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All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old
Dust billowed behind Royce Engel’s new 1937 Plymouth De Luxe sedan as the young attorney for Greene, Lester and Quill drove his 18-year old ward, Clementine McFee, away from the Double-T R Ranch outside Golden, Colorado. Ten minutes later he pulled the car onto State Highway 58 and pointed its nose toward Denver.
Clementine slid to her left on the bench seat and, with a quarter twist of her torso, cuddled against Royce. Her bare left arm draped around his shoulders and her small right hand naturally fell to rest on the inside of his right leg, just above the knee. Royce glanced down, then smiled at the girl and returned his eyes to the road. At 30 m.p.h. he did not want to have an accident.
“Royce,” Clementine reflected, “Is there somethin’ wrong with me?”
Engel frowned and tilted his head slightly. “Heavens, no!” He promptly replied, “What on earth makes you even think so?”
“Well, I was just thinkin’ about that old man back there…”
“…You mean, Mr. Rogers?” Checked Royce.
“Yes, him,” Clementine continued, “He spent a good deal of time starin’ at me, almost like he was takin’ my dress off.” Her voice lowered as she went on, “and I think I kind of LIKED it, because I got to feelin’ tingly and queasy, all at the same time, like when Poppa, or you, rub on me, you know?”
“Did Rogers touch you?” Royce asked. “When I was in the house on the telephone?”
“No, he just looked at me,” Clementine answered, “But, I saw his thing gettin’ big in his jeans.” Her fingernails dug into Engel’s denim-clad thigh as she spoke. “And I caught myself wonderin’ what it looked like and how it would… you know… FEEL.”
“So,” Royce inquired, “Did you touch HIM, then?”
“NO, No, no,” Clementine protested. “I only wondered… but he’s so old lookin’… I bet he’s eighty years old if he’s a day… and I got to thinkin’ somethin’ must be WRONG with me to want to…” She hung her head and did not finish her sentence.
Royce risked driving with one hand and lifted his right arm from the steering wheel. Dropping it over Clementine’s head he drew her body into his with his crooked elbow and gently stroked her long flaxen hair. “Oh, kiddo,” he consoled. “There’s nothing wrong with you at all. You’re young. You been awakened to your womanly needs. Your Poppa has shown you a thing or two since your birthday last month, and you and I had fun, in your room and the hot spring…”
“When we fucked,” Clementine interrupted, using the language her parents had taught her, “and this mornin’, TOO, don’t forget!”
“Yes, and this morning,” Royce agreed, “I haven’t forgotten. But, what I MEAN is that you have not had a lot of experience and it is just natural for you to think of… well, …fucking. Given all its newness to you, that is.” He squeezed her body and felt her heartbeat through his ribs as her full left breast compressed against his side. “We’re going to work on when, where and how, kiddo, but in the meantime, don’t fret about these thoughts.”
Clementine kissed Royce’s cheek. “I like when you call me ‘kiddo,'” She said quietly. “Momma and Poppa call me ‘Clemmy’ or ‘honey’ or ‘Darlin’. You’ve been usin’ my whole name… but ‘kiddo’ is real nice.”
“Clementine is a beautiful name for a beautiful young woman,” Engel said, withdrawing his arm and returning to cautious driving as he saw a car approaching. “I don’t know why I said ‘kiddo’ just now, but I’m glad you didn’t mind… maybe I’ll find other little names for you, too.” He added cryptically. Clementine purred as she rested her face on Engel’s flannel shirt and idly scratched higher on the inside of his thigh. Then, turning around, she slid to the passenger window and silently watched the modern world whizz by.
Forty minutes later Engel drove the Plymouth into a downtown Denver garage near the GLQ offices. “Good Evenin’, Mr. Engel,” said a tall black man in khaki overalls and a leather newsboy hat.
“Hello, Jamison.” Royce greeted the parking attendant through the sedan’s rolled down window. “She’s a little dirty,” he said, pointing his head to the car’s patina of dust and grit, “Give her a thorough going over on the wash rack, would you please?”
“Yessuh, Mr. Engel,” Jamison replied, “Spick ‘n’ span. You fixin’ to take her again this evenin’?”
Royce briefly regarded Clementine beside him and thought, “Absolutely!” before he answered Jamison aloud. “No, but I can’t speak for anyone else at GLQ… Try to get to it right away, will you?”
“Yessuh, Mr. Engel,” Jamison said, “Jes’ leave it there an’ I’ll get right on it.” He eyed Clementine carefully, but discreetly, as Engel exited the sedan and she slid along the seat and got out behind him. Quite a bit of creamy white thigh flashed under her seersucker dress’ hem.
