0 comments/ 156640 views/ 53 favorites Miss Ridge, The Babysitter By: dowd_elwood_p *** The Arrival *** "Click, clock. Click, clock," the sharp sound of a pair of high-heeled shoes crossing our living room floor caught my attention. As I was hurriedly changing to go out, I hadn't noticed what was going on at the front door, and I guessed that Mother had let our guest in just before she departed for her business trip. Mother and I had had a real blow-out. Having just turned 18, I didn't see the need to have someone stay with me just because both my parents were away. It was as if I still had to have a ... a ... well, there was no way of getting around it ... a babysitter. I shuddered at the name. I offered to stay at my brother's, but we both knew that, with my exams coming up, the constant partying over there made that a disastrous idea. I tried to reason with her up to and, unfortunately, past her limit of tolerance, and then ... "Enough!!" she had bellowed. "Timothy Walker! You are staying here this week! I want to know that the house is in good hands, and my friend Janet has been good enough to do me this favour. All I'm asking from you is to not give her a hard time." Mother's face had gotten quite red, and I could see veins. "You will do as Janet tells you, and if she informs me when I return that you have been a pain in the ass, then you will have to deal with me! ... Do you understand?" "Yes," I had replied timidly. It was futile to argue at that point. My mother was strict and abusive, and I knew my limits. "Do you?!?" she had seethed. "Do you? Because if I hear ..." Fortunately, the doorbell had saved me. She stopped yelling, but before she went to answer it, her eyes had drilled into me and her chest had puffed in and out visibly. I got that queasy, helpless feeling that always accompanied her bouts of discipline. It had churned my gut and tingled my balls. "Click, clock. Click, clock," the pace of the shoes seemed firm and unhurried. Janet? Janet? I didn't know any of my mother's friends named Janet, but then, I didn't keep track of all her friends. My mother was pretty active with her business, at her church and in her charity work. Most of her friends were in their 50s and varied in looks from frumpy to dumpy, although there were a couple of them who gave me something to think about when I laid in bed at night. Not that I should be choosy. As a glasses-wearing, brainy virgin in a jock-dominated school, I could have definitely benefitted from the seduction of a mature friend of the family. I threw my worn shirt across the room towards my clothes hamper and searched my closet for something to wear – something non-geekish for my visit with Rebecca tonight. Finding something appropriate was going to be a problem; I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of her. Rebecca was not my girlfriend – in fact, I had no real girlfriend. There were a few girls who deigned to sit with me in a few of my classes, like Claire and Stephanie, because they knew I could help them get high marks. But unlike Claire and Stephanie, who were hot, Rebecca was at my level of nerdishness and so was, at least, a prospect. "Click, clock. Click, clock," the steps – I presumed they were Janet's – entered the hallway just outside my door, and I suddenly realized, standing there in just my boxers, that I was indisposed. I looked frantically around the room for my bathrobe and finally noticed it hanging on my door. As I crossed the room to get it, the door opened, swinging the robe away from my grasp and forcing me to jump back and cover myself with my hands. I looked at the face of my intruder. It was ... It was ... It was Miss Ridge, my History teacher from lower school! ... My gawd, Miss Rigid! ... When I was in the fifth grade, we called her Miss Rigid because of how strict she was, but by eighth grade, we were calling her that because of how she made the boys feel in class. She had a firm, shapely body with a small waist, long legs and a tight, round butt. But her petiteness was offset by large breasts that wobbled sufficiently for one to conclude that they were definitely natural. Her "no nonsense" approach to dealing with students was supported by her thin, angular face, short-cut hair and serious demeanour. As well, her thin glasses always seemed to give the impression that she was glaring at you narrowly. "Well, well, well ... Mis-ter Walk-er," she recollected me in a "look at who we have here" tone. Janet Ridge still looked amazing. She must have been in her mid-50s now, but you wouldn't know it to look at her. She was wearing a professional but close-fitting black suit that hinted at an ample, shapely figure. The jacket's neckline was open enough to reveal the curvy cleavage of her shirtless breasts, and the knee-length skirt hugged her shapely, black-stockinged legs over her high-heeled, black shoes. With her short-coiffed hair and thin, gold-rimmed glasses, she looked, on the whole, coolly authoritative. She cocked an arm and rested it on her hip, "Don't you think it was impolite of you to not welcome me at the front door?" Was she joking or serious? She was looking at me completely dispassionately. Drat! She had just arrived, and we were already off on the wrong foot. Keeping my hands across my front, I squirmed at the discomfort of the situation. I felt like I was back in grade school again. "No ... I ... No, it's just that I was changing to go out, and I was just ... ah ... getting ready to go out." Boy, that sounded stupid. Miss Ridge walked slowly over to my shirt on the floor. Pinching its collar between a finger and thumb, she pulled it up off the ground and held it over my clothes hamper. "I see," she said with a slight amount of disgust in her voice and let the shirt drop into the plastic basket. "Mr. Walker," her voice was quiet, but it had a cool edge to it, "Would you please proceed to the living room? I would like to speak with you." "Yes. Of course ... let me just ..." I stammered as I reached again for my robe. "Mr. Walker!" she halted me and then strutted slowly over to my side. "I asked you to proceed to the living room. Please do so." I don't think she realized that I just wanted to throw on my robe, but when I turned to explain myself, I saw a look of controlled irritation. On my mother's face, that look meant, "Don't screw around." My balls began to tingle again; I decided to move obediently into the living room. Crossing over to the couch, I sat down and pulled a pillow onto my lap. "Click, clock. Click, clock," Miss Ridge followed me into the room with a slow, measured pace. She positioned herself by a winged-back chair. Hooking her hands on her hips, she exhaled in exasperation. "Mr. Walker, do you consider it polite to remain seated when a woman enters the room?" I wasn't trying to piss her off ... I really wasn't. I jumped up immediately, holding the pillow in front of me. "No ... Sorry," I apologized. "Would you leave that silly pillow on the sofa and come over here please?" she insisted. I dropped the pillow back on my seat and hustled over to her side. I respectfully covered myself with my hands again, but when she saw my attempt at modesty, she grabbed my elbows and moved my arms to my sides. "Would you please stop that?! Do you have something down there that you are ashamed of?" she snipped. "No, it's just that I ..." "Well, I seem to be having trouble getting your attention, and your fidgetting is not helping. Would you