Miss Vickie's Favorite Cutomer

He noticed that, of course; decreased need for a toothpick after cunnilingus. True to form, he didn't thank me. Alone in modern America, I was itching to go to work on Monday morning.

* * *

It was back to yoga pants, a grey pair. Lyle tells me the difference between black and grey lycra is an important distinction, visibility-wise, and I can't disagree. Black is sexy but still demure; dark grey is still acceptable, but with a bit of added spice; light grey is flat-out slutty. It shows everything. It is strictly against policy at Auntie Petunia's Bright Gardens Daycare.

I would have no problem changing into a black pair after Mr Herrick left.

There was, of course, no possibility of even the scantiest underwear under the light grey, but I wasn't concerned about that. He seemed to like me without a bra, so I went ahead with that too; I chose my tightest tanktop, not even green, and impossible to pull down below my navel. I slung my handbag, complete with my full set of underwear and a baggier shirt, into my locker in the fetid little bathroom, dimmed the lights, and thought about how I wanted to be seen this morning.

In many ways, the planning was most of the fun. I was going to try for body contact this time, but there was a complication: a light snow was falling, so Mr Herrick would probably be wearing the faded red fleece he'd worn for years. He'd never been a man who believed in heavy coats. This was a good thing for me; I thought it'd be fun to maneuver him into touching me, and bulky clothing would not help. But he'd be eager to get on the road, not liking traffic.

6:25. I'd need to think quickly.

My eyes fell to the stove in the kitchenette, where Lynette made pizza rolls for the preschoolers' snack. If it was anything like the one up at Avery, it would be filthy and sticky inside, so I ran over to check; ha! Perfect. The inside of the oven was entirely black, and I dipped my hands into the char and wiped a smudge of it on my face, next to my left eye. I smeared a little more of it on my hips, trailed a hand across the front of my pants. On impulse, I looked down.

Holy shit.

I hadn't thought of this, but the sharp lines of my trimmed pubes stood out clearly against the thin grey cloth, and of course the soot I'd just wiped there highlighted everything. Well. I hadn't planned to be quite so obvious, but the man would certainly get a show.

6:28. Excited now, I perched my ass on the counter facing the oven and waited for the door tone.

6:29. No tone yet, but still early.

6:30. Same, but it was the first snow of the season; he'd be stuck in traffic.

6:31. At last, the door flew open, the bland chiming of the tone announcing Mr Herrick's arrival. I hopped down at once and opened the oven door with a loud slam.

"In here!" I said, bending way over. My pretext, weak as it was, would be me trying to free a stuck oven rack. I wrapped my fingers around the greasy steel and made like it wouldn't move. When he came to the kitchenette door, I knew, he'd get a full side profile of me, completely uninterrupted, from bare feet to bare neck. What was in between was hardly enough to count as clothing, and I was feeling extra sinewy today. I grunted at the oven. "Dammit!"

He showed up. I heard the feet stop, saw the capering little boy out of the corner of my eye, and heard him sigh. "Why, Vickie," he said, and was there a quiver of excitement there? Maybe? He had to know what I was doing, and he absolutely had to be enjoying it. He paused. "Quite a view."

Well now. I slowly pivoted my head, taking him in from foot to nose, still bent over. I waited a beat before I responded. "A gentleman would give me a hand here," I said evenly. "No pressure, though."

He chuckled. "You're a mess." But he came over anyway, right next to me, and put his left hand next to mine on the rack. I'd purposely spread my hands across it so that he would need to do something with his other hand, and I felt a thrill as he placed it calmly on my back. My lower back. Where the skin was. It felt hot and dry, the fingers splaying lightly across my flesh.

That hadn't taken long.

"Count of three," I rasped. He was right next to me, crowding me, my hip jammed against his thigh, so of course I didn't move. "One... two..." The hand on my back was a distraction, the thumb now stroking along my spine. "Three!" And I threw myself backward, not really caring how much damage I'd do when I landed, for I knew he'd be landing with me.

The rack cleared the oven with a shrieking, grinding crunch, clattering to the floor next to me. As we fell, I felt his hand tighten on my back, his body moving with mine as I landed hard on my butt. He came down on hands and knees, his left hand instinctively crossing my body to protect me, but instead winding up gripping me high on my right ribcage, my little breast lying along his thumb. A gentleman indeed.

