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Subject: {ASSM} Wicked People? {Varkel} (bF+ bM+ bm bf oral anal pedo first) [4/9]
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Date: Wed, 07 Nov 2007 08:10:05 -0500
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Wicked People?

a Novelette by Varkel
Fall, 2007



Chapter 4: _Sammy and the Selfish Schoolteacher_



Bernie put down the telephone and looked up thoughtfully.  "That was 
your mother, Sammy."

The boy was reading _Opus Pistorum_ from his uncle's bedroom bookshelf.
Though he didn't understand all the complex sex scenes, Paris seemed an
exciting town.  He looked up impatiently from the book.

"Drop your cock and listen to me," Uncle Bern continued.  "Your 
Grandmother Pauly died last night."

Sammy blinked but said nothing.

"Did you hear me?  Didn't you know her?"

The lad thought a moment.  "Mamma said I met her when I was two.  I 
don't remember."

"Well, she died and you're going to the funeral."

"I am?"

"Adelaide has got you on a flight tonight -- a last-minute connection."
The man chuckled wryly.  "You're going by way of New Orleans."

Sammy's eyes narrowed at the tone.  "Is that bad?"

"Well, it's certainly long.  You won't get to Cleveland until four 
tomorrow morning."

Reluctantly the lad closed his book.  "Should I go pack?"

"Might as well keep reading.  Your mother's housekeeper is packing the 
right clothes.  We'll leave at supper time."

"Are you coming too?"

"I'm just driving you to the airport.  We'll stop to pick up your 
suitcase.  Before you ask, 'Why not?' she was no relative of mine."

"Okay.  Can I take this book?"

"No.  In fact, _hell_ no!  Adelaide would shit if she saw that in your 
hand."

Sammy blinked and studied the unprepossessing book.  "Women's bowels 
move because of books?"

"Ha!"  The question amused Uncle Bern.  "You wouldn't believe half the 
shit some women shit at."


* * *


Sammy in stocking feet, holding a plastic box before him containing his
shoes, advanced in one line of people toward the airport security 
screen.  A second line wound in from the right.  The huge room was 
otherwise full of people, milling around, talking loudly, some bending 
to take off shoes, questioning each other about the contents of small 
clear-plastic pouches.  Finally he stood before an oddly free-standing 
door frame.

"Put your shoes on the belt," said a stern-faced man in a maroon uniform
wearing a shield inscribed, _Transportation Security Officer_.

On his belt?  Uncle had said, "Do what they tell you."  With a shrug 
Sammy set the box down on a peculiarly-shaped bench, sucked in his gut,
took up his right shoe, and wedged it behind the belt at his waist.  He
would have done the same with the left but as he worked in his pants, 
the plastic box had lurched out of sight into a raised cavity behind 
dangling leather strips.

He looked blankly up at the uniformed man, who asked with a snarl, 
"What're you, a wise guy?"

"Uh ... _Wise_ guy?"

"Where's your carry-on?"

"What's that?"

"God!"  He looked past the lad then across the other door frame.  "Who's
with you?"

"With me?  Nobody."

"Christ!"  He shook his head.  "Well, come on through, dammit.  We don't
have all day."

The man beckoned from the unattached doorway.  Sammy walked forward 
through the frame.  Somewhere a buzzer sang sharply.

Just clear of the frame the uniformed man caught his shoulder.  "Hold it
right there!"

Sammy stood still, blinking, while the man wafted a metal stick down the
lad's front.  At his waist it buzzed shriller than the door frame.

The man frowned.  "Pull out that shoe."  He passed his stick over the 
freed shoe.  Again a buzz sounded.  "What's in there, kid," he asked, 
cocking an eyebrow suspiciously, "a pocketknife?"

Sammy blinked.  "In my shoe?"

The man snatched the article, upended it and shook it to no effect.  On
a third pass over it the wand buzzed again.  He turned away briefly and
returned with Sammy's left shoe that had apparently emerged on the other
side of the raised cavity.  It too buzzed under the wand.

"Bertha," the man called, "here's one for you."

A large woman seated on the other side of the peculiar bench, wearing 
the same maroon uniform, got to her feet.  She looked Sammy up and down.
"Something in his shoes?"

