The tall, statuesque creature unhooked one garter and let the strap fly free. Then, she did the same with the other so that both stockings rested against her upper thigh free of constraints. Then, with one deft hand, she began unrolling one down, down, down. Then, she reached up and did the same with the other. Slowly, tauntingly.
As her luscious white thighs came into view, her bare smooth flanks, Ned had to get a grip on himself. This was the real thing. The blonde must have been putting him on. This couldn't possibly be her husband. Or any man. It had to be a girlfriend, a sister, maybe a lesbian lover. But no man. No man could possibly have such sensual, electric thighs. Such endless, curving legs. He wanted to wrap them around him like two pythons and die in crushing ecstasy.
But his attention was diverted by the little blonde slut. She had found his bulge and she was pressing her hand hard into it.
The tall black-haired Amazon continued her little strip-tease. Ned watched. Watched and salivated.
Mandy lifted the rolled up stocking off the tip of her toe. She threw it out like a party streamer and let it float down to the carpet. Then, she drew her other leg up and kicked off her remaining high heel. It hit the ground with a thud as she stuck her long leg out of the slit of her gown.
Ned trained his eyes on her as she unhooked her garter belt from around her waist. It seemed to take forever. Those graceful hands. Those long, svelte legs. They had to belong to a woman.
"Ever see a set of legs like that?" Tyne cooed coyly, "on anybody?"
CHAPTER ONE
Jeff Denver's eyes trailed the beautiful girl's behind as she swung her shopping cart around the end of one aisle and headed down the next. What an ass! He was a sucker for tall girls and this one was an Amazon.
Those curvaceous hips swaying left and right as she sauntered down the aisle, surveying the well-stocked shelves. And those legs! They went on forever, like a turnpike. He would love to just sit somewhere quietly with her for a few minutes and put his muscular school-boy hand on one of those smooth, dimpled knees. Maybe she'd let him run his hand up a ways, up, up to God knows what!
The thought of what he might find at the crossroads of those sensational gams was enough to make him spill the case of canned peas he was holding.
"Watch that!" an old lady said, elbowing him out of the center of the aisle. "I'm trying to get through."
Jeff hurled his weight against the shelf to give her a wide berth. He didn't want any old ladies interrupting his fantasies. Not about this dame. He began picking up the errant rolling pea cans as his thoughts darted around. She had just come in and he would get a chance to glimpse her again once she strolled back down to the end of the aisle. Working at the supermarket had its compensations, today anyway. Not that it was a bad job, even if it was only for the summer. He was lucky to get it. There weren't that many part time jobs available in Pike's Crossing. It was just a little whistle stop village anyway. The big tourist attraction was Chatham, nearly five miles down the highway. Where the rich and famous congregated.
But that was there and this was now. He stacked the last of the cans onto the shelf and reached for his feather duster. He thought it best to act busy, especially since it was a cover for him spying. Spying on the gorgeous tall wonder woman making her way along the aisle next to his.
Any second she would appear, less than three yards from where he stood now. He wanted to burst into song. Maybe she'd look at him. He'd have to be prepared for that. Act nonchalant, he told himself. He felt his chin. Not much stubble there to speak of. He had only been shaving for six months. Probably didn't look too rugged. In case she went for he-men, he would be out of the running.
But there was a chance possibility she liked younger guys. He had the inside track on that one around here. The clerks and managers were all over forty. He was the fair-haired boy on the premises.
He heard her swerve her cart to a stop and listened hard as she picked over the shelves for something. A jar, a box, a carton. He wished he had X-ray vision and could see through walls.
He could imagine how she would be standing, her weight thrown onto one out thrust hip. That delicious, rounded hip. And the way it was poured into her tight, leather skirt. Girls around here didn't wear leather, except on their shoes. Too bad. He had kind of a thing for leather.
Once he had seen a picture of a naked girl with big, thunderous tits sticking out toward the camera. She held a gigantic black bull whip in her hand. Just the handle of it. The leather strap was wound tightly around one of her tantalizing big knockers. He must have gone steady with that picture for a month.
And the girl in it looked so suave, so cool, like this woman. He closed his eyes harder and imagined how this woman, this erotic creature less than a yard away through the wall of groceries might have posed for that picture. The thought rushed down to his groin, gathering a quart of blood as it did so.
Jeff looked down and saw his white apron tenting out in front of him.
"Fucking baggy pants," he said between clenched teeth. He took in a sharp stream of air and kicked the shelf with his sneakered foot. Maybe a good swift kick would make his hard on go down. No luck.
It stayed there, flailing around under his apron. He was afraid to stand away from the shelf. Any shopper passing by could tell at a glance that his cock was misbehaving
Jeff cursed himself for not wearing underwear that morning. Cursed himself for being so damned young and inexperienced that he could get tripped up by a little hard on. Damned if that thing was gonna stop him from confronting the lovely lady as she strolled past him. Damned if it wasn't.
It stuck fast. It was getting harder. He knocked his head against a container of laundry bleach. He felt like a child. A hard child. Harder than most children ever got.
He heard the familiar squeak of the shopping cart wheels roll closer. He tried to bring himself to an upright position. He thought of her face. That would get his cock down. Thinking of something pretty, not sexual, just pretty. Her face was the face of a calendar girl. Long, black curly hair, her forehead hidden a little by bangs, big grey-green eyes with long jet-black lashes and pouty pink lips.
He mentally scanned her neck and throat. Then, inevitably, he saw her tits in his field of vision. They were luscious huge melons of desire. He wanted to pluck them, to suck them red and wet and swollen. His cock throbbed anew with each mental picture.
He looked up to see the front of the shopping cart rounding the corner. He automatically reached up and patted his sandy blonde hair into place. Then, he bent over and pretended to dust the shelves. Bending over like that, no one could tell he had a hard on.
The luscious lady's tits came into view, then her swaying tight hips and long, svelte legs, firmly bivouacked in silky see-through stockings. Those smooth flanks, the ones he so desperately wanted to ...
His thoughts were interrupted by the woman's words. Honey tones poured out of her lips as she addressed him.
"Scuse me, but," she said, cocking her lovely head to one side and staring straight at him, "where's the powdered milk?"
Jeff opened his mouth and spoke though he made no sound for several seconds. This was embarrassing. And he didn't dare straighten up. He felt awkward. He pointed, still leaning over the shelf, as though he were a shy hunchback giving directions.
"That aisle," he said, feeling his rigid balls grind against the base of his dick shaft. How the hell had they ridden so high up anyway?
"Which end?" the deep, throaty voice spoke again.
Jeff thought her words might melt his clothes down. Then he would be left standing there naked with his big, throbbing erection sticking straight out. Maybe he could use that as a pointer.
"Half-way down," he said finally finding his voice and shaping the words into vowels and syllables. It was hard, but he did it.
"Thanks," the pink lips said, "see you at the checkout stand." The tall, sexy woman smiled at him and flicked her lid down coyly.
She was gone. Just like that.
Fucking shit! Jeff thought to himself. I swear she winked at me. I know she smiled. But it looked like a wink. Maybe she had something in her eye. Didn't look that way!
He reached down and patted the apron. The part that jutted up. Why the hell wouldn't that little bastard go down? He couldn't even walk to the checkout stand until it did.
Maybe, if he hunched over. Walked like he had a bad back. An old war wound. Who the hell was gonna buy that? He was too young to have been in a war. Any of them. His pelvic muscles strained to allow his schlong a little more leeway. It was definitely getting harder. Hard as a brick bat. And no relief in sight.
The gorgeous tall woman with the black hair swept past the powdered milk before she realized she had missed it. Where the hell did he tell me to look, she said to herself.
Then, her eyes re-traced her steps and she saw the familiar blue and white boxes sitting there. She reached up effortlessly and grabbed one. She was tall. She didn't need high heels. But she loved wearing them. She loved the way they cramped her foot a tiny bit.
And she loved picking them out. Her foot was huge, but weren't so many feet of famous women? She had heard that royalty always had big feet. They didn't bother her. Her legs more than balanced the effect.
She loved her legs. And so did most of the men in this town judging from the looks she got whenever she drove in. It was just a hole in the road, but the grocery store here was handy. Handy enough. Besides, the ones in Chatham were much more expensive. They catered to all that tourist trade. Even if they were closer to her summer home, she still preferred coming here.
She pressed one silk-stockinged leg against the other as she nudged her cart forward. She loved the feel of those smooth, hairless thighs against themselves, especially when she was wearing nylons. These happened to be her favorite daytime stockings. Sheer, silky, very tight, slightly beige, with reinforced toes.
They came up to her garters and left just enough room at the top for her to feel her bare flesh whenever she sat or stood or walked. She liked the way her bare flesh felt against her slip. The way it brushed against it whenever she moved.
And she loved garter belts. She couldn't see why women ever chose panty hose. So undramatic. Dull. Drab. Garter belts came in all sizes and shapes and colors. The one she wore was red. Red with a lace pattern on the front panel. Real lace, not that tatty polyester stuff. There was just no substitute for the real thing.
And those garter straps. She loved to snap them when she was alone and thinking about something vexing. The ones she had on today were red, too. They were attached to the red garter and they paid it the perfect compliment. They had little black ribbons running down the length of them. And black rosettes just above the garter snap. That was classy. She loved classy underwear. Even her panties were top drawer.
Nothing but the best in lingerie. She was proud of that. No one would ever find her lying wounded in an intersection with dowdy under garments. No one would ever cart her off to a strange, impersonal hospital emergency room with tired, dated lingerie. She was gonna look her best, both outside and underneath, where only privileged ones could catch a view.
She had gotten those panties one day last month, with her girl friend. Her girlfriend, Tyne. She had expensive tastes in underwear, too. She had expensive tastes in everything.
They had gone into a little boutique that specialized in hard-to-find undies. It was raining outside and they both decided, after a cup of tea in a nearby tea room, that shopping for something intimate, something extravagant might lift their spirits a little.
"Let's go in here," Tyne said, urging her friend along beside her. Tyne was smaller than she, but pushier. Definitely the more dominant of the two women.
"Oh, Tyne," she said, resisting with what little power she had in these situations, "we've got a train to catch. Come on."
"We'll take the next one, Fuss Budget," she said, tossing her blonde curls back over her shoulder and setting her sights on the little shop.
"Well, I can't spend too much money today," she told her friend timidly, "I haven't got a lot of cash on me."
"So write a check," Tyne snapped, "Christ, Mandy, you give yourself more things to worry about."
The shorter of the two, the sandy-haired one pushed the door open. A little bell tinkled from up above and they stared into the confines of the tiny, empty shop.
A young girl appeared from behind a print curtain and gave them a warm smile.
"Can I help you?" she said, flashing a lovely set of white teeth inside a sensual, pink-tinged mouth.
Mandy took her in completely. She always looked at other women. She wanted to see what the competition looked like. It never hurt! And this girl was some competition. Hazel eyes, a flawless complexion, high, round tits and a tiny waist. She had short, curly streaked hair. She looked like she had spent the entire summer on the beach and this was the dead of winter.
"We wanna look at some bikini panties," Tyne said, talking to the girl the way she talked to most clerks, service station attendants, functionaries. Tyne had a quick, dismissive way about her, especially when talking to other people whose social status was beneath her own. She always talked down to them. As if they were indentured servants. "The most expensive line you've got."
"Tyyyyyyyne!" Mandy whined, pulling on her elbow, "I haven't got a lot of cash, I told you."
"Who says we're gonna buy anything? Besides, you can write a check if you need to."
"Sorry," the shop girl said, tilting her pretty head to one side, "but I couldn't help overhearing that. We don't take checks."
"See?" Mandy said, urgently.
"I'll have you know, young lady," Tyne began her discourse. The way she did with everybody who worked for a living. "I have cashed checks in stores all over this city and there has never been a problem."
"Again," the girl said, adding a spark of defiance to her words, "I am sorry to have to tell you, we don't take checks. Company policy."
"Company?" Tyne threw her blonde head back and laughed rudely. "You call a dent in the sidewalk like this a company?"
"Tyne," Mandy said, shoving her gently in the ribs, "let's just see what she's got here. I don't feel like making a scene now."
"That's cause you're a chicken," Tyne snarled, pushing her way toward the counter, "always have been. Timid little duck!"
Mandy cast her eyes down and took in the flower print on the carpet Tyne talked so rude to her. So beastly. And always in front of other people. Weren't they supposed to be friends. Double dating with her was an embarrassing impossible mess. She had fucked up more good times.
Yet there was something about her. Something compelling. She just couldn't stop herself from going out with her. From wanting to spend time with her. They shared a lot. And buying expensive under things was one of their chief mutual points of interest.
"What size?" the girl said, knowing full well what sizes both of them took. She had been waiting on women in this shop long enough to size up anybody.
The little one was about a four. The bigger one, the nicer of the two, was definitely a six. She had narrow hips, but high, round buttocks. A voluptuous body. The kind that looked good in tight, clingy things.
Their answers bore out her guesses. She pawed through the mahogany drawers until she found a few things.
"We like stuff that's hot, you know what I mean?" Tyne said in her usual surly manner. "Stuff to turn a man on."
"Oh," the girl said, seizing the chance to rub her face in it a little, "I never would have guessed. I think you want the LaFrance line. Hold on a minute."
She ran back into the small stockroom and took a large plastic display box off the shelf. This ought to shut them up good. The LaFrance line was the kind of thing rich men bought their mistresses. No self-respecting woman living in the suburbs would be caught dead in one of these little items. Ought to be just the tiling for Miss Mouthy out there.
She reappeared with a gracious smile decorating her face.
Tyne and Mandy watched with bated breath as she opened the box. Out popped the most revealing, sexy little bits of nylon and lace they could both have possibly imagined.
"Wow!" Tyne said, holding up a pair of black see-through panties. They were Brazilian cut, leaving almost the entire outer thigh bare, except for a teeny little band around the waist to connect the front and back panels. Entirely see-through, with a light rippling pattern in the nylon that was good for an hour or two of optical illusions.
"How would like to stick your tight little ass cheeks into one of these?" Mandy said, stretching a little patch of silk out between her hands in opposite directions.
She was holding a flimsy pair of peek-a-boo panties. Bikini cut, with one slight addition, or subtraction, depending on how you looked at it. There was an extra seam running lengthwise down the front panel, extending from front to back. And it opened. Like barn doors. The effect was tantalizing.
"Consider the possibilities," Tyne said, with a knowing wink. She loved discovering new ways to turn men on. And these panties certainly filled the bill.
"Can we try these on?" she asked, trying to sound demure. Different from the condescending way she felt toward the grubby little shop girl.
"Sure," the girl responded, "these are only samples. I hope there's something here in your size."
"Between the two of us," Mandy cut in, "they're ought to be."
The girl held the curtain apart and admitted the two women into the inner sanctum of the dressing room area. It was tiny, cramped, like the rest of the shop.
"Fraid there's only one dressing room and only one mirror," she said apologetically.
"That's okay," Mandy said, stepping inside. "We're used to changing together."
The girl smiled a wry, crooked little smile. She wondered if the women might be gay. She had seen a lot of lesbians come in here and pick out things for each other. A taste she didn't really understand, but what the hell. To each his own.
Possibly these were gay women. They were so different physically. And their personalities were different, too. The tall one looked like she could be the boss lezzie, but she was much sweeter, more amiable. The little blonde one was a tiger all right, but tinier, more frail looking. Well, these days, you could never tell.
She let Tyne inside and backed off a bit to allow them what little privacy there was going to be in there.
"Oooooh," she heard the little one say after a few moments. She must have had the things on. She modeled them for a male customer once and she knew the effect they had. Sultry, hot and sexy.
"Look at this, Mandy," came the voice again, "I wonder if she's got a bra to go with it."
"God, will you get a load of this?" the taller one said her deep, soft voice rising with excitement. "I could stop traffic in this thing."
She wondered who had on which pair. She wondered how they would look. Then, she remembered the calendar in the stock room. It was a little trick her boss had had installed. A calendar rested over a little slit in the wall between the stock room and the dressing room. It was so tiny as to be imperceptible, from the side of the dressing room. It was also slightly hidden by an overhanging mirror frame. But it was there. It would suffice.
She walked casually into the stock room and lifted the calendar off. A feeling of coy guilt rose up in her chest. What the hell, she figured, besides, it was fun. Fun to spy.
She edged the faded dated calendar over and pressed her eye to the hole. Light from the dressing room flooded her pupil, but she adjusted quickly.
The girls were having a grand old time all right. They had stripped down to their bras and garter belts, had even left their stockings on and they were trying on various pairs of the hot little La France line. Her personal favorite.
The blonde snooty one was standing facing the mirror where the shop girl was standing, separated only by a plank board wall. But that was enough. She had a phenomenal body, for as little as she was.
Giant, rounded boobs with thick protruding nipples jutting through the nylon of her half-bra. Her tits were pushed together like two cantaloupes in a crate, but her ass more than balanced the effect. It was lush and nicely-rounded, flaring out just enough to give her a nice, curvy behind.
Her waist was tiny and her legs were long and slender, turning into trim ankles. A very stacked little girl.
But her friend was the revelation. She was standing with her back to the hole and she could really only see her rear end and a little of her profile when she moved around, as she was doing now, sliding into a pair of pink dipper panties.
She was gorgeous, tall, striking, perfection in the buff. Her skin was golden, tawny, smooth and tight. Her legs were very muscular, as though she had been doing some kind of sports activity most of her adult life to keep them in shape.
"Give me a hand," she said to her blonde friend, "These things are so damned tight, I can't get my big feet into them."
The girl held onto her raven-haired friend as she stepped into the panties. They were the crotchless ones. The ones with the hole sewn into them. That should prove interesting, she thought idly.
Just then, the tall girl snapped the waistband around her middle and stood up. She looked over her shoulder at herself in the mirror, revealing a bra full of sculpted tit mounds. Her waist was small enough for someone to encircle with just their two hands.
"Get a load of that from the front," blondie said, hugging her hip with one hand and laying the side of her high heel against the carpet. "You look sensational. Okay so I'm jealous."
Slowly and seductively, the tall black-haired beauty turned around to looked into the long mirror. And the young shop girl got a rather shocking surprise when she did.
