Ned Moore - Old men and?

He was realistic enough to know his looks and personality would not be attractive to a young woman. There seemed to be no way out of his dilemma.

Then he decided that if he couldn't have it for long, he could at least have his dreams come true for one night.

Harry had worked for years in a fringe area of the entertainment industry. He knew some people who knew people who could arrange things, for a price.

He paid the price and set up a tryst – with a sexy young prostitute and her sexy ten-year-old daughter.

It cost him over four hundred dollars. But he had something he could remember and tell about and relive in his mind… something he considered special.

And this is what happened:

He arrived at the big motel at five in the afternoon, bathed, shaved, dressed, had a fine dinner and returned to his room.

The mother-daughter team were due at seven-thirty. His wallet was heavy with cash and his overnight bag held some interesting items.

He was anxious as he waited. He was afraid and yet hoped nothing had gone wrong. He listened for steps on the concrete walk outside his room.

At seven-twenty-five there was a light rap on his door.

He swallowed and went to answer it.

The mother was breathtaking. She was as he had ordered – a young Sophia Loren type, with heavy breasts and solid, yet trim, hips. Her face was pure Latin; full-lipped, oval, with large dark eyes, an olive skin, long, flowing black hair. She hardly looked twenty years old to him.

She wore an expensive gray pants-suit, the newly "in" square-toed shoes, and a big, glittering wedding ring. Large silver shells dangled and swayed from three-inch silver chains from her ear-lobes. She carried a smart gray leather purse.

She smiled. "Hello. Are you Mr. Zelton?"

Harry nodded, dry-mouthed. His gaze shifted to the little girl standing beside the young woman, holding her mother's hand.

The child was just beginning to develop; small breasts punched out bulges in her white blouse and light green sweater. She was skinny, with a boy's hips. Her brown plaid miniskirt ended at mid-thigh; her legs were slim – almost bony.

The child looked up at him seriously, shrewdly, with liquid brown eyes. He was reminded of a Kean painting. Her black hair was drawn back into a simple ponytail, accenting her youth.

Harry's stomach was leaden and oily. He was sweating and breathing fast.

The lovely young woman said, "I'm Mrs. Marcia Smith. This is Corri, my daughter. We're here about the interview."

He couldn't speak. He stepped back and gestured them in. He closed the door. He regretted everything. He wanted out. He was positive he would never be able to get an erection now, even though earlier during his shower in his wild anticipation his penis had been sticking out like some kind of pink-white handle below his fat belly folds.

Then he remembered the pills he had in his bag – the stimulants, the aphrodisiacs to make him potent again and again. They were dangerous – hard on the heart and liver, the disreputable doctor had warned him. But once… well, for one night…

And there were the devices in the bag, top. The dildoes he had kept hidden for years, with his fantasies, and the specially designed vibrators from the erotic arts store, and the French ticklers to wear, and the penis extenders… because Harry wasn't well hung, barely five inches.

This time… this time, with this woman he wanted to go deep, and feel the bottom of her!

And there were secret, very secret, wishes and desires in the back of his mind… things he wanted to try with a little girl… things he wanted the mother and daughter to do to each other…

Harry thought himself a completely evil, dirty-minded man, and he didn't care. Not now. This one night there were to be no restraints.

The child, Corri, went to the TV and turned it on. She said to Harry, over her shoulder, "You don't look like you can go all night."

A smile twitched her mother's full-lipped mouth. "We must do our best for all our special friends, dear." Then Marcia smiled professionally and said to Harry, "But we have to have our fee, of course."

Harry blinked. "Down to business right away? Don't you want a drink first?" He waved at the bottles, ice bucket, and mixers on the wall table. That setup had cost him thirty dollars.

"We'll do whatever you like after you pay us. Until eight o'clock tomorrow morning we'll be yours to command. If you want us to get roaring drunk, we will."

"Well, I was just being sociable. I have the money…" He took out his money-thick wallet and counted out the twenties.

He had already paid a hundred dollars to the "agency." Now he was paying three hundred to these two.

And he didn't think he'd get an erection! His penis was as limp as a noodle.

The money went into the purse and the purse snapped shut.

Corri had flipped through the channels of the color set. She settled on an old Western. When she heard the purse shut, she said over the growling threats of a black-clad gunslinger, "I'll bet he wants you to suck him off first."

Harry was shocked at the child's language.

Marcia laughed. She put her arm around his waist. "I'll have that drink now, Mr. Zelton. What's your first name?" Her large breast pressed against his arm.

Harry told her. He liked the feel of her and her friendliness. He forgave Corri her unthinking, child's frankness. He mixed a drink for Marcia. For himself he made a weak one. Alcohol diminished a man's capacity.

Marcia kissed him on the cheek with drink-wet lips. "You want me to do anything now, Harry? You're a little bit afraid of us, aren't you? You're not used to situations like this, I can tell. I can tell. I know men like I know my own body."

She led him to the king-size bed. She sat and put her drink aside. She embraced and kissed him sensually.

Corri ignored them. She was absorbed in watching a shoot-out.

Marcia rubbed the impressive bulges of her breasts against him. "Would you like me to undress?"

He nodded. Some life was coming back into his loin. He asked, "Is the little girl… is Corri rosily your daughter?"

"Yes. I had her when I was thirteen. We get ripe young in our family. It won't be long for her now."

Corri half turned; she had been listening. "I'm never going to get pregnant."

Marcia smiled indulgently. "Famous last words, baby." She opened her suit top. She wore no bra or slip. Her flesh was dazzling – breasts like soft white cantaloupes, pale, blue-veined, with striations of barely visible stretch marks. And nipples… ah, Harry fell in love with those giant mouth-watering nipples – reddish purple, sticking out like boysenberries, as big as the last joint of his little finger, and set in wrinkled circles of brownish red areola.

Marcia was proud of her breasts. She had taken a deep breath to project them dramatically at their unveiling.

Corri said, watching with envy and contempt, "My mother the cow."

Marcia broadened her smile as Harry stared and extended a shaking hand to touch one of the soft, round globes. She said to him, "They're yours now, Harry." To Corri she said, "These are in your genes, baby. Another year and you'll be sticking out pretty good."

Harry leaned forward and kissed the warm, soft, perfumed flesh. He closed his lips on one of the protruding nipples. He closed his eyes and sucked happily. His hands cupped the weight of the breast and lifted it slightly. He pressed his face into the smooth white flesh. His penis grew in his pants.

Marcia made happy, pleasurable sounds. "Do what you want, Harry. That's good, I like men who suck me like that… ohhh… yes…" She sank back on the bed. Her arms held him close. He followed, continuing to suck. His tension drained away slowly. Her nipples were so satisfying.