"Like this?" she asked Buck.
"Great," said Buck, eye on the eyepiece. "You're doing great, sweetheart. Wally, caress her as if you mean it. As if she's driving you nuts."
"Caress her?" Wally queried, stupidly, eyes going from Buck, to Timmy and back.
"Caress her. Excite her," Buck explained, patiently.
"Excite her?" repeated Wally, arms around the student, Amy leaning into him.
Buck brought his eye from the camera and shouted at Wally: "Fuck it, Wally. Surely you can figure out how to do that."
Wally blanched at his uncle's raised voice, then blushed.
Buck's eyes went back to his eyepiece. Wally gently eased the pretty teenager more firmly against him, her buttocks fitting neatly in his groin. Her head came back against his shoulder, next to his. He put one hand on her stomach, the other on her chin. He started to nibble the side of her neck, just beneath her ear. Amy closed her eyes. Wally was in his late twenties, not a great hit with the opposite sex. His looks weren't great, and his conversation had never been his strong point ... though here there seemed no need for conversation.
His hand wandered softly over Amy's neck ... and cheek ... and face ... while the other roamed her body lower down ... over her tummy, onto her legs, pausing briefly on her pubis to give it a gentle caress. After exploring the firmness of her thighs he brought the hem of her short pleated skirt back up with his hand, then returned the hand to her pubis to give it more attention. The student twisted away but his hands followed her. She seemed briefly to ponder this, then relax. As if she had rationalised the situation, appreciated what was involved: what they needed her to do.
Her eyes stayed closed as her pelvis relaxed. She let Wally's hand, which she'd caught in her own as she twisted from his touch, go back to work over the front of her brief cotton Sluggies. His other resumed its caresses higher up, of her face, her neat little nose, her chin, down her neck to the V of her blouse, and into the V. The pretty student's back gently arched; her hands went from loosely by her side, to covering Wally's forearms, then they moved as he moved -- his hand into blouse, over breast ... as the other, under skirt, cupping pubis, caused a gentle parting of her legs.
Timmy turned away, his face a mask of anger. "Aw shit," he hissed.
But no-one took notice of Timmy, not even little Amy.
"C'mon, Buck," said the boy, beseechingly. "This is not part of the deal."
Buck continued to ignore the boy.
Both Wally's hands had moved to Amy's chest. Each cupped a breast and gently fondled what they cupped. And as he did, Amy's hands lay uncomplaining on his forearms, letting him, allowing him, permitting him his play. Wally's nibbles had advanced and now his open mouth and tongue ran up and down her neck. He'd raised his knee between her legs, it looked out from between her young thighs like the shiny head of an ageing nag.
He started opening Amy's blouse.
Her hands jumped to prevent this intrusion but then, once her fingers were curled around Wally's, she seemed to think again about what she was doing ... then she moved her hands away and let him continue unbuttoning her blouse.
"Throw it on the bed," said Chuck, when Wally had Amy's blouse off. Her eyes had opened as he ran it down her arms. Wally's tongue played in her ear as he reached behind him and dropped it on the bed. Amy's glance went briefly to Chuck, then Timmy, then back to Chuck. Her bra was soft cotton filled to overflowing with plump, handsome breasts. The imprint of nipples was sharp and pronounced, positioned high up on each breast. Wally's hands ran up the skin of her side, to her ribs, then on to her breasts. Mounted with reverence; gently squeezed. Amy's head tilted up towards the ceiling; her eyes seemed to grow in astonishment as if at the feelings she felt. He stroked the cotton that covered her breasts, lifted them softly, pressed them respectfully -- then his broad fingernails started to lightly scratch each nipple through the cotton of her bra. Her huge blue eyes glazed over.
"C'mon Buck," groaned the boy.
But Buck hissed savagely back, "Shut the fuck up, or get the hell out."
