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From: kellis <kellis@dhp.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Wicked People? {Varkel} (bF+ bM+ bm bf oral anal pedo first) [3/9]
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Date: Wed, 07 Nov 2007 08:10:04 -0500
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Wicked People?

a Novelette by Varkel
Fall, 2007



Chapter 3: _Sammy and the Stool Widow_



One afternoon Uncle Bern led Sammy through the club's ornate foyer into 
a large room filled with tables, chairs and a mirrored bar along one 
side.  A woman was perched on a stool before the bar.  Behind it stood a 
man in a white jacket, presently wiping out glass tumblers.

Bernie paused beside the bar, beckoned to the bartender and said when he
arrived, "Johnson is sailing off Bermuda."

The man nodded.  "I know."

"Leaving me to do his job."

"I know."

"I'll be in the office.  This is my twelve-year-old nephew.  He's my 
guest.  You'll probably see a lot of him in the next few weeks."

"Okay."  The dark-complected man glanced at Sammy indifferently.

Bernie took the boy's arm and led him among the tables.  At one of them
two old men were striking balls with long sticks.  "These are the pool 
tables," said the uncle.  "You might get a cue stick from the rack over
there and practice for a while."

But Sammy was running behind.  "Why do you have to do Johnson's job?"

"He's the club treasurer.  I'm the assistant."

"Treasure?  Will you bury the money?"

"Bury the --  You have some odd ideas, pal."

"Like in _Treasure Island_."

"Not exactly _bury_.  I'll pay the bills and dun people for their dues."

"Dun?"

"Look it up tonight.  I must get to work."

Bernie departed through another door.  Sammy understood he should stay 
in the large room.  At that moment the old man with the gray goatee 
struck a white ball very hard, smashing it into a triangular formation 
near one end of his table, scattering balls all over the surface.  Two 
thumped into holes on one side.  Both old men watched avidly until the 
rolling balls came to rest.

Sammy sidled near in fascination.  "Did you break any?" he asked.

The taller one, equipped with a gray mustache, said sourly, "Thinks he's
hot shit on the break, but he's been known to gouge the nap."

"You ever gonna let me live that down, Jake?" asked goatee, taking 
another shot that dropped two more balls.

"With luck like that what d'you care?"

"You think it's luck?  Then cover my bet."

"How about a different one?  Bet you ten you can't run them."

"Think I'm a sucker too, do you?"  Goatee leaned back, surveying the 
table while rubbing the end of his stick with a little blue cube.  "So 
you're Canfield's nephew, are you, kid?"

When mustache looked at him, Sammy answered, "Yes, sir."

Moustache speculated, "Guess you're too young to take after him yet."

"Take what?"

"Take after the skirts like your uncle -- even if they don't wear 'em 
anymore."

Goatee observed with a snicker, "When Canfield gets hold of them, what 
they started wearing don't matter."

"Huh!  'Cause by then they ain't wearing nothing."

"Unh-uh, Jake.  This kid's young."

"He's bigger'n I remember for twelve."

"You kidding?"  Goatee sniffed.  "Did you grow up with midgets?"

"How old are you really, kid?"

"Twelve," said Sammy.

"That's on the edge for skirt chasing," said mustachioed Jake.  "You 
messing with the girls yet?"

"Just Millie."

Both old men paused, studying him.  Jake asked, "Millie who?"

Sammy blinked.  "I don't know."

"Not quite formally introduced, eh?  What've you done with her?"

"I guess about everything."

"You 'guess.'"  Jake chuckled.  "She kissed you, did she?"

Sammy nodded.  "That too."

Jake shook his head.  "Never heard Millie going for underage tush."

Goatee raised his free hand.  "Kid, we won't ask you which Millie you're
talking about.  Bragging on her ain't safe.  But you see that old gal at
the bar?  She likes them young and yapping.  She calls it free 
advertising."

Sammy studied the distant woman.  Her back was turned but her eyes, 
glittering in dark eye shadow, locked with his in the mirror behind the
bar.  Her image smiled invitingly.  Sammy smiled back, turned away from
the old men and sauntered toward the bar.

Behind him he heard Jake chortle, "Ten bucks says she's outa here in ten
minutes."

Goatee retorted, "You're on."

Sammy clambered onto the stool beside the woman.  She turned her head to
study him and said with a smile, "Hello, pretty boy.  Give him a coke, 
Jimmy."

