Fate has a habit of playing strange tricks on the destiny of mortals. If, on this muggy Friday evening in early June, the 6:15 hadn't pulled out of the Northwestern Station right on time, and if Chicago's snarled Loop traffic had been much more cooperative, four husbands might never have missed their usual train to the pleasant little suburb of Glendview. And therefore they would never have decided to while away the thirty-five minutes until the next available train by relaxing in the comfortable bar and grill just off the station lobby. Out of such a coincidental and inauspicious start, a swinging club was to be born, one which would change the lives of many of Glendview's most prominent citizens as well as those of their wives and comely daughters. . .
Jack Caspar glumly shouldered his way through the swinging doors of the dimly-lighted, red-carpeted bar and grill and made his way towards one of the stools at the far left end. He was stocky, had just turned forty, and had naturally begun to worry about both his growing paunch and receding hairline, though as yet there was hardly any trace of gray in his dark-brown hair. He had missed the Glendview express because the big boss of his advertising agency, Maxwell Denton, had called a four-o'clock conference to discuss new business prospects. True enough, there had been a little compensation for submitting to pompous old Maxwell's cliche-ridden discussion, because just as they were breaking up, the old coot had told him that he was in for a nice little bonus for having wangled the Stenmeyer Foods account.
Just the same, he'd really been in a hurry to get home on time this particular Friday evening. He had half a notion that his lush blonde wife, Marge, had got herself a case of the kind of Spring fever which made her cast flirtatious eyes at anything in pants, and he was just about ready to have it out with her. As he ordered a whiskey sour, he lit a cigarette and stared thoughtfully into the mirror ahead of him. . .
Pete Dudley was thirty-two, sleek, black-haired and wiry. A star salesman for the Emmett Electronics Corporation, his only real worry was the possibility of being given a wider sales territory which would mean a good deal more travel. And with the way his wife of two years, Eleanor, was acting lately, he wasn't certain it was such a good idea to leave her with so much free time on her hands. In fact, he had missed the train tonight trying to argue the big boss into letting things stand just as they were, but he didn't think he'd succeeded. . . .
Dave Wormsley, toying with a half empty gin and tonic at the very end of the bar, was twenty-eight, towheaded, tall and rangy, and had been a star basketball player on his high school team a dozen years ago. But at this moment he was staring gloomily into his half empty glass, wondering if this weekend was going to be just like all the others over the past couple of years. His bespectacled but sexy-looking black-haired wife, June, had been getting more distant than ever when bedtime rolled around. He was beginning to figure that he'd been deceived by the old adage that still waters run deep in making such a pitch for her and taking six months before he learned that she wouldn't give until the wedding ring was put on her finger. That had been five years ago, and she still was just tolerating him between the sheets. She was bored and resigned and let him hump for all he was worth, and she'd never once had what he considered a real climax. In a way, he was glad he'd missed the 6:15, because now he had time to think up the dialogue for a real showdown with her tonight. She didn't want a kid; and what she did besides play bridge and do a slipshod job of housework and making dinner for him, while he was off slaving as a claims adjuster, for the Great Southern Casualty Company, certainly left her time enough to think about giving him a really good fuck just once.. . .
Matt Tilden, thirty-six-year-old assistant loan manager for the Midwestern Home Savings and Loan Association, had also missed the 6:15, not because of heavy traffic or a sudden business conference, but because he'd been trying to call home and had no answer for the past hour. He had a pretty good idea why Dorothy didn't answer. She still thought he'd cheated on her with that pretty red-haired widow, Joanne Purviss, even though he'd told her every night this week that it was all a misunderstanding.
Mrs. Purviss had come into the office about three weeks ago to get a loan on her house so that she could make some improvements and sell it at a fair profit. She then intended to move to Los Angeles and live with a cousin. Her contractor husband had been killed in an automobile accident about six months ago, but had left her pretty well-heeled. Dorothy, he remembered, had contemptuously said, "She's not only well-heeled, she's round-heeled too, and you can tell her so for me, you. . .you chaser, you!"
At any rate, the loan had been approved, and then Mrs. Purviss had called him last Friday afternoon just before quitting time to ask if he could bring the check out to the house in Northbrook. He'd called Dorothy to tell her that he wouldn't be home for supper and that he was on company business. Then, of all things, his car had broken down just after he'd pulled up in front of the widow's house. She'd cooked him supper, given him a few drinks, and let him know that she wasn't averse to a little necking as a way of consoling her for her bereavement and denial of bed pleasures for the past six months. Matt had manfully withstood the temptation of her middle-thirtyish-year-old buxom body, in a clinging black satin negligee saturated with a cloying perfume, and had been as tactful as he could in explaining that he loved his wife. Then he hoofed it to a nearby service station to get his car fixed.
As luck would have it, who should be in the neighborhood but old gossipy Mrs. Ames, who had already done more than her share in trying to break up his marriage by telling Dorothy every time she saw him with some female, even if it was only chatting pleasantly with a teen-aged cu-tie who happened to bump into him at the super-mart one Saturday. And sure enough, Mrs. Ames had gone right to a phone and given his wife an earful. She knew all about Mrs. Purviss. They were up in arms about her in Northbrook, and it was a good thing her husband had died mercifully and been spared the knowledge of what a tramp she really was. So, of course, Dorothy had believed that his long stay there had been due to his delivering the check and then getting his reward between Joanne Purviss's shapely thighs. And it was all a frame-up!
Matt Tilden made a sign to the bartender and pointed to his empty glass. Then he said aloud in a disgusted tone, "Women!"
He and Dorothy had been married seven years, and she was still a looker at thirty. Sure, there'd been times when he'd wanted an extra curricular piece of pussy, but so far he hadn't yielded to temptation, although there had been plenty of it for him. And then to get the name but not the game, and to have Dorothy huff off to her mother in Winnetka, where she would probably keep herself incommunicado for a week or so, was just too much to take.
"What's the matter, old buddy, wife trouble?" Dave Wormsley looked over and recognized his next door neighbor.
"Who. . .hi, there, Dave! Didn't see you. Guess we both missed the 6:15."
"That's right. I gather you've got problems, too."
"You mean that cute better half of yours is making life tough for a handsome guy like you these days, Dave?" Matt Tilden wanted to know.
"You said it," Dave sighed. "It all goes to show you that you can't judge the contents of a package by its wrapper. You know what a sexpot June looks like. Well, I'm here to tell you, brother, she's anything but that. I know it's out of line to talk that way about one's own wife, but after five years of blah in bed, I've just about had it."
Tve had seven years, but they haven't been blah," Matt Tilden retorted. "Only trouble is, I've got a wife with a suspicious mind. You know when you deal with widows and divorcees in my loan department, you're bound to meet some sexy pieces. With a looker like Dottie, I've just given them the old eye and taken their clothes off in my mind, and that's it. Only now some old snoop of a neighbor has convinced Dottie that I've been screwing a red-haired widow, and she's off to Mother, and I'm off to an empty house. Hell, the way I feel, I wish that widow were around for the weekend. I'd really give Dottie a reason to be jealous."
At the other end of the bar, Pete Dudley and Jack Caspar had recognized each other though they were three stools apart. Each had already stood the other a round, and by now both were commiserating with each other on the fickleness of womankind.
As the big electric clock on the wall of the bar showed a quarter of seven, the four disgruntled husbands paid their tabs and made their way to the train gate. They didn't know it yet, but they were about to become the charter members and founders of the Spanking Society, Ltd.
CHAPTER TWO
Jack Caspar was in a foul humor by the time he reached his ranch-type bungalow on Cedar Street. It was his custom to leave his Thunderbird parked in the garage behind the Glendview station to be reclaimed when he got off the train. On those occasions when Marge wanted the car for shopping or her bridge club, she asked him in advance and things were worked out with a reasonably amicable cooperation between both of them. But tonight the Thunderbird hadn't been there, meaning that Marge had come to the station, had picked it up, and was using it herself. So he had to wait about ten minutes for a cab. When he got home, it was to find Marge seated at the kitchen table polishing off the remnants of the cold pork roast they had had last Sunday and not a hint of any dinner for himself.
"What the hell does this mean, Marge?" he growled. "And how is it you took the car without telling me you were going to do it?"
Marge Caspar was thirty-five and looked ten years younger, what with her light-brown hair styled in a short bob. Her heart-shaped face revealed few of the telltale crow's nests or wrinkles common to women in their middle thirties, and her full, generous lips (on which, in his opinion, she used far too much flaming lipstick), her vivacious gray-green eyes and pert, slightly snub nose suggested rather more of a Junior League young matron than a woman who had been married for an even dozen years.
"I'm awfully sorry, Jackie," (invariably Marge used the diminutive when she wanted to calm him down or wheedle him) "but the bedroom air-conditioner broke down and so I had to take the car and go over to Torrence's. Anyway, I decided we needed another unit in the recreation room down in the basement. And they had a sale on. Besides, you didn't definitely say you'd be home tonight."
"I didn't definitely say I wouldn't be, either," he growled. "And where's my dinner?"
Tm sorry about that, too, honey. Just as I was coming out of Torrence's, I ran into Mabel Fawcett-You didn't know her, but I went to college with her. She lives in Skokie now, and she just got divorced, and she was shopping for a house right here in Glendview. So she invited me for coffee at McDowell's. By the time we finished our snack and talked over old times, it was so awfully late.. . "
"I get the picture," he angrily interrupted. "And I never heard you mention this Mabel Fawcett before either. I'll just bet that maybe they've got a skirt-chasing new salesman over at Torrence's, that's what I'll bet."
"Jack Caspar!" his wife gasped, crimsoning, "how can you say such an awful thing!"
"Because I know the symptoms, baby," Jack Caspar stared angrily at her. "Every time you give me a longwinded explanation where most gals would use a couple of words, I've got a notion that you're on the make again."
"I like that! You be careful what you say to me, or you'll be sorry! Have I ever given you cause.. . "
"You sure have," he interrupted with a scathing glare. "Last winter, there was that new assistant manager over at the super mart, the guy with the moustache. Seems to me he took you to lunch a couple of times."
"That was just because he was a stranger in town and.. . "
"I know, you were being friendly," he finished for her. "And then that time I went to Miami last February for that Agency workshop and walked in to find you and that vacuum cleaner salesman sitting so close together a flea couldn't have gotten between you."
"He was just giving me a demonstration, and.. . "
"I know. Of course you had all your clothes on, but your lipstick was sure smudged and he had one helluva time getting up and introducing himself to me, probably because he had a hard-on he was hoping to get rid of. . . "
"Jack Caspar! You're nothing but a filthy mouthed, suspicious person!" she flashed, stamping her foot until her big round closely spaced titties jiggled against the bodice of her multi-print rayon housedress. "Are you accusing me of sleeping with all those men?"
"No, because I can't prove it. But if I hadn't come in then, I'd bet a dollar to a donut you'd have done something about his hard-on!"
Marge Caspar rose from the table, her eyes sparkling with anger, her superb titties heaving, her face crimson and twisted with fury as she confronted him. "So you think that! Well, let me tell you something, Jack Caspar! I'll bet you're not lily-white either, if the truth be known! I'll bet you've had yourself some new pussy down in Miami, that's what I'll bet!"
"That's just like a woman, trying to shift the blame when she's caught with her panties down!" he truculently countered. "I'm just telling you one thing, Marge, you'd better forget trying to make yourself out to be the sexpot of Glendview and start taking better care of me in bed or maybe I will go looking for some fresh pussy."
"Oh, so now you don't like what you're getting at home, is that it?" she stormed.
"Since you asked me a question, I'll give you an answer. Not one goddamn little bit lately. You just spread and close your eyes and practically go to sleep when I'm humping you. Hell, I'd get more cooperation out of a pro!"
Rigid with anger, the blonde matron slapped him hard, then, her eyes widening with remorse, nervously backed away. "I. . . I'm sorry, Jackie, I didn't. . .I really didn't mean to. . . " she stammered.
But Jack Caspar had had it for one day. The good news about a bonus and maybe even a vice presidency which old Maxwell Benton had given him late this afternoon was forgotten. He seized her by the wrist and compressing his lips, hauled her out of the kitchen to her bedroom. Each of them had a separate bedroom, and there was a guest bedroom, too. Hers was the closest, which was why he chose it.
"You let go of me. . . what are you going to do? You'll be sorry for this.. . let go of my wrist, you're hurting me!" she stormed, trying to strike at him with her free fist.
He seated himself on the edge of the bed, dragged her down across his lap, and then Marge Caspar let out a shriek of consternation. He had just tugged up her skirt and the beige nylon petticoat under it, rolled both garments well above her waist, and exposed her opulent, tightly spaced, round-cheeked bottom snugly encased in a pink satin, elastic panty girdle whose narrow tabs tenaciously hooked to the tops of her beige nylon
"You stop that. . . don't you dare. . . I'm warning you, Jack Caspar. . . owww! You. . .you hit me!" she wailed. His left hand palming the small of her back, her husband raised his right hand and brought it down resoundingly on the right summit of her plump bottom. Frantically, she plunged both hands back to the all too vulnerable target, while at the same time she tried to wriggle off his lap and to kick her legs wildly in the air.
"No, you don't," he grimly told her. "You've had this coming for a helluva long time, baby, and now you're going to get it!" With this, adroitly gripping both wrists in his left hand, he ripped the panty girdle off with a single violent tug of his other hand, and the torn sheath dangled against her knees, retained by the clinging stocking tabs. Marge Caspar uttered a piercing shriek of angry and shamed stupefaction; her carnation-tinged naked posterior was upturned, and on the right cheek there was already a bright pink splotch to outline the very first spank.
"Ohh, you brute, you're going to pay for that! I'm going to leave you, that's what, Jack Caspar, that's what! Always accusing me of going out with other men and. . .oww! Ohhhh! Stop it, that hurts! You've got no right. . .eeeowwwouuul I'm going to leave you for this, you wait and see, you. . . ahrrr! Oww, don't, it hurts, aiiiil I hate you, I hate you. . .ohh, ahrrr! Stop it, you're killing me!"
Heedless of her plaints and threats, keeping a firm grip on both her jerking wrists, Jack Caspar had methodically begun to spank that opulent bare ass which bucked and weaved and twisted in the most salacious manner imaginable. The angry, vivid splotches on the smooth satiny skin soon sprang up, while Marge's wails and cries replaced her storming threats in quite short order. Her feet kicked back and forth in a flurry of frantic energy as she tried to twist and throw herself off her husband's lap. But he merely paused for a minute, shifted her so that her legs slid down onto the floor, then promptly clamped his right leg over her calves, let go of her wrists for a minute to take a firm grip on her waist with his left hand and draw her back closer to him, and then went on spanking with greater gusto than ever.
She tried to twist her torso and strike at him with her fists, but he ignored the maneuver. Frantic, she beat at the sheets with her fists, her face red and twisted with anguish, her eyes huge and sparkling with tears. All the while, relentlessly, his big hand rose and fell, alternating on the lush nether globes, flattening them and feeling their resilience as her tender flesh sprang up under the shock and quivered and palpitated. Her squirmings and wrigglings only increased the enticing and almost obscene contractions and undulations of her bare seat.
"Ahrrr! Owivoooh! Stop it. . Jack, you're killing me, you're killing me! I can't stand it, please, it's not true. . .maybe I did. . .ourwweeeeee! Oh Jack, don't, don't! Maybe I fl. . .flirted a little, but I never did. . .aahhrr! Oh please, you're burning me up. I can't stand it, I tell you, I can't stand it!" she wailed.
"Right now," he paused to flex his inflamed, stinging hand and to catch his breath before he renewed her chastisement, "you're going to go out there and make me some dinner, that's what you're going to do! And you'd better not let me catch you making eyes at any guy with a moustache or one trying to sell you a new home appliance, or I'll use my belt on your big ass the next time, baby!" Smack-Crack-Smack! His hand descended thrice, making her bottom jump and wobble as his palm smacked sonorously against the base of her right bottom globe, then its mate, and then the top of her right hip.
"EEEahrrrl Oww, oh don't, no more, I'll do anything you want, only let up! You're killing me!" Marge hysterically pleaded. Angled as she was, with her feet on the floor and the edge of the bed hitting her at about the thighs, crouched over his lap and her upper body flat along the bed with his big left hand pressing down against her lower back, she was absolutely helpless. All she could do was pummel the bed with her fists, and turn her congested, tear-stained face back to him to beg for mercy. Twisting and wriggling her hips as she did, she couldn't evade a single fiery smack. And by now her bottom flamed like an Hawaiian sunset.
"There I There. . . and here's a couple of last ones to go on," he told her as he brought his hand down three more hard times all over her flaming, swollen, naked ass. "Maybe that'll teach you I mean business. Now, are you going to get in there and fix me something to eat, or do you want me to use my belt on you?"
His left hand lifted, and Marge, sobbing hysterically, pushed her palms down on the bed and tried to straighten, only to grimace and wail again as the movement sent new waves of searing heat through her martyred bare behind. But as she straightened, his eyes fell on the dark-brown muff of her cunt, and he suddenly felt a savage erection, such as he hadn't had in years. His eyes narrowed and glittered. Then, gripping her by the elbows, he flung her back down on the bed, this time on her back. Her petticoat and dress were still fucked up above her waist, and with her panty girdle tangled about her calves, she was helpless.
"What. . . what are you going-oh Jack, oh, my god, oh Jack. . .no, oh please. . . I. . . I'll get your dinner. . . wait. Oh please, my bottom's killing me. . . oh no!" she moaned.
Kneeling between her straddled legs, he had just yanked down his zipper and drawn out his savagely rampant cock. Before she could twist herself away from him, he had fallen atop her, his prick head prodding against the fleshy lips of her soft cunt. His hands gripped her panting titties, and his mouth silenced her frightened outcry as he thrust himself with a single stroke into her to the very balls.
"Mmmmmfff. . .mfggghhhh. . .aahhhhhr she groaned, her eyes rolling, huge and anxious. And then suddenly her arms locked round him, and with a whimpering little sob, she arched up her knees and began to respond to his feverish digs.
A blind lust had taken hold of him. He could feel the pulsations of her cuntwalls, which seemed to be spasmodically clamping against his delving tool. She had never been so tight, so hot before; at least, he couldn't remember when. Her bottom twisted and wriggled feverishly now, and he could feel her fingernails clawing at his shoulder blades through his shirt and undershirt. His mouth was fused to hers, and suddenly he felt the lashing stab of her tongue, and a galvanizing fire, like a current of electricity, seething through him.
He accelerated his pace now, quickening his thrusts, and her pelvic basin seemed to thrust frantically up at him as if to absorb every rigid, throbbing inch of his sexual spear. At last he lifted his mouth from hers, and Marge Caspar panted, "Ohhh, god, oh Jack, lover, oh Jackie. It's so. . .-good, oh, give it to me, lover, give it to Mama hard, real hard!"
"Yeah. . .oh, you sweet bitch, Marge. I'm going to fuck you senseless, you tight-pussied bitch, you," he heard himself raucously gasp. And then his mouth came down on hers again, and this time their tongues were twined, and he felt her buck and jerk under him, and suddenly he could hold it back no more. With an agonized shout, he felt himself explode in her, buried to the very depths, her cuntwalls quaking and nipping and gripping him till it seemed that they would milk out every drop he had ever stored up or ever would again.
They lay sprawled, merged, for a long moment. And finally, when he raised his flushed face, he stared at her and gasped, "You were like a firecracker, baby, what in hell ever set you off?"
"You damn fool. . .you sweet sap. . .oh, you bastard," Marge Caspar half giggled, half sobbed. "Don't your know? It was that spanking. I thought I was going to die from it, and then when you started fucking me.. . I just about went through the ceiling. Oh lover, you won't ever have to go looking for strange pussy, not ever again, not when you can turn a girl on like that. Oh, Jackie!"
And that was how Jack and Marge Caspar unwittingly discovered the very credo of the Spanking Society, Ltd.
CHAPTER THREE
Pete Dudley walked slowly and thoughtfully up the steps of his bungalow on Martell Avenue, his mind still full of what Jack Caspar had been telling him at the Northwestern Station Bar and Grill. He didn't want to turn down the extra territory the boss had offered him after the sales meeting last week, but it certainly meant a lot of extra traveling. And since Eleanor and he hadn't quite established their marriage after two short years, he had grave misgivings about giving her too many days and nights of solitude out in the suburbs, where there were only too many married men around looking for a little extra pussy, as well as bachelors perpetually on the make.
They were relatively new in Glendview. Eleanor's marriage outlook was no more satisfactory than his-perhaps worse, because her periods of loneliness when tensions built up were of longer duration. The old system where a woman was a chattel to her lord and master might have improved their situation if the system still held good, but that just wasn't true anymore, Jack had slapped him on the back, and said, "You know, Pete, what we need is a sort of. . . well, a club, where if the girls got out of hand, like, we could sort of slap them on the wrist and warn them not to do it the next time."
There was a good deal of merit to what Jack had suggested, but Pete didn't know how it could be organized. Perhaps they could sound out some of the husbands in the neighborhood and find out how they might feel about it. Then Jack said something which had stuck in Pete's mind:
"You know, a woman respects you when you take her firmly in hand-and I mean that literally. You and I are both away from the hearth and fireside too much, far too much, but maybe we can arrange a sort of swap club, or maybe there's even some new kind of club somebody else will know about. Anyhow, it'll give us all some peace of mind when we're sitting in that motel room in Hicksville and we've got a pretty darn good idea the little woman isn't sitting home alone-home maybe, but not alone. There's a way to be sure, and we'd better find it."
Pete was all for it. He had always had a couple of extra-curricular flings when he was in the mood and hadn't touched home base lately, and it hadn't damaged his relationship with Eleanor, because she didn't know about it. But he didn't cotton to the notion that she might be doing the same thing. For him it was usually in the line of business, so to speak. Just a couple of weeks ago, for instance, Amy Trowbridge, the buxom wife of the general manager of the store at Gales-burg, had intimated that she would like him to take her out to dinner and she would put in a good word with her husband to take on Pete's entire line. Pete sold electronic equipment, the hi-fi sort, and an outlet for the entire line was not to be sneezed at. So Pete had taken Amy Trowbridge to the best restaurant in Galesburg and afterward he had taken her home in a cab, intending to drop her off at her door. But she had invited him in for a drink. She had gone into the bedroom to "get into something cozy," and returned after only a few minutes in a black net nightie and high-heeled black pumps-and with a drink in each hand. He hadn't left until midnight, and when he did, he wore a couple of rows of fingernail digs down his back, earned when his stiff prick had brought her to the fulfillment of ecstasy, something she had been complaining her husband had never been able to do.
While Amy Trowbridge undoubtedly could be counted on for an occasional bed-warming, there was far too much risk of being found out by her husband. A wife-swap deal right here in Glendview would be a lot safer and he would have more pussy to choose from.
