I was an only child and growing up wasn't easy. Throughout my childhood my Father was often absent, spending most of his time working away from home, leaving me to be bought up in the not-so-loving care of my Mother who, not that I realized it at the time, was a crazy woman who had some very odd ideas on motherhood and how to raise a son.
A devout Christian, she was forever quoting phrases from the bible that in her mind justified her view of the world, and that translated into her being overbearing and constantly monitoring my behavior. As a child I was given very little free time to be left to my own devices and to make my amusements, as a consequence, the majority of my time was seemingly spent having to do chores under her watchful eye. She was quick to criticize any transgression and to make comments in sarcastic tones about my perceived failure to meet some of the ridiculously high standards that she arbitrarily set for even the most mundane of tasks.
She was completely oblivious to her lack of motherly love and made no apologies for, as she so often told me, everything that she did or said was 'in the name of the Lord'. She was, I was to later understand, a religious nutcase.
No, life wasn't great and school became a welcome relief for me to escape from the oppressive atmosphere that pervaded at home but, unfortunately, it would only be a temporary relief for I knew that when I returned home from school, I would find myself being admonished for some misdemeanor or subject of an accusation of not having satisfactorily carried out some chore that I had been expected to do before I left home that morning.
In short, she was a very difficult person to live with and it was only in later life that I came to understand the reasons why my father took every offer, every chance, to work away from home as she must have been a nightmare of a wife.
So, was there any respite from her attentions; any pleasures in my 'miserable', lonely life?
Yes, there was but I don't remember the exact age when it happened other than it being early on that I discovered the joys of masturbation (or, wanking, as I overheard an older boy at school calling it) and I became an enthusiastic devotee.
My wanking started after I began to experience getting erections for no reason that I could discern. Indeed, up until the time it first happened, I had no idea that my willy was meant for anything other than peeing through and it was a complete surprise that this condition should arise and make what had previously been a floppy little fleshy protuberance swell and become stiff.
My 'Damascus moment' came about when, in my early teens, (and under her supervision) I would say my goodnight prayers, be dismissed, and sent to my bedroom. In the beginning, when an erection happened, there was never a time when mother gave notice of the tenting in my pants so it was a relief when I was able to escape to my bedroom 'undetected' where I was then able to investigate if there was something wrong and if in some way I was 'abnormal'.
At that early stage of my development, in my innocent years, I had nobody in whom I could confide (certainly father was never there just when he was needed) and so it was I was left alone to explore and soon discover that if I rubbed and caressed this unexpected growth spurt in an attempt to make it 'go away' that, contrary to expectations, a very pleasurable sensation would ensue.
I was excited by this discovery and it quickly got to the stage where rather than be alarmed at getting a 'stiffie' I would be looking forward to it happening so that I could get to my bedroom and soothe away the cares of the day before sleeping.
Mother was I believe a little surprised at my newfound enthusiasm for evening prayers and for me to say an early Goodnight. In her mind she must have believed that her nagging was bearing fruit; in mine, it was to be seeking ecstasy of another nature.
And so I settled down to an uneasy peace knowing that if I got through the day without incurring her wrath in some way or other that once I got to my bedroom I could once again delight in stroking and fondling my sensitive cock to bring myself to what I later understood was called an orgasm.
In those early days of my wanking career (I call it that for now, later in life, I continue to do so) there was never any emission to accompany the climax, just a glorious feeling of warmth and pleasure that would envelop my whole body. It was a few months that, after an initial scare at it happening, a sticky, syrupy clear fluid began to dribble when I stroked my stiff cock. I quickly realized it wasn't pee but, no matter what it was, I began to appreciate how much smoother it made my fingers slide up and down and made for a whole much nicer experience. It was only a few days later after this latest development that I had another scare, my first ejaculation.
My initial shock of having produced another different fluid in such pleasurable circumstances was quickly replaced by a sense of pride. I wasn't so innocent that I didn't understand what had happened for the rudimentary sex education at school that I had received by that age had hinted that such a thing was part of the process; I was just surprised that I had achieved it so soon!
And so I settled down to my nightly pleasures with a new element to anticipate at its climax. I was fascinated by the amount of sperm, semen, spunk, or whatever else it was called, was produced and the force at which it was ejected. Who knew that I was capable of such a thing; I was very proud of the evidence of my growing up.
However, as mother had often told me in one of her rambling sermons, 'Pride comes before a fall' and I was soon to learn the truth in that proverb.
It was part of my bedtime reading that rather than take the bible to my room, as my mother would have wished that in those pre-internet years, I used to take the latest Sears catalog so that I could fantasize, she thought, about the toys that were listed and pictured and for which we had no money to buy. In truth, it wasn't the toy section that I scanned; it was the lady's underwear and nightwear section that fascinated me. I had no other points of reference when it came to the female form and although, in retrospect, the models were relatively decorously dressed (or undressed in my mind) it was the closest I had come to in my developing years to seeing women without dresses or such clothes. Grief, did my imagination work overtime looking at bras, silken panties, stocking-clad legs and garter belts, and such. The thoughts of the treasures beneath that were so artfully hidden in those catalog pictures make me shudder with excitement even today.
So it was that with the catalog open at an appropriate page that I would lay back, and stroke my rigid cock until the thoughts of how it would feel to have one of those ladies replacing my hands with their own would bring me to the inevitable conclusion of yet another fountain of cum spurting over my stomach and beyond.
And it was the 'beyond' that was my downfall.
As soon as I open the front door at the end of another school day, it was clear that I was in trouble. Mother was waiting for me with a look like thunder on her face and the Sears catalog on the kitchen table open before her. I say open, but not really; Mother made a great show of how it wasn't possible to open the book properly because some of the pages were stuck together; the pages in question being the ones that I so avidly looked at the previous night.
I wasn't allowed to either put down my school bag or to offer any explanation as to why the catalog had been, in her words, defiled in such a disgusting matter, she had already figured that out. She then went into full-on preaching mode and how I had betrayed her trust in me; how I had broken an unwritten law and had abused my body in the most foul and despicable manner and so on and so. She didn't use the word but in her eyes, masturbation was a heinous sin and those who did so were guilty of doing the Devil's bidding and there was no way she was allowing 'her precious child' to be following that path! She followed up her diatribe by saying that those who did so were guaranteed to inflict bodily harm upon themselves and they would thereafter be 'deformed' and, for sure, given I had succumbed to 'that sin' I had most probably already caused myself to become misshapen. In short, she put the fear of God into me.
There were a few consequences to this sermon. Firstly, from there on, I was not allowed to either borrow the Sears catalog or to have my bedroom door shut at any time, certainly not when I went to bed at night.
The other consequence was even more life-changing; it led me to meet Miss Wendy.
After the roasting that I had endured from my mother, I could think of little else other than how my only pleasure in life had effectively been taken away from me. My bedroom which had become my sanctuary where previously I could wank without shame or disturbance was now denied for she now kept a close eye on me to make sure that I was not falling back into sin.
Given I was a shy and sensitive teenage soul, her words struck hard but I still found it very difficult to keep my thoughts away from the pictures in the Sears book and the effect they caused upon me. I was constantly conflicted and as a consequence, my schoolwork was sidelined due to my forever daydreaming about women's lingerie and the possibilities of my stiff cock being involved in the fantasies that constantly ran through my mind. All these distractions led to my grades suffering and it was not long before it was noted by my teachers that this 'A grade' student might have emotional problems that needed to be investigated.