Large diamond studs glittered in her earlobes.  Her smile produced 
wrinkles in the strangely dark skin at the corners of her eyes.  Her 
cheeks were reddish and her lips bright red.  Her whole complexion 
seemed to have a powdery texture.  Sammy realized that her face was 
heavily painted, the first time he had ever noticed such enhancement.  
He leaned close to study it.

Her smile didn't falter.  "Have I got a feather on my nose?"

"No, ma'am.  But what did you do to your face?"

She sniffed.  "Removed ten years, I hope, if the stuff works as 
advertised."

He blinked.  "Can you do that?"

She chuckled.  "Sometimes, in a dim light.  I'd give anything for skin 
like yours."

"Where can you find it?"

Her palm came up and cupped his cheek.  "Right here is some.  I'll bet 
you're like this all over."

A whiff of musk reached his nostrils, an odor he recalled from Millie.
On an impulse he took her hand and kissed the palm.  Her fingers were 
bony but the skin smelled faintly of flowers.

"Ooo!" she murmured.  "That's not the act of a twelve-year-old boy."

"It isn't?"

"Not unless he's been coached.  Of course, you _are_ Canfield's nephew.
What's your name, honey?"

"Sammy."

"Samuel Canfield?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"His brother's son, then.  I'm Helen Bodiegan."

His mother had imparted basic social graces.  He intoned, "Pleased to 
meet you, Ms. Bodiegan."

"For god's sake, do call me Helen!"

"Yes, ma'am, Helen."

She chuckled wryly and shook her head.  "Somebody's been teaching you 
besides Canfield."

"My mother."

"Is she a member?  What's her name?"

"A member?  Her name is Adelaide."

"Don't know her.  Did she teach you to kiss a lady's palm?"

"No, ma'am."

"Why'd you do it?"

"I just wanted to kiss you."

"On the hand?"

"Wherever you let me."

"Sammy, that's very sweet.  Of course, you don't know what you're 
saying."

"Yes, I do."

"Oh, yeah?  What's your favorite spot to kiss on a woman?"

"On her ... her ...  I don't know what you call it.  Between her legs."

Helen stared at him and murmured, "Good god!"  After a moment she seemed
to reach a decision.  "How many women have you kissed there?"

"One.  So far.  You can do more than kiss."

"My, yes!"  The musky odor grew stronger.  "Don't tell me who she was.
This happened recently, I suppose."

"Yes, ma'am.  This week."

"Would you like to try it again?  Practice makes perfect, they say."

"Oh, yes, ma'am!"

"Well, then --"

Sammy looked serious.  "But is it wicked?"

"Wicked?"

"I mean, are people who do it wicked?"

The woman studied him.  "Do you think they might be?"

"I don't know.  Don't _you_?"

"My dear, can anything so delightful be wicked, really?"

"Is that how you tell?"

"That's how _I_ tell!"

He thought it over and smiled slowly.  "That's a good test."

"Isn't it!  You see that door your uncle went through?  Go in there.  
Take the staircase at the end of the hall up to the second room on the 
right.  Wait for me in there."

Sammy looked at the door and back to the woman.  "Can't you go with me?"

"No," she said.  "We can't seem to be together.  I'll say something 
about your uncle when you start, so those old guys will think you're 
going to him, but don't pay me any attention.  The second room upstairs
on the right, okay?"

"Okay."  The lad got down and walked away.

Helen called after him, "Tell your uncle I said hello."

Sammy nodded to her with a smile as he opened the door.

When he vanished, she drained her glass, watching the pool players in 
the mirror.  After patting her lips with a napkin as a lady does to 
preserve her lipstick, she took purse in hand and departed in the 
opposite direction, toward the foyer and its elevator.

Behind her Jake demanded, "Pay up!"


* * *


Sammy had visited hotel rooms with his mother and recognized the 
similarity.  It contained a double bed, a table and two chairs, blobs of
meaningless color framed on the walls plus a framed gray area that he 
recognized as an inset flat-screen television, and an attached bathroom
with tub, sink and toilet.  A glass door accessed a balcony with a view
of the golf course.  He opened full drapes to the same view, shrugged, 
considered the TV but only sat in one of the chairs.  Mamma had spoken 
disparagingly of the TV programs available in hotels.  They were 
definitely "wicked."

When Helen came into the room, he stood up.  She closed and locked the 
door, set her purse on the table and paused to study him, hands on her 
hips.  He returned the favor.  She was almost tall as his mother, still
taller than he, thicker than Mamma in the waist though not really plump,
with brown eyes and short brown hair.  She wore slacks, a satiny 
sleeveless blouse and patent-leather pumps.

