"I'll lay it on the line. You play ball with me and I'll see that your husband gets a substantial raise right away. It's as simple as that," thus spoke Scott English, president of the Southwest Merchants Bank, to Joyce Babcock, wife of one of Mr. English's tellers at the bank.
Joyce's gasp filled the room. She glanced at her husband, Jim, who was sitting nearby. Her husband replied, "Anything he wants, honey." Jim wasn't sure he was doing the right thing, but his ambition and desire for promotion blinded him to all else.
Later, Jim was humiliated by having to undress his wife while Mr. English watched. And then the bank president issued his next command to a naked Joyce: "All right, honey, get down on your knees. Right in front of me."
CHAPTER ONE
"What does he want?"
"I don't know."
Jim looked around the bank. It was late in the afternoon and there were few customers about. The boss was out, but he would be back in a little while and he wanted to see Jim. Not that Jim had anything to be worried about, but he always worried when the boss summoned him.
"How long will he be?"
"At least an hour," Sally murmured as they stood just behind the railing that enclosed her little space outside the bank president's office. She, too, looked across the main lobby of the bank. "We have a while," she said.
Jim knew what she meant, and at once his guard went up. Of course she was a desirable woman but he didn't want to continue with their games. Eventually they would be caught. Strangely enough, he believed that Sally's job was more secure than his own.
She had worked for-and probably under-Scott English for five years. Jim had been with the bank for three years, but he had never been allowed to feel secure. Sure, he'd risen to become cashier and he did his job well enough, but there was always that nagging doubt. Was he pleasing the right people? Was he rising fast enough? Who was behind him, ready to sit in his chair when he faltered?
He looked down at Sally Clifford. Sally of the black hair, the dark eyes and those pointed breasts that made male eyes bug. Customers and employees a-like enjoyed watching the tight bounce of those points when Sally glided across the big room. She was short but loaded, older than Jim by a few years but still under 30 and still smooth and sleek. And she knew how to use what she had.
She knew how only too well. She'd set her sights on Jim only recently, strangely enough after he'd married. It had been eight months since Jim and Joyce had left on their brief honeymoon and it wasn't many weeks after their return that Sally began to needle him.
Was he happy? How was his bride in the sack? Was he getting all he wanted? Did she do imaginative things for him?
It turned out that Sally was on target. She was a perceptive wench. She'd sensed that things were less than perfect in the Babcock household. Their suburban ranch style home was already something less than a honeymoon cottage.
He didn't know who to blame. It was simply that he and Joyce were so God-damned inhibited. They both enjoyed their sex, but they couldn't loosen up. They'd crawl between the sheets at the same old time, on the same side of the bed, and do the same thing every time. It wasn't long before his and her responses became expected, routine, almost automatic. Soon he wasn't making it every time and her orgasms were hardly regular.
Sally began to talk to him about it. She had to talk hard and long because Jim didn't believe in cheating on his wife. But Sally told him that outside experiences were valuable to a marriage. They added spice and variety, new ideas, new ways to please a mate.
Then there was that afternoon several weeks ago when Sally had car trouble. Jim had taken her home and he'd come inside her apartment for coffee. It turned out that she fed him a large drink and then another one. Then she was hovering over him and her hands were running down his crotch. Before he knew what was happening she was putting it in for him and he was coming like a shot.
He looked at her again as he licked his lips. "I've got some work to finish up."
"Bosh," Sally murmured. "You never get behind. You're mister neat. Come on. Scott won't be back and we know how to lock his door-from the inside."
Jim shook his head as she moved closer to him. Again her dark eyes swept the room under their long lashes. Apparently the coast was clear for her hand snaked out and grasped him directly on the crotch. He gasped as her fingers sank into his cock and balls. Immediately his prick was hard and heavy and she smiled like an evil cat.
"See? You're ready. So am I, believe me," she whispered.
He pulled away and hurried through the gate toward his desk, which was twenty feet away. There he sat down heavily and blew out his cheeks. He tried to work for several minutes, but each time he looked up he felt those eyes on him.
It wasn't long before he was back on his feet and returning to Sally's desk. She rose to meet him and her voice was rather loud and brisk. "Yes, Mr. Babcock, Mr. English left those papers on his desk for you to sign. Please come inside and I'll show you."
No one appeared to glance up as they headed for the bank president's private office. She opened the door and stood aside for him, playing the servile secretary who understood that bank officers were far above her station. He hurried past her, digging a ball point from his inside jacket pocket as he did so.
The door closed behind him and he turned. She stood, her back against the door, her hands still behind her on the knob. Her knockers jutted like twin cannon. She stood, one knee thrust forward like a fashion model and he flicked his glance down to her legs. She wore her skirts short and the thigh that he could see looked sleek and plump at the same time.
Sally wore a sweater and wool skirt, the sweater tight, the skirt one that clung to the plump cheeks of her bottom. There was a lot to look at and appreciate. He again licked his lips as he put the pen back in his pocket.
'I've changed my mind."
"Like shit." Her voice had gone back to its seductive murmur. "You've already put your pen away."
He turned his back to her and went to the window. There he could look down several levels to the busy downtown street below. Once again Jim wished he could have an office like this. Someday, if he did his work well and the bank continued to grow, perhaps he would. This reminded him of Scott English.
He spoke without looking back at her. "You really don't know what he wants to talk to me about?" Sally knew what went on at the bank, thanks to her proximity to the president. She could be a valuable ally.
"I'm not sure," she replied, her voice still soft. "But you realize that it was only last week that he met her for the first time."
He frowned. "Met Joyce, you mean? So what?"
Her laugh was low. "You're not the only man in the bank who's turned on by beautiful women. And your wife, dear heart, is a gorgeous piece of flesh."
Jim was mixed up. It was true, Scott had met Joyce only the week before, at the small reception the president had given for old Ben Menninger when he'd retired after twenty-eight years. And, it was true, Scott had been quite interested and attentive when he'd learned who Joyce was. Jim had been flattered and he was pleased for more reasons than one. He enjoyed having other men approve of his taste in a wife and it wouldn't hurt his career if the boss approved, too.
But what could that have to do with Scott wanting to see him? "I don't understand," Jim said.
"I suspect our beloved president may have some social invitation in mind," Sally replied.
Jim still frowned, but he was pleased that such a contact could be established. Playing bridge or going to the theater with the boss and his wife couldn't hurt. He felt a small glow start in his chest, so he wasn't ready when Sally touched him.
He jerked when her hands rested lightly on his waist. She was still behind him and he felt her breath on his neck. Then she was on her toes and her chin was tucked between his neck and shoulder. Her moist lips dragged across the tender skin just below his ear.
"Let's do something about us. To hell with the boss." She was whispering and her heat made his skin pucker. He again pulled away and retreated several steps until he bumped into the large president's desk.
"Cut it out, Sally. What if he walked in here?"
She giggled. 'Is that all you're worried about, getting caught? You once gave me morality lectures. Now I assume you'd do it anytime you felt safe." She clucked at him with her tongue. "Not much character there, Babcock."
He was suddenly ashamed. She was right, of course. He was gutless, a cheater who was afraid of getting caught. He was no prize for anybody. "I'm getting out of here."
"You keep saying that" she teased, "but you don't mean it. Christ, if you weren't the most handsome hunk of man who ever walked into this God-damned bank I wouldn't have anything to do with you. Lord knows Scott English is no beauty, but he's all man. He lets me know he's in charge ... and I love it. Come on, tiger, snarl at me. Claw me. Mess me up."
Jim kept his eyes on her as she came toward him again. He leaned against the desk, his hands gripping the edge, his feet planted. Soon she was before him and, gently, her fingers touched his necktie, straightening it. She flicked at his lapel and smiled.
"So neat, so proper, so chicken."
"Sally, I'm married. Why didn't you get this out of your system when I was single?"
She lifted her face and laughed as he gazed at her white throat and those pointed breasts. He could almost see the outline of her nipples and he knew damned well that if she didn't work in a bank she wouldn't go anywhere near a bra. Even so, her breasts jiggled in invitation.
"Touche, darling. Don't you know by now? I'm afraid of being trapped into marriage, so I don't play games with single boys. I wait until they're safely in the fold and then I toy with them. That way they have something to lose and that makes them discreet, careful, attentive-just like you. Except that you are carrying caution to a ridiculous level."
She opened the button of his coat and slipped her hands inside. Fingers ran over the smoothness of his shirt and under his arms, where she tickled his ribs.
He jerked her hands away from him but they came right back to his lapels. Then they slid up around his neck and she pulled herself against him.
Her body was shaking slightly and he could feel her knees bump his shins, her thighs against his, her crotch warm and snuggling against his groin. Her belly was wonderfully soft and heated against his own lower belly and those thrusting knockers were pushing holes in his ribs. She kissed him under the chin and then she freed a hand to tilt his head down.
Her mouth was large, her lips full and they closed over his mouth. The lips were also open and he at once felt her tongue dart across his mouth, looking for a way inside. He kept his lips together, tightly, not wanting to let her have her way so easily. He wasn't going to get caught, not now when it seemed there might be a chance to get somewhere.
It took all of his power-because he did want Sally-but he pushed hard on her shoulders and she was thrust back heavily. She almost fell.
"What the hell!"
"I'm sorry." He shook his head. "No more, Sally. I'm getting off this kick."
She put her hands on her hips as her body still shook with excitement. Those breasts were like Jello. "So, all of a sudden you're too good for me. You think you might have something going between the Babcocks and the Englishes, so you're going to dump me."
"Sally, you were the one who said you didn't want to get involved. So you pick married men, like me. That means that sooner or later you always come up the loser."
She snorted like an angry heifer. "You used me, you son of a bitch. When you needed inside dope, you pumped me. When I gave you tips about the boss and how he wanted things done, you scooped them up like a hot-fielding second baseman. Now you think you've moved to the next plateau, but you haven't. I'll always have inside information that will be useful. You'd better not drop me too quickly, James Babcock."
He stiffened. She was right, of course. He couldn't make her too angry. She could ruin him. She could say things to Scott, even to Joyce. She could bring him down much more easily than he could harm her.
"Sally."
"Fuck you, prick."
It was her turn to march to the window, where she stood, feet planted wide, arms folded over those marvelous breasts. At once she was very desirable and he wanted her. He would show her how much of a man he could be. He would take her.
As he came close he thought about her early advice. Shacking up with her could help his marriage. But it hadn't worked so far. Sure, Sally had taught him a few things, but he hadn't found it easy to transfer his new skills to Joyce. It could be because Joyce wasn't taking part. At times he almost wished she could watch him with another woman, so that she could learn to respond like Sally responded. That way they'd learn new things together. No, it didn't help his sex life at home to carry on a secret one-on-one affair.
But he was going to make her again anyhow, right now. For two reasons. He was hot and it had been a while since he'd gotten any at home. And he wanted Sally to remain his friend. The boss' secretary could make things very rough or very smooth for an ambitious man.
He came up to her and she still stood, like a statue, looking down into the street. He followed her glare. The traffic was heavy. Already people were emerging from work, heading home. But he wasn't really watching with interest and he knew she wasn't, either.
He touched her shoulders, just as she'd touched his. But she didn't move. Instead she snapped angry words. "Go on, beat it. That nasty man might come back and catch you touching his private stock. That could hurt our little career, couldn't it?"
"Sally...."
He touched her neck and slowly his hands crept around it to meet at her throat. He tightened his grip just enough to let her know he wanted her, enough to show her that he was going to take charge.
At last her head came back and she leaned it against his chest. "You are a bastard, Babcock," she murmured, a certain despair in her voice. "I never fool around with men I don't like, but you're such a living collar ad type I can't help myself. I wish I had more taste for men with character instead of guys who attract me because they've got a profile or a cock hanging halfway to their knees."
He chuckled in her ear. "Which part of me attracted you, Sally?"
"Your profile, of course. Christ knows I've seen cocks that could overpower yours. Half of the time I can't even find where you keep it."
Again he laughed. "Except at times like now. Times when it gets hard and comes out eight inches or more to stab into the seat of your pants. Tell me you don't know where it is now."
He moved his hips back and forth and the heavy prick dragged its knob across her ass. It was a wonderful ass and the seat of much of her passion. He heard her gasp.
"You bastard," she breathed. "You'll always be able to use me any way you please."
CHAPTER TWO
Again Jim felt reservations. He owed something to Joyce, even though their marriage hadn't been milk and honey. She hadn't cheated on him. Why should he be making out with Sally?
She must have felt his withdrawal, for she turned at once and her arms went around his neck. It was a long, lingering kiss that was filled with a question, a promise and a hope. He got her message but he kept telling himself he didn't want it.
Her lips warmed quickly until they were hot and the pointed tongue traced his mouth. He jerked his head back, but Sally merely laughed deeply in her throat.
"You're not going anywhere, tiger."
"Like hell. Besides, Scott might walk in on us any minute."
"No he won't. For two reasons. He's gone for an hour. I promised you that. And unless he's capable of walking through locked doors-and I have the only key, by the way-then it's impossible for us to be caught with our pants down. My, such colorful phrasing." She laughed again.
Jim licked his lips and then her mouth was over his one more time. She caught him quickly, with his jaws parted and her tongue darted inside. He struggled briefly, but without much zeal, as she shoved her tongue into his throat and then around the sides of his mouth.
She groaned and broke the kiss herself. "Christ, for a man who doesn't turn on you've got a hell of a lot of sex appeal. You're not a pansy, are you?"
"No, but I'm not a cheater, either."
"Like hell. That wasn't parcheesi we were playing the last time we were in here alone." Sally looked disgusted. "God, how I hate you holier than thou stuffed shirts. Banks attract the world's biggest phonies."
Jim didn't have an answer to that shot. She was right, of course. He was hot and he wanted her and he kept pretending that it was all her doing. He looked ashamed but at once she tucked her fingers under his chin and lifted his face. Her lips were cool on his now.
"Come on, bunkie, if you were all bad I wouldn't be in here with you. Take solace in that. I have a certain taste when it comes to men. I'd rather have you screw me than have Scott pouring it to me. That's the truth. I put up with him because he's the boss and a girl's got to look out for herself."
Jim was pleased. That was something. She wanted him because she thought he had more than just a cock and balls. He thought back. "I still wonder what Scott wants. Especially after your remarks about Joyce and our social life."
"Forget him for now. You'll find out soon enough." She put her hands on her hips. "If you don't start moving I'm going to hold up next week's paycheck. How would you like that?"
Jim smiled at her and his arms went around her waist. "You're nutty but I like you, too."
"Goody. Then the next step is logical."
He slid his hands down her shoulders. The sweater was so soft, so warm that it felt good against his fingers. She was still impatient. "Come on, let's go."
"But it's wrong."
Sally's eyes rolled toward the ceiling and then her hands went straight to his waist She pulled hard and the zipper zinged open with a hiss that sounded Mice a snake on the loose. They looked down together at the bulge in Jim's crotch. His cock was looking for freedom now.
"There's nothing wrong with the way your whang feels about our dreadful sinning," she smiled.
"Even so...."
"Kindly shut up."
Jim did as she reached into his fly. God, it was so wonderful to feel her fingers down there! They were swift and sure as they found the slit in his already damp shorts and snaked inside. They closed around his shaft and pulled. It whipped out like a chunk of rubber hose, waving in the fight, its tip already dripping.
He almost sagged but she put an arm around his waist. "Steady, boy. This is only the beginning."
"But we don't have much time."
"There's time enough."
She held his prick in both hands, looking down at it as though it were some rare jewel that she'd found quite by accident. She turned it this way and that and with each turn his prick hardened still more. It was throbbing now and beginning to turn dark.
Then he took her wrists. "I can't let you do that any longer. It'll go off."
"Wonderful, just so you aim it in the right direction."
He pushed her arms to her sides and then his hands were on the sweater. He reached for the hem and pulled it up until the garment was stretched tightly over her breasts. She giggled a little as he had to work to force the thick wool over the protruding tips.
"What's so funny?" Jim snapped.
"You. Looks like you're wrestling with a set of books that won't balance."
He had to smile at that. Then the sweater snapped over her knockers and they bobbed, still clad in their pink bra, before his eyes. Yes, they were for real and they were something special. All of the men in the office talked about Sally's breasts and Jim was pretty sure most of them had had a chance to find out how heavy they felt. Still, he was glad to be a member of the club.
