acquaintance
Although I knew I was meeting a young guy who had just turned 18, I still hoped he would be as physically underdeveloped as possible. So, when I saw behind Alexander Vladimirovich a boy of average height, skinny, wearing glasses, I sighed with relief and, smiling warmly, immediately felt in control of the situation. As far as I could judge people, I shouldn't have any problems with this schoolboy, but I had some doubts about his mother's promises of generous compensation. Alexander Vladimirovich, with paternal warmth, grandly introduced us to each other.
"— Lena, Lenochka, meet Timofey,"—
he said.
"— Hello,"—
I, picking up the hem of my dress and performing a light curtsy, sang in a velvety voice.
"— Very pleased to meet you,"—
Of course, I found nothing pleasant in this delicate creature, and if it weren't for Alexander Vladimirovich's obvious paternal affection, I wouldn't have thought this was his little son. Probably, the boy took after his mother in looks, and although you couldn't call him handsome, upon calm, impartial consideration, you could agree he looked quite decent. Thick black hair framed his pale, slightly elongated face, on which his plump, seemingly smacking lips stood out particularly, and his wary, attentive gaze seemed to hide behind the lenses of his round glasses.
As I understood, I had absolutely no reason to fear any trouble from him, and already looking at the fidgeting teenager with sympathy, I thought the guy had a very strange, old-fashioned name.
Repeating the sound of it to myself in various ways, I concluded that if the youth looked older and more manly, you could address him as Tim or Timothy, but with his harmless, plump face, a childishly condescending little name like Timosha just begged to be used. It also occurred to me that Alexander Vladimirovich was probably not worried out of protective jealousy; more likely, he was concerned that after this meeting, I, through his feeble son, would respect him less. And apparently from these fussy worries, Alexander Vladimirovich quickly made ready to leave and, as a parting instruction, tried to suggest something to his shaggy offspring.
"— Timofey, see Lena to your room, and …,"— here he hesitated and, completely flustered, mumbled weakly, — "I need to go."—
Perhaps Tim would have figured out what to offer me himself, but following daddy's instruction, he immediately extended his palm, inviting me with a timid smile to go to his room. I liked that the guy kept looking at me admiringly for a long time, and it seemed that in this youthful admiration, he was beginning to feel more and more confident.
The small room I entered was furnished in the style of the apartment's light interior, and because of the minor clutter, it looked a bit cozier. Approaching the desk, Timofey began rummaging through the desktop mess, and I, having looked around with dignity, importantly settled into a soft armchair. Looking at the teenager's slightly hunched back, I thought the guy was unlikely capable of independent initiative, and, not wanting to linger here long, decided to quickly deal with this chaste simpleton.
"— Timofey,"— I tried to give my voice that respectful demanding tone with which self-assured teachers address their exemplary pupils.— "You do know what we're supposed to work on."—
With a flash of an admiring look, Tim meekly nodded and buried himself in his trinkets again.
"— Papa said,"— I pronounced these words with such familial warmth, as if we had the same daddy.— "that you prepared a gift for me."—
Tim, turning with some agitation, nodded in agreement, and it seemed to me that the boy's state somewhat resembled my nervous tension during night duty. Remembering how shamelessly and casually Anfisa Stepanovna treated me, I thought that some imitation of her imperious manners wouldn't hurt me at all, and since there was no need to frighten the already timid youth further, I exclaimed joyfully.
"— Well then, let's have it,"—
Perhaps my artless directness was more conducive to communication than coquettish pleasantries and playful hints. After this urging, Timosha, it seemed, for the first time let his gaze slide over my legs and, opening a small box, impulsively handed it to me.
"— So, what do we have here,"— as if checking homework, I pulled out a stack of money and began counting it.
Having gone through the bills, I mentally rounded up the amount and, doubting the correctness, decided to count the money again. Timofey, it seemed, watched my confusion not without pleasure, and in response to my distractedly surprised look, proudly lifted his nose.
The sum was so large that it more than doubled my monthly salary. At first, I wanted to guess how much money was due to me, then I thought that perhaps Tim had deliberately slipped all his savings to show off, then I supposed that maybe his daddy had contributed the larger part of this gift.
In the confusion of the overwhelming possibilities, a bold little thought suddenly dawned on me: maybe all the money was intended for me. Indeed, if Timofey casually presents me with such huge sums, then most likely this is only part of his reserves, whereas Alexander Vladimirovich could well have shelled out and tried to settle with me in this hidden way. Having finally decided that all this money was due to me and only me, I still asked again.
"— Not sorry?"— unexpectedly, my voice squeaked, as if it were me, not Tim, parting with such a large sum. Noticing my confusion, Timofey smugly put on airs and, it seemed, in his budding generosity, would easily have forked over twice as much. His sincere indifference to such an amount of money impressed me so much that all my arrogance and sense of superiority vanished as if by magic.
