Ella Randall had not slept with a man in the eight months since she had filed for divorce from her husband. Perhaps that was why she was so alert to Claude's sexuality. For, indeed, she could not explain what the boy's gestures indicated to her – they were, after all, merely gestures. His voice was not effeminate, but at times he seemed to affect the part of a "queer". The other boys would make occasional fun of him, but – this was the only time she had ever seen anything quite like this – he could stop them dead with a single, quite masculine, quite virile stare. Uncomfortable, as if someone had spied them with their flies undone, they shifted and squirmed into some other conversation where, silent, standing his ground, Claude waited to make sure they were absolutely through with him.
It was not just the erratic intimations of homosexuality that disturbed Mrs. Randall, who had taught the sixth grade now for three years. She was impressed by the way Claude related to the girls in the class. He did not evoke pity, the way some odd and quiet boys do the kind of pity that is an early sign of the maternal instinct. It was real affection; they sensed, these little girls did, the boy's – Ella searched her mind for the word. The term that arose seemed absurd when applied to a boy two months away from his thirteenth birthday. Yet it kept coming back when the others would not do. Authority. That was it. A sense of command. He was not afraid of them, not particularly shy with them. He did not giggle around the girls; their presence did not embarrass him, as it did the other children of his sex. It was as though he were "on to" some basic secret of the sex. Ella had known men like that; women always knew – instantly when a man had spied some feminine mystery that defied articulation. But the idea that a child had that power, almost certainly a power that he could not understand completely – the idea alone excited her, even titillated her.
Just as the little girls at twelve and thirteen, full of the nymphlike promise of womanhood, did not frighten him, she was surprised to find out that she could not either. Other women – other teachers – would have spent their fascination in the process of taming. Ella Randall's natural stance, however, was detachment; her instinct was to stand back and watch the phenomenon, even enjoy it. She had been a teacher only six years, since her graduation from the state teachers' college. Her ego had not been so completely subsumed in her work that she was threatened by her inability to frighten a small child.
She had cleaned the slate-boards and was nervously tapping the erasers to the wooden ledge below. She stepped over to catch the sunlight that poured into the classroom in the late afternoon. Her eyes went almost at once to the small equipment building where the supplies for physical education classes were kept, at a corner of the field.
It was a week – only a week, she reminded herself since she had walked across the playing field toward the parking lot. She liked walking on the grass, even if it had been watered an hour before and she would have to clean the mud from her heels. And the time she saved by cutting across the field was lost because it was quicker to walk on pavement. But she liked grass better than cement.
She had spent two hours after school correcting papers, and she was tired. But she did not hurry. There was a time at the end of the day when she would rush home. If the time went by, it was no longer important to meet the self-imposed deadline. Besides, there was no one at home but herself.
Her feet scraped at the uneven cement when she stepped off the field at the rectangle's north border. The sky was threatening twilight, but it was not particularly cool. She stood for a moment, surveying the empty schoolyard, and she inhaled deeply. She realized only when she exhaled that she had breathed a full-blown sigh.
The sound of the sigh seemed to have an echo. She looked at the shack without expecting to find anything there, though that was the direction from which the sound had come. She walked closer. She listened a moment and heard nothing. She was walking back, toward the parking lot, when she looked casually through the window. Her eyes jumped to the door of the makeshift building; it was unlocked. Standing still, somehow excited, she looked inside the window – she had to stare hard to penetrate the reflection of her own face – to make sure of what she'd seen.
Claude was naked, his back on the wooden floor. Above him, laughing – the shriek of a laugh had been the noise that had alerted her, she realized – was Laura Marshall.
Laura Marshall was two months past thirteen. It would have been incorrect to say she had a woman's body. Certainly Laura did not have the body she would have when she became a woman. But her breasts had begun to develop, and they were plump and round; an adult woman of Laura's size would have been satisfied with those breasts. Laura was a big girl, taller by inches than Claude, and taller than any boy in the class but Eddy, whose size doctors explained as a thyroid symptom. She seemed a tangle of limbs; arms that dangled awkwardly at her sides, as if she wanted to hide them but couldn't, and long, thin but sturdy legs – attractive, even though constantly scraped from exertions in volleyball and other school sports.
Ella's face burned, but she would have been at a loss to explain the blush. It was not unpleasant. Was she aware that she might be embarrassed by watching two youngsters have sex? Was she excited? She was honest enough to have considered either possibility, had they been raised, but she had no chance. She was absorbed in the adolescent lovemaking.