He got the sweater over her head, but not without making a tangle of her dark hair. God, but she was a sexy little thing. He smiled down into her face as he reached around her body for the bra snap. She kissed him as his fingers fumbled at the middle of her back.
Then he found it and the thing sprang free. Her breasts surged tightly against his chest. It was almost a crime that she had to wear a bra. The thing only helped to flatten her great knockers. They didn't need to be lifted. The tips were warm through his shirt as she pulled the jacket over his shoulders and it fell to the carpet.
The bra fell away as she leaned back to look him in the eye. She followed his glance to her nipples. They were large and deep brown, pointed at him like loaded pistols. He knew how hot they were, how hot he could make her if he did something to those points.
So his hands came up, each closing over a nipple. They nuzzled into his hands like a pair of eager pup pies that were looking for love and comfort. He squeezed and Sally squealed. "Oh! Love it!"
He was finished talking. No matter what she said, he didn't want to get caught. He was hot enough that he knew he had to go all the way-and fast.
So he dropped his hands to her waist. That warm belly, white and smooth and only slightly rounded, pushed into his palms. He fingered the navel and she cried out again. She loved to have him touch her and he could make her hot by fondling almost any part of her body.
He worked to her hip and managed to get the skirt open. It peeled away from her hips and belly and then fell to the floor. She wore only her pants and thick-heeled shoes that were now so erotic. Out in the other office they'd looked foolish.
She struck a pose and his prick dipped in a salute. She again grasped it in her hands and slowly she began to pump the thing back and forth.
"Careful!" he snapped.
"Like hell. I want to now. So do you."
"Yes, but...."
He didn't have time for more words. He was going to come any second. Just like that. God damn, so much jizz had been stored up since he wasn't getting enough from Joyce at home. Still he rapped her hands away again, struggling to hold it back.
It was no use. He was beginning to surge.
There was nothing to do but to grab Sally, whirl her around and slam her against the side of the desk. Her hips shot forward with the impact and rammed into his prick. She still wore pants but there simply wasn't time. He shoved his cock hard and it pushed in the thin pink nylon, right into that hole that was -lined with thick dark fur. It was damp and glistened right through the thin panties.
He came then in great spurts that washed into her hole and right back out again. He'd only been able to get his cock halfway in before the pants wouldn't give any more and they were too tough to tear. Cotton, yes; nylon, no way.
He kept coming, grunting with each spurt and feeling his great strength pour from his loins. It curled his toes and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as his crotch gathered resources from throughout his sturdy body.
At last he was finished and then he felt her begin to respond. Thank God. He thought she'd miss out on the fun because he hadn't been able to get her ready. But Jim needn't have worried. Sally seemed always to be ready.
She was convulsing over his prick, at last sucking it all the way in through the incredibly shattered nylon pants. She wrapped herself around him, both feet off the floor and they emptied their bodies into each other.
They barely had time to clean themselves and dress before Scott English, the president of Southwest Merchants Bank, returned....
Joyce was restless. She had been all day, ever since Jim had called with the news about the Englishes. The president of the bank wanted to see him, and Jim was worried and a little hopeful at the same time.
He'd said something about possible social contact with them. Joyce had met them only a short time before for the first time. Perhaps as a couple they'd made a favorable impression.
As she straightened up things in the living room she thought about it. Then she looked down at herself. In the hall she opened the closet door and peered at herself in the mirror. She had to smile, for she was hardly dressed to impress the Englishes now.
The president of the Southwest Merchants Bank and Mrs. English had been very correct at the reception for the retiring employee. Mr. English was the Ivy League type, although since he was in his forties he could hardly fit into Ivy League cut clothing any more. She remembered him as stocky, dark hair graying at the temples, good-smelling cigars that had to be expensive.
Mrs. English had been somewhat younger, no older than in her early thirties, and she'd taken excellent care of herself. A sleek vamp face and figure with long dark hair that would probably reach to her waist if she were to let it down. She seemed bored, except when she was speaking with Jim.
For that matter, Scott English had been attentive to Joyce, almost embarrassingly so, since the retiring old man and his wife were guests of honor. But Joyce hadn't been terribly impressed with Jim's boss. Certainly he looked well and he behaved himself, but Joyce was accustomed to being noticed by men.
She studied her reflected image. Certainly she was no high fashion model in her blue jeans and baggy old sweater, but high fashion models didn't have suburban ranch-style houses to keep in order. Even her sneakers were old and stained from all the painting she and Jim had been undertaking over the past several weeks.
She put her hands on her hips and turned back and forth. She had good heavy breasts that were firm. Even now, without a bra, they looked full and high.
They ought to. At 21 a woman shouldn't have any sag, even if she were well-endowed like Joyce.
The jeans might have been painted on her hips, thighs and bottom. They were tight and low-slung just under the roundness of her belly. She looked over her shoulder and her ass seemed ready to split the tired old seams of the faded and shrunken pants.
She was tall, and she liked that. Tall women seemed to have grace with their strength. She had straight blonde hair that just reached to her shoulders and her eyes could be a blue that was icy or a blue that was glittering with passion. Passion. She choked on her saucy smile.
Passion. She hadn't had much of that lately. She and Jim had been missing in bed and she was worried. How much of it was her fault? Perhaps all of it? Jim seemed to think so, when he was so angry and disgusted after they'd tried to make love. Certainly they had their orgasms once in a while but at 24 and 21 they should have been hitting on all cylinders every time they were on the track.
Joyce was a good girl, a naive girl, a girl who wanted only the best for her man and when he was unhappy she blamed herself. She was his wife and, as such, it was up to her to please him.
She turned away from the mirror in despair. She'd always thought her sex drive was as healthy as any girl's. Heaven knew she hadn't been able to keep her cherry through high school, although she'd struggled mightily. On certain infrequent occasions her moral power had bowed before the needs of her flesh and she allowed herself to be seduced. Still, all in afl, she'd tried to save her best for her husband.
It had been wonderful with Jim at first, but soon they seemed to run out of enthusiasm. Each time they got into bed they did the same things to one another and, when the day came that Jim couldn't make his orgasm, things went from bad to worse.
They were, by nature, both moral and inhibited people and wild and reckless abandon had never come easily to them. Discreetly, Joyce had conferred with a few of her close girl friends and some had suggested that she and Jim try a little mate-swapping. She couldn't agree to that, but they insisted that swapping would make them better, more interesting, for each other.
Experience with another mate breeds variety, new techniques and-yes-even a little jealousy to make one's mate try harder next time around.
Joyce had been firm in her refusal. Then Chuck had to step into the picture and really unsettle Joyce. He'd appeared at her door and she'd fallen much too easily, like a common tart. He'd caught her in a moment of despair and she'd had no defenses. God! Shacked up with the milkman! It was like a cheap joke that a traveling salesman would tell.
Well, that was over now. She wouldn't allow that to happen again. Besides, her contact with another man hadn't helped her performance in bed. She knew one reason why. She couldn't spring fresh new techniques on Jim. He'd suspect her at once, suspect that she was taking lessons somewhere other than in her own bed.
Joyce's friends explained that was a point in favor of open swapping. If both partners did it, there need be no guilt. They would tell and act out their experiences and help each other. There would be no secrets to make one feel ashamed and unfaithful.
Joyce had never dared mention it to Jim and she didn't think she ever could. God, if he reacted the wrong way, their marriage would be ruined instantly. No, they were good, moral people, even if they didn't go to church. They had their Golden Rule, which meant no cheating. No, Joyce promised herself she was through cheating.
Almost as though she were defending herself from an outsider, Joyce crossed her legs and folded her hands over her breasts. She was tingling. Thoughts about sex and men-including that damned Chuck had turned her on.
She returned to the mirror and put her hands at her sides. Then they seemed to move with a will of their own. They planted themselves over her crotch and pressed into the tight jeans, which were already practically stuffed into her vagina.
She drew in her breath and her breasts stirred inside the sweater. The damned sweater, that had started it. She'd not put on a bra because she was going to be crawling about and stretching as she cleaned house. She'd only get too warm too fast in a bra. However, the scratchy old wool sweater had been dragging itself' this way and that, across her breasts as she'd done her chores. The subtle stimulation of her nipples time after time had hardened them until Joyce had found herself in heat. Enough heat to think about Jim, Mr. English and then Chuck. God, she'd even thought back to her high school dates, when the basketball hero had taken her cherry.
She blew out her cheeks and then she heard the soft tapping from the kitchen. Someone was at the back door. She pulled down her sweater, licked her lips and moved swiftly through the house. Get sex oft your mind, woman, she lectured herself.
In the kitchen she looked through the curtain. It was Chuck. Chuck of the tall, strong body and slick black hair. What the hell was her milkman doing at the door so late in the day?
Joyce was afraid she knew the answer to that question.
CHAPTER THREE
He smiled at her through the glass and she opened the door. At once she was conscious of how she looked, and this annoyed her. So she had on a sweatshirt and jeans. So what? She didn't dress for him. She wasn't his woman.
His eyes flicked down her body and she saw no disapproval in their dark color. He was well over six feet and heavily built. His skin was somewhat dark and his hair was black and slick. His line had been just as slick when he had talked his way into her house and sold her a regular order of low fat milk. She'd paid by giving herself to him, as well as giving him cash for the God-damned milk.
"Hi," he said lightly, although his voice was low and he could talk birds out of trees, if he chose.
"I thought you'd be in bed this late in the day," Joyce countered and at once she wanted to bite her tongue. "I mean, since you're up before dawn I'm surprised to see you in the middle of the afternoon."
Chuck threw back his head and laughed, his Adam's apple bobbing. He had white teeth, large strong teeth that could work miracles on her body. "That's sort of what I had in mind."
"I'm sorry." Her voice was stiff and she began to close the door. "That's over. I told you the last time."
"Christ, you've told me that every time, Mrs. Babcock. Maybe you mean it because I know damned well you've been avoiding me. Out somewhere early in the morning when I knock on the kitchen door." He looked at her with his head tilted as though she were a naughty girl.
It was partly true. He made his deliveries twice a week at about eight and Joyce had begun taking walks on those days. She wouldn't come back until she went to the back door and found that the milk had been left. Chuck had gotten in the habit of delivering to her house late, so that he'd have time to tarry if he caught her.
It made her angry because it wasn't as though he was seducing her twice a week. Two, three, four times, no more, but he at once began behaving as though she were his exclusive property. His shack-up. She shuddered.
"What's wrong?" His voice was low and oily now. He knew damned well what was wrong. He was so handsome he could get away with anything. That was the way it had been, Joyce admitted to herself, but it was finished now.
"It's cold."
"Then let me in so we can close the door and get cozy."
She shook her golden head. "No. I'm cleaning house and, besides, I don't want you in this house again."
"You're afraid the old man might walk in on us. Admit it."
Joyce had indeed glanced at the clock when she'd seen who it was. Three o'clock. Jim wouldn't be home before six. "It crossed my mind," she admitted. "He'll be here any minute."
"Bullshit."
"Don't talk to me like that," she snapped right back.
"He doesn't get home until almost seven. I know. I got a brother-in-law who works in a bank. He keeps books, like your old man. Christ, they keep him there half the night when the stupid broad tellers can't come out right at the end of the day."
Joyce lifted her chin. "He's a cashier. That's something different. And he'll be home before six."
"So we got three hours."
He pushed on her breast and she gave way before him. Then he was closing the door and his grin was broad. She frowned and shook her head again..
"Please get out. I mean it. We're finished."
He frowned. "You mean you and the old man are making it in the pad like in the old days?"
God, why had she told him so much? When a man has taken a woman like Joyce, ah, well...."No, but...."
"All right, so you still need my therapy. Have you sprung any of the tricks I taught you?" She shook her head.
"You ought to." His laugh was strangely high. "He'd be so pleased he'd send you back to me for more lessons." This time his laugh was a real guffaw.
Joyce was furious and she punched him on the chest. "Get out. I don't want you to touch me ... not anywhere."
Swiftly his arms encircled her, trapping her own arms at her sides. His face-that wonderfully male and handsome face-came down only an inch from hers. Their noses brushed once. "I'll make a deal with you, lady. I won't do anything you don't want me to do. Okay?"
"Then I don't want you to stay." Already her voice was losing its conviction. He was so dreadfully sure of himself. If only Jim were capable of making her erotic, if only she and her husband could make it together. Then she wouldn't have this wall of pent-up sex inside her. It made her hungry body boil almost instantly with Chuck.
Chuck shook his head slowly. "No, my offer starts in five minutes. After I've had my time at bat. Then, if you don't want to let me score, the game is over. That's a promise. You know, except for that first time, I never forced myself on you. Admit it and everything will be easier, baby."
"You're so frightfully poetic," she said with heavy sarcasm.
"Five minutes," he repeated.
Then his face was down on her, his mouth searching and finding her lips. When she tried to twist her head away he freed an arm and grasped the back of her neck to steady her head. He pressed against her lips hard, but he wasn't hurting her. He was too good for that. He knew how to be rough without taking away from the sensation of sex and allied pleasures. A man who hurt could turn a woman off fast. Yes, Chuck had lectured Joyce during those long cool mornings when they'd been in bed, while the milk had stood warming on the kitchen drain board.
At last he lifted his face. "Three minutes gone."
"Get out," she whispered.
"I'll do anything you ask in two minutes."
He was kissing her again and now he freed his other hand. Incredibly, Joyce didn't fight him off. She didn't bother to lift her own arms to pummel his chest. Instead she stood, still with a stiff body, behaving as though she hated it. His hand touched her breast through the sweatshirt, a breast that was al ready swollen with anticipation. She hated it when she was so obvious.
He took the hand away and he stepped back. His eyes drifted casually up and down her body, a body that was trembling with revulsion and anticipation in the same instant. He smiled in his most charming way, really pouring it on.
"Five minutes, ma'am. I'll do whatever you say."
Joyce struggled with herself. She felt so cheap, so easy to make. If only she'd masturbated or whatever it is women do to themselves, she thought. She could have drained off some of her frustration and thus shown him the door at once.
"I want you to go." Her words were barely audible.
Chuck pretended not to hear. "Beg pardon?"
"I said ... you can stay for a few minutes, but only to chat or something. I don't want you to touch me again. I really mean, knowing how you are," she stammered. She wasn't making sense and they both knew it.
He chuckled and walked across the kitchen. At the refrigerator the lanky milkman helped himself to a beer after holding a can up to her. She shook her head. He popped the tin tab and downed almost all of it in a few gulps. He set it on the drain board and turned to her.
Joyce adroitly stepped around him and then she half stumbled over the sink. She whirled and leaned hard against the edge of the sink. He came over to stand before her. "Don't be so afraid. I'm not going to hurt you."
"You're damned right you aren't."
He turned his palms up. "We made a deal. Nothing you don't want me to do, baby. Word of honor."
Joyce snorted. "Honor," she spat.
He grinned his crooked grin and she felt something snap inside her body. Damn. She wasn't going to lose another battle with this man. She made a face of despair as he lifted her chin. Tenderly, he kissed her on the mouth and she didn't try to pull her face away.
His tongue came out and it was only then that she snapped her head back. "No!"
"Like shit. Admit you love it, baby. Admit you want me to go over you like a fine comb. There's nothing you don't want me to do."
"I want you to go." There. She'd finally said it as though she meant it.
He stepped back with a shrug. "Okay, I told you I was a man of honor."
At once he turned on his heel and went to the door that led to the yard. She watched helplessly and then a small sound came from somewhere. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. Without knowing it she'd followed him and now she stood by the refrigerator and the sound had come from her own throat.
"What?"
She lifted her hand toward him and then dropped it as though it were a dead thing. "Nothing."
He turned and came back to her. In despair she slumped against the refrigerator, her head down. Again he lifted her chin and as he stared into her eyes his hand came up. It found a heavy breast inside the sweatshirt and squeezed. She moaned as the tingling raced through her body. She felt the breast grow with an ache at once, the nipple turning hard as it pressed into his palm.
Even through the heavy cotton it was as though he were touching naked flesh. She looked into his face and her lips moved slowly. "Please don't. It's not right. I beg you. Go away, even if I can't make you."