"Yeah.  They don't look like kids' shoes anyway.  You better check him 
out good."

"Where's his parent or guardian?"

"Says he's alone."

"Does he, now!"  Unaccountably the woman's eyes brightened.  "Come on, 
kid, and bring your shoes."

The man gave Sammy his footwear.  The lad followed the woman to an 
unmarked door in the nearby wall.  She opened it, motioned him through 
into a small room containing a chair and padded bench, and clicked a 
lever above the knob when she closed the door behind them.  Sammy was 
suddenly aware of the same musky odor Helen had called her "signal."

The woman took the shoes, felt inside them and compressed the uppers 
toward the soles.  "These ain't sneakers," she mused.  "What they got, 
steel toes?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, least you's polite!  What you doing with steel-toed shoes?  Ain't
you too young to be a lumberjack?"

"The chauffeur ran over my toes."

"The chauffeur!"

"Yes, ma'am.  Last year.  It hurt."

Recalling Helen's advice, Sammy was suddenly curious.  The woman, plump
and a head taller than himself, uniformed like the man in maroon shirt 
and pants, stood so close that their hips nearly touched.  He slipped an
arm around her and leaned his head on her shoulder.  "Mabel made it feel
better."

"Who's Mabel?"

"The housekeeper."

For a moment they lingered in that position.  The woman sighed and 
stepped away.  "I got to check you out.  Take off your clothes."

"My clothes?"

"All of them.  You can hang them on the chair.  Here, I'll give you a 
hand."

With her help he was soon nude but for socks.  She made him spin around
while she watched frankly.

"Some pretty white boy!  How old is you?"

"Twelve."

"Even so, you been with girls."

"Girls?"  He shook his head.

"Then what's that prong riz for?"

"P-prong?"

She studied him thoughtfully.  "What made you lay your head on my 
shoulder?"

He took a breath, deciding to go for it.  "The way you smell."

"Smell!  I took a shower and put on cologne.  What you mean?"

"It's not bad.  It makes my testibles tingle."

"Testibles!"  She huffed a suppressed laugh.  Her cool hand slipped 
under the adult-sized cock and cupped his scrotum.  "Makes your balls 
tingle, does it?"

"Balls?"

"Stop kidding me, boy.  You smelling ripe cooze."  Her hand stroked his
cock lightly.  "Hairless or not, this a man's prong.  You know what to 
do with it?"

"Ah, ah ...  Could you show me?"

"I'm gonna do you a real favor.  I'm gonna show you what to do with your
tongue."

He thought he knew what she meant.  Indeed she opened her mannish belt,
unzipped the fly, shoved down britches and pink underpants, stepped one
leg free, hoisted her buttocks up onto the side of the padded bench and
said, "Stoop down and put your face in this honey pot.  Tingling balls 
is just the start."

Her hands clasped him over the ears and pulled his face into the 
junction of her legs.  The odor filled his chest and belly.  Dimly he 
heard her command, "Now lick!"

His tongue found the salty lump, larger than Helen's, almost the size of
Millie's, and stroked it with a will.  She began to grunt.  Cool thighs
closed over his ears in place of her hands.

Suddenly she pushed him back.  "God damn!" she cried, hunched over, face
contorted, eyes clenched shut.  "Whoa!"  She took a very deep breath and
exhaled lengthily.  Her eyes opened on his curious ones.  She nodded.  
"Yeah, you been with girls!"

He stood up.  "Uh, uh --"

"Sure would like to fuck that cute white cock, honey, but I done run out
of pills."

She slid off the bench, stepped back into her garments and jerked them 
up.  She leered.  "Don't mean I can't give it a suck."

Strong hands clutched his naked hips, spun him off the floor and plopped
him onto the bench in her place.  She bent down and slurped his 
straining organ between soft fat lips.

A nose full of female essence had already brought Sammy to the brink.  
He groaned and began to come, little spurts building to a flood.

A heavy knock sounded on the door and a muffled voice sounded through 
it.  "Bertha, hurry up!  Rumble done sniffed up a snatch-full for you to
check out."

Releasing the lad, the woman turned her head to the door.  "Just 
finishing up!" she shouted.  "Shit!"