I knew of Miss Wendy. She was supposedly on the teaching staff; not a teacher but someone who was worthy of having her own office in the administration block of the school away from the mainstream. It wasn't until I was sent to her office that I learned that she was a Student Councillor, someone who was qualified to mentor ‘special needs’ pupils and 'help' troubled youngsters such as myself. (I say 'like myself' but the only other students I knew of who had been sent to seek her guidance were always black boys. I wasn't sure what this said about me!)
I will forever remember my first encounter with Miss Wendy as clear as day; it was a revelation. I nervously knocked on the open door of her office; she looked up from her seat behind her desk, then brightly said, "Come on in. Close the door behind you so that everyone knows we must not be disturbed. Now, sit over there on the couch, tell me what's going on; why are you such a sad boy?"
I don't know exactly what my teacher had told her about me but clearly, my unhappiness must have been evident for her to make this snap judgement. I was taken aback by her powers of perception!
I was further impressed by her appearance. She stood up and came around to my side of her desk to reveal she was wearing a dark grey business-like suit of a single-button fitted jacket over a white blouse which was open at the neck (revealing an interesting looking cleavage) and a skirt the hem of which came to just above the knees of her dark nylon-clad legs. On her feet were black high-heel shoes which effectively completed the vision of a very business-like lady. She was a total contrast to the only other woman in my life, my mother, who invariably wore high-necked long cotton dresses which were more appropriate to a woman from the age of the Pilgrim Fathers'.
Miss Wendy sat herself down on a seat opposite the couch where I had settled and I had to stifle a gasp when she deliberately crossed her legs and her skirt rode up to reveal the dark band of her stocking tops and, good grief, was that the fastening of a suspender belt that I glimpsed?!
I tore my eyes away and looked up to see her smiling at me but there was no doubt from her expression that her action had been deliberate and, I was to learn later, designed to put me at ease. It certainly worked; I was instantly charmed by her friendly nature; her openness; her perfume and her appearance which was straight out of my Sears catalog. She had my full attention when she asked, “So, what's going on in your life that is making you so miserable?"
And so it began, the outpouring of my childhood woes to a woman who was my ideal as a wet dream. I told her as best I could of my home regime; of my mother's devotion to her faith and her interpretation of the bible and how she projected those ideas onto me; of my absent father who I missed having around so much and then, with the time allotted to this appointment with the Councillor running down, I then babbled on about having been caught out 'self-abusing' and my mother's suspicion that I must have damaged myself in the process.
Miss Wendy, who up until that point had been listening concerning what I had been telling her, laughed out loud and scoffed, "Oh my, that old one. I can't believe that there are still people around who peddle that kind of nonsense. Oh dear, oh me, let's take a breath here and let me assure you that nothing of the sort will have happened if you have been, what did your mother call it, 'self-abusing'? Let's give it its proper name; you have been masturbating and that is quite a normal activity for a growing-up boy and nothing to be ashamed about. There are a lot worse things that you could have been doing that would have gotten you into more trouble than playing with your penis.
"I don't like to give contrary advice to what parents tell their kids but, believe me, exploring what your mother ought to be calling 'God's Gift' and getting sexual relief that way is just so normal. Stand up … "
"Huh?"
"I said, stand up. I want to prove that you have nothing to worry about ... " She looked at her watch, " … be quick, I have another student waiting to see me."
I got to my feet and stood before her. She remained seated and leaned forward and without hesitation pulled down the zipper on my pants. I was shocked and rigid and therefore made no effort to stop her as she reached in to fumble my cock free of my boxer shorts. Paralysed with embarrassment I remained standing with Miss Wendy softly holding my cock and seemingly making a close examination. The combination of feeling her fingers grasping, fondling me, and the warmth of her breath, as she moved nearer, had the inevitable effect of making me swell. If I had any thoughts at all it would have been one that screamed, "Oh my God, I am being touched by a FEMALE!!"
However, it didn't last long for soon the feeling of pleasurable embarrassment was replaced by one of disappointment when she took her hands away and said, "Nothing to worry about, young man. That's a very nice-looking penis you have there and it's growing just as it should. You shouldn't believe everything your mother tells you. Now, get yourself back to class; I've got another boy waiting to see me. I'll see you again, same time, next week."
I put my dick back in my pants and zipped up. Before I had even got as far as the door Miss Wendy had resumed her place behind her desk and, pen in hand, her attention was already on the pad upon which she was writing and making notes, no longer concentrating on me. I was not to know that at the same time beneath the desk, she was fingering her wet pussy with her other hand, thinking about yet another boy's cock that she had successfully, and so easily, held in both her hands.
I left the office in a daze and almost tripped over the spread legs of an older black boy who was sprawled on a chair waiting his turn to go into her office. He grinned knowingly at me.
That visit was a watershed moment in my life. For the first time, I encountered someone, another significant female, who held a different outlook on life than that espoused by my mother. A lot of what Miss Wendy said after I had told her of the 'house rules' under which I had been bought up made an awful lot of good sense and, I confess, as I left her office I had a feeling of being in love for the first time in my life. The hour spent in her company had been a revelation and I couldn't wait for the days to pass by so that I could return and hear more 'good advice'.
Needless to say that I made no mention to Mother that I had been sent to see a counselor; she would not have been amused. The very idea to her that I had been talking to someone outside of the immediate ****** about 'personal problems', more so that it had been a female would be a matter of shame. She certainly would not like to have heard that her values and rules had been challenged as being just plain wrong.
No, best I keep that indiscretion to myself and take Miss Wendy's more acceptable advice that she gave, that I find some discrete place away from the house (the woods?) or take the opportunity of when I go to use the toilet and a locked door to do me, she said with a giggle, 'self-abusing'.
Mother had other things on her mind. She hinted to me that she had suspicions that father was not being true to their wedding vows, that he was using the excuse of working away from home to be straying from the path of fidelity. That may have been true but I had not the courage to tell her that I suspected that she was a complete nightmare to live with and he was looking for a quieter life, an option that was not available to me.
Then there was the other thing that was constantly on her mind, she was almost totally focused on preparing for an upcoming weekend when she would be attending a religious revival gathering somewhere upstate. It was the only time I think that I witnessed her anticipating anything in life with pleasure as opposed to her usual gloomy outlook on the state of her world.
My next appointment for counselling was 7 days later and being keen to continue with the discussions, I excused myself from class early. Schoolboy error, I shouldn't have rushed for my early arrival meant that as the door was firmly closed by her rules, I had to sit waiting on a chair outside her office. I could hear voices and murmuring which then went quiet but eventually, the door was opened by the same black kid that I had stumbled over last week. He had a smirk on his face when he saw me but said nothing.
Miss Wendy called me in and told me to shut the door behind me. She looked up from behind her desk and acting the complete professional made no mention of what might have occurred before my arrival.
She stood up to reveal she was wearing the same grey business skirt as before paired with a similar white blouse. I noted that the jacket was draped over the back of her desk chair. She told me to take my place on the couch and my heart gave a jump when she bent to sit on a chair in front of me the blouse gaped and her cleavage was revealed. My heart gave an even greater stab when she crossed her legs giving me a quick (very quick) flash of her white panties.
She gave no indication that she had seen my blushes but rather began writing something down on her pad (well, I supposed she could have been writing, maybe she was just doodling). She began our session by asking me how things were at home and whether had I been following her advice about finding relief now that I had been assured that there was no scientific foundation for wanking causing any damage to a developing body.