Chuck threw back his head and laughed. Hot shame flushed over her face. He certainly enjoyed degrading her, making her feel as though she were less than nothing. Damn you, Jim. If only you could give me what I need I wouldn't lower myself to the level of this lousy milkman.
Ashamed as she was she couldn't lift a hand to protest as he moved his hand to her other breast. In seconds it was as heavy with desire as its twin and the nipple, if anything, was even more distended. His massage was a slow series of circles that was driving her mad. The blood was raging through her body and her nerves were sending out a thousand tiny alarms. Never had she been more alert, her senses so perfectly in tune. At this rate she'd have an orgasm before they were properly started.
Properly started?
She was talking to herself as though she were already certain he'd screw her, screw her good right there on the kitchen floor. She couldn't allow that to happen. If Jim were to walk in on them ... No, she must have a better reason. She must want to be faithful, not simply be afraid of getting caught.
"Get away," she hissed.
He took his hand away at once. "I wish you'd make up your mind. We don't have forever. Just maybe two hours or so."
"Go."
Again he was headed toward the door and again she was stumbling after him. "That's far enough."
He turned back with a sigh. "Christ, you're singing a funny tune, Mrs. Babcock. I can't follow the music."
"You know what I want ... need. Come ahead. Fuck me and fuck me fast."
He lifted his eyebrows in a superior way. "We mustn't rush these things. Besides, how do I know you won't change your mind again-right in the middle of things?"
"I promise."
"That's a laugh." He leaned against the door and folded his arms as though the last thing in the world he were going to do would be to screw her.
She went to him and stood, waiting, arms at her sides. When he still refused to move she placed her hands on his throat. Slowly, she began to open the buttons on his denim shirt until she got it open to his waist. Then she gradually tugged it out of his belt all around his body, reaching closely behind him to get at it.
He made no move to touch her, not even to lean against her when her breasts dragged across the front of the shirt. His coolness was driving her out of her mind. Abruptly, she leaped back and her fingers went to her crotch, where she gripped her hot mound hard.
She felt the shameful rush of passion flood through her and the heat was even greater. Then it was moist and, after she snorted like a winded mare a half dozen times, she took her hands away. Together they peered down at the spreading dark stain on her jeans.
His laugh was high this time. "Christ, Joyce baby, you've never been this quick before."
She turned away from him and returned to the sink. There she leaned heavily on her elbows, leaning forward, trying to make herself throw up into the drain. It wouldn't come and after a moment her nausea passed. Still, she leaned down, her head hanging in despair.
God, but she was a cheap tart. She ought to tear away her clothes and make him whip her. Something really sick like that so she'd feel finished and contrite. Better yet, she'd confess to Jim and perhaps he'd beat her. Yes, she was a wife who deserved to be beaten.
She didn't hear him come up behind her but then she felt it. Something touching the stretched denim that encased her buttocks. It was hard and warm. That could only mean one thing. She knew it was still inside his pants, but that it was straining mightily to be freed.
She licked her lips but she didn't move. "I don't care what you do to me."
"Then I'm not going to do anything. I don't want you if you don't get a bang out of it. I don't want to pour the meat to a dead lump of dough."
"You express yourself so beautifully."
"I never claimed to be an English teacher."
She sighed but she stayed where she was as he leaned more heavily against her. At once her passion was back. She was ready to expend herself all over again. Chances were that she'd make it several times with him. He once got her off five times.
"That better? Anything stirring?"
"You know damned well it is," she snapped.
"Good girl."
His prick pressed harder against her, but there was no way he could make it into the crack of her ass. The denim was like a skin tighter than her own. At last he leaned away and she heard the zipper. The prick pushed again and, although it was hotter, it got no farther into her fissure.
"Damn."
"I suppose you want me to take them down."
"No," he snapped. "I want you to change into a Shirley Temple suit! Hell yes I want you to take them down!"
"You'd needn't shout at me. The neighbors will hear."
"Tuck the neighbors, too."
She sighed as she moved her fingers to her fly. The top brass button snapped away from the strain of her heaving belly and she paused.
No, she'd let him do it. If she were going to be fucked, he'd need to take charge.
CHAPTER FOUR
She could go no further. Not by herself. And so she stood, not moving, as his hands snaked around her waist. They felt of her bare belly under the loose sweater, which didn't reach down to her low-slung hip-hugging jeans.
"Very smooth ... as always," he breathed into the back of her neck and she closed her eyes. She resisted letting her head go back to rest against him. She was not yet ready to be obviously cooperative.
But the rest of her body was taking matters into its own hands. Her nerves were still jumping crazily and her knees were beginning to lose their strength. She knew she wouldn't be able to continue the pretense much longer.
"Oh...." she sighed, but it was a sigh of anguish more than of contentment.
He chuckled and his hands slid under the sweater, higher on her belly. Up they went until they reached her breasts. There, very carefully, he closed them over each hot hill of flesh and her gasps were louder.
Joyce licked her lips and felt the hot prick continue to slide back and forth across her bottom. Its tip was heavy. Chuck was well hung, heavy in the cock and balls, and she knew when she saw it she would lose her mind. It had happened before.
His hands gripped her breasts lightly, massaging, twisting them and turning them like they were knobs on a door. With each movement they grew and when he scissored the nipples between thumbs and forefingers she squeezed her eyes tightly shut.
"Admit you love it," Chuck rasped, his mouth only an inch from her ear. His breath stirred her golden hair.
"No," she gulped. "Please go away. You said you would when I asked."
"You waited too long, baby. No man could stop himself now-not with that body you got. And I got my hands on you. If old man Babcock himself walked in now he'd need to wait his turn. I'm gonna finish what's started."
Joyce couldn't deny him. Even if through some miracle he were to release her she knew she'd call him back. Just as she'd done moments before. It was time to stop playing games and let him have his way. No more talk. No more phony resistance.
His hands roamed her breasts for several minutes, until they were fully distended, their nipples aching to burst through their taut pink skins. He lifted them and let them fall.
"You got good ones, baby, if anybody ever asks. Heavy but no sag, you dig?" He seemed genuinely impressed and Joyce felt herself basking m his flattery.
But she kept her lips pressed together. She'd only make more of a fool of herself if she were to respond.
His hands slid down to her belly, where they pressed into the curve of firm softness. He seemed to be trying to press all the way to her backbone when he dug into her navel. It was her firing button and again she felt the moisture at her crotch. It was a smaller orgasm this time, but one that made her trem ble. He felt her shaking and he blew lightly into her ear in response. More shaking.
The fingers were at her fly, feeling the opened snap, finding the zipper and sliding it. Her damp pubic hairs felt the coolness as they were exposed. Her pussy almost literally leaped out of the crowded jeans.
He went to her hips and tried to pull the pants down, but they were too tight. So he went back to the fly and ran his fingers into the blonde hairs. She shook as he plucked at them and then she winced at the wonderful pain.
He shoved his hand deeper into the fly, where it was very tight. He got fingers down below the seam of her crotch and raked them across her puffy, damp lips, lips that were dripping with pleasure.
"Oh ... God!"
Chuck chuckled some more and she hated that laugh. She hated him, but she had to have him. It was all too primitive, too wonderful a feeling. No human being could take what he was doing to her and turn him away. Not now.
She arched her back to look over her shoulder at him and in that instant he caught her chin with his free hand. He held her that way, taut and twisted, half spilling out of her clothes, as he kissed her on the mouth.
She closed her eyes as his tongue went into her mouth and the hand raked again and again across her crotch. At last the jeans surrendered. They slipped from her hips and he shoved them halfway to her knees.
In the middle of her thighs her braced, stiff legs stopped them. But it was enough for him to be able to reach all the way under her crotch, to her ass, and then drag his hand all the way back around the circle where her body came together. "Oh ... I"
Her knees gave way, but the hand under her chin forced her up again. She leaned hard against the sink and thus she was prevented from falling to the kitchen floor. He never broke the kiss as the maneuvering hand forced itself between him and her, against her bottom. The cheeks of her buttocks shook as he patted and then kneaded the firm stiff muscles. He roamed her bottom, up and down the crack, and each time he tapped at the little rosebud of flesh at her hole she drew it tightly closed.
"You got a good ass, Joyce honey," he muttered into her mouth, the words muffled. "A fucking good ass."
The hand came away and she felt the hot cock rake across the buttocks crack. It lowered itself until it was up against her hole. A wave of revulsion ripped through Joyce and she wrested herself out of his grip.
"No!" she snapped. "I won't do that. Not with you. Go find yourself a Greek."
He stared as she pulled away from him and took several steps along the edge of the counter. She half stumbled from the loosened jeans, which slipped all the way to her knees. Together they looked down at her crotch. The blonde pussy was dark and getting darker as her excretions continued. She was flowing like a faucet in small, alternating spurts.
She blew out her cheeks. "God, if only you'd go away."
. "You'd kiss a candle and then ram it up your snatch if I did," he snorted.
She blushed furiously, ashamed he was right, ashamed of herself. God, if only she'd learn control. If only she could get this hot with Jim!
"Come up, let me go up your ass," he said quietly. He came back to stand over her.
She shook her head. "No. Not that"
"Someday," his voice was wistful.
"Never."
He wrapped his arms around her neck and pulled her against him. She came and her breasts flattened hard against his heavy chest. Below she felt his cock creeping across her lower belly until it was pressing into her hairs. He was high because, although Joyce was tall, he was much taller.
He bent his knees and the prick raked her upper thigh, where the flesh was incredibly tender. She flinched as the knob came to rest directly over her vaginal channel. He pressed and the first part of the giant knob tried to force its way inside.
She cried out as he pushed again. It hurt, but she wasn't afraid for it was a delicious pain. She loved it and she was ecstatic the instant the entire knob popped inside. The walls of her passage hugged it as though a thousand tiny muscles were responding like hands. They were urging him in, deeper, pulling with a rippling motion like a crawling snake.
He made a half strangled sound and then he rammed his body against her with all his strength. It knocked the wind out of her and for a moment Joyce saw spots whirling before her eyes. It went away at once.
She opened her eyes and looked down. Between her thrusting breasts she could see their pubic hairs mingled, their lower bellies joined. Below that she knew-felt-his prick far up into her like a lance. She marveled at where it had all gone.
Then he began sliding his hips in and out and the cock slid like a great piston, an inch back arid forth, then a half dozen inches, until he was pulling it almost all the way out before ramming it back in to the hilt. It hurt but Joyce loved every stroke. At once she pumped her hips back and forth in a motion in opposition to his own. It was effective and he turned pink very quickly.
"I'm gonna come," he said.
"I should hope so."
"I mean right now," he whispered.
"So do I. I'm coming." She felt the convulsions tear into her vitals again. Now how many times was that already? Three? Four? Who could keep count?
He kept pumping but his rhythm became erratic. He couldn't control his timing any more. Soon he stopped altogether on an outstroke, so only his head was hooked into her pussy. She could see his purple and slick shaft poked into her body like a great purple spear.
'In a second," he rasped.
"I'm waiting. Come on, you great big strong man." Her voice was mocking and he swore a dozen times.
"I'd like to split you in two, baby."
"You're not big enough," she taunted.
Then she felt his final swelling and as the first wave rolled down the length of his shaft he rammed himself all the way back into her, against the very base of her womb, so that Joyce indeed felt as though she were being split like a melon.
His jism came boiling out, slamming up into her vitals and then boiling back around his prick, squeezing along the sides and dribbling out on the floor from the hilt. He came again and again, which was a tribute to Joyce, because Chuck made out frequently along his route. Many days he didn't have the strength left to get it up. They sagged against one another for several minutes and then Joyce reached to turn on the hot water so they could clean themselves.
As they worked in silence and as her revulsion with this man grew, she thought about Jim and his boss, Scott English. Yes, Mr. English had been nice to her at the retirement party and now, it seemed, he had some sort of social contact in mind. Such contact could be a key to Jim's success. Lord knew he was due for a promotion, more money.
At last they were finished and Joyce went to the door with Chuck. "This is the end, you know," she said.
"Sure," he replied with a grin. "It's the end-for now. See you next week."
"I won't let you in."
His only answer was another of those funny high laughs. She stood with her back against the door, knowing that her affair with Chuck could be doing her some good if only she could use what she was learning-use it with Jim. But no, not when it was a deep dark secret.
If only they could be honest with each other....
Jim slumped in the chair, his eyes heavy. He'd wiped himself off and put his clothing back together so that he looked as tidy as a bank cashier ought. But he felt lousy. He was a God-damned cheater, a prick of a little man who couldn't keep his hands off the goodies, and who played toady to a boss with far more power than he had.
He raised his eyes to look at Sally. She was straightening her skirt where he'd mauled it. Her pants were in ruins and she'd flushed them down the private toilet just off Scott English's office. She sat across from him, straightening her stockings. Then she stood, her back to him, before the mirror so she could poke at her dark hair.
She had a good figure and he watched the flare of her hips. The knowledge that she wore nothing underneath her skirt aroused him again. All he'd need to do was reach up and he could put his hand directly on her snatch, that dark-rimmed treasure box that was still hot. He knew it was still hot because Sally was never satisfied with only one go.
The secretary peered over her shoulder at him, her red mouth turned up at the corners. "Stop worrying, for heaven's sake." Her voice grated at him.
"I'm still wondering what's going on with English. I think you know more than you're telling."
"You'll find out soon enough." The enigmatic smile broadened. "I only hope you remember who your old sack buddy is."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Sally sighed and came over, surprisingly, to kneel before him. She rested her forearms on his knees as she toyed idly with the point of his necktie. "You're a good man, sweetie. A better man than you think. You're hung up, that's all. You're ambitious and afraid to stand up to your boss. He can help you. I can help you. If you and your wife only had a healthy sex life everybody would be better off."
Jim frowned. "How?"
"By a bit of healthy swapping, if you must know. You and I have had our good times. We've learned things. You and what's her name-Joyce-could be doing this sort of thing together. By the way, me and my boyfriend, Jake, would be glad to come around to your house anytime for a session." She giggled. "Believe me, it works for us."
Jim felt an unreasonable twinge of jealousy rise in his chest. She and Jake? At his house to swap? Not likely. And he didn't understand what role Mr. English had in all this.
Sally leaned closer to him and her hand rested very lightly on his crotch. He knew she could feel the stirring of his prick, but she didn't grab at him in haste. "I'm sorry we're about out of time, lover. But there'll be other times."
Jim brushed her hand away. "No, this is the end. It's risky, it's kid stuff, it's dirty."
"Sex is dirty? Come on. Then the whole world is a cesspool."
"Perhaps."
She took his hand and placed it on her thigh, just above the top of her stocking where the short skirt had hiked up as she knelt. She waited and when he didn't move she poked the hand all the way up to her box.
Her hairs were still damp but they felt good and he couldn't resist closing his fingers over her purse. The lips were still swollen and warm, yet very soft, like slices of fine leather that had been worked until they were soft as butter.
"You see?" she murmured, her eyes fixed on his. "There's always something for you. But you're always going to feel guilty unless you let Joyce in on the act. You two should cheat together. Then you wouldn't be cheating at all."
They were looking at each other when the buzzer on the bank president's desk sounded. Sally was on her feet and rushing to the door to unlock it and fling it open.
"That's the jigger alarm," she blurted. "I asked Jane to push the button when Scott came into the outer office. He's here now."
After a final five-second inspection of each other, they bent over the papers at English's desk and that's how they were as the president came in.
English boomed his hellos and at once announced that he'd closed the loan deal with the bank in Los Angeles. Things looked good for Southwest Merchants Bank.
Then the president shooed Sally out and closed the door. And then he told Jim what had been on his mind. He told him exactly what he wanted and what it could get Jim-in the long run.
CHAPTER FIVE
The silence was heavy as they moved around in the bedroom. Jim couldn't really say anything and somehow Joyce seemed hesitant to ask too many close questions. It was as though she sensed her role even before she knew. Some primitive female instinct seemed to be telling her that her number had been called and that she must not resist.
Jim dressed before the closet mirror, slipping into comfortable slacks and a quality T-shirt that had cost him $24. It was to be a casual weekend, but he wasn't going to allow himself to think casually. He was going to be ready at all times.