His most copious squirt, spouting into her upturned eye and splashing 
down her cheek, had prompted the exclamation.  She faced him again, 
prepared to snarl, and received a slightly lesser amount into the other
outraged eye.  With a face several shades lighter, she sagged back 
against the wall, blubbering and reaching blindly for something.

"Want my T-shirt?" he asked, standing up.

"Gargh!  You got a handkerchief?"

As a matter of fact Mabel had stuffed one in his hip pocket when he ran
up the steps at home to get his suitcase.  Bertha took it from him and 
mopped her eyes first.  "Get dressed," she ordered, "and don't 
shilly-shally."

"Does it b-burn?" he asked, overcome with curiosity.

She snarled, "You want to know if it burns?  Let somebody come in _your_
eyes!"

But she cooled enough to help him slip into his clothing.  "Tie your 
shoes outside.  How do I look?  See any on my face?"

He took the wet cloth, found a dry corner of it, dabbed at her cheek and
studied her critically.  "It's okay now."

"You better leave this with me," she said, recapturing the handkerchief.
"Your mama won't like the stink."  Hand on the door lock, she smiled at
him.  "You sure was full of it."

He paused in the open door.  "Was this really because of my shoes?"

"Nah!  I knowed you wa'n't carrying.  You ain't sorry, are you?"

"No, ma'am."

She chuckled.  "The fact is I just like pretty white boys.  Now get on 
out there and let me check that cooze the dog sniffed."


* * *


Sammy finally found his "gate," though it much more closely resembled a
checkout counter, and after watching what others did, presented his 
ticket to the uniformed blonde behind it.  She smiled at him, typed 
something into her computer terminal and blinked.  "You're traveling 
alone?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She blinked again and chuckled.  "You're a sweetie."

"I am?"

"And a heart-breaker in a few more years, I bet.  Sit right there in 
front of the counter.  I'll board you early."

His eyes brightened as he obeyed.  He sat, nursing a half-erection, 
expecting her to straddle him when she got the chance, despite her lack
of Helen's signal.  But she never had a minute free of other customers.
Finally after speaking into a microphone that made her voice echo 
unintelligibly in the hall, she beckoned to him and pointed at an open 
door.  "Through there.  Have a pleasant trip.  Try to get some sleep."

He smiled despite his disappointment and entered a long, peculiarly 
constructed sloping hall that shrank gradually as he walked.  After a 
sharp turn at the end, he passed into another hall filled with seats on
both sides of the aisle.  Another uniformed woman met him, smiled and 
tore off half the card that called itself a _boarding pass_.

"You're in 24D," she advised.  "Can you find it?"

"I ... don't know."

"Fanny sent you ahead, didn't she?  Follow me and I'll show you."

She put him into a seat beside a window, tugged a seatbelt over his lap,
found a blanket somewhere overhead and tucked it around his legs.  Her 
voice dropped, though no other seat was occupied.  "After we reach 
cruising altitude and things settle down, come back to the galley and 
I'll give you a treat."

Oddly she didn't have the odor either.  He shrugged and said what seemed
appropriate.  "Thank you, ma'am."

"Ma'am!"  She barked a laugh.  "Where've they been keeping you?"  
Without waiting for his answer, she turned back up the aisle.

He looked out the window across a medium distance, filled with busy 
people and machines, to a huge airplane, its side lined with oval 
windows shaped like the one beside him.  The idea occurred to him that 
he might be occupying a similar machine.  He sat up straight, head above
the seat backs, and looked all around.  Yes, each set of seats on either
side of the aisle had its oval window.  His eyes widened in amazement.
How had he gotten in the airplane without ever seeing it?  Was it some 
kind of trick?

His gaze returned out the window to study that airplane thoroughly, 
inferring similar structure to his own.  He was too engrossed to notice
people arrived down the aisle behind him until someone actually shook 
his shoulder.

"Kid, you're in my seat."

It was a heavy set woman with glaring eyes.  Her hand released him to 
stow a heavy bag into the overhead cabinet.  Then she stared.  "Well?

When he only blinked, she continued, "Get up and let me sit down."

