... which did nothing to deter John from following her.

John followed his hostess through the foyer, and was greeted by a wide and towering central chamber of her home. From there, standing on a rug thrown over the faux wooden floor, John could see into most of the first floor: a living room with a complete entertainment center to the west; across from that, a sparsely-furnished dining room and kitchen that showcased contemporary, sharp-angled furniture and technology respectively; and beyond June's back, and beyond the back of her breasts,--visible even from behind, God help me--was what would've served as some kind of secondary living room if not for all the stations, tables, and no less than three easels with works in progress as they slowly came into view. The work there laid the foundations for beautiful renditions of the female form, one seemingly erupting from a rosebud, the rest in rather vivacious poses. Even John's novice eye could see that the art on the walls, samples of which neared a dozen in view at any time, were drawn in different mediums by the same hand; the style was matched by those in progress in the studio.

"Let's go upstairs," June said, and added with mirth, "... to get you some swim trunks, of course."

John nodded, appreciating each work in turn as he tried to calm his ever-raging sex drive in this goddess' presence. As they ascended the stairs, his eyes remained glued to the exhibit halfway up: a fountain of white pouring from an ornate, bizarre object of knotting obsidian and curved indents. It was not a tentacled horror, exactly, but it was alien enough to attract the eye away from the surrounding gardens and beautifully rendered marble steps. "Are these all yours?"

"These are my personal projects from throughout the years, the ones that aren't for sale. They're... snapshots, you could say, of my life."

Every visible work on the first floor had one strange element or another, seldom with the inclusion of human figures; this didn't change as they navigated her second floor. A river flowing through a large crack of a brick wall as a hand rose from its depths; the face of a meek young girl with waterfalls of green flowing from her eyes; something that looked suspiciously like a vagina unfurling to reveal a rising ziggurat of bone; and over the queen-sized bed of her guest room, a menagerie of human-like bodies twisting, knotting, melting into one another in a way that was sexual to only the most alien mind. Coming down upon this depicted mass, as if it were clay, was a woman's dainty, painted hand with a crushing .

John questioned none of it; each had a character too personal, too forbidding to query when he was still so unfamiliar. Out from the guest room dresser came a pair of white swim trunks, and her pulsing eyebrows and devilish smile invited him to undress. Dumbly, he nodded, getting out of her way so she could leave before him... and by the time he was down to his underwear, cautiously holding his hard-on down, he realized she had no intention of giving him privacy. He opened his mouth to protest... and almost laughed aloud at the otherwise normal habit. I mean, this is hardly a normal tutoring session... With a toothy grin he stripped himself bare, and let his monster stand proud.

"Well," Summers whispered, her eyes almost sparkling as she laid them upon his tower of flesh.

John reached for the swim trunks, which June suddenly drew closer to her bosom. "Should I... get comfortable?" John asked with a mischievous tone. He sat on the edge of the bed and reclined, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

June pursed her lips; the boy was getting downright cocky, now. "I think you're ready for the pool as you are."

Earlier, at the mall...

"Felicity!"

"Brenda!"

"Oooooh!" they both exclaimed as they hugged.

They shared a short, passionate kiss, and parted while assessing one another. Brenda was ever the picture of health, as could be expected, and her generous bosom felt delightful against the shopkeeper. Felicity, obviously Brenda's younger at somewhere in her thirties, or so an average observer might reckon, had a tight little body and generous C-cups, both of which were showcased through a transparent green babydoll and black lingerie beneath. Such was effectively the uniform and advertising model of her store; these were products, along with all manner of lingerie, exotic underwear, garters, and virtually any other piece of undergarment or sleepwear to help a woman feel desirable, sexual, alive with a primal energy that Felicity helped the women of Springfield embrace. Brenda was one such woman, and was a quick learner. Felicity had only recently freed Brenda from her old hesitations; such was her business, and so she could immediately tell when some poor soul had come into her store while still enslaved by Victorian shackles.

"And who is this terrified beauty?" Felicity queried with a laugh.

Said terrified beauty cowered behind a rack of short bathrobes as if to hide from the tinted, glass door. What if someone from the Academy recognized me, and here of all places?! Moira beamed fury at the woman; she was taunting her, of course, but more of the Golden Rose's attention was focused on the suspicious ring on the storekeeper's finger. Moira's senses as a Warden were not as refined as they would be once she was fully trained, but even now she could tell the ring was magic; baubles such as this occasionally ended up on an unaware mortal's person, but that was the exception, not the rule. God, what if she's a rogue mage? No, worse... what if she isn't rogue, and works for the Order?! Oh, then everyone would know...! Despite her probing, she sensed nothing from the woman, not even a spark of potential, or "mana" as the unrefined magi might call it.

"She's an acquaintance of my son," Brenda coyly whispered.

I'm his wife now, I'll have you know- Lady preserve me, I shouldn't feel proud about that!

"Sexually deprived?"

"Not with me," the MILF declared, and the two shared a hearty laugh.

Moira spotted a boy she was fairly certain was a first-year at the Academy, and swallowed hard. Whatever hesitations she had about the seemingly mundane owner of some magical bauble, they were dashed by the threat to her social status. "Mrs. Newman, please... I cannot be seen here!"