He looked over at Joyce, who was seated at her dressing table. She wasn't thinking casually, either. He'd imparted the urgency of her presence to her. She knew that the next forty-eight hours on the desert were important to their future.
She was wearing a bra and pink pants and she looked beautiful. The sight saddened him. He was slightly angry, too, but his ambition overcame that each time it threatened to surface. After all, wasn't a wife supposed to help her husband get ahead? But he couldn't explain it all to her now. She might balk. Better to wait until after they'd arrived at the English weekend home. There she'd more readily see the necessity and more readily agree to do her part.
He watched her covertly as she reached high be hind her back to snap the bra into place. Her breasts thrust wonderfully. She was the most beautiful, sexiest woman he had ever known. So why wasn't she the most exciting in bed? It was his own fault, because he'd allowed their love-making to slip into such a dreary routine.
He looked at her flat belly, her plump thighs and slim ankles, at the way her bottom spread on the padded stool. He wanted to go over and put his hands on it, but they'd both be embarrassed and that wouldn't do at all.
Then she was glancing his way. "I still don't understand it, Jim. Won't you tell me?"
"Later," he snapped. "Later, when we're down there."
She pressed her lips together and he wanted to lass them until they softened. She was altogether desirable and he knew that if he weren't so inhibited he'd pick her up, throw her on the bed and fuck her. Then he'd call Palm Springs and tell old man English to shove his weekend up his ass. Then he'd fuck Joyce again. And again.
But he was too gun-shy now. He was too afraid of disappointing her and himself. Then they'd be even more embarrassed with each other, even more stilted in their relations. Christ, a marriage could go downhill fast in less than a year.
It was the middle of the morning before they were ready, dressed and packed. He got out the car and they put their two bags into the trunk. They didn't need much. It was to be a casual weekend. Their most important attire would probably be their bathing suits.
Joyce looked great in stretch pants and a crisp white blouse that she tucked in tightly so that her breasts thrust forward aggressively. The pants went up into her crotch and hugged her bottom and for a while Jim wondered if she were being sexy on purpose.
As they left the city and got on the freeway he never should have said what he did. "I never saw you dress that way for me."
He felt her staring at his ear as he kept his eyes on the road. "What?"
"You look pretty sexy. Something special for old man English?" He sounded like a whiny little boy.
He could see her golden head shake in disbelief. "Good Lord, you told me to look my best for him. I distinctly got the feeling I'm to be some sort of offering. Tell me if that makes me a disloyal wife. After all, darling, if it weren't for your precious career I wouldn't be going off to this weekend. And neither would you."
He glanced quickly at her, seeing that her eyes were shining. After all, she was a naive woman, a woman easily hurt, and he had no right to put her down that way. He put a hand on her knee and squeezed. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm just uptight, I guess. This is an important weekend."
She tilted her head. "Funny that the Englishes should suddenly invite us to their desert place eight months after our marriage. And you've never been out there before, even though you've been with the bank three years."
He tried to smile. "We have you to thank. Remember Mr. English only met you last week. I'm sure he was impressed. That ought to do us some good."
She frowned. "I have a feeling it's more than that. You seem to be tiptoeing around something I don't know about."
He licked his lips. "Well, we will be talking some business and it does involve you. You'll find out the whole story before long. And I hope you'll trust me, honey. Try to keep an open mind."
Her laugh was nervous. "Goodness, I feel as though I'm going to be a sacrifice or something."
"Don't ask any more questions."
Jim felt sick inside as he nursed the car up to the new low speed limit of 55 miles an hour. He held it there as they zipped north through the hills. Short of Riverside they went east, through the pass and below them they could see the great California desert. They began to drop down and the vegetation changed abruptly. Soon they were in sand, cactus and yucca.
They took the turnoff and in a few more miles they were entering the strung-out outskirts of Palm Springs. The place was busy for it was the winter season and the town would be full for the weekend.
They hadn't spoken in more than an hour and Jim knew each was thinking deep, dark thoughts, each wondering what would happen before their return to the coast Sunday night. An eternity will have passed by then, he knew, an eternity that would be vital to his professional and personal life. And to Joyce's.
The center of the town was crowded with tourists and winter dwellers. Each cold season thousands of people moved in for six months. When May came they almost all moved away again and the place turned into a virtual ghost town until the following October. Jim had been through the place several times and once, a couple of years before, had spent a weekend here at a motel with a girl.
On the other side of town they turned out on the desert once again before they came to the big estates, places with curving driveways, multiple garages and walls around property that was measured by the acre. They came to the English place, which Jim recognized from all that he'd heard. It had a low profile with white rock roof, cinder block walls to keep out the heat and the night desert chill. It was walled on three sides, as Sally had once told him, the fourth side open, looking across the desert to the mountains clear over in Arizona.
They drove in and pulled up in front of the garage. There was only one car, a big black Cadillac. Jim felt his envy rise. English didn't make all that much money at the bank-not in salary, anyhow. But his family was old money and he owned most of the bank stock himself. So he was paid according to his success, which was considerable. And he didn't need the money anyhow, not with the inherited English fortune to back him up. There had once been a costly divorce, but English had paid her off and kept the two children.
Now he had a new wife, a younger wife whom Jim had met at the retirement party. She was probably in her early thirties, some 10 years younger than her husband. A sleek, vamp type with lots of black hair and a snaky body. In type almost the exact opposite of Joyce. Jim found himself beginning to look forward more to their weekend. He glanced at Joyce as he switched off the engine.
"This is it."
"So I gathered. A resort hotel, at least." She lifted her eyebrows. "They do five well, don't they? Winters in Palm Springs, summers in Santa Barbara and in between he makes deals at the bank."
"Not a bad life," Jim noted. "And I want to move up with him."
"I know, I know. That's why we're here." She lifted a hand to cut him off and then she opened her door. They both got out and stretched. They peered about It was very quiet and very dry, the light desert air like lotion on their faces. God, he thought no wonder people came out to the desert to cure what ailed them. It felt wonderful.
They looked across the half hidden front of the house-the wall and the garage kept what was behind quite secret from the road-wondering which way to head for the front door. Then it opened, at one side of the garage.
Out came Scott English, a broad smile on his expansive face, his hand stuck out like a bowsprit on a sailing vessel. They had a chance to study him as he approached. The president of Southwest Merchants Bank wore a baby blue T-shirt and white bermuda shorts, tennis shoes and no socks. There was a long black cigar stuck in his mouth.
English was in his early forties, Jim knew; he was stocky and strong and looked like a football player. He was perhaps five ten and weighed 190. He was an Ivy League type in manner, background and education, and Jim seemed to remember that he had played for Brown or somebody in the East.
He had dark hair that was graying at the temples and his bare legs were heavy and hairy. He was beginning a small pot under that T-shirt, although now as he came toward them he was keeping it sucked in.
The cigar threw off clouds of smoke like a railroad engine as he bore down on them. Jim could see his eyes taking an instant measure of Joyce as he came up to them. Then he was pumping Jim's hand and touching Joyce on the shoulder in an awkward greeting.
"Well, so you found our desert hideaway. Wonder ful. Glad you made it before lunch. Come on. Helen's dying to greet you." He waved at the car. "Don't worry about it. We'll tuck it into the garage and get your luggage after a while."
He led the way through the door, which was really cut through the wall. There was a small front yard planted in desert foliage, including a beautiful smoke tree, and then he was pushing open the door to the house, which was under a broad overhanging roof that helped keep the sun off.
It was cool and almost dark inside after the bright sunlight outside. The place was rambling, it appeared, with room after room in progression, each filled with dark Spanish and Mexican style furniture. English took them to the draped glass wall at the rear of the large living room and there he pulled a cord. The drapes opened.
They looked out on the rear yard. In its center was a swimming pool with water the color of Indian turquoise. The house was a U shape around it with the living room at the base of the U and rooms on either side. There was a row of hedge on the far side of the pool, cut low so that the distant desert view wasn't obstructed.
Joyce gushed dutifully and English was pleased. Jim saw his boss keeping his eyes on her, his glance darting up and down her body when he thought she wasn't aware. Yes, he was going to be a genial host, too much of a host, Jim feared. Well, they had made their deal and there was nothing to be done about it-except to break the news to Joyce.
"Well," Scott exclaimed as he rubbed his hands together. "I wonder where our hostess is. Helen," his voice boomed through the house.
They heard an answering call from somewhere deep in the house. Then they waited and after a minute Helen Enghsh joined them in the living room. Jim gulped when he saw her and he heard even Joyce draw in her breath in admiration.
Mrs. English was indeed 33, but she could have been ten years younger. She was about five feet six and she had the face and body of a vamp. Dark, long hair that came over her shoulders, high cheek bones and interesting hollows below, heavy dark lips, dark eyes that gleamed under sheltering lashes. Her body was sinuous, bulging in the right places and deeply tanned from the desert sun.
She wore a startlingly white bikini that didn't begin to know how to cope with its assignment, for her breasts bulged over the top and below there was a generous expanse of deeply golden flesh below her navel before the bottom strip of white started. Part of her was covered for she wore an open robe over her shoulders-but still Jim didn't need to use much imagination to know that she was a total package.
Jim heard a sound and he realized it was himself, clearing his throat. Even Scott seemed impressed by the sight of his own wife. He recovered fast, for surely he was accustomed to such a view.
"Sweetheart, you know the Babcocks. Jim and Joyce. I believe you met Helen at the party last week."
Jim and Joyce smiled but Helen English seemed to be looking down her nose at them. But while she was looking down that nose she also seemed to be looking over Jim. Then her manner changed and she hurried forward to kiss Joyce quickly on the cheek. Then she took Jim's hand.
'It's wonderful that you could make it on such short notice. Yes, I remember you from the party."
She actually batted her eyes at Jim. "Very well I remember."
"Wonderful," Scott said unnecessarily, rubbing his hands and looking from one guest to the other.
At once they had lunch, which was served in a low-ceilinged dining room in one of the wings, a delightful Spanish room with white walls, dark furniture and one of those Southwestern corner fireplaces. The food was brought by a tiny maid, a curvy little thing in a black satin uniform with white apron, which astounded the Babcocks. A French maid looked so out of place on the desert.
They ate Mexican food which, Scott explained, was prepared by Maria. The food was washed down with heavy Mexican beer that washed away the weariness of the drive through the mountains.
At last Scott pushed back his chair and smiled at his wife. "We're very informal today, darling. A bikini at lunch."
Helen smiled, perhaps with a brittle flash of teeth. "We're always informal down here, dear, even with guests."
He nodded. "All the more reason to talk business now and get it over with. Helen, why don't you take a dip while the Babcocks and I discuss ... urn, their future?"
She got up at once, as though she were accustomed to obeying orders. After all, it was his money, his house, his two children who would be arriving from school in the city later in the day. Helen was only Mrs. Scott English the Second. She smiled around the table and swished out. Jim caught a glimpse of her body again as the robe swirled. Yes, her ass was good, packed into its white sling.
They got up and followed Scott into a rather small study. It had only one window which looked out on miles of empty desert. It was all-male furniture, dark, heavy with the accent on leather.
Scott slumped behind a desk and waved Joyce and Jim to chairs at either side. Then, dragging deeply on his cigar, he sent blue smoke rising.
"Jim, have you explained things?"
"Um ... no." He felt hot as his face flushed. "I thought you ... we...."
Scott held up his hand. "Just as well. Let me take charge. I'm an expert at propositioning women."
CHAPTER SIX
Jim waited, flushed and uneasy, his fingers knotted in his lap. Already the Mexican food was lying like a lump in his middle. He had been a fool for bringing Joyce here.
He looked at her. She was on the edge of her chair, looking wonderfully fresh in her trim pants, the white blouse and her hair in a neat bun at the back of her neck. She looked like a college girl about to begin her first interview for a job. If only she didn't look so sexy. The pants and the shirt hid nothing. Her ass was revealed at every twitching muscle and her breasts jutted so that he knew he could make out the outlines of her nipples.
Surely Scott wasn't having any trouble using his imagination to fill in every last intimate detail. His eyes nicked over her as he pulled on the cigar. He looked perfectly comfortable, as though he were doing nothing more than conducting a job interview.
"Mrs. Babcock-Joyce-I want you to listen to what I have to say and I hope you'll accept it in the right spirit," he began.
Joyce glanced once at Jim and then she tacked on a tight little smile, her head cocked, as though ready for a lecture on etiquette.
"Jim has a future with the bank. There's no doubt about that. But it's up to you to help decide how quickly we can bring his future up to the present. I'm talking about promotion, more money, very soon-like right now."
Joyce half nodded, but a small line had appeared between her blue eyes. She was wondering what promotion had to do with her.
Scott continued. "I like you, Joyce. You're a damned attractive woman and you've got the style I admire. Jim assures me you're a whole, a complete woman. Well ... I'll just lay it on the line. You play ball with me and I'll see that your husband gets a substantial raise-right away. It's as simple as that."
Joyce's gasp filled the room.
"All right, so you're surprised and shocked, but don't try to tell me you didn't suspect something of this kind. After all, if Jim was secretive you knew something was in the wind. And I didn't exactly ignore you at that party the other night." He smiled disarmingly. "You can leave when you like. By leave, I mean walk out of this room. Go out to the pool spend a terrific weekend with me, Helen and the kids-you'll love the kids. There'll be nothing more said, but don't expect Jim to rise to the top. Not without your cooperation."
Joyce was half gasping and she looked at Jim with alarm in her face. "I thought you expected me to be nice to him, perhaps flirt a little, but what does he mean by 'playing ball?" Her voice was rising as she spoke.
Jim swallowed and murmured, "Anything he wants."
"And I'm not sure what I want," Scott continued. "But I know an extra $100 a week would buy you and Jim here a lot of things you'd like to have."
A hundred a week! It was a fortune to Jim, and to Joyce, too. They could pay off the car, manage the mortgage easily and buy the furniture for the back bedroom. That was more than four hundred dollars a month.
Joyce was looking at him and then she looked, at Scott. "I still don't understand my ... role."
Scott leaned forward, flicking an inch of cigar ash into a tray. "You're a gorgeous creature. I like beautiful things and I can afford to buy them. I'd simply want you to please me-nothing that's going to harm you in any way. Christ, who'd want to harm a body like yours?"
Jim sighed and Joyce was looking at him again. "Are you willing to give me to this man? Do you want to get ahead this much?"
Jim shook his head. "It's up to you."
"No. It's really up to you."
He shrugged. "Well, we always said we were a team. I work for what I've accomplished. You keep saying you want to help out. You don't have a job of your own...."
"And now I can help you get ahead."
Jim nodded and breathed, "Yes. Something like that."
"This goes a bit beyond helping you balance the books or write checks around the dining room table at night."
"I know. Come on, well go. Back to the coast. Right now, if you wish." He began to get up.
He was surprised when Joyce waved him back down. Scott chuckled. "Relax. I'm not that tough to take, am I? After ah, you're not cheating. And you're going to be well paid. That beats the hell out of some sordid secret affair that doesn't help anybody."
Joyce's startled gasp also surprised Jim and he peered at her. Somehow Scott had struck a nerve. Not that Joyce would ever cheat on him-as Jim had cheated on her. She was biting her lips as she looked at him. "I do want to help you, darling. But I don't want you to hate me later. And I don't want to hate myself. I have some pride. Is it worth a hundred dollars?"
"A week," Scott pointed out.
Joyce sniffed. "And I must ... perform every week?"
He shook his head. "Only, this weekend. Any further performances are up to you. No future obligations, but if you find you like it...." He eloquently spread his hands. "Even if you aren't as ... ah, talented as you look, Jim gets his raise. I'm not a welsher."
Joyce half sobbed and Jim reached over to touch her knee. He felt like a total pig and abruptly he was on his feet. "Come on, let's get out of here. English, you can take your raise-the whole damned job, for that matter-and shove them...."
Now it was Joyce who shook her head. She patted the empty chair until Jim sat down again. "Please, darling, let's get all this out. I believe I'm willing ... to ... try to please Mr. English...."
"Scott," the bank president blurted.
"Scott, to the best of my ability." She sniffed. "I'm terribly ashamed, but I'm also proud. It will take courage, but as you say we are partners."
They all sat in silence for several minutes. At last it was Joyce who lifted her eyes to Scott. "How do we begin?"