He unlocked the door of his house and looked around for Eleanor. But she wasn't in sight. When he got out to the kitchen, he found a little note telling him that she had tried to call his office and had been told he was out. She was over having supper with Nancy Donnegan, who was a typical grass-widow and as man-hungry as they came. In fact, Pete had often cast interested eyes at Nancy; but with a slinky young wife like Eleanor, it really hadn't been necessary.
If he was any judge of how hen parties usually rambled on, Eleanor probably wouldn't be back until nine or ten. He decided to treat himself to a steak at the Glendview Rotisserie. Ten minutes later his car was parked there and he was seated in a dimly lit booth, ordering from a sexy-looking waitress. The restaurant was not crowded tonight, so he got spectacular service. So much so that by the time dessert time came around, he asked Peggy, the waitress, for a date and she said yes. It was shortly after nine o'clock now, so he called home just to check in. Eleanor wasn't there. With a shrug, Pete got into his Dodge Palermo and drove, Peggy by his side, out to Ravensbrook Street on the west side of Glendview.
Peggy was twenty-six, had been divorced for two years, and her husband had remarried in another state, so she had to make do on her own. She confided that this was an anniversary for her, the second anniversary of her divorce, and that was why she had let him pick her up. Pete didn't care much what her reasons were because he was sizing up her figure under the uniform and coat. Her face was small and oval. She had "small, high-perched titties, a wasp waist and long, sleek legs with delightfully rippling muscled calves. Whatever else she had was hidden by the uniform, the apron and the coat, but already he had almost gotten a hard-on.
Peggy was a perfect hostess. She told him to take off his coat and tie, and she went into the bedroom to get rid of the coat and the uniform. She came back almost immediately, wearing a red satin housecoat, with her bare feet thrust into red leather sandals. She didn't look like a waitress any more, and as she sank down on the sofa beside him, he was aware that she had added a subtle perfume, faint but clearly her own, and furthermore, she wasn't wearing a stitch under the housecoat.
Nor was Peggy a stranger to pleasure. She relaxed beside him with a little sigh and put her head on his shoulder. He buried his face in her hair, moved with gentle nibbling kisses down her soft, sweet brow to her eyelids, to the soft, thick lashes, to her pert, upturned little nose, and, daringly, down the soft, sweetly curbing upper lip to her willing mouth. He felt her body respond; her titties began to rise and fall more rapidly. While their mouths ground together and tongues foraged hungrily, his hands were greedy on her shoulders, her back, and at last he was gripping the firm, pertly upstanding contours of her bottom-cheeks. He felt her fingers traveling down his body, working at his zipper, and then, astonishingly, her long, slim fingers were tickling his prick.
"Would you like me to talk French to him, darling?" she whispered softly.
For a startled moment his tongue delved deeper. This was something Eleanor had never even tried. Then he relaxed completely, obedient to Peggy's fingers, her lips, her tongue. And soon he forgot everything outside of the world of Peggy, until they both lay back exhausted and fulfilled.
It was midnight when he left the little apartment, promising to see Peggy again soon. He got into his car and drove to a motel. He phoned home and told Eleanor he was staying in Chicago for a conference. He needed time to think, and he went to bed very thoughtful. There were dangers in a girl like Peggy. Of course, they could be seen together, but there wasn't really much chance of that, nor would it probably matter if they were. But suppose he were to go to that restaurant with friends some night, and suppose Peggy was in a mood for a little teasing blackmail? Or suppose she got angry with him and let something slip-even called Eleanor? No, Jack had the right idea. A wife-swapping club was the only thing.
CHAPTER FOUR
It was the last Friday in June, and Jack Caspar, Pete Dudley, Matt Tilden and Dave Wormsley were occupying the four last bar stools, waiting for the 6:15 to be announced over the loudspeaker out in the huge station lobby.
This time it wasn't a gripe session or a chance meeting because all four had been held over on their jobs. As a matter-of-fact, the four suburbanite husbands had met in this very bar and grill five or six times since their first accidental conclave, and now they were here to discuss ways and means of broadening the pleasure horizons of their respective marriages.
But this time, Jack Caspar was holding forth and the other three men were listening with envy as well as hopeful conjecture.
"You mean to say that you guys haven't taken my suggestion and picked a quarrel with your wives, turned them over your lap and whacked hell out of their cute bottoms?" he was asking, as he signaled to the bartender to bring another round of extra dry martinis.
Matt Tilden looked sheepish as he fiddled with his nearly empty glass. "Sure, I've thought about it, Jack," he made a defensive gesture. "But Dottie only just came back from her mother's place out in Winnetka last week, and she's just barely tolerating me around the house. She makes me feel as if I'm on trial."
"That's your own damn fault, guy," Jack Caspar chuckled. "What you ought to have done, the minute she stepped inside the door, was to take hold of her and pull her over to the nearest chair, fling her over your lap, haul up her clothes and pull her panties down and lambaste her bare butt. Then you tell her that from now on things are going to be different, that you wear the pants in the family. Just let her try another stunt like going home to Mother again and it'll be worse the next time! I'll lay you twenty to one she'd have just about melted in your arms after you'd finished tanning her heinie, and you'd have had the hottest fucking since your wedding night. Take it from an expert."
Sure, it's easy for you to say. But your wife is different from mine," Dave Wormsley almost belligerently declared.
"You guys make me sick," Jack Caspar shook his head, an amused grin on his face. "The way
I figure it, if your marriage is on the rocks, you might as well know it once and for all and have done with it. But if you could save it by showing the little woman that there's still plenty of life in your prick and that you're not going to take any more nonsense from her, you might just be surprised. I found that out with Marge. Hell, since I gave her that licking the night I got home late-you remember the first time we started chewing the fat about the trouble we were having at home-she's been practically eating out of my hand. The minute I come home, she has me sit down in my favorite chair, brings me a drink, takes off my shoes and asks me what time I'd like supper. Sometimes she even comes out wearing one of those slinky negligees. Hell, she even went down to Marshall Field's and bought herself a snazzy black nylon thing you can practically see pussy through."
"Some guys were born just lucky," Dave Wormsley groaned, taking his fresh drink from the bartender with a grateful nod and downing half of it in a thirsty gulp. "But I'll bet you any amount that even a great lover can come over to my place, crawl into bed with Junie and fuck hell out of her, and she'd probably just he there chewing gum and looking at the ceiling and wondering when the hell the guy would finish so she could get her beauty sleep. And the damn shame about it is when she wears one of those black nylon nighties or even a cheap white slip, a guy gets an aching hard-on just looking at her and thinking what a hot lay she's going to be. Talk about appearances being deceiving!"
"You gotta think positive, that's the only way to get along. Hell, all of us are sort of salesmen one way or another. Me, I talk people with dough into spending it for newspaper and magazine and radio and TV ads with our agency. Pete, you sell hi-fi, and Matt, you're in the mortgage business. Dave, you don't exactly sell insurance but you make sure your company's clients don't sell you down the river with fake claims. Now we all have to be pretty good to hold our jobs, so why the hell can't we sell our wives a bill of goods?" Jack Caspar wanted to know as he leaned forward and scrutinized the glum faces of his three friends and neighbors.
"Sure, that's fine for you, you've got it made already," Pete Dudley argued as he lit a cigarette. "But Ellie and I have been married two years, and she sure doesn't go for this suburbia bit, not when I have to travel so damn much. Looks like I'll be doing it for a while yet, though maybe the big boss will give me the Chicago territory some day. But if I tried paddling Ellie's rear-end, she'd just get huffy and tell me that if I'd stay home seven days a week the way other hubbies do, maybe she could get used to living out here and then putting out a little extra in bed at night. Why, hell, last week she practically came out and said I was getting to be like a stranger, and that's why things were sort of off-base with us."
"That's just what I'm trying to get across to all you lunk heads," Jack Caspar grinned. "Half your trouble, Pete, is that you like a little extra pussy on the side, but you don't want Ellie to know about it. Then you blame her for being an iceberg in bed when you are around. What that wife of yours needs is regular boffing, and so does yours, Matt, and yours, too, Dave. But suppose all of us got together, broke the ice, and showed our wives that they could have all the prick they wanted to keep them happy, and it would all be still sort of in the family. That way, all you chasers would get the variety you wanted, but you wouldn't get into trouble. like you, Pete, fucking out-of-town buyers so you can sell more of your hi-fi stuff to them. Now suppose one of those gals gets real stuck on you and wants you to marry her, or picks a fight with you because maybe the last screwing you gave her didn't make her cream and she thinks you're letting down on her. So she writes a letter to your boss or maybe calls or even tips your wife off what a louse you are."
"Cut it out, Jack!" Pete Dudley flushed uncomfortably. He was remembering his last encounter with hot-pussied Amy Trowbridge, and she had left fingernail scratches on his back when he'd made her cream. She had a husband who was a helluva lot huskier than he was, and if Amy ever turned on him, he'd have problems there as well as at home. "But you can't expect all of us to go home right now and tell our wives that we want to have a swap club."
"Of course not, dummy. It's gotta be their own idea."
"Now how in hell are you going to get a gal like my Junie to come out and say she'll sleep with all three of you guys when she doesn't even haul my ashes the way she ought to with that terrific shape of hers?" Dave Wormsley irritatedly demanded.
"Use your head, Dave," Jack Caspar chuckled. "It's all a question of getting the broads in the proper mood. Hell, before all of you got married, just like me, we wined and dined the babes and got them worked up so they felt nice and warm and glowing and ready to open their legs for cock, didn't we? It's no different when you're married. Except maybe it's harder.. . "
"It sure is," Dave Wormsley complained, "and the harder my cock gets, the less Junie could care."
"Skip the wisecracks till we get this all worked out so you guys can be happy," Jack Caspar pointedly averred. "Now suppose all of us came over and had a nice little get-together party. Maybe I'd show some stag movies-I just happen to have a couple of them that even Marge hasn't seen. But now, seeing how she's changed around after that paddy whacking I gave her a couple of weeks back, she'd really sizzle once she took a gander at them. Only I'd like to spread the wealth, see?
You're all nice guys, and you've been getting a rough time in bed. I figured out the answer for me, and I think it will work for all of you."
"I'll bet Junie would walk out if you showed a stag movie," Dave Wormsley pessimistically complained.
"Not if she's had a few drinks and maybe sees everybody else necking and fooling around. And anyway, I've been saving the best for the last. My niece Ella is coming to stay with us for a couple of weeks starting next Monday. And that baby is such a swinger I've got notions about her myself. Living under the same roof with Marge and me would be sort of difficult to manage, but now that Marge has seen the light, I'll just bet that if all of us work this thing out proper, Ella can take care of not only me but also all of you sore-balled cocksmiths."
Matt Tilden's ears pricked up, "Hey, that sounds terrific! Tell us about this niece of yours, Jack."
"She's my older sister May's girl, and she lives in Cleveland, Shaker Heights. Now there's a suburb where they really swing, take it from me! May and her hubby Ben gave me a call the other night and said that Ella had just broken up with a guy because he was too much of a square to suit her. She said she wanted a change of scenery, and he asked if I'd mind taking her in. He and his wife are going to take a second honeymoon in Europe, and she'd sort of cramp his style. So I said yes'. '
"But what's she like?" Matt Tilden persisted eagerly, glancing up at the electric clock to make sure they wouldn't miss the 6:15.
"Let's see now, she's twenty-two. . .yeah, that's about right. She's got long black hair, sort of like a hippie, only I'm here to tell you that she's no hippie, she's got class and style. I haven't seen her since she was twelve, and even then she was wearing the shortest skirts and the highest-heeled pumps her folks would let her put on. And what a shape she's got!"
"Wow!" Dave Wormsley breathed.
"There, you see? All three of you guys have tail light in your eyes right off. Now why don't we all get together, maybe the Friday after Ella comes, and have a little shindig, plenty of food and drinks, and then we'll show the stags, and just let things develop from there?" Jack Caspar eagerly proposed.
"I'm all for it," Pete Dudley grinned.
"Me, too," Matt Tilden chimed in, and Dave Wormsley lifted his glass in assent.
"Okay, it's a date. I'll have Marge call all your wives and invite them over. That way, it'll look to be on the up and up," Jack Caspar heartily declared. "Hey now, we better get out to the train or we'll be late and have some more explaining to do. Wait a minute, I was forgetting, I've got Marge buffaloed now. These days, when I walk in late, she doesn't dare open her yap. She knows shell go over my knee for a fan-tailing if she so much as looks cross-eyed at me."
"You lucky bastard," Matt Tilden sighed. "What I wouldn't give to have my wife kowtow to me like that."
"Well," Jack Caspar chuckled as he got down from the bar stool and headed out towards the lobby, "like I just said, it's all in setting the mood. Don't you ever read Kinsey or any of the sex books out these days? A guy can go off in forty-five seconds, from what I hear, but it takes a broad about fifteen minutes before she creams. Now you've just got to work her up so you can time your come with hers, and from that time on, you've got it made, brother!"
CHAPTER FIVE
Marge Caspar gave her husband an anxious look across the dinner table as he sat talking to his sexy young niece, Ella Courtnay. She wasn't quite so sure that it had been a good idea of Jack's to invite his older sister's only daughter to spend two weeks here in Glendview. Now that she and Jack had just about got things straightened out between them, along came this "hippie" girl. Well, maybe she wasn't exactly a "hippie," but in Marge Caspar's private opinion, Ella Courtnay was a walking invitation to rape. And Jack, as she could well testify from experience, was just as red-blooded and male as they came, and how he was going to overlook making a pass at a dish like that, even if she was his niece, was worrying her more than she wanted to admit.
Not that she dared say anything to Jack about it. When he proposed that they play host to Ella, he'd put it in a flat statement of fact. And after having gone through that humiliating but really delicious ordeal over his lap that time when she had learned who was really boss in the Caspar house, Marge had no desire to start a new marital rift by arguing. After all, Ella was the daughter of Jack's sister, and he hadn't seen the girl in at least ten years. Just the same, it would have been so much better if Ella's mother had been able to come along and chaperone her. What was a girl like this going to do with middle-aged folks-because that's what they were-for two weeks in the summer out here in the suburb?
Of course, Marge had no way of knowing that her husband had seen in May Courtnay's unexpected phone call a practically heaven-sent opportunity to get the Spanking Society Ltd. under way. Because, unless he missed his guess, Jack Caspar was sure that swinging Ella was going to prove to be the catalytic agent for what would break down all the bedroom frustrations which his friends Pete, Dave, and Matt were battling these days.
Jack Caspar hadn't yet told Marge that this coming Friday, she was going to play hostess to his three friends and their wives. Right now, he was getting acquainted with his niece after ten years, and Marge was doing a slow burn across the table, because he had hardly said more than two or three words to her all through dinner. It was true that a man could be pardoned for such distraction, because Ella Courtnay was a slinky, prick-hardening piece of pussy even at first glance. She was about five-feet-four inches in height, but seemed much taller because of her flair for wearing high-heeled pumps. Her face had a baby-doll quality to it, demure and innocent, with huge, widely spaced, dark blue eyes and very expressive thick long lashes. She had a dainty little upturned nose with broadening, thin, sensuous wings, and a ripe mouth with a very tremulous and full lower lip. Her black hair fell nearly to her waist, and over the top of her forehead it was styled in a series of tiny little spit curls that further conveyed the juvenile look.
But there was nothing juvenile about her figure, mouthwateringly accentuated by a tight blue cotton pullover T-shirt and a pair of dark red hot-pants. Her legs were bare and she wore calf-hugging white kid boots with taperingly high heels. The T-shirt clung lasciviously over proudly arrogant pear-shaped titties, spaced widely apart, and Marge was ready to swear that Ella wasn't wearing a bra at all, because she could practically see the points of the girl's nipples. Warm olive skin and a husky bedroom voice made Ella Court-nay even more alluring. She was a sex bomb, ready to go off at any moment, was Marge Caspar's rather irritated opinion. How the two of them were going to amuse this grownup Lolita was more than she could figure out at the moment.
"Ella, I know this is a sort of dead little suburb, and there can't be too much fun for a girl like you who's done a lot of traveling and meeting interesting people," Jack Caspar began, glancing wearily at his glowering wife. "That's why Marge and I were thinking about having some friends over say maybe Friday night. They are younger than we are and they're more your speed, you know. It would be a nice way to get acquainted. And we can get into Chicago a couple of times, maybe see a show and maybe have dinner at one of the imagine restaurants they've got there."
"Now don't you go worrying your head about me, Uncle Jack," Ella Courtnay crooned, giving him a fond look through her thick, fluttering lashes. "Mom and Dad just didn't want me in the way when they went off to Europe."
"I'm surprised they didn't take you along, Ella dear," Marge Caspar said sweetly, but her husband caught the malice in the tone and smile and gave her an angry glance that immediately made her blush. He had looked just like that when he had hauled her over his lap and really made her bottom sting.
But Ella didn't take it amiss at all.
"Oh well," she said airily, "maybe if I hadn't done that scene before, I'd have gone along for the ride. But after I got through with college, at
Antioch, I went to Paris for six months and tried to do something about my painting. Only I wasn't good enough. I just had me a ball. Then I went off to Acapulco and I've been to Hawaii, so I really can't complain. Anyway, I like to do things on my own."
"That's very commendable. Are you going into art as a commercial career?" Marge Caspar wanted to know.
"I don't think so, Aunt Marge," Ella Courtnay pursed her lips in a very kissable moue, covertly eyeing her uncle. She was remembering her fianc', Larry Shanton, and how he had turned out to be just a dandified square. Now if he'd been anything at all like Uncle Jack, rugged and manly, things might have been a lot different between the two of them. She squirmed a little in her chair, remembering the night with Larry Shanton that had brought about their rift.
"I don't really know what I'll do. Might go into social work or maybe even into an advertising agency. Or I might get married. But there's no hurry. I just want a lotta fun before I settle down."
"But a lovely girl like you ought to have been married a long time ago," Marge Caspar said, and again her husband gave her a dirty look.
"There's no law says a girl has to be married," he growled. "Ella's got a lot of talent, and besides my sister May married a guy who makes plenty of moola. He owns a radio station and a couple of high-rise buildings, so Ella here doesn't have to worry where the next dime's coming from. So why shouldn't a pretty girl enjoy life? There's time enough to settle down when she reaches thirty or so."
"Thank you, Uncle Jack, you're a doll," Ella rewarded him with another one of her smoldering looks, and Marge Caspar was beginning to burn. "But anyway, Aunt Marge, I almost did get married. I was going with this fellow for six months, and I thought he was terrific. Only he just couldn't cut the mustard, that's all. I want a man who's honest and not a hypocrite, especially when it comes to sex."
Marge Caspar hurriedly took a sip of coffee, deeming it a more discreet thing to do than start an argument. In her private opinion, Jack's niece ought to be marched off to a beauty salon for a proper haircut and then taken to a dress shop and given something that wouldn't show off everything she had. The way those hot pants clung to the cheeks of her bottom was simply scandalous!
"Sure, I know, Ella," Jack Caspar sympathetically nodded. "Your folks sort of gave me the picture. Don't worry, Marge and I aren't going to try to do any matchmaking for you. The way we figured it, you'd just come down here and relax a little and try to forget about things. Now, mind you, Glendview isn't really so bad, even if it is a suburb. We've got a big memorial park where they give band concerts every Saturday evening and Sunday afternoon, we've even got a zoo that people come from all over the country to visit, and our college had a helluva football team last season. It even held Purdue to a two-touchdown win, opening game. But anyhow, we'll throw this little shindig Friday evening just to make you feel you're one of the family."
"What shindig are you talking about, dear?" Marge felt she had to find out exactly what was being foisted on her, since it was all news to her.
"That's right, I ought to have talked to you about it before Ella came, Marge honey," Jack Caspar clapped his hand to his forehead in mock self-condemnation. "Pete Dudley, Dave Wormsley, Matt Tilden and I have been sort of getting together at the Northwestern Station before we catch the train home, and last week I offered to throw a party for them and their wives in honor of Ella here. Now you won't have to fix anything special, Marge. Cold cuts and potato chips and stuff like that, and maybe we can make some fruit punch and spike it just a little to make things interesting. And I've got a couple of home movies I thought I'd show." He said innocently, then reached for a cigarette and lit it.
"Me too, Uncle Jack," Ella Courtnay whispered, giving him a dazzling smile as he turned to offer the pack and then attentively flicked on his lighter and held it at the ready.
"Home movies?" Marge echoed, "now, Jack, you're not going to show those Yellowstone Park and Disneyland movies you took on vacation over again, are you?"
"Why not? The couples who are coming haven't seen them before. And Ella hasn't either."
"Please, Uncle Jack, I don't want you to go to any trouble on my account. I did come here for a rest, sort of," Ella put in.
"No trouble at all. Anyhow, I think it'd be a good thing for us to get on better terms with our neighbors every so often, Marge. We haven't had Pete or Matt or Dave over before, you know."
Thus appealed to, Marge Caspar had no real reason for objection. "Well, I guess it's all right," she grudgingly admitted.
"Sure it is, Marge. Say, if the movies get boring, we can always play some bridge. Ella, do you play, by the way?"
"A little. But I'm not very good," his black-haired niece confessed with a giggle. "Larry-that was my guy before we broke up-taught me a little bit about bridge and poker, only I couldn't get him to play my way."
Marge Caspar raised her eyebrows. "Oh? How was that, dear?"
"Oh," Ella giggled again, "I tried to get him to let us play strip poker, but he didn't want to play that way."
Once again Marge Caspar had to take a hurried sip of coffee to keep from the kind of rude expostulation that would probably have brought her husband's wrath down upon her head, figuratively speaking, and probably literally upon her opulent bottom. Her husband grinned, understanding the reason for her forbearance, and he gave his sexy niece a wink. Decidedly, Ella Courtnay was going to be even more of a potent catalytic agent than he had planned!
CHAPTER SIX
It was Wednesday, two days after Ella Courtnay had come to spend some time with her uncle and aunt. Marge Caspar had gone to bed about ten-thirty, complaining of a mild headache. It had been a warm, sultry day, but her husband thought he knew the real reason for her being out of sorts. The presence of dynamic Ella in her provocative hot pants costume had made Marge intensely aware that she was a good thirteen years older and hence less-likely to make him horny for her so long as his niece was around the premises.
That was perfectly all right with Jack Caspar. Indeed, it was part of his plan for getting Marge into his secret little club, if only to show Ella up and prove that she could be in her mid-thirties and still swing. Because in his opinion, when
Marge prettied herself up and took some pains with what she wore, she was just as sexy a piece of pussy as anything around in Glendview. Besides which, Ella was just going to stay for two weeks, while he was married to Marge for life. Still in all, it wouldn't do any harm at all to get her annoyed, just enough so that she'd let her hair down and prove that she could be just as much a sexpot as Ella.
