“I want to taste your sweat,” she said as her tongue licked a path down to my belly button.
“I want to smell your musk.” She took a deep breath, which made her breasts rise so that her nipples brushed against my thighs.
“And I want to hear your voice.” She was now kneeling in front of me. Her hands on my ass. Her boobs just inches away from my cock.”
“While we explore each other’s bodies, I want you to talk to me.”
One of her hard nipples brushed against my straining cock.
“Tell me what you did yesterday -”
Her tongue wetting my tiny slit.
“- and your plans for tomorrow.”
She enveloped my cock between her boobs so that only my tip was in view.
“Tell me your dreams young prince. Tell me where you’ve been and where you want to go.”
She pressed her tits around my erection with her hands and plunged my cock deep into her valley of flesh.
“Tell me who you are so I may best continue your education.”
I did. I opened my mouth and words spewed out. And as long as I kept talking, she continued to fuck me with her boobs.
Three or four minutes was as long as my eighteen-year-old cock could last sliding between Mrs. Bancroft’s marvelous tits. When I gushed a quart of cum over her chest and chin, I was sure my lesson was over. But to my great surprise and delight, she pulled a washcloth out of nowhere, cleaned herself up and said, “tell me about your parents,” just before she took me into her mouth.
Somewhere, deep in my subconscious, a little voice was saying “don’t tell this woman – who you’ve known for less than a day – all of our family secrets.” But the odds of a teenaged boy listening to the voice of reason while receiving his first blow job are up there with those of a blizzard on the sun.
So, I might have mentioned that my parents were agents working undercover for the US Government as her tonsils tickled my tip and her tongue massaged my shaft. And when she spat my now super hardened dick out of her mouth, pushed me onto the bed and mounted me like a gymnast on a pommel, I continued my traitorous monologue. She moaned in pleasure as I listed all the places we had ever lived or visited. She told me I was better in bed than any man she had ever been with, right after I told her who my parents hung out with and where my only friend on this earth lived. No secret was sacrosanct. As long as her pussy pleasured my penis, I was a veritable Google of classified information.
In retrospect, she played me like a concert pianist, extracting every note of useful knowledge my mind contained before she finally let my body have the release it so desperately needed. And when she was done with me… after I whitewashed her womb with enough spunk to drown a small animal… she reached up, gave me a kiss on the lips and said, “clean yourself up and get dressed. We need to have a little talk with your father.”
Shit. That can’t be good. She’s going to say I raped her and then blackmail us into paying her a huge sum of money. Or maybe she’s a Russian agent and plans to force my parents into working for the other side.
Fifteen minutes later, we were both properly dressed and sitting with Dad in his den.
“How did he do?” Dad asked Mrs. Bancroft.
“Not well,” she answered. “I spent less than an hour with the boy and have enough information to get you and your wife permanent residence in a Siberian Gulag.”
“That bad?” he asked.
Mrs. Bancroft answered by detailing all the incriminating things I told her.
Dad looked over at me and I could tell I was in deep shit, but before he could say anything, Mrs. B came to my rescue.
“I wouldn’t be too hard on the lad. You did tell him that I was to be his tutor and all his previous instructors were cleared by the Company, so he naturally opened up. He reacted like we would expect of any young man of his age, and considering the interrogation technique used, I’d wager several of our experienced agents would have also cracked under the pressure… albeit not quite as quickly.”
Dad let out a heavy sigh. “I guess we have no other choice. Considering what happened tonight, is your offer still on the table?”
“It will be my pleasure,” Mrs. Bancroft said. “Despite what happened upstairs, I believe the boy has great potential. He has a sharp mind and certainly possesses the physical tools. Give me a year with him and I think you’ll be surprised with his progress.”
“Uh, Dad,” I said, interrupting the conversation. “What are you two talking about?”
“Son, I’m afraid I lied to you when I said Mrs. Bancroft hasn’t been cleared by the Company. She has actually been with the Company for several years.”
“You were testing me?”
“Consider it more of a lesson than a test,” Mrs. B said. “What you told me upstairs could have ruined your parent’s careers and, more importantly, put many people in danger if those words drifted into the wrong ears. But now that you know what can happen, you will be less likely to do it again.”
“Son, your mother and I have talked about this and think it is best for all of us. As soon as Mrs. Bancroft finds a suitable place to live, you will move in with her. She will be your mentor. Her job is to fill in the gaps of your education and prepare you for a career with the Company. Please do whatever she asks with the knowledge that she has your best interests at heart.”