Scott slapped his palm on the desk. "For openers, I want to see what I'm getting. Not only how you look, but how you respond. Hell, you might be an icebox, for all I know."
"Hold on...." Jim began, but Joyce waved him to silence.
She lifted her chin and to Jim she looked very prim. She sat with her knees locked together, hands folded in her lap, breasts jutting. "I know what I look like, but I can make no guarantees about how I'll respond, Scott English. After all, I didn't come here to be a ready and willing prostitute."
Scott smiled. "The body is here...."
"But not necessarily the senses," she interrupted. "You'll need to accept the proposition on those grounds. I can make no promise. At best, I will be permissive."
Scott flicked more ashes and placed his fingertips together. "It's possible some good to you both might come out of this, and I'm not talking about money now. Could be you're not all that hot together in the bedroom. Am I right?"
Joyce looked to Jim at once. "Who have you been talking to?"
Jim shrugged. "I don't know what he means."
"I think you do," Scott snapped. "The word gets around very easily. A hint, a remark dropped here and there and the pieces fall together. It's quite possible that if you'd allow yourself to keep an open mind-and an open body-you both might learn a few things that could work to your advantage when you're alone together." He sat back and suddenly he was very dignified, his face solemn, his manner professorial. "Now, let the games begin."
Jim looked at Joyce and she was licking her lips. "See you later, honey," Jim said, feeling like a snake. "And if you change your mind I'll be right outside."
"You'll be right here," Scott corrected. "I want you to be the demonstration man, or did I forget to tell you? I want you to show me the merchandise. After all, for a hundred a week indefinitely, I deserve a first class presentation."
"Huh?" Jim blurted.
"Your wife is a sophisticated piece of machinery. I can see that. Show me all her moving parts. You do it; I'll watch."
Joyce was looking at her husband. "Better you than him, my darling husband. After all, we must do what's best for your precious career. Hell, why didn't you make a career of the Army or something? Anything but banking."
"If you want to go...."
"No!" she barked. "Let's get it over with. I'll need the rest of the weekend to get myself clean." She glared at Scott. "I suppose you want a complete demonstration, a sort of silent floor show."
"That would do nicely," the bank president said. Jim wanted to leap over the desk and punch him, quit his job and haul his wife back to the coast. But something stopped him and it was more than simply fear for his job. Something English had said, something Sally had said. That business about swapping being good for the soul.
Joyce was on her feet, smoothing the pants over her thighs and tucking her blouse in tightly. Jim heard Scott's sharp intake of breath and he felt the same way. His wife was a flying bomb with an inviting fuse. He was a fool for not being able to make her explode whenever he wished.
"Come on," Joyce snapped and she stood like a statue, arms at her sides.
Jim cast a wavering glance at Scott, who wiggled his fingers. "Whenever you're ready, Jim. The audience is ready to be the judge."
"How do I start?"
"Take her clothes off, of course." The voice was irritated, impatient.
Jim took a few steps toward Joyce, pausing by her side. "I'm sorry, honey. Really I am."
She merely nicked her eyes at him as she stood like a soldier in ranks for an inspection.
He half lifted a hand and flushed all over again. "I can't!"
"You can and you will," Scott growled. Jim looked at him. The cigar had been stubbed out and the president's hands were out of sight below the edge of the desk.
Jim sighed and touched Joyce's shoulder. He didn't know where to begin. Then he imagined his wife getting ready for bed and at once he felt his penis harden. He was ashamed, but he couldn't hold back the ache in his groin. Hell, he'd watched her undress a dozen times in the past two weeks without getting a hard-on and now here he was, up like a shot.
The heat in his groin began to spread as he touched her collar. He used both hands to open a button, and then another button. Slowly he worked until the blouse was open to her waist. The pink of the edge of her bra cups was in sight and he glanced quickly toward Scott.
Scott was leaning forward, his hands still out of sight, but his gaze was intense. He caught Jim looking at him and at once he leaned back, behaving as though he were very casual. He smiled in a bored way.
"I'm still waiting. Get going. Do it nice and easy, but don't keep holding back."
Jim nodded and turned back to his wife. He looked into Joyce's eyes. They were brittle, the blue looking like ice, and her face seemed to be made of a beautiful wood. Below she was taking shallow breaths, her breasts rising and falling with a tiny jiggle.
He began to pull the blouse from her waist and the hissing of the rough cotton could be heard in the silent room. He got it out all the way around and then he peeled the material over her shoulders. Before the blouse could fall away Scott held up his hand.
"Hold it right there for a minute!" He leaned forward again, his eyes studying her breasts, which were packed into the pink bra. They seemed to yeam to spill over the top and as Jim himself followed Scott's gaze he felt his cock straining against his fly.
"Now," Scott continued, "leave the blouse where, it is and get under it. Loosen her bra and expose her breasts without taking off the blouse."
Jim looked at Joyce and he shrugged. "I'm sorry, honey. You heard the man."
"Just keep going," she hissed, her eyes fixed at a point on the far wall above Scott's head. Was he only imagining that her breathing had become faster, more shallow?
He got behind her and, lifting the tail of the blouse, he pushed under it until he found the clasp at the center of her back. He got it open easily and he felt the straps surge out of his fingers as her breasts shot forward. The bra was loose but it still covered her mounds.
He looked quickly at Scott and then he returned to his work. Scott seemed to be sweating and his hands were still out of sight. What the hell was he doing under there? Jim wondered. He didn't want to guess.
Back at Joyce's side, he pulled at the bra until the tight cups came away. He couldn't get the thing off with her blouse on, but he lifted it and threw it over her shoulders so that only a strap was across her throat. Her front was exposed, except where the loose blouse fell over one nipple. She looked very wanton and Jim felt his excitement increase.
"Beautiful, Joyce," Scott said. "Wonderful breasts and you carry them so proudly. I'd like to pin a medal on each one. And how exciting it is to see you like that, as though you'd been in a fight, your blouse half off, one nipple exposed to daylight, the other tucked inside. Jim, my lad, pull the blouse out of the way, would you?"
Jim flicked the blouse off the hidden nipple and he gazed along with his boss. The breasts were high and full, very white, for Joyce was quite fair. The nipples were a cherry red, somehow looking as though they'd never been touched by hands other than her own.
The two men stared for several minutes and then Scott waved his hand again. "You may continue."
Jim cleared his throat before he pulled the blouse down over her arms. Then he removed the bra as Joyce extended her arms so he could free the straps. Again he paused and they studied his wife, naked from the waist up. Scott was clucking softly, like a time bomb, as Jim went through step after step.
Jim licked his lips and waited for Scott to wave again before he went on. Then he gazed for several seconds at Joyce's square white shoulders. They were so firm, so erect, so like the soldiers of a queen. Her arms were tanned from her work in the garden at home. Her belly had a tan stripe across its middle where she'd been wearing a bare midriff gardening outfit.
Abruptly Jim knelt. He felt Joyce steady herself by placing a hand on his head as he made her lift one foot and then the other. He slipped off her shoes and carefully placed them to one side. While he was down there he felt the moisture oozing from his cock. Christ, he hoped it wouldn't show.
Then he stood and glanced at Scott. The bank president smiled. "My, you are tall, my dear. Five nine, I'd guess."
Jim nodded stupidly in confirmation.
Scott nodded back. "Wonderful. And, dear James, you've cleared the way to the heart of the matter by removing her shoes. Now you may remove her pants. You may remove everything."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jim puffed out his cheeks and muttered, "Hold on, baby. We're going in."
Joyce didn't look at him. Instead she continued to stare straight ahead, but her body had changed. It had more color-more pink. And her breasts seemed heavier and higher. Her breathing was even more rapid and her lips were parted so that he could see her teeth. She kept licking her lips every few seconds as the minutes passed.
Scott was also different, Jim noticed. His color was higher and there was sweat on his forehead. He swallowed noisily now and then and his hands remained out of sight.
Jim returned to his task. He moved to her left hip, where he found the button and the zipper that unlocked the tight stretch pants. He got them open and the material peeled down across the side of her lower belly. He heard a small sound come from Scott and he paused to look.
Scott merely blinked and nodded. Then the bank president found his voice. "A wonderful stomach, Joyce. Just enough of a curve to be exciting. God, I may explode when I see your navel. Keep going, Jim, old man."
Jim did as he was told. He pulled gently at her opposite hip until the tight material began to slide. It was taking the elastic of her pants down with it when Scott barked another command.
"Keep the pants up! Those pink things. I want one garment off at a time. No cutting corners."
Jim pushed his wife's stretch pants down a few more inches and then he pulled on her panties all around. Her navel peeped into view and both men clucked when they saw it. It was a delightful little thing, a fascinating hollow and Jim wanted to worm his finger into its depth. But he knew he mustn't touch merchandise on lease to his boss. There was too much at stake now to mess things up.
He jerked several more times on the pants and they slid over Joyce's hips and then down her thighs. When they reached her knees Scott lifted his hand in the command to halt.
"Look at her, man! Look at those packed panties, and the way her stretch pants hang to her knees, keeping her helpless. God, that's what sets me on fire. To see a gorgeous creature so submissive, so helpless before me. Christ, I could do anything I wanted with her-right now. But I'll hold off. How sweet it is to contemplate rather than act hastily."
Jim wondered if it was the fact that Scott was in his forties which made contemplation more exciting than action, but he understood what his boss meant. Seeing his own wife standing, trapped, a helpless captive, a submissive captive, set him off, too. Even the thought of somebody else seducing her-somebody like Scott-was exciting to him.
"Go ahead now," Scott ordered at last.
Jim worked the pants down over her knees as he knelt beside her like a humble salesman dressing-or undressing-a mannequin. He got the pants to her feet and again her hand went to the top of his head as she steadied herself. First over one foot and then the other.
He tossed the pants to a chair and got to his feet. He roamed his eyes up and down his wife's figure. What a figure! Wearing only pants, she looked like a Greek goddess, tall, slim yet sturdy, totally feminine. Her breasts were proud headlights, her hips the cradle of her womanhood, her belly sucking in and out as her excitement increased, her legs long and straight and able to squeeze the last ounce of sperm out of a man's body.
He glanced at Scott and the older man looked as though he were ready to faint. His face was beet red and sweat was running down the sides of his head, staining the collar of his T-shirt. His hands were out of view still and Jim could see his shoulders working up and down a fraction of an inch at a time. He was breathing through his mouth as, indeed, Joyce and Jim himself were. As for Jim, his cock wanted to go off and it was with an effort that he held it back. He looked down, able to see the first dark spot at his fly. He hoped the others wouldn't notice.
Scott swallowed and waved. "Keep going. She's a vision, isn't she? A gorgeous creature. Hell, she should be declared a national treasure, something to be used only to influence visiting heads of state." He laughed abruptly. "Well, just call me the sultan of Morocco! Go ahead, James."
Jim smiled with a weak feeling in his gut. Then he looked into Joyce's face. Her chin was still high. She was still the goddess with the icy blue eyes, but that was the only thing about her that was cold. Her body was still a pink and there was a faint sheen on it. There were beads of sweat on her upper hp and she licked at them from time to time.
Jim cleared his throat and then he touched her hip. He pulled at the panty band, easing it away from her body and down a few inches. He repeated the process at her other hip and he moved back and forth, lowering one side and then the other, time after time until the pants barely clung to the plumpness of her upper thighs.
He stepped back and examined her crotch. The belly was exposed and so were the first of the pubic hairs, the top of her blonde thatch. They puffed out stiffly but below he knew they were not so stiff. There he could see the faint darkness through the pants, right over her pussy. There she was damp herself and the hairs were collecting the moisture.
He blew out his cheeks and listened to Scott's chuckle of approval once more. "Exquisite, simply exquisite," the bank president murmured in some awe, as though he were seeing the Hope diamond for the first time. "Do go on."
Jim rolled the pants now, standing behind Joyce and working at both hips at the same time. The pants went down and he watched the cheeks of her buttocks creep into view. The crack under his gaze grew longer and longer as the sheer material yielded to his urging.
Then the pants were down to her thighs and she was open, exposed. Again Scott called for a halt and he sighed. "See? It's the same thing all over again, only better. She's still the trapped prisoner, unable to run because the panties would trip her up. She's at my mercy. God, how I love power like that. It beats making a million-dollar deal at the bank. Drive on, James."
Jim rolled the pants down below her knees and she shifted her feet when they were on the carpet so that he could move them completely out of the way. He tossed them on the chair where the bra, the blouse and the stretch pants already lay. Her shoes were tucked neatly under the chair. It was as though she'd undressed herself in a doctor's office.
She continued to pose, completely naked at last, and both men leaned back to admire their subject. Jim was still ready to explode and he had to turn away from the sight of his wife, now so helpless, so appealing, so exposed to assault from a virtual stranger.
Jim wondered just how sick he was. Christ, should a man get steamed up by seeing his own wife being mentally raped by a virtual stranger? He knew he was anticipating it, even though the rational civilized side of his nature was repelled.
Perhaps it was a variation of the swapping theme that Scott and Sally had espoused. They preached that variety was good for the sex glands, good stimulation. Well, this was certainly a variation from their familiar theme. Jim never had dreamed that he could be turned on this way.
Scott was gurgling quietly, deeply in his throat. He began to stand and then he thought better of it. He lifted a damp hand to Jim.
"How firm is the woman? I'm not certain about that yet. Put your hands on those breasts. Move them around. I want to know how they jiggle."
Jim touched Joyce's breasts, placing his hands under them and lifting. He let go and they jiggled tightly. He pushed them together and let them bounce apart. Her nipples were sizzling under his touch, but her body never wavered in its stance and her eyes didn't blink.
"Tell me how they feel, lad."
Jim coughed. "Well, they feel just fine. Very hot, and heavy. The nipples are hard, little two pebbles."
"Wonderful. You have a flair for description. Now touch her in a few other places. Take your choice, unless you want me to tell you every move."
Jim eyed Scott, who was still sweating. His T-shirt was damp and he wondered if the man had had any orgasms yet. He'd certainly been working himself over behind the desk in some fashion. Weird, thought Jim. He could have been screwing Joyce and instead he wanted to watch.
Jim looked at Joyce. She was still a statue, although she'd become a statue close to panting like a puppy. Never before had he spent so much time working her up, getting her ready. At least he'd learned something already. He knew how to make his wife hot-unless it was the presence of Scott which was contributing to her passion.
He ran his hands down her belly and her flesh heaved under his hands. The belly button was sucking in and out like the mouth of some sea creature and when he stuck his finger into it he half expected it to pull his hand into her body. Scott was murmuring words of encouragement now, muttering like a man possessed.
His fingers crept around her hips and touched her buttocks, those cheeks that had always been one of her real passion places. He ran his hand lightly, whisperingly, up and down her crack and she shuddered. The hairs around her cunt darkened and he knew she was experiencing a mild orgasm. The way her knees quaked told him she was close to collapsing.
He got away from her ass, because he didn't want her to lose control altogether. Not so soon. Scott might be angry and call off the deal. So he touched her on the lower belly and his fingers patted the matted hairs. She gasped and again he whipped his hands away.
He dropped them to her ankles, squatting before her in supplication. Slowly Jim moved his hands up , her legs. What terrific long legs they were, slim in the ankles, knees with real dimples in their centers, thighs that were firm and plump, squirming now like the flanks of a nervous mare as her muscles jumped in spasms.
Jim admired his wife, because she was holding up very well, resisting mightily what must have been a strong urge to fall to her back and pull him down on top of her. But she was being faithful, holding herself back because she knew it was her role to please the boss. Something for the boss. Something very special that was being saved for him alone.
"Up, up," Scott ordered. He seemed to be working to control himself now. Perhaps he was about to go off and he was holding it back. His hands were back on the desk, fiddling with a letter opener.
Jim slid his hands higher. He roamed her thighs and then he could hear Joyce breathing, breathing in short gasps and he took his hands away.
"I don't think I can string it out much longer," Jim said. He made it sound like an apology.
"Come as close as you can, man. I want her to sizzle."
Jim licked his lips as he studied her. Then he got up to stand behind her and he rubbed her back, slowly working in large circles that dipped lower and lower until he was brushing the small of her back and the very top of the crack in her buttocks. He skimmed over her cheeks several times before she at last moved.
Her hand gripped his wrist. "No more," she whispered. "No more, or I'll have to scream."