Timmy shook his head, made a face, clenched his fists at his side, but said no more. His eyes climbed sadly to his girl-friend's lovely face as her soft blue eyes drifted closed yet again. She moaned as she gently arched her back. She didn't resist as the older man's hands started lifting her bra. His knee, from behind, was tight between her legs. Her feet were wide apart. Her pelvis seemed to gape as the thigh eased home between her legs, her private regions pivoting to greet it. Her lips appeared to slacken, then to part. The older man's tongue was in her ear.
His hand lifted her bra from a breast and hungrily attacked it when the plump mound eased free of constraints. He raised his thigh even harder between her legs until the girl was stretched on tiptoes yet again, as if riding the thigh like a horse, groaning and gasping, eyes closed, back arched. Her delicate fingers clutched his broad forearm as she let her pelvis open further for his hand, fingers easing in above the thigh, probing and exciting what she had between her legs. Kissing down her neck, under her chin, along her shoulders. Lifting up the bra from her other breast and going to work on that as well. Amy was gasping now, breathing hard and much too fast. She had one hand around his forearm, the other stretched behind her to his head. Fingers tangled in his hair as she ground her pelvis on his thigh and moving fingers, as Wally continued with his efforts to disorient the girl.
"Buck," said Timmy, softly, close up to the man. "This isn't right," he pleaded.
"We're looking for a film that'll sell," said Buck, his eye still glued to his eyepiece -- but it lacked his earlier rancour.
Perhaps he was getting his film?
"But look ..." started Timmy again ... and when Buck didn't immediately shut him up -- Buck didn't do anything other than keep his focus on Wally and Amy: his kinda dumb and boring nephew arousing one of the most drop-dead gorgeous little cuties he'd seen in years! -- Timmy started to explain why it would be better if it was he who was getting it on with his girl friend, rather than Wally -- who was really supposed to be working the lights. As Timmy lectured Wally on what would be best where his girlfriend was concerned, Buck took off Amy's bra. She knew her chest would be red, as would her neck and her face; she always got flushed when aroused. Then she felt that melting sensation, as the light man's hands closed over her breasts, and her bra joined her blouse on the bed.
"So what do you suggest?" asked Buck, eye on the eyepiece, focus on the girl's expression of relaxed surrender ... panning to his nephew's hands on the lovely plump breasts ... zooming in to broad fingers toying with perfect coin-shaped nipples ... easing focus out to the flush and tremble that spread across the girlish skin of youthful shoulders and womanly neck. She was divine. There was no other word that could describe her looks and condition, her reaction and response.
"I should be doing this!" said Timmy in desperation as Wally turned his girl-friend round. Her pretty soft breasts became pancakes as they pressed against the big man's hairy chest. Amy let him kiss her, kissing back. Timmy saw the movement in her cheeks. The movement of the light man's tongue. Searching hungrily. Spittle intermingling. Wrestling back with her own much younger tongue. Roaming round the inside of her mouth. He couldn't watch. "Please," he said to Buck.
"Well ..." said Buck, as if considering the matter. Timmy turned and looked away. Three grunts, a moan, a clutch of groans. Timmy turned back. They were conjoined, the two of them, his lovely girl, this hateful man, face to face, skin to skin, body to body, legs entwined. The fingers of a hand this hateful man had wrapped around his lovely girl were inside the waist-band of her briefs, cupping buttock, moulding hard. His thigh was high between her legs, her legs astride and riding it as if it were a horse. Her back was arched, her naked breasts against his hairy chest. (Timmy was not 'an hairy man', and wasn't sure he trusted those who were.) Her slender arms were tight around his neck, her pelvis thrusting wantonly against him. Her open mouth and lips and active tongue were working as diligently against him, as his were on her. What was she doing?
"Well?" Timmy prompted, watching the light man's fingers slip further inside his girl-friend's panties. They moved from buttock to buttock. The stretched waistband of her panties cut a line across his wrist. His fingers were bumps low down within cotton. Amy didn't seem aware of this. Or if she was, she chose to ignore it. How could she ignore a stranger's hand inside her pants? "Well?" he said again, to Buck, louder this time. Little groans were coming from his girl-friend in time with the rhythmic open and closing of her thighs. "WELL!" Timmy shouted.