He was out in the kitchen about eleven-thirty for a bottle of beer and some cold chicken. He'd had another rugged day at the office, and sometimes he wondered whether the salary and bonus arrangement he had with Maxwell Denton was enough to make up for ruining his disposition. Long-winded conferences and bull sessions were really a waste of time and would have been better spent by working on copy and layouts for a client willing to spend real money.
He sat down at the kitchen table with his open can of beer and a chicken leg and let out a sigh of content. Friday was just two nights off and things were really going to start humming, or he missed his guess. He'd seen Matt, Dave and Pete at the station tonight and reminded them of the shindig; and they'd told him that it was all set and their wives were coming along.
As he gnawed the chicken leg, he frowned. Maybe he was counting too much on Ella to be the catalytic agent that would set sparks flying and solve the bedroom problems of his three friends as well as increasing his own pussy rations. Of course, he could be wrong about Ella.
Just because she showed off her legs and her tits, didn't mean she'd fuck with anybody. But from what he'd heard about this drip Larry Shanton she'd shaken off, he had a pretty good idea she just could be a real swinger. Well, Friday night would tell the tale.
"Raiding the icebox again, Uncle Jack?" a soft husky voice behind him nearly made him drop the chicken leg.
He gulped and turned red as he twisted round in the chair. "Ella! What are you doing up so late?"
"Oh, don't be like that, Uncle Jack. It's not even midnight. Anyhow, I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd come out here and get something to eat."
He gulped again. Because she was wearing a shortie nightie; the black nylon sheath went down to mid-thigh and was so gauzy that he could see her nipples and the triangle of jet-black hair between those olive-skinned legs of hers.
"Say, is there any more of that chicken left, Uncle Jack?"
"S-sure, Ella. I'll get it for you. Want some beer, too?"
"That would be super! Say, this is real nice, a little party all to ourselves. like my nightie?"
"I. . .I think it's terrific. But. . .but maybe you better go put a robe on. Just in case Marge should wake up or something," his voice was unsteady as he opened the refrigerator and took out a can of beer and a chicken wing. "How's this? Or would you rather have a piece of breast?"
"That's funny," she giggled. "I could ask you the same question, Uncle Jack." She moved closer to him, her lips pursed in an appraising little smile. "But the wing will do fine to start with. You're real sweet. I'm sort of glad I came here this summer."
"So am I, Ella baby," he coughed nervously. "But I still think you ought to put a robe on. Here, why don't you take mine?"
She had taken the chicken wing and can of beer and gone back to his chair at the table, crossing her legs and leaning back so that her nipples prodded out against the clinging black nylon. As he took off his bathrobe, he glanced down at himself and gulped again. The white cotton pajama tops were fastened by just one button, and he'd only loosely tied the waist cord of the pajama bottoms.
"Here you are, Ella," he nervously repeated.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Uncle Jack, you've seen girls in nighties before," she giggled as she looked tauntingly up at him, then took a hearty bite out of the chicken wing, picked up the beer can and washed it down with a long swing. The movement made her titties thrust even more enticingly against the diaphanous bodice of her nightie.
She took another swig of beer, then set the can down quietly and winked at him. "This is really cozy, Uncle Jack. You know, I sort of figured I'd be bored to death out here this summer, but just maybe I'll have some fun. Lots more than I had back home, that's for sure."
As he lit a cigarette he sat down on the little step ladder near the refrigerator, and said, "From what your folks told me, Ella, you were just about ready to walk down the aisle with that fellow of yours; and then you gave him the brush off. Why?"
She crinkled her nose. That creep! I'm sure glad I found out about him before we got married, or the little men in the white coats would have come to take me away a couple of weeks after I had said yes. Can you imagine, Uncle Jack? Here we were engaged and we were setting a date, and I wanted the big lug to boff me so we could both find out how we worked together in bed, and he gave me the line about wanting to save it till the wedding night. And the way he said it, you'd think I'd been a hustler who walked up to him and propositioned him for dough. In this day and age, yet!" She rolled her eyes expressively.
"It is a little old-fashioned," he admitted. He glanced stealthily at the flexing columns of her beautifully rounded thighs, shaped out by the clinging nightie. Crossed as her legs were, the hems had hiked a little, and the smooth olive satin of her calves and lower thighs made his prick throb excitedly.
"I hope to tell you it's old fashioned, Uncle Jack! Not only that, I asked Larry if he'd ever laid a girl before, and he said no. Oh sure, he'd read all the books, but he was still jacking off whenever he got hot flashes. Boy, I tell you, it was a good thing I got out of that hook-up! Why I'll bet if I married him, we'd have been doing the missionary position for the rest of our lives."
He hadn't quite expected such candor, and his face was flushed as he cleared his throat and tried hard not to look at her legs, for now she was swinging the uppermost one and wriggling her foot in and out of the slipper. The dainty rounded heel, the exquisite sculptuary of the arch and instep, and the flexions of her slim bare ankle added to his arousal. So much so, indeed, that he had to cross his own legs to hide from her the swelling at his crotch.
Ella Courtnay abruptly rose and walked over to him, hands on her hips, cocking her head at him with an engaging smile. "I'll bet you're not that square, Uncle Jack. You know, even when I was a little girl, I sort of went for you, did you know that?"
"That's a real compliment, honey. You always were a cute little trick."
"Well, now that I'm grown-up, what do you think of me? Take a look at the merchandise."
Jack Caspar gulped again. He nodded, "You don't have to fish for compliments, Ella baby, You've got it made. Look, it's getting late, why don't you put on my bathrobe or maybe go back to bed?"
"Now, you know you don't mean that, Uncle Jack," she teased. Her soft fingers brushed his shoulders as she bent to him and kissed the tip of his nose. "What are you worried about? Aunt Marge is sawing wood for sure. I heard her snoring when I came out here. Afraid she'll read you the riot act if she catches you out here with me in my shortie?"
His face reddened. "Of course not," he muttered. "She knows who's the boss of this family. Anyhow, you're my niece, so what's wrong with our being out here?"
"That's what I say. Only, you know something, Uncle Jack? I don't think of you as kinfolk exactly, not right now, anyway. I'll bet you're a real swinger. I'll bet you could forget you were my uncle without hardly trying."
"Now wait a minute, baby. Don't talk like that, or.. . "
"Or what?" she whispered, as she bent still further and kissed him on the mouth. Her soft lips lingeringly clung to his, and he could smell the perfume of her hair and of her skin. Instinctively his hands went out to fend her off, but instead they pressed against her titties. And that completely undid him. Those firm boldly thrusting pears were wonderfully resilient; and they felt just about naked through that filmy nylon she was wearing. He uttered a groan, and then kissed her back, his hands cupping her titties greedily.
"Yummy!" she breathed as she straightened after the kiss. "I knew you weren't a square. And I feel about you just the way I did when I was a kid, the last time you came to visit us. Don't you remember how I sat on your lap and pulled your hair until you said you were going to spank me? I wouldn't have minded if you had, Uncle Jack. What would you do if I were to sit on your lap now and pull your hair again?"
Without waiting for an answer, she saucily plumped herself down on his lap and circled his neck with her left arm. Then, teasingly, she put out her right thumb and forefinger and playfully plucked out a sprig of his dark brown hair.
"Now you cut that out, Ella!" he grumbled, his voice thick and unsteady. Her jouncy oval cheeked bottom was pressing down hard against his crotch, and he knew what was going to happen if she kept that up for any length of time.
"Are you going to spank me if I pull some more hair, Uncle Jack?" she huskily murmured, and suited action to word.
"Oww! Now, I told you, honey, cut that out!" he warned, and gave her thigh a playful slap.
"Pooh! That didn't hurt a bit! If that's the best you can do, I'll just keep on with my little game. It's just like old times, isn't it, Uncle Jack?" she giggled. And once again she reached for a sprig of his hair and yanked it out.
"Okay, you asked for it. And you better not start bawling, or your Aunt Marge won't be sawing wood much longer," he growled. Seizing her by the waist, he lifted her off his lap only to turn her back down across it, and slid his right leg out to clamp over her bare calves. His left palm pressed down on the small of her back, he lifted his right hand and applied an energetic slap to the right cheek of her behind.
"Mmmmm, that's nice," she sighed, wriggling around on his lap and looking back at him with humid eyes. Her palms balanced on the floor, and the shortie nightie had fucked up to the base of her bottom. Jack Caspar's eyes fixed on those beautifully rounded thighs and he could see just a glimpse of the black silky curls framing her love nest. He applied a second spank even more energetically to the other cheek, and this time she kicked up one pretty leg and the slipper fell off, she called out "Ooooh!"
"I told you not to yap, baby, you'll wake her up for sure," he warned. "Now you just lie there and take your medicine!" Then he added two more slaps, one to each jutting summit, and Ella Courtnay gasped and wriggled some more. Her movements hiked the nightie up still more, and now he could see the deep shadowy groove between the cheeks of her voluptuous bottom and the soft pink lips of her cunt nestling inside the thicket of black love curls. His prick was savagely rampant by now.
Now his left arm curved round her supple waist, and he began to spank her in earnest, alternating on the cheeks with rapid though stinging slaps, trying to minimize the noise lest Marge be roused from blissfully oblivious slumber.
The petite brunette gasped and sighed, constantly turning her face back toward him, kicking her legs in a frantic flurry which sent the other slipper flying. When he paused, the lower part of her bottom which was by now fully disclosed with a bright flushed pink, contrasting with the warm olive satin of her naked thighs and calves.
"There," he panted, "maybe that'll teach you I mean what I say. Now, you go right back to bed, Ella, unless you want some more!"
She slipped down off his lap, her eyes sparkling, her nostrils flaring and her lips parted and moist. "That really didn't hurt a bit," she breathed, linking her arms round his neck and putting her lips very close to his. "What if I won't go back to bed, would you give it to me harder on the bare? My nightie got in the way, so I didn't feel very much, you know, Uncle Jack."
"You little devil, cut it out now!" he growled. The torture of his stiff aching prick was almost unbearable this time.
Her left arm went round his shoulders; and then he uttered a stifled, incredulous gasp. Ella had reached down with her right hand and with thumb and forefinger given his stiff prickhead a naughty little pinch. It was bulging against the fly of his pajama pants, demanding liberation.
"Suppose I pull that instead, what would you give me, Uncle Jack?" she cajoled.
"Look out now, Ella, you're asking for it!" he hoarsely gasped. He rose from the rubberized seat of the little stepladder and gripped her wrists as he stared into her tantalizingly lovely face. "Fun's fun, but enough's enough, too."
"I thought you weren't a square, Uncle Jack. Anyhow, you're sure not acting like an uncle towards me. Just look how big he is! Did I do that to you? Then I ought to take it down, don't you think? she purred.
Before he could anticipate or interrupt her next move, Ella Courtnay had gone down on her knees, unbuttoned the fly of his pajama pants and taken out his prick, cupping it between her soft warm palms. Then she bowed her head towards it and her red lips brushed the bulging, puckering tip.
"Ella. . . what the hell. . . Ella. . . look out now. . . . " his voice was trembling. He reached out his hands to cup her cheeks and to push her away, but his provocative niece would have none of it. Her mouth absorbed the plum-shaped head of his prick, and he felt the sloshing of her nimble pink tongue back and forth against the lips of the meatus, as if urging his juices to flow in abandon.
"Oh, my God, Ella, you sweet little bitch. . .this is crazy. . .but don't stop. . .don't leave me like this now. . .oh, baby!" he moaned.
Ella Courtnay didn't leave him. Artfully, with rapid suctions of her soft lips and curlings of her agile tongue, her hands stroking the backs of his thighs and bottom, she drew Jack Caspar to a shattering orgasm right into her saucy mouth, and downed his offering without even a grimace. When she rose, at last, breasts rising and falling quickly, she whispered huskily. "I'm not a teaser, Uncle Jack, When I get a man worked up, I want to take care of him. That's what got me so darned mad about Larry, he wouldn't even get a hard-on for his own wife-to-be. Oh, darling, this is going to be the best summer ever, you wait and see!"
And then, as he stood there dazed and incredulous, his limp prick still hanging out of his pajama pants, she blew him a kiss and disappeared.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Friday night party was in full swing. Marge Caspar had been to the beauty parlor that afternoon and had her light brown hair coiffed in a chic upsweep, and then a facial massage, and even Jack had given her an approving whistle when she got back into the kitchen and started preparing the buffet fare for their guests. She'd put on a hip-hugging, yellow, summer cotton frock and her gauziest charcoal brown nylons, and Jack Caspar told himself that even if there weren't a party tonight, the presence of Ella Courtnay in the bungalow, on Cedar Street, had already paid dividends.
Because, knowing herself to be on display tonight, Marge didn't intend to take a back seat for her black-haired, sexy niece. And she was looking forward to the party, which was still another good sign. Needless to say, he hadn't let her even guess what had happened in the kitchen Wednesday night, and for that matter, he'd kept from being alone with Ella until tonight, just so things wouldn't get out of hand. But he knew one thing: when she started playing around with Matt or Dave or Pete the way she had with him out there in the kitchen, there were going to be real fireworks tonight!
Jack's practiced eye told him that while his friends were enjoying the cold meats and cheese and potato chips and crackers from the buffet table, their wives were still a bit standoffish. Dorothy Tilden was sitting at the end of the big couch in the living room, toying with her half-finished Scotch, looking sulky, just the way she had when she'd walked in with Matt, about an hour ago. Jack knew what her beef was; she was still dog-housing her hubby because she thought he'd scored with that tasty red-haired widow a couple of weeks back. And Eleanor Dudley hadn't contributed two words to the conversation, all because she was fed up with living in the suburbs and was nagging Pete to move into Chicago, since after all, the headquarters of his firm was located there. June Wormsley seemed to be having a fine time, and she'd been pleasant enough, but there the problem went a lot deeper. Dave was right about her looking like a sexpot, but she was a long way from being one, so far as her husband was concerned.
"Freshen up your drink, Dorothy?" he gave the tall, slim, honey-haired matron an affable smile.
"No thanks, Jack. This is fine."
He sat down beside her for a moment. "Don't be so tense, Dottie," he said engagingly. "We're going to liven up the party before long, don't you worry."
Tm not worried about that, Jack. I'm just fine. Go take care of your other guests, hmm?"
"If you say so. But you're the prettiest girl here, and I don't mind spending a little time with you, especially if Marge isn't noticing," he joked.
She gave him a wan smile and took a sip of her Scotch. "Thanks for trying," she murmured, with an indifferent shrug.
He nodded, moved over to June Wormsley, who greeted him with a friendly, innocent smile. It really was innocent, too. But as he sat down beside her on the other end of the couch, he had an idea of what Dave had been going through. Because June Wormsley was really stacked. She was twenty-five, about medium height, and the glasses gave her heart-shaped face an even more ingenuous look. She had big round bubbies, set closely together and high perched, and her pretty red, summery dress hugged those love globes in a very prick-hardening way. From her slim waist there flared lushly rounded hips and full, womanly thighs, equally delineated by the cling of her skirt. She had a rosebud of a mouth, a dainty, turned-up nose, and big soft-blue eyes behind those glasses, and her skin was even creamier than Ella's. If he had had to pick and choose from any of the three wives here as his guests tonight, Jack Caspar knew, it would be no one but June Wormsley, but if he could believe Dave's repeated testimonials, he might as well take up gardening in a tropical island if he were marooned there with her.
"Feeling no pain, June?" he cheerily wanted to know.
She shook her head, adjusted her glasses, then giggled. "Oh, it's just lovely, Jack. What have you got in the way of entertainment? Are we going to play bridge or something? I'm a terrible player, Dave says."
"Oh, we'll find a game to play of some sort, Junie, don't you worry. Can't I get you a drink or something?"
"No, indeed. Summertime is just the time when a girl puts on weight."
"Your figure is perfect, so you don't have to worry, take it from meF
June Wormsley blushed demurely, then giggled again. As Jack Caspar rose and patted her knee by way of temporary farewell, he understood even more Dave's bedtime frustrations. A girl like this and with a figure like hers ought to give off sparks, but she was just as tame as dishwater.
It was a crying shame and something was going to have to be done about it to keep old Dave happy.
Eleanor Dudley was over by herself in a big armchair by the fireplace, chatting amicably enough with Marge. As he took a handful of potato chips from the buffet table bowl, Jack Caspar gave her the once-over. She was twenty-four, tawny-skinned, auburn-haired, and about five-feet-seven. Her green dress outlined two small but beautifully firm round titties, like oranges, but her hips and thighs were a good deal more opulent; and she had long, sinuously high set calves, which, crossed now, made him stare a little longer than usual because the smoke-colored nylons she was wearing made them all the more alluring. He wouldn't mind having those wrapped around his neck, not one little bit. He walked over to the armchair, patted Marge on the back, gave her a quick kiss on the ear, and smiled down at Eleanor, he asked, "Can I do anything for you, Eleanor, honey?"
"I don't know, Jack," she replied with a weary sigh. "You'll probably think I'm a real party pooper. I've been trying to get Pete to leave Glendview and live in Chicago. It's terribly dull out here, and then when he's traveling, it's worse."
"Now, we can't afford to lose a beautiful girl like you, Ellie," he chuckled. "You just put it out of your mind tonight and tell yourself you're going to have a high old time. Get me?"
"It would take a miracle, Jack, and I don't think you've got any up your sleeve," she said in a disconsolate tone.
"Maybe I have," he hinted as he walked back to the buffet table and got another handful of potato chips. At the other end of the room, Matt, Pete and Dave were standing talking to his sexy niece. To Marge's relief, Ella had not put on her hot pants tonight, but she had put on a green min-idress whose skirt showed a good half of her thighs, and her off-black pantyhose almost caused drooling attention to her luscious legs. Pete, Matt and Dave were crowded around her the way flies crowd around honey, and he recognized all the signs. There wouldn't be any trouble with them, not when it came to working them up to a little pussy swapping, but the problem would be in getting the girls to give.
"I hate to break it up, you guys, but I'll need my niece here to run the projector in about ten minutes," he warned.
"Movies, Uncle Jack?" Ella cooed as she came forward and held out both hands, giving his a squeeze.
"Take it easy, baby," he whispered. "Everybody's watching. Yeah, in about ten minutes. I've got some real good movies."
"Yeah, I know. Out in the Rockies or trout fishing, or something like that."
"Go to the foot of the class, Ella. They're blue movies, if you want to know something."
"You mean a stag. . .a real stag film, Uncle Jack? Oh boy!" she whispered back with feverish excitement, her eyes sparkling. "Aren't you afraid you'll shock your guests. . .I mean their wives, natch."
"We'll see. Come into the hallway a minute. I want to talk to you, Ella baby."
He glanced around and saw that everybody was preoccupied. He moved quickly out into the hall, and Ella followed. When he was out of sight of the living room, he gripped her wrists, drew her to him, kissed her on the lips, and whispered, "Listen, baby, here's your chance to do your real good deed. I get the idea you're a real swinger-I got it from Wednesday night, if you remember."
"Oh you! Sure, I'm a swinger. I get bored to death with guys who try to treat me as if I were a piece of expensive chinaware. If you want to know, Uncle Jack, I'm not cherry and I take pills and I don't mind scoring with a guy who knows the score, if you know what I mean. So what's the score?"
"Do you like my three friends there-Matt and Pete and Dave?"
"They're real nice. Good-looking, too. And all out of circulation."
"Sure, they're married. But they're all having a helluva time of it, baby. Take Matt, there. His wife has got him in the doghouse for the last month because she thinks he's cheated on her with one of his customers at the bank. He can't even get into bed with her."
"The poor guy!" Ella Courtnay commiserated.
"Sure he is. And Pete, with that cute red-haired wife of his, is having troubles because she's fed up with the suburbs and all his trials and tribulations, and she's nagging at him to move away from here. So naturally they're not hitting it off in bed. And then, there's Dave."
"But his wife's such a cute little thing, and those glasses and everything. She's just as sexy as I am," Ella Courtnay giggled.
"That's where you're wrong, baby. She's worse than a two-dollar lay. And she's been that way all the five years they've been married."
"What's the matter? Doesn't she like to bang? With a swell guy like Dave?" Ella wanted to know.
"I don't know if she's frigid or whether her folks brought her up to think sex was wicked, or what. But she's got no zip, and she couldn't care less. It's like when he takes her to bed, she just looks up at the ceiling and waits for him to finish."
"Oh, that's a shame."
"I thought you'd feel that way. Now, my idea is, if we show this movie and get the guys worked up, and maybe you did a little flirting here and there, it might just get these broads jealous enough to think about making their hubbies pay attention to them. Or maybe to me."
"Why, Uncle Jack, you sly old fox, you!" Ella Courtnay shook a teasing finger at him. 'Now I get the drift, you want to swap house keys, don't you? But if you're looking for variety, you've got me, you know. Or didn't you like what you got Wednesday night? There's lots more where that came from, only you didn't seem to mind where that came from."
His face flushed hotly. "There's time enough to show you how interested I am in you, you little dickens!" he said thickly. "But the whole point of this party was to work out a kind of swapping society, see? Now I'll tell you something else, and you'd better keep it in strict confidence, or I'll really fan your pretty tail. Marge was giving me fits, too, till I took her over my lap and gave her a real bottom warming. She's been sweet as sugar ever since, and I told those guys that's what they ought to do with their broads. So maybe if you create a little excitement tonight, maybe they might take old Uncle Jack's tip, and anything could happen from there on in."
"I get it. Leave it to little Ella." She gave him a roguish wink and-then, unexpectedly, putting her arms around him, rubbed her crotch against his and whispered, "I'll make a pass at them, never fear, Uncle Jack. But if I do what you want, you've got to take care of little Ella when she's feeling blue? Okay?"
He shuddered, his hands squeezing her voluptuous young ass, "promise," he agreed. "Now get out there and do your stuff."
CHAPTER EIGHT
It had taken Jack Caspar a little time and money to locate a" couple of really outstanding stag movies, because he figured these would set the mood for the entire evening, and he wanted something of better than average quality. Just to show a couple fucking, if it were done crudely, might create exactly the opposite effect for which he was aiming. But after having privately screened these two films (rental for which being $50 apiece just for tonight), he felt confident they would help to raise the amorous temperature of his guest viewers.
So now the lights were out and Ella was helping him load the reel, while he thought up plans for pairing off later on. So, just as he was ready to start the first film, he called out, jokingly, "You know, folks, I suggest your pair off so you each sit next to someone else's husband or wife. Then maybe you'll get an extra charge that way out of what you're going to see. And remember, we're all good friends and anything goes. So if you feel like letting your hair down, go right ahead. Marge and I, and Ella too, aren't puritans."
"I'll say you're not, Uncle Jack," his irrepressible niece whispered, and she slipped her hand up his thigh and gave his cock a quick little pinch, out of sight of everyone.
"Cut that out! Save it for those poor jokers who aren't getting any," he hissed, as he turned on the switch and let the first reel unwind.