please just focus on our discussion?" Her face moved in front of mine. It was very close; I could feel the heat from her breath. Her eyes looked cold and intense. I felt very uncomfortable being scrutinized in the middle of my living room with just a pair of thin cotton boxers on. It was like I was in trouble with my mother, and the feeling made my stomach flutter and my balls tighten nervously. Miss Ridge walked around the chair and sat down, crossing her legs. It was quiet for a while, but I felt restrained from talking or moving. She just looked at me impassively and waited. Eventually, she broke the silence, "Timothy, now that I seem to finally have your attention, did I understand you to say that you were intending to leave the house tonight?" "Uh ... Yes ... I uh ...," I stammered. "Timothy," she cut me off. Her hand ran soothingly up and down the back of my thigh. "Just relax," she comforted me. Her hand ducked underneath the cuff of my boxers and grazed the bottom of my ass cheek. "Um ... Well, I promised Rebecca that I would bring her one of my textbooks tonight," I responded nervously. "You should talk to your elders with respect, Timothy," she corrected me softly, "I have a name." "Sorry, Miss Ridge," I replied. "That's better," she cooed. "But Timothy, your mother has requested me to ensure that you commit yourself to studying while she's away." She stopped petting my leg and leaned back in the chair. "So you should resign yourself to staying in the house all week," she announced summarily. What?!! Was she out of her mind? "But ... but, Miss Ridge," I interjected, stunned, "But I promised Rebecca." I had engineered the loan of the textbook tonight as an ice-breaker, and Miss Ridge was not recognizing the effort and guts it took for me to get that far. Now, my weeks of plotting were going down the drain. "Well, I'm sure that you will see Rebecca in class tomorrow. You will forgive me if I choose to focus on your scholastic performance instead of your rashly conceived commitments," she explained, standing up. "Now let's get you bathed and settled so that you can get some studying done." Bathed?!! Settled?!! How old did she think I was? Boy, this was going downhill fast. "But Miss Ridge ..." "Mr. Walker!!" she raised her voice. Her unexpected irritation jolted my balls and made my cock twitch. Reflexively, I braced in my stance and clenched my jaw. "Am I going to have trouble with you all week?" she asked, her voice becoming more intense. "No, Miss Ridge," I replied meekly. "I have your mother's cell phone number," she advised me. "Should I call her to return now before she gets too far out of town?" "No, Miss Ridge." Gawd, she really had a hair trigger. "I don't have time for this, Timothy!" She grabbed my earlobe and squeezed it. It was surprising how much that hurt. Slowly, she led me towards the hall by my lobe. "I need you to cooperate with me and not waste my time asking questions!" At the corner of the room, she stopped me so that I was facing the wall. She placed her finger on the wall at about my eye level and drew a small, imaginary circle. "Place your nose there, Timothy," she instructed me. I leaned forward until the tip of my nose touched the rough texture of the wall. "Higher," she corrected me, and I had to reach up on my tip-toes. I felt a little strained and off-balance. "Timothy, I'm not trying to be inflexible; I'm just doing what's best for you. Do you understand me?" "Yes, Miss Ridge." "I don't think you do, Timothy." Her face was now beside my ear. She stared at me without speaking, for effect. I could feel her breath on my cheek and neck. My calf muscles began to quiver with the strain. "I am going to prepare your bath now, and I want you to think about what you need to do to start behaving properly." She strutted out of the room. *** The Unpacking *** I was in the corner! I was in the friggin' corner!! As abusive as my parents were, I hadn't been made to stand in the corner since I was eight years old. ... And she just got here! How was I going to last the week like this? In the distance, I could hear the tub faucet spewing out a jet of bath water. My gut and groin were churning just like the torrent of water next door, and strangely, the feeling of anguish that was pulling on my balls was causing me to get hard. Oh gawd, was she going to take offence to that?!! I was truly screwed. With the squinch of a closing tap, the sound of rushing water faded and was replaced by the odd plop of water drops falling onto the surface of the bath water. Miss Ridge returned to the room and positioned herself behind me. I hadn't moved, and I tried to show by my rigidity that I was conforming to her direction. I was braced for another tirade, but to my surprise, I felt her fingertips trace lightly and playfully across my shoulders and then down my back. Both the feeling and the surprise made me shiver. She moved her face in towards my ear and spoke softly, "Timothy," she said gently, "I don't want to be angry at you. I'm just looking out for your best interests. Are you ready to be good now?" "Yes, Miss Ridge," I replied with great relief. "Good," she declared happily and took a step back, "Then would you please grab my luggage and bring it into my room for me." I looked over towards the front door and saw a garment bag and valise on the floor. As she clicked her way down the hallway towards the guest room, I retrieved her bags and followed her lead. Hustling down the hall, I was relieved to note that my erection, which had been oddly encouraged by Miss Ridge's brusque treatment, was not obvious underneath my blousy boxers. When I entered the guest room, I saw Miss Ridge standing at the far side of the bed by the closet with her back to me. With one hand under her jacket, she held the waistband of her skirt, while with her other hand, she drew its zipper down. Bending over, she pulled the skirt down her legs until it slipped onto the floor. Oh ... my ... gawd!! Two round, pale, smooth, beautiful bum cheeks were presented to me, separated by the thinnest of black thongs. I stood at the entrance of the room wide-eyed and slack-jawed. She stepped out of her skirt and stood up. The thong disappeared coyly between her plump cheeks, which now formed two proud little moons. Just below the pouty curve of her cheeks, the delicate bands of her sheer, black stockings hugged her firm thighs. My eyes traced down the dark outline of her shapely legs to the sharp spikes of her shiny black shoes. In my boxer shorts, my penis began to push against its flimsy covering as if to peek out at what it was missing. "Here, Timothy," she said as she turned around to grab a hanger from the open closet, "Lay the garment bag on the bed here." She hung her skirt up and casually unbuttoned her jacket. I did as she asked and retreated with my back to her to hide my increasingly evident hard-on. "Would you be a dear and unpack my valise into the dresser over there?" she asked as she nonchalantly removed her jacket. Underneath, her voluptuous breasts sagged heavily in a lacy, half-cup bra, and as she hung up her jacket, the mounds jiggled and jostled recklessly in the barely confining material. I averted my eyes quickly ... well, not that quickly ... and zipped open her small bag. Inside, I was confronted with shiny, lacy material – blacks and whites, hot pinks and baby blues. I inserted my hand into the bag and swam it gingerly around the cool, satiny interior. With