"Holy shit," he said, looking wildly at me; his face was now just a couple of inches away. "Are you okay?"

Little Scotty looked on with a serious expression. "Miss Vickie fall down," he observed.

Okay? I was laughing hard, my whole body shaking. He wasn't making any attempt to move his hands, and as I sat there in his arms, his face RIGHT FUCKING THERE, I instinctively leaned in and pressed my laughing lips against his in a quick, happy kiss. His face showed shock, but then again that's what it had been showing already. He reacted to my kiss just as instinctively, by returning it; I pretended not to notice, but of course my pussy caught fire at once. I pulled back, knocking my head against the cabinet behind, and smiled indulgently at him.

Ball's in your court, Mr Herrick.

His reaction was cool, measured; he took a moment to recover, his hand still stroking my spine. "So, what," he said finally, his eyes twinkling. "What's that, fifteen bucks?"

"Fifteen!" I snorted indignantly. "That would make just forty to go from a kiss to an orgasm! No," I laughed, "the kiss is five. But I'd take another ten for the grope." I looked meaningfully down to where his left hand was now supporting my braless right tit. "I don't give my favors out for free." I was smiling, but I could hear my voice going all husky.

"Wouldn't expect you to," he replied softly, considering, trying to decide whether or not humor was the right idea. But he knew me well, knew that humor is always the right idea with me. "Make change for a twenty?"

"No," I said, my heart pounding, "but at five dollars a kiss, let's just do another one and call it even." He was smiling now as I leaned back in, and I knew I had him. This had gone wildly better than expected, and it was about to get even better. I let my arms wrap around his body, the red fleece an unfortunate but necessary evil, and tipped my face sideways to really get in on him. He didn't move back, even surprising me by coming forward to meet me; his right hand on my back was more insistent now, his left inching bravely up to cup my breast as our lips met again.

Vaguely I was aware that the kitchenette was only partially covered by the cameras, and that they focused on the refrigerator anyway. My job should be safe. I opened my mouth to him, his coffee-flavored tongue darting mischievously inside, and I squealed happily; Mr Herrick was an excellent kisser. We messed around like that for a solid ten or twelve seconds, our mouths mashing rhythmically together; his eyes were closed. I let him close his hand fully over my breast, the nipple hardening into his palm as my pussy began to gush; I had my left hand resting comfortably on his ass when we finished, parting, our eyes smiling at each other. We sat like that for a moment, processing what had just happened, before he smiled shyly and reached his hand up from my back to wipe away the char I'd put on my face.

"You should really wear underwear at a place like this, Miss Vickie," he whispered, giving my breast a lingering squeeze. I responded in kind on his ass.

"You should really stop kissing the employees at a place like this, Mr Herrick." I winked broadly at him. "Thanks for helping with the oven rack."

He took the hint and got to his feet; it thrilled me when he reached nonchalantly to adjust his dick. He bent down to offer me his hand. "Milady?"

"Why thank you, sir," I drawled, hopping to my feet and leaning back against the counter. I let him have a good long look, my body as firm and lithe as the day I'd graduated. "You, uh, you have a nice day now, Mr Herrick. Have fun at school."

"Not as much fun as I had here," he replied, shaking his head; he scanned me one more time before leaving awkwardly, and I sighed as I stood there in triumph. The morning had been very well worth a bruised ass.

* * *

By the time he came to get Little Scotty at 3:30, I was tired and cranky and ready to leave. He noticed my change of clothes immediately, and as we headed out toward our cars, he brought it up. "New clothes?"

"Well..." I trailed off. "Let's just say this morning's outfit didn't precisely fit the building's dress code."

He shrugged. "Um, I thought this morning's outfit was goddamn amazing. For what it's worth."

"It's worth quite a bit to me," I replied, smiling up at him. The parking lot was icy, his grip tight on Little Scotty, and I moved in to clasp his other arm. "I think you know you've always had a lot of influence on me, Mr Herrick." We moved slowly, neither of us wanting to reach the cars; for a split second I almost believed Scotty was mine, that I was his mother, that we were a family... I rested my head on his shoulder.

"Vickie," he said slowly, "what happened this morning..."

"I'm sorry about that." I wasn't, not at all, but there was a script to be followed here; he was a happily married man, my own former teacher, and he'd allowed himself to get carried away with me. I was happy to give him an out; remember, I'm not a homewrecker. I'd have been just as happy if everything had ended right there, and I largely expected it to. It's not every day you successfully flirt your way into a passionate kiss with one of your favorite people. "We shouldn't have let that happen."