There, stuffed into the red crotchless panties, the tiny little see-through nylon double panels, was the biggest, thickest plumpest cock she had ever seen. In women's panties or otherwise. A mammoth set of dusky brown balls was nestled just behind it. The effect held her fast. She let out a little sound and covered her mouth automatically.
So this is what was going on right here under her nose. A man was trying on women's under panties. A man with a delectable big thick cock. A man who had nothing at all to be ashamed of, considering how beautiful his man pride was from the angle she had of it. Yet there it was, patted down inside a tuft of nylon! Female nylon! Why?
The question gnawed at her guts. What the hell was going on here? What was this man doing, trying on ladies' underwear. Dressing in shape-fitting, sexy see-through pieces of nylon and lace. Stuffing his cock into them. It was too much to believe.
And his friend knew all along that her girlfriend was a ... a boyfriend, it made no sense. She jerked back from the hole as she realized one of them had been staring right into it. The blonde one.
"Somebody's getting an eyeful."
The shop girl felt trapped, found out and about to be fed to the wolves. One hungry she-wolf and a big, hulking male. A male in sheep's clothing. What in the world were these two on about?
She tiptoed out of the stock room like a delinquent student and made her way to the dressing room with her head held down. How could she explain to these two that it had all been quite innocent, possibly a lot more innocent than whatever the two of them were up to.
"I don't much like spying," the blonde tiger purred harshly, "I think it shows incredibly bad manners and poor breeding. Now, what have you got to say for yourself?"
"I'm sorry," the girl hedged, "I didn't think ... "
"No, you didn't," the little vixen snapped, "and now I'm afraid you're going to have to pay for your mistake."
"I'll let you have the panties for ... "
"You're not in a very good bargaining position," the sandy blonde snarled, "get in here."
She felt her heart hit her boots and stay there. She walked like a condemned prisoner to the scaffold. Then, the blonde grabbed her by her curly short hair. She ached up under her skirt with one deft stroke and hooked her panties around the waist with her fingers.
She jerked them down in one fell swoop. They sailed off her feet like feathers and landed on the carpeted floor.
Tyne's rage was growing by the second. Who did this little upstart think she was anyway? Spying! It was so low, so beneath contempt. And she would have to pay for it. Fortunately, she had a very good vehicle for exacting such payment. Her girlfriend. Her girlfriend, who also happened to double now and then as her adoring, obedient husband.
"I'm afraid you're going to have to fuck her, Mandy," she said," blithely pressing her palm against the terrified girl's bristling cunt "Tyne, stop it," the taller girl begged, "we can't just come in here ... "
"Are you forgetting something?" the blonde shouted, "you have no right to disobey me. You're in no position, especially right now. Look at yourself."
Many shot a quick glance in the mirror. It was a gorgeous honey of a figure all right. And it looked so adorable, snuggled into those lacy under things. That maroon bra with the gold threads that felt so good huddled against her chest. And that garter belt. The tiniest little stretchy thing with the softest satin insets around the places that hugged against her hips. Those long, dangling garter straps, now bridled up to the tops of her sheer beige nylons. And the way her high heels set off the whole effect.
Then there were the panties. She loved them already and she'd only had them on five minutes. That thing inside them did seem a mite out of place. It was a cock, there was no getting around it. A long, thick snaky thing that strained against the tiny confines of the nylon case, aching to be let out and played with.
"All right," Mandy said, grudgingly. They had been in situations like this before. They had begun by passing themselves off as girlfriends, even sisters, dining out, shopping together, even flirting with men and other women in bars and sometimes they had been found out. Or, Mandy had been found out.
Then Tyne would go into her act. She was such a bitch. She would shame Mandy into retaliating. Tell her that whoever had just discovered their ruse would talk, blab, spread the word around. And then, her masculinity was on the line. Could she still get it up? Wearing women's underwear and all?
Mandy's cock responded with a powerful tug. A powerful tug in the direction of the skylight.
"Let's get this over fast, huh?" Tyne barked as she lifted the helpless shop girl's skirt high, high up over her adorable rounded knees.
"You know I don't like to work fast, Hon," Mandy cooed, hoping to urge her out of her black mood. It seldom worked.
"Do as I say, Lady," Tyne bellowed, "or you know what's coming to you."
Mandy did know. So did Mandy's cock. It pranced around inside those panties as though it were already on parade, passing by the viewing stand for inspection. Embarrassing as it was, that cock had already started to peek out the hole in the crotch. It shoved the nylon tissue aside and worked itself out through there, as if it were curious about events in the room.
Tyne felt her breath grow heavy inside her lungs. She didn't like to be disobeyed by anybody, especially a fucking husband.
Angrily, she snatched a downy hand full of the terrified girl's pussy patch and mangled it in her fist.
"Please," the girl said her eyes shining terrified beams of light up at her, "please don't hurt me."
"I'm not going to hurt you, dear," Tyne said cruelly, "only he might." She pointed to her husband, the man with the swollen dick. The man who was taking his cock in his hand and pulling it out of the nylon net hole.
"Oh, God," the shop girl said, staring at the oncoming hulk of the man. The man dressed strangely in satin and lace. The man with the giant, throbbing prick beating in his hand, growing inches every time she blinked.
Tyne tossed the girl over her knee like a gunny sack and hoisted her skirt up over her bare, glistening butt mounds. She braced herself against the back of a chair and eased down into it. She had the little filly right where she wanted her. She pried her legs open with her hard, eager hands and looked into it.
Her ass sphincter was a mouth-watering pinkish brown. And her cunt, a moist quivering hole, perfect for fucking. And what a fucking she was going to get. Tyne knew from lots of first-hand experience. Mandy, Matthew, as she called him whenever his friends were in the room, could fuck like a gorilla on Spanish fly.
"Here, Buster," she said, rudely pursing up her lips and glaring at her husband. The tall, statuesque one in the satin bra and clinging silken panties. "Fuck the little imp."
Mandy advanced toward the outstretched girl. He peered down into her wet, palpitating little hole. He took a hold of his mighty tool and aimed it in the general direction.
Tyne reached one long hand out. The hand with the red gloss fingernail polish shining off of it. She did so reluctantly. She wished to hell she didn't feel so powerless to do so. But her man's cock held a magnetic appeal for her. She found it impossible to resist. There was just nothing in the world she loved so much as holding out her palm, feeling it tingle with anticipation. The anticipation of touching that dark, thick, wiggling fuck pole. That smooth, slippery handle that sprang out whenever she fluttered her fingers near it. So responsive, so alive, so charged up and ready.
She let her hand wrap around its thick circumference. She gave it a little squeeze. For luck? From arousal? It proved stronger than her hand. It didn't budge an inch in the thickness department. But it sprang out at least another inch when she touched it. It usually did.
She gripped the base, at least as far around the base as she could with one hand while she held the girl pinned to her knee with the other.
"No, no," the frightened child was crying. Too bad about her.
Tyne felt the fuck pole throb afresh as she squeezed her hand hard and felt the resistance force it back to its normal hold position. Amazing, just amazing! She slid her hand up, up toward the tip. That massive round cock knob she loved to diddle with.
Matthew dug his high heels into the carpet at the moment his wife touched his prick. She could do that to him. Those electric, pushy little fingers. They encircled him and displaced his throbbing veins all the way to the head of his cock. Then they stayed there a moment, just squeezing it. Then, they began the familiar in and out rhythm that made him go crazy with excitation.
"Oh, shit," he let out, still using his Mandy voice, that honey-dipped throaty moan that came out of him whenever this woman went to work on him. As she was doing now.
She let her whole palm cap the top of his dick and spidered her fingers out full. Then she brought them in to tap his rim. That usually made his toes curl up good and she knew it. It was making her cunt lips curl up, too, come to think about it.
She looked down onto the writhing, oozing cunt hanging on her knees. That poor helpless child. Was she ever gonna get a cunt full. She looked up at her husband's stiff prick with its massive bails dancing just behind it. That big oaf. Was he ever gonna get his rocks off.
She gripped his cock lengthwise and let her hand down again, feeling the spongy skin slide out of her way as she pressed down, down to the base. He had begun to build up a thick layer of glistening pre-cum on his head and she scooped her hand back-up in that direction to gather some up. Using it as lubricant, she slid her hand down again, squeezing her fingers together and then letting them fall apart as she did so.
Matthew was engulfed by the pressures assaulting his thick, long banging cock. He swayed in his high heels and had to brace himself against the back of his wife's chair.
"Pull her legs out further," he whispered sweetly down to her. "Just a little." His whole body was beginning to throb, from the buildup of pressure in his prick.
Tyne used both her hands for the business of spreading the girl's legs apart, like scissors. Her cunt gaped open and she saw the pink inner lips framed with black fringe of mossy hair pie. It looked fresh and inviting.
Matthew saw it, too. He gripped his man cock in his hand and took a step inside the girl's splayed out legs. He worked his cock down onto her fuzzy anal button. It tickled his balls. It fluttered over his aching, ramming cock stick. He pressed the head down hard so as to come up in between the girl's tight cunt lips.
He must have targeted it perfectly for he could feel he had made a direct hit. His cock knob had hit home. He thrust his hot hips hard against the resistant cunt slit. His man head slid in neatly, with little room to spare.
He brought his huge, muscular hands to the back of his hips and let them rest there. He could feel the hot nylon panties under his massive palms. They had begun to get steamy with sweat and arousal, the way his whole body had.
He glanced down to see a dark stain forming on his favorite maroon, satin bra. He was sweating like a Trojan. He moved into the girl closer and leaned over far enough to catch his wife's tongue as she stuck it out toward his thick, succulent mouth.
She loved tonguing him while he fucked someone else. It gave her a certain glow she couldn't explain.
"Mmmmm," she said, licking her lips like a contented cat, "more."
The shop girl was tossing and pitching in pain and fear. The pain of being dug into by the man's savage big weapon. It kept poking insistently further and further into her. That long, surly insurgent member. She was being raped, taken against her will. She kicked, but the man held her fast with his firm hands. She pitched, but the woman slammed her fists down so hard on her back, she lay still again, just to avoid her blows.
She felt like a worm on the end of a hook. And that hook was jutting higher, higher up into her gut. Up into the secret places where no one had gone before. She felt penetrated, invaded, violated. And as her guts swept down to kiss the tip of the invader, she knew she was loving every painful, frightening second of it.
"Stop, please," she begged, her words sounding more hollow every second. "I can't take much more."
It was true. She couldn't. She had never known such a buildup of ecstasy in her life. She heard the man kissing the woman. Heard their lips and tongues smacking and sucking just above her head. She turned a little to one side and stared up. Her cunt melted at the sight.
The two of them were kissing. The man had his wife's bra pulled down over her full moon tits and he was sucking one of her big red rubbery nipples. The sight of this contact going on so close gave her a rush. A rush that turned into a series of rushes. A series of total body spasms that jerked her into an eruption of climaxes. One after another after another after another ...
Matthew plugged the hot little gripping cunt with his whole cock. He backed his hips up again and again and launched an all out attack on the little girl. Her cunt was tight and pulsating, pushing, punishing, unpredictable.
"Fuck that hole," his wife said, twitching her lips and licking them with excitement. "Fuck that hot little cunt's hole."
She picked up his rhythm beautifully. Always had. He grabbed her tit tips in his hand and wrung them this way and that.
"Fuck that bitch."
"Plug that hole up."
"Fuck that little cunt hole."
"Fuck it."
"Fuck it harder."
"Stick your rod in there and ream her good."
"Fuck that little bitch cunt."
He felt his balls rear back and slam into the underside of his shaft. They let go their load. They emptied themselves into his cock pole and froze on the spot. His load made the long trip to the top of his cock and poured out the slit full force.
He shot a long, steaming white spurt of man come out the end of his prick. He felt it squirt. He held onto the nylon panties under his butt mounds and rammed his tongue down his wife's throat as he shot. The ecstasy had him deep, deep in its grip.
Tyne felt her cunt lips bang against each other and draw the wet, hot, heaving come stuff right out of her guts. She bounced up and down on the chair as she felt the strong vibration of her husband's eruption. The next thing she knew, the girl on her knees was sobbing.
"Oh, oh," she said, throwing her head around wildly, "I'm coming again. Don't stop. Please don't stop."
She had to suppress a little laugh. This girl who only a few moments ago had begged them both to stop was now begging for them not to. It was a funny turn around. A delicious reversal. But nothing surprised her anymore. It had, after all, happened before. That's what made life with Matthew and with Mandy so much fun.
"Keep them," the girl said, ten minutes later as she shoved the pairs of silken panties across the counter to them. "No charge at all."
Mandy adjusted her blouse and tucked it carefully back into her skin tight satin skirt. It had been entertaining, if a little scary in the beginning. And now everybody seemed happy. And she was gonna get a great pair of panties. For free.
Tyne grinned and slipped her arm into Mandy's. She blew the shop girl a kiss and headed toward the door with her friend in tow.
The two of them slipped quietly out into the street arm in arm. Arm in arm into the still rain-soaked street.
Mandy patted her backside and moved her shopping cart ahead one space. Someone had brushed against her back there. She turned around slowly, seductively to see who it was.
That stock boy! That lithe, lean honey blonde kid with the big green eyes. The hungry green eyes.
"Can I help you carry that stuff out to the car, Lady?" he said, eagerness emblazoned all over his face.
"Sure," Mandy purred like a bitch cat in heat. "Once I get it rung up."
Just then a hairy hand reached for her box of soda crackers. "Meet me at the door," she said, giving her hips a suggestive little wiggle. Just a subtle little wiggle. She didn't want anyone in the place thinking she was a tart. God forbid!
Minutes later, she plopped the two huge, heavily-laden bags of groceries into the boy's obliging hands. She followed him demurely out to where her compact car sat soaking in the sun.
Jeff hoisted the groceries high up and let the bulky bags rest on his out-thrust hip. He couldn't resist showing off his prowess at bag toting to this luscious woman. This come queen sauntering slowly out into the parking lot with him.
"Over here," the raven-haired lovely said, pointing to a white sports car.
He followed her over willingly. He would have followed her out of the lot and down to the ocean. Probably right out into the water.
He kept his eyes peeled on her as she leaned her tall frame over and slipped her hand inside the metal door handle. He watched her hips move from side to side as she jerked it open. And he let his mouth drop slack open as he saw a diminutive, stacked blonde woman plant one shapely tanned leg on the hot pavement.
She leaned her tough, agile little body out toward the black-haired girl as she spoke.
"What the hell took you so long?"
CHAPTER TWO
"Christ, Mandy," the blonde bitch said, steering the car out of the parking lot wildly. "You know we're expecting company tonight. You wanna sabotage a perfectly good party?"
Mandy sat silently on the passenger side and watched the little speck that was Pike's Crossing flash by her window. Maybe she did want to sabotage that party. She loved to trip Tyne up whenever she could.
And Tyne was so obsessive about her parties. Everything had to be just so fucking perfect. All the ashtrays emptied before any of the guests could arrive to fill them up. All the floors mopped to glistening. Before anybody could scuff them up. And the food had to be laid out a certain way. Before the hungry mobs could descend like locusts and chew it back to the tablecloth.
All the preparations! And she knew perfectly well she would have to do most of the work. It was like being a slave. Matter of fact, it was a lot like it. And all to please the anxious hordes of summer friends.
That's who would be there tonight. Their summer friends. Couples and singles from Chatham and the surrounding resort area. The wealthy and near-wealthy. The beautiful and near-beautiful people of the summer village. They could come in, mix themselves a drink, or have Mandy mix it and chat and sip till dawn or thereabouts.
Summer friends. Fair weather friends. It was so strange. Come the first of September, they would close up the place and move back to the city. Back to the hub of rush-rush excitement and fast pace that would entrap them until the first of June rolled around again and they would come back here.
Mandy wasn't exactly looking forward to it. It represented a big change. For it was on the first of September that she would take off her fine, satiny lingerie and let her beard grow again. For on that date, Mandy became Matthew once more in earnest. And he would take up his life as a responsible man of the world, husband and toiler as part of the city's work force.
He would labor long and devoutly, bring home a hefty pay check and keep his muscular shoulder to the grindstone the entire winter. Not that he relished his job. But it was good, honest man's work. He loved playing hockey. Most men envied his lot. Imagine doing something you love for a living, they would say, not bothering to hide their envy.
And it was true. He loved the game. and best of all, it was seasonal. There was some travel involved during the season, but since the city had built that hockey arena, most of the games were scheduled right in town.
Left him valuable time to himself. Time to do the things he loved. Shooting pool, bowling on occasion, driving his sports car and spending time with Tyne.
Winters passed smoothly enough for him. And there was always summer to look forward to. That first day of June when he would climb up to his loft bedroom overlooking the whole sunken living and dining room of their fashionable town house apartment and shed his sports duds, his man's clothes for something more comfortable.
Something like a push-up black satin bra with rosettes cascading out of the cleavage panel, Or tight bikini nylon panties, cut far, far down on the hip.
And long, filmy stockings of the sheerest, finest nylon money could buy. Lightly patterned with gold or black threads running through them. And garter belts. Snappy, sizzling stretchy garter belts with haughty, swinging garter straps hooked over the nylons and riding hard down on his manly thighs "Shit!" Tyne said, veering the car to the left of the road with a wild look in her eyes, "I forgot the anchovy paste."
"I think we've got some in the pantry cabinet," Mandy said softly, patting her satin skirt down over her knee. The slit in it made it difficult to hide her thighs, but she liked sitting like a lady, even if only Tyne were the only one around.
"But you don't know for sure," the girl snapped back, "you're just guessing."
"Okay, Baby," Mandy cooed, trying to soothe the girl's wild, unpredictable temper, "I'm just guessing, but is it so important?"
"Hell, yes!" the fiery blonde shot back, "A lot you know about it."
Mandy didn't know much about it. She let Tyne plan the entertaining. She just mopped up. Before and after.
"Well, shut my mouth and call me a stupid little pickaninny," she said back to her in one of her rare acts of defiance.
"Fucking bitch queen you are today," Tyne snorted back angrily. "What's eating you as if I didn't know. You can't stand the idea of a party tonight, can you? You don't even much like the people who are coming, do you? Well, get used to the idea, Cookie, cause it's gonna come off. Even if I have to do all the work myself."