alarm, I concluded that the contents consisted entirely of lingerie. Slips and babydolls; chemises and camisoles; bras and tanks and teddies and thongs – I knew all too well what they were. Intense catalogue browsing constituted a large proportion of my pathetic sex life. I looked up guiltily. I shouldn't be touching women's underthings. But when I looked up, I got an eyeful of Miss Ridge, jostling and jiggling under her barely restraining underwear, as she continued to hang up her clothes. I shouldn't be looking at that either. My penis was now on the verge of escape. It pushed strenuously against the overlapping material of my fly, attempting to pry open a small gap. "Put those away neatly, Timothy," she said off-handedly, "I'll be with you in a minute." I reached in and pulled on a little spaghetti strap. Out came a sheer lace, baby blue camisole. As I tried to manipulate it, it slipped and slid limply through my fingers, almost falling to the floor. I couldn't fold it, so I just placed it gently in one of the drawers. I next pulled out a mesh, black, V-string thong. There was almost no material to it, and when I folded it over once, it practically disappeared in my hand. I placed it in the same drawer. I had no idea that Miss Ridge had this kind of lifestyle, but regardless, my unpacking job was failing miserably. I reached in her bag again and pulled out a small pair of white, lacy shorts, which seemed to be more air than material. "Do you like those?" she startled me. She was now standing in front of me. When I looked up, all I could see was soft, pink flesh, outlined here and there by black material. I tried to not stare noticeably at any of her naughty area and got so nervous that I dropped the panties. "Oh, don't get them dirty," she purred as she reached down to pick them up. "See," she said as she held them in front of her hips, "They're called tangas, and they become see-through when I stretch them on." I tried to look down at what she was attempting to show me, but the first thing I saw was her wonderfully soft and plump breasts. I started to tremble, so I looked away. When she noticed my condition, she smiled and placed a palm softly on my cheek. "Are you nervous, Timothy?" "Yes, Miss Ridge." "Haven't you ever seen a woman's body before, Timothy?' "Um ... No ... Um ... Not in real life, Miss Ridge." "Really?!!" she sounded very surprised. I guess that, since I was 18, it did sound somewhat surprising. "Well there's nothing for you to be afraid of, Young Man," she said comfortingly as she grasped one of my hands and placed it on her ... WOW ... her breast ... her soft, smushy breast. I still couldn't look down, but it felt great. My erection was now full on. "There, that's not so bad, is it?' "No, Miss Ridge." Glancing down, she caught sight of my bulge, which is probably why she looked. Then glancing back up, she gave me a wry smile and felt around the front of my shorts for the fly, which she spread apart. My hard-on sprang enthusiastically through the opening. She twanged it with a fingertip, causing it to oscillate back and forth. "Timothy, are you having naughty thoughts?" Her hand batted my wobbly pole about playfully. "Um ..." I exhaled loudly. "Um ... Yes, I guess so, Miss Ridge ..." She reached into her bag, extracted a bra and hung the strap over my upward turned shaft. The strap slid down my erection, and the cups swung underneath my balls. "What about?" "P-p-pardon me?" I stammered. She withdrew another bra and sent it next down my pole. "What are you having naughty thoughts about, Timothy?" she asked relentlessly. "I ... oh, uh ... I ... uh ... something ..." I tried to let my hand fall away from her breast, but she caught and replaced it, pressing it on firmly to emphasize my apparent dereliction of duty. "Something?" She picked a pair of bikini briefs and placed the leg hole over my pole. "Is it about me, Timothy? Are you having naughty thoughts about me?" "I ... uh ... I ..." Suddenly, a cell phone rang and saved me from my interrogation. Miss Ridge left to answer it and said over her shoulder, "Keep unpacking for me, please, Timothy." I scrambled to get her lingerie put away. I lifted the items off my hard-on and threw them in a drawer, adjusting my penis back into its cotton sanctuary. Then, I took great handfuls of satin and lace from her bag and shovelled them into the dresser. Miss Ridge returned to the room with the cell phone at her ear. "All right then, Anne. I will see you and Priscilla at nine," she spoke into the phone, and now with her present, I tried to look assiduous about my handling and folding of her underwear. "Do you need directions?" she continued, "All right then ... All right ... Okay ... Bye." *** The Bath *** She closed up her phone and looked over at me. "Okay," she announced, "Let's get cracking. I've got visitors coming, and I need to get you bathed and at your desk before they get here. ... Come along ... Come, come, come!" She hustled off out of the room, and I scurried in along behind. Miss Ridge, The Babysitter Her quick little stride caused her heels to click furiously on the floor and her pale, round cheeks to wink vigorously back and forth down the hallway. My hard-on slew from side to side under my baggy shorts. As we entered the bathroom, the warm, humid air enveloped me, and moisture dewed on my bare skin. Miss Ridge positioned herself behind me as I faced the tub. Her heels tapped in staccato on the linoleum as she manoeuvred awkwardly in the confined space. Finally, she sat down on her haunches and, in the same movement, pulled my shorts onto the floor. My erection flung into the open and wavered unashamedly in the open air. A plan formed in my mind. When Miss Ridge left to let me take my bath, I would jerk off in the toilet, and thus disarm myself. My rebelliously stiffening member would no longer embarrass me for the rest of the night. After all, I certainly had enough mental images from the bedroom to facilitate a fast hand-job. "Get in, Timothy," she instructed and stood up to get a washcloth. The bath was nice and warm, not too hot. When the water embraced my aroused shaft, it felt soothing. I wanted to slide down and let the relaxing water wash over my whole body, but instead, I hunched over my submerged erection to hide it. I waited for Miss Ridge to leave, but instead, she kneeled beside the tub. Taking the soap from the wall holder, she wetted the washcloth and sudsed it up. ... Wait a minute! She was going to wash me? She was really taking her babysitting responsibilities way too literally. "Lean forward, Timothy," she instructed me, "I'm going to start with your back." The soapy cloth slid smoothly over my skin and felt wonderfully sensual. She was very thorough, washing my back, chest, arms and legs, and even detailing the crevices of my ears and the spaces between my fingers and toes. I tried to blank my mind, but the slippery cloth felt too good, and her swaying bust-line had me transfixed. When she washed my feet, I looked over the edge of the tub to see the back of her thong diving between her bum cheeks and the silkiness of her stockings rubbing smoothly against each other. My erection ... I couldn't control it, dammit ... My erection pushed up like a periscope stealthily breaking the surface of the water. Miss Ridge looked down to see my little knob cresting the surface of the water. ... "I'm sorry," I pleaded pitifully, but she just grinned and looked at me through