After all, no matter how you look at it, what can I possibly amaze or show this boy who parts with such a pile of money without any regret? And although outwardly Timofey still looked like the most ordinary boy, from this gift onward, he immediately appeared as a young gentleman worthy of all respect.
Weighing the stack of money once more, I thought it was quite good that the guy had such adult notions, because if an acquaintance begins with gratitude and respect, then further communication should imply mutual trust and reciprocal gratitude. Selecting a bill of medium denomination, I, with an air of gracious donation, shoved it back into the box, and carefully placed the rest of the money into my purse.
After the formalities of our mutually beneficial communication were settled, I had no choice but to proceed to the practical side of intimate instruction. Since my initial fervor to show off had noticeably subsided, I slipped into the role of an impassive, obedient doll, already familiar to me. Rising from the armchair, I, with wanton simplicity, jokingly inquired.
"— As I understand it, this is our little bed."—
Noticing the change in my mood, my subdued arrogance, Timosha perked up and, in anticipation of unknown sensations, blushed like a poppy. I also liked that when I started undressing, Tim didn't stare at me like his daddy did, but only glanced sideways, stealthily, in my direction. I, for my part, tried to ensure that even these brief glances were enough for him to get the best possible view of all my charms.
At first, I wanted to strip completely naked, but towards the end of my artistic undressing, I decided that a garter belt and lace stockings would make a more erotic impression on the boy. And, as if continuing this striptease performance, with the air of a habitual female duty, I threw back the blanket and, with languid slowness, lay down on the white sheets. Seeing that Timofey still sat with his head down and didn't move, I looked at him with a note of indignation.
"— Well, what are you doing, how long should I wait?"—
Tim, startled, quickly shed his clothes and, approaching the bed, didn't take his admiring eyes off me. When he started climbing onto the bed, I had to pull him up again with the sweetest smile.
"— And your underpants, take off your underpants too."— and, giggling, I instructively remarked,— "You won't need your glasses either."—
Left with nothing, Timosha somehow hunched over, and when he started crawling in, I, lifting my leg, as if warningly, stopped him. Now I could gaze my fill at the naked teenager kneeling. And as I noticed, without clothes, Timofey didn't look skinny at all, but quite well-developed, though without particular musculature, a youth of proper build.
I liked that Tim didn't cover up his protruding, medium-sized cucumber, a quite functional organ. Lifting my leg, I lightly touched the plump little scrotum with my fingertips. From my cautious touch, Timofey jerked as if from an electric shock, and I, frowning, barely restrained an angry shout. Really, he dares to jerk; daddy groped me all over, and he, well, he can endure a little.
As I understood, we were in no hurry, and the weightiness of the monetary reward implied at least some duration to our educational communication. So, lifting my leg higher, I lightly pressed the tensely protruding cucumber with my entire calf. Apparently purely reflexively, Timofey grabbed my calf, but since I was pressing only very lightly, he didn't restrain my massaging movements. From these gentle probings and my sweet smiles, Timofey soon began to smile himself.
And so, playing with the swollen tip of the hardening cucumber, I was already thinking about how best to proceed to the instructional act, when suddenly, a hot stream spurted onto my playful fingers. From the surprise of such a devastating effect, I almost went numb.
"— What did you do,"— my voice trembled with indignant fright,— "what have you done?"—
"— What?"— in complete ignorance, or perhaps in sweet satisfaction, Timosha whispered. Feverishly pondering the fact of what had happened, I, of course, couldn't immediately explain how catastrophic the consequences of such an unforeseen disruption could be. In annoyance at such a hasty finish, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
"— Look, you've soiled the whole stocking."—
"— I'll wipe it, I'll wipe it now."— in blissful contentment, Timofey already reached for the blanket, but I flared up in outraged indignation.
"— Wipe what? Lick it off, come on,"— and with a contemptuous reproach, I whined,— "well, really, to mess up like that."—
To my angry exclamations, Timofey, strangely enough, very carefully lifted my leg and, smacking his plump little lips, began to genuinely savor the viscous stickiness. In my sorrowful annoyance at Timoshka's weakness, I didn't even notice with what diligent effort this hapless simpleton began fussing with my leg. I was overwhelmed by the most burdensome thoughts, because if Timofey couldn't continue our intimate communication, then in all fairness, I would have to return most of the money.
Of course, if one had no conscience and got brazen, one could grab all the money, as if for nothing. I could also try to stimulate Tim, as Anfisa Stepanovna did, though after that, I would look like the lowest whore. And so, in this gloomy depression of an inevitable choice, I didn't notice how Timofey, having thoroughly licked all my fingers, ran his lips along my calf and, going lower and lower, had already begun kissing the skin below the stocking.
This slightly amused me; what a scamp, found something to do, and since dragging out time wasn't a bad idea, I decided to let him at least kiss to his heart's content. Whether Timofey wanted to show he was capable of something, or he got a taste for it and could no longer control the pull of the flesh, but soon the nimble little fellow buried himself right in the silky hairiness of my pubis.