Fat chance there was of that happening. Mandy did all the work. That part of their pattern never varied. And even when there were no guests expected, Mandy served Tyne. That ungrateful, bitchy little mistress. That aggravated blonde with the mean streak that held so much power over her. So much mystifying, awesome power.
"Okay, Baby," Mandy said, moving a little closer to her on the seat, "so I'd like to get you alone. Can you blame me? I don't get you to myself much once we come out here and ... "
"God, you're selfish," Tyne said, letting her words out in sharp, angry jabs. "Can't I have a little fun once in a while without you're getting jealous? What kind of a girlfriend have I got hanging onto me, anyway?"
Mandy let her silence provide the answer. Tyne knew what kind of a girlfriend she had. One who was totally devoted to her. One who loved her, worshipped her and would go to any lengths to please. Had on several occasions.
A few more minutes and they'd be home. Then the fun could begin. She gazed dreamily onto the hot concrete highway spread out in front of her. Her thoughts wandered.
How had this thing begun? Innocently, like most things. And some days, even now, she still couldn't believe it was happening. Couldn't believe that sitting right next to her on this warm upholstered seat was the most masculine man she had ever known, ever dreamed of, playing the part of her girlfriend.
She was in her early twenties when she met Matt. Maybe twenty-one or two. She never could remember, because she constantly lied about her age. She had been an avid little skater, then. Dying to make it as a professional.
Entering all those competitions had been fun. Touring with her mom, meeting Olympic skating champions, ice show stars. Of course, it had given her a pretty good opinion of herself, but why not?
She was young, hot, nubile, perfectly muscled and shaped like a little Aphrodite. Poetry on ice, some judges had called her. She always gave them a good show during any event. Especially one where she would be judged. She managed to wear the shortest little skating skirt she could find, a flared one with real tight skater's panties.
Skating past the ice stand, she would spread her legs and fly up, up over the ice giving the guys with the clipboards something to star her about. They never failed to give a good rating. That meant she could go on to the next big competition, to Minneapolis or Los Angeles and compete in subsequent events for that season.
Her mother pushed her hard. Harder even than her coach. She wanted to make her daughter a pro all right, even if she knew she would never make the Olympics. There was a lot of money to be earned if she could get her darling daughter a star spot in an ice follies show, one that toured the country. And she had invested a lot of money, with her lessons, private coaches, travel.
Tyne had little time in her life, except for skating. Skating and men. Big, beefy heroically proportioned men were her particular favorites. She used to go to the hockey games and watch those burly hunks thunder down the ice, lash out at that insipid little puck with their cracking hockey sticks and nail their opponents against the fence whenever they felt the urge to smash somebody. She didn't like to admit it, but she got off on the violence of the game, especially when somebody got their teeth knocked out, or their face bloodied.
Inevitably, she met Matt. Matthew Davidson, one of the stars of the city hockey team. Had been a prof only a short time, but an able, exciting player nonetheless. God, he was gorgeous. Six feet plus and wiry as a diving board. Lean, trim, athletic, covered with rippling big muscles and a shock of black, curly hair that made her want to cream whenever he took off his helmet.
And those eyes, those smoldering grey pools of electricity. They always got her in the soft spot. As best she could remember, somebody introduced somebody to somebody after one of the games and she ended up talking to Matt all night in some sports bar in the center of town.
But she did remember how shy he was. Painfully shy.
"Mind if I call you?" he said, setting her down in the back seat of a taxi.
She not only didn't mind, she would have asked him to if he hadn't finally gotten around to it.
"Please," she said, blinking her catty little amber eyes back up at him.
It was to be the only time she ever said 'please' to him.
Their first date had been to, where else, a skating rink. Fun, okay it had been that, but they had gone to a public rink and attracted too much attention. Tyne never could resist showing off. She was a chronic attention-seeker.
She had even dressed for their first date to get the most attention possible from this big, sexy hunk. Tight-fitting little sweater that surrounded her ample boobs and pushed them skyward. A very form-fitting black satin skirt with a slit up so far you could see her navel on a clear day. And see-through tights. She even made sure her underwear would be perfect. She selected a demi-bra with wires running underneath to press her firm boobs into each other and out toward the fuzzy little sweater. The hottest pair of silk panties she could find in the store that day. And two drops of French perfume, in an inconspicuous place.
And she flaunted it. Flaunted it wherever they went. Walking hand in hand in the park, she swung her tight, muscular hips to and fro, to and fro, like a pendulum working double time. She felt eyes turn in on her. She wanted everybody to approve. Of her and the man she was with.
He seemed to approve. He was shy, though. He had a bit of difficulty looking her straight in the eye. Had no difficulty looking at her body. His eyes raced from her head and down to her toes thirty times that night. She counted.
"Wanna come up to my place for a drink?" he said, after the night had worn out.
She thought he'd never ask. "Sure," she said, nailing him with a toothy little grin.
"Can't skate there," he said, scratching his ear. Tyne noted that if he'd reached high enough to scratch his head, he'd bust the seam of his shirt.
"It's okay," she said, laughing at the idea, "I like to walk on carpeting once in a while. At least it doesn't melt."
"Now," Matt had said to her after they had gotten inside, "what'll you have?"
Tyne wanted to tell him right then and there that she wasn't especially interested in booze, that she would prefer him with a swizzle stick, or straight up, if that be the case.
But, she bit her tongue and sat back in the crimson sofa, "Brandy," she said watching him walk to the liquor cabinet. There was something hypnotic about his ass. The way it fitted into those pants. The way he moved it. She felt a little gurgle rise up and flood her cunt.
"I don't keep too much liquor in the house," he said, pawing through the short supply of bottles until he found the one with the European label, "hope this is okay."
They had a drink. They talked some more and Matt lit a fire in the fireplace. The place was cozy enough, but not especially colorful. Probably because he was a bachelor (thank God!) and didn't spend a lot of time in the house.
"I like this place," she lied through her teeth, "I like you, too."
That was no lie. She had liked him the first time she saw him drive his puck onto the ice. Before she even looked him up in her program or got her friend to introduce them.
"I'm glad," he said, sitting down next to her.
Again, her cunt began to drool just from being close to him. He was so massive and masculine. Not crude, exactly, but not too refined either, like a lot of men she had met. He looked and acted like he belonged in the country somewhere, fishing or hunting or hiking or raising horses.
"I don't meet a lot of girls, Tyne," he said, setting his drink down on the end table and putting his arm around her, "I know that sounds odd, being an athlete, but it's something I never seem to find time for."
"What are you saying?" Tyne winked back at him. She was giving him signals right and left and she hoped to hell they weren't being missed.
She wiggled her hips in closer and arched her back slightly. She was pretty proud of those tits of hers. Maybe they would act like the honey she needed to trap this big, cuddly fly.
"I'm saying I hope you won't be disappointed," he said, covering his mouth and clearing his throat at the same time.
"In what?" she said, snuggling in as close as she dared without sitting on his lap.
"Me," he said letting his hand relax down onto her shoulder. "I hope you won't mind if I make love like a novice."
That did it. She knew she was home free. This guy wanted her, too. That made it all the better. All the tastier. Delicious, in fact. She could relax now.
She reached up and yanked the rubber band out of her hair and let it fall, blonde and thick and bouncy, down onto her shoulders. And she let her legs flop apart a bit. To make it easier for him? To give her cunt some much-needed relief? It felt like it was about to erupt with hot lava.
"I doubt that," she said, feeling pretty sure of herself once more. Sure enough to slide her hand along the sofa seat and press it onto the man's inner thigh. It was as strong as a tree trunk and about as big around.
She weaseled her hand up high enough to feel the pulsating heat from his groin. Could be he felt the same way she did about then. Hot!
She let her drink form a wet circle on the mahogany top of the end table. She didn't need it. This guy would be all she would need for the rest of the evening. and as it turned out, for the rest of her life.
She froze her buns to the sofa seat as the big man turned and brought his face down close on hers. The stubble of his beard grazed her cheek lightly and she winced a little from the impact. It felt good. Good to be held by this gigantic man. His arms wound around her like powerful pythons and pressed her to him.
That was what she wanted, to be squeezed silly by this gentle giant. To have the guts wrung out of her and the cunt juice. The juice that was building up like water behind a dam.
"You feel good," the man said into her ear. His hot breath warmed her down to her toes.
"Same goes for you," she said back up to him, rubbing her hard, hot tits around in his chest area.
That seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. She wondered why the hell he needed to be so shy about everything, making that remark about not being too experienced with women. She couldn't have cared less how experienced he was, or if he had any at all. She just wanted him. Every nerve in body strained forward and told her that.
The muscular man brought one mammoth mitt up to her waist and began tracing gentle circles around her tummy. That was exciting, erotic, daring. And very sweet.
"Ohhhh," she let cut softly, in spite of herself. She had wanted to keep still. Not to let out any words that would ruin this moment.
Matt stuck his huge hand up under her sweater and aimed toward her tits. He felt the flat, hard plane of her diaphragm, the sharp, jutting rib cage and finally, the smooth, satiny globes of her hot, eager tits.
He worked his man hands up around them and stroked her nipples. They responded by bouncing up hard into the palms of his hands. He twisted them around like dials on a radio set. He felt his pecker bag tense and bounce hard against his cock. He made him glow. The whole lower half of his body felt fluorescent.
"I love your hands on me," Tyne said, letting out a smooth lung full of air. "They feel so good, so capable."
It was a line she had heard once on a soap opera on TV, but what the hell.
This was an important moment and she couldn't afford to screw it up with any stupid stuff. She would have to go for the jugular.
Matt wound his powerful hands around her tit spheres and kneaded them this way and that. He wanted to rip her clothes off right then and there and fuck the stuffing out of her, but he thought it best to move slowly. He hadn't had much experience with women. They had always frightened him a little, but he did respect them.
He loved the way they moved and he especially liked the way they dressed. He watched with longing whenever one of them dressed or undressed. Those lovely, silken under things. The way they hugged and clung to their bodies, accentuating, altering their shape. The way that filmy, gauzy stuff felt against his skin whenever he touched them. It was pretty awesome. Overwhelming.
He felt the satiny stuff of her bra under his hand as he pushed her cups out of the way to get a better grip of her tits. It felt so gentle, so personal rubbing against the back of his hairy hand.
Again, his pecker tugged at his shorts, careened toward his pant leg. It hurt a little, but the pain was splendid.
Tyne could feel the savage little interloper craning down his leg, inching closer and closer to her hand. Her hot, eager hand. She had to repulse the urge to reach down and grab his cock and rip it out of his pants, but she didn't want to seem too man-hungry. Even though she was.
"Touch me," he urged at last, not wanting to wait any longer.
Tyne patted his fat cock stick, just at the tip, through the forbidding wool of his pants. Then, she reached for his belt buckle. She hoped that wouldn't make her look like an aggressive bitch, which men had told her she was, on several occasions. But she was getting too excited to wait for him to do it. And once he had made the invitation, well, what the hell.
She got his buckle loose with little trouble. Next, she made for the top button of his tight woolen pants. He had to raise his hips up a little to make room for her to open it, but she did it mostly herself. She had the idea in the back of her head to pull his pants all the way down, but somehow, in her excitement, she couldn't remember what she was supposed to be doing and forgot herself completely. That's when she reached in and grabbed his tool with her anxious, fluttering hands. Reached right in and gripped his mighty oak tree and hauled it out for inspection.
"Take it easy," Matt said under his breath.
She hoped he wouldn't think her coarse, or too hot for her own panties. Which she was, she definitely was. She made an effort to slow down, but that was proving rough going what with him sitting there with his cock in her hand.
She couldn't restrain herself from looking at it. It invited a studied examination. Such a swarthy, inviting long fuck stick. With those walloping big balls tucked up underneath it. The massive, round head was bobbing at her, beckoning her nearer.
Matt drew a sharp breath in through his closed teeth as the girl fondled his prick. Those warm, soft silky hands of hers encircling it and pushing it around, so determined, so spirited a girl was this one. And such a looker! A natural blonde. The kind of girl he had always dreamed of holding. Dreamed of having her hold his cock and admire it, the way this girl was doing now.
"I gotta say it," she sighed, unable to keep it down a moment longer, "you've got a beautiful cock."
"Thanks," he said, "that's decent of you."
Tyne lowered herself down over it and looked into the slit. It was filling up with a little drizzle of clear, juicy pre-cum. It must have liked to be touched as much as she liked touching it. God, how she wanted to wrap her hot little lips around this thick meat loaf. To suck it to shreds, to suck the life out of it. To give it life with her mouth. To pump energy from it. To slobber all over it.
Then, she felt the big man's mighty hands making their way up under her skirt. It wasn't difficult, with that slit there. He found the edge of her nylon panties and toyed with them for what seemed like an especially long time.
"That feels great," the hunk said down to her in his deep, base voice, "I love touching it."
She wasn't sure what he meant, since he hadn't reached her pussy yet, but she had to agree that whatever he was doing felt great. Just great.
Matt diddled with the girl's panty legs. Felt the smooth silky material against his massive palm. His gorilla strong hand. How it loved the feel of silken nylon against its extended palm. How it groped for it, magnetized.
Tyne nudged his huge man dick around a little under her hand. She felt the throbbing vein on the underside pulsate hard, harder, against her hand. She wanted to get down there and watch it, but he would get the wrong idea. Or an idea she didn't want him to get yet. She was curious.
The thing was jutting, banging, slamming against her hand. She wasn't doing much, just anchoring it there. This guy's cock had a life of its own!
"What can I do?" she asked, demanding advice, guidance, direction.
"I was about to ask you that," Matt answered, trying to control his heavy breathing.
"Let me take this off," she said, sliding around in a position where she could master her zipper and get out of the rather cumbersome skirt.
Matt helped her slip out of it and eyed her precious pink bikini panties. He saw the little dark spot in the crotch and put his big man's hand over it. He dabbed it lightly and brought it to his face, sniffing it with his eyes closed.
"Smells fine," he said, confidently. His cock picked up a little more steam under Tyne's guidance and aimed its head due north.
He pressed his whole palm down onto her crotch again. The live, steamy heat from her pussy rose up into his hand, warming it. The touch of the nylon under him stiffened his dick still more and he edged in closer.
"I want to fuck you," he said, knowing that might sound sudden, but he couldn't help it. "And I have a request."
"Anything," Tyne said, roused from the heat of her passion. She meant it by this time. "Leave these on," he said simply. He snapped the waistband of her bikini panties to punctuate his words.
"Sure, but how will we ... "
He broke her thoughts off with his breath, insisting it down into her ear along with his smooth, confident words.
"Leave it to me."
Tyne lay back and gripped the bottom of her sweater. She lifted it up over her head and exposed her high, full breasts above the bra she still wore.
"You want me to leave this on, too?" she asked, figuring the guy knew what he wanted, so what was it to her?
"Yeah," he said, looking up at the delicious tits popping over the beautiful lacy bra cups. "Your stockings, too."
Tyne had never had such a request. Most Joe's just wanted her to get naked as fast as she could and screw the life out of her. Wham. Bam ... thank you Ma'am. But this guy was different. Different and deliberate. He made sex fun. It was going to be fun to make it with him.
She let her legs fall apart a little and sat up to watch him effect penetration. That was one of her favorite moments. The moment of contact between the man's round, brown dome and her open, willing pink gash. But how the hell was he going to penetrate her unless he took her panties off. She didn't have to wait long for the answer.
The thick, muscular man yanked her panty leg up, up over her downy little pussy mound. That tight little Venus crest with its moist blondish hairs, growing out at every angle. She felt a little breeze stir her bush and looked down to see it exposed to his sight.
"Oh, God," she said, as he pushed the tip of his cock onto her quivering hot pussy lips. "That is just about sensational. No, I take it back, it is sensational."
Matt couldn't answer with words. Instead, he shoved his cock up hard inside her. Hard inside the gripping, weeping hole. He felt the band of elastic press into his cock shaft as he drew it out a little only to push it in again.
He brought his huge man hands up to her tits and fondled them as he plugged her savagely. He let the elastic of her panties alone to do its thing. And it did.
It gnawed his prick flesh. It bit into his throbbing big dick and chafed him as he pumped his cock in and out of that little girl's blonde fringed hole.
Her muscular control proved a revelation to him. She was working along with him to effect the tightest fuck he had ever had in his life. Not to mention the wettest. Her cunt was absolutely flowing juice. His cock was engulfed in it He patted the silky smooth panties with his hand as he continued to fuck her to the accompaniment of her startled cries.
"Screw me, Matt."
"Don't stop."
"I'm gonna come."
"You're making me come."
"Fuck me."
"Fuck my hole."
"Oh, God, I'm coming."
She did, too. She tossed her hips mightily up into the air and banged them down into the sofa. She let out a wild cry and hurled her head forward as she shot her juice. Shot her exquisite bountiful come juice out her pussy in thick, oozing drops.
Matt hung on as long as he could. Hung on to his hard on with all his might. But the sight of her hard tits bouncing like jelly, the feel of her tight, juiced up pussy gripping at his pounding cock, the feel of those silken little under things against his hand. Those tiny weightless panties, crushing his mighty powerful athlete's hand. Those things proved too much for him.
"Hold on," he instructed her.
Tyne dug her nails into his back as he lifted his hips a moment before slamming down into her hot, throbbing cunt. He slammed. She pounded her fists on his back in the exquisite pain of yet another orgasm.
He ground his cock into her fiery tight pit, that juiced up little socket that was eating him alive. He thumped his hips hard against hers and shot. Shot his load of man come. Tossed up his wad of white, thick jism. It spewed out of his cock tip like a hot geyser.
Tyne felt it shoot. Felt it fill her belly to brim full. And she saw his eyes, staring down at the place of entry, now the place of orgasm.
"Oh, no," she shouted as she plunged off into her third and final climax. "I don't believe it. I'm coming again."
It was a record for her. A first. She had never come this many times in this short of time with a man. Ever. She grabbed the beefy shoulders and pulled her down to him.
Matt gripped her slender arms and pulled her up to him. His still rock hard cock was showing no signs of diminishing. He kept it inside her cunt and let the savage little elastic band burn into his man meat.
The two pressed their bodies together, held onto each other in safety and comfort and surprise. It had been an effective coupling. Delicious. Full of unexpected pleasure.
"You like me to keep my undies on, huh?" Tyne had asked him later. "How come?"