a cocked eye. With a finger and thumb, she lightly pinched my exposed head and raised the periscope entirely out of the water, pulling my hips up in the process. "Were you afraid that I wasn't going to wash you down there, Timothy?" "No ... I uh ..." She wobbled my hard-on back and forth. "Hmmm?" "Uhhh ..." What did she want me to say?!! A shiver went down my penis and into my balls as it vibrated back and forth. Dropping the washcloth in the water near the tap, she picked up the bar of soap. "Lift up your hips, Timothy. I want you to keep it out of the water," she instructed. I did as she asked. Leaning back on my elbows, I supported my ass cheeks with my hands and thrust my hips up above the water. Miss Ridge sudsed up her hand, dropped the soap in the water and then gently caressed my swollen pole. ... Wow!! It felt terrific. No woman had ever touched me like that before! ... She stroked its length gently with her soapy fist. ... If I hadn't been so scared, I probably would have cum immediately. Up and down, her languid strokes squished along my tingling skin and over top of my sensitive knob. Up and down, up and down, her hand glided and pulled. I looked over at her soft, pink cleavage. One of her breasts was smushed down on the top edge of the tub, causing the mound to pour over top of the barely supportive bra. Up and down, up and down, her arm moved. A loose bra strap threatened to fall off her shoulder and slide down her arm, letting everything tumble out into the open. Up and down, up and down, the squishing fist sucked and spit its soapy foam on my pulsating rod. ... Suddenly, the phone rang again. This time, it was the house phone. ... ARGHHH!! Don't answer it! I was getting close. "I had better get that," she explained as she left the bathroom. "It might be your mother. ... Don't move!" I looked down disconsolately at my abandoned penis, and it looked back at me in utter disbelief. Soon, Miss Ridge returned to the bathroom with a soapy hand held out away from her and the cordless phone wedged between an ear and shoulder. "Yes, Claire," Miss Ridge spoke into the phone as she returned to the side of the tub and kneeled down. Claire?? Why would Claire be calling me? "No, I'm sorry," she continued, motioning to me with her soapy hand to raise my hips up higher. "Timothy is taking his bath right now and then he will be going to bed." Oh gawd! What was she saying? Claire is one of the most popular girls at school. I was allowed to hang around with her and Stephanie, but that association was not guaranteed, and right now I was at risk of being completely humiliated. "No, I'm his babysitter," she added. AHHH!!! I was doomed. Miss Ridge reached down and began stroking me again. "Yes, Claire. That's right," she said. It was heaven and hell now. It felt amazingly kinky to be masturbated while the subject of most of my wet dreams was on the other end of the phone, but at the same time, I was afraid of what was going to be said. Her hand squished and pumped. "No, I wouldn't want him to be out beyond his bedtime." Arghh! ... Along my cock's length, her hand glided. "Yes, a textbook. He did mention a textbook." Pumping and pumping. "Rebecca? No. ... Oh, wait. Yes, she is his girlfriend, isn't she?" AHHH!! Don't say that. ... Stroke and stroke and stroke. "Yes. Then come right over, and I will allow him to stay up so that he can give it to you." I wanted to cry ... but it felt so good! Miss Ridge stopped her pumping in order to disconnect the phone. She then turned back to me and moved her arm towards the tub. ... Yes! Finish me off! Finish me off! ... But instead, she dunked her soapy hand in the water and rinsed it off. ... NOOOOO!! "We need to get you dressed. You are going to have company," she explained. "Get yourself dried off, and I will go and get your pyjamas," she said as she strutted out of the room. I settled back down into the bath again and rinsed off. My penis was throbbing. *** The Textbook *** Climbing out of the tub, I grabbed a big bath towel and ran it over my body. Pyjamas?? I haven't had pyjamas since I was in grade school. Nevertheless, Miss Ridge returned with something. They were long and white and stretchy – they were my running leotards! The ones that I wear under my shorts to stay warm and to prevent chafing. I couldn't wear those! Not in front of Claire! "Here," she said, handing them to me, "Get these on." "But ..." The instant the word came out of my mouth, Miss Ridge wheeled around and glared at me. There was a lot of "I dare you" in that glare. With her guests coming over later, she must have been feeling pressure from running out of time. I felt barred from pursuing my objection. "Yes, Miss Ridge," I replied and stretched the leggings on. The material clung mercilessly to me, revealing every bump and mole. And, of course, when I finished pulling them up, my aroused cock and heavy balls were prominently displayed. I looked directly at my groin to draw attention to the problem, as if it wasn't obvious enough, but at that moment, the doorbell rang. Claire must have phoned from her car on the way here. "Miss Ridge, can I go put something else on?" I tried meekly. Miss Ridge halted in mid stride. When she wheeled around, I could see fire in her eyes. She loomed towards me. "Was that a question?" she asked in a barely controlled seethe. She grabbed onto my balls and pulled them down firmly until it felt like she was going to pull them off. ... Ow! ... "Am I to understand that I have to answer a question before I run to put on my robe? Before I rush to answer the door for your friends? Before you comply with what I asked you to do the first time?" She then gave my balls a good yank. "AAAHHH!! ... No, Miss Ridge," I replied through my contorted face. "Then go get your textbook and meet me at the front door!" she commanded and then left hurriedly. I shook out my balls and went to my room. What to do? What to do? I thought fleetingly about scrambling into my street clothes, despite the furor that would have erupted after Claire left, but I didn't dare. In any case, I was soon being called to the door. "Timothy, your little friend is here," she called in a suddenly sweet tone. Gawd, how embarrassing. I slinked into the living room with the textbook in front of me. I hoped to just get this over with quickly. Miss Ridge was engaging Claire in some discussion at the front door. Then, Claire turned to look at me. ... Her eyes grew wide in surprise. Despite my attempt to cover myself, my bare top and leotard leggings must have still looked pretty odd. When I reached the door, I handed the book to Claire, who zipped it away immediately in order to get a full view. I tried to cover myself with my hands, but I was too late. Claire raised a hand to her mouth to prevent herself from laughing out loud. When I finally got enough nerve to look her in her eyes, all I could see was the glint of amazed disbelief and barely suppressed laughter. I averted my eyes and redoubled my effort to cover myself. "Claire tells me that Rebecca is outside in the car," Miss Ridge informed me in a misguided attempt to be helpful. "I think it would be a good idea for you to take the textbook out to her in person." I shot an immediate look of disagreement and disbelief at her. She wasn't serious, was she? "I think that would be a great idea," Claire added mischievously. My head and searing stare snapped over at her, but when she brought her hand up to cover her