"Oh my..." Felicity contemplated the redheaded mouse in her trap, and then snapped her fingers. "I know just the thing!"

"You doooo?" Brenda cooed, failing to suppress her grin.

"There's a backdoor, honey," Felicity explained, "if you really want to leave the store discreetly..."

Moira peeked over the rack once more, and spotted a classmate, one of her classmates, coming up the escalator. She felt the blood drain from her face before stuttering, "P-Please!"

"Honey," Brenda chided, "we haven't even bought you some underwear-"

"Lady preserve me, the underwear be damned! Please..."

Felicity's eyebrows perked up slightly, but her surprise escaped the Warden's notice. "Well, it takes some doing to open the backdoor... but for now, just go to the backroom and hide out until I can let you out," she explained, heading towards a vanity mirror at the corner of the store. "Will that work for you two?"

Brenda smiled blissfully; this was becoming her favorite part of the day, whenever she had the chance to indulge. "Absolutely."

"Yes, that's fine, please, before someone walks in...!" Moira glanced at the door again, and Felicity took a moment to finger the two nude mannequins flanking the mirror. With a click, the false wall unlocked, and with her ringed hand she pushed it open before beckoning her guests to enter the shadowed slit of her sacred place.

Back at the Summers residence...

She wasn't bluffing, as it turned out: near-naked as she was, she led totally-naked John out to her walled-off backyard, and to the vast, glittering pool that took up most of it. John almost whistled in appreciation of its design: bulbous and curvy and possibly a full hundred feet in length, and half as wide at its most generous curves, with a marble island at its center with potted plants and lounging chairs rising from a pillar. A hot tub waterfalled a steaming stream from a massive stone spout into the far-end of the pool, the former ready and able to host at least half a dozen comfortably in its bubbling grasp. The other, usual amenities (BBQ, maintenance shed, more chairs for lounging, an outdoor dining set) fell to the background as John took in this magnificent pool... enough so that he nearly forgot how naked he was. It was rare to feel the afternoon sun blazing down on his bare cock, nevermind while he followed the quivering buttocks of a teacher. He looked around, and noted the conspicuous lack of two-story homes all around hers. Some tall trees and the blue sky would be the only witnesses to their horny escapades, then, whatever June intended them to be.

"Come on, we have to make sure you don't..." She glanced down. "... burn up."

John followed her to the nearest reclining chair, and followed her ass with his eyes as he tried to collect his thoughts. This is... normal, right? She's normal... I mean, she's amazing... and rich... and her talents are... but they're all normal. There was a relief there, but also a reflection on his own life, and the long chain of madness that seemed to dominate every day of the past week. I... can relax here. The thought put a bit of spring in his step, even as he sat down as instructed.

"Go ahead and stretch out," she instructed as she picked up a bottle from underneath his chair, "and recline all the way."

He thought to protest, to ask permission to oil her up first, but relented. With a flip of a switch, the chair was flat, and he was laying on his back with his newly fit body exposed to the sun... right until June threw her right leg over him and sat snugly on his belly. He looked down at where they were joined, with her barely-clad pussy mounting just under his belly button. His cock almost hurt with how hard he became, and it gently prodded the small of her back, earning a light-hearted giggle as she looked down at him.

Wordlessly, she poured a bit of the viscous, rose-colored liquid on his chest (the bottle's label was in French, of course, but he had to hope it was suntanning oil) and began to work, bending over him to lather his arms, his chest, shoulders and neck, all while her breasts bobbed and heaved before him, the outlines of her nipples so clear as to render their cover moot. It tortured John to see them so suckably near as they blotted out the sun, and the occasional dip or rub from them on his oiled flesh set them to glisten invitingly. He kept his libido throttled and his hands to himself; June was in charge, here in her home, and she was good. Don't fuck this up, John...

He expected her to instruct him to flip over, but instead she slid her waist back and down his body, dragging the nylon/spandex-clad labia over his fuckstick with slow and purposeful strokes as she started to oil the part of him she had been sitting on. His meat fit snugly into the grip of her burger-like pussy, and her thighs squeezed and teased her folds against him, masturbating him as she took her time oiling this last bit of his torso. His fingers twitched; he was starting to lose it.

"You're quite the gentleman, John," she cooed, and lowered herself down to his head... and, with naught but the gyrations of her waist, scooped him into her cleft, pressing the material into her like a nylon hymen, ready to be torn asunder with naught but a twitch of John's waist. "Most men wouldn't have tolerated this much..."

"I-I'm... not mohooost m-men-uh..." It would've sounded dashing if his voice wasn't quivering.

She released his head, and eased the tension in his head. "I can tell... but do you have the stamina to back it up?"

"Y-You... have no idea..."

She hummed, almost like a purr, and lifted her leg over him... just to swing the other one over him again, sitting back and against the bottom of his prick until she was resting on it, pinning it against his belly as her amazing ass and fit, bare back filled his vision. "Good... because I still have to do your legs..." The oil touched his shin, and her ass began to quiver as she mercilessly twerked against his meat, violently and tightly jacking him off with a vigor he wouldn't survive. No longer in her field of vision, he shamelessly gripped the chair's edges and prayed to the Game for the strength to survive.