"I like the way they feel on you," he said back, not at all self-conscious about being asked. No wonder. A guy this good had to be pretty sure of his masculinity. "I like the way they feel next to me."
Matt got up and walked to his closet. "But I don't ask every girl to keep her underwear on, the few that I've had."
"Why not?" Tyne shot back, admiring his body as he pulled off his shirt and pants.
"I'm just not always comfortable asking for what I want from a woman," he said, reaching inside and grabbing a velour robe off the hook in the closet.
"You should be, Matt," she said, a little vapor of steam rising from her well-fucked cunt.
"Thanks," he said, slipping the thing on his powerful shoulders.
"I mean it. You've got everything a girl could ask for going for you. And if there's something different or unusual that you want when you're making it with me, I want you to ask for it."
Matt turned to her with a luminous glow in his eyes. He tied the sash around his robe and walked slowly over to where she was sitting.
"There is one thing," he said, "something I've wanted to try, you know, experiment with. I've never asked anybody before, I feel kind of strange."
He was feeling strange. For one thing, his cock was on the march again. And that was unusual. It usually didn't start acting like this for at least twenty minutes after he had fucked someone.
"I got no problems in this arena, Matt," the blonde tigress purred back, "I even like things a little, you know, strange, sometimes."
"I think you do," the black-haired hunk shot back, "I think you mean it and I'm gonna tell you what I want."
"Okay," Tyne said, adjusting herself on the sofa and listening good.
"I'd like to get into your pants," he said brightly.
"Didn't we just do that?" she said, wondering if he was teasing her. She usually preferred to do the teasing.
"I mean I wanna wear them," he said back to her, bringing his hard, muscle-bound athlete's butt down onto the sofa. And the big, solid piece of crimson-covered furniture damned near cracked under his weight as he did.
CHAPTER THREE
"Did you put those glasses away?" Tyne said in her bitchiest, most demanding little voice.
She couldn't find their best crystal anywhere. And it would be just like Mandy to pack those glasses after the last time she used them. That damned girlfriend of hers was just too careful for her.
"I only put them on the top shelf," Mandy said, coming into the room with a red negligee wrapped around her statuesque frame.
"Well, get up there and get them," the little princess said, tossing her blonde curls around like Miss Muffet holding court. "You're the only one who's tall enough. And wipe them down before you put them on the table. God knows how much dust they could be collecting up there."
Mandy opened the cabinet drawers and reached up to the top shelf. She wrapped her hands around the crystal goblets one by one and set them on the kitchen counter,
"I'm going in to take a bath," Tyne said, sounding particularly angry this afternoon, "and I don't want to be disturbed."
There was a lot to be done still. That meant, with Tyne off her feet, that she would have it all to do herself. Nothing new there. All summer long it was the same old story. She worked her tail around here. And for what? To be humiliated every chance Tyne got?
The girl had turned so bitter, so savage lately. There was something bothering her, but Mandy couldn't figure out what it was.
She'd always had that little edge of bitterness to her, even from the first.
Mandy bustled around the kitchen, getting the appetizers ready and thought back to their first year together. A wonderful year. A crazy year. A year of discovery for them both.
He had gotten into her panties. They were too small. So Tyne had brought him a pair from her lingerie boutique. He had tried them on. They fit fine. And he loved the effect. So did she. She said.
It was early evening. They had just gotten engaged, in fact. She had a ring on her finger the size of an ice cube. Big enough to cut a figure eight on if the girl had kept up with her skating. But she had let it lapse.
That always made Matt wonder if maybe she didn't have much more than making a good marriage on her mind. He grabbed a dish towel and wiped the glasses mechanically as he remembered that afternoon. It loomed up sharp and clear in his memory, even now.
He was about to burst with anticipation as she brought out the little brown paper package and unwrapped it. She spread out an array of under things for him to look at and examine. She hadn't just stopped at buying panties.
There were bras, padded, semi-padded, under-wired of various colors and textures. There were garter belts, stretchy ones, seamed ones, brief ones and bulky ones. And nylons, plenty of styles to pick from there.
And of course, panties. Loads of soft, filmy things that sprang back when he touched them. Those soft, feline garments. He would try them all on, one at a time.
He had never before had the chance to do it. To paw through this delicious mountain of lingerie in private, taking all the time he wanted to sample, smell, touch, feel, wear any or all of them, as he chose to.
And Tyne was there, too. Watching, commenting, approving, criticizing, helping him on with panties, helping him hook a bra in the back. She had been great that first night. Really understanding.
How he had longed for her. Ached for her. His cock throbbed just thinking it, even now. That delicious little blonde cunt. She had made life so fucking impossible. Turning into a vengeful little alley cat, baring her claws at the least provocation.
He had put all that stuff on, one garment at a time, strutted in front of the mirror. Modeled them for her and for himself, too. But mostly with her in mind. And she seemed to be really into it. Kept handing him more stuff. Showing him how to stand, how to walk, how to sit down in those flimsy little panties without busting the seams, or ripping them to shreds.
When he got all decked out in a three piece black lace lingerie combination, she had sat there and applauded.
"That's fabulous," she said, nodding her head with enthusiasm.
He was wearing a black garter belt with all-black sheer seamless stockings tucked under them. A deep sea dive of a bra, slightly padded to give his chest convenient, nubile little mounds over his own stiff nipples and a pair of erotic, naughty little panties, cut dangerously low down on the hips. They gave his cock precious little room.
And, once it began to swell, practically no room at all. That part Tyne really went wild about. She got up and slipped off her dressing gown to reveal her own hot set of matching bra and panties. Lavender, sheer, brief and tantalizing. She sauntered over to him and put her hand down over his panties. Cupped his thick cock and heavy, crammed together balls lovingly under her hand and pressed them in to his groin.
That was just about the wildest, hottest feeling he had ever experienced. Having that woman's hand press into his nylon panties and down onto his massive throbbing man meat.
She tickled and teased his cock by bringing her tongue down to the panties and sticking it flush up against his cock basket. The exchange of their steams-his cock heat and her tongue heat-roasted his brain. And made his cock bang against its thin nylon case, signaling that it wanted out.
He had fucked her savagely that night. Fucked her even as they stood upright, gazing languorously into the mirror. She had pulled a neat little reversal on him.
She lifted back the elastic leg hole of his black sheer nylon panties and let his massive cock pole clank out. It stuck out absurdly at right angles to the floor. She diddled the tip of it by standing on a footstool and sticking her panty-clad cunt on the end of it, moving it slowly, agonizing back and forth, around and around.
He was getting his cock skewered by this woman's hot, nylon-bathed cunt. It was dreamy. Hot, wicked and dreamy.
"Let's fuck," she said, yanking her own elastic leg band back and exposing that hot little blonde mound of love to him. Her Wispy blonde hairs folded over each other every which way, some of them sticking out the gauzy material holes of her red panties.
He loved the way her pussy looked like that. That erotic pink crevice, framed with white skin, thick, hair-covered lips and sheer red curtain of nylon. The peekaboo effect was dazzling.
"Hold still," she bossed him. He had gotten used to her bossing him. He liked it in the beginning. She was such a sure and commanding woman. Such a take charge type person.
Always made their little decisions. Whom they would see. Where they would go. And when. Maybe he gave her too much rein. But he liked her style. And he loved her pussy. He loved fucking it. Loved the tight hold it put on him whenever he rammed his crown up inside the tiny, parting lips.
As he was about to do now. He held her shoulders fast with his mighty mitts. She held his panty leg out, permitting his cock the freedom of getting still harder as it poked ever toward her beckoning cunt slit. She held her own elastic leg band out, too, with her other hand, guiding his cock toward her opening by moving her hips around to adjust to its flailing changes of direction.
"Come on," she commanded, "fuck me."
He loved that teasing way she had whenever she did this. Played with his cock. Played with his head. Played havoc with his head.
He aimed his dick tip up, up into the tiny hole she had targeted for him. A tight squeeze, but a perfect fit nonetheless.
"Oh, Wow!!!" she said, forgetting herself a moment. She rarely forgot herself. It was only at times like these she let herself go completely. Wild and free. He loved that. She was the best fuck he had ever known in his life.
She thrust her hips up eagerly, hungrily to grab his dick tip and tuck it tighter, deeper into her cunt hole. Still no hands. A smooth trick, if ever he felt it.
Now, with his man dick thrust up far inside her, Matt felt the meeting of nylon against nylon. Bra against bra. Stockinged leg against stockinged leg.
She held his panty leg back, just as he had the first day he had fucked her on his crimson sofa. She held it back a delirious moment more, then let it snap down onto his pumping cock shaft.
He thought he would cream right then, but he held fast. Held fast and pumped harder, deeper inside the bitch princess's wet, wild hole. He felt her pussy lips encircle the base of his dick.
He felt the warm, live moist tissue of their panties exchange heat. He reached back and gripped his butt, only to feel again the surge of nylon against his thick, surly hand.
"Pump me." She said beginning her sexy little litany again, as she always did when she was getting a really good jacking.
"Pump me."
"Fuck me."
"Plug me."
"Plug me with your big dick."
"Fuck me silly."
"Come on, Matt. More. More. That's good. Oooh, that's great. That's it!"
She wound her pussy lips so tight around his cock base, she wrinkled it. She felt the soft life texture of the nylon under her savage cunt lips as she around and around and down onto his thick, dark cock pole.
Like something alive, the nylon band around his cock stung him to the quick and kept on gripping tighter, tighter.
Matt brought his hands down to his inner thighs and rubbed them against his sheer, moist stockings. Moist with the sweat of heat, arousal, sex, his woman's come running down on them.
Then he rammed his hips up high and hard and held onto the come he knew would arrive in a flash as long as he could. Gripped his hands around one of his legs and around one of his woman's and buried his cock up to the hilt inside her. He let go. He accepted the mounting build up of come load and released himself to the onrush of jism coursing through his cock, aiming toward his pecker tip.
He let go and relieved himself of his mighty spunk load. Emptied it all into the thrusting, pulsating girlie cunt that gripped him. That free fall of passion. That glowing spurt of ecstasy. It warmed him, toasted him golden, consumed him.
"Aaaaahhhhhh," he said, letting his man come load out his dick tip. He braced himself tightly against the female being in his arms and pressed out every drop of come inside he Tyne amazed herself by coming a second, a third time in his arms as he pumped his cream load inside her.
"Oh, Baby," she shouted gripping the tips of his bra like love handles and wriggling her hips uncontrollably over his body.
"What a rush!" she said quietly a few minutes later as they separated and lay down on the carpeted floor. "You're positively indecent, you know that?"
It was good to know that sex with her with him dressed like that was so good. So complete. He felt it, too. The wholeness, the necessity of the costume, his desire to make her feel great.
But, shortly after that evening, she had changed. She started insisting on having sex with him, with him done up in sheer, sexy under things. Things that she picked out and made him put on.
She became downright demanding. About how they should have sex. What he should wear. How she should come on to her. What he was to do with his hands, his feet, his cock even.
That infuriated him. He grew tenser and more confused as the weeks stretched on. By the time of the wedding, he was a ball of frustration. And rage. But that little girl had him right where she wanted him. She coaxed him into having sex with her a lot before they were married, right up to the day.
And always, always with him first dressing up in brief under things and parading around for her. Feeling her up before, during and after she got dressed up similarly.
Lording it over him. That hurt. She would command him to suck her stockinged feet. Or lace her up in a long-line corset, as though she were a fine Victorian lady. Even bringing her a drink or a cigarette or a negligee, whatever she wanted before she would have sex with him.
She demanded it. Insisted on it. Or else she would deny him sex. That really dug him. If only his experience with girls hadn't been so limited before he met her. But it had. He knew few others before her. Had come to adore, admire, worship her. Loved her cunt above all others. Knew her more intimately than anyone. Knew exactly how to please her. Sensed her moods, her little coves of arousal. Knew how to put his hands in the small of her back when she was coming to make her shudder through her whole climax. Knew the most intimate details of her life, her deepest, darkest sexual tastes and secrets.
She had a lot on him, too. She had been the one who encouraged him in this hot little game of dress up and play house. And now she wanted it to all go her way. Fulfill her desires and needs.
He married her all right. With her mother crying her eyes out the whole time. Weeping like a leaky faucet throughout the entire ceremony. Boo hooing how her little girl was giving up her fabulous skating career to marry this athlete fellow, whom she barely knew.
As if her daughter were marrying beneath her. Ha! Her darling girl had long since abandoned her discipline of being a skating star. She had let it go by the wayside. Had wrapped her whole life around his and was making inroads into his career already.
The wedding had been fun. It wouldn't have been much, except for the fact that Matthew Davidson had worn a pair of white silk panties under his tux pants. White silk panties with a thin blue ribbon sewn in the panty legs. Well, he had heard that old saw about "something borrowed, something blue" and it stuck. He didn't want to be out of step. Not on a big, important day like the day a guy ties the knot.
That knot was sitting in the marble tub right now soaking her precious little pampered skin to a wrinkle.
Matt opened the refrigerator door and hauled out a huge silver tray of goodies.
He eyed the clock on the wall and quickened his step. It was getting late. Tyne liked everything laid out a certain way on the buffet table. He would have to see to that right away.
He opened the pantry closet and took out a large linen table cloth and padded into the dining room with it. He opened the oak table, set another leaf in it, closed it and spread the huge cloth out over it. Such unseemly work for a big, athletic man to be doing. So why was he doing it?
What, had happened to make him serve her? Bow tow to her every whim? Why in the world was he letting her languish in the tub right now while he was doing all the work?
To piece it together, he had to think back, back. Back to the day after the wedding. Things had really started to turn vicious after that. It was on their honeymoon, in fact. God, how that day had been burned onto his memory.
They had gone to Chatham. Their first trip to the resort together, as a matter of fact. They got a huge room in a lodge overlooking the ocean. He was beginning to feel that he had made a good decision about marrying her.
Tyne seemed radiantly happy. and of course, sex between them had heated up, if anything. She insisted on buying the wedding trousseau. Tight sports clothes for him. Natty, stylish clothes all tailored for active men and very, very expensive.
She always cared very much about he looked. She had some hot little duds all picked out for herself, too. Guaranteed to turn heads. He had never been too comfortable about all the attention she got whenever they were on the street.
And she got even more when the two of them went out as women. When they went out as man and wife, few male heads would turn around because they hadn't wanted to risk angering the tall, well-built jock walking with her. Then, too, a lot of men recognized him as being on the team of the All City Pro Hockey Stars. Some even stepped past her to ask for his autograph. He was always shy about meeting his public, but Tyne protected him.
And on this week, as the two of them strolled out from their lodge digs as man and wife, he felt especially proud, if a little nervous that fans might spot him. Tyne looked smashing in a little tuft of blue cotton. A summer dress that dipped revealing low in front and showed the round tops of her giant tits, now tanned and glistening in the moonlight.
He looked great and felt good, too. He had such high hopes for their future together. But those hopes were soon dashed to the earth. Shattered in a million scared pieces.
She had begun to taunt him at dinner. "Look at that hunk, will you," she cooed, pointing to a tall, blonde beach boy type coming into the restaurant in an open shirt and white sports pants. "I'd like to meet him under a beach umbrella anytime, anywhere."
That hurt him. He was a solid, handsome man, a good catch and he knew it. So what was she bragging up other men for, right here in front of him, on their honeymoon for Christ's sake?
"How about that bulge in his pants?" she said, sipping her soup loudly, "Ever see anything like that on a man his size?"
Matt felt his face burn to his eyeballs. Fucking little cunt was not going to get away with any more of this talk. No way.
"Look, Tyne," he said, controlling his voice only with the sheer force of his will, "if you want to fuck around on the honeymoon, go to it, but don't expect me to sit here and listen to you talk about it."
A long pause. Then she drew her fork up and stabbed it into the table. He stood up to go.
"Sit down," she said through clenched teeth. "Sit down or I'll make the loudest, wildest scene you ever saw. I'll have photographers down on us in less than five minutes. How'd you like that spread all over the sports page?"
He eyed her hostility. What the hell did she have in mind? He stood near her, glaring down hotly.
"I don't think you would."
"Try leaving here and find out," she called his bluff.
Matt weighed the consequences. He had seen her do some pretty crazy things in their time together. She was mean-spirited, uncontrollable and petty when she wanted to be. And this might be one of those times.
"Now, listen and listen good," she crowed up shrilly. "I'm gonna fuck that blonde beach rooster over there. Tonight. And you're gonna help."
"Don't push me too far, Tyne. It wouldn't be healthy."
"I'll push you as far as I like any time I like," she said, exhaling mean hot air with her vile words.
Matt dug his shoe leather into the carpet of the dining room and eyed her curiously. What the hell did she think she was doing?
He didn't have to wait long for an answer.
"You wrecked my career by marrying me and I can wreck yours if you don't do what I like. It just so happens I am in a position to do it. To wreck you. To scandalize you. Don't forget, I happen to know something about your private tastes, in, shall we say, various pieces of brief apparel?"
She grinned her wretched little cat grin. The one he wanted to slap right off her face.
"You wouldn't," he said low into her face, "there's your good family name. And a mother who would have a heart attack if ... "
"Forget it, Matt. I have pictures. Pictures you would blush if I even told you about. In some of them your face is plainly visible. I don't even need to sign my name to them or reveal who sent them if I just want to send them in to Hockey Corner or the Chatham Town News if I don't want to wait till we get back to the city."
Matt found himself eyeing her neck. The slender tanned little neck that he wanted to crush right now.
"So sit down and let's have dinner. You know I'm never in the mood till after we eat. You're not, either."
Matt gripped the back of his chair so hard, he heard the wood crack under his palm. This insipid little bitch. This hotsy totsy princess with the honey words oozing out of her mouth, the honey come oozing out of her cunt had suddenly, swiftly beaten him to a pulp. And with so few words. And no fists. No fists whatsoever.
Life for him made a turnaround that day. That first day in Chatham. Their whole relationship changed. And it would never, never be like it had been again.
CHAPTER FOUR
"Ice!" the blonde bitch's shrill voice pierced his thoughts as he gripped the table edge and braced himself against it.
"We've got ice," he said, making a spectacular comeback, considering how loud and jarring her voice had been.
"But enough?" she said, drilling him with her relentless little greenish-gold eyes. "You know, you can never have enough ice. Run down to the store and get some."