wicked smile again, I knew that my embarrassment and anger were playing right into her hand. "But I'm not dressed," I pleaded. "I think you look okay," offered Claire, the back-stabber. "I agree," concurred Miss Ridge. "Here, just put on some slippers, and you'll be fine. You will only be outside for a moment." Looking down, I saw that she had gathered together a pair of my mother's pink, furry slippers for me to wear. This was getting worse. I looked at her in complete disbelief, and out of the side of my eye, I could see Claire glinting and smirking. "Put them on and take the textbook to the car, Timothy," Miss Ridge said in a low, firm voice that indicated that the threshold of her patience was being reached. "I have guests coming over soon, so we can't stand here all night." Dejectedly, I shuffled into the slippers and turned towards the door, which Claire was holding open with great glee. My world was coming to an end. As the pending scene of embarrassment played out in my head, a cold anxious feeling pulled up on my balls and pushed out on my rigid penis. I slupped out onto the front stoop. "Stephanie! Becky!" called out Claire, provoking a rustling movement in the back of the car. ... Oh, no. I tried to take the textbook from Claire, but she pulled it back, probably realizing that I would use it as a shield. My final hope, that the dim evening light would mask my shame, was cut short when my "babysitter" turned on the front light. Claire giggled, grabbed my hand and practically dragged me down the driveway. At the car, I noticed that no one occupied the front passenger seat and that both Stephanie and Rebecca were in the back. We approached the rear, passenger-side window. I didn't want to look, but when I finally lifted my eyes, I caught sight of Rebecca glaring at me in a disbelieving stupor. Beside her, Stephanie was almost doubled over in laughter. "Hey, where's the ballet, Nureyev?" she guffawed. Behind me, Claire was laughing too, but she was trying to keep her composure in order to continue poking at my situation. Her hands were gripping and massaging my butt teasingly, which is something that I had always dreamed of, but not like this. My hard-on pressed desperately up against the stretchy material. "Look, Becky," Claire taunted, "Your b-o-y-friend's here." ... Oh, no. Claire had picked up on Miss Ridge's telephone indiscretion and had probably made light of it on the way over. Rebecca stared at me in complete bewilderment ... No, it was utter embarrassment. Claire handed me the textbook and opened the car door. "Here, Becky," Claire chided, "Timmy brought you your book." I handed her the book, which she took falteringly. "Nice woody!" Stephanie yelled out from the other side of the car, which caused Rebecca to look down reflexively and then away nervously. "Hmmm," cooed Claire, as she reached around from behind and massaged my erection with her hand through my leotard. "Yeah! Look at how hard you are, Timmy." Her palm pressed firmly against the underside of my cock and buffed it forcefully. "Who is that for?" Rub, rub, rub. "Becky?" Rub, rub, rub. "Is it for Becky?" Rub, rub, rub. "Is it for your girlfriend?" Rub, rub, rub. ... Oh gawd, I wasn't going to be able to hold myself back. I was too nervous, and Claire's rubbing felt too good. Rebecca strained to keep her eyes averted from Claire's scene, but the occasional nervous glance down told me that she was having difficulty ignoring us. Suddenly, Claire shoved me forward and across Rebecca's lap. "Here, Becky. I think Timmy has something else to give you." Stephanie reached across and grabbed my wrists, anchoring me to the spot, and Claire reached in and grabbed Rebecca's closest hand, which she planted firmly on my shaft. Claire vibrated Rebecca's palm furiously against my hard-on, and Rebecca helplessly let it happen. I thought about the situation, about the humiliation I was experiencing, about the near-orgasms I had had earlier in the evening and about Rebecca's hand being on my penis, and I lost control. I came in a violent jerk. "Aaaghh!!!" The cum sprayed against the nylon and spread forcefully all around my bulge. A lot of it seeped through the material and soaked Rebecca's hand. She tried to pull it away, but Claire forced her to continue stroking me. I convulsed two or three more times and lost track of what was going on. I instinctively tried to move away from Rebecca to keep from getting her wet, but Stephanie's pulling made me fall back into Rebecca's lap, causing my wet spot to soak into Rebecca's skirt near her crotch. I struggled and finally broke free of Stephanie, who was laughing too hard to keep a grip on me anyways. When I extricated myself from the back seat, I saw Claire leaning against the car's back fender and holding her stomach in laughter. When I looked back at Rebecca, I saw her looking back and forth in shock between her wet hand and her soiled skirt. That was it! That was really it!! I marched back up to the house in a huff. I was mad now. From behind me, Claire, barely able to catch her breath, wished me good-bye, "Good night, Tinkerbell." ... I fumed. The front door had closed and locked, and I was forced to ring the bell. I didn't care anymore what authority this Ridge bitch thought she had, I was going to let her know that I wasn't going to let her turn my world upside down. I was going to show her who was boss around here. I was going to make it absolutely clear to her that ... And then, the door opened. Miss Ridge immediately grabbed my earlobe and yanked me into the house. I stumbled over my feet as I was propelled through the door. Looking down at my wet spot, she snapped at me accusingly, "What have you done?!!" "Aaahh ..." I gasped. With her hand still painfully pinching my earlobe, she pulled me across the living room floor, my feet barely able to stay under me. En route, the interrogation continued, "What was all the commotion out there?!! Why is there a wet stain in your pants?!!" "It's ... Well, I ... uh ..." I tripped and faltered. "Did you pee your pants?!!" "NO!! No, it's not that! I ... uh ... I ..." "You mean you ejaculated!!" We halted for a second. "Did you just stand in your front yard and jerk off in front of all your neighbours?" "No, I ..." With a tug of her hand, we continued our journey. "Well, then, did you jump in the back seat and hump the girls in the car?" "No, I ..." "No, I ... No, I ... No, I ... No, I don't want to be a good boy tonight! No, I don't want to help Miss Ridge out when she's running out of time!" We ended up back in the corner of the living room near the door to the hallway. Miss Ridge gave a final push on my earlobe to force my nose up against the rough plaster again. She stood behind me and whipped down my leggings in a single, rapid pull that caused my butt cheeks to rebound slightly. As she held the cuffs at the ankles, I stepped out of them, and she used the soiled leotard to wipe off my groin ... roughly, very roughly. "Don't move! I need to clean up the house. While I'm gone, I suggest that you decide when you want me to call your mother and have her return," she threatened me harshly. "Up on your toes!" she barked and then disappeared from my presence. The house settled into an unnatural quiet. Well, I guess I showed her. ... I was such a pussy. *** The Absolution *** Miss Ridge flitted about the living room, tidying it up, and then retired to the kitchen, where I could hear cupboard doors banging and