She chuckled.  "You're the pretty one here, Sammy.  Show me how pretty."

He remembered uncle calling his naked body beautiful, like a girl.  
Would Helen agree?  He stepped out of his shorts and briefs, threw his 
T-shirt over his head to land atop them and faced her solemnly.

She took a deep breath and actually licked her lips.  "Oh, yes!"

"Do I look like a girl?" he asked.

"Not with that dick!"  She advanced upon him and extended cool fingers 
to lift the knob away from his scrotum.  "I've seen men -- including my
husband -- whose unaroused dicks look just like pink strawberries 
nestled in hair.  This one must be nearly four inches long even soft."
She chuckled.  "And it's growing!  I do wonder what it'll become."

"Uncle says I'll have a really big one when I'm grown up."

"I'm sure you will -- and I'm sure he's already looked at it, at the 
very least!  No, don't tell me.  I know how boys brag, but the very 
first thing you have to learn if you want to be a player is not to tell
on your partners.  You won't believe how much trouble telling causes for
you and everyone else."

"Would it cause trouble if your husband found out?"

"Found out I've been playing with this lovely, sweet dick?"  She laughed
as the worked the skin.  "Oh, I'm sure it would if he could.  I was his
second trophy wife, honey, and had the pleasure five years ago of 
scattering him off Key West just as he asked."

"Scattering?"

"His ashes."

"You mean he burned?"

She grinned.  "Just his carcass.  Certainly not his money.  I even 
thought about embalming his dick, the only sweet thing about him.  Would
you believe they won't guarantee to keep it up when it's dead?"  She 
laughed uproariously.  "That's all right.  I found a guy to carve me one
out of ivory.  He caught a good likeness under my close supervision."

The musk he had noticed beside her in the bar had followed her into the
room.

She continued, "But you asked if you look like a girl."  Releasing the 
fully erect cock, she caught his shoulder, turned him back and forth and
grinned.  "I suppose you would, if you kept that sweet thing concealed.
Your nipples are swollen just a little, aren't they, like a girl's just
before menarche.  I don't believe there's a hair, other than peach fuzz,
on your entire body below the ears, and any girl would love to have arms
and legs like these.  You have no muscle outline -- and where are the 
knobby knees?

"Your uncle said you were twelve.  Hmm.  You're right at the cusp."

"The cusp?"

"Of puberty.  Your body will change fast now."  She lost her smile.  
"Faster than a woman gets old.  You're already getting hard-ons -- 
though that means nothing.  My little brother's dick would stick 
straight up in his crib."

"Really?"

"It was irresistible.  I had to fool with it."  Her grin returned.  "But
you have to be careful with a baby's dick.  They don't need an 
invitation to piss in your mouth."

She bubbled with laughter at the boy's popping eyes.  "Does that idea 
surprise you?"

"You ... you _sucked_ ..."

"What a face!  I ought to drag you to a mirror.  You're getting hard-ons
but do you squirt?"

"Squirt?"

"Nevermind.  We'll find out in a minute.  Turn down the bed, will you?"

She took a hanger from the closet, stripped off her slacks and hung them
neatly on the closet door hook.  Her frilly blouse followed it onto the
hanger.  Finished with the bed, he watched her remove her brassiere, 
releasing large floppy breasts with pronounced dark nipples.  Her 
panties seemed to be thick in the seat.  She stepped out of them to 
reveal thin pubic hair spotted with gray.

Sammy had been taught to exercise his curiosity.  He asked, "Are your 
underpants padded?"

"Yep."

"Why?"  He blinked.  "Do you wet them?"

"When I'm lucky, like today.  But that's not the reason."  She came 
around the bed and stood before him.  "I'm one of the club's old stool 
biddies."

"What's that?"

"They're also called 'stool widows:' widows or divorcees, past a certain
age, who hang out in country club bars in hopes of picking up shy young
guys -- the same as mature guys going for the younger girls.  We have to
perch in the country club instead of the downtown bars because there the
young girls would clean our clocks."

He asked thoughtfully, "Are you the only one who comes here?"

"You hope not, right?  In fact I'm just a little early today.  You know
what they say about the early bird."  Her eyes glittered.  "And what a 
nice worm I see!"