The first movie was in color, and it showed a pretty red-haired housewife, not un-like Eleanor Dudley herself, spending a dull afternoon at home by herself. She was sitting on the couch buffing her nails, wearing a satin negligee and pumps, when the doorbell rang. With a yawn, she went to open it, and found a saucily attractive brown-haired cosmetics salesgirl with a suitcase full of wares. For want of anything to do, she invited the young lady in and lounged back on the couch with a bored expression while the brunette proceeded to open her suitcase and display cold cream, eye shadow, make-up kits and the like.
In the next close-up, the brunette was sitting beside the housewife, applying some cream to the latter's neck. Suddenly she moved closer, cupped the housewife's face in her hands, and applied a long, lingering kiss. The redhead squirmed, tried at first to disengage the embrace, and then surrendered to it. Now the salesgirl slid her hand down the bodice of the negligee and was soon cupping the redhead's titties.
A few moments later, both young women were stripped down to garter belts and sheer nylons, pussy rubbing on the couch, the brunette over the redhead.
Then the camera panned the opening of the front door, and in came a heavily set, Spanish-looking male who was certainly muy macho as was evidenced when the camera took a close-up of his swelling crotch as he surveyed this unexpected spectacle. In a moment, he had his suit-coat off, his fly open, a massive prick thrusting out demandingly, and he had seized the brunette, hauled her over his lap and was proceeding to spank her upstandingly rounded pink-sheened bottom resoundingly, while she squealed and kicked and tried to hammer at him with her fists. His red-haired wife also tried to halt the chastisement, but he merely shoved her away and continued until he had dealt the brunette a violently flaming rear end. Then, shoving her onto the floor, where she lay on her side, pathetically rubbing her flaming seat, he dragged his red-haired wife across his knees and gave her an equal dosage.
Next, the brunette was seen kneeling between his thighs, her palms on his knees, humbly sucking his prick, while his wife crouched on the couch, also kneeling, one hand ruefully rubbing her posterior, while the forefinger of her other hand was slyly tickling her own palpitating cunt.
After the brunette had attuned the husband sufficiently, he fell on his wife and began to fuck her with gusto, while the brunette, not to be denied her own solace, promptly knelt astride the latter's face and massaged her titties while the redhead feverishly gamahuched her, while she responded to her husband's prick thrusts with writhing, weaving hips, to the fadeout.
When the lights went up, Jack Caspar swiftly glanced over at the three wives. To his amusement, auburn-haired Eleanor Dudley had taken his advice and was sitting next to Dave Wormsley. And the latter had his arm around Eleanor's supple waist and was whispering in her ear.
Pete Dudley had moved over beside young, black-haired June Worsmsley and was holding her hand, but Dorothy and Matt Tilden sat apart, and Dorothy was glowering at her husband.
"Well, folks, you can take a breath now and have some more refreshments before I show the second film," Jack Caspar jovially declared. "I hope nobody's offended. I just thought it might be a nice change from the old routine of Yellowstone and Hawaii and Mexico and all those awful amateur movies everybody and his brother shows at a shindig like this."
"I never saw anything like that in all my life. Ingenuous!" June Wormsley spoke up, with a nervous little giggle. She glanced down and saw that Pete Dudley was still holding her hand, and hastily pulled it away.
"That was a lulu, Jack," Pete Dudley commented. "Say, didn't that red-haired model look a lot like my little Ellie, though?"
"Pete Dudley, don't you dare say another word!" Eleanor Dudley gasped, and she quickly disengaged herself from Dave Wormsley's embrace, got up and walked self-consciously over to the buffet to help herself to some crackers and cheese.
"How about you, Dottie?" Jack hazarded.
The tall, slim wife of Matt Tilden sniffed. "I might have known you men would gang up on us poor girls and show something that makes the female out to be just a tramp." She gave her husband a venomous glance. "Things like that just encourage a fellow to go chasing, that's all. If he'd take care of what he's got at home, he wouldn't have to look." Again she sent her husband an angry glare.
Matt Tilden lit a cigarette and shrugged. He walked over to Ella Courtnay, put one arm around her shoulders and drawled, "And if some women would look at their husband's side for a change, maybe they wouldn't want to go looking elsewhere, either."
"Is that so?" Dorothy Tilden broke out, her eyes bright with anger. "I just wonder how much that movie reminds you of what you and that Mrs. Purvis did behind my back."
"Now, you look here, Dottie," Matt Tilden snarled. "If I've told you once, I've told you a dozen times, you take everything that cranky old Mrs. Ames tells you as gospel. I'll admit I wouldn't have minded going to bed with Joanne Purviss, only I didn't. But don't think I wasn't tempted! She practically came out and told me she wanted me to take care of her, and she had on a slinky black negligee, just like the model in that flicker
Jack just showed. Hell, I deserve a boy scout medal for forbearance, instead of the doghouse you've been giving me, Dottie. And I'm serving notice on you right now in front of all these witnesses that I've just about had it, get me?"
"That's right, go ahead and make a scene in front of everybody," Dorothy Tilden hissed. She got up from her armchair and confronted him, hands on hips. "You men are all a-like. You can all find excuses and alibis to justify whatever you do. But I'll bet if you heard that I was out with some fellow, you'd have beaten me black and blue! Go ahead and enjoy your dirty old movie. I'm going to take a powder on this next one, if you don't mind!"
And with this, her head held high, she marched out of the living room, went down the hall, entered one of the bedrooms and slammed the door.
"Holy cow!" Matt Tilden groaned. "Just when I thought we were almost getting to the point of forgetting about that Purviss dame! Now it'll take me another couple of weeks to talk her out of sulking."
"Maybe not, Matt. Sit down and enjoy the show. Go ahead, Ella, sit on poor Matt's lap and keep him company. He's a regular guy, and in my book, Dottie's giving him a raw deal." Jack Caspar was expertly taking off the first reel and putting on the second.
"Don't mind if I do," Matt Tilden brightened and sat back in his armchair, beckoning to the provocative, black-haired, sexpot. "I might as well have the game. . . I've already got the name, Ella, honey."
"Jack, darling, don't you think maybe you're going a little too far?" Marge Caspar inquired. But she quailed at the stern look he shot her and hastily consulted her half-filled glass of bourbon and ginger ale, remembering only too well the sound spanking he had administered about a month ago.
"All ready for it, the rest of you?" Jack Caspar looked around and winked at his guests. "Everybody nice and comfy with somebody else's wife? All right, here got the lights. Action! Camera!" So saying, he turned off the main living room switch, moved back to the projector and flicked it on. There was a little giggle from June Wormsley, because Pete Dudley had moved closer to her on the couch and this time had slipped his arm around her waist.
"You oughtn't to, Pete," she whispered faintly. "I don't want to make Dave jealous. And what will your wife think?"
"Ellie's making out pretty good with your hubby, now" that you mention it, honey," Pete Dudley whispered back, and his right hand crept down to stroke June's delectably rounded thigh through her skirt.
"Oooh, please don't, P-Pete!" Her whisper was audible now, across the room, and Dave good-naturedly called, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, Pete."
"I won't, buddy. Nothing more than you'll do to Ellie, okay?" Pete called back.
"Well, I like that!" the sultry auburn-haired wife of Pete Dudley giggled, as she felt Dave's arm tighten around her waist and his hand brushed against one of her swelling titties. "Just whose idea was this, anyway? I didn't think you cared, Dave."
"Well, I do, and you know it now. Wanna make something of it, Ellie, baby. Hey, just look at those models there! Wow!"
For the second blue film had started with a real orgy that had everyone's attention from the very outset. A blonde and a brunette, both in their mid-twenties and extremely attractive, were lying on a wide bed with two men between them, the blonde was being gamahuched, and the brunette was busy Frenching her male partner.
June's voice, still in a whisper, was suddenly audible in the hushed room. "I think you're just awful, Pete Dudley! Please. . .you. . .you oughtn't to put your hand there. Please don t, P-Pete."
But her eyes, like the eyes of everyone else, were glued to the screen and Pete Dudley had no trouble cupping one of June's juicy round bubbies through the bodice of her dress. The skimpy nylon bra beneath couldn't hide the exuberant, firm flesh, and he was already getting a violent hard-on.
Jack Caspar had a brainstorm. He tiptoed away from the projector, slipping toward the chair where Ella Courtnay was sitting on Matt Tilden's lap, playfully ruffling his hair and whispering to him.
"Ella, I hate to break up such a terrific smooching scene, but why don't you go pay a little visit to Dottie in there and see if you can't get her over her anger at poor Matt here?"
"Sure, Uncle Jack. Hey, Matt, tell me one thing.
Do you know if your wife ever had a yen for girls?"
"How the hell should I know? I don't even know if she's got a yen for me any more," Matt disconsolately muttered.
"I just thought I'd ask," Ella Courtnay giggled, with a purposeful glitter in her lovely eyes. "You'll have to run that second film off for me later, so I can see how it all comes out."
"Any time, baby, any time!" He gave her a playful smack on the behind as she waltzed out of the living room, then bent down and whispered to Matt Tilden, "Say, old buddy, why don't you go over and cheer Marge up some? I've been neglecting her all evening. It'd do her a world of good. . . and you, too."
"Do you really mean that, fellow?"
"Why do you think I dreamed up this little club of ours? Hell, one of these nights I hope I can get Dottie to swap house keys with me-and if she says yes, I'd be a fine spoilsport if I wouldn't let you give Marge a whirl," he chuckled, and gave Matt Tilden a hearty slap on the back. "Go ahead now, with my blessings."
He went back to his padded footstool, sat down and lit a cigarette, and watched the rest of the film unwind. In the midst of the vigorous activity among the four partners on the bed, the camera suddenly panned to the living room to focus on the front door as it was being opened by a pretty brunette, wearing a very thick, dowdy bun at the back of her neck.
"Hey, get a load of that!" Pete Dudley crowed.
"Boy, if she doesn't look like little Junie here! Of course, Junie's got lots prettier hair."
"Omigosh, don't you dare say a thing like that, Pete Dudley. I wouldn't ever be a model in one of those awful naughty movies!" the pretty wife of Dave Wormsley gasped.
Now the camera followed the brunette intruder as she entered a bedroom and there stood on the threshold of the room with her mouth agape, not believing what she saw. The blonde and the brunette desisted from their amorous byplay to point at her, and then both sprang out of bed, hurried toward her and dragged her toward the bed. The two naked men sprang out of bed, seized her, and dragged her after them back to the bed. In a trice, the newcomer was sans glasses, clothes and her dowdy hairdo, which had been rumpled down past her shoulder blades. A few minutes later, she was lifted to the bed and held down on it, while one man took his place between her struggling thighs, which the two girls amiably yawned apart, until he was "well planted inside her cunt.
The other man, kneeling astride her, forced her to French him, while the blonde and the brunette took charge of her titties, each girl sucking and licking one of the newcomer's nipples. At the fade-out, the brunette was wriggling in the throes of untold ecstasy.
And as the screen went black, June Wormsley was moaning and whimpering, because Pete Dudley's adventurous right hand had foraged under her skirt and his forefinger edged past the hems of her panties to tickle the rims of her moist, twitching quim, while his other hand was busy squeezing one of her juicy, round, panting bubbies.
Across the room, Eleanor Dudley and Dave Wormsley were locked in a passionate soul kiss, their tongues voraciously rubbing together, while his left hand squeezed one of her jouncy bottom-cheeks and his right palm squeezed one of her heaving titties until he could feel the nipple turn hard as flint.
Jack Caspar squinted towards the armchair in which Matt Tilden and his wife Marge were ensconced. Then he grinned. Marge was on Matt's lap, her arms wound around his neck, and there was nothing unconvincing about the way their lips were fused together, and he could just make out Matt's hand on one of Marge's gorgeous bubbles.
It was working out beautifully, all according to plan. The only fly in the ointment was if Dottie Tilden couldn't be coaxed by his sexpot niece into forgiving and forgetting, and finally giving in!
CHAPTER NINE
"Mind if I come in, Dottie, honey?" Ella Courtnay propitiatingly asked, as she stood with the guest bedroom door partly open, watching Dorothy Tilden reclining on the bed, an arm over her face, her other hand clenched into a fist of anger.
"Who is it? Oh, you, Ella. All right, you might as well. Close the door, though. I'm not exactly up to receiving visitors." Languidly, the slim, honey-haired blonde matron sat up, smoothing out her yellow rayon dress over long, shapely thighs. "Don't tell me Matt sent you in here as a kind of goodwill ambassador?"
"Of course he didn't. I came on my own. You were so upset that I was worried about you, Dot-tie."
"Thanks, but you needn't have been. Men!" the blonde disgustedly exclaimed. "They've got a double standard-two for them and none for you. I'll bet if he even caught me flirting with the milkman, I'd never hear the last of it. But it's all right for him to sleep around, and if I even want to talk about it, he puts on a martyr act."
"Oh, come on, Dottie, it's not that bad." The brunette sexpot sat down on the edge of the bed beside Dorothy Tilden and put an arm around her slim waist. "Know something? A lot of them just talk a good fuck, that's all. They have to do it to keep up their morale, so we girls will think they're real cocksmiths. . . am I shocking you with four-letter words, Dottie?"
"I'm not exactly a child, Ella. I've heard the words before. Exactly what are you getting at, anyhow? Dorothy Tilden suspiciously glanced at the young brunette.
"Just this, Dottie. If a man's real good in bed, a girl can make allowances. Now, you take me. I was all set to go to the altar with a guy I thought was just dreamy. A terrific dresser, a good line, the sort of guy who could take you to the best restaurants and make headwaiters fall all over themselves giving you service. Only he was a dud in bed, and I found it out before we took the fatal step. Darned good thing I did, too. But I mean, if he'd been super that way, I'd have looked the other way if once in a while he cheated, so long as he came back. And that's the secret, getting him to come back."
"Oh, that's all very easy for you to say, but.. . . "
"I haven't finished, Dottie. Now, I know it's none of my business, and I just came here for a few weeks, but Uncle Jack told me that Mrs. Ames is just about one of the worst gossips on the face of the earth. So why do you get all upset when you're not even sure it's true about Matt. My gosh, I think he's a real sweet guy. Can I ask you a personal question?"
"Well, you seem to be doing all right for yourself so far. Fire away," Dorothy Tilden said resignedly.
"Before you had this flare up, were you and Matt hitting it off in bed?"
"Now wait a minute, that's being a little too personal!" Dorothy Tilden's cheeks were fiery with blushes.
"Oh, come on, Dottie, this is woman-to-woman stuff. Was he okay in the screwing department?"
"Well, yes, I guess you can say so. I don't have any standard of comparison, because he was my first guy.. . "
"All the more reason you want to hold onto him. A girl never forgets the guy who first laid her, and if he was terrific in the sack, she's got an even better reason for keeping hold of him. I can tell you this, I was cuddling a little with him while you were in here sulking, and boy! he could have had me in a jiffy if I'd wanted him to."
"Ella!"
"Don't 'Ella!' me, honey. It's the truth. But suppose now he did have a yen for a little pussy outside of marriage, what's wrong with your giving him some of his own medicine and playing around a little yourself?
"You mean you're scared to. I've got you sized up already. You're a real sexpot yourself-don't shake your head like that-you are. The way you quiver when I even put my hand on your waist, that's one sign, and you've got a simply terrific figure."
"Well, you have! But to go on with what I was starting to say. Suppose, for instance, Matt wanted to play around but you knew all about it. Then you could play around, too, and he'd know all about it, and wouldn't be sore. How would that be?"
"You mean. . . you mean wife swapping?"
"Sure. Happens all over. It's the best way, because you'd be surprised how many gals go back to their hubbies with a few new tricks to show them; and then they learn their hubbies have learned a few new things, too. It's like having separate honeymoons, and everybody's happy. Of course, it has to be done with people you can trust and you like. I don't mean you have to go around just screwing anybody."
"But I.. . I don't really want to.. . "
"Okay, we'll let that go for the time being. Now let me ask you another question, Dottie. Did you ever make out with a girl? You know, like when you went to school, maybe you had a crush on your gym teacher or one of your girlfriends, and maybe you had a pajama party and slept over. Did you ever?"
"Oh no. I. . .I. . .besides, I don't know what you mean, Ella."
"Oh, come on, Dottie. Haven't you ever read any books or heard about it?"
"Well, maybe. But I never did. . and I never really did know anybody who did, either."
"I'll bet I could show you how sexy it could be, if you'd let me try, Dottie. To tell you the truth, I've had a yen ever since you first walked into Uncle Jack's place. I think you're the sexiest woman here, and that's no lie."
"Oh, Ella, you're kidding!" But there was a noticeably deeper flush now to Dorothy Tilden's carnation-tinted cheeks, and she averted her eyes, and her breathing had quickened.
"You know what happened to me in my senior year at high school, Dottie?" Ella softly insinuated, tightening her arm around the blonde's slim waist.
"N-no."
"Well, see, I was on the girls' volleyball team and there was this terrific coach. She was maybe twenty-five, and I swear she was a gorgeous blonde just like you, Dottie."
"Oh, come on, Ella. Now you're the one that's giving me a line."
"No, I mean it, cross my heart!" The brunette sexpot leaned closer to Dorothy Tilden, her lips at the matron's ear, as she continued in a confidential, husky murmur. "But, anyhow, one night this gorgeous blonde coach invited me up to her place for supper and she cooked it all herself; and then we sat down on the couch, and first thing I knew, she made a pass at me."
"And then. . . what did you do?"
"I let her, natch. I wanted to know what it was all about. And boy! Did she ever send me up to Cloud Number Nine! In fact, I couldn't see boys for dirt, until she finally left town. I was just about broken hearted over it when she did, Dottie."
"But. . .what did she do? I mean. . .how could. . . ? " Dorothy Tilden faltered, her face scarlet with confusion.
"Want me to show you, honey?" Ella Courtnay slyly insinuated.
Dorothy Tilden shivered, then looked at the door. Her lips tightened, remembering the row with Matt. "All right. Maybe when he starts looking around for me, he'll think I'm with another guy. Then maybe he'll get jealous, and then it'll be my turn. All right, Ella, show me!" She said defiantly.
"Glad to, Dottie." Ella Courtnay put her hands on Dorothy Tilden's shoulders and kissed her gently on the mouth. The blonde matron quivered, her eyes widened, and at first she resisted.
But as the soft, moist, red lips continued their osculatory cohesion, and as suddenly Ella's tongue nimbly probed between Dorothy's lips, the latter shivered and closed her eyes and then impulsively locked her arms around Ella's back.
When the kiss was done, Dorothy Tilden's face was as fiery as an Hawaiian sunset.
"See what I mean, Dottie? Now, you'd better take your dress and slip off so we can be comfy. I'll take off mine, too," the brunette sexpot purred. Wriggling off the bed, she hoisted minidress and half slip, and stood in black nylon bra and matching panties, the narrow tabs of a snug garter belt clinging to her gauzy nylons.
Dorothy Tilden's eyes widened. "Oh, you . . . you're lovely, Ella!" she breathed. And then, almost shyly, she drew off her yellow dress and slip, standing self-consciously in peach-toned nylon bra and panties,, a white satin garter belt snugging her flesh-toned nylons. Though her waist was slim and her bottom boyishly compact, her titties were opulently rounded and closely spaced, and through the sheer nylon bra, the brownish-orange aureola and the well-developed crinkly buds of her nipples were enticingly revealed.
"Oh, Dottie, you really are like that Miss Henshaw! Oh, what gorgeous bubbies you've got, darling. Take off your bra and let me see them, please," Ella Courtnay whispered.
"Ella. . . we shouldn't.. . I don't.. . "
"Oh, come on, honey! You're driving me crazy.
Here, I'll do it for you." Reaching behind Dorothy Tilden's back, Ella deftly unhooked her bra and let it drop to the floor.
Instinctively, the blonde matron cupped her bubbies to protect them, but Ella gently forced her hands away and bending her head low over the other girl's breast, took one of the nipples into her mouth and sucked it lovingly, flicking the tip with her tongue until Dorothy Tilden moaned and squirmed, feeling her own nipples harden into tumescence.
"Play with mine, too, honey," Ella encouraged her.
And, seeing that Dorothy Tilden still hesitated, she reached behind her and removed her own bra, and then reached forward to embrace Matt Tilden's tall, honey-haired wife. Their naked bubbies mashed together in a sweet cohesion, and Dorothy Tilden moaned as Ella's tongue grew still more voracious in its amorous delving.
"Stretch out in bed so we can both be more comfy, sweetheart," Ella murmured.
Gently, she took Dorothy by the shoulders and drew the blonde down onto her back and then stretched over her, renewing once again the ardent French kissing. With a sobbing little gasp, the honey-haired matron convulsively locked her arms around Ella's bare back, and returned the kiss with avid interest.
"like it, Dottie?" Ella purred as she desisted from the kiss for a moment, her hands kneading the sides of Dorothy Tilden's erratically swelling bubbies.
"Oh, Ella. . what are you doing to me? Oh my God!" Dorothy Tilden moaned.
"Lift your ass a little, sweetheart. Let's get our panties off and really fuck," the brunette sexpot whispered. And as Dorothy Tilden obediently arched her hips from the bed, Ella's fingers swiftly yanked the nylon panties down to the blonde matron's hips, then, kneeling up a moment, fucked her own panties down and flung herself back down atop her tyro partner.
Once again her mouth attacked Dorothy's and her tongue drove between Dorothy's lips as her furry cunt began to grind against the dark-blonde mount beneath. Dorothy's eyes bulged, her arms convulsively squeezed Ella's bare back and her knees began to jerk and twist as Ella's fucking friction accelerated.
And then, twisting her mouth away from Ella's, she lifted her head and uttered a wild cry of abandon as her body quaked in the throes of hot, seething come.
At that moment, the bedroom door was flung open and Matt Tilden stood on the threshold. The little night-lamp on the bedside table was the only illumination, but it sufficed to show him those two entwined naked bodies on the bed.
"Well I'll be damned. . . . " he hoarsely ejaculated.
Then, yanking down his zipper and baring his swollen prick, he advanced to the bed, dealing Ella Courtnay a resounding smack on her bottom. As she yowled with pain and surprise, he growled, "Get off, and let a man do the work T
Ella promptly rolled over, one had ruefully rubbing her flaming posterior. But she was smiling.
"Go to it, lover! I'm here to help, if you need a replacement," she encouraged.
"Matt. . .you wouldn't dare! Ella, don't let him . . . stop him! Oh, my god! Oh, Matt . . . Ohhhhh!" Dorothy Tilden cried. For her husband had flung himself down atop her, and, hampered as her legs were by the still-clinging sheath of her lowered panties, she was unable to prevent his kneeling between them and thrusting in his prick with a single dig up to the balls inside her moist and quaking cunthole.
Then, his hands reaching under to grip the cheeks of her resilient ass,' he silenced her with his avid kiss and began to fuck her.
