Total Woman Legacy 04

She was startled but not surprised at his immodest attitude. She had already sucked his sturdy cock in her father's office; the rest of him was just as manly looking: fit and toned. He munched a few handfuls of the food. He looked down at his roommate. She put aside her empty plate and stood in deference to his presence.

He pulled her shirt-dress over her head, bouncing her loose brown waves. Nude to his scrutiny, he turned her with a ballet pirouette for another 360 survey. She recalled her mother's urgings and Maria's encouragement. She forced her mental reservations to melt away for now and resigned herself to Ned's self-assured hegemony.

Ned picked her up in his arms and carried her to bed. He laid her on her back and flicked the stiffness of her anxiety-puckered nipples. She laid her head back and stared at the ceiling. He climbed between her legs and aligned his cock with her pussy for a missionary mount. He felt her brace her heels on the sheeted mattress as he splayed her bent knees wider, making his entrance more accessible. His first probes were slow and gentle, easing his shaft further and further through her slick labia.

With his erection well seated, his arms hugged her body beneath his and he jogged his hips in a moderate rhythm. He buried his face in her neck, held her body firmly and compressed her pliant boobs against her chest. His swollen knob burnished her inner membranes. She felt his thrusting motions and they were genuinely pleasant; not like the fuzzy frantic quickies she usually experienced with her drunken weekend sex-mates. She came alive just a bit and held his body loosely.

In time he sped up and filled her cavity with his manly discharge; at each pulse of spunk, he grunted his rapture, and then he slumped in repose, tickling her ears with his macho praises.

"Oh my GOD, girl... That was wonderful."

They laid together, still coupled, and the familiar feel of the pooled fluids eased a bit of her angst.

During the remainder of the night, he was, at once, stern, gentle and potent, fostering her trust while indulging himself in her promising sensuality with several robust fucks.

The next time was sidesaddle, a more spirited but still gracious fuck. He pinned her right thigh under his torso. She shifted her hips to match his position; her first sign of teamwork. His long, forceful strokes tingled her innermost nerves and she reflected his hug when his spew was accompanied by coarser expressions and firmer clutches.

"Now that's a tight, juicy cunt. You could be a 'keeper'. Hope you like cocks like mine because you're going to get a lot of them."

He rolled her into spoon thereafter, cradling her malleable tits with a massaging grip, his slack cock cuddled by her warm ass crack. His captive dick still throbbed with little after-tingles. He moved a hand to her groin and rubbed circles on her clitoris. Her hair still hinted at the expensive store-makeover perfume and he nipped love bites on her shoulders and neck. It wasn't long before he felt ready to go again. He moved her again into missionary pose, braced on his hands and knees above her, his soft shaft resting on her belly.

"How about some help with the preliminaries? Use your hand. Get me hard."

Monica fingered his cock, played with the knob and stroked the shaft until she had Ned sufficiently rigid for penetration. She hunched her hips higher and levered his tip against her moist slot. He submerging himself inside her and held her down beneath his weight, pressing her into the mattress for a sturdier fuck.

He had a potent way of working her cunt this time: a slow membrane-burnishing drawing back and a deep rapid LUNGE; a slow membrane burnishing drawing back and a deep rapid LUNGE... again and again and again... She muffled a yelp each time he banged against her clitoris, but tentative hip rolls matched his ascending breaths until he spewed deep inside her.

Ned's libido wanted more but his body needed a rest. He murmured vulgar gratuities in her ears, praising her with coarsely labelled feminine attributes: blowjob lips, funbags, cum dump. In time, she warmed to the tone of his whispered and choked guttural praises for her willingness, stamina and God-given fuck-worthiness.

Pegged atop her once again in missionary, Ned felt his age and let his frustration show at her feeble responses. He moved his hands to her round bottom, grunted his demands, clutching two hurtful handfuls of her plush ass cheeks.

"Jeez... Do I have to do all the work? Bounce your ass! Roll your hips! Damn it, girl! Show me how much you can please me!"

He felt her move beneath his bulk, solid efforts at compliance. He lessened his drives and let her rub his knob along her passage. She kept at it until he shot his load and slumped atop her.

"Better..." he grudgingly opined.

'She's new to this, and still young' he thought, 'the office blowjob was mediocre and this fucking is amateurish. But if we give her a few years and lots of different cocks; she'll find her verve and become a magnificent sex machine by graduation.'

Ned acknowledged his age and stamina.

"I'm tired but I can't seem to get enough of your tight little fuck hole. C'mon cowgirl, ride me."

He rolled her on top. She offered oral as foreplay but he declined. She used her hand and got him hard. She elevated her hips over his staff and slid her cunt down over it. Seated upright in cowgirl, she galloped, with her legs sliding on the sides of his thighs and her heels poking at his calves. She followed his directions and worked a horizontal sliding motion that scraped his coronal vee firmly against her fleshy tube. It was the ass moves from earlier but now she was doing all the work on a prone, relaxed Ned.