She giggled at his unthinking withdrawal.  "But the reason my panties 
are padded is when you get older, your butt gets thinner.  After a few 
hours stools get hard."  She put the underpants into his hand.  "Feel of
that.  It's air cushioned."

Dutifully compressing it, he felt moisture in the crotch.  The musky 
odor was rich.  He brought it to his nose.  Oh, yes!

"What are you doing?"  She laughed.  "Do you like that?"

"It makes me ... tingle."

"Where?"

His own hand lifted his balls.  "Here."

"You're the first I've heard admit."  Her eyes were approving.  "But 
I've gathered guys notice it better when they're young.  Good!  It's my
_signal_ to them."

"Signal?"

"It says, 'Come and get it!'"

He dropped her panties to the floor to cup a dangling breast daringly.
Unlike Millie's, faint ridges marked this skin.  The sack was flabby but
the nipple was a hard lump.

Her hand closed on his scrotum.  She squeezed the stones gently between
thumb and forefinger.  "Sammy, the name of these things is _testicles_,
in case nobody ever told you."

"Nobody did."

"Where do you go to school?"

"At home."

She shook her head.  "You're missing a lot.  Too bad you're not _my_ 
son."

The idea startled him.  He found himself agreeing with it.  "Could I 
stay with you some?"

She chuckled thoughtfully.  "That would be fun, wouldn't it?  You say 
you like my signal?"  She fell back on the bed and spread her legs 
widely.  Her labia parted stickily to reveal a red gash.  One hand held
her head up.  "What did your _one_ woman suggest in response?"

The invitation was obvious even to him.  He dived upon her and as he 
licked around the prominent clitoris, thrust two fingers beneath it.

"Oh, honey, that feels good.  She's a good teacher, wherever her school
is."

Helen shuddered as he continued.  Tasting more of her, he began to 
stroke the clitoris directly, in reaction to which cool thighs closed on
his ears and heels drummed his back.  Dimly he hard loud moans.

Her hands caught his hair and pulled his face away.  She gasped, "I can
only stand so much directly on the clit."

"I'm sorry.  The _clit_ is that little lump?"

"Not your fault.  It seems to get more sensitive as I get older.  You 
guessed right: 'that little lump.'"

"How old are you, Helen?"

She chuckled sourly.  "You must never ask a woman that, especially an 
old one."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, what the hell!  I turned 50 last month.  Ancient, right?"

He blinked.  "Ah, ah ..."

She chuckled, contemplating him with more pleasure.  "There is something
you can do, if you want, that I just love."

"What?"

"Would it disgust you to put your whole hand in me?"

"My whole ..."  He stared at her in amazement.

She held up her hand, fingers and thumb drawn together.  "Form your hand
this way.  With your spit and my juice, I think you won't have any 
trouble."

With a shrug he presented his fingertips between her labia.

"That's right," she encouraged.  "Work it back and forth.  Dribble some
more spit on it."

Eventually he was inside her to the wrist and grinned in astonishment.

She asked, "What are you thinking?"

"Where'd my hand go?"

"Disappeared, has it?  You know where to.  In my pussy.  My husband's 
hand was much bigger.  He liked to make a fist and pretend it was a 
baby's head.  Go ahead.  Make a fist in there...  What do you feel?"

"It's hot and wet and slick."

"But no cervix."

"What's that?"

"Hammond didn't want children.  Like a fool I went along and got a 
hysterectomy.  Start working your fist in and out...  Oh, god, yes: I 
can feel that all over!  Now lick my clit.  I love it with a fist in my
pussy.  Just keep that fist moving."

Gradually her body stiffened and the moans reappeared.  "Oh, good god!"
she declared.  "This is better than _two_ men!  I'm coming, you sweet 
little shit.  Oh, am I coming!"

Again her thighs clamped his ears but surprisingly she did not push him
away.  His fist could feel her internal muscles tightening rhythmically,
in time with the dimly heard moans.  After a long while she relaxed 
despite his attention.  He took it as a sign of sufficiency, gratefully
because tongue and arm were both tired.  He rose up to study her.

She lay limply panting, arms and legs flung wide, head thrown back, 
mouth fallen open, breasts sagging to either side of her chest.  
Studying her at that range, he noticed the faint ridges of her breasts 
repeated in belly and thighs.  He wondered at her quiescence.  Had she 
taken sick?

"Helen?" he inquired cautiously.  "Ms. Bodieger?"

She raised her head.  "It's Bodie_gan_.  And don't call me that."

He took a deep breath and removed his hand from her.