Jack Caspar's party was a huge success. Now there were no deterrents to the open formation of the Spanking Society, Ltd.
CHAPTER TEN
But Jack Caspar's party, in honor of his brunette niece, wasn't quite over yet. Indeed, so far as Matt and Dorothy Tilden were concerned, it was just beginning to get interesting. Ella, observing the frantic clinch which sturdy, brown-haired Matt and his naked honey-haired wife had gone into, tactfully figured that she had done her good deed for the night. And so, after bending down to kiss Dorothy's panting mouth, and to rumple Matt's hair and give them a few enthusiastic exhortations, she swiftly donned her clothes and slipped out of the guest room to leave them to their long overdue reconciliation.
As soon as Matt had achieved his torrid climax, he got down off the bed and hurried over to the door to lock it again so that nobody else would intrude. Then he made a quick trip to the bathroom for necessary ablutions, and returned with a wet hand towel for Dorothy, who lay there sprawled, a hand over her forehead, her magnificent titties rising and falling with a violent rhythm of her come. In the bathroom, he had taken off his pants and sport shirt and undershirt, and was now down to his socks. For a moment he stood looking down tenderly at the naked honey-haired beauty who had given him such a hard time, but to whom he was still deeply bound by ties of fierce sexual infatuation. Then his eyes narrowed and he glanced at the towel in his hand; and then a broad grin came over his pleasant face. "All right, Dottie, that's more like it," he declared. "Now let's see if you and I can't get back to where we used to be before you started building mountains out of molehills with all the neighborhood gossip."
"Matt, do we have to talk about that? I . . . I guess maybe I was a little too quick to believe Mrs. Ames, but you'll admit.. . "
"I'll admit whatever I want to admit, and from now on in, there's going to be a change in our house, baby," he broke in. "If I want to knock off a piece with some cute gal, from now on I'm going to tell you."
"Ohh!"
"And, by the same token, if you feel horny and I'm not around, it's all right with me as long as you tell me all about it."
"You can't be serious!"
"But I am, baby. I was never more serious in my life. Jack, Pete and Dave and I have been talking about this for quite some time now. I think it's the answer for both of us. I get the urge every once in a while, like with that Mrs. Purviss, but I didn't go through with it because it could have built into something bad for both of us. But if I were to boff cute little Junie Wormsley, for instance, and you were to go to bed with Dave, we'd both know about it and we could keep it all in the circle, without anybody being the wiser, like that snoopy Mrs. Ames."
"You mean you wouldn't care if I had an affair with another fellow?"
"You aren't listening very good, Dottie. Sure I'd care, but if it happened to be one of my good friends and I was boffing his wife, then, no, I wouldn't mind. I think it would make it a lot more exciting between us when we shared the details. Everybody's got a different way of making love, anyhow, and we're still young enough to learn new tricks."
"Well, I like that!" She was getting sulky again as she swung her long bare legs over the edge of the bed. "In other words, you want to swap me just so you can have your fun? That's just like a man."
"Now wait a little minute, Dottie Tilden!" he brandished the hand towel menacingly. "Don't give me that holier-than-thou line, because I happen to know you had a couple of crushes on guys when I was dating you, and you used to tease me by telling me how far you'd let them go with you. And you got your kicks out of that, don't deny it!"
"Well, that was different . . . "
"The hell it was!" Again he angrily interrupted. "And then that time I had to go to Cleveland for a convention, the second year we were married, and I came back and wanted to love you up real good. Hell, the company had a couple of sexy call-girls at the hotel where I was staying, and I could have screwed every night and had a hell of a time, but I didn't. I was just thinking about getting home to you. And when I got back home, you weren't in the mood and you were saying something about the curse. Only I happened to keep track of dates, and it wasn't your time at all. Say, now that we're on the subject, what did happen when I was gone? I bet you got yourself nicely fucked by some boyfriend, and that's why you weren't in the mood for your hubby."
Dorothy Tilden's face turned scarlet and she put her hand to her mouth as she stared at him. It was a giveaway reaction.
"Uh huh," he said grimly, "that's just what I thought. But I didn't pry around and make a federal case out of it, did I? I just waited till you got in the mood and, as I remember, I practically had to beg myself back into bed. Well, now it comes out, five years later, doesn't it? All of which points out the fact that you and I are going to join this little society of Jack's and make the most of it. You can have all the cock you want, but I'm sure going to have all the pussy I want to tide me over when you come into these not-in-the-mood cycles of yours, get me?"
"You haven't any right to talk to me like that, Matt Tilden!" she flared.
"No? And just now, when I walked in, you were making out pretty good with little Ella. So you've got switch-hitting potential in you, too, Dottie, baby. That's great. You seem to have all the fun with Junie and Eleanor and Marge, and you'll be one up on me because I don't go for guys, just girls. Seems to me you're getting the better of the bargain."
"You . . . you're just being vulgar now!"
"Sure I am. But I'm being honest, too, and it's high time you started doing the same thing. Because when you want to, Dottie, you're a terrific lay. The way you were just now. And I want to keep you that way."
"Now you look here, Matt Tilden, stop it! What are you doing? You brute . . . let go of me . . . owww! Stop it! I hate you . . . oohhh . . . aaahhh . . . you're hurting me, please stop it. . . ouch, please . . . eeeomww!! "
As she had tried to get up from the bed, he had sat down at her left, tossed the towel beside him, then grabbed hold of both her elbows, and rudely hauled her across his lap. Gripping her wrists with his left hand, he had retrieved the wet hand towel, doubled it and brought it down several times energetically on her upturned naked bottom. Dorothy Tilden squealed and wailed, kicking her long legs frantically and looking back at him with mingled indignation and discomfort.
"I'm going to paddle your hind end, Dottie, till you agree to join our little society, get me?" he demanded, and he brought the wet towel down again with a resounding smack over her wriggling bare bottom. "When you've had enough, you can tell me that you're willing. You've had this fantailing coming for a long time."
With this, he resumed spanking her with faster and faster strokes. As she jerked her wrists and kicked her legs and tried desperately to throw herself off his lap, he maintained her by releasing her wrists and vising his left arm round her warm satiny waist, increasing the energy of his blows. The towel stung and left flaming red splotches all over her jouncy bottom-cheeks, and by now Dorothy Tilden was crying and begging him to stop. "Oww, boohoo, please, oh Matt, you're hurting me, you really are . . . please stop it. Oh, you're hateful, I hate you, I hate you . . . eeounu-waaahhh! Oh, no I don't, but please, if you love me, don't spank me any more, please don't Ami . . .oh, Matt, oh, darling, my poor bottom's so sore, please stop!"
"You know what I'm waiting to hear you say and I'm going to keep spanking till you do," was his reply, as he continued to raise and lower the towel in stinging swipes all over her bouding naked seat.
"All right! Oh, stop, I'll do anything . . . anything if you'll only stop! Oh, my poor bottom! Oh, you're killing me . . . yes, Matt, yes!" she finally wailed and then burst into fitful tears.
"Now that's more like it. And no jealous little scenes from now on, either. We're going to share this together, baby. When you get the hots and want to go off for a weekend with Dave Wormsley, and I want to bring June over to the house and shack myself up with her, it's going to be all right. And we'll exchange experiences, and you'll see how exciting it'll be for both of us when we get back into bed together with each other. You hear me?" Having tossed aside the towel, he now gave her three or four vigorous swats with the flat of his right hand.
Dorothy Tilden wailed, "Oww, oh, no more, please, no more! Yes, yes, I'll do anything, I told you I would, only stop!"
"Good. And I'll just make sure you keep your promise, too, Dottie, baby. And right now, with that sweet pussy of yours rubbing over my cock while you've had your spanking, you've got me all randy again and you're going to do something about it. And you can start by blowing me."
"By doing wh . . . what?" she tearfully gasped. She slowly straightened to her knees at his right side, her hands frantically rubbing her flaming naked seat.
He unbuttoned his undershorts to let his prick out, swollen and eager for action. "Take it in your mouth, bend your sweet head down and suck it," he commanded.
"Matt Tilden! That's . . . that's disgusting! I've never done that. . . you know I haven't. . . "
"I know that. But from now on, like I said, it's a new deal all around. It was all right when you were playing the dyke game with cute little Ella there, wasn't it? But when you're own husband wants you to French him, then you get standoffish. Come back over here!" And with this, he grabbed her again and dragged her back down over his lap, his left arm again tucking in her waist and his right hand rising and falling vigorously over her already inflamed bare posterior.
"Oww . . . ohh . . . Oh, don't . . . your're dreadful! I hate you . . . ouch . . . boohoo, oh please, I can't stand it, I'm so sore there already. Matt . . . stop it, stop it, I beg of you. Ohrrr! Oh please, please, I don't want to do that, oh yes, I will. . . only stop, for heaven's sake, please stop!" she capitulated, her long legs waving frantically in the air disclosing to his glittering eyes the soft, pink, moist lips of her delicious cunt.
"ALL right then. Get on your knees over there, bend your head down, and start kissing and sucking and licking it. And if you don't do a good job, back over my lap you go, and this time I'll find a hairbrush or something to make an impression on that big bottom of yours, Dottie Tilden!" he warned.
Tears running down her cheeks, looking very woebegone, Dorothy Tilden again knelt up at his right, her hands still rubbing her discolored bottom, but as he made a mock-threatening gesture with his right hand, she gasped and swiftly bent down her head and forced her mouth against the tip of his stalwart prick.
"That's better," he said huskily. "Now just nibble at it, suck it nice and slow, and use your tongue every so often."
"I . .I think you're just horrid! I'll bet you learned that from some other woman . . . " she whimpered.
"Any more talk like that and I will get the hairbrush! No, I didn't learn it from some other woman. I've wanted you to do that to me ever since we got married, but you never would. And you wouldn't talk about such a thing, either. Well, Dorothy, from now on, we're going to talk about everything, and do everything. We're going to be the swingingest couple in all of Glendview, or I'll know the reason why. Now get back to work!"
She uttered a stifled sob and once again dutifully forced herself to this libidinous task of wifely devotion. He put his left hand to the scruff of her neck and held her there, and reached out to press his right palm against her vividly warm bare ass to remind her of the danger if she recanted now.
Squirming uneasily, Dorothy Tilden began to French her husband. She was awkward and inept, but the fact that she was doing it at all, and under such coerced circumstances, made him all the more excited. He felt like a sultan commanding a brand new rebellious favorite to comply with his most lubricious desires; and thus Dorothy Tilden became a brand new wife after seven years of marriage.
Back in the Caspar living room, June Wormsley had watched both stag films with highly mixed emotions, secretly thrilled by handsome young Pete Dudley's flattering attention to her. And the smooching he had effected while those films were going on had made the petite brunette feel more aroused than she had with her own good-looking husband, for the very reason that here it was in front of everybody, even her own husband, another man was taking outrageous liberties with the most intimate parts of her delicious person.
Dave himself was huddling with Eleanor Dudley, whispering into her ear and making her giggle. As June tried to push Pete's hand away from between her squirming legs, she saw her husband and Eleanor exchange a fiery kiss.
"Ohhh!" she breathed, scandalized.
"Take it easy, Junie, baby," Pete whispered. "Old Dave knows what he's doing and so do I. Jack Caspar's worked up a little wife-swapping society, just for us four couples, see? We can have all the fun we want and nobody'll be the wiser. And boy, am I hot for you! I'd just like to take you off to the bedroom right now and peel all your clothes off and love you up but good!"
"Pete! You . . . you oughtn't to talk that way. I . . . I'm married . . . oh my . . . please take your hand away. You . . . you're driving me crazy . . . " she ingenuously blurted, as his forefinger continued to frig her twitching cuntlips. Frantically, she tried to cross her legs, but he was too well planted and now his fingertip brushed the nodule of her clitoris. June Wormsley moaned and arched herself instinctively, warm seething emotions taking possession of her almost for the first time. Through mist blurred eyes she saw her husband's hands cup Eleanor's titties as the kiss was renewed and seemingly unended. Eleanor's arms locked round Dave's shoulders, and her eyes were closed and she was offering her mouth in sensual abandon.
"Well, Junie, how about it? Can we have a date sometime soon? You know what I'd really love to do to you? Get my face between those sexy legs of yours and really muff dive! How'd you like to feel my tongue where my finger is right now, baby?" Pete hoarsely panted, as he rubbed the petite brunette's clitoris back and forth.
June Wormsley wiggled and moaned, her head falling back again the edge of the couch. Her hands cupped his cheeks, as he took her mouth and thrust his tongue between her lips A series of electric tremors seemed to flow through her now, making her jerk and twist and squirm uncontrollably. She was almost fainting with passion, and she had never felt that way before, not even when Dave was fucking her. Oh, what was the matter with her, anyway? This was shameless, wicked . . . but oh, how thrilling it felt what he was doing there with his finger. . .
Across the room, Dave Wormsley had come up for air and was whispering to Eleanor Dudley, "I can't get enough of you, Ellie, baby! Why don't we sneak off when nobody's looking and have ourselves a time? It's okay with Jack and Marge, because Jack's just started a little club and we're going to be charter members."
"What . . . what do you mean, D . . .Dave?" the auburn-haired young woman gasped, her cheeks flaming, her opulent titties rising and falling agitatedly.
"We're going to do some swapping and swinging, Ellie. That's what. Now you see Junie over there with your hubby? He's got the hots for her, just like I've got them for you. He knows about it and I know about it. And if you're willing, that's all that matters. How would you like to work it out in bed?"
"Oh not here!" Eleanor Dudley gasped, glancing frantically around to make sure that no one had overheard. "I . . . I do like you lots, Dave. You mean . . . Jack arranged this all with you fellows?"
"Sure he did. Matt and Dorothy are in it, too, and Marge is going along with the idea. This is so we can all have fun, but it won't get out of the neighborhood. And all the wives won't have to worry about whether their husbands are cheating on them. It's better than their doing it with any stray broad, don't you think?"
"Oh my goodness, I never thought that Jack would have an idea like that . . . and you're sure that Pete won't mind?"
" Why do you think he's making out with Junie there? And with my blessing. I'll let you in on a little secret, Ellie, honey, June's been driving me nuts, she just hasn't any zip in bed. But now look at old Pete there, he's working her up to a frazzle. So more power to him, because he'll get her hot for me. And when a married guy does go back to bed with his wife, they'll both know more and appreciate each other more. See how it'll work out? Now when can we get together, Ellie, baby? How about right now?"
"Oh no! Maybe . . . maybe Tuesday afternoon, when Pete's at work. You . . . you could come over to the house then, but . . . but I'd rather you didn't tell him .
"I won't tell him, but you're going to."
"Oh no!"
"Oh yes," Dave Wormsley chucklingly countered. "That's the first rule of our little group, no secrets. That way there won't be any jealousy or blackmail or anything else that a guy or a girl can get into when they play around. It's got all the advantages and none of the risks of chasing, and a lot more."
'I'll bet you men have been planning this all the time!" Eleanor Dudley gasped, her cheeks furiously crimson.
"That's right. Because we've all had problems in bed, and this is the best way we know how to solve them. It's a date, I'll be at your place around two-thirty, Tuesday. Wear something sexy . . . black, if you've got it. Or," he added, as he bent to kiss her mouth, "better yet, nothing at all."
I'll
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Since the following week marked the beginning of Pete Dudley's vacation, there was nothing to deter his Tuesday afternoon date with petite, bespectacled black-haired June Wormsley. Her husband's vacation was to begin the following week, as it happened, and he and Eleanor Dudley had tentatively agreed on a motel rendezvous on the very same Tuesday when his wife and her husband would be the first to inaugurate the new marital ring-around-the-rosy planned by the Spanking Society, Ltd.
But that Tuesday morning, as Dave was about to go off to work, to his job as claims adjuster, he gave her a playful swat on the bottom, and told her, "I won't be home until at least midnight, honey, so that gives you all the time you want with dear old Pete."
"But. . . but I feel so funny, doing a thing like this," she blushed.
"I don't. You've got my blessing . . . don't forget it. Maybe getting just a little bit jealous of me is just what you need, honey. To tell the truth, you look like a gangbang, and I hate to tell you, but we're going to start being real frank with each other from now on. That's Jack Caspar's whole idea. And I think it's going to save our marriage. Just pretend you're a little call girl trying to hide it from the neighbors and that Pete is sneaking up to have a little fun. Just let yourself go."
"You . . . you're sure you don't mind?" she quavered.
"How do you feel about my seeing Pete's wife in a motel room tonight?" he countered.
"Well, as long as you still love me better, I guess it won't be so bad."
Dave Wormsley had chuckled and given her another playful slap on the behind. "That's the spirit, Junie! Well, don't wait up for me. But if I know dear old Pete, he's going to give you such a workout that you're going to be getting your beauty sleep sooner than you usually do tonight. Have fun, now!"
June Wormsley had sat around the house that morning listening to soap operas on TV, and then at noon took a shower, applied perfume and nervously consulted her wardrobe to select the costume in which she would receive her very first lover outside of marriage.
She finally chose her sheerest white nylon bra-and-panty set and a red satin housecoat and a pair of old fluffy blue mules which an elderly aunt had sent her for a wedding present. As she stared at her image in the bedroom mirror, adjusting her glasses, her cheeks were a vivid crimson as she realized that she was getting herself ready to be fucked by someone else besides her own darling Dave. But what he had said to her this morning had lingered, and it had hurt. She really didn't have much vanity about herself, but she'd always been told she looked like a real sexpot, and now to have Dave say that she didn't show enough pep in bed was really crushing. She put a hand behind her head and fluffed up her hair, remembering the stag movie whose brunette model Pete had-likened to her, and her blushes deepened. Well, if that's what Dave thought, maybe he just didn't appreciate her. And Pete had just about taken her breath away last Friday night, feeling her up all over and telling her how hot he was for her. Maybe the fault was Dave's, because she'd read about how men took their wives for granted and didn't make any extra special effort to please them. Maybe it was true she didn't know everything about sex, but the way Pete Dudley had acted Friday night didn't seem to show that there was anything wrong with her in the bed department.
As she continued to stare at her heart-shaped face, saw how the satin housecoat snugged over her bubbies and lush round hips, a kind of defiant indignation and almost reckless abandon came over her. She was going to show him, once and for all, how wrong he was. And maybe it would be lots of fun to let another man make love to her. Anyway, as long as he knew about it and wanted her to, he'd never have another kick coming, and he'd better not hold it up to her, ever, because she would tell him what she thought of a fellow who'd go off to a motel with somebody else's wife. Tentatively, her soft hands pressed her juicy bubbies, and she shivered. June Wormsley didn't know it, but for the first time in her young married life, she was beginning to get the urge for amorous adventuring . . . .
"C-come in, P-Pete," she faltered, as she opened the door and saw the wiry, black-haired, electronics salesman standing there with a knowing smile on his handsome face.
"Wow! Junie, did you put that on just for me?" he chuckled when he stepped inside, closed the door, and then put his hands on her bottom and gave her a kiss that took her breath away.
"Oh, my goodness! Watch out for my glasses, P-Pete, d-dear," she gasped. As he let her go, she straightened her glasses, and her face was frightened. She'd never felt so . . . well, downright wicked in all her life before. It wasn't as if she were going to bed at night with her husband and knew they were going to make love. This was so different. In the middle of the day, another man coming over to see her so they could . . . so they could do it together! Her pulses were hammering nervously, as she faltered, "Would you like a drink or something?"
"No, thanks, baby. Just you. I had a big lunch, to give me plenty of staying power. But there's no need to rush, Junie. I hear your guy has got a date with my Ellie out at a motel near O'Hare tonight, so it's a cinch he won't be home till real late. So we don't have to rush at all. Anyhow, I want to take plenty of time to get to know you better. And I mean, really know you. Come here and give me a nice big kiss, the way you did at the party."
Once again his hands found her round, resilient bottom-cheeks and squeezed them ardently as he pulled her to him, his mouth fusing with hers. June Wormsley whimpered at the fury of his sensual desire, and she could feel his stiff prick prodding at her crotch already, telegraphing to her the vigor of his manhood. Dave had never been so forthright; he'd always been sort of gentle with her, and so this too was different for her. When Pete Dudley at last let her go, she was trembling, and the blushes had spread to her throat and even the lobes of her dainty ears.
"Let's go find a nice couch where we can smooch some, Junie, and get all hot and bothered before we go to bed together," Pete Dudley was whispering as his hands took possession of her quivering, tensing buttocks and his mouth came down on hers, hard.
June Wormsley gasped and instinctively put her hands on his back to cling to him, feeling her legs waver beneath her. Her pulse beat in her lovely rounded throat and it was beating erratically at the end of that kiss.
"Why don't I get us both a drink and . . . and we can go to the living room?"
"Sure. One drink never hurts. Though I don't need any extra stimulant except you, Junie, baby," he told her, as his hands slid up her waist now and squeezed her titties playfully. "Make mine bourbon on the rocks."
He gave her a wink and sauntered into the living room, taking off his suit coat and tossing it over the back of a chair; then he lit a cigarette and waited. He'd put on only undershorts, because it was a warm day and because it would mean less undressing when this cute little trick finally got ready to be fucked. What he really had a yen for doing with Junie Wormsley was making her sit astride him and keep his hands on those big juicy tits of hers while she arched her sweet ass up and down and impaled herself on his ramrod. She was just the size for it, too.
In a few moments, the petite brunette walked into the living room with a tray, on which there were two glasses. She'd poured herself a drink even stiffer than Pete's, for courage.
He took his and lifted his glass to toast her as she set the tray down on the glass topped coffee table and hesitantly sat down beside him.
"To our having a terrific time today, baby," was his toast, as he clinked glasses with her. "Bottoms up!"
He took a hearty swig of his drink, set it down and watched as she took a deep breath, and tilted the glass to her soft red lips. She rarely drank hard liquor, but this was an occasion that called for it. As the warm, burning liquor went down, she gasped and choked, then regained her breath and closed her eyes. Now she felt quivery all over, and her heart had begun to pound very fast.
Before she knew what he was about, Pete Dudley was already tugging down the zipper at the bodice of the housecoat, and he had his right hand on her bra-sheathed tittie, and his mouth was covering hers, and his tongue was delving between her lips, while his left hand was stroking the back of her neck, pressing her against the back of the couch and leaning over her. She spluttered a little, squirmed, put her hands up against his chest almost defensively, then closed her eyes and submitted. The pulse beat was hammering wildly now, and the nipple of the tittie he was massaging with his palm had hardened and there was an exquisite, tormenting twinge in it.
"We're going to hit it off just great together, Junie, I can tell," he panted hoarsely, as he slid his hand around her back now and hunted for the fasteners of the bra. Finding them, he worked the bra off and then put his right hand back on her naked tittie and began to kiss her again.