Dutifully he untangled the blanket, released his seatbelt and slid out 
to the aisle.  When she had shoved blanket into the floor and plopped 
into his seat, he asked, "Where should I sit?"

She touched the seat beside her and said disdainfully, "Right here, if 
you've got the right row."

"What's that?"

"Row 24.  Let me see your boarding pass."

He passed it to her.  She glanced at it slyly and gave it back.  "24 is
right."  She stared at him expectantly.  "Maybe you were just in the 
wrong seat."

Her reply did not encourage him.  With a shrug he decided to chance a 
guess and sat down beside her.  When she didn't object, he settled back,
found and fastened his seat belt -- a lot like a car's except it didn't
pull from the wall across the shoulders.

The woman said, "You don't have to do that until they tell you."

"Do what, ma'am?"

"The seatbelt.  Here.  You've got more room than I have."  She thrust a
transparent plastic bag between his leg and the seat arm.  He blinked at
it.  It was full of small objects, some of which he had seen his mother
use, including a billfold.  He looked up at her, surprised that she 
would trust him with her money.  She returned his gaze with an 
expression of amused contempt that he failed to understand.  His nose 
registered the scent of flowers.  Here was another woman without Helen's
signal.

Now he could no longer look out his window.  Through the window across 
the aisle he saw another large plane, though his view was greatly 
restricted.  He looked around his own.  The empty seats were filling up
and more people were coming down the aisle, their carry-on luggage 
bumping the seats.  A giggling woman passed him with a man close behind
her, squeezing her buttocks.  She had the odor.  Her giggle subsided 
farther down the aisle.

"Some girls!" declared the woman beside him.

"What?" asked Sammy.

She answered under her breath though intelligibly to his young ears.  
"Some girls are lucky."

The flow of people ceased.  Most seats were now occupied.  He felt air 
on his cheek as blowers started up, masking adjacent conversations.  
After a bit the uniformed woman who had promised him a treat stood at 
the head of the aisle and made a speech, during which she briefly wore 
an orange can as a mask.  She spoke rapidly, as if the words had been 
memorized in school.  That and the blower over his head stole the sense
from them.

She came down the aisle, head swinging to inspect each row of seats.  
When she reached Sammy, she seemed surprised.

"Are you his mother?" she asked the woman by the window, tilting her 
head toward the lad.

"Certainly not!"

"Well, in any case that purse has to go under your seat for takeoff."

With a grimace the heavy-set woman snatched the transparent bag, leaned
forward and tucked it away.

Directed at Sammy, the flight attendant's voice was warmer.  "Honey, you
should've told me you didn't want the window."

"I should?"

Her voice recovered its crispness.  "Thank you, ma'am, for being willing
to trade with him.  Now fasten your seatbelt.  We'll be leaving the gate
momentarily."

She had hardly swung on down the aisle when Sammy felt a violent lurch.
He looked around wildly but no one else seemed to have noticed it.  The
woman beside him said, her voice pitched barely above minimum 
audibility, "You're green as grass, aren't you?"  She had the same look
of amused contempt.

"Green?"  He stared at the back of his hand.

She laughed.  "What's beyond green?"

"I ... don't know."

"_You_ are!"  She studied him momentarily while the plane shuddered.  He
had an impression of motion in the window past her head.  "Think you'll
need that blanket?"

"I don't know."

"You might, for something or other."  Her foot rose with the blanket 
draped over the toe.  She pulled it over his lap.  Her hand remained 
under it, clasping the top of his thigh.  "Is this your first flight?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I thought so.  If anything scares you, you may take my hand."

He looked up, saying, "Thank you, ma'am."  She didn't smile.  Suddenly
he smelled Helen's signal.

The motion of the plane reminded him of his mother's limousine, moving 
slowly on a rough road.  The background noise had increased to whines of
varying pitch.  He wished he could look out the window.  After awhile 
the noise went up the scale to a huge roar that overpowered all other 
sounds.  The seat shoved him forward, pushing harder and harder, while 
the aircraft vibrated and lurched.  Suddenly the vibration smoothed out.
The seat, still pushing hard, tilted back.  He realized that all the 
seats had tilted.

"Are we flying?" he asked, but of course no one could hear him.  His 
seatmate was squeezing his thigh.  He looked at her but her head was 
against the seat back, eyes closed as if asleep.