"No. Well, yes. Well, no." He was uncharacteristically nervous, but I couldn't blame him. "I was just going to say... uh, that I didn't mind. Don't mind."

This changed everything. I began to realize I'd been more successful than I'd intended. We got to his car, and I took Scotty in my arms while his dad rummaged for the keys. "I see," I said thoughtfully, watching the back of Mr Herrick's head as he strapped his son in. He finished up and turned around. With the open car door blocking Lynette's view from across the parking lot, I felt safe standing close to him. "Well, I minded."

"Did you?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Yup," I said, giddy. "I didn't want to stop." I looked gravely up into his eyes, no bullshit now, wanting him to get the message. Once again, I was on fire, and he clearly knew it.

"Well," he said after awhile. "This might get awkward."

"Only if you're lucky." The flirt was automatic, but this had to stop, and now; I unquestionably could not get to my knees and suck his dick in the parking lot in front of the daycare where I worked, but I knew that was precisely what was going to happen if I didn't leave right away. I took a shuddering breath and contented myself with running my hand lightly along his thigh. "See you tomorrow, Mr Herrick."

"If I can wait that long," he said quietly, and I knew his eyes were on my ass as I walked away. For him, I flipped my baggy t-shirt up so that he could get a better look.

* * *

Goddamn Lyle had to get up early the next morning, so I was home alone that night. I frigged myself to a furious orgasm in the shower, then again after I got out, looking at my naked body in the mirror; it made me supremely happy to be wanted. After a desultory dinner of instant mac 'n' cheese and an attempt to watch the news, I pulled out my phone and went to my contact list. The phone rang a few times; his voice was cautious as he picked up. Of course. It would show up as a random number.

"Hello, Mr Herrick," I sang, my voice low. "Remember I told you I'd call if I ever needed $55?"

He snickered, and I wondered whether his wife was sitting right there. "Who is this? A wrong number?" He was smiling, though; I could hear it through the phone.

I smiled back, though he couldn't see. "I dunno; my contact list says Booty Call #3, so I figured I'd hit you up. You tell me: is it a wrong number?"

"Should say Mr H. You changed it back?"

"Can't blame a girl for wishing." His wife must be out, then, or in the bathroom or something; I wasn't about to bring her up. It was 10:30.

"Guess not." He paused. "Still $55, huh? I thought we accounted for $20 this morning."

"For you I'll run a tab. Your credit's excellent with me."

"Great, but what would I get for the other 35?" He was thoroughly enjoying himself; he had to be so hard right now. For my part, I already had a hand down my pants, running through my hair.

"What is it you're looking for? I might offer a package deal if you can bring me the right package."

He laughed snidely. "Like a bulk discount?"

"Something like that."

"Hold on." I heard him get up from what had to have been his bed, the sounds of his house, him moving into another room. "My wife's asleep, so I came downstairs."

"Ah." This was excellent. Poor man wanted to be alone with me. I was stroking my clit by now. "Why? Does it matter where you... come?"

He chuckled long and hard at that one. "Where was this side of you when you were in class, Miss Vickie?"

"It was right there in front of you, underage. You hid this side pretty well yourself... Scott." I figured I could start calling him by his first name as long as I was masturbating to his voice. It only seemed fair. "Then later, when you taught me guitar... well, it was still right there in front of you."

"Still underage."

"Yes indeed. But not anymore."

He paused. "So what's it going to be tomorrow?" he asked, his voice low and a little urgent. I imagined him jacking off on his couch. "Lingerie? Maybe a French maid costume?"

"I was thinking buck-ass naked," I replied immediately, "but these are good ideas you're giving me."

"The ideas you're giving me, on the other hand..." he trailed off.

"Exciting?" I sighed

"More like scandalous."

"Oh yes," I replied, my fingers finding their rhythm. This was ridiculous; I'd already cum twice that evening. What was wrong with me? "You should be quiet about those ideas then, Scott. Remember how this town does with secrets."

"Oh, I'd say everything's pretty much out in the open now. Don't you think?" He held his breath; he had all the risk here. I decided he was right; there was no point beating around the bush, even if that's precisely what my fingers were doing. I arched my back and shoved my pajama pants down to my knees.