"So," Scott boomed, standing and rubbing his hands together. "The statue lives and breathes. The statue has nerves that can be driven crazy."
Jim stood back, somehow feeling that his role was finished. Indeed, Scott pointed to a chair and Jim at once went to sit in it. He could feel his soggy crotch as he walked and so he moved carefully. The trigger could be pulled by the slightest jarring.
Scott came around the desk and together Joyce and Jim looked down. His fly was open and the front of his bermuda shorts was stained. He apparently hadn't gone off, but he'd secreted generously.
The bank president stood before her, hands on his hips, and he looked triumphant. "Now I'm sure you aren't an iceberg. In fact, I could have gotten you as hot as this a hell of a lot faster than this ninny." He angled his head toward Jim. "This is going to be a cinch-every time."
Jim watched as he walked around her and he almost touched her once or twice, but he kept his hands in check. How long would he keep on playing his little game.
"Tour husband undressed you. Now you can do the same for me. Get going."
Slowly, Joyce shook her head. She was hot but she was still able to think, to reason.
Scott raised his eyebrows. "All right. You want to call it off? I don't think you really do, but we can go back to the way we were when you walked in here. Remember, our little deal called for you to perform all the way for me at least once. After that, I'll make out on my own merits." He chuckled. "Hell, I probably could have made you fair and square anyhow, but I don't like to bang an employee's wife without paying for the privilege."
Joyce glanced at Jim, but she wasn't really looking at him, wasn't asking for his final permission. Jim got the feeling that she had to go all the way with this man whether any prize was involved or not.
She cleared her throat and then she lifted her hands. Slowly she pulled the T-shirt out of his shorts. The garment was soggy with his sweat and Jim could smell his body. It was an odor of mixed sweat and sex. She lifted the shirt up over his hairy chest as Scott raised his arms. He had a generous belly that was hairy and it turned to a black mat on his chest.
Scott nodded as she tossed the garment aside. "Very good. You don't need any prodding. Your husband saw to that. I guess he did his job well after all."
She knelt and the sight of his beautiful wife, on her knees, untying this man's tennis shoes was almost more than Jim could bear. He was revolted and angry, but at the same time he become hotter than ever. It was like watching a queen undress a street urchin. Strange, sick sex, but Jim had to admit that the sight was very sexy.
He kicked away one shoe and then the other, his bare toes curling to grip the carpet. The front of his shorts were poked out as though he had a tent pole inside. She went to the center of his waist and, working deftly with her long slim fingers, she opened the button. The shorts sprang apart and in a split second his prick had whipped through the gaping crotch and was waving around the room like an escaped rattlesnake.
Scott's eyes rolled as he rested a hand against the comer of the desk. Joyce stepped back, her eyes fixed on the snake. It was huge, perhaps eight inches long, and thick and it was a deep pink on the shaft. The knob was almost purple, so choked was it with blood and jizz that was aching to be exploded.
Jim himself felt an orgasm start in his own pants and he pressed his thighs together, pinching his rock-like prick to choke it off. He squirmed in his spectator's chair.
At last Scott looked at Jim, then at Jim's naked wife, and finally down at his gaping shorts. "All right, my dear. Now you can really earn your hubby that raise," he muttered.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Scott didn't need to draw pictures for Joyce. She knew where her duty lay and she seemed prepared to carry it out. Jim rubbed his eyes in disbelief. To think that his own wife ... with this man who was almost a stranger to her. It was incredible.
Jim thrust his hands into his pockets as he sat and watched the show. Tugging mightily, he pushed his prick down between his legs. It had been poking painfully through his shorts and against the rough zipper of his fly.
The maneuver was dangerous, for he almost went off again. He swallowed and sat perfectly still, holding his cock down with his knees clamped together like a vise. Then he lifted his eyes to the spectacle taking place before him.
Scott was standing before Joyce, his feet planted a dozen inches apart, his sweaty body heaving. His chest and shoulders glistened and below his shorts barely clung to his hips. They sagged open at the front and his prick was still out, away out, waving at Joyce's throat.
Joyce seemed hypnotized by the sight of the waving penis. Her eyes darted back and forth in the brief arc in which the cock maneuvered. She swallowed and then she looked up into Scott's face.
He smiled at her, but there was a tugging at the corner of his mouth as he obviously struggled to keep his cock from exploding before he'd finished his game. "All right, my dear. Now don't be nervous. All you've got to do is to get down there and do a little something for me. After all, dear James accommodated you very nicely."
Joyce nodded. "Whatever you say. I ... I don't want to let you down at this point...."
His laugh was a harsh bark. "Not-likely!"
She hesitated and her eyes wavered to Jim. He tried to smile in encouragement, but her eyes dropped to his crotch and distaste flooded her face. She'd seen how aroused her husband was, how the fact that she was being degraded had in some perverted way turned him on-full blast.
Jim was also ashamed, but he was no less hot. He got even hotter when Scott gave his next command.
"All right, honey, get down on your knees. Right in front of me."
The naked Joyce, lovely and still seething with a passion of her own, knelt before him. She moved swiftly and in a jerking motion, for she seemed to be uncoordinated. Her body was still pink like the petals of a rose and her blue eyes were soft with desire.
"Very good," Scott continued and he gently placed a finger on the top of her golden head. Then he took the hand away and he put both hands behind his back, joining his fingers. He stood like a soldier at parade rest, his body fully open to her. Only the soggy shorts covered his hips and thighs.
"You might as well drop them first," he snapped.
She worked at his hips and the shorts slid down his thighs. She tugged until his feet came closer together so they could plunge to the carpet. He wore no undershorts and when he kicked them across the study he was naked.
He went back to parade rest and she remained on her knees, her supplication before this brute of a man making Jim hotter than ever. The spectacle of this gorgeous beauty and this hairy creature was terribly erotic for Jim. He wondered if he had some queerness in him, because he couldn't make it in the normal way-but seeing his wife like this....
He shook his head as his cock gave a little spurt and he had to tighten his hot thighs or lose everything. Then he continued to watch.
Scott smiled down at her. "All right, you may touch me. You may touch the master, my dear. I'll make you rich, I'll make you a queen if you do the job right."
Joyce swallowed and Jim could see her fear. But the fear was held in check by her heat. She had to be fucked and fucked in the worst way. She was hotter than she'd ever been on their honeymoon and at that time Jim had seen her female fear of his body being broken down by her need to be screwed.
She wiggled forward on her knees until she was only inches from his prick. It was a giant shaft and getting bigger as Scott struggled not to explode. Christ, everybody in the room seemed to be seconds away from orgasm.
Her sigh was audible as her hand came up. It touched him. There was no fooling around. She didn't touch his shoulder, his belly, or his thigh. Her fingers came to rest on the shaft of his swollen cock.
Then Jim heard Scott's sigh. It was the sigh of a man enjoying supreme contentment. He was surprised that the man was able to keep from going off at the faint touch. But he kept his jism in check-at least for the time being.
Scott smiled down at the servant girl, who sat back on her haunches. The movement made her thighs flatten beautifully against her calves. She looked like a piece of calendar art in one of those high class girl magazines. Nothing cheap. Just true beauty which drew out true sexual passion from all who watched.
Joyce moved her fingers along the shaft, very slowly, edging them out toward the knob. She looked up into Scott's face often, apparently judging how far along he was, being careful not to bring him forth too suddenly. She tried to smile into his face, but the agony of her position, her own restless passion, made it impossible.
At last her fingers were right behind the flange and she ran the tip of a finger all around its rim. Then she withdrew a few inches so she could wrap her fingers around the shaft. Jim knew he would have gone off by this time but apparently Scott's age made him somewhat slower. But he'd go off, there was no doubt of that.
"Don't pump," Scott whispered in a warning. "That would end it all."
She nodded and her fingers relaxed as they slid back to the knob. She rested the purple thing in her palm as Scott rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. God, Jim himself was going out of his mind. The agony of it. His own wife holding another man's cock in her hand!
Her fingers came around the knob and she tightened her grip just once. Scott cried out and Jim could almost hear the churning of the bank president's sperm. But Scott struggled to keep it inside and-for the moment-his body held the load in check.
He then made Joyce remove her hand. "You keep that up and we'll never get to the final act."
"Final act?" Joyce stammered.
"Of course. Why do you think you're down there? Go ahead, put your hands behind your back."
"What?"
"Behind your back, just like mine are behind mine."
Joyce cast a wavering glance toward Jim as she locked her fingers over her bottom. She sat back on her thighs, her feet tucked under her so that her toes pointed straight back. "All right, is this what you want?"
"Yes. Now lean forward."
Joyce lifted her thighs and did, indeed, lean forward. She looked so beautiful to Jim, her breasts swaying out as her body was suspended at an angle. When her face was only a few inches from Scott's rock-like prick, she paused.
"Keep coming," Scott commanded.
Joyce paused and she shook her head. "No. I'm hot, I'll admit that. Mr. Enghsh. And I know I promised to ... service ... you, but I've never done this sort of thing in my life. I'm certainly not going to start now."
Scott's voice came at her like a whip and even this was a turn-on for Jim. "Look, sister, you're not making it with your old man. You're inhibited. You play like a middle aged woman and you're hardly 21. Christ, you should be able to make a regiment shoot its load by showing them a fringe of your panties. You're being tested, woman. This is the test, right now. Are you a whole woman or aren't you?"
Joyce looked grim, but she was still hot, still panting. "I'm a woman all right. Look at what my husband's own hands did to me."
"Great, but nobody's gone off yet. And the test of a real woman is whether she'll do anything to please a man. Christ, you won't be degrading yourself. You'll be completing your first lesson in bow to be sexy." Scott whipped his eyes to Jim. "What do you say? Do you want to see her really blow my mind-to coin a phrase-or do you want to see the same old conventional coupling on the floor?"
Jim swallowed and he knew he was, in the same manner, being tested. If there was any advantage to swapping, this was the time to see if it were true. He nodded very slowly, until Scott's eyes lighted in triumph.
"You see? Jim approves. He knows how important this lesson is. He's learning from me, and so are you. Believe me, when you get home Sunday night you'll make beautiful music together."
Still kneeling, beautiful in her nakedness, Joyce cast a clouded glance at Jim. Then she roamed her eyes up and down Scott's nude body, that hairy thing that was still hot, still panting as was her own. They seemed mutually pleased that they had been able to arouse one another so thoroughly.
"All right," she whispered.
"Go, woman. I can't tie myself in knots forever." He was also whispering.
Joyce was leaning forward again, her eyes downcast, slightly crossed as they focused on the purple knob that waved just three inches in front of her chin. She licked her lips and Jim almost loaded his pants. Christ, the thought of his own wife ...!
She half pursed her lips as her mouth began to close the gap between her face and the cock. Then she was touching it. Jim couldn't believe his eyes. She'd never done anything like this for him, but now....
He stared as she leaned away and she wiped the back of a hand over her mouth. Once again her hands were together behind her back and the sight of her hanging breasts, fully exposed and unprotected, was almost beyond description.
"I ... I don't know," she whispered just loudly enough for Jim to hear.
"Sure you do," Scott reassured her. "Hell, I know what's wrong. I've been neglecting you too long. You're beginning to cool off."
He reached for her as she leaned toward him and his hand caught a breast. Caught only part of it, really, for it was much too swollen to fit into a single hand. His fingers closed over the nipple and he squeezed gently several times. Joyce squirmed and gasped, almost falling. But she kept her hands behind her and she remained solidly on her knees.
Scott didn't waste time on her. He seemed to be holding back any thorough working over of her body. This time around he apparently wanted her to do almost everything. The massage of the single breast was only pump priming. As soon as her breathing had returned to its peak-which was a matter of seconds, for she was truly ready-he dropped his hand and let her have her way again.
Again she was leaning forward and again the prick brushed her lips. But she turned her head and the knob rested against her cheek and as she came closer, it nestled down along the side of her throat. Scott blew out his cheeks as he looked quickly at Jim. He winked and Jim had to admire his cool. That was the value of varied experience, he supposed.
Scott was trying to speak, but it didn't come easily. "You've given me an idea, honey. In fact, the idea might be better than what I was going to have you do in the first place. We'll just see how it goes."
Joyce didn't appear to be listening to him. Her eyes were half closed and probably unseeing, Jim figured, as she bobbed slowly back and forth. Through it all the cock raked back and forth from her throat to her cheek. Again Scott was puffing like a steam engine.
"God, that's a sophisticated way of jacking me off, Joyce," Scott said. "Another minute and I'll come all over the carpet. But we wouldn't want to waste all those goodies that way, would we?"
She blinked up at him, her eyes unfocused. And then she almost closed her eyes again as the bobbing continued. At last she seemed to sense his climax. Perhaps she felt the rumble in his balls and in his shaft.
She leaned back and again the prick was right at the point of her chin. She lowered her face an inch or two and it was on a horizontal line with her mouth. She half smiled at it and Jim wondered if she were hypnotized. She certainly seemed to be totally unaware of where she was.
However, her passion was still at its peak and it might have been that sustained heat in her body which was causing her to go further with a man than she had ever gone before. She bowed her head over the prick and then she pursed her lips and kissed it right on the tip of the knob.
Scott cried out and so did Jim. Each man was fighting back his own orgasm. It was Jim who lost control first, even though his only stimulation was visual. He felt his cock balloon in his pants and then the blast shot from its muzzle. He gushed forth, boiling with a heavy load of sperm which at once soaked the crotch of his shorts and then made the crotch of his pants soggy. He looked down at the dark stain, which spread as though he'd poured a glass of water down his waistline.
He managed to keep his mouth shut and the others didn't hear or notice what was going on. Joyce was still entranced with the sight of the prick, her eyes crossed over it more than ever. Scott was gritting his teeth, half wanting, apparently, to jerk his lover's face away so he could prolong the ecstasy.
But he didn't. Instead he froze while she parted her lips and again kissed the prick. This time Jim saw the pink tip of her tongue curl into and out of the little slit in the knob. God! Again he felt the gush of sticky moisture in his crotch.
It was Scott who took over now. "I'm coming!" he shouted and he shoved her head back.
He quickly shoved Joyce's body back, although she was still on her knees. Until she was almost falling on her heels. But the edge of the desk caught her just below the shoulders and she was stopped, leaning back at a 45-degree angle.
Scott waddled forward, squatting over her and Jim wondered if he were going to give it to her in the face. He did, after a fashion, but in a way Jim never would have dreamed of doing.
He lay his cock between her breasts, his hips angled forward, the knob pointing up toward her chin. Then he pushed her swollen breasts apart and dropped the cock all the way into the fissure. He allowed the breasts to spring back and they almost buried his penis under her hot and firm flesh. Only the base was visible at one end and the knob at the other. He jerked his body in spasms for a few seconds and that was all it took.
Scott was coming, his sperm boiling like the crest of Niagara. His white stuff gushed forward, up and out of his cock as his entire body undulated over hers. The sperm spouted out of his slit and slammed like a water hose hitting a rock. It gushed up under her chin, across to one ear as he almost fell, and then down her throat, again and again, as Scott unloaded himself.
Jim watched as the sticky mass at last calmed and then slowly began to run down into the crack between his wife's breasts. There was room there because Scott's prick had already reduced itself to one-quarter of its swollen size.
CHAPTER NINE
Jim stared, his eyes wide and almost unable to drink in the sight fast enough. Scott was collapsing on the carpet, spent, gasping, jism dripping from his sinking prick and oozing across his crotch. Joyce was sagging against the foot of the desk, the mass of sperm sliding down to her belly where it was beginning to run to the side and drip to the carpet.
Jim looked down at himself. He was a mess. His entire front was soaked. He suddenly felt ashamed, ashamed and angry with himself. And with Joyce. And with Scott. He'd been such a fool. And to think he'd enjoyed himself!
He got up and, keeping wary eyes on the other two, he slipped toward the door. It was easy enough to get away unnoticed. The other two were so spent a truck could have driven through the study and they wouldn't have turned their heads.
He stepped outside, closing the door behind himself. Then he hurried down the corridor and outside. He went to the Ford and took the luggage out of the trunk. He saw that there was another car in the garage; probably the children had arrived while their father had been in his "conference."