"Tyne, I ... "
"Be a good girl and do like I say, Mandy," she said, not even bothering to add a little edge of pleading to her voice. "Go on."
Matt felt the surge of hatred rise up in him. Rise up like a fortress of defiance against her cruel, heartless attacks. But it was no use. He knew from past experience. He would give into her again and again. Just like he had in the five summers they had been here together. She always won. Pussy power. Maybe that was it. Or just that she was meaner than he was. Evil-eyed bitch.
Matt, or Mandy, as she was now, backed off into the kitchen and grabbed a light headscarf off the hook near the door. She tied it around her long, flowing black locks and made for the back door.
It was only a block and a half to the filling station and the ice house next to it, but still she resented slaving like this. Devoting her entire life to this little she-bitch of a fucking cocksucking little princess. Dominating little cunt.
She felt the gravel of the road grind under her high heels as she strolled along, quickening her pace.
Again those distant days of their honeymoon tugged at the strings of her memory. That night had been a blitz, a cruel jest, a surreal dream. She had seduced the little boy all right. Well, he wasn't so little, as it turned out.
And she had gotten Mandy in on it, too. That was the name she picked out for him that night. She had also picked out a long, black curly wig. A high fashion tress that curled around his ears and tickled his shoulders.
It also added to the illusion of making him a stunning, curvaceous woman. The type that most men couldn't resist, in any light.
She made him up. She shaved a little patch of chest hair to allow him to wear low cut dresses in public without arousing suspicion. She shaved his legs, his arms, his hands for Christ sake.
And she made him up to accentuate his natural good looks. In a totally feminine and believable way. That was the amazing thing. He looked radiant. Radiant, hot, sultry, sexual. And womanly. That, most of all.
"I think you look better in blue than I do," she said, holding up a pair of midnight blue panties for his inspection. "You put these on."
Mandy held them up, feeling tired all of a sudden. "I don't know if I want to go out with you, Tyne," she said, practicing the voice that his wife had coached him with for the last hour and a half. "I'm tired. Drained."
"What?" she said, shooting one perfectly arched eyebrow up to her hair line. "Of course you do ... us two girls are gonna have a ball tonight, remember?"
"I'm done in, I tell you," she sighed, leaning back onto the dressing table. "Why don't you go alone?"
"Be serious, Girl!" she said, staring into the mirror and adjusting her lipstick. "How often do we two get to go out alone. And pick up a man? Come on, it's gonna be fun."
Mandy felt a gnawing in her gut. A terrible, nauseating wrench. "I can't, I tell you, I can't. I don't like boys."
"Of course you do, Silly," she said, ignoring her pleas, "and what's more, they like you. Heads never fail to turn when you walk by. I've seen it. Okay, so I'm jealous. But it's the truth."
Mandy stood up and grabbed the wig off her head and threw it on the floor. "Try and make me," he said in his booming man's voice.
"Don't force me, Matt," she snarled viciously, "because I would. And you know it."
Matt tensed his fist muscles up automatically. In a fight, any kind of fight, he could pulverize this little ding dong. Grind to hamburger beneath one ramming fist. He had done it men twice her size. But here she sat, queen of the dressing table, queen of all she surveyed, including him.
She held the keys to his reputation in her lap. In that sweet, honey-dipped lap he wanted to bury his head in, even now. The tension in his fists bounced into his throat and clung to the roof of his mouth. It made him surly, ugly and mean, but he couldn't do much about it.
Some things were beyond your control.
Threats? What good would they do? She had the pictures of him. The pictures of him parading around in girl's under clothes. Arching his back, stretching his legs apart and showing his panty crotch. The panty crotch with the insidious, shocking bulge. What had been his downfall? Where had he gone wrong?
"All right, Tyne," he said softly, as he plopped his sagging buns onto the bed. "I give up."
He was licked. Licked before he even started. She had him right where she wanted him.
"I knew you'd see it my way, Baby," she said, grabbing his wig from off the floor where he had tossed it and combing it out with her fingernails.
She brought it over to him and slipped it back onto his head. She patted it down into place and stood back to admire her handiwork.
"There. Just like I like my best friend to look. Come on, now, Mandy. Time to get washed up. Can't keep the young men of Chatham waiting, can we? There's lots of young studs out there just waiting for what we've got to give them."
Mandy, for she had now become Mandy again, stood up and headed toward the bathroom. There would be soap in there. Soap, oil, perfume, powder. Things that Tyne would insist on attending to her with. She would make her up again, dress her up and then start ordering her around. It was incredible. Just incredible.
"Ice house open?" she called to the young, husky station attendant.
"Sure thing, Miss Davidson," the boy called back.
He followed her with his quick eyes as she darted around the corner and into the ladies' room. He would have liked to duck in there with her. She was such a dish! He had had his eye on her since two summers ago when he started working at the gas station. But no luck.
And, unfortunately, she was usually accompanied by that blonde brat of a girl friend of hers. It crossed his mind more than a few times that the two might be lesbians. They always buzzed around together, talking, whispering, giggling close together.
But no, he had always heard that lesbians were ugly, masculine at the least. Not these two. Especially that black-haired chick. She was a real fox. And so nice. Always spoke in a soft, well-modulated voice. Polite.
That other dame was a regular ring-tailed cunt. A she-bear. He couldn't stand her.
"Can I get some change?" the grey-eyed honey pot called from the door of the ladies' room.
Christ, he thought to himself, how embarrassing, she probably wants change for the sanitary napkin machine.
But, no, she didn't. "I need some for the ice machine," she said, "I ran out of the house without it."
She walked over to him and stood there, her hair blowing in the night breeze. He couldn't help looking at her. Such a tall, fucking statue of a woman. And those high, round tits sticking out like that, straining against the thin material of her blouse. Those dynamite well-turned legs. Not a mark or bad curve anywhere. And that sexy, deep voice. It made his bow tie bounce. It made his tonsils jiggle.
"Here," he said, reaching into his own pocket and handing her a pile of change. He forgot to take the bill from her in return until she forced it into his hand.
Then, she turned and sauntered off, swinging those delectable hips from side to side.
Mandy stuck the money in the ice machine and leaned against the front of it, waiting for it to do its thing.
That little filling station attendant reminded her of the first guy they had seduced together. He was young, blonde, sun-tanned. And he was also a hot little stud, at least he was that night.
Decked out in long, slinky gowns they climbed the steps to the restaurant. It was a posh place, frequented by the most established, wealthiest people in Chatham. People who would later become admirers of theirs, come to their parties, invite them to theirs.
But on this night, this first night of their appearance out together as girl friends, nobody knew them. They would soon enough.
The doorman opened the door and let the two woman inside. Women guests didn't normally turn his head, but these two did. The little one was a tight-assed, loud-mouthed blonde. He had seen her type before. Beautiful, but bitchy.
He had never seen anything like the other one. Resplendent in a satiny red slinky full length gown with a slit up it, showing a magnificent pair of smooth, angular legs. Rounded slightly in all the right places.
And so tall. Like a showgirl. Or a high fashion model, which was probably what she was. That face could stop traffic. It was radiant. Glowing, ivory, shining. Great set of tits, too, what he could see of them.
"Table for two?" the head waiter asked, bowing low to admit them into the dimly-lit little club.
"Right," Mandy snapped, hardly looking at him.
It was her way of dealing with functionaries. People she considered beneath her. It was a pattern that was to continue, along with her dominance of him. Her complete takeover of his life that began every June first. The day of the year when his world turned upside down, inside out and he became she.
They turned dozens of heads that night. Men, women, waiters, cooks, drivers, bellhops and big blonde beach boys with bulges in their pants.
They caught their mail all right. He happened to be strolling past their table and Tyne pinched Mandy until she winked at him.
That was all it took. The dye was cast. The guy came over. Introduced himself.
"Ned Barron," he said, slipping a golden hand into Tyne's and bringing it up to his lips.
A continental one. Oh, joy, Mandy thought, just what I wanted. She squirmed uneasily in her seat. She did that a lot the whole time he sat between them.
He was a ladies' man all right. A gigolo. A summer resort stud who spent his evenings wining and dining rich and amorous women on the condition that they would pick up the tab.
Tyne picked it up that night. Picked it up, plunked it on the waiter's tray with a hundred dollar bill and steered the eager little hot rooster right out the door between the two of them.
They wasted no time getting back to the lodge. Mandy stood breathing hard in the hallway while Tyne turned her key in the lock.
"Nightcap?" she said, licking her pouty pink lips and leering at the stud creature.
"Suits me," he said, holding his linen jacket against his shoulders, cape-style. European men could be so swank, especially when they came from Des Moines, like this one did.
The three of them chatted another half hour or so over a brandy, a couple of cigars, another brandy.
Then, Tyne grew restless. Anxious. Hot. She lowered the strap on her evening gown and leaned over toward Ned. "Mind if I slip into something more comfortable?"
Christ, Mandy thought. He couldn't believe she was using that old line. She hadn't even used it with him.
Suddenly Mandy knew she couldn't go through with it. Whatever 'it' was going to be. She just couldn't. She considered turning herself in. Giving herself up to her captor. The cruel blonde one he had married in a weak moment.
He rushed in to the bathroom where she had gone to change,
"I can't do it," she whispered as soon as the door slammed shut behind her. "I can't go through with this. It's insane. I'm your husband."
"Shut up, Mandy," the blonde tigress snapped, "shut up or I'll smear your name across the sports pages of the world. You know I will."
"Then, you'll have to, Bitch," she said back, hearing how ridiculous she sounded, knowing that she didn't mean what she was saying, trying to find another way to work this out.
Tyne stood there with one leg around her tight thrusting hip and one toe dug hard into the carpet. She had her gown off and Mandy could see the familiar protrusions of her ample tit mounds. Those luscious bitable bits of hot, fleshy goodness. But she couldn't think about that now. She mustn't.
"You're so stupid, Mandy," she said cool as a cucumber. "So rank. You don't even know what's gonna go on out there and already you're pushing the panic button."
Mandy bit down her lip and let Tyne's words pierce her skull. She was right. She didn't know.
"You like to watch yourself, don't you?" the little lascivious grin crept across her face as she went on, "You like to get off on yourself in front of a mirror, parading around, don't you?"
Mandy felt herself nodding, as though a puppeteer were working her head.
"Well, think how much fun it will be if another man gets to watch you? Won't it be a really good gimmick to trick him for a while? Well let him in the truth later, soon enough. Nothing's gonna happen. Besides, the little stud has been fucking old dowagers with big diamonds all summer. Fucking them and taking their money. He's got one coming to him. Don't you think?"
Mandy wasn't thinking at all. That was the problem. But the idea of teasing this guy, while dressed as a seductive, hot, sexy lady, that appealed to him. To his vanity.
The vanity Tyne was banking on at that very moment. The vanity that would help her lure him to his fall. She had set everything so perfect for this scene. So many plans had gone into it. She and Ned had worked it all out rather well, she thought. And now, for the big payoff.
Okay, so it was wicked of her, cruel to want to get her husband right where she wanted him. But it had been fun, too. Fun plotting the whole trap. Setting it. Buying the bait. That had been Ned Barron. Greasy hunk of a little con man.
She had met him in the city, at her local bar one afternoon when she was alone. She found out he was a professional, stud, given to weight lifting and she started to chart her revenge. Revenge? Ha! Wish-fulfillment was more like it.
Soon she would have that big, hairy giant eating out of her hand. And that's not all he would be eating out of.
"Look," she said again as he gazed at the bathroom fixtures, "you don't have to do anything but tease him. That's all I want. Come on, Sugar, I just want to see you tease him. Then, we'll let him go. Like teasing a stray puppy. It'll be fun."
He wasn't budging.
"It'll get me good and hot watching that. Watching you parade around in front of him. Watching him slobber over you. We'll open the door after, kick him out and have ourselves a hot, wet old time. Come on, be a sport, Mandy."
The dejected friend looked up at her and blinked her big, thick lashes.
"Okay, Tyne," she said, gathering her skirt up and lifting herself off the edge of the bathtub where she had been sitting, "your honeymoon."
"You're a doll, Babes," the little blonde purred, "a living doll."
Then, the teasing began in earnest. They both walked out, Mandy in her clinging evening gown, Tyne wrapped in velour with cleavage, lots of cleavage.
"Two ladies I have met before," Ned said, reclining like a Roman emperor on the king size bed. "And two I'm hoping to get to know very well before the evening is over."
Ned Barron had been in threesomes before. In fact, he was beginning to tire of them. But this would be different. Maybe even surprising. He felt the wicked, thick tool of his trade, his gigolo's best friend twitch uncomfortably beneath his tight briefs. He might not even have to fake it tonight.
That blonde! What an operator. He met her in a bar and five minutes later, she was making arrangements with him that made his eyes bulge out.
He eyed the long, svelte Amazon standing beside her. Good thing he had kept himself in peak physical condition. He would need all his strength to subdue this guy. He was built like a brick wall. Plus, there was the element of surprise. He wasn't expecting what was about to happen.
Blondie had told him he was a hockey player. Poor guy. He was about to lose a game. Maybe an entire season. Ned had seen men dress as women before. But not many looked as good as this one. Stunning, a real fox. Yeah, it was gonna be fun all right. And then there was the money. The busty blonde had paid him plenty for this caper. And there was more coming after the deed was done.
Sure he was hot. He was getting a bone on just thinking about how the evening would unravel. Which reminded him, the blonde had told him where the rope was. He hoped to hell she had her head screwed on right and remembered to put it there. Because if she didn't, the two of them could end up very bruised. Very bruised and very sorry.
"Mandy's a model," Tyne said, out of nowhere. "High fashion. Show him, Honey."
Mandy stood up and put her hands on her hips. She eyed the two on the bed suspiciously. What the hell did they want to see, anyway? What were they expecting?
"Give him your runway walk, Baby," Tyne said, leaning back and brushing her hind end against the stud's thigh.
"I don't meet many models," Ned lied through his teeth, "I'd like to see what they do."
Mandy twitched her nose up and down a moment. The excitation had begun. The idea of sauntering around in front of this cunt-hungry gigolo gave her prick palpitations.
If only she hadn't been so fucking vain. Matt wasn't like this. Matt was steady, earnest, quiet, a man of simple tastes. But Mandy was a fucking princess, just like her friend, Tyne. A princess and a show-off.
She tossed her head around and pivoted her hips so that her back was to them. Then she walked, sauntered, sashayed away from them. She stuck one hand on a slightly out turned hip and held the other one down, swinging freely. She strolled back, taking her time as she did so, staring right at the two audience members, never darting her gaze.
The effect was totally believable. Totally mesmerizing. Dynamic. Intoxicating. Ned gritted his teeth to keep his cock from coming up full force and banging against his belt buckle. "What do you think of that?" Tyne said, growling low in her little vixen's throat.
"That's quite remarkable," Ned said, crossing one alligator shoe over the other and leaning back on the headboard. He tried not to get too comfortable. There was work to be done here tonight, after all. This wasn't his vacation, it was theirs.
He eyed the long, sculpted legs of the she-male. What an illusion! They were more shapely than those of most girls. And longer, more graceful. Such tiny chiseled ankles! He would have liked to ...
The little blonde's caustic tones broke his thoughts.
"I'm horny as a toad, watching you," Tyne gurgled from the safety of the bed spread. She leaned further into where Ned was sitting and slid one hand down to hold his thigh firmer.
"Maybe you'd like to see more?" Mandy said, her ego growing by leaps and bounds. "I bet you could learn something."
"Have already," Ned said, grinning his vapid beach boy smile.
Mandy bent over and lifted the hem of her gown up slowly, seductively until it slithered up past her calf, her knee, her thigh. Then, she plopped one foot on the footstool, digging her high heel into the leather covering and exposed one black garter, not to mention a creamy piece of upper thigh under it.
She unhooked her garter and let the thing fly wildly. Then, she did the same with the other garter so that the stocking was free. Then, with a deft hand, she began unrolling it down, down, painstakingly slow.
As her luscious white thighs came into view, her bare smooth flanks, Ned had to get a grip on himself. This was the real thing. The blonde must have been putting him on. This couldn't possibly be her husband. He must be a girlfriend, a sister, but for sure he had to be a woman. No man could possibly have such sensual, electric legs. He couldn't take his eyes off them.
His attention was diverted by the little blonde slut. She had found his bulge. She had found it and she was pressing her hand into it.
The tall black-haired Amazon continued her little strip-tease. Ned watched. Watched and worried a little. This was not going to be easy. But at the moment, it sure was pleasant.
Mandy lifted the rolled up stocking off the tip of her toe. She threw it out like a streamer and let it drift to the carpet. Then, she drew her other leg up and kicked her high heel off. It hit the ground with a thud as she stuck her long leg out the slit of her gown.
Ned held his breath as she found the garter hook and took what seemed like twenty minutes to unhook that thing. Those graceful hands. Those graceful, sculpted hands and red, wicked looking fingernails. They had to belong to a woman. They had to. "Ever see legs like that?" Tyne said, enjoying every second of the jest. "On anybody?"
Mandy preened with excitement. She loved the admiration she was getting from these two. Always loved admiration from men and women whenever she was dressed like this. It went right to her head. And it went right to her cock.
She felt the huge tool throbbing against the thin nylon panel of her panties, straining against its smooth, silken cage. Showing off. Just like she was doing right now. Begging to be admired, stroked, approved of.
She flipped the stocking down, roll over roll, until her bare leg gleamed under the pink light of the bedroom. She was on display all right. For all eyes to see. And she loved it. Her cock loved it. What a scene!
She yanked her stocking off the end of the toe and watched as it floated onto the bed. The bed where she now looked for the first time since she had begun to disrobe. Disrobe like a strip tease queen.
There was her wife. There was that toothy little fuck head of a stud. Together. He was hard. That Mandy had no trouble recognizing. The bulge in his pants was as thick as a hockey stick. It shot upward toward his waist, creating a huge long mound in his tight pants.
His wife was unzipping his pants to let it out at that very moment.
"Okay," Mandy said, sitting down and crossing her voluptuous legs, one over the other. She felt her cock with them as she did so. That cock that sat firmly, squarely up there between her legs. Riding up inside its tiny nylon net.