June Wormsley moaned, and now her arms locked convulsively around him again as she felt an exquisite, titillating warmth pervade her loins and breasts. By now Pete Dudley had worked his other hand into the open bodice of her housecoat and had captured both panting titties, and was massaging them lovingly, rubbing his palms over the hardening nipple buds and without releasing her mouth from his long sucking kiss. June Wormsley forgot to warn him about her glasses, which were getting smudged now.
"You've got gorgeous bubbies, sweetie," he praised her in a thick, shuddering voice, "and I can't wait to see all the rest of you. You're a lot better than that model in the movie, take it from me. Dave must be out of his cotton-picking skull, calling you a dud in bed!"
"Oh . . . he didn't say that . . . did . . . did he, honest, Pete?" she gasped, her cheeks again flaming.
"He's been griping for weeks now, whenever we guys get together at the Northwestern Station, Junie. To hear him tell it, you're just like a statue, no feelings. Man, is he ever wrong! You're sort of hot and bothered already, and I haven't even begun to work on you. I'll show you!"
With this, bending his head, he took one of her nipples between his lips and began to suck it, and to flick the tip of his tongue against the crinkly bud. June Wormsley moaned, her hands closed tightly against the back of his neck, and she surrendered herself to the exquisite sensation of being carnally adored by another man. Her pussy had begun to twitch, and she was inflamed with desire such as she had never known before. With it, there was a kind of vindictive spite, to prove to Pete Dudley that her husband had shamefully and wrongly appraised her.
Maybe she could even show Pete that she was just as good as that auburn-haired wife he had, and she was certainly going to try.
"like it, honey?" Pete muttered, as he looked up at her.
Scarlet-faced, June Wormsley nodded, and then closed her eyes again. This time his lips found the other nipple and nuzzled it with his teeth, while he flicked it with his tongue, and she moaned and gasped as myriad sensations swirled through her nervous system. She crossed her legs, clamping her thighs together to diminish the now furiously itching sensation in her pussy, for she was almost frightened of the passionate longing that had overcome all her demure and ingenuous reticence.
"Why don't you slip off that housecoat, so you could be more comfy, baby?" Pete Dudley murmured.
June Wormsley gasped and sat up, beginning to tug the yawning sheath down from her hips. He stood up, lifted her by the hands and tugged it down to festoon her ankles. As she kicked it away from her feet, he lifted her up and carried her off into the bedroom, clad in just her white nylon panties and flurry blue mules. And as they reached the threshold of the very bedroom where she and Dave had had their connubial comings-together, bespectacled June kicked off the mules as a kind of gesture of defiance, as a kind of serving notice on Dave that he wasn't going to get another chance to say such wicked things about her.
Pete Dudley laid her down on the bed, then swiftly drew off his trousers, shoes and socks. His prick was bulging, and when he saw June lying there, still wearing her glasses, one arm covering her face, her eyes closed, her nipple buds hard and pointed from his oral salutations, he uttered an oath under his breath and clambered naked onto the bed, his prick bobbing in swollen tumescence as he moved to her.
June uttered a cry as she felt his fingers insert under the waistband of her nylon panties and yank the last veil down to her knees; and then she cried out again and lifted her head to stare down at him as she saw his face bury itself against the black thatch of her twitching cunt-hole.
Dave Wormsley had never gamahuched her-, and so this was new to her. At first, she was frantically ashamed, trying to clench her thighs, but his hands gently yet firmly forced them apart to give his mouth and tongue full access to that temple of delight. And when she felt his lips press an avid, burning kiss against her slit, she uttered a sobbing cry and her hands cupped her own heaving bubbies as her face began to turn restlessly back and forth on the pillow.
Pete Dudley was enchanted. From the way she was squirming that lovely ass of hers, it was quite evident that nobody had ever muff dived this sweet piece of snatch before, not even her own husband. He had stolen a march on Dave Worms-ley, and he grinned triumphantly to himself as he kept on doing it. His tongue kept on working deftly, until he found her clitoris, and June Wormsley again lifted her head and uttered a sobbing cry. "Oh, what are you doing to me . . .oh, Pete! Oh, my Lord . . . oh, it tickles . . . oohhh-haahhhhh!"
"Just relax and enjoy it, Junie baby. Let yourself go and don't hold back," he instructed. Again his tongue found the stiffening nodule of her love-button, plying it with rapid, grazing touches, burying it back in its hidden cowl of pussy flesh, letting it spring up only to attack it again, rolling it from side to side.
June Wormsley arched up one knee, swung it back and forth, and now her fingers had begun to claw the rumpled sheets of the bed as she felt herself being drawn towards sensations which she had never experienced before.
"Ohhaahhhhh . . . oh, Pete . . . oh, stop! You're driving me c-crazy . . . I'm going to faint! What are you doing? Oh, what are you doing to me?. . .Aahhhhh!"
He stood up now, his prick savagely demanding its own relief. He stared greedily down at her squirming body. Then he husked the rumpled panties off her completely and tossed them to the floor and, gripping her dimpled knees, forced them well apart as he came to her. He forced himself between the pink, moist lips of her cunt, found the entry and moved forward over her as his cock embedded itself into her tight, humid sheath.
June Wormsley uttered a wild cry, and her arms and legs ardently received her new lover, clamping over him and pinioning her to him as he felt himself hilted inside her love scabbard. Then he thrust his mouth over hers, and his tongue was delving deeper between her lips, and she was lost. There was a throbbing anguish in her cunt, and her nipples ached with longing; and she began to rake his shoulders with her tinted fingernails as she whimpered and squirmed under him. He could feel her round bubbies flatten under his hairy chest. And, now, he began to fuck her, slowly and deliberately, grinding his teeth to hold back the savage impulse to ejaculate. Her cunt was tight and warm and squeezed his ramrod every inch of the way.
Now his hands slipped under her and took possession of her round, satiny bare ass-cheeks again, squeezing them hard as he quickened himself, digging with deep, rapid lunges as he made her sob and groan and twist her body about under him.
Her glasses were misted now, and she couldn't see through them, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the cumulatively maddening sensations that made her want to soar into space, to clutch him with her legs and arms and try to urge him to project her into outer space forever. She had begun to groan, husky, sobbing with a vehemence which told of her emotional excitement, and now her tongue began to return his delving caresses, rubbing his in a sweet cohesion as she participated frantically in what was happening to her.
Pete Dudley couldn't hold it back any longer. He thrust frantically to and fro inside of her, and then uttered a bellow of joy as he felt himself explode inside her with his molten jet.
As she felt it, June Wormsley arched herself up and shifted her legs over his bottom, her tongue gouging into his mouth frantically, and with a sobbing cry her body jerked and swerved and bucked in the throes of answering climax.
They lay there together enmeshed in a long aftermath of sweet oblivion, till their pulses slacked, and until Pete Dudley admiringly gasped, "You just about killed me, Junie. I don't know what's wrong between you and Dave, but any time you want to move over to my place, there'll be a bed for you, and me in it! Oh, wow! Now let's go tidy up and then try it a different way. You know how I want to screw you, Junie?"
She shook her head, breathless, her face flushed, her eyes dilated and humid, glorying in her newly found role of bedroom siren.
"Anything you want. Oh, darling, I thought I was going to die, it was so beautiful!" she breathed.
"It'll be more so. I'm going to sit you on my lap, baby and let you go up and down on my pole, and squeeze those big juicy titties of yours and bite the back of your neck and lick your ears and give it to you until you faint," he promised, as he disengaged himself and reached for the pack of cigarettes he had laid on the night table.
June Wormsley giggled, stared adoringly at him, and then got out of bed and hurried to the bathroom. When she stared at the mirror, she giggled again and proudly cupped her breasts and almost flaunted herself before it. It was going to be a long and unforgettable afternoon, for sure, and if Pete wanted to stay even until Dave came back home tonight, she wasn't going to be the one to tell him to leave.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dave Wormsley had had to fabricate an ingenious excuse to keep from joining his boss, the chief claims adjuster for Great Southern, for a couple of martinis after work and maybe a night on the town. He finally managed to agree on a rain-check, and hoped that he hadn't seemed too eager to break away, because Joe Mudgridge, his big boss, was a burly, noisy extrovert who didn't like to be crossed when he wanted his own way, and he could very well stand in Dave's path of advancement at Great Southern. However, he had adroitly managed not to offend his boss by promising not only to stand treat for the drinks maybe the following week but also try to dig up a couple of hot numbers. One of them would be none other than May Sumners, a languorous sandy-haired divorcee of about thirty-five, whose claim for a garage, damaged by her neighbor's drunken driving into it about four months ago, had led to her very unmistakable invitation to spend the night with her sometime when he could get away from home. May Sumners was hot for anything in pants, he figured, and she would probably take a shine to Joe Mudgridge.
So, after having described the divorcee's charms to his boss and reassured the latter that it was practically all fixed up whenever the two of them could get away for a spell, Dave Wormsley got into his Rambler, which he had parked in the garage across the street from his office, and drove through heavy traffic towards the motel where Eleanor Dudley was to meet him.
Traffic seemed to crawl on the Kennedy Freeway, because he'd got into it at the heart of the rush hour, but for black-haired Dave Wormsley it was a time not for honking horns in frustrated exasperation but for anticipating with increasing relish the pleasures of the rendezvous towards which he was heading.
When he finally pulled into the motel driveway, it was quarter of seven, and he was hot, tired and hungry, though for food right away, not pussy. Dave had a feeling that no man ought to fuck on an empty stomach, and he also liked a girl to eat heartily when he sat across the table from her, because it showed what kind of an appetite she might have in bed as well. Junie, for example, bore out his theory perfectly; she nibbled and picked at her food like a bird, and that was exactly the way she acted in bed. He grinned, remembering that Pete Dudley was at his place, probably right now. He wondered just how much luck Pete had had and whether Pete had taught Junie anything that she could put to later use when the two of them got back together again. If so, he would be eternally grateful.
He anticipated that Eleanor Dudley, married to a swinger like Pete, would be a great deal more aggressive and imaginative than his own petite, black-haired wife. He had already endowed her with all the attributes of the Queen of Sheba and Cleopatra and Marilyn Monroe all rolled into one delectable female package. As he parked the car and walked into the motel office to pick up his reservation, he casually inquired whether his wife was waiting for him, and was told that she had indeed come in and was waiting for him in the adjoining restaurant.
Whistling a merry tune, Dave Wormsley pocketed the key to the motel cottage and ambled towards the restaurant, when suddenly a soft voice called to him, "Dave, honey, don't you even recognize your customers?"
He whirled around and goggled. It was May Sumners, wearing a silky red minidress and charcoal-brown pantyhose, which did wonders for her long, sleek calves and thighs. She was clutching the arm of a fat, middle-aged, gray-haired business man who flushed and tried to look away at a jet that was just clearing O'Hare and heading towards the Lake, either for Cleveland or New York.
"How are you, Mrs. Sumners? Glad to see you, I'm sure," Dave Wormsley gulped.
"What are you doing out in this neck of the woods? Aren't you on your way home to that gorgeous little wife of yours, darling?" May giggled.
"Er . . . I . . . I'm meeting her here for dinner," he improvised.
"Oh, I see. Dave, I want you to meet Mr. Chalmers. Teddy. My goodness, he does remind me a lot of Teddy Roosevelt, too, you know you do, Teddy dear."
"Aw, cut it out, May," the fat man beside her irritatedly mumbled, flushing hotly. "Glad to know you, Dave."
"-likewise. Well, see you both around again."
"I do hope so." May called after him. "You've got my phone number, why don't you give me a call soon? I'd just love to see you again and talk over old times." Then, turning to her discomfited companion, she gaily added, "You know, Teddy, Dave here is a terrific claims adjuster. Why, he got me more than my poor little old garage was worth. Now why don't you do something nice for me like that? Dave, Teddy's in the investment business. Don't you think he ought to try to make some money for poor little me?"
Tm sure he'll try his best," Dave Wormsley grinned. "Well, see you both around." Then, with a quick nod, he turned and headed for the restaurant. He could see that Eleanor Dudley was sitting there on the plush lounge, her legs crossed, twisting one pump irascibly and glaring out at him. It was a hell of a start. But what was worse, May Sumners was a compulsive talker, and she knew he was married and whom he was married to, and if she took it into her empty little head to follow him and see whom he was meeting, she'd soon find out it wasn't Junie. It was a complication he didn't need, not at the start of this wife-swapping scheme Jack Caspar had worked out.
"Well, you certainly took your time getting her, Dave," Eleanor greeted him with some acerbity as she rose from the lounge. His momentary chagrin at starting things off in a black mood like this was lightened, however, by the fact that she was wearing a kind of Chinese cheong-sam, slit at the left high up on her lovely thigh, revealing calf and thigh sheathed in off-black nylons. It was orange-colored and vivid, and it heightened her beauty and gave it an exotic look.
"That's a terrific outfit, Elle. I'm sorry I was late. Traffic was fierce this time of evening."
"I didn't mean the traffic. I mean that woman out there. One of your many conquests?"
"Oh, come on, Ellie, she happens to be a divorcee whose claim I handled some weeks back, and it's just an accident I met her. She had an escort, as you saw."
"I know. But I gathered from the way she was talking to you that she'd like to see more of you.
Of course, you're a slick, handsome guy, and I'm not surprised. Only I guess I was selfish enough to think that you were coming all the way out here just to see me."
"But I am, Ellie. Oh, come on, let's have dinner and forget her. She's an addlepated character. Also round-heeled."
"I don't think I like that remark very much, Dave. It's typical of a man to judge a woman by whether she's available for bed or not. And I suppose if she weren't accessible, you'd probably call her frigid."
"Don't let's us start a theoretical argument, for god's sake, Ellie. I'm starved."
"So am I. All right, let's eat. But this is all new for me, you know."
"You won't regret it, you watch and see," he murmured huskily into her ear, as he put his arm around her waist. He beckoned to the hostess who came smilingly forward, and said, "Two, please, a nice secluded table."
After the waiter had taken their order, he leaned back after having lit her cigarette, and then his own, and stared greedily at her. No two ways about it, Eleanor Dudley was really a dish. That auburn hair of hers was real, not out of the bottle, and she had a simply breathtaking ass and pair of tits on her. Also she was tall enough to fit right up tight against a man, while Junie, for all her gorgeous shape, was just a little on the small side. Almost irrelevantly, he wondered what position Pete had made Junie get in. Maybe sitting on his lap. That was one he tried with Junie on their honey mood, but she'd been so terribly embarrassed and shy he hadn't repeated it. Another was dog fashion, making her kneel on all fours and spread those juicy thighs of hers so he could poke that pink pussy to a fare-thee-well. But she didn't like that either. Well, by now, if he knew Pete Dudley, she was pretty well rogered out. Just the same, he was going to have to get together with Pete tomorrow night when they met at the Northwestern station and find out exactly what technique Pete had used and what the result had been.
"You're really terrific, Ellie," he said softly, smiling at her. "That's a sort of Chinese dress, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is." She gave him a little smile, somewhat mollified by his observance. "You do like it?"
"It makes you look like a princess, someone really special."
Her smile deepened. "Maybe you're not such a bad guy after all, Dave. Here comes our drink. Let's toast to each of us. I do hope we're not making a mistake."
"Can't possibly be making one, not from my viewpoint anyhow. Here's looking at you long and lovingly, Ellie!" He clinked glasses with her, and was rewarded by seeing her blush exquisitely.
He could hardly wait to get through dinner, though the steaks were first-class and the dessert of Cherries Jubilee memorable. He'd ordered a small carafe of California Burgundy, because he wanted to get her just stimulated enough to let down her hair in more ways than one. And he was gratified to see what justice she did to her food. He thought whimsically that Dave Dudley's grocery bill must be at least double his own.
Finally, when dinner was over and they had had their second cup of coffee, he whispered, "Here's the other key. I'll go on ahead and you come in whenever you're ready, darling."
She nodded, and again blushed. He rose from the table, took out his wallet and laid down enough for the check and a generous tip for the waiter, and then went straight out from the restaurant and down the long paved walk towards the motel cottage, already feeling his prick stiffen and tingle with anticipation. As he unlocked the door, he heard a giggle again and then, to his consternation, May Sumners, standing at the cottage next to his, waved at him. She was in a quilted blue robe, loosely tied, and high heeled pumps, and he could just catch a glimpse of pink-and-white bare legs as the folds of the robe parted. "If this isn't cozy, Dave, dear! Isn't it lucky, Teddy and I in the one right next door!"
"Yeah, sure, May. Well, be seeing you."
"Sort of second honeymoon for you and your wile, isn't it, Dave? Ah, well, I only wish my Henry had been a decent guy, but then Teddy's awfully nice. You should get to know him better."
"No, you should." He somewhat sarcastically corrected. "Well, I'll say good night to you, May. I'll be seeing you one of these days, maybe." Mentally, he added, "But don't count on it."
Just as he was about to go in, his eyes widened and he gasped in dismay. Eleanor Dudley in her gorgeous cheong-sam was just heading down the walk in route to the cottage. And May Sumners was staring at her, even though by now her escort had come out to grumble something about not gawking at everybody but to come back in where she belonged.
Finally May Sumners yielded, but not until she had caught a perfect glimpse of Eleanor Dudley, just enough to realize that Dave Wormsley's wife was petite and black-haired and this striking young woman was auburn-haired and a good deal taller. Whatever damage there would be, had been done, and Dave Wormsley groaned as at last the fat man had his way and pulled May Sumners protestingly back inside and slammed the door shut.
Eleanor Dudley had seen May Sumners, too, and as she walked into the cottage, she had that angry look again with which she had first greeted him. "What's the matter, Dave?" she quipped. "Are you going to have to change your schedule? I didn't know you were in such demand, really."
"Oh come off it, Ellie!" he almost exploded. "It's the worst possible luck that she happened to be out here with some guy and took the cottage next to ours."
"I see. Did you tell her you were meeting somebody?"
"I did not! I mean, I just said I was out here with my wife."
"Well, I suppose that's all right if she doesn't know who your wife really is.
At this point Dave Wormsley decided it was the better part of valor to keep his mouth shut and not tell Eleanor that May Sumners was well acquainted with Junie. "Oh come on, honey," he pleaded, moving to her and putting an arm around her waist. "Let's forget all about that tramp. Let's spend the time getting to know each other the way I want to. Mmmmm, you're wearing a special kind of perfume. It's terrific T Then he kissed her.
Eleanor Dudley relaxed, wove her arms round his neck and arched to him. His hands moved to her titties, and he fondled them gently through the cheong-sam. He felt the flick of her tongue between his lips, and he felt his prick swelling with joyous exuberance, knowing that soon it would have its fulfillment. It was going to be a night of nights, he told himself.
"Oh, my!" she whispered when the kiss was at last ended, gently pushing his hands down from her swelling titties, "I guess you do want me."
"Look down and see how much," he said hoarsely, seeing no reason to be hypocritical. She did glance down, and then she blushed. There was no doubt that the protuberance of his prick against the crotch of his trousers attested to his furious arousal from her presence.
"Gracious, I'm going to have to do something about that, I suppose," she whispered, putting out her hand and just brushing it over the tip of his aching ramrod.
"Oh, Ellie!" You sweet, luscious piece, let's get to bed before I practically rape you here and now!" he panted.
"Want me to undress first?" she archly queried.
"Sure!" He went to the windows and pulled the shades, then dimmed all the lights except a little one beside the comfortable, inviting double bed. With a few deft maneuvers, Eleanor Dudley made the cheong-sam drop to the floor and stepped out of it. He gasped in admiration. She was wearing a black nylon bra and panty set, with a narrow tight garter belt hooking to the tops of her nylons. Maybe her titties weren't so spectacular, but her thighs and ass were absolutely mouth watering. He pulled off his tie and shirt, unbuckled his trousers, tugged them down, tugged off his undershirt, and stood there in shorts, socks and shoes, his prick threatening to burst through the fly at any moment. She put her hands behind her and the bra fell, and then she wriggled out of the panties. The thick dark auburn triangle of pussy fleece covered the soft lips of her cunt, and as she stooped to unhook the garter belt, her bubbies jiggled and dangled enticingly. He went forward, cupping them, interrupting her long enough to kiss her hotly on the mouth while his hands squeezed her bubbies lingeringly.
"Oh, Dave!" she breathed, a hand slipping down to fondle his prick through his shorts, and then, daringly, to unbutton them and draw out his organ and squeeze it in her soft warm palm.
"Ellie . . .oh, baby, am I crazy for you!" he gasped.
She finished unfastening the tabs to her nylons, and then moved over to the bed, stretched out each leg in turn and unrolled the nylon sheath off, carefully folding it and putting it atop the night table. Then she was all naked, bewitching, her eyes misty and wide, her nostrils flickering, as she waited for him to come to her, and moved to the bed to take her in his arms. Both of them sitting on the edge, turned to each other, their mouths meeting and their hands roaming. With one hand on a tittie and the other stroking her opulent, resilient, tawny-sheened ass, and with her hand nuzzling his prick and the other arm round his shoulders, Dave Wormsley was in seventh heaven.
Together they sank back down on the bed and turned to each other by magnetic force. She lifted her right leg high as he slid towards her, inserting his prick through the shaggy fleece of her pussy hair, pressing forward, feeling the tight clasp of her cuntwalls, and groaning with delight, as his mouth sealed hers. Her hands grasped his sides, and then she clamped her leg over his as she glued herself to him. Slowly, without haste, they began to fuck. She was new to him, and he wanted to learn her ways and configurations. His prick slowly edged along the walls of her cunt till he felt his pubic hair grind together with hers; and they both gasped with the shock of ecstasy this cohesion procured.
And then Dave Wormsley gave himself up to the hedonistic joy of fucking, abetted enthusiastically by the auburn-haired young wife of his best friend, who at that very moment was reclining on the couch back in Dave Wormsley's house, while Junie Wormsley, wearing only her glasses and a blush, was kneeling and bowing her head between his thighs and for the first time in her life talking French of her own volition to a man.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When Dave Wormsley reluctantly parted from Eleanor Dudley, dropping her off at her house before going on to his own, it was close to midnight. He'd taken the precaution of phoning home to see if Junie had sent Pete Dudley away yet, and she had indeed. As a matter-of-fact, he had roused her from a blissful nap, and she had been extremely embarrassed when he'd teased her about being worn out from a little afternoon frolic and reminded her that he was going to be coming home pretty soon and listen to her tell him how Pete had performed. She had gasped and protested that she'd just die of shame if he'd make her do that, but he'd hung up and left her worried about it just the same.
As Eleanor Dudley got out of Dave's car, she whispered, "I'll never forget tonight, lover. It was simply sensational. Now I've got to go check up on Pete and see if he still remembers me."
"I gather that he won't be bothering you much tonight, Ellie baby," Dave Wormsley chuckled. "I called home while you were tidying up, and poor little Junie sounded all honked out. And we'll have to do this again some time soon. You're just terrific in the sack, Ellie."