The loud noise lasted for awhile before easing off.  The seat quit 
shoving and tilted more to the level.  A loud bell rang.  He looked 
around in wonder but saw no change except the _Fasten Seat Belts_ sign 
farther up the aisle, now darkened.

The hand on his thigh relaxed but remained in place.  The woman asked, 
"Where are you going in Louisiana?"

He was unsure about Louisiana.  "To my grandmother's funeral."

"I'm sorry.  We're you fond of her?"

"I ... don't know."

The woman chuckled.  "Haven't seen much of her, have you?"

"Only when she was young."

That caused the woman to blink then smile.  "You mean pictures."

"Yes, ma'am.  Are we flying?"

"We sure are.  When they turn out the lights, I'll let you --"

She was interrupted by a man's distorted voice on the loudspeakers, 
conveying something about thousands of feet and smooth air.  At the 
conclusion of his speech most of the lights turned off.  The cabin was 
much dimmer but not completely dark.

The woman's hand moved slightly.  The fingers probed and found his cock
through the cloth.  She asked quietly, "Does this thing need to go?"

"Go where?"

"I mean, do you need to pee?"

"No, ma'am."

"Let me know when you do and I'll show you where."

"Yes, ma'am."

The fingers were massaging him.  "How does this feel?" she asked.

"G-good!"

She chuckled.  "Of course you know all about that.  How old are you, 
fourteen?"

"Twelve."

"Really?"  She sniffed.  "I'm surprised -- from the growth of this 
thing."

She expertly unzipped his fly, found the overlap in his briefs and 
fished out the nearly erect cock into a cool hand.  "That's a nice one.
How can you be only twelve?"

Sammy was beginning to warm to his seatmate.  He confided, "That's what
Helen said until she found out it didn't have any hair."

Briefly her fingers rubbed his pubic pad.  "Who's Helen?"

"My friend at the country club.  Oops!"

The woman's voice was dry.  "You weren't supposed to mention her, were 
you?"

"No."

"Well, don't worry.  After this plane lands in New Orleans, we'll never
see each other again.  I'll tell you a secret too.  This is the youngest
dick I've touched since I was a babysitter."

"A babysitter?"

"When I was 16, I often babysat for the neighborhood families.  The 
oldest boy I sat for was twelve.  All of them were sweet, but none of 
their dicks was this size.  Huh!  Yours is big as my husband's."

Her fingers left him enough sense to note an inference.  "You don't have
any sons?"

"Just daughters.  The older is 14, going on 40."

He blinked.  "Does that mean she knows too much?"

"She thinks she does!  You must be an only child."

"How did you know?"

"Uh-oh."

Sammy looked around the cabin and saw the friendly stewardess 
approaching in the aisle.  The fingers froze around his cock but the 
lovely feeling that filled his belly was slow to abate.

The stewardess smiled brightly and leaned near.  "Don't you love 
takeoffs?  Such speed, such power!  Isn't flying wonderful?"

"I _love_ flying!" he declared dreamily.

She winked at the seatmate.  "Some things are so dependable about 
males."

"Oh, yes!" agreed the woman, clasping one in her hand.

"They're born enthusiastic," added the stewardess.  "Young man, is there
anything you need?"

"Just to come."

"You mean 'go.'  Well, you're going at 500 miles per hour.  How do you 
like it?"

"I love it."

"Too bad you gave up your window seat.  We'll soon be passing St. Louis.
The pilot says we'll see it briefly.  At this hour its lights are a 
great sight."

His seatmate cleared her throat.  "I notice you've turned off the seat 
belt sign.  Would it break any rules if I took him in my lap so he could
see out?"

"_I_ won't complain.  That is so kind of you!"

"I'll enjoy hearing what he has to say about it."

"I'll bet you will!  Would you like a glass of wine?"

"No, thank you.  My husband doesn't believe in such things."

"I ... see."  The stewardess's smile was fixed in place.  "All right.  
Enjoy yourselves.  I'll bring you a snack after the cabin settles down."

She departed but the hand did not resume its stroking.

"'Just to come,'" quoted the seatmate.  "I thought I'd croak!"

