Message-ID: <20446eli$9903090504@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: sweets1140@aol.com (Sweets1140) Subject: Sweets at School, part five (M/f, ws, ped, mc) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <19990308202706.12159.00005781@ng-fq1.aol.com> Sweets at School, part five Sweets remembered the heft of it days later during class. Looking out the window when the mowing sound came, she conjured the tree he splashed on and saw the pattern. The arc it made amazed her; his words into her ears like buzzing of bees who would not sting, but sing of things she could not see. She recalled the smell of his sweat and the dampness of his chest and back; a wondrous sight returned. She was holding him while he performed for her. Her smile caused Sister Alphonsa to say, daydreaming are we? which woke her with a start. She looked down at the history book and the letters danced in a foreign language of some sort. After class, she headed straight for the gardener's cottage. Setting down her book bag on the porch, she knocked softly. No answer. She knocked again and heard, who is it? from a voice not his, then realized his father who he had mentioned was here--the one to be quiet for when she came here before. She said, my name is Sweets and I am here to see... It dawned on her she did not know his name! Good heavens, what could she say? "The gardener" came out of her mouth as the door opened. He was shorter than his son, compact and sturdy-strong. His large hands were darker than his son's hands, but shaped the same. His eyes were blue to her surprise, his whiskers white, but golden as if the sun stuck there before he went inside his house to welcome her. His hair seemed to be softer than his son's appeared. Backlit in the doorway, he seemed to have a halo like the holy card guys. He smiled and she felt at ease at once for some odd reason. Sweets, he said slowly, please, come in. She hesitated then crossed the threshold saying, I left my bag outside. That's fine, said he. Would you like some tea or do you prefer lemonade? Tea's good, said she. She followed him to the kitchen where he put another cup on the table. He took the glazed pot from the back of the stove and set it on a tile in the middle, then asked, how do you take your tea, Sweets? Milk and sugar in the first cup, if it is strong, then plain after hot water is added to what's steeped, she said. Good, he said, it's the same for me. The clock ticked and the pendulum swung slowly back and forth as he poured and mixed their tea. It was very quiet here. No sound broke the silence until they sipped and slurped, then laughed together. "My son's mother was Greek, you know" he began speaking as if he read her mind while she looked at his ruddy complexion graced with fine lines and capped with his silver-gold halo. "She died when he was young and I raised him alone" he continued. I have taken a fall and he is here to help me until I recover, he said. The cast came off last week and here we are, Sweets, just the two of us while I heal. How is your tea, Sweets? Just the way I like it, she said. What broke? My ankle, the left one, would you like to see it? Yes, said Sweets, I would. He raised his pant leg and pushed down his sock, then hoisted his foot from the floor. Sweets studied the pink-purple scar then touched it. You have the touch of a feather, Sweets, did you know that? Is it sore, she asked, does it hurt? No, darlin' it does not hurt, that feels good, please do it again, he said in a voice so like his son's that she paused. Sweets felt something seeping as she reached her fingers to stroke the scar. This was good, it had an edge and a puckered part that reminded her of... He spoke almost in a whisper, yes, it does, doesn't it? She knew he read her mind and pulled her hand back too fast, but not fast enough, he caught it and moved it toward his scar with strength she sensed she liked. I saw you, Sweets, he said, I watched. Sweets blushed and felt the squirt before she wriggled on the seat she thought would be wet when she stood up. It felt nice. He felt nice, she wanted to pour and trickle for the pleasure of it. She wanted to sit on his lap, she wanted... I know, I know, he said, I can tell, I know about you. Sweets mouth went dry. You know, you know about me? Yes, I do. Come sit on my lap, he said as his foot fell to the floor. He patted his thighs as he slid back his chair. Come here, Sweets, come, right here. As Sweets rose from her chair, she felt her skirt sticking and hoped she had not leaked on the plastic. She turned and backed up onto his lap so easily she forgot she could be wet, then said, maybe, I am wet or something.... He said, that is all right, Sweets, as his arms went around her. Seated, she leaned back and felt his soft hair near her face. The clock ticked, the room was very quiet as his hands lifted her dress and his fingers found her damp panties and patted them. You have a pretty bottom, here, Sweets, don't you? Yes, she said, I think so, but I leak sometimes... That's good, he said, I like bottoms that leak. You do, she asked and half turned to face him, you do? Of course, Sweets, all older men do. Does your father touch you here? Oh, no, said Sweets, even when I sit on his lap which he does not let me do anymore. Do you want him to, he asked, do you want him to feel this? His fingers stroked the plump cushions he found around the wet spot and Sweets groaned... if you do that then, I will have to go... Sweets leaned into the stroking fingers because she could not help herself, it felt so good. His fingers grew firm somehow and as he pressed and rubbed. She pressed and rubbed them back. He whispered, good girl, you like that? You want some more? Sweets nodded because she could not speak, it was like being suspended in mid-air by his finger tips moving and rubbing the swelling and calling out for her to wet on them and she did. She felt the flow from bubbles bursting where her buttom touched his legs. He stroked and pressed and she stroked and pressed against his fingers while he cooed into her ear. The phone rang. He did not move to answer it. It rang again and again. Sweets said, don't you have to answer that? He said, no, Sweets, not now-- let it ring. I want some more of this, let it ring. Sweets slid off his lap and looked at him. His mouth was open, his eyes seemed glazed. Fingers still curled looked so empty that she almost hopped back onto his lap. Instead she said, I can come back another day, if you want. I want, he said, I want. He looked so pretty, almost like a golden Santa Claus, she felt an urge to kiss him. She did. Her kiss on his cheek made him smile. She liked that smile. I have to go, now, but I will come back. You promise? Yes, I promise. With that she left, her school bag over one shoulder, her thighs sliding past each other as she walked fast across the clearing so her dress would dry. Sweets at School, part five swe399c.txt -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----