As soon as she had told her mother about the sexual demands that Johnny Watson had made, Joanne regretted it. She had told the truth, but that was not the point.

The point was, she had enjoyed jacking the boy off.

Oh, she had been reluctant, at first. She was not a sexually experienced girl and she had resisted when he first tried to feel her pussy and, again, when he had asked her to handle his prick.

But she had been able to justify it, to rationalize it.

He had told her that if she wouldn't jerk him off, at least, he would make her walk home. Joanne had reasoned that it would be a long, cold, lonely walk home. It might well be risky, too – a girl all alone on a dark country road. Why, there was no telling what might happen to her, what dangers might be lurking in the fields and forests, that bordered the road, or in the cars that traveled along it in the dark of night. There might be rapists galore, sex maniacs in abundance, perverted friends in droves. She could see that Johnny was serious, that he meant what he said.

And after all, it was only a hand-job. It wasn't as if she had to fuck him or suck him off, or do anything really naughty. So she had agreed.

And the idea was not disagreeable.

In fact, Joanne had very much wanted to handle his cock, although she would not admit it, even to herself.

Now, sitting at the kitchen table, after her mother had gone back upstairs, she remembered the scene.

Johnny had gotten her blouse open and her bra off. He had been feeling her tits for a long time and they were tingling. Her big nipples had been hard as bullets and she had been breathing so hard that she was fairly stuffing her tits into his hands with every inhalation. She had wished that he would move down. Her pussy was on fire. She would have loved to have him finger-fuck her.