"You're not so bad yourself, Dave Wormsley," the tawny-haired matron giggled, as she blew him a kiss and then hurried towards the porch of the house.
Dave put the car in the garage, opened the front door, and found his lovely bespectacled brunette wife in a sheer white nightie. The hem reached just about to the middle of her thighs. It was one he hadn't remembered her wearing ever before, and his eyes widened. Although Eleanor's luscious charms had drained him of his vigor for the moment, he nevertheless felt his prick begin to stir and show signs of life again just looking at Junie. Her cheeks were rosy with blushes, and she was looking down at the floor very demure, like a little girl who is being summoned to an accounting by her stern father.
"Hey, where did you get that shortie nightie, Junie? You never wore it before!" he accused. "I. . .I went out and bought it, that's what."
"Oh, you did. Hmmmm. Well now, did you and Pete have a good time? What time did he leave?"
"About . . . about eight o'clock. And you woke me up."
"I know I did. Well now, how about a drink? Want me to mix one for us both?"
"If you want." She walked over to the couch and sat down with a sigh, and put her arms behind her head and leaned back. It was a highly effective maneuver, and it thrust those magnificent titties of hers tightly up against the sheer stuff of the nightie, and he could see the nipples plain as day. He eyed her for a moment, and went into the kitchen and made two potent daiquiris, brought them back, then sat down beside her and handed her her glass.
"Drink up. It ought to give you courage enough to tell me what went on."
"Oh, Dave!" she gasped. "You . . . you're joking, aren't you? You don't expect me to tell you?"
"Sure I do. Just as I expect you to want me to tell you how Ellie and I got along tonight. Boy, is that broad a tigress in bed!"
June Wormsley suddenly glared at him, took a hearty swig of her glass, and set it down on a little table beside the couch. "Now you look here, Dave Wormsley!" she declared. "You're a fine husband, telling everybody you know that I'm no good in bed!"
"Now wait a minute, sweetheart . . . " he was suddenly thrown on the defensive.
"No, you wait a minute! Pete said you were telling all the fellows at Jack's party that I just laid there and looked up at the ceiling and that I had a terrific shape but I didn't know what to do with it. Well, for your information, Pete thought I was even sexier than his own wife, and that's a fact. You can just ask him. Since you're so good at comparing notes, I want you to!"
"Why, Junie Wormsley! Whatever has got into you!" her husband gasped, setting down his glass and turning to stare at her with newly appreciative eyes. "You mean to say he thinks you're sexy? Sure you are, baby, but the only trouble was, you've got such a terrific shape but I always have to do all the action . . . "
"That's how much you know!" she flashed. "Maybe it's you, did you ever stop to think of that? Why, Pete made me come a couple of times, and he did things to me you never even thought of. Maybe you know about it all, but you could have shown me, and you could have talked to me about it."
"Well, I'll be damned!" Dave Wormsley breathed. He fumbled in his shirt pocket, took out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and continued to star at his new, suddenly liberated female whom he had married and who had just become an exciting stranger. "like what, for instance, did he do to set you off like that?"
"Never you mind. You just better try harder and maybe, because I do love you and I did marry you, I'll show you," she defiantly retorted. Then she began to sniffle.
Instantly contrite, he put his arms around her. "Aw, baby, don't cry, you know I can't stand to see you cry! Come on, Junie, maybe I've been a louse and underestimated you but . . . well, I'd had a couple of girls before I married you, only I didn't think you were, well, you know, what I mean to say is, I respected you and I put you up higher than those other broads I laid."
"Maybe that's the trouble!" She shook off his hands and continued to stare at him belligerently. "You know I didn't know anything, because you were my first man. It was up to you to teach me. You could have made anything you wanted of me, but you treated me like I was made of china or something, and fragile; and then you had to go round and tell everybody I was a dud in bed. That's not very gentlemanly, Dave Wormsley."
"All right, so I apologize. Boy, looks like I'd better take some lessons from Pete."
"Maybe you better had. And I suppose you thought that Eleanor Dudley was better in bed than I was, didn't you?"
"Well," he hedged, "she was pretty terrific. And I always did like redheads after brunettes."
"Don't try to get around me that way," she sniffled again. "If you like her so much, why don't you go and have her all the time and Pete can move over here?"
"Now wait a minute!" Dave Wormsley crushed out his cigarette and took her by the shoulders and pulled her towards him, kissing her hard on the mouth. "Now don't go off the deep end, baby. What Jack and Pete, and Matt and I started was just a little, neighborly and very private swapping club. It's not going to go beyond that, and nobody's going to change partners permanently, because I'm still nuts about you. Maybe more than ever, after what you've just told me."
"Oh, I see! Now all of a sudden, because another man thinks I'm terrific, you want to find out why. Not tonight, Dave Wormsley! Maybe not for a good many nights, either. You're going to have to apologize to me and . . . stop it! What are you doing? You let go of me . . . stop it! I'll go home to Mother if you dare . . . oh, no, not my nightie . . . Dave, I don't want you to . . . stop it! Oohhhhh ! "
Exasperated by her suddenly unamiable attitude, as well as by her provocative beauty in the scant, sheer nightie, Dave Wormsley had proceeded to drag June over his lap, furl up the nightie, to expose her delectably rounded bottom, and then proceeded to lay the flat of his right hand smartly and stingingly on the upturned bare cheeks, despite her cries and struggles and frantic kickings.
When she put back her hands to cover up her burning behind, he grabbed them in his left hand and forced them away from the target, then proceeded to spank even harder and faster till she was wailing for mercy.
"There now!" he panted, as he let go of her wrists. "Just don't forget yourself, baby, because you're still my wife. I just wanted to show you that I'm not treating you like fragile china, either. And if you've got any more arguments, I can always take my belt to that gorgeous ass of yours."
Now June Wormsley lay across his lap, sniffling, her hands reaching back and rubbing her flaming bare behind. But her face was turned back towards him and there was a look of wonder and respect in her big soft blue eyes, and her nostrils were twitching and her lips were quivering and very red. Moreover, her squirming over his lap, while he had been administering the spanking, had reawakened his already vigorously exercised prick to the point that to his own amazement he found himself sufficiently virile to give his wife exactly the convincer she needed.
"So you've learned something, have you?" he growled, as he shoved her off his lap onto the floor where she landed with a thud on her bottom and she let out a frantic wail of dismay and discomfort. "Let's find out just how much!"
So saying, he drew down his zipper and liberated his bulging prick. June Wormsley stared up at him, her mouth agape. "Oh no!" she whimpered faintly.
"Oh yes!" he grimly countered. He reached down, caught her by the armpits and lifted her up to him. Then, tugging off the shortie nightie, he grabbed her titties and forced her to sit down with her back to him and astride his straddled legs. "Now we'll just see if you can take care of a guy now, baby!" he hoarsely told her.
June Wormsley squirmed, her soft pink cunt-lips rubbing over the tip of his rigid weapon. His steely fingers clenched against her panting titties; and she felt warm tides of passion. arise in her again. Closing her eyes and shivering, she squirmed herself a little and made contact between her moist twitching vulva and his cocktip, and then slowly sank down, impaling herself.
"Oh, baby!" Dave Wormsley gasped, leaning back against the couch and drawing her back to him with his hands on her swelling breasts. "Now you've got the idea! Go, tigress, go!"
His right hand descended down her belly, stroking the thicket of black pussy hair; and then his forefinger began to tickle the rims of her distended pussy, which had clamped round his imbedded tool. He found the button of her clitoris and began to rub it delicately.
June Wormsley moaned, her head tilting back; and then she began to arch and lower herself rapaciously on her husband's prick.
"Oh, Dave . . .oh, that's so good . . .oh, darling. Why didn't you ever do that to me before? Ohhhh, oh, I love you, oh, it's so good, oh, sweetheart! I'm just as good as Eleanor, and I'll make you say so, you watch and see . . . oh, darling!"
"You're better than she is right now, just keep it up and don't let it slip out, baby doll!" he hoarsely enthused, as he began to play with her nipple while he continued the frigging of her throbbing clitoris.
Her petite, creamy, naked body squirmed and writhed feverishly; and his aching prick felt the hot, humid friction of her cuntwalls as she raised and lowered herself. The smack of her luscious, reddened bottom against his belly and thighs added an extra stimulus to their carnal reconciliation. And as his left hand worked her tittie, his tongue licked the back of her neck and made June Wormsley moan and whimper with the frantic onrush of lascivious emotions, which brought her to the brink of ecstasy.
With a groan, he felt his last juices ebbing from him, though he had thought that Eleanor had drained him dry. With a cry, he announced his climax to her. "Oh, take it, Junie, baby, take it all now, you sweet bitch!" At the same moment, June Wormsley, sinking down and absorbing him to his very hilt, began to writhe and moan and sob as the walls of her cunt quaked in turbulent orgasm.
Jack Caspar's spanking formula had just been put to the test and found far from wanting!
* * *
The founder of the Spanking Society, Ltd. was happily occupied at about the same time. At his suggestion, Ella Courtnay, wearing just her slip and high-heeled pumps, had gone into Marge's bedroom to have a hen fest. He had told his niece to tell Marge that there was something wrong with the lock on the garage door and that he had put off repairing it far too long and that now was as good a time as any. And he'd gone out to the garage all right, and fiddled around with his tools for just enough time to let his sexpot niece lay the foundation for Marge Caspar's indoctrination into switch hitting.
Marge Caspar had, if truth be known, been feeling somewhat neglected. Nobody had really made any overtures to her, at the party, although Jack had intimated to her that he expected her to take just as active a part in their little group as all the other girls did. Secretly she had felt just a little miffed that none of the handsome husbands at the party had really propositioned her, because she'd always wondered what it would be like to have an affair with another man. And the thought that Jack would condone it and even want to know about it, had made the idea seem even more exciting.
"Hi, Ella, how are things going?" Marge Caspar looked up from her dressing table.
"Pretty well. How's it by you, Aunt Marge?"
"Oh, so-so, I guess. Where's your uncle?"
"Fixing the garage lock, Aunt Marge. He says it'll take a while."
"Oh. Well, what did you think of that party?"
"I thought it was just great," Ella giggled, as she stood behind her aunt and put her hands on the brown-haired matron's bare shoulders.
"Marge Caspar was wearing just her bra and panty girdle, having removed stockings and shoes prior to going to bed. She was staring in the mirror, trying to compare herself with the other women at the party. She was also wondering whether Jack's new scheme was going to boomerang on her and leave her with empty-bed blues while he was catting around with Eleanor Dudley, Junie Wormsley and Dorothy Tilden.
"Didn't you have a good time, Aunt Marge?" Ella persisted.
"Only fair. I guess it was a success, to hear your uncle talk."
"I know what's wrong with you, Aunt Marge. You're just jealous because those fellows didn't want to sneak off to a motel with you right away. But they will, you watch and see."
"Ella, what a thing to say! As if I'm that kind of woman. . . "
"Now don't try to kid me, Aunt Marge. I'm not exactly a square myself. I saw all those fellows looking at you, and it was just because it was all new and starting off that they didn't come right up to you and make dates with you for bed."
"Ella, how you talk!"
"I'd like to go to bed with you myself, Aunt Marge."
This time, Marge Caspar gasped, turned scarlet, and looked at her niece with uncomprehending eyes. "What are you taking about?"
"Just what I said. I'd like to go to bed with you. You mean to say you've never done it with a girl, Aunt Marge?"
"Why, the very idea! Of course I haven't!"
"Then it's high time you tried. Don't knock it till you try it, as the saying goes. You've really got a terrific shape. And such gorgeous skin, too. Why, you don't look any older than I do and that's true."
"Oh, stop your kidding, Ella!" Nevertheless, Marge Caspar could not help blushing and glancing covertly at herself in the mirror as if wanting to verify her niece's statement.
"No, I mean it. I think you're just as sexy as any of those girls, maybe more so. And I'd just love to show you what I mean. Why don't you let me try? Uncle Jack won't be back for a good half hour or so, and I'd like to see what you look like without that bra and panty girdle on."
"Ella! The very idea . . . why . . . you . . . you don't know what you're saying!" Marge Caspar was scandalized.
"Sure, I do. Oh, I guess I didn't tell you. Back in high school, I had a terrific crush on my gym coach, and she was a gorgeous dish, a lot like you. And I went to dinner with her once at her place and she made a pass at me and it was so good that I didn't care about boys for a long time after that," Ella glibly repeated what she had said to Dorothy Tilden at the party.
Marge Caspar stared at her uncomprehendingly. "You mean . . . you . . . you let a woman make love to you, Ella?"
"Of course I did! It's lovely. And of course there isn't any danger of having a baby or anything like that, and women are lots more tender to one another than a man is to a woman, you ought to know that, Aunt Marge."
"Maybe you're right. Just the same, I wouldn't think of it . . . it . . . anyhow, what . . . what do girls do together? How can they when they don't . . . oh, my!" Marge Caspar blushed even more hotly now, furiously embarrassed at the tone this intimate conversation had taken.
Ella Courtnay hurried back to the bedroom door and closed it, then returned to her aunt. Before Marge Caspar could realize what was happening, Ella had unfastened her bra and let it fall, and put her hands on Marge's big, closely spaced round titties and begun to caress them, while she began to kiss the nape of Marge's neck.
"Ella . . . what are you doing to me? Oh, stop . . . you . . . you mustn't! Ella . . . whatever's got into you? Please, you're making me awfully embarrassed. Oh, Ella . . . please!" the brown-haired matron protested.
But Ella now moved over to Marge's right side, leaned forward and kissed her aunt on the mouth, while at the same time manipulating Marge's nipples with thumbs and forefingers in an exquisitely gentle stroking and milking maneuver. Marge's eyes widened, and for a moment she tried to break her niece's hold on her titties by grasping the girl's wrists, but the young brunette persisted. Now her tongue crept between Marge's lips, and she began to rub her aunt's nipples with just the tips of her forefingers.
Marge Caspar moaned, closed her eyes, leaned her head back, and surrendered to this exquisite titillation. Her nipples had begun to stiffen, and Ella's tongue artfully delved into her mouth, brushing her own tongue and sending currents of sensual awareness through her opulent body.
"Let's get on the bed and be more comfy, Aunt Marge," Ella huskily murmured, things?"
"Oh, Ella . . . we mustn't. What if your uncle . . .oh, Ella . . . wherever did you learn such dreadful things."
"You know they're not dreadful, and you want to find out more about them, don't you, Aunt Marge? Come on, darling, I'm so hot for you I can't stand it. Why should men have all the fun?" Ella Courtnay tempted.
Marge Caspar allowed herself to be led to the bed and there, amid furiously blushing protests, made only token resistance when Ella began to remove the panty girdle and expose the lush carnation-tinted cheeks of her voluptuous ass and the brown fleece which framed her plump cunt-hole. Then, reclining on the bed, an arm up over her face, Marge Caspar surrendered herself, secretly thrilled by her young niece's adulation of her nudity. Ella doffed her slip, and kneeling on the bed, began to stroke her aunt's inner thighs, till instinctively Marge spread her legs. Then Ella bent her head and her soft lips made contact with the pink petals of her aunt's cunthole as she began to gamahuche her. Marge Caspar uttered a cry, raised both knees and swung them widely apart, her fingernails clawing at the sheets.
"Oh, Ella . . . what are you doing to me? Oh, that's wicked . . .oh, you awful girl you . . .oh, lord, how it tickled! Oh, Ella . . .oh, Ella! I can't stand it . . .oh, darling . . . I never thought . . . oh, Ella!"
Jack Caspar had tiptoed back from the garage and was waiting outside in the hallway, listening avidly as he heard the scene progress. Now he made ready, undressing to all but his shorts and socks, and when he deemed the moment propitious, stealthily turned the knob of the door and entered. He was able to see his niece muff diving between his wife's widely straddled, upraised legs, while Marge Caspar lay with her arm still over her face and her other hand clawing at the sheets.
"So this is what you girls do when my back is turned!" he called out in a mock-threatening tone.
"Uncle Jack!" Ella Courtnay squealed, pretending to be terrified and leaping up, clapped one hand over her pussy and the other arm over her titties. Marge Caspar uttered a strangled cry of disbelief and shame, promptly clamped her legs together and rolled over onto her side with her back turned towards him.
"Oh, no, you don't, Marge, baby!" he exulted. "So I've caught you both dead to rights. It's going to cost your bottoms a sound spanking, and then a man is going to take over and satisfy those itching pussies of yours P
With this, he clambered onto the bed, rolled his wife onto her belly, knelt astride her, facing her bottom, and began to spank vigorously. Marge Caspar soon burst into tears and kicked her legs and pleaded for mercy, but he continued until he had administered a furiously crimson hue to both of those opulent ass-cheeks of hers. Then he glared at Ella: "You just wait your turn, young lady."
"Yes, Uncle Jack." Ella Courtnay demurely replied, but she hadn't budged from where she knelt and she had no intention of doing so.
With this, Jack Caspar rolled his wife over again onto her back, unbuttoned his shorts and let his prick stand out in all its vehement rigidity. Then he fell upon her, his hands clutching her titties, and thrust himself against the moist pink gape. With a groan, he felt himself sink to the very hilt, and Marge Caspar began to groan in unison with him, clamping him with arms and legs and kissing him frantically as she tried to explain.
"Oh, Jack, darling! Oh, I didn't mean to . . . she's a naughty girl . . . she wanted to show me how it was between girls and before I knew it. . . Oh, Jack! Oh, that's so good . . . oh, there's nothing better than that in all the world! Oh, fuck me hard, darling, please fuck me hard and say you're not mad at me P
"Mad at you, Marge, baby?" he paused between prick strokes, to smile down at her flushed, tearstained face. "This is just what I wanted to happen. Now you're really in the groove, Marge, baby. You're just as much a sexpot as anybody in town, and I'm going to see to it that you get all the cock you want, as long as I intend to try out Eleanor and Junie and Dorothy myself. But I want you to be sure that it's okay with you, because if I let you screw around, I want the same privileges . . . understood?"
"Whatever you want! Oh, darling, just as long as I'm still your favorite girl in bed," she panted.
"I hope this will show you," he chuckled, as he took her mouth now, thrusting his tongue deeply between her lips, and resumed his vigorous fucking of her tightening, moist sheath.
The spanking and the Lesbian attunement had made Marge Caspar frantically ardent tonight. She rocked and weaved and bucked under him, and before he had intended, he felt himself exploding in her tightening love scabbard. When he finally drew out, with a sigh of contentment, he lay down on his back and stared menacingly at Ella, who had watched the scene with mounting excitement.
"All right, young lady, just for that, before you get your spanking, you can work on my cock and get it ready for your pussy, because I-m going to fuck you after I paddle your cute bare ass!"
"Jack!" Marge gasped.
"She's in on this just as much as you are. And don't think she doesn't want to. For your information, Marge, she came into the kitchen last week and gave me a blow job."
"Ella! You didn't!" Marge raised her head and stared at her lovely naked niece.
Ella blushed and nodded. "He's such a man, I had to, Aunt Marge."
"In that case," Marge Caspar firmly declared as she reached out and gave her husband's limp cock a loving squeeze, I'll help you spank the little bitch myself! Now then, Ella, do what your uncle tells you to, or I'll help him tan your bottom raw!"
Jack Caspar stared at his wife, then guffawed with delight. It was going to be the most delightful hottest summer Glendview had ever known. But the delight and the heat were going to be shared exclusively by the four couples who were the charter members of the Spanking Society, Ltd.
Ella Courtnay moved towards her uncle, bobbed her head down and began to French him, her soft fingertips stroking the insides of his hairy thighs. It didn't take long for him to reestablish his manly vigor, not with the delicious sight of Ella's jiggling titties and his own wife's lush nudity beside him while she fondled him in turn. And then, when his prick was hard again, he sat up, pulled Ella down over his lap and began to spank her lustily, while Marge herself sat up and added a few spanks from her own stinging palm till Ella was really squealing and wasn't play acting in the least as her bottom turned bright pink and them flaming scarlet.
When he felt himself about ready to burst, Jack Caspar stopped the spanking, lay back down and pillowed his head on his arms, and commanded, "Now get over me and fuck me, Ella, and do a good job, or your aunt is going to finish what I started!"
Ella Courtnay needed no second invitation. With a squeal of delight, she put her fingers to her pink cuntlips, opened them, engaged his upstanding ramrod, and sank slowly down as she stretched out over him with a gasp of delight. His legs locked around hers, his hands began to play with her titties as she French-kissed him. And Marge, not to be left out in the cold while this was going on, sat up and continued to apply a few stinging swats every now and then on Ella's upturned, wriggling, flaming bottom must to make sure that her niece would give her beloved husband the sort of servicing he so richly deserved.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Two weeks later, when Matt Tilden went on his vacation, he served notice on his honey-haired wife Dorothy that he was going to exercise his privileges in the Spanking Society, Ltd. by dating Marge Caspar, and that he would have absolutely no objections if she wanted to spend the evening with Jack. Dorothy Tilden had by now more than made up with her handsome husband, thanks to Ella Courtney's diligent Lesbian seduction. Matt had thoroughly convinced her by the animated way he had gone about spanking and fucking her that she was still the one and only in his life and that, even if he should stray on occasion, he would return to her so long as she kept up his interest.
The second spanking, by the way, had not taken place at Jack Caspar's party. It happened after Matt had got his wife home from the shindig, at which time she had tried to start her argument about him and Joanne Purviss. To her consternation, he hadn't bothered to reply to it, but had simply lifted her up in his arms, carried her into the bedroom, swiftly and expertly undressed her down to garter belt and hose, and then, sitting astride her back as he bent her over the edge of the bed and crushing her titties down with his full weight, begun to slap her jouncy bottom until she howled for mercy. After that, he had pulled her onto the bed and flung himself upon her and given her her second fucking of the night. And to her own excitement and amazement, slim tall Dorothy had found herself carried off into a state of almost primitive passion, in which she was clawing and biting and kicking and twisting as he thrust his vigorous prick to and fro inside her responsive cunt.
In the meantime, May Sumners, hoping to induce Dave Wormsley into an affair with her on the strength of having seen him at the motel with a woman she knew wasn't his wife, had slyly phoned his wife. Unfortunately for her, June Wormsley had been home and answered the phone; and when May had cattily begun to dish the dirt, pert, newly liberated Junie had told her off but good.
"Of course he wasn't out with me, and I know all about it, Mrs. Sumners," she had drawled. "And it's really none of your business. You see, we've got an understanding between us. I pick the girls he can go to bed with besides me, and he does the same for me when it comes to other men. And I don't think you're going to be included on the list, Mrs. Sumners, I'm awfully sorry. So you'd better not call again, or I'll just tell Dave what a conniving bitch you really are. I don't think he'd ever want to go to bed with you. Goodbye now."