He crept back inside and down the bedroom wing. He saw nobody in the corridor and soon he found a large and empty bedroom. The coverlet had already been turned down and the closet was empty. There were fresh towels and soap in the bath. Yes, this had to be their room.
Jim opened the luggage and at once hung up those things that might wrinkle. He never forgot to be neat and Joyce often kidded him that he'd flick the dust off his shoulders during an earthquake.
He went into the shower and there he stung himself with a cold spray. The shock helped. He was not only cleaning his body, he was clearing his mind. He leaped out and toweled himself dry. Then he slipped into clean shorts, another T-shirt and slacks. He slid his feet into soft comfortable shoes. Yes, he felt much better.
He went to the window and looked out to the pool, to the part of the yard which was enclosed by three sides of the sprawling house. He wasn't really seeing. He was thinking. What would happen next? Did he really believe their marriage could survive this terrible thing? Christ, and all for a $100 a week!
He sighed. Seeing his wonderful, loyal, faithful, clean near-virgin of a wife with Scott, him coming all over her, her kissing his prick. It was almost impossible to believe. He didn't want to believe it at ah, but it was true enough.
So this was what swapping meant. This was supposed to be the therapy that would take care of a sick marriage. Now Joyce would come running back to him, filled with fresh new sexy ideas, ready to pull him into her bed. Bullshit!
He didn't know about Joyce, but the treatment had left him angry, sick at heart, frustrated and-yes, he could admit it-he was still worked up. Sure, he'd had an orgasm, but he'd made it by mistake. He wanted a genuine piece of ass, whether or not it came from Joyce.
He looked down at his crotch. His cock was poking tentatively against his fly, seemingly anxious for him to move it into action. The body was a strange thing, when compared to the brain, he thought. His head was sick of sex and his body was anxious to climb into the sack. It was a riddle he'd never understand.
He prowled the room, padding softly in his shoes, the carpet thick under his feet. He didn't know how long he'd been pacing before he sensed it-or her. He looked up and she was standing in the doorway, leaning casually and gracefully against the jamb.
"Hello," she said. Her voice was low and she Still wore the bikini with its wrapper. The white bathing suit made her flesh look more tanned than it could ever really be, he supposed. The robe, also white, hid just enough to make what he couldn't quite see fascinating.
"Oh, Mrs. English." He was blurting like a teenager. "Helen," she said. "Helen."
She didn't stroll into the room, as he'd imagined she'd do. Instead she looked him up and down. "I see you've already changed. Good. Nothing like getting out of one's driving clothes after a hundred miles on the road."
Jim merely stared. Her breasts poked through the open robe and he could see the shadow of her navel below. A knee was through the slit at the bottom of the robe. She followed his glances, looked down at herself, and then smiled.
"You've missed Kenneth and Darla. They arrived while you business people were doing whatever it is you do on a lovely weekend when you shouldn't be doing any work at all. You'll meet them later, perhaps not until dinner, but you'll meet them."
Jim searched for and finally found his voice. "Yes, I suppose we were too busy to notice anybody arriving."
Her eyebrows went up and he looked into her face. She was a beauty. Dark skin, hollow cheeks, definitely a vamp look about her. Her eyebrows were dark and so were her eyes. Her teeth flashed white through her lips, which seemed untouched by makeup. The dark hair swept down the sides of her back and down her back. It probably went almost all the way to her back, he guessed. It was thick and glossy hair, coal black.
"How did it go?" she asked.
"What?" he blurted, his eyes rounding.
Helen tilted her head and a small low laugh came from somewhere deep in her throat. "The business, silly. I hope that Scott was generous with you. I told him I liked you, after we met at the party." She made a face. "Ugh. So many of you bank types are so bland. Not you."
"Uh, we got along ... I guess you'd say."
She looked toward the bathroom. "And Joyce?"
"She ... uh, she and Scott are still in the study. She ... uh, seems very interested in the bank retirement plan." He forced a short laugh. "I guess she's counting on outliving me."
Helen laughed with him and then she straightened. The robe closed over most of her charms and he was disappointed. "Well, we don't need to be do-nothings while they're working," she said. "How about a swim?"
Then it came to Jim. At once he was angry, as though setting himself up for a range of emotions.
Then he felt the plan being drafted in his mind. By God, he'd get back at Scott. He'd get the wife, his boss's wife. Yes, by sweet Christ, that would pay Scott back for what he'd made Jim endure. He'd been humiliated by allowing himself and his wife to be treated that way. And Scott hadn't seemed surprised that they'd given in to his wishes.
He licked his lips as he stared at the black-haired beauty. If he could make her, at least in his own mind, he'd have dragged Scott down to his level. An eye for an eye, as the saying went. Yes, that would take away much of the pain.
But how was he going to seduce this woman? It was quite obvious she was different from the class Joyce and Jim were in. If she swapped around at all, it probably was with other bank presidents and such types.
He sighed.
She smiled prettily. "Unhappy about something?"
He tried to smile back. "Just thinking. Did you say you wanted to go for a swim?"
Helen nodded as he continued to study her. She had a lot of class. So did Joyce, but Helen's class seemed totally unobtainable. Nobody but another millionaire could get near that body. He'd need to be very cool, suave, subtle to get anywhere with her.
"I guess that would be fine. I've got a suit here somewhere."
"Nonsense. Use one of ours. We keep several for guests. Then you won't need to carry a soggy thing in the car Sunday afternoon when you leave." She tilted her head as her eyes dropped to his flanks. "I think we can fit you."
"But I have...."
"No, no, come along. Please allow us to be good hosts." She stepped into the corridor and waited. "Scott likes to be generous with people he likes. Haven't you noticed that yet?"
Jim didn't reply. The meaning behind her words made him angry. Perhaps she knew her husband fooled around and perhaps she thought that, because of his high station, he had a right to pluck the wives of his underlings. Well, by heaven, two could play at that game. He half scowled at Helen before he managed another smile.
"All right."
He left his room and followed her down the hall. He studied her from the rear. She had good shoulders, long thin legs, although she wasn't as tall as Joyce. She carried her head high, moving rather like a dancer, an almost slinky dancer. He couldn't see much of her bottom because of the loose robe, but he figured she was well set up from stem to stern. What he'd seen of her breasts and belly left nothing to be desired.
She smiled back over her shoulder. "Here we are. The linen room. I do believe we have a whole drawer filled with bathing suits."
She stopped, her hand on the door knob and he said, "Do your children dip into the pile?"
"Sometimes. But there are plenty. Too bad Joyce isn't finished with Scott. She could join us. I'll need to scold him for keeping her so long."
"It doesn't matter," he growled.
The look became a study of his face. "Doesn't it? Didn't you two wish to play together all weekend? You don't mind that she's tied up with my husband?"
He shrugged. "She'll be out soon, I suppose. Although Scott was being very thorough."
"I imagined he was," she purred as she opened the door, "He always is when he's giving urn ... financial advice to people he really likes."
He flipped the door all the way open and followed Helen into a small white room. She reached for and found a switch, flooding the place with light. There were drawers and shelves on all sides, each loaded with towels, linens and other cloth goods that were obviously used in the house.
"Hm. Let me see." She posed in the center of the carpeted room, stroking her chin. He watched as her knee reappeared through the robe, which flipped open. He could see the white bra of her bikini and enough below to prove that her ass was, indeed, totally acceptable.
"I'm not sure where to look. Kitty hasn't kept this place as straightened up as she should."
Jim looked back at the open door, wanting to close it. He'd make her, degrade her, make her crawl before him, just as Joyce had crawled before Scott "Kitty?"
"The maid. She got here this morning, just ahead of us. She's been vacationing in L.A. and she came down on the bus. I suppose well take her home with us." Her eyes glittered as she smiled up at Jim. "You'll love Kitty. She's very French, what there is of her, and quite attractive."
Jim smiled gallantly. "Which proves you have good taste."
Her smile seemed to light the room, but it was a hooded light for she still had a great deal of mystery about her. "My, aren't you nice. I knew I was right about you at the party." She looked around and he guessed that she wasn't too worried about whether she'd find anything. "Now where in the world would she have put those bathing suits?"
Jim couldn't wait any longer. He was angry and he was hot. After all, nobody had laid a hand on him yet. Sure, Scott and Joyce were getting their kicks, but he'd been sitting in the bleachers through it all. His own orgasm hadn't begun to tap his reservoir of sexual frustration. And it would be a pleasure to watch this high and mighty broad melt in his arms. He'd make her do things Scott never dreamed of asking his women to perform.
He turned quickly and closed the door, and stood with his back against it, staring hard at her. She looked at him and did a double-take as she looked away. Then she appeared to have dismissed his hard gaze in her imagination as she leaned down to check a half open drawer.
"Thanks for closing the door," she murmured, her voice matter-of-fact. "I don't want to wake the children. I think they both turned in after the drive over. Lord, how they stay out until all hours on school nights. It's no wonder they just die on weekends."
Her attitude took some of the steam out of Jim. She trusted him and she certainly wasn't lusting after him. She didn't even realize he was hot, that he had plans for her. All right, so it would need to be a subtle seduction, just as he'd planned in the first place.
He came up behind her as she rummaged in the deep drawer. "Find them?"
"No," she puffed as she pulled out towels and socks and other much-used garments.
He moved closer and he felt the whisper of her terry robe against the front of his pants. If she felt it, she gave no sign. He leaned an inch closer and her buttocks softly bumped his thigh. Soft, yes, but firm and well-padded. He wanted to sink his fingers into that flesh, drive her wild, make her come to him on hands and knees, begging for satisfaction.
"Oh, sorry," she murmured over her shoulder, still hardly aware of his presence.
Jim gulped. "I should think that robe would be in the way. What with dangling sleeves and flapping around. Aren't you warm in here?"
She peered back at him again, still leaning over, presenting her bottom to him, but yet not presenting it at all, for there was nothing obvious about her. "Perhaps you're right, Jim. I keep getting tangled up and it is warmer. There's no air conditioning in here."
She half straightened up.
"Here, let me help," he muttered as he took the garment at her shoulders.
She stuck her arms out as he lifted the robe from her and he tossed it aside. She didn't even turn all the way around, but instead she went back to her rummaging, in another lower drawer. "Where in heaven's name...?"
She wasn't modeling for him, but he feasted his eyes on her buttocks anyhow. It was a wonderful ass, plump, firm, heavy enough so that he wanted to chew on it. He half lifted his hand but then he whipped it back as she peered back.
"I'm sorry to be such a dope."
"Not at all."
She smiled with a flash of white on her dark face and turned away. It was then that Jim couldn't help it any longer. He thrust his hand forward and caught her left buttock, taking a full pound of it between his fingers, sinking them in as far as he could.
Helen squealed and leaped out of reach, thrusting his hand from her. It had been too much to bear. That tanned skin slashed by dazzling white, those mounds of pleasure, the way she moved, breathed, spoke....
She turned at once, hands on her hips. "Well, Mr. Babcock, I came in here to hunt for a bathing suit. I didn't know you had games in mind."
Jim sputtered an apology, not aware of what he was saying. He was ashamed, degraded, feeling worse, even, than when he'd had to hand his wife over to Scott English.
CHAPTER TEN
She was still peering up into his face, standing close, breasts thrust forward, chin also set in a hard line and thrusting. She kept her hands on her hips and her feet were planted wide.
"Suppose you explain yourself, young man."
Young man? He'd forgotten, but he supposed she was almost 10 years his senior. But she looked younger than he, almost as young as Joyce.
"God, I'm sorry. I forgot myself. You have such a beautiful ... Well, I realize now I shouldn't have ... But it was so tempting."
She might have been smiling, mocking him behind those firm lips, but he couldn't be certain. He only knew that those heavy breasts were rising and falling swiftly, seemingly aching to tumble out over the top of the bikini bra. It would only be a matter of time before she had an accident in that inadequate suit.
"Well," she muttered, her firm glance wavering. "I suppose it could have been half an accident, too, couldn't it, Jim?" She placed her hand on his forearm.
He nodded and blurted, "Sure. I guess that was part of it. I thought you might be falling and I wanted to help."
"Of course you did. No harm done." She stepped back and looked around. "I wonder if those suits are up there on the top shelf. If I could get on that stool...."
"I'll do it for you."
"No." She shook her head. "You'd never figure out how Kitty hides things. I think I can reach, if you'll bring the stool over here to the far comer."
Jim did as he was told, hurrying to the corner and bringing back a three-legged stool. It didn't look very strong and he wondered if it would collapse if he put his weight on it. It would hold Helen easily enough. He set it down under the high shelves and she moved it farther into the center of the room.
"I'll probably need to get up on tiptoe as it is," she muttered. "Here, give me your hand."
She gripped his hand and braced the other on his shoulder as she bounced up onto the stool. Being so close to her was making his prick harder and he prayed she wouldn't see it poking into his fly. Christ, it must look like the end of a baseball bat.
She bobbed before him, all white bikini, brown flesh, soft breasts and curving hips. He could smell her-a slightly musky odor and just gamy enough to turn him on. He'd need to be careful or he'd put a hand back on her.
He frowned. But, damn it, it had been his plan to seduce her, to degrade her, to bend her to his will and make her perform like a monkey on a stick, just as Scott had done to Joyce. Well, perhaps she'd warm up enough if they stayed together. He'd wait for his chance, but it was some time off, for she was sexually as distant as darkest Africa.
She stood quietly on the stool, peering down at him. Then she wiggled and the stool creaked. "Do you think it'll hold me?"
"I won't guarantee anything," he replied.
"You'd better stay close. Like, steady me, will you?
When I get up on my toes I'm pretty wobbly-just like this crazy old stool."
"Sure." He moved closer, his chin about on a level with her navel and he waited at her hip. Where in thunder could he grab on without having her knock his block off?
"Well?"
"What do you want me to do?" he asked. "You could start by holding on to my knees, or something."
He tentatively placed his hands on her knees, holding them as though they were door knobs. He heard her snort down at him before she spoke.
"That's no good. Wrap your arms around my legs, for heaven's sake. Nobody's going to bite."
Jim took a breath and then did as he was told. He was standing in front of her now, better able to support her that way. Her flesh was smooth and cool to the touch, even though it was close in the linen room. Her scent was stronger and he knew she would soon begin to perspire more. She couldn't remain that cool.
His face was only an inch from her belly, the button now even with his mouth. She seemed to be leaning harder against him as she tilted her body toward the shelves. She gripped an edge and rummaged with the other hand. She was up on her toes and wobbling still.
Her body kept moving against him, shaking, wiggling, the flesh wanning under his arms and hands as he kept his arms wrapped around her thighs, well above her knees. They were sturdy thighs, now beginning to dampen, and there were only a few thin hairs on their sleek surface.
"How ... How you doing?" He craned his head to look up but all he could see was those breasts looming just above his forehead. They were a shelf of flesh, bobbing, soft, and he knew the skin would be hot to the touch. Jesus, but no man could be expected to perform such a chore and not want to do what he wanted to do.
"Not very well," she remarked. "That Kitty could hide an elephant in a garage."
"I can use my own suit."
"No. We'll find you one. I have a certain style in mind that would make you look cute." She giggled like a schoolgirl and continued to rummage.
Jim was sweating now, his T-shirt getting damp and an itching beginning in his crotch. He knew the cause of that. His prick wanted to get out into the open air, to be sent into action, to be used for the first time in far too many days. But he carried on like a loyal servant, wondering how he could make this woman before she knew what was happening. But if he failed, if she blew the whistle on him to Scott....
She kept wiggling and her belly button was swishing back and forth right under his nose. He'd lowered his gaze and his eyes now looked at shining flesh not an inch away. He could see every pore, every tiny hair, some of them glistening with beads of sweat.
"Any luck?"
"No. Just hang on. I'll find them." She giggled. "Are you comfortable?"
"Uh ... no."
He tightened his grip around her thighs and he let his hands slip between her legs and grip more thigh. He thought he felt something change in her. Whether it was her breathing, her muscles, her heartbeat ... He wasn't certain. He squeezed with his hands and the change was more pronounced. But he wasn't going to let her catch him at anything. He wasn't going to go all out before he was certain. .
She hummed softly far above him, her body doing its little brisk dance. He pressed his face forward an inch and his nose touched her belly, just above the button. The belly sucked in at once, held its breath, and then slowly let itself out again. It was back to his nose and he touched it lightly without complaint from its owner.