“By the way, you got any jimmies?” Royce asked the garage man casually, but in a low voice.
“Oh, yessuh, Mr. Engel, you Fulya Escort know I do,” Jamison replied. He grinned broadly, showing an expanse of white teeth and a gaping hole where he was missing an incisor. “In fact, I jes’ loaded up yesterday… You know how Mr. Greene, he like to celebrate the holidays!” He gave a belly laugh and asked, “How many you want?”
“A dozen will do,” Engel answered, fishing a five-dollar bill from his wallet. “Trojans? You had Sheiks last time…”
“Yessuh, Mr. Engel,” Jamison nodded, “Pharmacy was low an’ I had to get them Sheiks. Got plenty of Trojans now, though.” He stepped into the nearby office, opened a cabinet and returned with four red tin boxes. “Here, you go, Mr. Engel,” he said handing the condoms over. He maintained a poker face as he sized up Clementine in full, imagining how fine her titties and pussy must be. “Happy 4th of July!”
“Thanks, Jamison. You too,” Royce returned. He guided Clementine by her waist to the Plymouth’s rear, opened the trunk and retrieved her burlap-and-leather valise along with his own packed leather courier bag.
The black man’s hand strayed to his groin and rested on his hardening dick, holding it down against its will, while he watched Clementine’s ass float enticingly under her dress as she and Engel strolled from the garage out to the street. “Unh, uhn, uhn,” Jamison muttered under his breath, “Don’ know if a dozen would do me if I was left on my own with THAT piece of chicken.” Shaking his head at his insight, he slid behind the Plymouth’s steering wheel and drove to the wash rack.
Royce and Clementine walked a half-block to Tremont, arriving just in time to catch a streetcar. This dropped them, a few minutes later, at the great triangular red granite ediface of The Brown Palace, built specifically to eclipse, in all ways, the fancy Oxford Hotel which had snubbed Mr. Brown by not allowing him to register because of his rough apparel.
Clementine, still agog at the sights, sounds and smells of the big city, had not recovered from the excitement of the electric trolley ride when she and Engel stepped into the vast, elaborately furnished atrium lobby of Mr. Brown’s palatial inn. Abundant wealth announced itself at every turn of her head. She felt faint and fanned her hand before her face. Royce reached his arm around her and snugged her close as the doorman signaled a bellhop to carry their two small, light pieces of luggage. “Steady, Clementine,” he whispered in her left ear, “It’s really just another cavern.” He was glad to see her smile wanly at his jest.
At the desk, the night auditor beamed pleasantly as he said, “Welcome back, Mr. Engel. Your suite is prepared. Will you want dinner sent up directly?”
Royce pulled his watch from his jeans, snapped open its cover and replied, “Give us an hour to get our trail dust off, Harris. Send the dinner at 8 and the dessert at 8:30, please.”
“Very good, sir,” Harris agreed with a nod, jotting down the times so as not to forget. Greene, Lester and Quill maintained a permanent suite for out-of-town clients, private meetings and diverse entertainment. The law firm was very influential and worthy of the exacting customer service its partners expected.
On the seventh floor, while the bellboy attended to opening the suite and depositing the bags, Clementine leaned out over the railing and looked, first two stories up to the stained glass atrium ceiling and then straight down to the lobby they had just left. She felt woozy. When the boy was gone, with his silver dollar tip, Royce espied the girl bent over the iron. He stepped behind her, pressing his quads to her hams, and cinched her waist in his strong hands. “I’ve got you,” he said huskily. “What do you think of the place?”
Clementine straightened and turned in Royce’s arms, her butt backed to the rail. “Oh,” she began, “it’s… I can’t say!… Fantastic doesn’t describe… OH!” She leaned into Engel and seized his back as tightly as she could, laminating herself to his front. “I think I have to lay down!” She gasped into his flannel shirt.
Royce, with spontaneous gallantry, bent his knees and scooped Clementine into his arms. Crossing into the suite, he smiled as he analogized the gift of Dodger and Morris to a dowry and now, here he was, carrying his prize ‘bride’ over the threshold for the honeymoon. He kissed Clementine sweetly and placed her on a silk embroidered mahogany lounge. “Sit and catch your breath, my pet,” he said softly, “While I draw a bath.”
Royce reappeared after a few minutes, naked but for a fluffy white towel wrapped toga-style around his lean waist. When he beckoned Clementine off the chaise she rose and went with him back into the large marble and tile bathroom, already beginning to steam up from the hot water running in the outsized claw-foot porcelain tub. “What is THAT?” She exclaimed pointing to billowing white suds threatening to foam over the rim.