dishes clattering. The clash and clanging was very loud at first but then softened to a constructive level. After a while, the clicking of her heels forewarned me that she was on her way back. I held my breath. She stood behind me, and there was silence in the room. I felt her eyes drilling into me from behind. My legs were quivering from the strain of being up on my toes. I braced for what was to come, but I was surprised by her change of tone. "Have you been playing with yourself, Timothy?" she asked calmly but with concern. "No, Miss Ridge." "Step away from the wall," she directed, and I took two steps back. She appeared at my side and inspected my groin. I was indeed flaccid. "Timothy, I am sorry that I have to be rough with you, but I find that I can no longer trust you to be out of my sight," she advised me. "I am afraid that I will now have to keep my eye on you at all times. Do you understand that you have brought this on yourself?" "Yes, Miss Ridge." "I so want to trust you, but you are such a dirty little boy, aren't you Timothy?" "Yes, Miss Ridge." "Very well. Follow me," she ordered, and I fell in behind her clicking heels. We walked down the hall and into her room. "Up against the wall, Timothy. I have to get ready for my guests." I found a spot on her bedroom wall and pressed my nose up against it. This was going to be a long night. "No, Timothy," she corrected me, "Turn around. When you face the wall, I can't tell what you are doing with yourself." I did as I was told. Miss Ridge busied herself with her clothes. She removed her robe and hung it up. I marvelled again at how incredibly shapely she was. As she walked about the room, her butt cheeks squinched up and down, her legs flexed and tightened, and her breasts bobbed all around. She might be a bipolar maniac, but she was a sexy looking one, and I was starting to get turned on again. She looked in the closet and took out what I initially thought was a slip but what turned out to be a little, black cocktail dress. There was not much to it. She laid it on the bed, and then she reached behind herself and unhooked her bra ... Oh, man! ... her bra. Extricating her arms from her straps, she let the bra fall into her hand, and then she dropped it on the bed. Her breasts now swung freely. They were spectacular. Obviously, they hung lower than they had probably done earlier in her life, but they now had this sensual swoop to them, like little ski jumps. Her nipples sat just above the ends of the jumps and stood proudly erect over two quarter-sized aureoles. The hanging mounds looked like wonderfully squooshy pillows. My cock was coming back to life. Miss Ridge, The Babysitter She next hooked her thumbs into the thong's waistband at her hips and slid the little piece of cloth down in a single motion. She stepped out and dropped it on the bed beside her bra. From the back, her beautifully rounded butt looked as soft and inviting as before, and when she turned around, I caught sight, for the first time, of a neatly trimmed triangle of black, downy hair that covered her pussy. She placed a hand on her stomach and pulled up on the skin to get a better look at her pubic hair, and then she combed her fingers through it softly to straighten it out. Next, she picked up the dress from the bed and wriggled it on over her head. She pulled at the material and pushed at her body parts until the little amount of the former covered the better parts of the latter. How could this not be a slip? The hem of the dress barely fell below the top of her stockings, and each time she took a step, the top bands of her hose peeked into view. She clicked over to a full-length mirror in the corner and checked herself out from different angles. Satisfied, she strutted back to the centre of the room and looked over at me. "So what do you think," she asked hopefully. "Fantastic," I replied honestly. "No, don't just say that. I won't get mad. Tell me what you really think." "Fantastic," I repeated. "Really?" she giggled. "Not bad for 54, eh?" "Amazing," I replied. She giggled again but then went quiet. Lost in thought, she sauntered slowly over to the side of the bed nearest me. She sat down on the edge and looked up contemplatively. "Timothy, you know that I don't want to be angry with you, don't you?" "Yes, Miss Ridge." She spread her legs, causing her dress to ride up her thighs and almost expose her dark, downy hair. "Come here, Timothy," she commanded, patting the mattress between her outstretched thighs. I walked slowly up to the spot she had indicated and stood between her legs. My cock dangled incautiously in front of her face. "Kneel down," she said, and I complied. My eyes were at about the level of her chin. She combed her fingers through my hair a couple of times and then caressed the side of my face. "I want to trust you, Timothy. I want to know that you intend to obey me implicitly. Do you want to be a good boy?" "Yes, Miss Ridge." "Are you going to follow all of my orders in the future?" "Yes, Miss Ridge." "Are you sorry for all the bad things that you have done tonight?" "Yes, Miss Ridge." She ran her fingers through my hair again and looked closely at me. "Really?" I tried to look and sound sincere. "Yes, Miss Ridge." She smiled, and then she reached down and stroked my cock. ... Ohhh!! ... Her cheek rested against mine, and her other hand wrapped around the back of my neck. Then she leaned back and looked directly into my eyes. "Timothy, if you are truly sorry, I want you to show me that you are." The hand around my neck drew my head gently towards her, and her other hand lifted up the hem of her dress. I followed her lead without resistance, and she guided my face right onto her bush. She looked down at me from above. "Show me that you want my forgiveness, Timothy," she said softly and then pulled my face the rest of the way in. My lips met her lower lips, and so I kissed them, causing her to sigh. Now, admittedly, this was a great position to be in, but I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I was a shunned nerd at school, after all. Luckily, there didn't seem to be many options. I tried sticking out my tongue and licking, and that caused her to moan even louder, so I continued doing that. Kissing and licking, and kissing and licking, and licking and licking and licking ... She moaned and squirmed, which really turned me on. The louder she got, the more committed I became to the effort. Soon, she seemed to be getting wet from other than my saliva, and the smell became more pungent, but in a good way. When her pubic hair started to get in the way, I wrapped my arm under, around and then over her thigh so that I could use my fingers to pull her hair away. This also caused her lips to separate, and a little nub of skin appeared. I licked that, and she pulled my face forcefully in against her pussy, her fingernails digging into my skull. ... I took that to be a good sign. I focused my licking on the little nub. I licked and licked and licked, and the little nub vibrated up and down under my tongue. Finally, I brought my other hand up to move some more hair away and accidentally pushed a fingertip inside her. She really, really liked that, so I tried to move it in and out as I licked continually on her nub. After I did that for a while, she grabbed onto the back of my head and bucked her pussy furiously into my mouth and finger. "Ohh ... Ohh ... Ohh ... Anghnnn unghnnn ... AHHHHH!!!" she yelled