Sammy sighed and his cock jumped.

"You're about to do it too!"  Her hand released him suddenly.  "Well, 
don't!  Not yet.  Do you have a handkerchief?"

"Bertha kept it."  His tongue felt thick.

"Another friend at the club, no doubt.  Let me think.  You want to see 
St. Louis, don't you?  Undo your seat belt."

First she guided him to crouch in her lap but muttered, "This won't 
work.  Maybe ..."  Craning her neck, she looked around the cabin.  
"Kneel sideways in your seat and lean over me."

In that position his eyes were just above the window, perfect for 
looking down.  He had a first impression of multi-colored pin-points 
scattered widely below, but his hand went to his cock.

"Oh, no, you don't!" she declared softly, knocking the hand away.  "Now
don't mess up my hair!"  Twisting sideways, she butted him in the belly.
He felt her mouth, warm and wet, close over his straining cock.  In no 
time he groaned and began to squirt.  Her arm enclosed his buttocks and
forced his cock head into her throat until the flood ceased.  He groaned
again, shuddering, as she expelled him slowly, lips careful not to spill
a drop.  Her tongue wiped the tip.

She leaned back and craned her neck to see his face, lit by the distant
lights of St. Louis.  "Are you all right?"

He sighed mightily.  "It tingles."

"It's supposed to.  I do love rich young jizz!  You'll have more when 
you get older."

"Bertha said I was full of it."

"Bertha again!  Okay, I know what happened.  On the way to the airport 
the car bumping made it hard and you whacked off, didn't you?"

Unlike that of a bus, the ride of Uncle Bernie's Cadillac was too smooth
for such effects.  Sammy thought he understood the "whacked off" 
reference but not the rest.  He explained, "I whacked off while I was 
reading _Opus Pistorum_.  Twice.  Wow, those lights are ... are ..."

"Reading what?"

"By Henry Miller.  Is that the arch?"

She glanced out the window.  "Very good.  I guess we're still rather 
low.  Where did you hear about the Gateway Arch?"

He shrugged.  "On TV.  But what's that wide black part, like a twisty 
belt?"

She chuckled fondly.  "You noticed the arch on TV but not the 
Mississippi River?"

"Oh.  Then those lights in it are little boats.  Wow!"

"What do the colored lights remind you of?"  After speaking, she licked
his cock tip once more, tucked the rapidly softening organ back into his
pants and zipped up his fly.

"I never saw anything like it."

"I always thought of them as jewels that some giant had spilled on black
velvet."

"Yeah.  Jewels," he agreed.

The aircraft lurched and as if someone had thrown a switch, the 
sparkling lights vanished.  Wet streaks were suddenly visible on the 
outer window layer.

"What happened?" he demanded, turning to look at her wide-eyed.  The 
aircraft began to bounce.  With a clang the seat belt sign lit brightly.

"Uh-oh," she warned.  "Sit down and buckle your belt.  We're in the 
clouds."

He obeyed but leaned forward to regard the wet window.  "'In the 
clouds.'  It's raining."

"It does that in the clouds."

"Oh, yeah.  Wow, 'in the clouds!'"

Laughing fondly, she tugged part of the blanket over her own lap, rose 
partly off the seat and worked with her pants suit before settling back.
"Put your hand under the blanket.  No, on my side."

He felt warm, rounded skin then a nest of hair.

She suggested, "I'll bet Helen and Bertha showed you what to do."

"Oh, yeah!"  His hand dived between her legs, parted the labia and 
located the lump above their juncture.  She shuddered.  "Easy with that.
Put some fingers in me."

She was thoroughly wet.  Now the odor was strong.  As Helen had taught 
him, he massaged the vaginal ceiling, his thumb resting lightly on the 
clitoris.

She squirmed slightly.  "I wish we could figure out how to get that 
man-sized dick in there."  She grunted ironically.  "If our ages were 
reversed I could sit in _your_ lap."

"I bet I could get between your legs."

"And do what?  It would be too obvious."

"And lick you if I was kneeling on the floor."

"Good god!" she breathed.  "You can't be only twelve, even if you don't
have hair down there.  Are you a midget?"

"I'll be thirteen in two months."