Engel shut off the taps Fulya Escort Bayan and chuckled. “Bubble bath salts, from Paris, France,” he answered, stepping back from the tub and standing behind the teen. “You’re going to love them.” He ran his hands up the outside of Clementine’s legs, catching the hem of her sundress in the webbing between his thumbs and fingers, inverting the seersucker as he continued along her waist, past her bust and then lifted the garment over her head while she raised her arms. Lowering his hands he cupped her perfect upright breasts and kissed her neck. “Bloomers next, kiddo,” he directed and gently palped her tits, encouraging her nipples to spring from their puffed platforms, while she untied the drawstring and pushed her knickers over her thighs.
“Nnuuhhhnn,” Clementine moaned through her partly open lips. “You make me WIGGLE so, when you hold and rub me.”
“Well step into the bath and lay back,” Royce buzzed, “We’ll see how much you can wiggle.” He released her boobs and held her by her elbow and shoulder as she climbed into the airy white blanket and sank slowly until only her pale yellow hair, round sweet face, pink-brown nipples and creamy knees peeked through the perfumed peaks covering the water’s surface.
“Ooooohh, this IS nice, Royce,” Clementine cooed. “And it smells so sweet and pretty. I feel like I am in a high meadow just layin’ in the warm sun and lookin’ up at fluffy clouds!”
Engel sat on a small stool at the end of the tub, above Clementine’s head. His fat hard cock had pushed its way through the flapping vent of his toga towel and bumped its engorged velvet nose against the cool porcelain. He leaned forward and slipped his hands through the bubbles. His fingers and palms slid over Clementine’s slick globes until, once again, he was holding her the way she liked and teasing her the way he liked.
Clementine’s moans became sighs and then gasping pants as Royce sucked an exposed earlobe while he tugged and twisted her proud nubbins. She braced her feet on the tub wall, beside the taps and spout, and pushed. Her bottom slid, squeaking, along the tub as she rose to a seated position. Clementine grabbed Royce’s hands and crushed her bosom against his strong palms. She licked her lips and rolled her head, tickling his nose with her hair as her ear pulled away from his mouth.
Royce leaned further over her face and kissed her upside down. She groaned through his lips and began stirring her hips underwater. Twisting her neck she broke the kiss and exclaimed, “OH! I’m TOO wiggly! I need you… INSIDE… Oh PLEASE, Royce!… FUCK me!”
Engel was feeling his own pressure and was happy to hear her ecstatic plea. “Just a second, pet,” he whispered, “There’s something I want you to see.” He stood from the stool, flag waving, and grabbed an un-banded jimmy that was laying ready on a washcloth on the black marble bath counter. He stepped into the tub, steadying himself on its rim, and straddled Clementine’s shins. She looked up and grinned at his rigid sleek cock. His central vein was distended and his heavy nuts swung in their hairy hammock.
“What do you have in your hands?” Clementine asked, reaching from the suds, beseeching a closer look at the condom. “Is that a button?”
Royce held the circular rolled-up rubber by its collar and showed it to Clementine. He smiled and said, “This is a ‘Jimmy’ and when I put it on…” He shoved his cock’s head into the center of the ring and rolled it down his shaft until his long stiff dick was almost entirely covered by the translucent, flesh-colored, rubber sheath. “It gives us ANOTHER way to fuck… ANYtime… even on your Baby Board’s danger days, and not have a worry about getting you in a family way.” He double-checked, while he talked, that the Trojan was secure and then knelt in the water, seeking Clementine’s hips with his hands.
“Oh, REALLY?” Clementine was uncertain yet, at the same time, excited at the prospect. She raised her hands to the tub’s edge and held herself in place while she spread her knees, lifting her calves out of the water, over the tub rim, and opening her aching waiting cunt below the surface, out of sight but far from out of mind. “SHOW me! OH, Pleeeese, SHOW me NOW!” She cried, anxiously agitated.
Royce had no trouble targeting and quickly buried his wrapped bone in Clementine’s quivering quim. He ducked his left forearm behind her neck for a pillow and pressed his hard flat chest against her soft full tits. His right elbow conformed to Clementine’s waist and he slid his palm under her bottom as it bounced up to meet his dick. “Hyunh!” he grunted with each forward thrust.
Clementine’s hands abandoned the tub and clawed into Engel’s back, forcing him onto her, into her, through her. “YUUUUNNN!” She cried, then bit Royce’s shoulder before finding his mouth and mashing her lips to his, stifling further screams as her first orgasm sent out its shock waves.