I shyly admitted that there had been a couple of occasions when I had managed to escape my mother's attention and had done so. She was pleased to hear it and repeated her advice of last week which said that masturbation was 'beneficial' and that I should be encouraged to pleasure myself so that I had a proper outlook on life and not one that was dictated by the religious zeal of someone who should, frankly, know better. (She didn't use those actual words, but that was the gist).
I listened to Miss Wendy's words of wisdom with something approaching awe. She was so open to listening to my tales of woe and then so sympathetic and matter-of-fact in the way she explained things and how 'things should be' that I had no problem with accepting everything she told; her words were a complete contrast to the type of conversations I had at home.
She then asked me more about what I saw when I had looked at the Sears catalog (before I had splashed my cum on them!). I told her it excited me to see what women wore beneath their regular clothes and dresses; that it was something that intrigued me that there was such a variety of styles, colors, and patterns to women's underwear (again, that was not my exact words but rather the stumbling, and not very convincing, explanation that I gave).
She smiled and asked, "Anything else that you were looking for or thinking?"
I admitted that there was something else, that I would get excited at seeing in those pictures the swell of female breasts or the fullness of a lady's bottom, the round of her cheeks, clad in lacy underwear; stockings held in place by garter belts. All these things had been and were a mystery to me and it excited me very much to have such feminine secrets revealed, albeit in such a vanilla fashion.
She smiled at hearing that and asked if I had looked at girlie magazines that might have revealed more than just underwear. I told her that there had never been anything like that available to me, that my mother would never allow such 'filth' (mother's description) in the house, and any case, ".. what do you mean by 'more'?"
She didn't answer that question, she just said, "Get your cock out."
"What?!"
"Take out your cock, I want to show you something."
I was shocked but the determined look in the eye of my superior told me that I had best comply (or at least that was the rationale I would use in my defense should my compliance be questioned). I did as I was told and unbuttoned and unzipped my fly.
She smiled to see how willingly I did as I was told, "Good boy, now come on push down your shorts, I want to see it again; check that you haven't done any damage," she said with a laugh.
(Ah, so she did remember where we had left things at our last 'session'!)
I leaned back on the couch and pushed down my underwear and my semi-hard cock was revealed to her gaze.
"Good, you've shown me yours, now it's only fair that I show you something."
I held my breath as she unbuttoned her blouse and tugged it up to release it from the waistband of her skirt. She smiled to see my breathless reaction to the revelation of a lacey white bra as she carefully pulled the blouse apart, "Just so you know, this isn't from Sears."
Oh my God, what the heck is happening to me? Here was a woman who was encouraging me to look at her and not the slightest bit embarrassed about it (unlike Mother!).
She leaned forward so that I could all the better see, "There, is that the sort of thing that you've been looking for?"
I nodded lamely for the want of actually speaking.
"Good to know… and I expect that you wish that you could get closer and touch, don’t you?"
I remained dumb but my focus never wavered from the sight of those soft globes in white lacey cups ******* to my gaze. My cock by now had a mind of its own and did the 'talking' for me.
She looked down at me slumped back on the couch and with a glint in her eye said, "Mmm, nice to see that there's nothing abnormal about you…. why don't you show me what you do when you look at those pictures."
I needed no further encouragement; I put my hand down and instinctively grasped my stiff cock and began to stroke. She nodded approvingly and then as if was reading my mind, she reached behind her and unclasped her bra and shook the straps from her shoulders which allowed the cups to fall and give me my first view of a woman's bare breasts.
Oh my God, I'm not sure what I expected to see but the sight was glorious. Perfectly formed flesh orbs each enhanced by a darker circle peaked by a stiff button nipple. At her invitation I put out my free hand to check if the apparition was as soft and real as it appeared; without asking, she put out a hand to check if my cock was as stiff and hard as she expected. The result of the contacts was instant, I had the most intense orgasm and spurted my cum over both our hands.
She laughed to see the evidence of my reaction to her exposure before standing up to get the box of tissues from her desktop. She handed me one, took another, and cleaned her fingers before adjusting her clothing so that she resumed the persona of being my councilor.
"Well, as I thought. There's nothing for you to be worried about; everything seems perfectly satisfactory as it should be for a boy of your age. I think it best at this stage that you make no mention of these meetings to your mother but I also think that maybe we ought to have another session next week just to tie things up. Now, get along with you."
I stood up and put my deflating cock back in my pants not sure what she meant or had in mind by 'tying things up' but, sure as hell, as I left her office I had no intentions of saying anything at all to Mother.
The following week was spent in some kind of haze as I contemplated what the next counseling session with Miss Wendy might entail. She had, in my mind, indicated that there would be more of the same.
Mother meantime, seemed to be preoccupied with making her preparations for her upcoming weekend away at the revival meeting. I took full advantage of her preoccupation to take frequent trips to the toilet where I was able to leisurely mentally 'review' the lessons I had already learned in preparation for my meeting.
My fevered imagination was rewarded when keen as ever to get to Miss Wendy’s office, I tentatively knocked on the open door of her office and was invited in to take my regular place on the couch. With the door firmly shut she came and once again sat on the chair facing me and asked me to give her a rundown on my week and how things were at home.
I told her that following her advice of finding sanctuary and relief behind the locked door of the bathroom, life at home had certainly become easier and I was less frustrated than before. I also shared my thoughts that Mother’s preoccupations with her forthcoming pleasures at the revival meeting might have something to do with her not having badgered me so much.
Miss Wendy agreed that that was most likely a factor but warned that I should be prepared for her resuming and reverting to ‘type’ once the weekend was over. Indeed, she might be even more evangelical, whatever that entailed!
That was not the advice I was hoping to hear and the disappointment must have shown on my face for Miss Wendy reached out and patted my hand and told me not to worry, that, “ ...perhaps she will have seen the error of her ways and be a nicer person when she returns home.”
Knowing my mother, I was not convinced but accepted the advice nevertheless.
“Now, where did we leave things last week?” she asked rhetorically, knowing full well what had happened.
I blushed and blurted out something about how she had shown me her body, her ‘boobs’.
She laughed at my description and said, “Hmm, yes, that was nice wasn’t it?”
I nodded.
“Well, I think that it served to satisfy your curiosity but, sadly for me, I also think we are done with sorting out your problems but, just to give you something to think about when times get tough in the future, let me show you something else ... take out your cock, please.”
I scrabbled to comply, hoping that I was about to have a repeat performance of last week. In next to no time I had my pants down to my ankles and my boxers tugged down so that my swelling cock was *******. She smiled to see it (or was it my frantic fumbling that amused her?)
She stood up and I expected to see her unbutton her white blouse so that I would once again see those beautiful breasts, but no, instead she reached down to slowly lift the hem of her skirt.
Oh my God, what is she doing?
The skirt was slowly pulled upward and I was treated to the sight of firstly the dark band of her stocking tops, then the suspender belt that secured them, and then (oh my god, she was good at this) instead of seeing her panties, I was shocked when I realized she wasn’t wearing any, her pussy was bare; Another first!
She sat down on the chair facing me and slightly spread her legs giving me an uninterrupted view. I was speechless; she wasn’t, she said, “Stroke your cock for me.”
I did as I was told as I watched her finger play with the hair that surrounded that fascinating looking cleft. I don’t know what I expected to see but it was clear that she was getting pleasure from her touches and her sighs as we stroked in unison confirmed that.
She said, “Don’t be getting too carried away but let’s think about how nice it would be if you could put that thing in here ... hmm.”
To emphasize her words, she traced a finger inside her pussy, reached over, and softly grasped and stroked my rigid cock, and ... the inevitable happened, I spurted my cum over her hand and, dare I believe, her pussy as well.
