School for Nurses (19 page)

Michaels came in just as I was getting ready to join my son and his friends in the auditorium.

‘Never mind all that,' he said. ‘You can talk to them after their movie and give them their cake. But you must help me first.'

‘I've helped you enough for one day,' I said. I was still feeling oddly sad as I glanced back at the clown suit I had draped over a chair in a corner. I almost felt as though I had left a part of myself behind in it.

He returned my smile. ‘I can't get the projector to work for the children's movie, you know, not without the proper inspiration. It's a temperamental instrument, this thing.'

‘You mean...'

‘That's right. It only got going while you were naked. I don't know if it'll work without that kind of help again.'

‘I don't know what you mean,' I whispered.

‘If you don't slip out of that skirt,' he said, ‘I'm not sure the film will run, and then no one gets their cake.'

We compromised. I put the wig on, and the nose and the suit, but not the boots. He didn't mind me staying in my white socks. But he insisted, if I was going to wear the clown suit, that he had to get out of his trousers. And while the projector whirred and projected a film about dolphins and their young human friends, I took Mr Michaels's cock between my softly painted lips.

He remained standing, holding the projector mounting, while I knelt before him in the clown suit and played with his balls. And in the end I swallowed and swallowed as he bucked and thrust and came in my mouth. Then he insisted I take my clown suit off after all, and I did. I dropped the suit along with my knickers, and bent over a chair. He patted my bottom, and then began spanking me slowly but firmly. I was surprised, but he said I should pay extra for the private screening from such highly qualified staff.

He gave me an extra hard smack on my left buttock, and then grasped me firmly by the hips with both hands before sinking into my pussy from behind. I gasped with surprise that his prick had gotten stiff again so fast, and then with pleasure as he stabbed me hard and fast.

‘You know, you're a stuck up little madam,' he said. ‘It'll do you good to carry the memory of this day's work on your bum for a while to remind you.' And he spanked each one of my cheeks again as he penetrated me. He stroked the soft hairs at the nape of my neck, and whispered in my ear that the fathers of the children in the auditorium now were the men who had attended the screening. He told me they would call me after I dropped my boy off at school and ask me to entertain their friends as well. I climaxed as he pounded into me while cruelly kneading my breasts, and I promised myself I would take the clown suit away with me when I left.

 

 

I first started taking pictures of my mother-in-law in the autumn, when the leaves were all sorts of pretty colours. She lives in a house by the woods just at the edge of town, which means anyone who wants to can practically walk right up to the house without being seen. I call her my mother-in-law, but in reality she is just my girlfriend's mother. I guess if she had been willing to acknowledge that, I would not have gone after her the way I did.

My girlfriend's name is Pearl. She and I have been living together for over three years now, and her mother, Annette, my so-called mother-in-law, simply refuses to acknowledge that fact. When she writes to Pearl she never even mentions me. Last year, Annette and her husband sent Pearl a Christmas card that read,
May you have a lovely season, come and see us soon
. They did not invite me, Donnie, Pearl's live-in boyfriend. I might as well just be her dog, or her personal vibrator.

That's why I began wandering down into the woods near my mother-in-law's house. Her husband leaves for work very early every morning and she stays home alone all day. Annette is a very nice looking woman. Her bottom isn't too big, although it's been nicely lived in. Yes, she has buttocks you wouldn't mind getting a hold of, and she has nice firm breasts. I know that now; I saw them for the first time that autumn.

When her husband leaves for work, Annette has her coffee out on the patio, then she goes upstairs and takes a shower. You can't see her through the pebbled glass on the bathroom window, but I know she is showering because they don't have a bathtub. And I know this because they did invite Pearl and me over for dinner once, over three years ago, and they were even gracious enough to let me use their bathroom.

When she's finished with her shower, she steps back into view as she walks out into the corridor. That's where I got her with a telephoto lens as she crossed the stripped pine floor on her way from the bathroom to the bedroom. A window in the stairway lets in the light and looks out onto the woods, and it also gives anyone standing amidst the trees a clear view into the house. I got her once with a towel on her head and clutching a bathrobe closed around her. Another time, I got her towel-drying her hair and showing her face as she glanced out the window. A third time I hit the jackpot. I think the bathrobe must have been in the wash, because she stepped out of the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around her head and another one around her body. It was a big grey towel with yellow trim. She was massaging the towel into her hair with one hand and gripping the second towel closed just over her breasts. Then she must have slipped on something, because she let go of both towels to try and keep her balance as she skidded forward across the slippery polished boards. The towel around her body fell away, and I saw her perfect milk-white breasts with their perky pink nipples, and the golden peach-like fuzz just below her soft little belly. And while she bent over to pick the towels up, she slipped again. I snapped a whole series of pictures of her on her hands and knees on the floor naked, her mouth gaping open in surprise as though getting ready to take an erect cock.

I began sending her the pictures, one at a time. They came out lovely, especially the ones of her on all fours with her breasts pointing down at the floor and her bottom thrust up into the air. I mentioned in the typewritten note I enclosed with the photographs that her husband might, quite justifiably, believe she had posed for those shots. You can do wonderful things with a telephoto lens and a computer graphics card. Windowsills, even background walls, can easily be made to disappear. The photos I sent her could have appeared in a top shelf glamour magazine and earned her a few thousand pounds.

She replied to the anonymous mail box number I had given her. She sent me a note after she had seen just three pictures, the ones of her in her bathrobe. She wrote,
What do you want? I'll call the police if you don't stop
. That was before she got the ones showing her on her hands and knees with her mouth hanging open invitingly, and my accompanying remarks regarding her husband. After that, she sent another note that said simply,
What do you want
?