She winced.  "Slowly!  You have to let air in."

He was not surprised to find his fingertips wrinkled as from long 
immersion in a bath.  He studied her face for signs of anger, but she 
smiled.

"Sammy, you're a wonder!"  She cocked her head to look past his belly.
"Is it still hard?"

In fact it was hard enough to hurt.  He said, "Yes, ma'am."

"You remind me of my Korean yard boy."

"His stays hard too?"

"And he _ma'am_s me."  She rose up on her elbows.  "Now for the other 
best thing.  Let's trade places."

"You want me --"

"On your back."

When he was reclining to her satisfaction, she crawled over him, impaled
herself on the very stiff cock, sat up and leered.  "How's that, Sammy?
Or would you prefer to put in your fist?"

"N-no!"  He gasped at the thrill.

She cocked her head at him and inquired suspiciously, "You about to 
come?"

"Yeh."

"How close?"

"Almost ... there."

"Just a couple bounces would do it, is that right?"  She wiggled her 
hips.

"Oh, oh ..."

She laughed, sprang off, crouched beside him and slurped half his shaft
into her mouth.  He groaned and ejaculated powerfully.  Her eyes widened
and cheeks puffed out.  Her tongue stroked the bare knob fiercely while
her fist squeezed his balls.

At the moment her attention became unbearable her mouth relaxed and 
began to move gently up and down the shaft.  Pearly semen coated the 
sides of it when her mouth withdrew.  She licked off the residue, 
smacking her lips, and popped them back around the knob for additional 
suction.

He recovered from the tension enough to raise his head in wonder.  She 
continued to slobber over his cock, causing him to shudder as her tongue
dragged on the knob.  Was she trying to do it again?  He explained, 
"It'll make more if you let it rest a few minutes."

She licked it one last time, reminding him of a kid with an ice-cream 
cone, and grinned.  "I'm sure it will, at your age, with a little 
humping first."  She wiped semen off her cheek onto the back of her 
hand.  "What a load!  Have you tasted it yet?"

He nodded.  "Sure."

"I'll bet you have, pretty as you are.  I mean your own."

He blinked.  He could remember only uncle's.

She giggled and slid up onto his chest.  He was briefly aware of her 
breasts suddenly plopping upon his pectorals.  Then her mouth covered 
his with probing tongue and a very wet kiss.

She withdrew almost immediately.  "Swirl it around.  Compare with the 
last you got."

He noticed little difference with uncle's, aside from the extra imparted
by Helen's "signal," and in fact was more interested in the surprising 
shape of her breasts.  Dangling as she leaned forward, they seemed 
around the nipples to have diameters twice that of their attachment 
points on her chest.  He found that his fingers could almost meet around
the flesh there.

She frowned, looking down her nose at herself.  "Old woman's boobs."

"Is that why?"

"They've really shrunk in the last few years."  She chuckled slightly.
"Funny thing is, like this they may be an asset.  They're different from
a perky young girl's.  You find them interesting, don't you?"

"Oh, yes."  He closed on the bulbous handful behind the nipple and 
tugged it experimentally back and forth.  "Wow!"

She suggested, "Suck it."

He obeyed.  No liquid appeared but the hard lump in his mouth was almost
as interesting as uncle's cock.

She smiled complacently.  "You're helping convince me to avoid silicon."

He released her.  "Silicon?"

"To make them fat at the top.  But now ..."  She rolled off him, sat up,
studied her tiny wristwatch and took a deep breath.  "Honey, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I thought we'd have a quickie.  Which we have.  But now I want ...  
When did your uncle say to check back?"

"He didn't."

"If he's taking over for Johnson, he'll be busy all afternoon.  God, the
way fate works out!"

"Is it bad?"

"What's bad is I have a date.  I'd rather spend the time with you."

"Won't she let you postpone it?"

"_He_.  No, he won't.  He's horny as you and not half so polite."  She 
rose to her feet and went into the bathroom.  "Did you ever see a female
pee?"

"No!"  He leapt out of bed.  "Can I look?"

She chuckled fondly.  "Sure.  Come and kneel before the john."

"Oh, wow!  Helen, I love you!"  In a few steps he had obeyed.

She opened her legs wide.  Hissing, a thick yellow stream poured into 
the bowl.  "Wow!" he exclaimed again.  "I never noticed that hole!"

She smiled dreamily.  "I'll have to talk to your uncle.  Maybe he'll let
me borrow you for a while."

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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