What followed was a huge anti-climax; she said, “Good boy, now you know what it’s all about. A pity that we cured you so soon, I’m sure we could have explored your problems even further!
“So, not a word to anyone about what we have discussed; that is just between you and me. Off you go.”
And so I was dismissed and I left her office dismayed at the thought of a future being denied the pastoral care of this extremely attractive, sexy, and uninhibited lady. I was crushed by the thought.
If my mother noticed any change in my demeanor, then she didn’t mention it. Indeed, little conversation passed between us for the remainder of the week which suited me fine as I had my mind on other things for the most time and those thoughts certainly wouldn’t have met with her approval.
Saturday morning arrived bright and early which vaguely matched Mother’s mood as she waited to be collected by one of her church friends for the ride to wherever it was the revival camp was taking place. Her goodbye to me was more in line with being a list of instructions and threats that were designed to keep me in line with her rules.
Father was home for the weekend from his job but only for supposedly ‘looking after’ me and the house while Mother was away. In truth, I was old enough to look after myself and Father knew it but he came back not wishing to spark some almighty quarrel or conflict with his wife should he have chosen otherwise. Their goodbye was equally perfunctory and I could tell that he was as relieved as I was when the door closed and we heard the car pull away.
He celebrated her absence by getting his golf stuff into his car and driving off; I celebrated by going back to bed, leaving my bedroom door open, and having a glorious wank thinking about Miss Wendy’s pussy and tits!
It was the following evening with father and I both being curious as to why mother had not returned home that the phone rang. He took the call, which only lasted a few minutes, and came back to the lounge where I was sitting and announced that Mother would not be coming home; she had suffered an accident and died. She had been participating in that thing of baptism by being fully immersed in water, had slipped on the rocks of the riverbed, and before the pastor or anyone could do anything about it, so the caller said, she had floundered and being a non-swimmer had drowned!
I won’t say that Father and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry but, well, you know, fair to say neither of us began grieving.
The next few days were spent coming to terms with our new situation. There was little to be done about arranging a funeral as there needed to be the formality of a Coroner’s examination it being an accident and all. Her church on offering their commiserations misread our reaction and decided that we were both in such a state of shock that thereafter they would take care of all arrangements. That was fine by us.
Father was only able to take a couple of days out from his job and satisfied that I was indeed capable of looking after myself he returned to wherever it was that he was working with the promise that he would be home the following weekend. It may have only been a couple of days before he left but we bonded together well in those couple of days as we came to terms with the new dynamic. He certainly knew all about ‘boys’ stuff’ and he was much amused when I told him of the Sears catalog and how Mother had been so mad when she found out what I had done.
Before he left he let me into a secret that in the basement amongst the junk stored down there and hidden away, there was a stash of magazines that might interest me. He told me this giving me a wink and telling me to, “enjoy yourself and be careful where I was aiming!” Once he had left, I took his advice and went down into the basement and found his porno collection.
With all the drama that had befallen me, it was not unexpected for me to be absent from school. Indeed, social services had been involved from the start following my mother’s accident, and after formalities had been completed I was then left more or less left alone to fend for myself.
It was great, I had little to do other than amuse myself which mainly consisted of looking at the magazines that Father had told me about ... and what magazines they were.
Before I came along, my Father had served in the military and had spent time in Europe; the magazines had originated from there and although I couldn’t understand the writing, they were German, Dutch, or something like that, the pictures were explicit and no words were required. For the first time I saw cocks (other than mine), big, stiff ones, dribbling cum; I looked at vaginas some of which were surrounded by abundant pubic hair, others shaved as smooth as a babies butt; I saw very good illustrations of how the two genitals fitted together so well; I learned that the mouth and tongue could be employed in a very satisfactory way; I saw that the models delighted in having hot cum sprayed on their tits or faces and then for them to clean off the stiff cock that had sprayed them by licking lovingly along the length or, the other way around and for the male to cleaning up the mess he had deposited in a hairy pussy.
For those first few days after father had left, mother was completely pushed to the back of my mind as I lay naked on the couch, the magazines spread around me and I wanked myself to one gorgeous orgasm after another as I envisaged myself doing what those pictures so avidly displayed. No, I didn’t miss Mother at all.
It was the following week, after my mother’s funeral, that I took a call from the school to enquire about my well-being and, given my circumstances, my plans for resuming my education. I guess they thought that I, being of a sensitive nature, still required some time to ‘recover from my trauma’, as they put it, away from the rough and tumble of being with unsympathetic classmates. Therefore, as I was in my senior year and regarded as being a young adult it was suggested that I could and should be home-schooled with lesson material being provided by the school.
I knew that my father wouldn’t object to the idea so I had no hesitation in accepting the proposal and after I had put the phone down I was then free to resume studying my alternative reading material.
It was after lunch that the doorbell rang. I hastily pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, stuffed the current magazine under a cushion, and went to answer the door. Imagine my surprise when who should be standing there, the vision of many of my masturbation fantasies, the elegant, business-suited Miss Wendy holding a briefcase.
She introduced herself (as if any introduction was needed) and after offering condolences said with a smile that she had been appointed by the school to take care of me and my ‘home-schooling’. Suppressing any signs of delight, I invited her in and led her to the sitting room where, not forgetting my manners, I offered to make tea, an offer which she accepted.
I went to the kitchen and spent a few minutes while I brewed the tea kettle composing myself and hoping that I was not going to be criticized for the state of the house or some such measure. I needn’t have worried for on returning to the sitting room I saw that she had already taken off her jacket and had settled herself on the couch and was contentedly riffling through the contents of her briefcase; I also noted that the magazine that I had hidden beneath the cushion was no longer out of sight but had been clearly extracted by her and was now showing the lurid cover illustration. She looked up and took the teacup from my shaking hand, nodded toward the magazine, arched an eyebrow, and smiled knowingly at me as I sat back on a chair facing her.
“Now, your tutors have given me a package of books and papers they would like you to read ...” she said as she began taking things from her case, “ ... they said that you’re smart enough to know what to be doing with these books to catch up so I’ll just leave it with you to be asking any questions; OK?”
I sipped my tea and nodded my understanding as I watched her put the package to one side and begin to unbutton her white blouse.
“I’m sure that there will be a few things that you will need to be clarified and should you have any concerns of that nature then you must contact me and I will get the answers for you; OK?”
I nodded again not really listening but rather concentrating on the sight of her white lacey bra which was now fully ******* as she shucked the blouse from her shoulders.
“The school has agreed that any time you need assistance you call and I will gather whatever information you require and come straightaway and drop it off; OK?”
I gulped as she reached behind her and unclipped her bra which allowed it to fall away to completely free up those gorgeous tits that I had previously seen back in the sanctuary of her office. In the comfort of my sitting room, they looked even more beautiful and desirable.
“I’m sure there are going to be a few times when you are struggling with your studies but I want you to know that I am going to be available anytime you need assistance; OK?”
She didn’t wait for me to answer but stood up and unfastened the snap and side zip to her skirt. My breath caught in my throat as I looked upon this topless goddess as she slid down her skirt to reveal that she was wearing her customary black nylons held by a garter belt and, my god, once again, no panties.
“So, having explained all that, why don’t we get down to our first lesson?” She nodded toward the magazine, “ ... I can see that you have already been studying; stand up and let me see if you’ve learned anything, get your cock out. It’s time to put theory into practice.”
She pushed her briefcase to one side, lay back on the couch, and spread her legs.