She figured the last card of the jest had been played. And she didn't like the fact that Tyne was unzipping that gigolo's pants. Or the fact that she was doing it so fucking eagerly. "Think that's enough, Tyne," she said calmly. "Let's let Romeo go home now. We've had our fun with him."
"Shucks," the blonde stud snapped back, "I was hoping the party had just begun. I really like the scenery and the guests. Why don't you come over here and kiss me while your girl friend does whatever it is she plans to do with my cock. There's enough here for both of you if ... "
"No way, Fella," Mandy groaned. Things were starting to get sticky. This is what she had been afraid of.
"Aw come on," Ned said confidently, "at least get comfortable and watch what your girlfriend is gonna do."
Mandy's neck hair bristled as she saw what Tyne was about to do.
She was fumbling around for the blonde stud's cock. Reaching her hand into his briefs and fingering his thick dick with all her fingers. All ten of them.
Maybe she wouldn't have ten left by the time she got through with her! Mandy stood up and flew to the bed just as Tyne was lifting the long, incredibly huge cock pole out of its stretch nylon briefs.
"That's enough, Hon," she said to Tyne, grabbing her wrist. The wrist of the hand that held that schlong. She had intercepted her and the look on Tyne's face showed she didn't like it one bit.
"I don't think so," the blonde said, evil-eyed back to her. "Show her, Ned."
Ned his powerful hand down under the bed, to the place where Tyne had assured him the equipment would be kept. His fingers surrounded the hard leather butt end of the whip. He brought it up, out and snapped it down as hard as he could.
"Back off, Sister," he said, sounding pretty sure of himself and with good reason to be.
"What the hell is this?" Mandy said, feeling like little Red Riding Hood who'd just found out there were wolves in the forest.
"I planned a little surprise for us, Hon," Tyne said, stroking the stud's cock and making it grow thick, round, high and harder, "I hope you like it."
"I don't much care for surprises," Mandy said, eyeing the tip of the bullwhip. What the hell was going on here, she wondered.
Without thinking and reacting to her gut instinct, Mandy lunged at the man with the whip. He was fast, though, Practiced and fast. He lifted it up high and snapped it out in her direction. She felt the tongue of it bite into the flesh of her neck. It must have drawn blood. It stung terribly.
"God," she said, more in annoyance than pain. This was gonna be ugly. But she was strong, muscles and certainly she had her back up enough for a fight. But would it be a fair one?
Again she lunged toward the blonde demon, straight toward his tanned neck. And again, he hauled his whip up sharp and circled her waist with it. Instinctively, she gripped it with her huge fists and tried to pull it away, but it stuck fast.
The man was off the bed now, his hard on sticking obscenely out into the air, pointing up like the needle of a compass. He gripped the handle of the whip and steered the surprised Mandy over the edge of the bed.
She spilled out on the bedspread, still fighting to get the thick whip off from around her waist. The damned thing was biting into her flesh so hard, she could barely draw in a breath.
There wasn't a moment to lose. Tyne jumped up and grabbed one of her feet. That would be easier than trying to fight those massive, muscled arms. Ned grabbed an arm and pressed down on it. From the vantage point of standing over her, he was able to press her arm down. Without that added advantage, though, he would have found it nearly impossible.
She was a powerfully built woman. He picked up the rope that Tyne threw him and began to tie the frightened creature's wrist to the bed post. She brought her other hand over and pounded his back once so hard he went down, spilling over on top of her. They struggled, but he regained his hold on her.
Then, once her right wrist had been anchored, he dove for her left before she could nail him with it. He needed the little blonde to help hold him down, but after much work and sweat, they managed.
"God damn!" she cried, the heat of rage spilling out of every pore of her body, "God damn you two."
He brought his hips up high and thrust them hard against the mattress. Ned knew they would have to hurry and finish tying him down or he would crack the bed frame.
They tied his legs down, spread eagle as fast as they could attend to it. A stout rope helped, but the two of them had the advantage of pain. Surprise and pain.
The ropes must have dug into his flesh a full inch. Creating horrible pain. And the shock, the look of surprise on Mandy's face. This was not what she expected.
"All right you two," Mandy said, finally, trying to catch her breath. "You've had your fun, now cut it out."
"You've got it all wrong, Sweet Stuff," Tyne said, pulling the rope around Mandy's ankle in tighter, "We're gonna have our fun now."
Mandy winced. It was about all she could do. That and scream for the management. But that would have created a scene. One she would rather not deal with.
The thick rope dug into her skin. She could see the reddened places around them as they wound around her wrists, her ankles. And that bullwhip was gonna slice her in two if somebody didn't loosen it. But she wasn't going to whine. She had been stupid and now these two could do most anything they wanted to her.
Ned gripped the handle of the bullwhip in his huge, tanned hands and slipped it off her waist. That tiny, lithe little waist. He brought it up and gave it a good crack, within an inch of Mandy's nose.
"That's it," Tyne growled, "keep the little bitch in line."
Mandy felt her eyes burn, her head burn, her stomach lurch forward as though someone had put on a brake too hard inside her. She closed her eyes, she tried to turn her head away, to forget these two were in the room with her.
"Uh," Ned's slow, deliberate voice intoned, "I wouldn't look away if I were you."
As if to punctuate his statement, he snapped the huge whip again and brought it down across Mandy's white, heaving breastbone. She heard the snap and then, she felt the blow. The whip tip made a long red line, a crimson welt, right in the middle of her cleavage. It hurt. It was humiliating.
She slowly turned her head back and looked at the two with utter hostility.
"Come on, Baby," Tyne began to coo and make over him, twirling his hair around between her teasing fingers.
"Let's get going," Ned said. This charade was engrossing, but it was time to get down to business.
"Let me have another look at that stud cane of yours," she said, pulling his tie up and loosening it from his collar.
She opened his fly easily with her hands by parting the already sagging zipper and reached in. She hooked her hot hand around his savage big meat stick and whirled it out. Then she got down on her knees, she got down on the carpet and started to fondle it with abandon. To get it stiff, plump and ready.
The man helped her out of her robe. He pulled it down off her shoulders and untied the sash. It slid off her and down onto the floor. Mandy had to admit, even from here and tied up like a pig about to be slaughtered, the girl had a fantastic body.
She was wearing a hot set of lavender panties, low cut, sheer, minimally useful. Her bra was nothing more than a set of low-lying cups to display her knockers. They rose up heavenward and hot, round and ready. The nipples could be seen above the lace trim of the material. Those ruddy, rippling tulips, that looked like caps set down on her tits to cover the ends. Sheer, dark nylons fastened to a tiny garter belt and that insane little ankle bracelet. That gold ankle bracelet, the one she had gotten from her husband on their wedding night.
Now, less than three days later, she was holding another man's cock in her hands. Holding it, loving it, patting it, massaging it, about to put her mouth down on it and give it a suck.
Mandy's whole face burned hot and vile. She was getting a sour taste in her mouth, a bitter, wretched taste. Here was the depth of degradation. After all. Here she was lying spread eagle and tied up tight, in pain from the scratching the whip had given her, helpless, really. And watching Tyne, the woman he loved, giving head to a stranger.
And that's what she was doing. No mistake. He watched as she tickled the man's thick, hanging balls. She was so good at that. She stuck his cock down inside in the light, but his tip was buried in the valley between her tits. She was thrusting her hips hard out to receive it. To get it wet, hot, firm, ready.
That woman was such a fucking little pro. Always had been. Such a wormy, white scheming little vixen. And he had fallen right into the trap. He would wring her neck. That's what he would do. First chance he got. He would wring the fucking little bitch's neck.
"Harder," the stud said, his cock growing to mammoth proportions. Tyne squeezed the stud's balls between her fingers, wringing them from right to left, then back and forth, around and around. She was milking them like a farm girl milks a cow's udder.
It was an obscene, ugly sight. But now, Mandy couldn't look away. She was drawn to the spectacle. Trapped by it. Entrapped in it. It was a horror movie and she was the audience and the star. They were performing it for her, to punish her, why?
Just then, Tyne stuck her tongue out. That savage, double-edged tongue of here. With one side, she gave hot, tantalizing head. With the other, she destroyed people.
"Oh, suck that dick," the stud said, bringing his hands around behind his butt and gripping his ass mounds under the white linen of his pants.
It looked like Tyne was just about to do that. She dipped her tongue down in the man's cock slit and dabbed at his clear pre-cum, filling the knob hole to brim full.
She worked it around, around his mighty cock dome, spreading it out like butter with her butter knife tongue. Down, down the length of his man shaft and around and over the balls. What an operator!
Mandy's cock basket had begun to respond to the view. The old steam had begun to start up. Vapors of heat and arousal encircled the end of the thick prick lying coiled up in wait, in readiness.
"Nice mouth, Chick," the jaded blonde stud let out as he saw his cock disappear down the sucking bitch's throat.
He loved to watch women giving him head. And this was a young woman, unlike the usual older grande dames he was paid to sleep with. It was a hot scene, no doubt about it. But there was more here than just this lascivious little blonde to think about.
He eyed the spread eagle Amazon on the bedspread. One hot dish! He suddenly became aware of the fact that he wanted her, too. Wanted his lips touching hers as he shot his load.
The idea played havoc with his head. He couldn't stop dwelling on it. It was dwelling on him. That sensual red mouth of hers, those high, heaving breasts, that perfectly articulated nose, mysterious eyes. And those legs, those long, winding wrappers he wanted to be crushed by.
"Stop a sec, Doll," he said, brushing his hair out of his eyes, "let's move over and let Dark Eyes in on the action."
"Why not?" Tyne said, wiping the cock juice off her mouth. Her cunt was blistering with arousal. She thought more might be fun, was willing to try anything to humiliate her friend. Anything.
The two moved over closer to the bed. Mandy writhed in discomfort. What the hell were they going to do?
Ned sat down on the bed and leaned over to her. Leaned his surly, handsome, beach boy face over to her and parted his lips to speak. Mandy held her breath, not daring to let her heart beat.
"Let me tongue you while I'm getting this thing sucked, Baby," he said. He knew by now, without a shadow of doubt in his head, that this was a woman, it had to be. And he was going to get a piece of her, one way or the other.
"No!" Mandy shouted, tossing her curly hair around, "make him stop, Tyne." Mandy looked over to see Tyne standing with the bull whip in her hands. Standing with it poised above her head and ready to strike. She brought it down with a thick.
A wily sting. The strap lashed into his groin, right in the cock basket.
"Oh, God!" he cried as the pain coursed through his body. "You fucking bitch."
At that moment, he knew what he had on his hands. A bitch, a she-devil, a vixen who would stop at nothing to get what she wanted. A scheming, surly little witch. And she belonged to him. Him who was at this moment a her.
Mandy felt the stubble of Ned's thick, short beard graze against her face. She felt his hard hand part her slackened, shocked jaw. She felt his tongue poke, press, lead forth down into her mouth. Her startled, violated mouth.
Their oral juices combined. Mandy's tongue rolled over and under the blonde's tongue. Her teeth gnashed his. Their lips tore at each other. She tossed her head and slammed it down into the mattress. Only to have it brought back up again by Ned's hand and Tyne's insatiable whip.
"Suck, bitch," Ned ordered.
The blonde crawled over the bed, dragging her whip along with her. She crawled over the body of Mandy and onto Ned's thrusting, flailing cock head. She planted her mouth down and sucked it hard. Dug her whole face.
Sucked and spat. In and out. Out and in. The full length of his hot, charged up prick.
Mandy could hear her, see her as she drew her lips off the end of it. Then, again, Ned's whole face invaded hers, poked its way up into her eyesight and insisted itself down, down into her ruby red mouth.
Ned Barron felt his cock chugging, humping, thumping and then, when he could no longer control it, shooting. Blasting out the tip with a thick, white arc of good old reliable come cream.
Mandy wriggled her mouth away from his as best she could. She felt the man come, felt his vibrations as he shot his load of jism into Tyne's eager, waiting mouth socket.
His cock was erect. Massively rock hard. So hard he could pound nails with it.
Tyne wasted no time completing the picture. She bounced up, jumped down on the place in between Mandy's legs and lifted her skirt high, high up.
Ned shook his head. He regained his breath and shook his head. What the hell was this bitch and her girl friend gonna do now?
"Okay," he said, even as Tyne was rubbing Mandy's inner thighs and arching her back at her so hard her tits were popping out of their bra brace. "Tell me this is not your old man. I been around a little bit, Lady, so there's no sense bull shitting me. This is a dame," he said, pointing to Mandy, "isn't it?"
Tyne flashed him a smile and wormed her hands up to her husband's giant, throbbing cock. The cock that was nearly busting the seams of his little black panties. The cock that was rubbing hard against them, so hard now it was creating enough friction to start a brush fire.
"See for yourself," she said, proudly lifting back the flap of Mandy's skirt up over the unseemly bulge. She let the material flop down onto Mandy's waist and expose his man basket.
That huge, hairy monster twisted up inside its sheer black panty cage.
"Christ!" Ned said, staring down at the cock even larger, more thick than his own. "Let me out of here."
He flew toward the door, grabbing at his cock, trying to stuff it back in his pants as he did so. He banged the door open and staggered out.
Tyne threw her head back and let out a wild cacophony of laughter.
"See, Hon?" she said, bringing both her hands down onto her husband's tormented cock and squeezing it hard, "I told you we'd ditch him when the time was right."
Then the little blonde temptress, the hot kitten with the black bullwhip had climbed up on top of her he-man husband, ripped his panties to shreds with her teeth and fucked the living daylights out of him.
CHAPTER FIVE
"Don't spill that!" Tyne shouted in a shrill, high-pitched voice as she rushed into the kitchen.
Mandy held the punch bowl and took in a deep breath. She was in no danger of spilling it. It was just Tyne over-reacting. She did that a lot. Constantly.
She had a lot of habits that dug Mandy. The way she drove nearly gave her heart failure. And the way she ordered people around. Played the boss, the heavy.
Such a tiny little thing to push so much weight around. But she was one hot little number, still. And if anything, the five years they had spent together had given him a new outlook on life.
Thinking back on it now, setting out the silverware in neat little half-circles on the white linen tablecloth, they had been good years. And as snotty and brazen ask his wife had been, she had always come home finally to him. Always made love like a hot tart on Spanish fly in the last act.
She was, in her way, totally dedicated to him. And he to her. Why else would he be standing her, setting a table? That was man's work. He thought of the players on his hockey team. What the hell would they think if they could see him now? They were a butch bunch of guys. But then, so was he.
"I've got a surprise for you," Tyne called from the hallway. She turned the corner and popped out of the darkened space holding a large flat brown package.
Mandy took her in. She was devastating looking. She had on a hot fire engine red pair of satin pegged pants. Good thing she didn't have any wrinkles on her thighs, they would have shown through these suckers. And a white see-through blouse.
And what a sight to see into! Her fabulous knockers tamed inside a lacy white push-up bra that held them up so hard the nipples showed. Not just the top half, but the whole silver dollar's worth. He could see those round red buttons flashing under the gauzy tissue of the fabric. If the little cat arched her back, she could knock somebody's teeth out with those tits.
The seam between her legs tucked up tightly into her cunt crack. Her panty line was visible through the material. She must have been wearing a Brazilian cut pair under there. They hugged her buns and honed her cunt lips to a stark outline. And with those hot red jobs on over, she was about as hard-edged and ready as a dame could look.
"Here," she said, "put it on, while I watch."
Mandy caught the package she threw him and rattled it around. Something soft inside. That girl and her surprises. They went on and on. First, that splendid little array of undies she had brought home during their engagement and now this.
"Here?" Mandy said, holding the package by the string, "in front of the silverware?"
"Right here and right now, Toots," Tyne ordered, "like I say."
Always like Tyne said. It was always that way. What the hell did she want her to do now? life with this woman was sure trying his patience.
Mandy flung the package down on the coffee table and yanked at the string. It broke on the edge of the box and she tore it open quickly. She lifted the lid and pawed the tissue paper until she put her hand on something. Something soft and nylon, rayon, lace ... what the hell was it?
She lifted the thing out and held it up. Tyne suppressed a giggle.
It was a uniform. Not a cop's uniform or a meter maid's even. It was the uniform of a maid. A French maid, if Mandy's memory served her right.
"Like it?" Tyne purred, walking over and lifting out still another piece of apparel from the box.
Mandy stared at it, stared at the white thing Tyne was holding. She was holding an apron. A see-through white crisp, starched apron with a row of vertical ruffles around the edges. Stand-up ruffles, old-fashioned ruffles. Regimented ruffles.
And Mandy was holding the uniform that went with it. A tiny, short starched black crisp nylon affair. With puffy sleeves, buttons down the front, a short flared skirt and a curious hole right in the center of it.
No, she wasn't imagining things. There was a slit, a hole, dead center. What the hell was that about?
She looked over at Tyne who was holding little maid's hat. A white starched band of nylon, crisp, like the other stuff, lacy, diminutive.
"What is this?" she said, sinking with the feeling that she already knew exactly what it was.
"Your uniform, darling," the blonde bitch said, throwing the things in her lap. "I thought since you were serving tonight, you might want to dress more ... more ... appropriately. I'm a little tired of your usual hostess gowns and caftans. I thought this might perk things up a bit."
"I won't," Mandy heard herself say, her voice curling up, up, up toward the rafters with apprehension.
"I think you will."
"I can't wear this thing. I don't want to look like a ... "
"Like a maid?" the woman said, her eyes gleaming with bitch power. "Don't be absurd, darling, that's what you are. Face it. Face it like a good girl and get into your dress."
Mandy felt the humiliation pour into her cheeks, reddening them to a bright crimson. How could she humble herself like this? All the guests knew who she was. She was Mandy, Tyne's friend. They had never seen her as a maid, a serving wench. Christ, they'd probably treat her like shit and pinch her ass all night.
But there were the consequences. If she didn't go along with Tyne's plan. Tyne would bitch, storm, throw a tantrum. Threaten to expose her. Probably try. Or pull a fast one. A fast one like only she was capable of. A fast one like the night she had gotten that bully little beach boy to beat him up and tie him down to the four poster of their honeymoon suite.
She grabbed the stuff up and stood up. Might as well swallow hard and just do this thing. There was no other way out. She was here, her darling Tyne was here. There might even be time to ball the shit out of her before their guests arrived.
