet of where Mr. Thomas sat quietly. “Now sit,” she demanded.
Miss. Pennyworth sat.
Mr. Lane looked up again at the wall clock. “You have ten minutes left, I believe.”
“Yes, Sir,” said the blond.
“Then show me what you do in your break. I want to see. And I want you to make my good friend, Mr. Thomas here, happy.”
The blond just sat in feigned shyness.
Mr. Lane came forward. “You were playing with yourself, weren’t you.” And the boss leant down and pushed the blond’s short skirt up. “Open your legs.” She demanded. “Show me what you were doing to keep my client happy.”
Reluctantly at first, the blond opened up.
“Wider.” Mr. Lane ordered. “Put your leg over the arm, I want your legs as wide as they’ll spread.” When the blond complied. “Pretty. Very pretty. And you wear crotchless pantyhose to work. I like that. Do you like them, Mr. Thomas?”
The old gentleman simply nodded.

Tom Evans could stand it no longer. He pressed a button next to his chair. It was an intercom. “Yes sir,” said Mr. Wilder.
“Princess Jewel,” was all Tom needed to say.

“But look, she’s wearing panties, that’s a little unfortunate wouldn’t you say? You can’t see her pussy…You want to see it, don’t you, Mr. Thomas?”
Mr. Thomas didn’t know how to react.
“Miss. Pennyworth, don’t be such a tease. Show this good gentleman what you’re hiding inside those pretty knickers of yours.”
All feigned shyness evaporated as the young blond, using two hands, slowly pulled her silky red panties off to fully exposed her naked cunt. Again she spread her legs wide.
“Oh my, Miss. Pennyworth,” said the ex-maid cum Mr. Lane. “All this time you’ve been hiding something so pretty.” Not only was the blond’s pussy completely void of hair, the hood of her clit was pierced with a small shiny stud. Turning to her client, Mr. Lane said, “Mr. Thomas isn’t that the most beautiful thing you ever saw?”
He nodded.
Again to the blond, “Go on then. Let’s see how well you play with yourself.”
And the blond began in earnest.

From nowhere, Tom’s mind returned to his daughter. Did her pussy look as pretty as this? Did she play with herself? Quickly, he shook off such terrible thoughts, how could he think like this, where had this come from? Maybe it really was wrong to be so infatuated with someone so close to his daughter’s age.
Princess Jewel entered the not-so-secret room. She had long wavy, fair—but not blond—hair; sitting atop her head, a small rhinestone tiara. She wore rhinestone earrings and a number of necklaces, and thick rhinestone bracelets on both arms. In her bellybutton, a genuine diamond stud, around her waist, a sparkling thin chain, on her ankles, diamond anklets, and on her big toes, rhinestone toe rings. She wore an incredibly sheer, completely see-through, flowing, pale blue gown that fell to the floor. She was otherwise naked.
This was Tom’s previous dreamgirl. At thirty-five she was one of the older working girls in his establishment; but to Tom, because of her intelligence as much as her beauty, she was considered the best.
At least, she was the best, until now, had Little Bo Peep taken that mantel? He hoped not.
In silence, Princess Jewel just stood there. She was tall, and with classical features, the only thing separating her from a catwalk model, was over enhanced breasts.
Tom loved to fuck her. It was always different, and always fulfilling, as though she knew exactly what he had wanted every time he had ‘visited’ her. But, unlike Little Bo Peep, one thing he had been able to contain, was any feelings outside of simple friendship. Like having an exceptionally attractive female friend that he could fuck whenever he liked, without any real emotional consequences. Up until now, he had had little trouble in maintaining his promise to his wife.
She continued to say nothing.
He liked it when there were moments like this, as though she didn’t need to be told anything.
He just looked at her.
And she, him.
Then she glanced at the transparent wall, then back, directly at his crotch. She flowed forward, knelt in front of him, and after he obligingly eased in his chair, she unzipped his pants. A hand went into his concealed boxer shorts and found his swollen cock. She gently pulled it out. It was larger than the older gentleman’s was; throbbing thick and tall against pressed, business suit pants. 
Now what made Princess Jewel even more special, was her ability to never repeat a performance—Every time she fucked, or even gave head, was slightly different. A complete mystery to Tom how a woman could remember such finer details, like it was a pet project to keep him interested.
She grasped his shaft and simply held it for awhile. And he kept watching the two-way mirror in front of him.

The blond was totally at ease now, fully playing with herself, and so near to the bloated old man’s wide chair.
Mr. Lane watched them both closely. “Look how wet she’s getting.” She came to the blond girl and knelt down slightly to one side, so the gentleman’s vision was not impaired. She dipped a finger inside her secretary’s cunt, and pulled it out glistening, then presented the finger to the younger girl, to suck on her own juices.
Then the blond continued to seductively play with both her clit and cunt hole. “Oh my gosh,” said Mr. Lane. “Look at that.” A drip was forming.
Tom, with all his experiences, had never known a woman to get so wet that she openly dripped. It was something that had stayed with him when he had first seen how wet Little Bo Peep had become while the French Maid had played with her with a variety of toys, on the stairs. A sure sign, so he believed, that she really did enjoy her craft.
“I don’t know about you, Mr. Thomas,” Mr. Lane said, “But my cock is fairly bursting to get out.” Then as though hit by a sudden inspiration; turning back to the secretary, “what about the phone?” she asked, “Have you ever had phone sex?”
The blond was silent for a moment, then shyly, “sometimes.”
“Mr. Thomas, would you like to watch my secretary engaging in a little phone sex?”
All he could do was nod in agreement.
Mr. Lane then surprised the old man, “Do you happen to have a phone?”
Mr. Thomas looked confused.
“A cellular?” the pseudo Boss asked. “Do you have a cell phone?” She knew that he did. He had been seen using one, while waiting downstairs.
The client, still somewhat confused, removed his mobile phone from an inside jacket pocket.
Mr. Lane took it and quickly gave it to Miss. Pennyworth.
The secretary knew what to do.
“Hope you’re not expecting any phone calls for a while,” Mr. Lane said, laughingly.