I pulled off my sweatpants and my rigid cock knew exactly where it was going ...
... and so my homeschooling with Councillor Wendy began.
A devout Christian, she was forever quoting phrases from the bible that in her mind justified her view of the world, and that translated into her being overbearing and constantly monitoring my behavior. As a child I was given very little free time to be left to my own devices and to make my amusements, as a consequence, the majority of my time was seemingly spent having to do chores under her watchful eye. She was quick to criticize any transgression and to make comments in sarcastic tones about my perceived failure to meet some of the ridiculously high standards that she arbitrarily set for even the most mundane of tasks.
She was completely oblivious to her lack of motherly love and made no apologies for, as she so often told me, everything that she did or said was 'in the name of the Lord'. She was, I was to later understand, a religious nutcase.
No, life wasn't great and school became a welcome relief for me to escape from the oppressive atmosphere that pervaded at home but, unfortunately, it would only be a temporary relief for I knew that when I returned home from school, I would find myself being admonished for some misdemeanor or subject of an accusation of not having satisfactorily carried out some chore that I had been expected to do before I left home that morning.
In short, she was a very difficult person to live with and it was only in later life that I came to understand the reasons why my father took every offer, every chance, to work away from home as she must have been a nightmare of a wife.
So, was there any respite from her attentions; any pleasures in my 'miserable', lonely life?
Yes, there was but I don't remember the exact age when it happened other than it being early on that I discovered the joys of masturbation (or, wanking, as I overheard an older boy at school calling it) and I became an enthusiastic devotee.
My wanking started after I began to experience getting erections for no reason that I could discern. Indeed, up until the time it first happened, I had no idea that my willy was meant for anything other than peeing through and it was a complete surprise that this condition should arise and make what had previously been a floppy little fleshy protuberance swell and become stiff.
My 'Damascus moment' came about when, in my early teens, (and under her supervision) I would say my goodnight prayers, be dismissed, and sent to my bedroom. In the beginning, when an erection happened, there was never a time when mother gave notice of the tenting in my pants so it was a relief when I was able to escape to my bedroom 'undetected' where I was then able to investigate if there was something wrong and if in some way I was 'abnormal'.
At that early stage of my development, in my innocent years, I had nobody in whom I could confide (certainly father was never there just when he was needed) and so it was I was left alone to explore and soon discover that if I rubbed and caressed this unexpected growth spurt in an attempt to make it 'go away' that, contrary to expectations, a very pleasurable sensation would ensue.
I was excited by this discovery and it quickly got to the stage where rather than be alarmed at getting a 'stiffie' I would be looking forward to it happening so that I could get to my bedroom and soothe away the cares of the day before sleeping.
Mother was I believe a little surprised at my newfound enthusiasm for evening prayers and for me to say an early Goodnight. In her mind she must have believed that her nagging was bearing fruit; in mine, it was to be seeking ecstasy of another nature.
And so I settled down to an uneasy peace knowing that if I got through the day without incurring her wrath in some way or other that once I got to my bedroom I could once again delight in stroking and fondling my sensitive cock to bring myself to what I later understood was called an orgasm.
In those early days of my wanking career (I call it that for now, later in life, I continue to do so) there was never any emission to accompany the climax, just a glorious feeling of warmth and pleasure that would envelop my whole body. It was a few months that, after an initial scare at it happening, a sticky, syrupy clear fluid began to dribble when I stroked my stiff cock. I quickly realized it wasn't pee but, no matter what it was, I began to appreciate how much smoother it made my fingers slide up and down and made for a whole much nicer experience. It was only a few days later after this latest development that I had another scare, my first ejaculation.
My initial shock of having produced another different fluid in such pleasurable circumstances was quickly replaced by a sense of pride. I wasn't so innocent that I didn't understand what had happened for the rudimentary sex education at school that I had received by that age had hinted that such a thing was part of the process; I was just surprised that I had achieved it so soon!
And so I settled down to my nightly pleasures with a new element to anticipate at its climax. I was fascinated by the amount of sperm, semen, spunk, or whatever else it was called, was produced and the force at which it was ejected. Who knew that I was capable of such a thing; I was very proud of the evidence of my growing up.
However, as mother had often told me in one of her rambling sermons, 'Pride comes before a fall' and I was soon to learn the truth in that proverb.
It was part of my bedtime reading that rather than take the bible to my room, as my mother would have wished that in those pre-internet years, I used to take the latest Sears catalog so that I could fantasize, she thought, about the toys that were listed and pictured and for which we had no money to buy. In truth, it wasn't the toy section that I scanned; it was the lady's underwear and nightwear section that fascinated me. I had no other points of reference when it came to the female form and although, in retrospect, the models were relatively decorously dressed (or undressed in my mind) it was the closest I had come to in my developing years to seeing women without dresses or such clothes. Grief, did my imagination work overtime looking at bras, silken panties, stocking-clad legs and garter belts, and such. The thoughts of the treasures beneath that were so artfully hidden in those catalog pictures make me shudder with excitement even today.
So it was that with the catalog open at an appropriate page that I would lay back, and stroke my rigid cock until the thoughts of how it would feel to have one of those ladies replacing my hands with their own would bring me to the inevitable conclusion of yet another fountain of cum spurting over my stomach and beyond.
And it was the 'beyond' that was my downfall.
As soon as I open the front door at the end of another school day, it was clear that I was in trouble. Mother was waiting for me with a look like thunder on her face and the Sears catalog on the kitchen table open before her. I say open, but not really; Mother made a great show of how it wasn't possible to open the book properly because some of the pages were stuck together; the pages in question being the ones that I so avidly looked at the previous night.
I wasn't allowed to either put down my school bag or to offer any explanation as to why the catalog had been, in her words, defiled in such a disgusting matter, she had already figured that out. She then went into full-on preaching mode and how I had betrayed her trust in me; how I had broken an unwritten law and had abused my body in the most foul and despicable manner and so on and so. She didn't use the word but in her eyes, masturbation was a heinous sin and those who did so were guilty of doing the Devil's bidding and there was no way she was allowing 'her precious child' to be following that path! She followed up her diatribe by saying that those who did so were guaranteed to inflict bodily harm upon themselves and they would thereafter be 'deformed' and, for sure, given I had succumbed to 'that sin' I had most probably already caused myself to become misshapen. In short, she put the fear of God into me.
There were a few consequences to this sermon. Firstly, from there on, I was not allowed to either borrow the Sears catalog or to have my bedroom door shut at any time, certainly not when I went to bed at night.
The other consequence was even more life-changing; it led me to meet Miss Wendy.
After the roasting that I had endured from my mother, I could think of little else other than how my only pleasure in life had effectively been taken away from me. My bedroom which had become my sanctuary where previously I could wank without shame or disturbance was now denied for she now kept a close eye on me to make sure that I was not falling back into sin.
Given I was a shy and sensitive teenage soul, her words struck hard but I still found it very difficult to keep my thoughts away from the pictures in the Sears book and the effect they caused upon me. I was constantly conflicted and as a consequence, my schoolwork was sidelined due to my forever daydreaming about women's lingerie and the possibilities of my stiff cock being involved in the fantasies that constantly ran through my mind. All these distractions led to my grades suffering and it was not long before it was noted by my teachers that this 'A grade' student might have emotional problems that needed to be investigated.
I knew of Miss Wendy. She was supposedly on the teaching staff; not a teacher but someone who was worthy of having her own office in the administration block of the school away from the mainstream. It wasn't until I was sent to her office that I learned that she was a Student Councillor, someone who was qualified to mentor ‘special needs’ pupils and 'help' troubled youngsters such as myself. (I say 'like myself' but the only other students I knew of who had been sent to seek her guidance were always black boys. I wasn't sure what this said about me!)