The two were playful. Ella Randall realized she was seeing Claude smile more heartily than ever before. They seemed delighted with their bodies, Ella thought with a pang, wondering why she had avoided sex so conscientiously since the divorce.
Laura was on her knees, astride Claude, whose penis was lost in the maze of her already thick pubic hair. Ella guessed they had already made it, and that they were working up to an encore. Laura's hips moved tauntingly. She seemed to rotate her pelvis as he pushed up inside of her. Her breasts heaved as he filled her with his forward motion. He reached up and his fingers tightened around the tip of one breast, while the other wobbled against her chest. She ran down the prick and stayed still for a moment as he rubbed the inside of his folded hand against her aureole. His hips pushed him up against her, and her body obediently followed.
He said something. The glass muffled the sound of his voice. Laura laughed and reached under her thigh. His tongue wet his upper lip as his mouth opened slightly. He seemed to be satisfied; her hand turned and Ella guessed she was caressing the scrotum.
The touch appeared to spur him on. Now his whole body rocked. His arms were at his sides, his paints pressed fiat against the wooden floor. He arched his spine, and forced his stomach up against her pubis. Her cunt swallowed him up; Laura's mouth opened, and she rolled her head from side to side. The next thrust of the penis forced a shiver that Ella could trace in the curving of her spine.
Ella's interest in the scene had been so intense that she had held her breath, waiting anxiously for each new movement. The initial wave of shock at seeing Laura Marshall there had gone – although who could it be, of the girls in her class, if not Laura? And she had not really been surprised at all to see Claude, naked, pumping his cock into a girl-child's vagina.
She had been lost in watching the two of them. Only when her heart skipped a beat, forcing her to breathe in deeply, was she brought back to her situation. She was a teacher – a young woman, surely, but a teacher as well, with a teacher's responsibilities. Though she could not feel outrage, she could feel embarrassment. Since she had not burst into the shack, demanding that the business be stopped, she could hardly be right in standing at the window, unobserved and observing, her breath forcing a fog onto the glass.
Her muscles tightened with resolution, and she programmed herself to walk toward her car. In the instant that she hesitated, he saw her.
She had no time to think, but she knew instinctively that to walk on by, having once caught his glance, would be cowardice. She stared at the boy, insistent that he be the first to look away.
He was. Yet there was something in the glance, while it lasted, and in the way he ended it, that confirmed everything she either expected or had guessed about Claude. When he turned his eyes away, it was as if he had lost interest in her stare. While their eyes had met, the attitude was one of cheerful defiance.
Once again he was absorbed in the teenager's body. His hands moved with a strange immature grace over Laura's bosom. His cock, as it moved in and out of her, directed the coitus, and Laura merely followed, delighted with, the pleasure he gave her. Her eyes closed, and she was lost as her body rocked with rhythm that possessed her; clearly she did not possess it. Her breasts bounced heavily against her chest, and her fingers grasped at air before Claude seized them at the wrists and held them as she squirmed and forced her cunt down on his penis. His eyes were wide open, and he was watching her move above him, her body out of control. He moved his small, wiry frame up and down in a whir of force, but he was using it as a machine. He could have cum or not cum since Laura was ready, he let himself thrust his cock home inside of her, and only in the last moments of the frantic joining did his eyes close. He bit at his lower lip as he jabbed her with the prick, and his jaw dropped lazily as his body slowed down, and the girl finally settled, his swollen dick inside her. She leaned forward and covered his breasts with her chest. She smoothed his hair with her hands tenderly, but he merely stretched the fingers of his own hands at his sides while he opened his mouth under hers, and their tongues slid back and forth.
Ella Randall's heartbeat frightened her as she walked to the car. Her emotions grew more complicated at each stage. Now she was undecided if she were smarting from the discovery or – or else, she realized, she was unbearably excited by the sight of him fucking that girl.
"You do need some help with your math, Claude."
"Thank you, ma'am."
She had to admire him. He knew how to make it easy on a woman when she needed to have it made easy. She had fought, instinct against instinct for a full week, finally succumbing to temptation. And he, who could have ruined everything with a smirk or a half-suppressed giggle, was playing it so straight that she found herself doubting if their eyes really had met that afternoon at the woodshed.