out at the end. I was prepared to keep going, but she pulled my head and hands off of herself quickly, while her body continued to spasm. Finally, she flopped back onto the bed and became quiet. Continuing to kneel between her legs, I didn't know what to do, so I just kept still. I looked at her wet bush and saw little beads of moisture clinging to the fine strands of hair. Under her seat, the sheet on the bed looked soaked completely through. Finally, she sat back up, grabbed the back of my head with her hand and kissed me hard on the lips. With her face still close to mine and a smile on her lips, she whispered, "Apology accepted." *** The Visitors *** Miss Ridge stood up, moved around me and became more business-like. "All right, get up Timothy, my guests will be here any minute." I got off my knees and backed myself rigidly against the wall, while Miss Ridge moved over to the mirror. She did some final straightening, touched up her make-up, and fluffed out her hair. Looking at her watch, she turned around and stepped hurriedly towards the door. "Come along. We are running out of time." She passed quickly in front of me, and I followed in behind. Her light silky dress swished wildly over her hustling ass cheeks, and her heels clicked loudly in cadence with her rapid pace. In the passion of our co-mingling, I had developed a bit of an erection, and my semi-firm pole was now whipping back and forth in front of me as we rushed down the hall. The smell of Miss Ridge's juices lingered on my lips and sustained my arousal. "Click, click, click, click, click, ..." her heels tapped out a rapid beat in front of me as she turned into the living room. "I need you for a second in the kitchen," she called out over her shoulder, "And then we'll get you settled in your room to study." Like a puppy dog, I followed in behind her unquestioningly. In the kitchen, she proceeded directly to one of the cupboards and opened the door. "Timothy," she motioned to the top shelf, "I want the long-stemmed glasses in the back. Would you be a dear and get them down for me?" They were pretty far back, and I had to climb on a kitchen chair to get at them. In the meantime, Miss Ridge hustled over to the refrigerator and began extracting nibblies. "These?" I asked, holding what I thought she meant in my hand. I felt a little like a Grecian statue perched naked with a knee on the counter, a foot on the chair and my genitals dangling in full view. "Yes, that's right," she confirmed ... and then the doorbell rang. My heroic Greek pose now suddenly felt very vulnerable. I grabbed the glasses and scrambled down from the counter. Miss Ridge straightened her dress and turned to go answer the door. Whooaaa!! She was forgetting that we have a clothing problem here. "Miss Ridge," I whispered emphatically, "I'm not dressed!" She spun around immediately and snapped a stern scowl at me. ... Shoot! I've done it again. ... But then her face softened. She seemed to realize that we did have a problem. Quickly, she scanned the room and then clicked over to the stove. Hanging on the handle of the oven was a small white apron. She snatched it up and threw it across to me. "Here," she said in a rush as she sped back towards the door, "Put that on." No doubt about it, she was crazy. I glanced down at the little piece of cloth in my hand. It certainly wasn't one of those big, barbeque aprons; it was just a small semi-circle of cotton that would barely cover my lap. It almost looked like it had come from a fetish French maid costume. I wrapped the straps around my back and tied them as best I could. The lower hem of the apron extended barely below my balls. I pulled down on its bottom edge in an attempt to stretch it out, but I only succeeded in loosening the knot in the back. There was hardly enough material in it for someone to wipe their hands. What the heck was Mother doing with it anyways? Its functionality was lost on me. In the next room, the cackling of women's voices reminded me that I was still in a predicament. I would have to find a way of sneaking through the living room to my room while they were distracted. Would Miss Stern take them on a tour of the house? ... Not likely. ... Would she take them over to one part of the room to show them a picture or something so that their backs might be turned? ... Possibly, but perhaps not. ... Think ... think ... think ... Would they ..."Timothy?" My concentration was shattered by the sound of my name being called. In the kitchen doorway, I looked up to see Miss Ridge extending her arm into the room as a guide. "Timothy, I think that you know Anne Tyson and Priscilla Grundy," she announced cheerfully as the two ladies entered on cue. My jaw dropped. What was she doing leading them to me? ... Wait! Did she say Tyson and Grundy? I did know these women; they were both teaching associates of Miss Ridge! Miss Tyson, who we used to call Tight Skin, was the hard-body, girls' physical education instructor at the school, and Mrs. Grundy was the old librarian who used to shush students during study periods. Now I was going to stand before both of them with nothing on but about one square foot of thin, white linen. I blushed from head to foot. Mrs. Grundy entered first and halted immediately. On seeing me, she went almost completely white, and I feared that she might even faint. Miss Tyson, on the other hand, skipped around Mrs. Grundy, and when she realized what she was seeing, she flashed me the most evil grin. She looked back over her shoulder and chided, "Janet, you didn't say that you had entertainment." "Now, Anne," Miss Ridge replied dismissively. Mrs. Grundy was wearing a black with white trim, lapel-less wool suit that said "prim and proper," while Miss Tyson had a look that said "casual ... and hot!" She had on a pair of tight, black leather pants and an even tighter, bright red, cashmere cardigan. Of the sweater's seven buttons, only the middle two were closed, resulting in the exposure of an immodestly ample cleavage and an exceptionably flat midriff. Miss Tyson approached me slowly, like she was stalking a prey, taking in eyefuls of my nearly naked body as she advanced. "Well ... well ... well ..., Mr. Walker," she purred, extending me her hand, which I took. "You look all grown up." She grasped my hand and then slid her other hand up my arm to my shoulder as she moved in. When she nestled in beside me, her moving hand traced over my shoulder and then down my back. When it reached my butt, she took a big handful of cheek and squeezed it firmly. "Yessss. All grown up," she added. "Anne!" Miss Ridge snapped. "Leave the poor boy alone. Let's go into the living room, shall we?" Miss Tyson gave me a fake pout and started to leave. Mrs. Grundy was still in shock, and so Miss Ridge had to turn her around by her shoulders and usher her out. Before the room cleared, Miss Tyson returned to stand in front of me. With a whimsical look on her face, she reached down teasingly, pinched the bottom hem of my apron and drew it up away from my body. My genitals came into view, and Miss Tyson girlishly opened her mouth wide in a mock look of shock. "Anne!!" Miss Ridge barked from the doorway, realizing that one of her guests had dawdled. Miss Tyson dropped the cloth immediately in a fake display of being caught and then bit her lower lip in a very sensual look of sad denial. She then turned on her heels and skipped out of the kitchen. Alone again, I shivered at the