I will forever remember my first encounter with Miss Wendy as clear as day; it was a revelation. I nervously knocked on the open door of her office; she looked up from her seat behind her desk, then brightly said, "Come on in. Close the door behind you so that everyone knows we must not be disturbed. Now, sit over there on the couch, tell me what's going on; why are you such a sad boy?"
I don't know exactly what my teacher had told her about me but clearly, my unhappiness must have been evident for her to make this snap judgement. I was taken aback by her powers of perception!
I was further impressed by her appearance. She stood up and came around to my side of her desk to reveal she was wearing a dark grey business-like suit of a single-button fitted jacket over a white blouse which was open at the neck (revealing an interesting looking cleavage) and a skirt the hem of which came to just above the knees of her dark nylon-clad legs. On her feet were black high-heel shoes which effectively completed the vision of a very business-like lady. She was a total contrast to the only other woman in my life, my mother, who invariably wore high-necked long cotton dresses which were more appropriate to a woman from the age of the Pilgrim Fathers'.
Miss Wendy sat herself down on a seat opposite the couch where I had settled and I had to stifle a gasp when she deliberately crossed her legs and her skirt rode up to reveal the dark band of her stocking tops and, good grief, was that the fastening of a suspender belt that I glimpsed?!
I tore my eyes away and looked up to see her smiling at me but there was no doubt from her expression that her action had been deliberate and, I was to learn later, designed to put me at ease. It certainly worked; I was instantly charmed by her friendly nature; her openness; her perfume and her appearance which was straight out of my Sears catalog. She had my full attention when she asked, “So, what's going on in your life that is making you so miserable?"
And so it began, the outpouring of my childhood woes to a woman who was my ideal as a wet dream. I told her as best I could of my home regime; of my mother's devotion to her faith and her interpretation of the bible and how she projected those ideas onto me; of my absent father who I missed having around so much and then, with the time allotted to this appointment with the Councillor running down, I then babbled on about having been caught out 'self-abusing' and my mother's suspicion that I must have damaged myself in the process.
Miss Wendy, who up until that point had been listening concerning what I had been telling her, laughed out loud and scoffed, "Oh my, that old one. I can't believe that there are still people around who peddle that kind of nonsense. Oh dear, oh me, let's take a breath here and let me assure you that nothing of the sort will have happened if you have been, what did your mother call it, 'self-abusing'? Let's give it its proper name; you have been masturbating and that is quite a normal activity for a growing-up boy and nothing to be ashamed about. There are a lot worse things that you could have been doing that would have gotten you into more trouble than playing with your penis.
"I don't like to give contrary advice to what parents tell their kids but, believe me, exploring what your mother ought to be calling 'God's Gift' and getting sexual relief that way is just so normal. Stand up … "
"Huh?"
"I said, stand up. I want to prove that you have nothing to worry about ... " She looked at her watch, " … be quick, I have another student waiting to see me."
I got to my feet and stood before her. She remained seated and leaned forward and without hesitation pulled down the zipper on my pants. I was shocked and rigid and therefore made no effort to stop her as she reached in to fumble my cock free of my boxer shorts. Paralysed with embarrassment I remained standing with Miss Wendy softly holding my cock and seemingly making a close examination. The combination of feeling her fingers grasping, fondling me, and the warmth of her breath, as she moved nearer, had the inevitable effect of making me swell. If I had any thoughts at all it would have been one that screamed, "Oh my God, I am being touched by a FEMALE!!"
However, it didn't last long for soon the feeling of pleasurable embarrassment was replaced by one of disappointment when she took her hands away and said, "Nothing to worry about, young man. That's a very nice-looking penis you have there and it's growing just as it should. You shouldn't believe everything your mother tells you. Now, get yourself back to class; I've got another boy waiting to see me. I'll see you again, same time, next week."
I put my dick back in my pants and zipped up. Before I had even got as far as the door Miss Wendy had resumed her place behind her desk and, pen in hand, her attention was already on the pad upon which she was writing and making notes, no longer concentrating on me. I was not to know that at the same time beneath the desk, she was fingering her wet pussy with her other hand, thinking about yet another boy's cock that she had successfully, and so easily, held in both her hands.
I left the office in a daze and almost tripped over the spread legs of an older black boy who was sprawled on a chair waiting his turn to go into her office. He grinned knowingly at me.
*******
That visit was a watershed moment in my life. For the first time, I encountered someone, another significant female, who held a different outlook on life than that espoused by my mother. A lot of what Miss Wendy said after I had told her of the 'house rules' under which I had been bought up made an awful lot of good sense and, I confess, as I left her office I had a feeling of being in love for the first time in my life. The hour spent in her company had been a revelation and I couldn't wait for the days to pass by so that I could return and hear more 'good advice'.
Needless to say that I made no mention to Mother that I had been sent to see a counselor; she would not have been amused. The very idea to her that I had been talking to someone outside of the immediate ****** about 'personal problems', more so that it had been a female would be a matter of shame. She certainly would not like to have heard that her values and rules had been challenged as being just plain wrong.
No, best I keep that indiscretion to myself and take Miss Wendy's more acceptable advice that she gave, that I find some discrete place away from the house (the woods?) or take the opportunity of when I go to use the toilet and a locked door to do me, she said with a giggle, 'self-abusing'.
Mother had other things on her mind. She hinted to me that she had suspicions that father was not being true to their wedding vows, that he was using the excuse of working away from home to be straying from the path of fidelity. That may have been true but I had not the courage to tell her that I suspected that she was a complete nightmare to live with and he was looking for a quieter life, an option that was not available to me.
Then there was the other thing that was constantly on her mind, she was almost totally focused on preparing for an upcoming weekend when she would be attending a religious revival gathering somewhere upstate. It was the only time I think that I witnessed her anticipating anything in life with pleasure as opposed to her usual gloomy outlook on the state of her world.
******
My next appointment for counselling was 7 days later and being keen to continue with the discussions, I excused myself from class early. Schoolboy error, I shouldn't have rushed for my early arrival meant that as the door was firmly closed by her rules, I had to sit waiting on a chair outside her office. I could hear voices and murmuring which then went quiet but eventually, the door was opened by the same black kid that I had stumbled over last week. He had a smirk on his face when he saw me but said nothing.
Miss Wendy called me in and told me to shut the door behind me. She looked up from behind her desk and acting the complete professional made no mention of what might have occurred before my arrival.
She stood up to reveal she was wearing the same grey business skirt as before paired with a similar white blouse. I noted that the jacket was draped over the back of her desk chair. She told me to take my place on the couch and my heart gave a jump when she bent to sit on a chair in front of me the blouse gaped and her cleavage was revealed. My heart gave an even greater stab when she crossed her legs giving me a quick (very quick) flash of her white panties.
She gave no indication that she had seen my blushes but rather began writing something down on her pad (well, I supposed she could have been writing, maybe she was just doodling). She began our session by asking me how things were at home and whether had I been following her advice about finding relief now that I had been assured that there was no scientific foundation for wanking causing any damage to a developing body.
I shyly admitted that there had been a couple of occasions when I had managed to escape my mother's attention and had done so. She was pleased to hear it and repeated her advice of last week which said that masturbation was 'beneficial' and that I should be encouraged to pleasure myself so that I had a proper outlook on life and not one that was dictated by the religious zeal of someone who should, frankly, know better. (She didn't use those actual words, but that was the gist).