The bell that signaled the beginning of lunch rang, drowning for a moment the sounds of children already on the school's grounds.
"It will be all right, won't it? Your mother isn't expecting you home after school?"
"No, ma'am."
"If she is, I can call her and tell her you're coming home with me."
"It's really all right. I usually study at the library in the afternoons." It was true; it was the only was he could avoid Elaine.
"Then just come back here after you get your books and things from your locker."
"Yes." He had begun to shuffle his feet, and Ella rose, smiling, letting him know he could leave. As he turned, he raised his hand in an ambiguous wave – somehow familiar, as if there were no need for the camouflage that had preceded it.
She waited for him in the bungalow, watching the children leave through the west gate. She tried to lose herself in watching them, for she was vaguely afraid she would "chicken out" if she let herself think about Claude. Her worst fear was without foundation, but all the worse for that; she worried that he would not find her attractive.
He was silent in the car, but he turned the radio's dial aggressively, as if there were something specific he wanted to hear. He settled on one station, on one song, and he leaned back in his seat, a satisfied smile on his lips as he lost himself in the beat and the inane lyrics.
The first thing she asked him, when they had come into the apartment, was whether he wanted anything to eat or drink. He replied with a polite "no, thank you," but her more specific offers – milk and nutcake – were met affirmatively.
She had cut herself a thin slice of the cake, but she was too excited to be at all hungry. Her forefinger pushed a few moist crumbs toward the rim of the small plate. She was conscious the moment that she sat down next to Claude on the couch that she was too close, without reason, but she was reassured when she sensed no reaction at all, no tightening or stiffening of his body. He was daring her to come closer, teasing her with his passivity.
He finished his cake in minutes. His tongue wiped his upper and lower lip in a single movement. "That was terrific," he said, childishly appreciative.
"You're very welcome. Claude." She waited a moment, then let the opportunity pass. She reached forward and took his math text from the coffee table. She opened it to the current unit, then placed the book in his lap. Her forefinger underlined a model problem. "Do you have any trouble with that one?"
He looked into her face. His head had been resting against the back cushion, and he had to stare up at her. There was nothing in his facial expression; it was pure curiosity. But the unspoken question related not at all to arithmetic. His lips moved apart, and she watched the tongue hidden just behind his even lower teeth. His whole mouth was poised, waiting.
Without effort she felt her face cover his. She pushed forward into his mouth and wrapped her larger tongue around his.
His tongue slid against the roof of her mouth, and she delighted in the raw pressure of his teeth biting into her lips, wet with his saliva.
His hand was impatient. It opened around her breast, and the center of the palm pressed in against the bra cup. Her tit grew harder at the friction of the white lace against the aureole and she thrust her chest out, wanting him to stroke her. His finger pushed against the breast's tip, and she turned her head away from him, then brought herself back. She pushed at the tousled hair that half covered his ear. Her tongue circled in on the organ, moving inside the spiral and then out again. She covered her front teeth with her lips as she sucked on his ear lobe. She tongued the back of his ear, and he breathed with seeming difficulty, excited by her, forced two steps beyond detachment. She stroked the side of his neck with her fingertips. She was conscious that she was older and more experienced – more conscious than she had expected she would be. The impulse to prove her supremacy motivated her now. Her restraint emphasized her age; dimly, she was aware that she wanted to assert the fact that the seduction was her idea, the lovemaking her gift to him.
She reached for his groin and rubbed her palm against the swell. She could feel the heat through the denim pants. She would not undo the fly until his body told her that he was aching for her to stroke him naked. She jammed the knuckles of her fingers up against the underside of the prick, forcing the curved tube against his stomach. Her thumb pushed gently at the scrotum, and she smiled when he groaned. His fingers clutched more tightly at her breast when her hand moved up his stomach, as if to keep her from withdrawing. She scratched at the material that covered his flat stomach.
Ella stood and looted down at him. Her hands moved to her back, under her jersey top. Claude's ears almost burst at the three low clicks the brassiere clasp made as she pulled it apart. Her breasts relaxed inside their cups, and she pushed her hands under the front. She pushed the undergarment down past her midriff and it fell to the floor. Claude's eyes widened as he stared at her nipples, suddenly alive under the jersey. The aureoles were taut with her excitement; he noticed the texture through, the cloth. The fabric hugged the undersides, which were softly rounded.
"Do you like me, Claude?"
"You're very beautiful, Mrs. Randall."