"My pussy's out in the open over here, Scott," I said, low and sexy. "I know that. I know that I'm wanting you to come over here and let me earn my $55."

"Shit, Vickie." He was getting breathless. I smiled.

"How are you holding the phone?" I whispered naughtily. "Dick like yours, it should take you two hands to jack it off." I'd only had phone sex twice before, but I'd been good at it; turns out it was like riding a bike.

"You better throttle it back yourself," he warned. "Wouldn't want you to stain your couch." He paused again; I thought I could hear his rhythmic hand through the phone. "Not by yourself, anyway. You ought to have some help."

"Did you not hear me before?" I snapped. "You get your ass over here right now and I'll show you how to stain a couch. Dead serious."

"Vickie..."

"Fish or cut bait, Mr Herrick," I rasped, getting very close now. I could smell myself, my fingers making a goopy noise as I stirred myself up. "It could be you in my pussy right now, rather than my fingers."

He was speechless, and a part of me sympathized: this was an excellent man with a nice family, probably not a habitual cheater; for all I knew, he might never have had anyone but Mrs Herrick. But that part of me was small, and the part of me that wanted him to drive his cock into me was large. "Get over here and fuck me!"

"I can't!" It was a strangled gasp, and I knew he was cumming. I got there a few seconds later, moaning hotly into the phone; I heard a clunking noise in answer as he dropped his.

So that's how my evening went.

* * *

The snow was still falling the next morning, a heavy autumn snow that stuck to the power lines. The roads were dogshit. Another hour and I was sure they'd call school for the day; since Bright Gardens followed the local schools, we'd then be closed too. I brooded as I drove in, hoping for a day off but needing the hours; I was also trying to figure out what to do about last night.

It actually wasn't me that needed to figure anything out; rather, I was guessing Mr Herrick would, and then it'd be me that needed to deal with him. For me, this whole thing was just an exciting new adventure, a hugely successful flirt in a lifetime of flirts; for all I knew, he'd seen his life flash before his eyes last night. I drove along the sloppy roads, fists clenched on the wheel, trying to think about how he'd likely react to having spontaneous phone sex with a former student. Would he...

Weep with guilt, tremulously declare his undying love for Mrs Herrick, and want nothing else to do with me?

Continue this epic flirting jag we were on?

Act all tentative and awkward, like a junior higher discovered at a school dance with an erection?

Brazen it out and pretend like nothing had happened?

Jump me right in Bright Gardens and bone me until the sun came up?

I could handle any of them, but I definitely had my preferences; Option 5 would of course be outstanding, but mostly I wanted Option 2. Option1 was what I expected, or a combination of 1 and 3; Option 4 would have hurt me. In any case, I resolved to be ready for anything, coming up with conversational cues and trying them out to myself as I drove, feeling a desperate need to put him at his ease whatever he was feeling.

To that end, I'd toned it down on the attire this morning. Sweatpants, no roll to the waistband; a shapeless, faded green t-shirt from my first year working at Avery Rd, and no makeup at all. Matching bra and panties, in black silk: I'd read in a magazine once that a woman only wears matching underwear when she's planning on getting laid, but in my case it just meant I needed to catch up with my laundry. Clunky snow boots, with flip-flops for indoors, and my long snow coat; the lockers in the tiny Gardens bathroom would be smelling like wet dog before 9 am.

At last I got there, my car fishtailing crazily as I got to the front door, squirting slush out from under my tires at 6:26. I splashed my way to the door as quickly as I safely could, did the key and the alarm, and plunged into the warmth of the daycare; the lights flickered on as I sighed with relief at having made it on time despite the weather. I'd always prided myself on my punctuality.

But so did Mr Herrick. I saw his headlights not three minutes later, inching through the parking lot. I put my stuff away and got myself ready.

He and Little Scotty looked like snowmen when they got in, crusted with wet snow sticking to their clothing. Little Scotty had a Power Rangers hat on; his father had nothing but snow on his head. They both stared at me as I walked over to open the gate. I was trying to play it cool, but his first reaction to me would tell me a lot; he gazed now, expressionless, whipping Scotty's coat around to shake the snow off. "I'll take that," I said quietly, reaching for the coat as I let Scotty into the playroom. Mr Herrick, still silent, looked briefly at me. Ah. So it was to be Option 4, apparently. I started to feel slightly ashamed.