Royce, pent Escort Fulya up and frustrated from a long day’s exposure to Clementine’s seemingly endless, unconciously natural, sultry teasing, worked hard to sustain his energy and delay his delivery. When he Clementine twerked her ass and dug her nails anew into his lats, he was sure she had climaxed a second time. He rammed her hard and cried around her dancing tongue as his exploding nuts spent themselves. His confused seed pooled at the end of the condom, uselessly trapped between the rubber barrier and the spurting slit in his charged helmet.
Clementine spluttered as her crisis passed and she slid along the tub’s slope, splashing sudsy water up her nose. Royce pulled out and pulled up, hauling the young girl above the slosh. He wiped the bubbles away and planted a warm soft kiss on her lush lips, tasting the slightly acrid lavender froth without minding.
“Oh, ROYCE!” Clementine exclaimed, hugging his neck and rocking forward and back, rubbing her still aroused tits across his chest. “Did it WORK?” She asked, as her breath returned to normal.
Engel reared back and said, “That’s always a good question, kiddo. Let’s take a look.” He stood, suds cascading down his muscled thighs, and pointed to his cock, still hard and still encased in the French envelope, but with a great puddle of semen bouncing in the stretched end.
Clementine touched the bag of spunk and laughed. “You look all deformed!” She blurted out and laughed again. Closing her hand around Royce’s penis she explored the unusual texture and squeezed her way from rim to root. The dick jumped and the cum hopped. “Oh MY!” She exclaimed. “I don’t think you’re done!”
Royce pulled Clementine to her feet. “Pull it off,” he growled, low in his throat. “You can put on a new one and we’ll fuck again.”
They vacated the tub and Royce pointed to the scattered tins on the black marble counter. “Pop one open, take off the paper and the band, and show me you were paying attention to my demonstration,” he directed, turning Clementine around. She followed his instructions perfectly, giggling as she felt his cock swell and throb in her hands beneath the sheath as she unrolled it.
“There!” Clementine declared, tilting her chin and kissing Royce lightly. “The jimmy’s on your thing!”
“It certainly is,” Royce agreed, quickly spinning Clementine around again and bending her over the counter. With his left hand firmly on her neck, he held her face sideways against a folded fresh towel while he nudged her thighs apart with his knees. Scooting up close to her tidy round buttocks, he drove his sword in its scabbard into her slick slit and ran his right hand along her tummy and between the marble and her mashed mounds.
“UUUHHNNN!” Clementine yelped, in surprise rather than pain, at the sudden insertion. Fixed in place, she concentrated on flexing her kegel muscles and hugging the trespasser as a welcome friend. She closed her eyes and listened to Royce’s urgent grunts and groans as he pumped her. Her body responded much the same as when she faced him and soon she was grinding her pelvis and dancing her legs as her familiar tension wound up.
Royce’s right hand, pancaked between Clementine’s hot left tit and the suite’s cold marble counter, depressed her stiff indented nipple into her flattened areola as he lunged and retreated, resolved to take her over the edge once more before he lost control. His left hand felt her increasing strenuous efforts to shake free and he heard her squeak and yip as his cock pounded into her pussy and his balls slapped her thighs. When he could no longer hold back he yelled “AAARRRGGH!” and crunched his cock deep into her well. He felt himself pop and pulse.
Clementine jammed her chin onto the towel and sucked the heavy terrycloth when Royce slammed her with his final lunge. Her agony broke and she came a third time around Engel’s solid stalk, chewing the cloth and squeezing her deliciously tortured twat, holding her tormenter in for as long as possible.
Royce draped over the shivering, wet and exhausted young girl until he was sure her orgasm had passed, then he carefully withdrew his quickly softening penis from her flayed gash. He was greatly relieved to see the Trojan was still in place and none of his jism had broken through or leaked. He peeled the prophylactic away and dangled it in the air. “There’s another half-ounce that won’t cause any trouble, Clementine,” He announced with a chuckle.
Clementine stood, turned around and looked at the drooping rubber. “That’s good, I guess…” she said, vaguely disappointed that she could not see any grey greasy gobs oozing from her plump tender cunt such as she had seen that morning in the tack room of The Cavern Mine lean-to. She took the used condom from Engel’s hand and flipped it into the nearby wastebasket where it fell on top of its equally filled brother. “But I have to admit I like how you feel right now, better,” she said. She stroked Royce’s thick shrunken prick and withered nuts with her small left hand, softly rubbed his cheek with her right and brushed her ruby lips over his mouth in a fast kiss.
Just then there was a loud knock and a muffled voice called, “Room Service!”
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