For a moment Ella debated as to whether to correct him, to ask him to call her Ella. It seemed silly, and she was afraid of breaking the momentum. She wanted him badly, perhaps more badly than she had ever wanted any grown man.
He did not follow her hands as they moved behind her hips to unzip the skirt. He heard the sizzle of the zipper down the metallic tract, and the sound excited him. He was staring at her large, full breasts. Her skirt slid down her unstockinged thighs, and the exposure of more of her flesh surprised him. He riveted his eyes to her crotch. Beneath pink lace panties that came halfway from the vee to her waist, he saw the tuft of thick pubic hair. His lips were dry, and he ran his tongue across them. He breathed in, and they were dry again; this time he didn't bother to moisten them. The skin of her thighs was perfectly smooth.
Ella's hands were open, the fingers stretching. The palms touched the swell of her hips, and she pushed the panties down, rolling the waistband under the soft material.
Inside the thick hair he could see the slivers of flesh hanging from the sides of her cunt. She leaned to one side, and her breasts rustled against her top. Claude's eyes did not move away from her cunt. She moved one leg a couple of inches further away from the other. He did not catch the satisfied smile, so wide it pulled on the flesh of her cheeks. Her arms moved awkwardly under the jersey. Like a stripper, she brought it up over her naked breasts slowly, teasingly. Her nipples were huge circles at the tips of the bosoms; the surfaces of the aureoles had gone flaccid. The sides of the boobs seemed to curve up at the nipples.
"Come into the bedroom, Claude. I'll undress you." Her bare feet made no sound upon the carpet as she turned on her heels and walked toward the adjoining room. Claude was paralyzed, his buttocks pressed to the seat cushions as he watched her ass sway. The round globes wiggled, emphasizing dimples as they welded into her thighs.
She hesitated at the open door, then turned to face him. A grin covered her face. "Aren't you coming, Claude?"
Gathering his breath, the boy rose. His cock jammed against his briefs, and his scrotum felt as heavy as if it were filled with two incredibly dense rocks instead of a pair of testicles.
He walked so deliberately that by the time he had entered the bedroom, Ella Randall lay calmly back on the bed. The pillow received a tangle of silky brown hair. Her arm, palm down on the bed at her side, bent back at the elbow, and her forefinger flexed to indicate he advance. Her breasts wiggled as she slid her naked skin against the linen sheet and sat up, her back touching the wooden headboard. "Take off your shoes and socks," she ordered, and he obeyed quickly, nervously.
She leaned forward. Her fingers hooked inside the waist of the levis, their tips pressed against the fabric. He sensed only the pressure of the knuckles as they pushed back on his stomach, convulsed with his excited and erratic breathing.
Ella unloosened his belt, then yanked at the trousers' front. His penis had already smuggled itself out of the cotton folds. There was a moist blotch on the flaps, and the head was oiled with pre-cum. She touched the slit with her fingertip, and a single drop spurted out. She scratched the foreskin gently, and Claude sighed deeply. She pushed the denims down his thin legs, then drew the underpants down. Her hand moved around to his ass. It was smooth, round, and hairless. He shivered as she stroked the buttock, her fingertips diving into the small of his back.
She unbuttoned his shirt slowly, relishing each bit of exposure. He wore no undershirt. She ran her fingers against the bare skin, hesitating with her fingertips over the nipples. She made them stiff with the sides of her thumbs.
Her hands moved down the sides of his body, stroking the outline until she was at his thighs. Her palms moved back to the buttocks, and the fingers curled back toward her between his legs. She pulled at the scrotum with her index, and Claude's fingers turned white as they pressed against the headboard. The air had gone out of his lungs; he was afraid he would lose his balance.
"Come to bed." The words were spoken as three even syllables, whispered expectantly. She pulled the sheet over her and then lifted it over his small body when he slid onto the mattress. His prick brushed against the outside of her thigh.
His hands paused inches over her body, but her squirming encouraged Claude. She twisted her torso and her breast moved against his palm. Before leaving his hand, the tit had become hard and sharp. Her hands moved over his back, and she shifted under him until he was directly above her. He could press against her, and yet she hardly felt his weight. The prick was stapled back to his stomach as he rolled his crotch against her. She pushed his stomach up with her palm and aimed the erection at her clitoris. Claude's body jerked forward, excited by the friction of her pubic hair.
