"Oh Miss Heather. Hello. You are good" Very good! thought Heather, though some people might call it bad. "Hi, Mr. Mascalla. How's everything Come stai" "Bene, bene, grazie. I mean very good. My son Rico, he just get marry." "I know. You told me. Last week, wasn't it Did he go away on a honeymoon" "Away Yes, to Italy. To my village. But I got pictures of wedding. You like to see, Miss Heather" "I'd love to Mr. Mascalla." "They just downstairs. You come. I show." He set down his broom and headed towards the stairs. Heather followed, a bit reluctantly. She had hoped that he would have the pictures with him. Now it would be a little longer before she could find someone to scratch the itch in her pussy. But she was really pleased to see the little old man so happy and she wanted to share his joy with him. As she followed the janitor down the two flights of stairs to his corner in the boiler-room, Heather found herself suddenly thinking about Vito Mascalla in quite different terms than before. She thought of his three sons and four daughters; she remembered that his wife had died last year. He had fathered at least seven children. Now he was alone. He had a cock. Heather suddenly decided that she wanted it. It surprised her that she hadn't thought of having him fuck her already. There were very few men in the school that she had missed, but she was sure this oversight would soon be remedied. They finally arrived at the little corner the janitor had fitted up as an "office". Innumerable pictures of his family filled the wall over the bare and rickety table that served as a desk. Beside it was a heap of plastic garbage bags stuffed with some of the waste paper generated by a school. The janitor proudly pulled out a small photo album and handed it to Heather. As she leafed through it, uttering the appropriate admiring comments, she noted that it was already well-thumbed. Vito Mascalla beamed with pride and joy. "She is very beautiful, your son's wife. He is very lucky. And your son is very handsome too. But you look best of all in your new suit, Mr. Mascalla." "Yes, it new. Just for wedding. How you know, Miss Heather" "I can see that you weren't comfortable in it. It was too tight here, wasn't it" To the old man's shock and amazement, Heather - that sweet little girl - reached out and pressed her hand over his crotch. He tried to jump back but he was caught in front of the desk and couldn't escape her determined hand. She maintained the pressure, moving her fingers down until she cupped his balls. He could hardly speak. "Miss Heather! What you do No! No! Not nice. Don't, please." "Oh, but it is nice, Mr. Mascalla. Your prick. I can feel that it's very nice. You made all your children with it, and now your son is using his and putting it inside his wife to make grandchildren for you. Wouldn't you like to put it in me, too, like you used to put it in your wife, like your son is doing right now with his new wife I'd like it very much, Mr. Mascalla. Won't you do it just for me" She was squeezing his cock now and rubbing her hands all over the bulge of flesh at his crotch. The poor old man was frightened to death. Heather released her hold on his prick and quickly pulled her T-shirt up over her head. She wore no bra. Then she pushed her short skirt down and wriggled out of it, making her round, young tits bounce. Only her tiny pink bikini panties remained. In a few seconds they were on the floor on top of the skirt. The janitor was incredulous. Never would he have believed it. He didn't even believe it now; it couldn't be happening. This must all be some strange joke or dream. Such a beautiful and sweet little girl, naked in front of him. And she had touched his cazzo, like a putana, a whore, but she wasn't one. She was the nicest person in the school. His confused mind couldn't reconcile these two opposites. "Here, Mr. Mascalla, don't these feel nice. They're only small now, but soon they'll be bigger and you can feel them then too. Your hands feel so good on me." She had taken his trembling hands and pressed them against her tits. They were not that small - for a thirteen-year old girl they were remarkably full and fleshy. His hands just lay there, unmoving, pressing against her erecting nipples. Heather took advantage of the old man's shock to reach down and undo his belt with her skilled and practised fingers. Doing so pushed her tits harder against his palms. She was pleased to feel some resistance. He was pushing back, at least a little...

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