"Put it on," the little blonde vixen said again, seating herself in the big, leathery sofa. Mandy marveled at how she could sit down in those tight pants, but she was used to such cumbersome entrapments.
"Help me," Mandy said, trying to worm at least a little work out of her.
"No way, Luv," she said, reaching for a cigarette from the silver tray on the coffee table, "I'm here to watch."
"But I don't know how to ... "
"You'll figure it out," Tyne blurted out, grabbing the silver lighter next to the tray and stuffing the end of the cigarette in her mouth.
Mandy began to unbutton the blouse she was wearing. Her fingers found their familiar niches, wrapped themselves around the tiny pearl buttons and slipped them out of their holes automatically.
She had taken off a blouse like this hundreds of times, but this was different. She felt like she were unwrapping her skin for Tyne to see. And Tyne would judge her every move, every faux pas. Damn little critic anyway.
She slipped the filmy blouse off her shoulders and let it slide down her arms. Those muscular barbells she called arms. How sinewy they were and at this moment, how completely willing. Willing to give in to the orders and stringent demands of blonde mistress.
She pulled the blouse all the way off and threw it over the coffee table. Then, the skirt. That tight satin skirt with the slit up the center, the slit that ran all the way to her panty line. It was a mite theatrical for day time wear, but then, Tyne had picked it out.
Typical of the woman's highly dramatic tastes. Foxy little cunt.
"Hurry." Tyne said, drawing in a lung full of thick, perfumed smoke and letting it seethe out her lips again.
Mandy obeyed as best she could, considering she was in a bit of pickle. It was a pickle now, but it would grow into a very long cucumber.
She unhooked the skirt and let it fall onto the floor with a hiss. She kicked it away and stood there a moment facing Tyne, exposed in her hot little undies.
She had chosen red and black that day. Red garter belt with black lace trim. Hot little red panties with the same kind of trim. And a black bra, with reverse red trim. The effect was like a sexual game of checkers. Her stockings were dark, with a light pattern running up the leg, a snaking, diamond pattern that accentuated her curves. The curves that turned heads wherever she went.
"Let's get it on Mandy," the blonde said, flicking her ash into the ash tray. "Len and Kay will be here any minute. You know they always arrive early.
Tyne was brisk, direct, commanding, but she couldn't help noticing the whole time she spoke that this adorable French maid to be had a fat, wiggling little hard on. Wet, squirming and alive, like some specimen of marine life pulled fresh and writhing from the sea.
Caught up in that tight little nylon stranglehold. That fisherman's net of desire. Tucked in, held back, packed in and over and curling around itself. Inside its transparent cage. The effect held her like glue.
She almost forgot to shout out her next order. "Comb your hair," she said suddenly remembering to keep her in line.
Mandy smoothed her hair down as best she could, considering she didn't have a comb on her. Tyne was so fussy about the way she looked. Always nagging her.
"And get those things on," she snapped, her eyes ablaze. "God, you're slow."
Mandy stepped into the tiny, tight maid's uniform. It fit her snuggly, clinging tightly to her tit mounds, her waist, her high, hard buttocks. It rose very high on her legs. And there was that slit. It hung there, in between the folds of the little pleated skirt. Useless. Just a slit.
Tyne threw Mandy the white hat. "Pin it in there," she said indicating the little sliver of a white cap. "That's the only way it will stay."
Sure enough. She had to pin it. Tyne had provided the bobby pins for it, to. She walked to the mirror and took a look. It rode up on the crest of her head like a white crown. She looked less than regal, though, considering the whole outfit.
It was definitely a servant's uniform. Those drab colors of black and white. Still, the patterned stockings provided a neat contrast. But, still in all, it was the uniform of an employee, a servant, an object.
"Don't forget this," Tyne said, hurling her the ball of white starched stuff.
"Ah, yes," Mandy retorted, "my apron."
"See that you know how to use it," Tyne said, crossing one of her red sheathed legs over the other one and leaning back to take in the spectacle.
Mandy wrapped the little apron around her slender waist and tied the sash in back into a bow. She had seen it done like that in the movies. And this was proving to be every bit as filmic as they were. She felt like it was Halloween and this was a costume party.
"Ah," Tyne whispered at last, "I almost forgot."
"What, Hon?" Mandy said, looking in the mirror and adjusting her cap.
"This," she said, tossing her a rolled up tuft of nylon.
"Panties?" Mandy moaned, not wanting to take the trouble to change from the ones she was currently wearing.
Mandy held them up for inspection. They were special all right. They were black, shiny, see-through, soft, luxuriant and they had a slit right down the middle of the crotch, running from stem to stern.
"Oh," she said, the light starting to dawn.
If she put these things over her cock, it would have nothing to hold it in once it started its firing up process, as it usually did when Tyne teased or bossed or dominated her for any length of time.
Then, that big randy cock stick shut up, up, up and out, if she wore these particular panties. Right out the slit. And wearing the maid's uniform over these, that would mean, if the slits matched up ...
"You filthy little bitch," Mandy sighed, connecting events quickly in her head.
Tyne threw her head back and laughed a long, low wolfish laugh.
"I thought you'd find it amusing," she said, grinding her cigarette out in the ash tray.
Tyne took a hard look at her handiwork. She watched Mandy bend over and pull her bikini panties off. She caught them as Mandy tossed them to her. Then she watched with renewed interest as Mandy pulled on the torrid tight black things with the slit. The delicious, naughty little slit. So far, her idea had worked like a charm. She was getting turned on already.
Mandy tucked the thick cock wad into the tight panties and patted it down. God only knew how long it would stay there. She gazed down at her shapely legs and suddenly remembered that her high heels didn't match the outfit. They were much too pedestrian looking.
She wanted something a little more revealing. Something with an ankle strap. She wondered if she might have any to fill the bill when Tyne's shrill roar sawed through her musings.
"Time to empty the ash tray, Manon," she said quietly, "please don't forget to do that."
"Manon?" Mandy said, tilting her head to one side, feeling her curls brush against her neck as she did so.
"Manon happens to be the name of the maid around here, Goofy," she said, sizing up Mandy's reaction to this game. "I like it and that's what I'm gonna call you tonight. I don't much care whether you like it or not."
Tyne felt her tits grow hot under her bra. They always did when she got excited. When she felt the first flush of excitement wash over her. That's where it came on first. In her tits. And she always got excited bossing Mandy around. Bossing her husband dressed as Mandy around.
What the hell was it? Why did it stir her so? She loved the guts out of that man, so why did she dress him up like this, torment him, boss him, curse him, belittle and accuse him? Why? Because she loved to, that's why.
"Christ these damn things are tight," Mandy moaned feeling the wicked little piece of nylon grip her flesh. It bound and cut mercilessly. And that prick was responding to the push and paddling it was getting every time she moved a muscle.
"I think I asked you to empty this ash tray, Manon," Tyne said, reaching up absent-mindedly to scratch her ear.
"Yes," Mandy said, knuckling under the woman's insipid demands.
"That'll be 'Yes, Ma'am,' Manon," she said in a quick, dismissive voice, "if you know anything about manners."
"A little," Mandy remarked, swaying her hips slightly, just enough to let the breeze cut up under her skirt and flare it out a bit. She bent over the coffee table and felt another freeze tickle her under pants. Christ, that damn little skirt was short!
Just then, the doorbell sounded and Mandy stood up straight.
"Who the hell could that be?" Tyne sniffed, as though she weren't expecting anyone at all. As though her privacy were about to be interrupted.
"Probably Len and Kay," Mandy said, forgetting for a moment that she was the maid. The underling around here.
"I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself," she said, flashing her luminous green eyes and brushing past her serving girl, "now answer that door before I scratch your cheek bloody."
Mandy, now Manon, padded to the door carefully. She didn't want that short little skirt flying up for the guests. As she moved, she looked down to see the white apron flapping in the breeze. And under that, lay that black skirt with its revealing, deadly little slit. And under that, curled up in its nylon home, but who knew for how long, was Manon's long, thick, luxuriant fuck stick. A he-man cock the size of a salami and much harder. How the hell was he going to get away with this?
The possibilities danced around in his head like angels on the head of a pin.
"Come in," he said, casting his head low down onto the carpet of the foyer as he held the door open for the first of their guests.
Their Chatham friends. That cozy, intimate bunch who loved to drop by whenever they were invited for a peek at the goings on in this household. Wealthy, landed, fashionable and trendy. And as far as Mandy was concerned, a bunch of thrill seeking dirty little voyeurs. The parties held at this house were definitely considered the ones to get invited to at this resort spot. They were lavish, costly, featuring the best food and liquor and of course, that one added feature. The darling lithe lean model of a girl who accompanied Tyne everywhere. What was her name? Ah, yes, Mandy. Mandy, the one Tyne loved to humiliate in front of them. The one with the cock.
"Good to see you," Tyne said, "Manon, show them into the living room."
Len and Kay Wasterson filled their eyes and then filled their pockets. They'd seen a lot of bizarre behavior around here, but nothing matched the spectacle Tyne and Mandy put on. And tonight Mandy had become Manon. Charming. Fascinating. And no, doubt, worth every moment of their time spent here. You couldn't buy entertainment this good.
They and their friends loved to come here. In fact, it was all they talked about until the next party the two threw. After leaving here, Kay and Len would go back to their cottage overlooking the ocean and ball for hours. Sex was never so good as after they left here. Whatever hypnotic little spell these two were under, they loved coming over here and getting under it a while themselves.
"New drapes?" Kay said, admiring the white eyelet curtains hanging in the kitchen.
"No," Tyne said, pulling a bottle of seltzer out of the refrigerator. "Fraid not. Nothing much changes around here."
"Not so," Kay said, turning her head about a hundred and eighty degrees to take in the spectacle of the lean, shapely French maid, "I see you've got a new maid. That's new."
"Oh, her?" Tyne said, tossing the whole idea out with a turn of her curly blonde head. "Manon? She's only here for a night."
"Well, she's a damn cute piece of ass," Kay said, baiting her. She was jealous of Tyne, jealous of her looks, of her money, of the way her husband served her and was totally devoted to her. And now, tonight, here he was, done up as their French maid and carrying seltzer to the table. Where the hell could you ever even buy such love and loyalty as this?
"Ah, she's a rental," Tyne said, sounding disgusted with Kay's attention to her char girl. "Got her from an agency. Let me tell you, if she doesn't behave herself, I'll have to get tough with her. It doesn't pay to be nice to servants."
Mandy grew tense. Did this mean Tyne was going to talk down to her all night, the way she talked to all the people in the world whom she considered beneath her station? The surly little cunt. She could be in for some big trouble later on if she tried it. But right now, there were other things to think about. Like getting the booze on the table.
"Mix Mr. Wasterson a drink, Manon," Tyne said, brushing a soft blonde curl away from her forehead. "Find out what he wants."
The two women stayed in the kitchen, chatting about this and that. Manon could hear them as she stepped into the living room to speak to Ken Wasterson.
He was a middle-aged man, a lawyer, very athletic, agile, dapper and something of a leech. As Manon was about to find out.
"Care for a drink, Sir?" she said, respectfully.
"Scotch and water," he said, "but not right away."
"Very good, sir," Manon replied, bowing a little and hoping to hell her skirt wouldn't ride up too high in the back.
No such luck. It did and Ken Wasterson had caught a damn good look up there. Vile-minded little peeker.
"You're a cute kid," he said, sticking his hand in his pocket and shifting his weight to a rakish angle. "What do you charge?"
"I think you've gone nuts."
"I don't know," the man said, casually, as if he'd done nothing, nothing wrong, nothing to offend her, "I've seen a lot of maids around, you know, at parties, that sort of thing. Most of them could use a little extra money. It's common knowledge that they try to make it on the side whenever they can. No use getting uptight about it. And with your looks and body ... "
"Excuse me," Manon replied, trying to maintain her dignity, but finding it taxing, "I have to go."
She ran out into the kitchen, her little skirt flying up in back as she did. The nerve of that man! Coming onto her like that. She had thought this was supposed to be an elegant party, with sophisticated guests, but this guy was just a ringer. Low life. It disgusted her.
It also made the big, plump cock wad cram up close against its silken cage confines. Rub tenderly toward its material net. Brush against the soft, downy lustrous silky box.
"What's with you?" Tyne said, staring at her rudely, as though she, Manon, had done something wrong.
Manon opened her mouth in her defense just as the doorbell rang again.
"Get that," Tyne commanded, as though she were a field marshall.
Manon strolled toward the door. She didn't want to run and kick that short little skirt up behind her again. Christ, you could see the tops of her nylons when she stood straight up as it was.
She opened the door to let in the next couple. The Buford's. A swim club and tennis set couple. He was a horse breeder who had a stable not far away and she took her time at the beauty salon, most of it, from the way she looked:
Pat Buford was a gorgeous woman. A redhead. A striking full-breasted woman who simply adored Tyne's parties. Talked of little else to her friends. They all tried to get an invitation, but it was a very closed circle of friends. Outsiders weren't permitted, for obvious reasons.
Lance Buford was one fine specimen of manhood. He was tall, rugged, craggy-faced with a skin that looked as ruddy as the leather of the saddles he put on those horses at his ranch.
Manon eyed them shyly and offered to show them into the next room.
"Get them a drink," Tyne bellowed from the kitchen.
"Yes, Ma'am," Manon shot back, not daring to skip a beat, afraid the bitch would scream again or come running out with her fingernails poised ready to strike, like a vampire.
Manon eased her way to the bar, full-well knowing that all eyes in the living room and those that could see her in the kitchen were trained on her behind.
"New girl?" Pat whispered in the direction of the kitchen.
"Paaaat!!!!" Tyne squealed as her old friend faced her across the room, "so glad you could make it."
The two of them ran at each other and embraced like school girls. Bitchy school girls.
"She's adorable," Pat shot back, eyeing the tall stately beauty in the cute little maid's uniform, "Where did you get her?"
"What the hell is everyone making such a fuss over my fucking maid for?" Tyne said, her green eyes flashing with envy.
"Sorry, kid," Pat said, "I didn't mean ... "
"She's a little ignorant low class cunt I got from an agency," Tyne said, shaking her curly locks and stamping her foot hard onto the carpet, "big fucking deal."
"Nobody meant to offend you, Tyne," Kay Wasterson spoke up, "we just like your taste, that's all."
"Oh, fix them a drink, Manon and hurry," Tyne said, acting the martyr, "let's just forget about it, okay?" "Sure, Hon," Kay said, in the most smoothing voice she could muster, "all forgotten about."
"Gin and tonic," Lance said, quietly.
Manon moved toward the liquor supply cabinet. She reached for the bottle of gin just as her elbow found the bottle of tonic, uncapped at the time. It toppled over and rained fizz and liquid in its path before it hit the carpet and poured out.
"Fucking little clumsy bitch!" Tyne seethed under her snarling white teeth, "clean it up!"
"Right away," Manon said, scurrying toward the kitchen.
"Where are you going?" Tyne shrieked in her ear as she passed by.
"To the kitchen to get a ... "
"Never mind that, this mess has to be cleaned up right now."
"But I don't have anything to mop it ... "
"Get down on your knees and drink it up, smart-mouthed little cunt!" Tyne was a flurry of near-hysteria.
She was making a terrible scene. A terrible embarrassing scene. And she wasn't finished.
"I'll teach you not to talk back to me," she grabbed the back of the dining room chair and held it over her head.
Manon held her hands up over her head. She was certain this woman meant to thrash her with that chair.
Tyne held it there, suspended for a moment, her eyes eerie green flames.
"Now do as I say," she said, defying her girl to reproach her.
"Yes, Ma'am," Manon said, sinking to her knees and pressing her lips down onto the carpet. She sucked in the cool, still-fizzling liquid. It stung her lips. It burned her mouth with shame and indignation. And it made that mighty baseball bat cock slam a home run right out the slit of the helpless, frail panty holder.
"Clumsy cunt!" Tyne said, striding over and digging the toes of her pumps into the carpet and edging in close to ogle the sight of this big, tall, svelte Amazon drinking juice out of her rug. It was too delicious, too incredible to believe. It gave her a hot rush. A hot, tempting, undeniable rush.
"Look at that," Len Wasterson said, elbowing his wife, "can you believe the nerve of that Tyne, talking down like that to that sweet, adorable girl. You wouldn't treat a dog like that."
"Let me help," Lance Buford said, dashing in to save the day. He pulled his white handkerchief out of his pocket and bent over to assist the serving girl with the cleanup chores.
"Don't touch the little shit!" Tyne erupted, pulling him back by the sleeve. "She doesn't deserve any help, she's a clumsy, silly ignorant girl. I'm gonna call the agency and complain."
"Don't," Pat said, imploring her friend with her eyes to let sleeping dogs lie. "What good would that do? Let's just go out in the other room and ... "
"No!" Tyne said, her vengeful voice rising to a haughty crescendo. "We're all gonna stay here in the middle of the audience. Why else would she have done what she did?"
"She didn't do it on purpose, Tyne, Len Wasterson spoke again, feeling that as he did so, he was out of turn and risked being put down by the ball busting blonde.
"She did, too," Tyne raged on, her anger seemingly knowing no bounds, "she's a teasing little twat if there ever was one. She's not gonna get any kind of recommendation from me, I can tell you that."
"Couldn't we just stop this and sit down and talk about something else?" Lance said, showing his discomfort by shifting his weight from one thick, muscular leg to the other and fumbling in his pocket for a cigarette.
Manon pressed her knees into the carpet and reached for a hand to help her back on her feet. Lance's went down automatically and lifted her up.
"Thank you," Manon muttered, trying to regain whatever was left of her dignity. Her soiled, degraded dignity.
"Don't mention it," Lance said gallantly. He held the statuesque, stacked girl in his arms and for a moment forgot where he was.
She was a tight-packed little number all right, with a hard, supple body and really cute. Maybe it was that high-rising little behind or those endlessly long legs, possibly her smile, or the way her grey eyes reflected something distant and mysterious, but he liked her. He wished to hell the broad-mouthed blonde wasn't there at that moment.
"Take your hands off her," Tyne insisted, shoving in between the two of them and nudging Manon back as hard as she could.
So hard in fact, Manon almost fell of her high heel perch. Fucking little blonde tornado. And this regal, handsome gentleman so close, so close she could hear the breath steaming out of his nostrils.