I listened to Miss Wendy's words of wisdom with something approaching awe. She was so open to listening to my tales of woe and then so sympathetic and matter-of-fact in the way she explained things and how 'things should be' that I had no problem with accepting everything she told; her words were a complete contrast to the type of conversations I had at home.
She then asked me more about what I saw when I had looked at the Sears catalog (before I had splashed my cum on them!). I told her it excited me to see what women wore beneath their regular clothes and dresses; that it was something that intrigued me that there was such a variety of styles, colors, and patterns to women's underwear (again, that was not my exact words but rather the stumbling, and not very convincing, explanation that I gave).
She smiled and asked, "Anything else that you were looking for or thinking?"
I admitted that there was something else, that I would get excited at seeing in those pictures the swell of female breasts or the fullness of a lady's bottom, the round of her cheeks, clad in lacy underwear; stockings held in place by garter belts. All these things had been and were a mystery to me and it excited me very much to have such feminine secrets revealed, albeit in such a vanilla fashion.
She smiled at hearing that and asked if I had looked at girlie magazines that might have revealed more than just underwear. I told her that there had never been anything like that available to me, that my mother would never allow such 'filth' (mother's description) in the house, and any case, ".. what do you mean by 'more'?"
She didn't answer that question, she just said, "Get your cock out."
"What?!"
"Take out your cock, I want to show you something."
I was shocked but the determined look in the eye of my superior told me that I had best comply (or at least that was the rationale I would use in my defense should my compliance be questioned). I did as I was told and unbuttoned and unzipped my fly.
She smiled to see how willingly I did as I was told, "Good boy, now come on push down your shorts, I want to see it again; check that you haven't done any damage," she said with a laugh.
(Ah, so she did remember where we had left things at our last 'session'!)
I leaned back on the couch and pushed down my underwear and my semi-hard cock was revealed to her gaze.
"Good, you've shown me yours, now it's only fair that I show you something."
I held my breath as she unbuttoned her blouse and tugged it up to release it from the waistband of her skirt. She smiled to see my breathless reaction to the revelation of a lacey white bra as she carefully pulled the blouse apart, "Just so you know, this isn't from Sears."
Oh my God, what the heck is happening to me? Here was a woman who was encouraging me to look at her and not the slightest bit embarrassed about it (unlike Mother!).
She leaned forward so that I could all the better see, "There, is that the sort of thing that you've been looking for?"
I nodded lamely for the want of actually speaking.
"Good to know… and I expect that you wish that you could get closer and touch, don’t you?"
I remained dumb but my focus never wavered from the sight of those soft globes in white lacey cups ******* to my gaze. My cock by now had a mind of its own and did the 'talking' for me.
She looked down at me slumped back on the couch and with a glint in her eye said, "Mmm, nice to see that there's nothing abnormal about you…. why don't you show me what you do when you look at those pictures."
I needed no further encouragement; I put my hand down and instinctively grasped my stiff cock and began to stroke. She nodded approvingly and then as if was reading my mind, she reached behind her and unclasped her bra and shook the straps from her shoulders which allowed the cups to fall and give me my first view of a woman's bare breasts.
Oh my God, I'm not sure what I expected to see but the sight was glorious. Perfectly formed flesh orbs each enhanced by a darker circle peaked by a stiff button nipple. At her invitation I put out my free hand to check if the apparition was as soft and real as it appeared; without asking, she put out a hand to check if my cock was as stiff and hard as she expected. The result of the contacts was instant, I had the most intense orgasm and spurted my cum over both our hands.
She laughed to see the evidence of my reaction to her exposure before standing up to get the box of tissues from her desktop. She handed me one, took another, and cleaned her fingers before adjusting her clothing so that she resumed the persona of being my councilor.
"Well, as I thought. There's nothing for you to be worried about; everything seems perfectly satisfactory as it should be for a boy of your age. I think it best at this stage that you make no mention of these meetings to your mother but I also think that maybe we ought to have another session next week just to tie things up. Now, get along with you."
I stood up and put my deflating cock back in my pants not sure what she meant or had in mind by 'tying things up' but, sure as hell, as I left her office I had no intentions of saying anything at all to Mother.
*******
The following week was spent in some kind of haze as I contemplated what the next counseling session with Miss Wendy might entail. She had, in my mind, indicated that there would be more of the same.
Mother meantime, seemed to be preoccupied with making her preparations for her upcoming weekend away at the revival meeting. I took full advantage of her preoccupation to take frequent trips to the toilet where I was able to leisurely mentally 'review' the lessons I had already learned in preparation for my meeting.
My fevered imagination was rewarded when keen as ever to get to Miss Wendy’s office, I tentatively knocked on the open door of her office and was invited in to take my regular place on the couch. With the door firmly shut she came and once again sat on the chair facing me and asked me to give her a rundown on my week and how things were at home.
I told her that following her advice of finding sanctuary and relief behind the locked door of the bathroom, life at home had certainly become easier and I was less frustrated than before. I also shared my thoughts that Mother’s preoccupations with her forthcoming pleasures at the revival meeting might have something to do with her not having badgered me so much.
Miss Wendy agreed that that was most likely a factor but warned that I should be prepared for her resuming and reverting to ‘type’ once the weekend was over. Indeed, she might be even more evangelical, whatever that entailed!
That was not the advice I was hoping to hear and the disappointment must have shown on my face for Miss Wendy reached out and patted my hand and told me not to worry, that, “ ...perhaps she will have seen the error of her ways and be a nicer person when she returns home.”
Knowing my mother, I was not convinced but accepted the advice nevertheless.
“Now, where did we leave things last week?” she asked rhetorically, knowing full well what had happened.
I blushed and blurted out something about how she had shown me her body, her ‘boobs’.
She laughed at my description and said, “Hmm, yes, that was nice wasn’t it?”
I nodded.
“Well, I think that it served to satisfy your curiosity but, sadly for me, I also think we are done with sorting out your problems but, just to give you something to think about when times get tough in the future, let me show you something else ... take out your cock, please.”
I scrabbled to comply, hoping that I was about to have a repeat performance of last week. In next to no time I had my pants down to my ankles and my boxers tugged down so that my swelling cock was *******. She smiled to see it (or was it my frantic fumbling that amused her?)
She stood up and I expected to see her unbutton her white blouse so that I would once again see those beautiful breasts, but no, instead she reached down to slowly lift the hem of her skirt.
Oh my God, what is she doing?
The skirt was slowly pulled upward and I was treated to the sight of firstly the dark band of her stocking tops, then the suspender belt that secured them, and then (oh my god, she was good at this) instead of seeing her panties, I was shocked when I realized she wasn’t wearing any, her pussy was bare; Another first!
She sat down on the chair facing me and slightly spread her legs giving me an uninterrupted view. I was speechless; she wasn’t, she said, “Stroke your cock for me.”
I did as I was told as I watched her finger play with the hair that surrounded that fascinating looking cleft. I don’t know what I expected to see but it was clear that she was getting pleasure from her touches and her sighs as we stroked in unison confirmed that.
She said, “Don’t be getting too carried away but let’s think about how nice it would be if you could put that thing in here ... hmm.”
To emphasize her words, she traced a finger inside her pussy, reached over, and softly grasped and stroked my rigid cock, and ... the inevitable happened, I spurted my cum over her hand and, dare I believe, her pussy as well.
What followed was a huge anti-climax; she said, “Good boy, now you know what it’s all about. A pity that we cured you so soon, I’m sure we could have explored your problems even further!