It is a wonderful thing to have an attractive woman with a jealous husband right where you want her. I wrote back to her that she should come out to the woods at midnight on the night of the full moon after her husband had gone to bed. As expected, she wrote back that she couldn't possibly do that, because he would wake up. She told me he was a really light sleeper. I sent her another photo of herself on all fours with her mouth looking like it was just begging for a cock to fill it, along with a sleeping tablet to give to her husband.

She left the house and entered the woods just after midnight. Through my infrared telephoto lens, I watched her walk out of the bedroom, and glance over her shoulder to make sure her husband was fast asleep as she gently closed the door behind her. Then I watched her trying to decide what to wear over the long nightgown she had on when she emerged from the bedroom. I saw her put a sweater on, and then she bent over the dresser on the landing to search the drawers. She held up a pair of sheer stockings, but then an owl screeched outside, and maybe she felt me watching her, because she closed the drawer abruptly and disappeared from my sight as she walked down the stairs.

She walked out into the woods and stood where I had instructed her to - a small clearing surrounded by bushes. You can see into the clearing from anywhere between the trees, but if you stand inside it, it is nothing but impenetrable thickets wherever you look. She stood there, just as I had told her to, waiting for instructions. I put down the camera and looked at her with my own eyes, practically holding my breath so she wouldn't hear me, and because she was so lovely. Her long blonde hair was hanging free, and even in the moonlight I could see that her cheeks were flushed. The ghostly outlines of her long legs were visible through her thin white nightgown, and she stood with her arms crossed over her chest looking as nervous as a girl lost in the dark. From what I could tell, she wasn't wearing any panties. This woman was just under forty-years-old, yet she obviously still possessed the romantic soul of a teenager, because even though she was old enough to know better, she had willingly left her warm, comfortable home and faithful husband to come stand out in the dark and the cold awaiting the commands of a total stranger.

‘Are you there?' she asked softly, tentatively.

I said nothing.

‘Are you there?' she repeated, and cleared her throat anxiously.

That same owl screeched again, and she drew in a sharp breath looking as though she might bolt.

I threw a small rock wrapped inside a note towards her.

She started when it landed at her feet, and then bent over to pick it up, giving me a nice view of her lovely bottom through her fine nightgown where I crouched just behind her and slightly to her right.

It was a full moon; she had no trouble reading the note. She did so, and then stood there for a long moment before she starting taking off her nightclothes.

The note had simply said,
Strip
. One word. I wasn't sure she would do it, but she did. I suppose she felt she had nothing to lose since I had already seen it all. But seeing a woman's naked body through a telephoto lens is one thing, seeing her taking her clothes off for you by moonlight in the middle of the woods is something else entirely.

She pulled her sweater off first, or at least she started to, but it caught in the clip keeping her hair swept back over one ear. She seemed to be having trouble disengaging it, so I stepped out of my hiding place behind a tree and put my hand on her tummy from behind to steady her. She gasped, and then seemed to melt a little as I helped her pull her sweater off. She stood with her head bowed and her back to me, submissively silent.

‘Don't turn around,' I whispered. ‘If you turn around, all those photos will go to your husband tomorrow.'

‘I'll do whatever you want,' she whispered back, ‘just don't hurt me, please. Just...'

‘What?'

‘Just don't let my husband find out.'

‘What don't you want him to find out about?'

She started to turn around, but immediately thought better of it. ‘I'll do anything you ask me to,' she repeated softly.

‘Raise your arms,' I said.

She sighed, and obeyed me. Then all the breath seemed to go out of her as I reached down and pulled her nightgown up over her head, leaving her naked in one smooth motion. I heard her give a quiet sob as I pulled the clip out of her hair so its soft curls fell forward over her ear. She leaned back towards me helplessly, and sighed again as her body made contact with mine. Slipping my arms beneath her, I reached around and felt her breasts, pressing her stiff nipples against my palms. Pearl has large breasts, I don't know who she gets them from, but her nipples never really get hard. Now her mother moaned as I fondled her firm bosom.

Then I surprised her by slipping my thumb between her lips. I was feeling her up, and then suddenly I ran one hand up her neck and across her cheek and said, ‘Open your mouth,' and she did. She opened her mouth for me and I fed my thumb inside.

I think she may have recognised my voice by then; I wasn't trying to disguise it. She sucked on my thumb quite ardently, and then I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her down and forward onto her hands and knees like I had already seen her. She was crouched naked on the ground just like an animal as I sat down on a rock and unzipped my trousers. Then I picked up my camera and made her pose for me. I got her with my cock disappearing between her lips. First I took a picture of her opening her mouth for it, then one of her kissing it, and then another one of her nearly gagging on it as I leaned forward and thrust it down into her throat. I got a shot of her cheek smeared with my pre-cum as I slapped her face with my hard dick, making her beg for it. Then I shoved it back into her mouth good and proper and made her suck me like she meant it. As I started coming, I grabbed her head and fucked her mouth like a pussy, and I didn't let her catch her breath until she swallowed again and again, until I was drained. Then she licked my balls like a cat cleaning me without my even having to tell her to.

After those pictures of her blowing me, there wasn't much she wouldn't do for me. I made her bend over a rock and rest her cheek against a soft bed of moss while I took off my belt, looped it around my hand, and gave her a hard lash across her bottom with it. She cried out, but I warned her that her husband would hear us and after that she kept her mouth shut, just hissing as the belt kissed her flesh and she couldn't help sucking her breath in from the pain. I gave her six strokes, making each one a little harder than the last one. After coming in her mouth my mind was clearer, not so clouded by the lust her stiff nipples and curving buttocks and flowing blonde hair had aroused in me. She had been ignoring me, her daughter's boyfriend, for three years. She deserved to feel some pain; it might help straighten her out. After the first lash, I made her thank me for each blow.