"Did Helen and Bertha teach you to do that?  Such perverts!"

"I wondered if they were wicked people."

"I'll say they were wick--  Umm."

"Were they?"

"Well, now, actually ..."  The woman sighed deeply.  "In a few minutes 
your friendly stewardess is coming back with a snack.  Let's wait 
awhile."

"Were they wicked?"

"No, dear."  She sighed again.  "Just impatient, like me."

Something gray flickered at the window.  Suddenly it turned black and a
scattering of lights appeared above them.

He asked, "Can I look out again?"

By necessity he removed his hand before releasing the belt and rising in
his seat as before.  She caught the hand and raised it to her face, 
plunging the fingers and thumb into her mouth.

"What are you doing?"

She seemed to be sucking his fingers.  With a shrug he bent his head 
sideways and studied the outer scene, realizing that the scattered 
lights this time were stars.  Below him billowed gray clouds, 
gradually falling away as the aircraft continued to climb.  St. Louis 
was lost beneath them.

The stars did not interest him.  He remembered another trick Helen had 
taught him.  Bracing himself with the hand freed from the woman's mouth,
he slipped his other hand under the blanket, found the labial parting 
and worked his fingers between them.  Careful to soak thoroughly in her
juices, he added his thumb and soon was into her past the knuckles.

"Good god!" she squeaked through a tight throat.  Her own hand descended
beside his.  He felt a furious vibration above his wrist as he worked 
his fist in and out of the slick heat.  "Oh god!  Oh god!" she cried, 
her voice rising.  Aware of the consequences, he clamped his free hand 
over her mouth and kept plunging.

She continued to moan through flaring nostrils.  Her whole body 
stiffened and suddenly relaxed except for the hand under the blanket, 
which caught his wrist and held it still.  She panted slightly.  Her 
eyes glittered.  "Oh, you sweet little shit!"

Was that a term of endearment?  He decided from the loving tone that it
was, but removed his hand anyway.  Retaining her grip on it, she brought
it up to her mouth and licked the knuckles and the back.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

She paused long enough to say, "I know what it smells like.  I'm playing
mother cat, all right?"  She sucked fingers and thumb as she had done 
his other hand.

He held the position, pretending to look out the window, until she was 
satisfied.  When she released his hand, he returned to his seat.  The 
seat belt sign was dark.

"Who taught you about the fist?" she asked.

"I don't want to say."

"When you see her, tell her Janet was grateful."

"Janet?"

"Though I guess I shouldn't be too surprised.  I'm sure a lot of people
have noticed how pretty you are."

"Um --"

"Pretty and du--  I mean, innocent.  Don't you even go to school?"

"I'm homeschooled."

"Ah.  That explains a lot."  She shook her head.  "Bad for you, good for
me -- and Helen and Bertha."

"Is something wrong with homeschooling?"

"I think so.  I'm a schoolteacher, dear, but I know children learn a lot
of very important things from each other.  Lack of contact is what's 
wrong with homeschooling."

"A schoolteacher?  Could I go to your school?"

The woman laughed.  "You'd put me under the jail!"

"I would not."

"I couldn't keep my hands off you."

Sammy started to protest that her hands were off him now, but the 
stewardess returned bearing a tray and flipped on a bright overhead lamp
that made him blink.  Her knowing hands did something to the seat backs
before them and trays folded down into their laps over the common 
blanket.  She transferred foam plates to their trays with coffee to the
woman and coke to the boy.

"Is everything going all right?" she asked, nose wrinkling.

"Yes, ma'am," Sammy replied.

The smile departed as her gaze fixed on his seatmate.  "Nothing untoward
has happened, right?"

"'Untoward?'" repeated the woman.  "Not at all."  She smiled at Sammy.
"Everyone is good as gold."

"We land in about an hour.  Keep it that way."

She turned back up the aisle.  Sammy tilted his face close to his 
seatmate.  "What did she mean?"

"For me not to bother you."

He blinked.  "Why would she say that?"

"Because she smelled me."

"Oh."

So other people could smell Helen's signal, could they?  Of course this
schoolteacher's example was very strong.

He smiled.  "I love it when you bother me."

"So I noticed.  Eat your snack."

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