He needed that harder sliding stimulation, in lieu of a conventional piston-like plunge, to fire his weary ardor. The murky view of her twin rounded chest cones oscillating with her wavering torso helped Ned to speed things along. His orgasm coincided with dawn's first glow lightening the darkness of their room. It signaled the end of their all night tryst and Ned's capacity to continue.

In the morning, they played in a joint post-coital shower. Under the spray, she lathered and rinsed his genitals; he shampooed her hair, then soaped and rinsed her boobs and groin repeatedly, the multiple times a mischievous unnecessity. He facilitated a double vaginal douche, using an inserted finger to carefully guide the hose up her musky feminine tube. She presumed he cared for her feminine health and welfare; she was too naïve to comprehend his real consideration was for his TWA alpha male colleagues. Her next coach tutor expected her to be handed over clean and fresh, an unsullied receptacle for his genetic expulsions.

'Five-time' Ned left a more congenial Monica behind in the bathroom to freshen her hairdo and makeup. She used the array of feminine hygiene and cosmetology supplies and emerged naked, prettily preened for the new day. She found Ned dressed in slacks and a button down shirt. Her face brightened, her eyes darting around the room, looking for her similarly upgraded outfit.

No such luck; Ned redressed her in the same skimpy white travel clothes, a rather simple task. With her hands again holding down the hem, he marched her out through the lobby, overlooked the usual jibes and stares from the staff and the other guests, shooed away the eager parking valets and shielded her inescapable pussy flash as she sat and rotated into the front seat. He drove the two-hour ride on the M40 to London Oxford Airport.

Monica was quiet and pensive on the trip, perhaps worn-out from all the nighttime action. The hem of the dress covered her lap by inches; the seatbelt shoulder strap puckered her top, cleaving her cleavage, exposing lots of side boob. The perplexing man beside her, whom she had met for the first time less than 24-hours ago, whom she had sucked and fucked a half a dozen times to his apparent satisfaction, hadn't bothered to trigger an orgasm in her or even kiss her. The cool leather seat pressed directly on her labia. The engine and wheel vibrations simmered her libido on the edge.

She became even more resigned and stoic when the car pulled through the gate and onto the private tarmac. It stopped plane-side. The jet crew was waiting in a reception line at the base of the Gulfstream's gangway. Ned helped her alight the vehicle and ushered her to the parked jet and its trio of males.

Some recent news articles told of discords where commercial airlines enforced a family-oriented dress code, denying passengers a seat for wearing unseemly revealing attire. Monica's sheer tee-shirt dress, short and sheer and revealing, would never have passed their muster.

However, there were no objections from the private jet crew as Ned handed her over into the care of Karl, her inflight escort, guardian and next TWA-selected coach tutor. The other two male crew members were cheerful, polite and efficient as they welcomed the newest coed candidate to her personal flight.

And glad they should be; her first official evaluation assessments, a team challenge event, would commence at cruising altitude and continue over the 10-hour flight to Baton Rouge. Just a taste of the many delightful job perks enjoyed by the professional coach tutors and staff of the Total Woman Academy.

Monica looked back again to the car and its trunk, imagining her luggage packed to overflowing with fancy new clothes. Ned just shook his head and pointed her up the cabin stairs. She shrugged a sigh and stepped the first tread, accepting again, as stated before, that TWA would provide for her needs, at their sole discretion and expense, from here forward.

At the moment, she was conflicted about her needs. She was still on a stimulated edge from sitting on the leather seat and feeling the arousing sensations. She was at once apprehensive and hopeful that this TWA crew would discover and soothe her needs, the sooner the better. She obediently climbed aboard, wearing only the thin dress and high heels, the only personal possessions remaining from her former lifestyle. She hoped for the best.

Ned returned to the car and stood by to assure himself of Monica's smooth departure. He watched the crew scurry about the aircraft, kicking the tires, examining the engines and performing the final outside visual checks before impatiently clamoring aboard. The gangway hatch folded closed and the plane sat as they presumably went through the onboard pre-flight checklist.

Ned contemplated the final tasks he must now complete before returning here tomorrow for his flight to the Caribbean and his successive assignment. The bulging suitcases in the trunk must be opened and the contents inspected and scrubbed of any identifying traces of either Monica or TWA. Thereafter, acceptably anonymous, they could be deposited, containers and all, at a clothing donation charity. It seemed such a waste that the expensive fashions would find their best and highest use in a used clothing store. But Anton could afford the monetary expense; he could not afford any public or familial scrutiny. One of Sharon's community shelters would unwittingly benefit from her day of mother-daughter shopping.

The engines whined, the nose wheel turned and the TWA private aircraft headed across the apron, took the taxiway and headed for its runway liftoff to America. Ned had fulfilled his duty and thereby conveyed Monica onward to her bright Total Woman Academy future. Now it was time to finish his dreary weather activities in England and get on to his next TWA coach tutor assignment which happily involved a few fun days in the sunny Caribbean isles.