“So, not a word to anyone about what we have discussed; that is just between you and me. Off you go.”
And so I was dismissed and I left her office dismayed at the thought of a future being denied the pastoral care of this extremely attractive, sexy, and uninhibited lady. I was crushed by the thought.
If my mother noticed any change in my demeanor, then she didn’t mention it. Indeed, little conversation passed between us for the remainder of the week which suited me fine as I had my mind on other things for the most time and those thoughts certainly wouldn’t have met with her approval.
Saturday morning arrived bright and early which vaguely matched Mother’s mood as she waited to be collected by one of her church friends for the ride to wherever it was the revival camp was taking place. Her goodbye to me was more in line with being a list of instructions and threats that were designed to keep me in line with her rules.
Father was home for the weekend from his job but only for supposedly ‘looking after’ me and the house while Mother was away. In truth, I was old enough to look after myself and Father knew it but he came back not wishing to spark some almighty quarrel or conflict with his wife should he have chosen otherwise. Their goodbye was equally perfunctory and I could tell that he was as relieved as I was when the door closed and we heard the car pull away.
He celebrated her absence by getting his golf stuff into his car and driving off; I celebrated by going back to bed, leaving my bedroom door open, and having a glorious wank thinking about Miss Wendy’s pussy and tits!
It was the following evening with father and I both being curious as to why mother had not returned home that the phone rang. He took the call, which only lasted a few minutes, and came back to the lounge where I was sitting and announced that Mother would not be coming home; she had suffered an accident and died. She had been participating in that thing of baptism by being fully immersed in water, had slipped on the rocks of the riverbed, and before the pastor or anyone could do anything about it, so the caller said, she had floundered and being a non-swimmer had drowned!
I won’t say that Father and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry but, well, you know, fair to say neither of us began grieving.
The next few days were spent coming to terms with our new situation. There was little to be done about arranging a funeral as there needed to be the formality of a Coroner’s examination it being an accident and all. Her church on offering their commiserations misread our reaction and decided that we were both in such a state of shock that thereafter they would take care of all arrangements. That was fine by us.
Father was only able to take a couple of days out from his job and satisfied that I was indeed capable of looking after myself he returned to wherever it was that he was working with the promise that he would be home the following weekend. It may have only been a couple of days before he left but we bonded together well in those couple of days as we came to terms with the new dynamic. He certainly knew all about ‘boys’ stuff’ and he was much amused when I told him of the Sears catalog and how Mother had been so mad when she found out what I had done.
Before he left he let me into a secret that in the basement amongst the junk stored down there and hidden away, there was a stash of magazines that might interest me. He told me this giving me a wink and telling me to, “enjoy yourself and be careful where I was aiming!” Once he had left, I took his advice and went down into the basement and found his porno collection.
******
With all the drama that had befallen me, it was not unexpected for me to be absent from school. Indeed, social services had been involved from the start following my mother’s accident, and after formalities had been completed I was then left more or less left alone to fend for myself.
It was great, I had little to do other than amuse myself which mainly consisted of looking at the magazines that Father had told me about ... and what magazines they were.
Before I came along, my Father had served in the military and had spent time in Europe; the magazines had originated from there and although I couldn’t understand the writing, they were German, Dutch, or something like that, the pictures were explicit and no words were required. For the first time I saw cocks (other than mine), big, stiff ones, dribbling cum; I looked at vaginas some of which were surrounded by abundant pubic hair, others shaved as smooth as a babies butt; I saw very good illustrations of how the two genitals fitted together so well; I learned that the mouth and tongue could be employed in a very satisfactory way; I saw that the models delighted in having hot cum sprayed on their tits or faces and then for them to clean off the stiff cock that had sprayed them by licking lovingly along the length or, the other way around and for the male to cleaning up the mess he had deposited in a hairy pussy.
For those first few days after father had left, mother was completely pushed to the back of my mind as I lay naked on the couch, the magazines spread around me and I wanked myself to one gorgeous orgasm after another as I envisaged myself doing what those pictures so avidly displayed. No, I didn’t miss Mother at all.
******
It was the following week, after my mother’s funeral, that I took a call from the school to enquire about my well-being and, given my circumstances, my plans for resuming my education. I guess they thought that I, being of a sensitive nature, still required some time to ‘recover from my trauma’, as they put it, away from the rough and tumble of being with unsympathetic classmates. Therefore, as I was in my senior year and regarded as being a young adult it was suggested that I could and should be home-schooled with lesson material being provided by the school.
I knew that my father wouldn’t object to the idea so I had no hesitation in accepting the proposal and after I had put the phone down I was then free to resume studying my alternative reading material.
It was after lunch that the doorbell rang. I hastily pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, stuffed the current magazine under a cushion, and went to answer the door. Imagine my surprise when who should be standing there, the vision of many of my masturbation fantasies, the elegant, business-suited Miss Wendy holding a briefcase.
She introduced herself (as if any introduction was needed) and after offering condolences said with a smile that she had been appointed by the school to take care of me and my ‘home-schooling’. Suppressing any signs of delight, I invited her in and led her to the sitting room where, not forgetting my manners, I offered to make tea, an offer which she accepted.
I went to the kitchen and spent a few minutes while I brewed the tea kettle composing myself and hoping that I was not going to be criticized for the state of the house or some such measure. I needn’t have worried for on returning to the sitting room I saw that she had already taken off her jacket and had settled herself on the couch and was contentedly riffling through the contents of her briefcase; I also noted that the magazine that I had hidden beneath the cushion was no longer out of sight but had been clearly extracted by her and was now showing the lurid cover illustration. She looked up and took the teacup from my shaking hand, nodded toward the magazine, arched an eyebrow, and smiled knowingly at me as I sat back on a chair facing her.
“Now, your tutors have given me a package of books and papers they would like you to read ...” she said as she began taking things from her case, “ ... they said that you’re smart enough to know what to be doing with these books to catch up so I’ll just leave it with you to be asking any questions; OK?”
I sipped my tea and nodded my understanding as I watched her put the package to one side and begin to unbutton her white blouse.
“I’m sure that there will be a few things that you will need to be clarified and should you have any concerns of that nature then you must contact me and I will get the answers for you; OK?”
I nodded again not really listening but rather concentrating on the sight of her white lacey bra which was now fully ******* as she shucked the blouse from her shoulders.
“The school has agreed that any time you need assistance you call and I will gather whatever information you require and come straightaway and drop it off; OK?”
I gulped as she reached behind her and unclipped her bra which allowed it to fall away to completely free up those gorgeous tits that I had previously seen back in the sanctuary of her office. In the comfort of my sitting room, they looked even more beautiful and desirable.
“I’m sure there are going to be a few times when you are struggling with your studies but I want you to know that I am going to be available anytime you need assistance; OK?”
She didn’t wait for me to answer but stood up and unfastened the snap and side zip to her skirt. My breath caught in my throat as I looked upon this topless goddess as she slid down her skirt to reveal that she was wearing her customary black nylons held by a garter belt and, my god, once again, no panties.
“So, having explained all that, why don’t we get down to our first lesson?” She nodded toward the magazine, “ ... I can see that you have already been studying; stand up and let me see if you’ve learned anything, get your cock out. It’s time to put theory into practice.”
She pushed her briefcase to one side, lay back on the couch, and spread her legs.
I pulled off my sweatpants and my rigid cock knew exactly where it was going ...
... and so my homeschooling with Councillor Wendy began.
******
Curt