She pressed her thumbs into the sides of his chest. He followed the signal to move back. He sat up, and she moved back, leaning against the headboard for a moment before pushing toward him on her buttocks, legs spread wide apart so that the cleft appeared half open already.
He watched fascinated, while her index finger dipped inside her cunt. She smiled. Her finger was glossy with lubricant when she brought it out.
Her hand closed around the base of his prick while her oiled finger stroked the flattened side of the shaft, spreading the slick film from her cunt. She pushed two fingers inside her vagina, and again she rubbed the moisture off on Claude's cock. His chest moved with his breathing, and he braced his shoulders as he felt her wet fingertips stroke at his genitals.
He leaned back and watched as she bent her head toward his phallus. She opened her mouth wide and took all of his cock inside it at once. Her tongue pushed forward against the flattened side in a single stroke, until the tip moved inside the cluster of thin pubic hair.
Her thumb pressed at the base of the shaft, hidden behind the thick akin of his scrotum. The force of the thumb as it jammed him pushed the two balls apart. Her index finger moved back, following the sac between his legs, stopping just short of his rectum.
He waited as she breathed heavily against his crotch. His hairs moved with the warm wind from her mouth. She licked at the pinkish skin below the strands. She drew the skin down the cock with her hands, holding the prick tightly. She gritted her teeth while she rubbed the fleshy head back and forth over her teeth. Her tongue scooted over the tiny slit, and then streaked down the spine. At the bottom she rolled her tongue against the hidden testes.
"Go down on me, Claude." She lay back, her legs unfolding and spreading wide. He rocked forward and pressed his mouth to her muff. He rubbed his chin against the moist skin outside the opening. His tongue pushed in past the inner lips and the tip tasted the walls as it flagged against them.
"Finger me," she said, her voice betraying greater excitement now. "Finger it…" He rubbed his cheek against the hair while he pushed his finger inside the hole. The walls were juicy; he felt the cream push in under his fingernails.
The walls did not hug him tightly, and he pulled the single finger out in one stroke, then inserted two. His tongue found the clitoral nub, and he beat it down wetly against the tangle of thick hair until her pelvis started to roll violently under his mouth and her buttocks pumped her stomach forward. He no longer had to shove the fingers up her cunt; she was forcing the lining to move against the digits.
Her fingertips were light against the back of his neck. "Come here," she said, and for a moment he was on all fours as he crawled toward her. He held his mouth an inch above her full, sensuous lips. Her tongue moved out from between the folds and moistened them just as he opened his own mouth. She moved her breasts under his chest, the tits growing harder as they scraped his smooth skin. She clutched at his buttocks, and he pushed his prick up against the labia, jabbing her clit. Their tongues rolled like cylinders around each other, and she felt the tip of his small tongue rub the roof of her mouth. His penis nudged the greasy cleft and she rubbed her mound against the flatter side of the prick.
She slid against his pelvis until the head slipped inside her cunt. She had not wanted him inside so soon, but now that he was she had no thought of releasing him. Her body surged forward, and he was buried deep in her. Their pubic hairs curled into one another, their crotches welded.
She kneaded his buttocks in her hands as he drove in. His movements were steady, slow, and even, but the building excitement of the friction made it seem to Ella that each stroke was slower than the one before, that he was drawing the pleasure out almost unbearably.
He pushed up on one palm while his other hand caressed her full breast. He followed the breast to the valley between, and she squirmed until her tit pointed against his hand. He sifted the aureole between his thumb and forefinger, brushing the needle tip with the flat of his forefinger.
Claude relished the soaking her cunt gave his penis as he dunked it inside her. The tissue draped it tightly, and she thrust her pelvis to one side and then the other, so the head pushed into one wall and then the opposite before thrusting straight up toward the womb. The surging in his stomach told Claude he was cuming, and his body was swept up in the waves that shot up between the slick walls.
His wads of sperm triggered Ella's first orgasm. She rolled herself up and pressed her cunt muscles together. She wiggled the walls against the enveloped cock and sucked on it with her lubricated tissue. The hot fluid from the head seemed to explode inside of her, making the orgasm more intense. His seemed to be ending, and she let him move back out of the fleshy vise. She clutched his hips and moved him from side to side as he pushed and pulled in the final climactic strokes. The friction against her clitoris gave her a second orgasm, and Claude kept pushing, though drained of cum, prodding her on while trying to keep his cock erect.