Dorothy took stock of the situation, then looked up again at the now beetroot faced youth. She had his head, quite literally, in her hands.
She looked back at the cock. The head was a strong purple colour, almost matching the shade his face had turned. Looking closer still, she saw two loose ends of floss protruding from underneath his foreskin.
"You want me to cut something off?" She asked brusquely.
He nodded and gulped audibly.
"Someone has been a little careless with their flossing haven't they? Looks like you don't clean down here, anything like as often as you should do. Disgusting boy. You always need to clean here regularly you know Jonathan, you shouldn't leave it so long next time, or others will have to do it for you."
She grasped his penis, between the small strong fingers of her left hand and slid the tight foreskin back quickly and firmly in one sharp movement. He gasped. She looked carefully at the bared tip and could see the floss wrapped tightly around the top and underside of his head, burying itself into the flesh. It looked painful, even to her. It hadn't broken the skin, but it was clearly restricting circulation making his head bigger than it normally might have been, when firm. It looked as though it would be difficult to remove the floss noose. She let go and his freed penis twitched violently upwards and away, once, twice, three times, before settling. Jonathan was nervous and breathing loud and hard.
"Its important you keep still Jonathan. I can see what needs to be done, but I don't want to cut the wrong things off." She warned with the merest whisper of a smile as she spoke.
She reached up to where his penis had settled and gently touched the underside of his glans with the nail of the little finger, on her left hand. It jumped again. Then, slowly and carefully, she forced her nail up and under the floss, stretching it away as hard as she could, from his penis.
"Hold it still now boy." She commanded.
Jonathan winced again and now grasped his cock from above with both hands. He held it down and steady for her, as she pressed her sharp nail, into his flesh.
She turned to her right again and picking up the huge meat scissors she brought them quickly right up and under his balls. Then slowly, as if to act as a warning, she opened her hand, as far as it would. The scissors separated correspondingly above her hand and his balls slipped vulnerably in between the open blades below, one on either side.
"Are you going to keep properly still?" She asked angrily, as she noticed her watch on the worktop, its face was now smashed, springs poking from the back, and the strap shredded in two pieces.
"Accidents happen, you know" she said menacingly.
She ran the open blades up between his testicles slowly, pressing them in to his skin to underscore her point. Jonathan nodded and tried to keep his breath under control.
The scissors continued their journey up the underside of his penis and came to rest at the tip. The sharp closed blades, were now pointing directly into the very end of his cock. He was very still, only a little movement on his part of a slip on hers and the scissors might have slipped inside him. Then she lowered them very slightly away from his pee slit and down to the smallest of gaps she had created between his penis and the floss noose. She tucked the smaller of the blade tips, inside it.
One firm snip of the jaws and the cords were cut. The floss stayed put, but she knew that it was no longer tied or tight. She could sense the pain in his face and his penis, ease dramatically, but it still looked very sore.
"You look a little messy down here, you need to clean here regularly. You dirty boy."
"Here let me help you." She offered.
She turned again to the shelf behind the kitchen table and putting down the blades, lifted off a long plastic tube of 'face butter'. It was an expensive smelling brand, designed to help her aging complexion stay young, but also adaptable for the job literally about to be in her hands.
She unscrewed the cap and squeezed first one and then two, generous globs or 'pats' of butter, onto his penis. Looking into his relieved eyes, she now brought both hands to bear. Rubbing the rich buttery mix over and under, up and down, around and along the head, the shaft and the balls she began to work him over, good and proper.
"You had better prepare yourself young man." She said looking up from her work.
Jonathan leant forward and stretched out his arms above Dot's shoulders, to the wall behind her.
The relief on his face was palpable, and his cock swelled to even greater proportions as her hands pulled his foreskin hard, right back, exposing his most sensitive part to her magic. This was something Dorothy had dreamed of, for many weeks now. She smiled inwardly as she his sensitive genitalia as her hands, with their new found skills, slithered and pulled, squeezed and smoothed the butter over him. When she next looked at a cooking recipe and it instructed her to add a 'knob of butter', she would always think of this moment, and Jonathan's buttery knob. His balls, soft, but resilient moved this way and that in their buttery bag as she squeezed them in her palms and scraped her fingernails over them. To Dot, it was only a matter of time before their contents would erupt from their confinement. She guessed he couldn't hold on for long against her ministrations. She adjusted her grip and clamped the fingers of her left hand around his penis and squeezed as hard as she could, letting her nails indent the swollen member. Then with her other hand she teased his pee slit back and forth with her thumbnail, curious to see what would happen next.
She cast him a dirty glance of disgust as she pummelled him. He was staring down at he her mop of cropped black hair and her breasts in the night shirt. Then flipped his head up, screwed his eyes up and pulled an agonised face.
Quite suddenly, Jonathan let out a series of loud moans and his cock twitched violently as if once more, trying to escape her clutches. Then the fountain of youth that was Jonathan, exploded. Dorothy yelped in excitement surprise as, from the tip of his swollen member, a huge jet of cream, flew out. It landed in Dorothy's carefully brushed, bobbed, black hair and it was her turn to cry out again. Another twitch, another glob, this one struck her full, in her open mouth while she was still sounding out her scream of delight. The next hit her head, above her right ear and started to drip down. Twitch followed by another jet, twitch and jet, twitch and jet. A routine soon emerged. Her left hand was now working his balls, squeezing and milking them firmly, keenly, almost desperately, her right hand holding his bucking penis, as she saw it fought to escape her attentions. Even though it had dried a little she still carried on driving his tight foreskin up and down the length of his rigid penis in a determined fashion.
"Yes, let it all out, there must be so much in there young man." She encouraged him looking up again, her expression seriously disgusted but enthusiastic.
A twitch, a jet and then increasingly stringy, white globs, landed very thick and very fast. Up her nose, in her mouth again, on her cheek, her chin, her neck, her forearms, and finally, encouraged by her tightening fist wrapped now around his fast emptying plums, two huge bursts were spat out, on to the tops of her milky breasts exposed as they were between the open neckline of her pyjama top. It was every where, her fingers coated in his cream, and her butter. She licked a dribbling blob off her top lip. It was sweet, sticky and silky, and now she couldn't tell which goo, it was.
Jonathan's face was strained, his balls now drained, but still he leant on the wall for support, affording Dorothy continued and easy access to his groin.
Dorothy was scowling, covered in sticky residues, but determinedly she carried on working him over. She was wringing out everything he had, until the head itself became over-sensitive and then, ignoring his moans, worked him over well beyond that. He tried to pull away, but her relentless fingers would not let go of his steadfastly, erect, manhood.
And it was then, that she woke. She was on her back, in bed, at home, at night, alone. Her husband away on business, yet again, and there was no Jonathan anywhere in sight.
She felt the stickiness on her chest and on her face. She reached up a hand, touched it, and put some to her lips. It tasted cool, creamy and sweet. Had the boy been in the room? Were these delicious deposits his?
She looked down, saw the tube of the expensive face butter, and realized that she had fallen asleep whilst in the middle of applying it to herself, the evening before. It seemed that the sticky goo lying on her breasts, face and in her hair, had in fact been squeezed out of a plastic rather, than a fleshy tube.
She let out a long, low, slow, moan, of deep disappointment.
End of part 8.