Tom simply couldn’t believe his eyes; a cell phone sliding in and out of that young wet cunt.
Like a cat licking cream, Jewel started to lick the head of his dick.

“Shit, Mr. Thomas, this is getting too much,” said the ex-maid. “My cock is throbbing so hard I am definitely going to have to let it loose. Maybe you should too.” A knowing glance, “I know you had it out before.” Then she blatantly unzipped and pulled out a long black strap-on dildo.
While Little Bo Peep openly eyed the dildo, the cell phone continued to slowly move in and out of her luscious young cunt.
“How about some cock?” The pseudo boss asked.
The blond looked lustfully at the big bouncing dildo. “I think I would like that. May I please have your black cock, sir.”
“Should I fuck her?” Mr. Lane asked the old gentleman, who was now openly playing with himself.
“Please.” The secretary whimpered to Mr. Thomas. “Please tell my boss to fuck me.”
“You really want it, don’t you?” said Mr. Lane.
“Yes please, Mr. Lane, please fuck me with your big dick.”
Again to the old gentleman, “should I give it to her?”
With heavy lights focused on the blond, this meant Mr. Thomas was slightly hidden in shadow; however Tom could see him finally respond with an affirmative nod of his head.
To the girl, Mr. Lane added, “take out that phone and make sure you clean it before you give it back.”
The secretary took her time taking it out before then sucking clean the stubby end. Then she leant forward and returned it to the old gentleman. “Thank you,” she whispered, in handing it over. And cheekily, “I was kind of hoping it might ring.”
The swivel chair was repositioned so that the action was now a little side on to the businessman’s chair. The expensive office chair had a reclining back, allowing the blond to fully relax. Mr. Lane again pushed up the blue skirt as far as it would go, exposing that thoroughly delectable pussy. “Wide.” she demanded. The secretary spread her legs. “Wider.” And this time the secretary swung a leg over both arms of the chair, giving the widest possible access to her perfect cunt.
To Mr. Thomas, “I want you to watch closely as I fuck my pretty young secretary,” said the pseudo boss, and on knees she brought the black dildo to within inches of that lovely shaven pink pussy. She slapped the dildo against the studded clit. “Naughty Miss. Pennyworth,” she said. “Naughty little girl, always playing with your pussy. What you really need is a good hard cock.” And in it went; at least a good three to four inches.
Mr. Thomas immediately came.
Yet this did not stop Mr. Lane. It was as though the two girls now did it simply for their own fun.

“Fuck that cunt.” Tom said quietly, disbelieving that they had not stopped. Princess Jewel was now sucking and licking like his cock was her favorite lolly.
All he had to do was touch her shoulder for her to know it was time to stop.
She stood, making sure not to block the view. Facing him, slightly leaning to one side, she moved forward. On the edge of the wide leather chair, she knelt then sidled forward until her large breasts nearly touched Tom. Still careful not to completely block the private show, she rose a little higher, gently grasped his cock, and placed it at the beginning of her vagina.
And sank.

At last the two girls noticed. “I think Mr. Thomas is done for now.” Miss. Pennyworth observed. He was covered in cum and unsure what to do next.
It was Mr. Lane, still in costume, still with black dildo bobbing about, who came to the aid of the client with a box of tissues. Mr. Thomas was left to clean himself.
While he did, “We’re not quite finished here yet, but you’re welcome to leave whenever you like.”
Without another word being uttered, Mr. Thomas immediately left.
The moment he was gone, the two girls started giggling.
A job well done and they hadn’t even needed to fuck or suck him.
However the biggest surprise was yet to come for Tom.
For then they did, indeed, return to what they were doing, Mr. Lane stripping down, removing the business façade, but keeping the strap-on. Now two beautiful women overtly fucked and played on the desk and the chair as though they knew they were still being watched. Then they threw away the dildo and simply used fingers to bring each other to exaggerated orgasms.

And up and down, Jewel slowly rocked; the exquisite sound of cock moving around inside her cunt and bum slapping on Tom’s lap, filled the room.
Suddenly overcome with urgency. “I’m going to come.” Tom whispered.
Jewel carefully removed herself from his slick dick.
Tom moved forward. This was not typical of the prostitutes in his establishment, but as owner, and knowing the lady well, he was somewhat privileged. He wanked and exploded into her mouth, and she drank his cum without fuss, before quietly slipping away.
Left feeling completely spent, Tom watched with a different kind of interest as the two girls were dressing.
A fleetingly glance where the secretary/Little Bo Peep, seemed to look directly at him. That face. It was so young and so very pretty. And it reminded him of someone.
Of his daughter.
In truth, they didn’t really look much alike, but in that moment there wasn’t a single difference.