When she had told Dave that night about May's call, he had roared with laughter, turned her over his lap, pulled up her dress and slip, fucked down her skimpy panties (for these days she was wearing the most suggestive lingerie she could buy in Glendview), and spanked her till she squealed and sniffled, after which he consoled her by gamahuching her and then fucking her till they both exploded in ecstatic climax.
As for Ella Courtnay, she had asked her uncle whether he minded her having some fun with either Dave or Matt or Pete, and he had told her to go right ahead but just not to get into trouble. The one no-no of the Spanking Society, Ltd. was that no homes were to be broken up as a result of the congenial spanking and wife swapping which was incorporated into the bylaws. And in return, Ella had a most interesting piece of news for her uncle. Her father's brother's daughter Margaret, nineteen and extremely vivacious, had written her a letter in care of Jack Caspar's address, and hinted that she was finished with some special junior college courses and wondered if she could stop by on her way to California and maybe spend a few days with her favorite cousin.
Margaret Gorton was, Ella hinted to her uncle, just as much a swinger as she was. In fact, what Margaret's folks didn't know was that she was going to California to shack up with a fellow she had met the summer before when the family had vacationed at Kennebunkport, Maine. He was a Stanford senior, quite well-to-do, and Margaret had lost her cherry to him and wanted a good deal more of the same.
"And there's something else you ought to know, Uncle Jack," his black-haired niece had told him, "Margaret and I had girlie fun together for about a week when she and my uncle and aunt stayed with us over the Christmas holidays, in Cleveland. You ought to throw another stag party like that last one, and I bet the two of us could really put on a show."
Needless to say, Jack Caspar urged her to phone her cousin and invite Margaret to spend at least a week with him and Marge. And in turn he tipped off his good friends Pete and Matt and Dave . . .
Ella Courtnay had reluctantly agreed to go to a movie and leave the Caspar bungalow on Cedar Street alone to Marge, since her uncle was paying a visit on Dorothy Tilden over at the Tilden house. She really would have preferred to stay and watch the fun, but Jack had told her to make herself scarce just for once. Dorothy and Marge were, he had explained, not entirely converted to the ways and foibles of this intimate little neighborhood group, and her presence might just have the wrong effect on her aunt, who was about to be initiated into her first extramarital affair . . . with, of course, his delighted authorization.
So Ella put on her hot pants and knee-length white calfskin boots and a peekaboo blouse and sauntered over to the shopping center and then on to the Glendview Theater to see "Love Story," which bored her to tears.
As she was coming out of the movie, a car horn blared at her from the curb and Dame Wormsley called out to her, "Hey, Ella honey, want a lift?"
"Who's that . . . oh, hi, Dave, honey! Thanks a lot! What a lousy movie I just saw!" she giggled as she opened the door and scrambled in. "What are you doing downtown here this time of night?"
"Junie had to fly out to see her mother in St. Louis. She's got a bad case of the virus, but I'm sure she'll be okay. Of course, Junie was worried, so I told her to go on ahead."
"Well now, so you're a bachelor then?"
"Looks that way. Why aren't you out with your aunt and uncle?"
"Silly! They've got something going on their own and they didn't want me around."
"Oh, I get it. You mean Marge . . . "
"Uh-huh. With Matt Tilden. And I guess Uncle Jack is taking care of Dorothy. And I'm at loose ends." She looked at him expectantly, her soft red lips curving in an enticing smile. "You're a real handsome guy, Dave. I noticed that at the party. How'd you like to take me home with you tonight?"
"Are you kidding?"
"Of course I'm not kidding," she said indignantly. "Or are you just saving it for the other wives and Junie? I don't think Uncle Jack would mind, because it's still sort of in the family you might say. And anyhow, we don't have to tell him, do we? You know, I'm old enough, and I swing, and I haven't had any guy really give it to me since I came to this dead little suburb. You don't want to spoil my summer, do you, Dave?"
"Perish the thought!" He eyed her voluptuous young titties and glanced down at her bare thighs. "You just talked yourself into a date, baby. Let's go. Want a drink first at one of the nightspots? There aren't very many here, it's true, but there's one good cocktail lounge . .
"Uh-uh. If you've got something at home, I'd like that a lot better. Don't let's waste time. I'm supposed to get back home a little after midnight, and that would mean I'd have to sit through that awful picture again, and I just couldn't take it, It's so weepy and obvious. I like a happy ending, like in bed, don't you?" She put her hand on his thigh and he gasped as he felt his prick harden in response.
"I'm with you all the way, Ella," he panted, as he squeezed that soft roving hand.
A few minutes later, sitting side by side on the couch in the living room, Ella and Dave decided that they didn't really need a drink. She'd had a cigarette, and crushed it out the moment he turned to her. Her mouth glued to his, her tongue began to probe as her hands grasped his sides while his cupped first her titties, then moved down to her bare thighs and stroked them, till she began to shiver and sigh.
And a few minutes later, both of then naked, Dave was abandoning himself to the delicious fantasy of having a harem girl servicing him to prepare him for voluptuous excitement as Ella knelt between his legs and Frenched him just to the point of bursting.
Then teasingly, lifting her head and pinching his prickhead till he groaned in pain, she whispered, "I want to save it for inside of me. Don't you?"
No answer was needed to that as Dave Worms-ley grabbed for her and pulled her down atop him. And then Ella Courtnay, winding herself round him like an eel, began to arch and lower her voluptuous behind as she impaled herself frantically on his rigid dart. It was considerably after midnight when they finally left the bed and dressed and Dave Wormsley dropped her off at the bungalow on Cedar Street . . .
Marge Caspar had been in a tizzy deciding what to put on to greet Matt Tilden. She had finally decided on a black satin negligee, high-heeled pumps, and nothing else. She was afraid .that if there was a lot to take off, her courage might wane and she might not be able to go through with it. Just the same, she was quivering with excitement as the doorbell rang and she hurried to admit honey-haired Dorothy's handsome husband.
"You take a man's breath away with that outfit, Marge," Matt Tilden hoarsely complimented her, as he closed the door and took her into his arms. "I wanted to do this a lot sooner than now, you can bet on that. Good old Jack, thinking up an arrangement like this! He's what I call a real wife-saver!"
"Hold me, Matt, don't talk, just hold me! I. . .I never did anything like this before . . . and I. . . I don't know how to behave . . . " Marge faltered.
"Just be yourself, that's the only rule we've really got. Mmmmmm, what big firm lovely bubbies you've got, Marge girl . . . I can hardly wait to get you in bed. Why don't we go there right now, before you've got time to think it over?" he urged.
To her secret delight, he stooped down, caught her up in his arms and lifted her, then bore her into the bedroom. A moment later, blushing furiously, she was looking through half-closed eyelids as he stripped, his sturdy body already evidencing his passion for her. She gasped as she saw his prick bob between his legs as he strode to the bed, and then his deft fingers were unfastening the negligee and she found herself eagerly helping him to pull it off and let it fall to the floor. She groaned as his mouth found her belly, and then moved downwards till suddenly she cried out as she felt him begin to gamahuche her. With that prelude, all her inhibitions vanished. Moaning, eyes closed, her hands cupping her panting titties, Marge Caspar writhed on the bed, her knees swinging wide, as he drew her towards a high pitch before at last mounting he with a savage thrust that drew a wild and feverish cry of rapture from the naked, brown-haired matron.. .
Dorothy Tilden wore a green housecoat, open-toe sandals, and she was blushing, too. This was entirely new to her, and the only thought that made her ready to acquiesce to sturdy Jack Caspar was the knowledge that Matt was probably at this very moment having his fun with Jack's wife. They had signed a peace-pact between them, and she had promised faithfully never to nag him again about other women; and he had told her that so long as she had her fun with Pete and Jack and Dave, he'd confine his to their wives and that was a promise. Well, she knew how virile he was and how he could thrill her in bed, so she could understand that a man sometimes had to have a little variety. At least it was better knowing where he was at a given time and that he wasn't out chasing some widow like that Joanne Purviss who might try to get her hooks into him for good.
A few moments later, Dorothy Tilden was no longer standoffish about her first extramarital lover. She was vying with him frantically, her arms and legs clamped round him, her mouth bruising his with her avid kisses, panting, "Oh, give it to me! Oh, it's so good, oh, darling! Oh, Jack, I'm going to faint, it's wonderful!"
The founder of the Spanking Society, Ltd. had just put his own original theories to the test and made them work with a most dubious member of the organization!
Jack Caspar could sense that Dorothy Tilden was a bit hesitant, and so he, too, decided on direct action. "Let's have a drink first before we get better acquainted, Dorothy, honey," he chuckled, as he put his arms around her and kissed her hard on the mouth.
"All . . . all right, Jack. I . . . I hope I come up to your expectations . . . "
"You will. Just seeing you in that slinky housecoat is giving me ideas already. Want me to show you now?"
"Oh no . . . I . . .I think I'd like a drink first, if you don't mind," she quavered, backing away.
He lit a cigarette and sat down on the living room couch. A few minutes later she returned with two highballs, and while he drank his slowly, he noticed that she gulped hers down and looked, uncertain and uneasy. The ice had to be broken, and he thought he knew just how to do it. Matt, of course, had told him of the aftermath of the shindig, and how a spanking had brought Dorothy around to understanding the facts of life and of being quite willing to go along with them.
"Say," he growled in feigned irritation, "what are you sitting over in that chair for, away from me? I thought this was a hot date tonight, but maybe I was mistaken."
I . . . oh, I . . . I', sorry . . . "
"Well, you ought to be. Come over here to me, Dottie!"
"All . . . all right, J. . Jack. But please . . . please don't rush things, please, I . . . I have to get used to this . . . "
"I'll help you. This way!" He took hold of her wrist and, before she was prepared for what he had in mind, yanked her down across his lap and over the couch. Then he set to work divesting her of the satin housecoat while she cried out indignantly. But in a few moments, she was naked, and her long legs were kicking up and down on the couch and his left arm was round her waist and his right hand was coming down hard on first one satiny bottom-cheek and then the other.
By the time her bottom had been uniformly covered with angry red splotches, and she was really crying, Jack Caspar stopped. It had been all that he could do to hold back his spunk while she was wriggling over his lap and grinding her crotch against his agonized prick. Rolling her over onto her back on the couch as he got up, he began to strip naked; while Dorothy Tilden, one hand under her and rubbing her bottom, hid her eyes with her other arm and continued to sniffle.
"Let's see if that warmed you up any, Dottie, baby," he said hoarsely, as he sank down on her. Kneeing apart her thighs, his hands gripping her titties, he bent his head down and kissed her hard on the mouth as he stabbed for her cunt with his rigid ramrod. Dorothy squirmed and tried to get out from under him, but he managed to insert himself and then flatten himself over her as he thrust home to the roots. Dorothy Tilden's eyes rolled, and she gasped and sobbed, and then his hands were under her, squeezing her sore bottom, and he was beginning to fuck her with a rhythmic pace that wakened all the woman in her.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was a Friday night, exactly a month to the day after Jack Caspar's very first summons of the charter members of the Spanking Society, Ltd. But there was a very different atmosphere tonight in the living room of the bungalow on Cedar Street than there had been that very first time. One had only to look at slim Dorothy Tilden and see how lovingly she watched Matt bend over Marge Caspar, who was seated on the wide couch across from her, to understand just how much had happened in these four brief but exciting weeks. One had only to look at bespectacled black-haired June Wormsley who was cuddling on Pete Dudley's lap, his one hand grasping the back of her neck while his other burrowed under her red miniskirt, a fingertip slyly tickling the thick black curls of her cunthole through the gauzy white nylon panty briefs she had put on especially for this evening, just as she had the miniskirt. And Dave, her handsome black-haired husband, seated in an armchair with Eleanor Dudley's arms clinging tightly round his neck and French-kissing him while his left hand edged round her to cup a tittie and his right hand stroked the inside of her satiny, quivering thigh, very close to the hem of her black nylon panties, while taking time out to glance every so often at his wife and give Pete an approving wink.
And finally, one could watch Dorothy, herself, as Jack Caspar bent over the armchair in which she was sprawled with her legs crossed so that her short skirt hiked up to the tops of her charcoal-brown nylons, whispering into her ear and making her giggle while both his hands fondled her bubbies, to realize how many inhibitions these four neighboring couples had shed . . . along With a lot of clothing and prudery and prejudices, since sexy olive-skinned Ella Courtnay had come to Glendview.
They had just watched one of two new stag films which Jack had shown, but the lights were still dimmed, and now Ella and her cousin Margaret Gorton entered the living room amid applause and ribald encouragements like, "Take it off, girls!-Let's see a real hot show now, better than that movie-Do sixty-nine, girls, show us how first cousins love it up among friends!"
Ella had her arm around Margaret's waist, and the two girls were whispering together. Ella's olive-skinned, provocative beauty was set off temptingly by Margaret's rather more buxom, pink-skinned lushness. She was about an inch and a half taller than Ella, with rounded, demurely dimpled face, a pouting, ripe mouth, dark blue eyes, and wore her sandy-colored hair in a long thick braid which reached to her waist. Her bubbles were closely spaced, high perched, and easily a size 38, and her bottom-cheeks very nearly had those same opulent dimensions. She wore high-heeled pumps, hot pants and a red satin bolero jacket, which left plenty of her baby-pink skin bare, and disclosed a deeply hollowed back and lusciously plump thighs and elegantly rounded calves. Ella's hot pants were red, while Margaret's were green, and here again there was contrast, for all that Ella wore beside the hot pants were sandals and a very skimpy black nylon bra, which showed off the nipples almost as plainly as if she had worn no bra whatsoever.
Last night, Margaret had "thanked" her "Uncle Jack" (though, to be sure, he was only theoretically an uncle through marriage) by sneaking into his bedroom while he and Marge were fucking, along with Ella beside her. And both girls had worn shortie nighties and they insisted on "watching the old folks at play."
Amused as well as incensed, Jack had drawn his prick out of his wife's pulsating cunt, leaving her unfulfilled and groaning for him not to pay any attention to the little minxes, locked the bedroom door and then proceeded to sit down in a straight-backed chair. First he pulled Ella across his lap, lofted her nightie and spanked her bottom scarlet till she wailed and kicked; and then he grabbed Margaret, who, wide-eyed, had watched her cousin's punishment with fascinated anticipation, and given her equal measure on her spaciously rounded pink-skinned ass until she was crying in earnest, also.
"So, Margaret, you wanted to thank me for my hospitality, did you?" he had chuckled as Margaret Gorton jumped from foot to foot and frantically rubbed her blazing bottom. "In that case, young lady, you can just crawl into bed there and finish Marge off by gamming her. And, you, Ella, you can take my edge off either with your mouth or in that hot pussy of yours, you've got your choice."
And so Marge Caspar had, half-scandalized and half-enchanted, wriggled and moaned and spread her legs while the tearfully blushing sandy-haired girl had gamahuched her, She had also watched her husband lie on his back while Ella clambered astride him, fitted his prick into her eager cunt and then slid down to take all of it to the very hilt, nestling tightly against him as her hands roamed under his bottom and she began to arch herself up and down till at last she took his gismic torrents into her seething sheath.
After that, Jack Caspar had commanded Margaret to suck his cock back to life and then emulate her cousin upon him, while it was Ella's turn to bring the blonde matron to her second feverish come. If anything, Jack Caspar had happily concluded, Margaret Gorton was even more of a swinger than her black-haired cousin, and so when he had told her about tonight's festivities, she had enthusiastically volunteered to put on a lezzie-loving show for him and Marge and their three amorously united pairs of intimate friends. . .
Jack Caspar had freshened his drink and then turned on the phonograph, putting on the record "Bolero" by Ravel, as ideal music to dance and dyke by. Then he went back to Dorothy Tilden, sat on the edge of her armchair and put his left arm around her shoulders, fed her some of his drink, then kissed her on the mouth and finished the glass and set it down on the table nearby so that he could have his right hand free to fondle her lovely legs and tickle her cunt and maybe get her into his bedroom before the night was over.
"You know what we ought to do, Jack?" Pete Dudley called. "Invite Greg Mathley and that stuck-up red-haired wife of his, Hazel."
"Say, Pete, didn't they just move in to the neighborhood about a month ago?" Matt Tilden called.
"The very same, old buddy. Ellie invited Hazel over for a house-warming to make her and Greg feel welcome, and what do you think that prissy bitch told her? Why, she said, 'Excuse me, but I don't make friends on short acquaintance, and I'd just as soon not start anything unless Greg approves.' That's gospel, Matt. Isn't it, Ellie?"
"It sure is, Pete, honey," Eleanor Dudley laughingly agreed. "You know what, Jack? I think you ought to sick Ella and Margaret on that stuck-up pair. Wouldn't I like to walk in on Hazel and find her getting gammed by Ella while Margaret there is blowing that pompous ass Greg Mathley. And then I'd like to take Hazel over my lap and use my old sorority paddle on her slinky tail till she gams me."
'I'll make a note of that for future reference, baby," Jack Caspar guffawed. "Maybe we can work out some sort of initiation stunt for them, like walk in on them unexpectedly and sort of give them an old fashioned shivaree."
"Oh, Uncle Jack, I'd love to be in on the fun before I leave for California," Margaret Gorton spoke up as she began to unbutton her bolero jacket and let it fall to the floor, revealing her big round pink-sheened titties. There were low whistles of admiration from the men, and amorous sighs from the women as Margaret proudly preened herself, hands on hips, turning this way and that to let them watch how her titties jiggled, liberated from the encumbrance of a bra. Then, with a self-conscious giggle, she began to wriggle out of her hot pants. As they festooned her ankles and she stepped out of them, more gasps of lecherous approval rose from Pete, Dave, Matt and Jack as her very shaggy, thick, dark brown cunt fleece appeared at the lower abdomen, furling between her thighs towards the perineum and completely concealing the soft pink lips of her cunthole.
Ella swiftly took her bra and hot pants off and, naked, moved towards her cousin and cupped those juicy round titties as she began to rub, pussy to pussy. She whispered to Margaret, who giggled and nodded. Then sinuously, Margaret got down on her knees on the floor, and then rolled over onto her back, spread her legs, and held out her arms to Ella, who promptly mounted her cousin in reverse, and buried her head between Margaret's plump pink thighs. With a soft little moan, Margaret began to return the cousinly favor by winding her arms round Ella's svelte hips and pulling Ella's black-thatched cunt down within range of her own mouth and tongue. And soon it was Ella's turn to sigh and groan in sweet excitement as the two naked young beauties began to sixty-nine with fervor.
All this time, the throbbing rhythm of the "Bolero" went on, and the four couples watching this lascivious tableau began to feel the urge of their own inflamed carnal senses. Jack bent down to whisper into Dorothy Tilden's ear, and she giggled and nodded, rose, put her arms round his neck and kissed him hard, arching to him as she began to grind her crotch to his.
In a moment, they disappeared into Jack's own bedroom, while Marge moved over to Matt Tilden and, blushingly putting her hand on the fly of his trousers, whispered huskily, "I need a good reaming, Matt, honey. Can you fix me up right now?
You aren't going to stand there and waste it while your Dottie is taking my husband from me, are you, lover?"
"Hell no, Marge, let's go find a bed." Matt Tilden nibbled at her earlobe, his arm round her waist, her other hand squeezing one of her full ripe titties. She sighed happily, and the enamored couple moved out of the living room, down the hallway to her own bedroom.
June Wormsley was once again paired with Pete Dudley, and it wasn't long before they found one of the other guest rooms, leaving Eleanor Dudley and Dave Wormsley staring at each other with a grin of awareness. By now, Ella and Margaret had completely forgotten everyone else. They had already had a communal climax, and now they had reversed positions so that Ella lay on her back and was sucking Margaret's cunt from above while Margaret bowed her head and gammed Ella's moist, tangy quim from her own all-fours position.
"This couch is good enough right here, Ellie," Dave Wormsley said, as he slipped off his trousers, then his sport shirt and undershirt, and finally his shorts. "Come on over here and get yourself properly fucked, baby. I'm really in the mood for a redhead tonight!"
Eleanor rose, and in a few moments was down to bra and panties, which she swiftly removed, leaving her in garter belt, hose and pumps. These last she kicked off as she mounted the couch, lay on her back and held up her arms lovingly to him while he knelt before her, his eyes fixed on the dark auburn thatch of her pussy curls.
His fingers began to tickle the rims of her cunt and to entangle with the love hairs, till she squealed, and begged, "Oh, stop playing around I and stick it into me, I'm so hot I'm sizzling!"
As he pressed himself deep to the hilt inside her cunt, Eleanor Dudley moaned and wrapped her long legs over his bottom, arching up her pelvis to take the last vigorous inch of his manhood and absorb it into her sheath. The sobbing groans of Ella and Margaret wafted to the ears of Eleanor and Dave, and it only seemed to inflame them to greater ardor.
When they had had their furious climax, they slowly extricated themselves and sat side by side. Dave offered his naked auburn-haired love partner a cigarette. Into the living room there now came the sounds of slaps and squeals and muffled cries and protests, and the two looked at each other and grinned again. There wasn't any doubt about it. Those sounds were the characteristic music made by the members of the Spanking Society, Ltd.
"Might as well get into the mood again, Ellie, baby," Dave Wormsley whispered.
He gripped her by the shoulders and pulled her down over his lap, as she laughingly protested and put a hand back over her tawny-skinned bottom as if to protect herself. The hand was swiftly pinned against the small of her back and Dave's right hand energetically descended, turning the tawny sheen of her jouncy naked ass-cheeks into bright pink and then crimson, till she began to gasp and tearfully plead and kick her long legs and turn her face back to him to beg for mercy.
"You'll have to pay a forfeit if I stop, Ellie," he warned.
"Oh, anything, you've got me hot again! Oh, darling, anything!" Eleanor Dudley gasped.
He bent down and whispered into her ear, and she giggled and nodded. She slipped off his lap, sank down on her knees onto the floor, as he spread his thighs for her, and edged over to the edge of the couch so that she could get at him. Her mouth tenaciously clung to his prickhead, and began to replenish and renew him to hardness again. By now Margaret and Ella had risen, arms round each other's waists, watching with excitement and anticipation.
"Save some for us, Dave," Margaret huskily murmured.
"That all depends on Ellie, and how much she leaves in me. Why don't you go visit the others, maybe you'll find some action," Dave Wormsley suggested. Then he grimaced with agonized ecstasy as he felt his spunk coming dangerously close to the puckering lips of his prick tip. "That's enough, Ellie, now sit astride me and take it in that sweet hot snatch of yours!" he panted.
And as the two of them began their second fuck of the night, Ella and Margaret exchanged hot kisses and scurried down the hall in search of their own fulfillment. The Spanking Society, Ltd. was in full swing. It wouldn't be too much longer, though, before it took on a few new members, notably the snobbish young Mathleys. But that would be another story. What was most important was that four rather tedious marriages had been revived and four hitherto disgruntled wives were discovering that they could be happily liberated without even joining Women's Lib!