"Oh, God," Tyne said, as she pushed Manon back far enough to get a look down the front of her skirt. "Look, everybody, here's an addition to the party. Another guest. An impertinent, uninvited one."
Manon blushed about fifty shades of purple. Tyne was pointing to the slit in her dress. The slit where the bald head of that throbbing baseball bat was thrusting up and flailing from side to side rudely.
"Can you believe it?" Tyne said, shoving her back hard so that all those assembled in the dining room could see the spectacle she was mocking. "This adorable, sweet, angelic little maid, the one everybody here is making such a fuss over, the one you all think is such a dimple-kneed darling, the innocent I'm giving such a rough time to, this little doll here has a hard on!"
Manon wanted to reach down and grab that hard, aching dick, the one thrusting up through the little slit, aiming toward the tree tops. It was too late to turn back now, too late to try and hide the fact that this was indeed, a mighty walloping wang thrust up in the middle of the little circle of friends.
It was hard to even make a comment about it, but Tyne would manage. She would also manage to humiliate and demean it every single chance she got.
"I see this working class bitch has no idea about to clean rugs," she said, holding her hands against her curvy hips and hugging them in close. "Why don't you learn to clean things properly, Manon? Ah, but then, I guess you were born in a barn and there isn't much to clean up when you live in a manure pile, is there?"
Manon blushed hard and the thick, probing hard on pushed up even harder against the tight parted curtain of silken panties. She could feel it tickle, torture, garrote, the hilt of the hard, ogling cock. That cock that was so anxious to get out and parade around in front of everyone. That cock that was now causing Manon so much shame. So much hot, raging shame.
The doorbell sounded again, ding donging its little welcome notes inside the group of party goers.
"Get that and get back here," Tyne said, pointing her long red fingernail directly at the front door. "Step on it."
Manon rushed to the door, not even taking the time to watch how she was walking; and her skirt was flying up in back. She no longer cared. They'd all had a pretty good look at her front, hadn't they? What difference did it make now?
"Don't know who the hell that is, anyway ... " she said, snarling her upper lip and cursing beneath her breath.
Manon opened the door and held stood staring out into the darkness. Under the porch light stood a tall, handsome erect man. She had never seen him before. He was new. A stranger, possibly someone to be afraid of? Someone who threatened the intimacy of the little group assembled here? Whoever he was, it was hard not to notice him.
He was over six feet tall and well-muscled. Auburn hair, with a touch of grey at the temples. Sun-tanned, hardy, rugged looking. Handsome enough to be a male model, but a touch too he-man looking to stand around in blue men's briefs or tight jeans long enough for the photographers to adjust the lights. He was obviously a man of action, a man on the move. It crossed Manon's mind that he might be an athlete. Like some people she knew.
"Well, hello there," the man said, leaning one leathery tanned hand up against the door frame and sighing right into her face, "who are you?"
"Care to come in?" Manon said, taking a chance. After all, he might not even be one of the invited guests. He night have driven up here and gotten out of his car just to ask directions.
"I thought you'd never ask," the rugged hunk said back to her coolly stepping into the dimly-lit foyer. "Am I late?"
"No, sir," Manon said, still unsure who the hell this delicious dish was and why in the world Tyne would be leaving them alone so long.
Maybe he had come to service her. That made her burn. That woman would, do anything to stir up humiliation and degradation. She was a walking disaster film. "Been living here long?" the man intoned, striding along the parkay floor in his rubber soled shoes as though he owned the place.
"I'm just the maid," Manon said, in a small voice that told him she felt embarrassed by his comments.
"Maybe," he said, letting her comment roll of him like water off a duck's back. "But I don't think you started out that way, did you?"
Fucking impertinence of this guy, anyway. He wasn't even talking to her like she was a maid. He was talking to her like she was the lady of the house. He just didn't buy that she was hired help. Maybe she was a touch too aristocratic, too jaded too be able to behave like an underling.
"Carl!" Pat Buford's voice rose up, tinkling the chandelier prisms with its shrillness. The phony little bitch.
"What the hell is this?" Tyne said, following her friend into the foyer. "I don't remember inviting him."
She sounded piqued, annoyed, put out, pissed even.
Hearing her nervousness made Manon breath a little sigh of relief. This was indeed a new face. Someone she hadn't invited. Someone who had penetrated the closed circle of intimate acquaintances and threatened her authority. Could be interesting.
"I'm sorry, Tyne," Pat said, turning to her friend and looking a little sheepish "I meant to tell you, but I forgot.."
"Some friend you turned out to be," Tyne spat back to her, baring her fangs, "now introduce us."
Tyne ogled her hot little body in between the two of them and thrust her tits into his line of vision.
"Weeeeeeellll," she said, knowing full well the power she had over most men and hoping this guy would prove no exception, "hello, there."
"Hello," the tall hunk said, inclining his body slightly toward her and standing up straight again.
"Tyne," Pat said, remembering her manners automatically, "this is Carl Whitcomb. He's my tennis instructor."
"Pleased to meet any friend of Pat's," Tyne said, covering her earlier disdain with a wicked little grin, "even if it was unexpected tonight."
Manon listened as other greetings and hi signs were exchanged. They all made much fuss over being introduced to each other and it was clear that she was going to be left out of the greetings all together. She edged her way over to the wallpaper and leaned against it, feeling dejected, hurt, but curious. Curious about what would happen next.
The laughing friends began chatting to each other and started to make their way into the living room again. Carl lagged behind. He pulled on the sleeve of Pat's blouse a moment and drew her over toward the wall. And then, leaning into her he spoke loud enough to Manon to hear quite plainly what he had to say.
"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend, the cute one?"
"I did, didn't I?" Pat answered, covering herself least she had committed any faux pas she wasn't aware of.
"You didn't introduce her," he said, pointing to Manon who stood shyly braced against the door frame and lit by a flickering overhead mood light.
"That's Manon," Pat said, trying to dismiss the whole idea that her friend should be so interested in the maid, even though she was cute.
"That's good," Carl snapped back, encircling his arm around Pat's waist and leading her into the dining room.
Manon distinctly heard his parting remark and it made the schlong in her nylon panty drawers wiggle with passion.
"She's cute," he said, "and a turn on. A real turn on."
CHAPTER SIX
Dinner was deadly. There was an incredible amount of work to do and Manon was left entirely to her own resources. Tyne wouldn't lift a finger and she pooh-poohed anyone else who even tried.
"Let her pour your wine," she snapped, grabbing Len's hand by the wrist as he attempted to reach for the decanter in the center of the table.
"Manon! Mrs. Wasterson has dropped her napkin. Crawl under the table and get it for her."
"What's taking you so long out there, are you doing your nails between every course?"
"Where is the cheese tray? I distinctly told you to have it here before desert. My guests are used to service and so am I. If you can't perform any better than this, I'll have to follow you around with a switch."
"Lousy little serving wench! Butter knives don't go on the left. They go across the bread and butter plate. What an ignorant cunt I've got waiting on us this evening. Pat, did you ever see such an ignorant cunt? I'm surprised they let her out. Probably keep her locked in a cage at the agency. Last job she had was serving gladiators at a Roman orgy. They're not exactly fussy, just bring them a side of beef and dump it on their loin cloth ... "
And on it went. On and on. Manon watched the faces of the others as Tyne's mounting attack of humiliating built and built, gathering steam and momentum as the courses followed one upon the other.
By the time it came for coffee, Manon was nearly exhausted. Then, she heard the coffee pot boil over. It hit the flames, shooting loud spurts out the percolator spout and hot grounds in every direction.
"That does it!" Tyne said, throwing her napkin down and standing up at the head of the table to face all her guests. "I'm going to have to march out there and let her know who's boss."
"Please, Tyne," Len said, trying to pat her hand. She grabbed it away and turned on her heels toward the kitchen.
She entered the room just in time to see Manon try and grab the hot handle of the pot off the stove and succeed in dropping it. The hot pot flew open letting the brownish liquid flow out, into the burners and cracks of the stove and down the front, spilling out onto the waxed floor in every direction.
"Spastic cunt!" Tyne roared, nosing her way in the room and coming up to Manon like a charging bull. A bull who led with her tits.
"Oh, dear," Manon said, wiping her brow. The tension of the night had built up a sweat now and it was rolling off her brow. She patted at it with her apron, bringing her head down close to her lap as she did so.
"Now see what you've done," the mistress of the house shouted.
"I'm sorry," Manon said, pleading to her with her eyes. "I'll clean it up."
"You certainly will," Tyne said, curling her lower lip up and standing over her like an executioner.
Manon started for the broom closet, only to have Tyne run after her and yank her up short by the skirt.
"No," Manon shouted turning around and feeling the savage little vixen's sharp fingernails dig into her arms.
"Where do you think you're going?" Tyne shouted, shaking the maid as hard as she could. No mean task, considering her maid towered over her. But she was a wily, hellcat of a woman and she persisted. She always did.
"To get a mop, Ma'am," Manon said, casting her eyes down to the linoleum and trying not to fight the little she-devil. It was like trying to attack a wiggling worm.
"No, you're not," the woman shouted back, shaking her blonde curls and glaring hard at her. "I don't allow scum off the streets to come in here and use my kitchen utensils and mess them up and then walk into my broom closet and act like they owned the place. That's the problem with you, Manon, you don't know your place!"
"Please," Kay Wasterson said from the dining room table, "back off her, Tyne."
"It's an honest mistake," Lance said in his deep bass voice, "give the girl a break."
"She hasn't given me a break yet," Tyne shouted back to her guests, "why should I give her one?"
"Because she's innocent," a voice shot back.
Manon recognized it as belonging to Carl.
"She hasn't caused any lasting harm. Besides, she's a cute kid. She couldn't possibly have any evil motives. Why don't you give her a break?"
"Why don't you march out here and see what kind of a break I'm gonna give her?" Tyne roared defiantly. "I think I'm gonna start by breaking her neck."
"Please," Manon shouted, "I can't stand violence."
Tyne gripped her hips hard and stared up at her. Her mind must have been playing tricks tonight. She thought she heard her maid tell her she couldn't stand violence. Her maid, Manon, who was really her friend Mandy, who was really the toughest, meanest most muscular, blood-thirsty hockey player she had ever seen on ice.
"I'll show you violence," Tyne said, whispering now hard between her teeth, gurgling down inside her throat.
She stepped up to the shocked, startled girl and made a bee-line for her cheek with the back of her hand.
SLAP! The sting smarted her cheek so hard Manon couldn't even rub it right away, it hurt too much to touch.
"Now get down there and rub that coffee stain out ... " the blonde bitch paused deliriously, "with your fucking hair."
"Oh, no," Manon sighed softly down to her, "why are you ... "
"Shut up or I'll slap you again, little tart!" the haughty hostess snarled.
Manon rubbed her cheek now, feeling that she would indeed do as she threatened.
She fell to one knee and began the sordid business of wiping up the coffee off the kitchen floor. It hurt her to get down like this in this position. Crawling, bending, groveling in front of this lurid blonde queen. It hurt her pride, it smeared her sense of herself. and inevitably, it made that old rugged war horse of a pecker stand up and salute.
Tyne stood over her like a marble statue, fixed to the spot, as she watched her charge mop the floor with her locks. Those soft, raven locks of hair that Tyne herself had purchased for her. How she loved to humiliate this big, hard human. This cuddly bear of a poor wretch who now was lying on the floor, practically in tears because she was wiping the floor with her hair.
It made her pussy quiver. It made her hot, moist cunt lips shake, rattle and roll with desire.
Manon circled the floor with her jet black tresses and wished to hell she had remembered to grab a hot holder before she picked up that handle on that pot. Things hadn't been easy up to that point, but now they were more impossible.
The blonde savage warrior queen was gonna have her way with her no matter how much it degraded her in front of her friends. What would they be thinking now? How much of this humiliation could they take?
Plenty, if one could believe what was coming from the dining room table.
"If she were my girl, I'd treat her a lot better," Len said, loud enough for Manon and Tyne to hear, "cute little thing like that. She deserves better."
"Personally," Lance said, nibbling at the cheese on his plate, "I'd keep her out of the kitchen and let her tend to more gentle work. Like making my bed."
"None of you know how to handle a fine spirited girl like that," Carl cut in, "she's got to be shown a lot more love and affection than that woman in there is showing her right now. If you expect to get any kind of performance out of her at all, that is."
"I'd like to rent her out for a night," Kay chimed in, nudging against her husband's elbow. "I think the two of us could have a great time with her. She's so sweet and willing. Willing to please I mean."
"I'd like to get a good look at her in her underwear, myself." It was Pat who was speaking now. "I think it would look even better than it looks now."
"There's a thought," Lance responded, "how much would your adorable little serving girl charge a night, do you think, Tyne?"
Manon heard him shouting out to his mistress. She whirled her head around and spoke back to him in quick, disturbed tones.
"She doesn't charge anything. She's not permitted. I rent her out. She is my girl. You can pay me."
Manon kept mopping, wiping, not daring to look up or act even as if she had heard the little discourse taking place in the next room.
"Faster," Tyne said, nudging the tip of her high heel toward Manon's face. "I'm not paying you by the hour, you don't have to take so much time doing that."
Her hair was wringing wet. The curl had gone out of it completely. It hung down and slapped her neck in wet, heavy strands.
"Come out here, everybody," Tyne called to her guests. Apparently, she was not going to be pleased until she had ground Manon's face into it. And in front, of everyone there!
"What gives, Ty?" Pat said, the first to emerge into the kitchen.
"Look at that drowned rat, will you?" Tyne said, walking over to the kitchen counter and leaning against it to take in a full view of the pathetic picture Manon now presented.
"Why did you make her do it?" Pat said, admiring the bulge under Manon's apron as much as her beautifully proportioned body.
The sight of her down there on the floor, wiping, bowing, scraping, that luscious she-male brought so low, gave her a hot, rushing impulse. An impulse she wanted to carry out.
Kay was the next to walk in. She was carrying a dessert plate with her. Still munching as she spoke. "I can't believe the way you treat your servants, Tyne."
"This one deserves it," Tyne shot back.
"I don't agree," Kay said in a quiet, calm voice. It was working against the passion she felt building up under the sheath she wore over her body. It was building up to a lather. That poor wretch of a thing, down there, acting the part of a lowly serf. She was more than a slave. She was a desirable creature. A big, loving creature. A creature she would liked to have brought home and put in a cage and taken out from time to time to play with. The bulge under her apron compelled her. It made the frilly little starched thing tent up suggestively, drawing her even more into the action, more into the maid.
Manon looked out one corner of her eye to see the three women huddled together.
She knew better than to ask what they were talking about. But she felt so bare, so naked, so defenseless sitting down there on the floor like a wet puppy. Waiting for the three of them to decide her fate. To decide what to do with her.
A few minutes later, the buzzing ceased. The three of them came out of their tight little circle and faced Manon.
"My girlfriends want to play with you," she said haughtily.
"What?" Manon said, blinking in disbelief of what her ears reported to her.
"Well, it's evident you're not much good for house work. Let's see how you make out in the other department. Let's see if you're suitable for other tasks. More ... shall we say ... intimate tasks."
"I don't know what you mean," Manon started.
"Nonsense," Tyne hooted back, "you do, too. You know perfectly well. Now stand up."
Manon stood up slowly, her joints aching from the punishing they had been given down there on that hard, brutal floor. "Go into the living room," Tyne snapped and when Manon didn't hustle her ass in there immediately, she yelled at the top of her lungs, right into her face, "I said, 'Go into the living room', Christ I can't stand to be disobeyed under my own roof. And from a slave, a little upstart of a street slut!"
Manon felt the sting of humiliation torture the cock that was now ramming against the underside of the starched nylon apron. That translucent little heart-shaped piece. That silly, frail little patch of material he wore was the only thing that stood in between his throbbing prick stick and plain sight of everyone in the room.
"Sit over here, girl," Tyne said, patting the sofa as if she were coaxing a pet over.
"Yes, Ma'am," Manon answered, heading for the seat that had been indicated for her.
Tyne grinned with triumph. Now the time had come when she would show off her maid's charms to the assembled guests. The time she had been looking forward to all night. Her time of glory.
Manon took a seat on the sofa and tried to keep her eyes fixed down low. It proved tough going. The girls on either side of her, Pat and Kay were definite distractions to her concentration.
They were both beautiful, desirable women. Hot, lusting ladies with plenty going for both of them in the looks and physique department. That Pat and her red, streaming hair, now so properly done up in a bun.
And that Kay. That honey-voiced little kitten with the firm little knockers poking out of her dress and those insanely round buttocks. She'd probably had them massaged by experts at beauty salons around the world.
"You hair's all wet," Kay said, pointing to the adorable maid's strands of wet hair. The tips hung down so petulantly below her neck. She felt sorry for this innocent creature.
But she would be quite willing to lead this same innocent creature to slaughter. In a flash. That tent pole jutting center stick up from under that tiny maid's apron intrigued her beyond words.
She felt her clit throb, her pussy lips grow plumper, more blood-engorged by the moment.
"You look like a little girl with those long, straight masses of hair," Pat cooed into her face, "I can show you how to set it again so it'll look curly. Why don't we go into the bathroom and I'll help you with it?"
Pat felt a familiar stirring in her pussy slit. Way down deep inside it. It was lust, sex, intrigue and curiosity rolled into one. This warm, live hunk of flesh plopped down next to her was somehow more than a woman, more than a man. Strange, confusing and utterly electric. She felt the charge dart into her thigh as she rubbed up against the girl's patterned stocking.
Tyne sat confidently perched on the edge of the sofa. Sitting there watching the little trio do their show.
The men in the room were growing eager, too. And no less aroused. Ken felt his cock play havoc against his briefs, threatening to disturb the peace of his pants line.
Lance knew a good mount when he saw one. He had raised too many horses not to be able to spot champion stuff. And this appealing creature was blue ribbon. He wanted to go over onto the sofa himself and get a better look, but he also wanted his wife to have first crack. She had, after all, been the first to suggest such an amorous game.
Carl sat calmly, coolly, collected. Confident that his time would come with the ravishing maid. And when it did, make no mistake about it, nobody in the room would forget he had been there. He was gonna see to it that these country club types got their" socks knocked off. He was gonna rock this place to the rafters.