excitement of what had just occurred ... and my erection started to return. Miss Ridge returned from her ushering and grabbed the plate of munchies. "Timothy," she said distractedly, "Be a dear and bring out some white wine and the glasses." And then she returned to her guests. I was still a little stunned. Was I the only one to see the impropriety of what was going on here? Well, I took it that Mrs. Grundy was on my side, but that didn't help much. I thought about just marching straight to my room, but I feared the consequences of that display of disobedience. Anyway, I guessed that the harm had already been done. How much more embarrassing could this get? I grabbed the glasses that I had placed on the counter and walked into the living room to set them out. With my penis firming up, I could feel the apron bouncing off of it as I walked. Miss Ridge was speaking as I entered, "... so Ruth phoned me up and asked me to stay over. Thank you, dear." I placed a glass on the coffee table in front of her. She continued, "I didn't think to ask about it, but I don't see why we couldn't use the house for the event ..." At the end of the couch closest to Miss Ridge sat Mrs. Grundy. I sidled over to give her a glass. She continued to look shocked at my presence. When I bent over to place her glass down, her eyes darted to my groin and caught a peek at my dangling member under the apron as the cloth floated out of the way. Realizing her indiscretion, she jerked her head away to stare straight ahead ... at nothing. "... when she phones next time and I'll just ask her. You know that she is a big supporter, and she would be the first ..." I moved around the room to the end of the couch nearest the kitchen where Miss Tyson was sitting. I went to put her glass down on the table in front of her when she placed her cell phone down on the exact spot that I was headed for. It forced me to bend over more and put the glass a little further down the table. As I reached over, I felt her hand slide up the back of my leg and onto my ass. Her finger traced lightly down my ass crack and then moved between my legs. She continued to listen intently to Miss Ridge, while her hand's wanderings were covered by the apron. As I stood up, she pulled her hand away before I squeezed it between my thighs, but she managed to tickle my balls a little before its escape. "... as many women as last year. So I think that we should focus instead on the size of their donations ..." I returned to the kitchen, grabbed the wine out of the refrigerator and pulled the cork. Miss Tyson's fondling had been sufficient to get me excited. My apron was starting to stick out a little more than it should. I bent over a bit to give the material a more natural fall, but I knew that the problem was going to get worse. I returned to the living room with the opened bottle. It was Miss Tyson who was speaking now. "... No, all I'm saying is that the women would go nuts for it. If Tim walked around dressed like that, they would be donating money like crazy ..." I walked over to Miss Ridge and bent down to fill up her ... Wait a minute! What was that about me? "I can't ask him to do that, Anne," objected Miss Ridge, "Besides, he's got exams, and I promised his mother that he would spend his time studying." I almost overfilled Miss Ridge's glass as I tuned into the conversation. I edged over to pour for Mrs. Grundy, who was still staring into the distance, although I thought I saw her peek once or twice under my swaying apron. "Oh, nonsense, Janet," Miss Tyson countered, "He doesn't look the least bit embarrassed in front of us. I'm sure that he would be more than happy to do it if he knew it was for charity ..." I walked around the room again to get to Miss Tyson's place. She had two fingers on the base of her glass, and when I bent down to pour, she slowly slid the glass away, making me bend over more again. As I reached, I felt her hand slide between my legs and fondle my balls. I thought that it must have been very conspicuous, but the way she was talking distracted everyone's attention from her activity. Her fingers were very playful, and my erection grew with every tweak and pull. "... straight A student when I knew him, and I bet his marks are just as good today," concluded Miss Tyson. "Tim, sit down." She patted the seat between herself and Mrs. Grundy. "We're talking about you anyways, so you might as well join us." Miss Tyson pulled me off balance to get me onto the couch, but in my attempt to recover, I ended up falling onto Mrs. Grundy and spilling some wine down her cleavage. My chest smacked into her face, and when I tried to right myself, I sat down on one of her hands. I could feel her fingers spread around one of my ass cheeks. I hopped over quickly and sat down on the spot that Miss Tyson had been indicating. Mrs. Grundy looked mortified. "Sorry," I offered. "Oh, let him go get some studying done," complained Miss Ridge. I tried to stand up, but Miss Tyson pushed me back down. Taking the wine bottle out of my hands, she ordered me to stay. Then she continued her discussion, "He's not going to be able to work tonight anyways. He's probably so worked up that, if he went back to his room right now, he'd be jacking off from now until breakfast." "My word!" exclaimed Mrs. Grundy. "Oh, Priscilla, please!" countered Miss Tyson. "You've been checking out his package since we arrived. ... Here, shall we just take a peek and see how aroused he is." She flipped up the apron, and my hard-on stood proudly straight and tall. I sucked in a breath at the shock of being exposed. "I never!" gasped Mrs. Grundy. "Anne! Really!!" protested Miss Ridge. Miss Tyson let the apron fall, but her hand sneaked underneath and wrapped around my shaft. With the on-going discussion, no one seemed to notice her slowly stroke me under the cloth. "Oh, please, Janet!" Miss Tyson shot back accusingly, "Are you going to tell me that you weren't prancing around naked in front of him before we got here." Miss Ridge blushed noticeably. The apron moved slowly up and down in my lap, and a warm friction ran along my sensitive skin. "Anne!! You've gone too far!" Miss Ridge retorted. "Oh?!!" Miss Tyson exclaimed in mock surprise. "Then stand up and lift up your dress, Janet. If you're wearing underwear, then I will take it all back. ... Come on ... Stand up ..." But Miss Ridge was caught out. She just scowled at her accuser. "I thought so!" cried Miss Tyson in triumph, "I know you too well!" Her rubbing was gentle and unrelenting. I was not going to be able to last very long if she didn't stop. "Face it, Janet," continued Miss Tyson, "He's like any other young boy we know. If you really want this little pervert to hit the books, you're going to have to pound his pecker so often this week that studying becomes a welcome alternative." The rubbing kept on and on and on. "Anne!" Miss Ridge objected, "Must you be so vulgar?!! And what are you doing down there?!!" "All I'm saying, Janet ...," Miss Tyson began to reply but stopped. "Here, Priscilla, help me out, will ya?" She grabbed Mrs. Grundy's hand and forced it onto my shaft. "Miss Tyson!" Mrs. Grundy expressed her alarm but didn't remove her hand. Miss Tyson guided her to resume the stroking and then fished behind my back to untie the apron. Mrs. Grundy's fingers barely gripped my penis, and I could feel her hand trembling as it pumped. "Anne, stop it!" ordered Miss Ridge. "I cannot allow this to continue!"