He looked down. Christ, those bikini bottoms. The thin strip of white cut across from each hip, dipped far down in the front so that he knew she'd shaved away some hair to keep it out of sight. Her stomach curved out beautifully and went in before the white cut off the view. It would be so easy to get that scrap of cloth down where it wouldn't spoil the view.
"Progress?" His voice was understandably uncertain.
"We'll find it. Just hang on." Her voice might have changed a little, too, but he wouldn't bet on it.
He hung on, but he pulled his chin and chest back a little so he could look down better. Yes, it was all there and her golden thighs were running far down to the rest of the legs, which went down to the stool. She was made up of fascinating pieces of bone structure and flesh and he loved every part. If only he....
"Don't drop me," she warned.
"I won't," he replied.
His nose went back against her belly and he worked it slightly lower so that it dipped into her navel. Her surprise could be felt more distinctly and he figured she didn't scold him because she believed it was an accident, or that it was necessary to keep her from falling. He noted that she was sweating freely now. She had a trembling in her knees that hadn't been there before. Probably getting tired of her balancing act. She seemed to be breathing faster and, when he looked up, her breasts rose and fell.
He looked down again, down toward where he wanted to be. He might be able to pull off the trick and she'd never be any the wiser.
"Want me to keep hanging on?"
"You know it," she said.
Fair enough, Mrs. English, he mused.
He lowered his face more, so that he was looking right into her belly button and his chin was slipping over the lower curve, down to where it touched the white bikini band. He pressed the chin into her softness and she didn't pull away, didn't complain, didn't seem to be the least suspicious.
He pressed harder with his chin, but the band of white was stubborn. Yet, he finally got it to yield a little bit. It moved down a half an inch and at once his senses almost boiled over. There he was, brushing her pubic hair. He pulled away and looked at the undersides of her breasts. Then he looked down, seeing the first few black hairs of her pubic thatch.
Beautiful. He licked his lips and pressed his face back into her belly. She seemed to have become accustomed to his nearness, for she didn't move. She was still damp and her breathing was alternately shallow and then deep, but she wasn't suspicious. She'd made no move to shove him away. After all, he was only following orders, wasn't he?
His chin was hooked against the bikini band again and he worked it down another inch. It wouldn't take much, he knew for him to make it give up. There was so little for it to cling to. Yet, the damned thing sud demy got stubborn. It was stuck and it wouldn't come any farther.
Helen inadvertently helped him solve the problem. She said, "I keep feeling I'm going to fall and it makes using both hands scary. Maybe you'd better support me better. Higher."
He smiled into the softness of her belly. "All right," he said at last. "Anything you say."
"I'm sorry to work you so hard," she said, her voice seeming to rise unnaturally. "You'll get your reward. You'll see."
"Huh?" He almost fell, he was so startled.
"In the pool, silly. You'll cool off just like that." She snapped her fingers.
"Oh, of course."
He lifted his hands to the very top of her thighs, around at the back where they disappeared inside the cupping tight seat of the bikini. He wished he were on that side so he could push his face into the bottom. If she kept looking he might arrange it yet.
Instead he pressed into her groin, wanting to grab the bikini in his teeth and pull it down to her knees. Instead he slipped his thumbs under the seam at the back and caught the ridge of material with his forefingers. He got a tight grip and shifted his stance. The movement caused him to pull down slightly and the bikini slipped an inch over her bottom.
"Sorry," he muttered.
"That's all right. Just don't drop me."
"That's the last thing I'll do," he replied.
She resumed her search and he wiggled again, and again he worked an inch of the material over her saucy bottom. It fit so damned tight it was like peeling away a layer of flesh. But what delightful real flesh there was, all around him only a small minority of it still covered by the bikini.
"Everything all right down there?" she excitedly asked him. "I feel as though I'm coming undone."
"Everything's fine," he stammered. "Just so you don't fall down."
"That's the main thing," she agreed, and again her voice rose as though she were having trouble controlling it. Frustration at being unable to find the suits, probably, Jim assumed.
She stretched higher than ever and her body was even more exposed. Her stretching also helped to let the suit slip a little more. He tugged another inch at the back and then he opened his mouth and closed his teeth over the thin front band. He was careful not to get any skin or hairs in his bite.
He pulled, back and then front. In a few seconds the front was down so that a generous triangle of black hair was exposed and he knew he'd soon be coming to the top of her vagina. At the rear the suit was halfway over the curve of her cheeks and slipping rapidly down the bottom. God, there would be a foot of crack exposed already.
"How you doing down there?" she called, and he thought there was a strange note in her voice. No, he wasn't going to be trapped. If she blew the whistle on him he'd be finished at the bank and all of Joyce's sacrifice would be fruitless.
He decided to go on playing it straight as he freed his mouth from the bikini. "All right." His voice was weak and uneven. "How about you?"
"Just fine," she said, her voice gushing as though she were very happy.
"What about the bathing suits?"
"Oh, them. They're up here somewhere. I'll just keep on rummaging, so long as you hold me up."
"My pleasure."
She cooed down at him, but he didn't take the bait. So he worked on the suit some more. It was coming down over her hips in a smooth motion as he pulled on one side and then the other.
It jerked off her bottom with a snap and he felt her cheeks wiggle. "Oh," she said from up above.
Jim froze for almost a full minute, but she didn't seem alarmed. She was still rummaging and humming to herself. She was certainly more animated than she'd been when she'd first spoken to him in the bedroom door. He blew out his cheeks and then he gripped the front of the suit in his teeth once again. He pulled down.
It came with his mouth, down over her crotch and he discovered with a shock that he was looking right into her pussy. It was shaded with black hair, but pink and shining in there as though it were ready for action.
He worked on and it was then down to her thighs, completely away from her crotch. Her buttocks were exposed, of course, her hips, everything above her upper thighs. He stared into the pink purse of a hole and it seemed to stare back at him. He knew he was imagining things when it seemed to wink at him. It was only Helen shifting her position.
"Hey, what's going on down there?"
He looked up swiftly. She wasn't watching him, but still hunting. Her questioning tone seemed casual enough. "Uh, just kind of tangled up."
"I should think so. I can hardly move. You seem to be holding me with two pair of arms."
He gulped and swallowed as he looked back into her crotch. Behind he reached up and cupped the cheeks of her bottom. "Don't fall," he breathed.
"I hope not," she cried, her voice quaking.
Jim was ready to go off in his pants-again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
God, he was doing almost everything to the woman but screwing her and she still didn't seem to be catching on. He wondered which one was playing the game better. Surely she would be on to him....
"Well?"
He jerked his face up. Now the game was up. She was looming over him, her feet braced, breasts jutting, fists on her hips. The look on her face told him he'd gone too far and she'd suddenly realized-after her intense concentration during her search-what he'd been doing to her.
"What?" He knew he sounded like a schoolboy with his hand caught in the cooky jar.
"I said to hang on, not to help yourself to everything in sight. I feel as though I'm being searched."
He jerked his hands away from her bottom but her command hit him like a whip. "Put those hands back! I want you just the way you were-red-handed, you might say."
He sank his fingers into her buttocks again, gulping. Christ, all she'd need to do is shout and Scott would come fast. Then he'd be out on his ear ... Joyce with him, if she consented to leave with him at all after the way he'd behaved in the study.
He hung on, still looking up into her face. Their eyes were locked and when he tried to turn away she gripped his ears and tilted his face up again. "Do you enjoy pawing my body like some street tramp?"
"Uh...."
"Do you?"
"Well, I wouldn't..
"Like hell you wouldn't," she hissed. "Go ahead, do what you will, Jim Babcock. That's an order. Do what you wish. I want to hook you good before I reel you into my trap."
He sighed as though he were very tired. "I'm really not...."
"Funny, I thought you were. You behave as though you're on fire. Your hands feel that way." She shook her dark hair down over her face. "I wonder what Scott would think. And your lovely wife, Joyce."
"They wouldn't...." he blurted before he caught himself. Better she not know or they'd still be thrown out of the house. And Jim would be inoperative, just like the English marriage.
"What did you start to say?"
"They ... uh ... wouldn't think much of the idea."
"You bet they wouldn't. All right, just you keep going, Mr. Babcock. I'm curious about what you had in mind."
"No ... I...."
"Keep going or I scream rape this instant!"
He swung into action. His hands dug into her bottom and then they sank down toward her crotch. As they continued to stare at one another he saw her eyes begin to glaze and they crossed slightly. Could it be...?
He moved them lower, down into the hairs at the very base of her vagina. He felt something damp and then the warm folds of flesh. "God ... I"
He studied her face. It was in mixed bliss and an guish, difficult to assess. He knew he was going to get to her, but he couldn't tell if she were loving it or hating it. Either way, he was scoring hard.
"Now. Do it!" she blurted, her voice hissing. She was trying hard not to scream. He could tell that much.
"It?"
"For Christ's sake, you know what. What's your mouth down there for?
He stiffened. "Uh ... no, I don't think so."
"Darling." Her voice was abruptly milk and honey. She'd cracked. There was no more playing games. She wanted him to service her all the way, wanted it terribly. Her hips were angling back and forth, her cunt hairs brushing against his chin when she shot toward him.
"No. I've never done that to any woman. Not even to ... my wife," Jim pleaded.
She was smiling, her lips pursed sweetly. "So that's what's wrong. You're inhibited, both of you. You for not doing it and she for not forcing you to. Don't you know that's the ultimate act of love? Eating and being eaten?"
He blinked.
"No, go ahead, or do I need to call for Scott? I wouldn't want to, sweetheart, because we can make beautiful music together. But I can make you look awfully bad when he comes busting in here."
He nodded and then he let his face come forward. She met him hard, before he was ready. Her crotch slapped into his nose and mouth while his lips were still open. Her musky smell seemed to drown him and then her juices were running down his chin. It was terrible for a moment and then it was wonderful.
She purred over him, stroking his head, pressing gently against the back of his head, pushing him deeper. At last he was able to enjoy it. Not relax and enjoy it. Just enjoy it, because his body was singing at too high a note for him to relax. He was close to orgasm himself, much too close to sit back and go after this woman's most private possession casually.
He opened his mouth wider and her pussy seemed to be trying to crawl into his jaws. She wormed her hips back and forth, ever forward. Then, unaware, his tongue lashed out-until he felt it lance between her lips. She was making small sounds as she leaned over him, cradling his head as though it were her infant child.
She shuddered and then, as he thrust his tongue as deeply as it would go, she lost control. She wrapped her arms tightly about him, almost pulling his ears off. Then she was coming, gushing into his face, coming almost like a man having an ejaculation. He'd never seen nor felt so much juice being pumped from a woman's twat.
He slurped as best he could, but most of the stuff was running down his chin, dripping into his collar and down the front of his T-shirt. He didn't care. It was wonderful. A dangerous game, for certain, but one that was worth the risk.
At last her flow began to slow and she released his head. Even so, he didn't pop it out of her crotch all at once. He licked her and then he kissed her. It didn't seem at all dirty, not as he'd always thought it would be. There was not much passion-given and received-that any thought of the mess was out of the question.
At last he leaned back and gasped for air, still holding to her thighs so she wouldn't fall. She was more precious now. She beamed down at him and he was half laughing as he peered up into her face.
He felt freed, as though he'd been able to throw off his inhibitions like they were chains. He actually felt lighter, clear of head, sharp of eye. Perhaps there was something to this notion of free-swinging sex with a willing partner that would work for him. But what about Joyce? He frowned.
She gripped his shoulders and stepped down and, as she did so, the bikini bottom slipped to her knees and she almost stumbled. She stood before him and the view would have been funny if she hadn't looked so sexy.
Her white bra was still in place over her breasts, but the bottom, halfway to the floor, was woefully stretched out of shape. Her black pussy was still glistening and some final drops were running down the insides of her thighs.
"What's the matter?" she murmured. "Second thoughts?"
He shook his head. "Joyce."
"Ah, dear Joyce." She seemed tired when the thought of his wife went through her beautiful head. "What shall we do about Joyce?"
"It may have already been done," he muttered. "She's been in conference with Scott for quite a while."
"Conference?" She shrugged and the breasts bobbed in lively fashion. He'd ignored them and they looked as though they wanted attention. Indeed, they seemed larger. "How do we know they're still in conference? They're probably napping, or out at the pool. Perhaps they're wondering about us. I hope Scott doesn't come looking. Not yet."
He peered into her dark eyes. "Um ... That was an experience I'll never forget. You're quite a woman, Mrs. English."
"You're quite a man, Mr. Babcock."
She draped her arms around his neck, loosely, lazily, leaning against him. Her cunt was still in full view, but she didn't care. He took a deep breath and she peered into his face. "What about you?"
"What about me?" he replied.
"You did your stuff for me very well, but I didn't see you getting much out of it. Sure, you enjoyed yourself but"-she pointed down at his crotch-"there's no indication you went off. Wouldn't you like to?"
Jim gulped, suddenly embarrassed. It was foolish that he should feel that way. After all, they couldn't have gotten more intimate. "I suppose so. There seems to be a lot of sex going around this house, but I haven't gotten much."
"A lot of sex?" She raised one eyebrow.
He wondered if she were fooling. Wasn't she suspicious of Scott and Joyce? Did she really believe that they were simply talking things over? "I suppose there's a lot. After all, there are women everywhere. Hostess, guest, French maid...."
"And Maria, the cook. She's all of 25 and worthy of an Aztec sacrifice."
It seemed as though it had been a week since they had had lunch and he thought about Kitty, the maid. She was tiny, all in black satin and white lace. He was willing to bet that Scott kept himself in practice on her diminutive body. The cook he'd not yet seen. Nor the children. There was another woman, the daughter, Darla. He wondered if son Kenneth were a stud like his father.
"Well?"
Helen was waiting, still draped over his shoulders.
"I feel drained already." He didn't, of course. He was hot, hotter than hell and, although she'd relaxed him and wiped out many of his inhibitions, he was inclined to look for Joyce first. He had to know how things were with her.
"Nonsense. You're a boy and boys never run out." She giggled like a child. "Believe me, I know boys. Turn around, if you're embarrassed."
He did as he was told and she was at once standing behind him. He felt her lean against him, from knee to the point of her chin which was dug into the back of his neck. She was warm and her full breasts pressed into his back.
"All right?" she whispered.
"I suppose so."
She giggled again and her fingers walked around his waist. They locked on themselves right over his belt buckle and she pulled in on his belly. "You've got a good body, Jim. A very good body. Compared to you, Scott's a fire hydrant. You still have your waistline and I'll bet you're not a hairy ape."
He felt a bit proud and a glow came over him. Yes, by Christ, he was a man, a man who was getting experience, a man who was losing his hang-ups. Perhaps he could save himself and thus save Joyce. There was no reason they couldn't be swingers and remain together, saving their very best for each other.
His thoughts were interrupted by her walking fingers. They were working on his belt, getting it open. There was the sound of metal and then she was whipping the leather free. For a crazy moment he wondered if she were going to use the belt on him, but she was tossing it to the carpet.
Then she was working at the top of his fly, opening the top snap and then searching for the zipper. She found the tab and it hissed down over his crotch. Inside he was like a stone. He'd cleaned himself, of course, so there was no trace of his ejaculation in the study earlier. And the orgasm seemed to have taken away none of his desire.
She pressed her hand flat over his pouch as he sucked in his breath. "Christ!"
"Something wrong?" she teased. "Don't you like that?"
"I ... I can live with it."
Helen laughed, her breath warming the back of his neck. She turned his head and gripped an ear lobe in her front teeth. She bit down hard until he winced. Then she let go, but she kissed the back of his neck and she kept on kissing him.
Her fingers were digging into his fly and in a few seconds his shorts were open and she was pulling everything down. His pants and shorts dropped halfway to his knees and they were in the same situation, each exposed and half trapped by their sagging clothing.
Her hands cupped his cock and balls, which was a handful for her. He was swollen beyond reason and his balls were tight and tingling. He wanted to come again-very quickly. He wouldn't be able to take much handling before it would be all over.
She purred into his neck. "Loving it?"
He leaned his head back. "You know it, Helen."
She reached far down, half squatting behind him so that her knees hit the back of his knees. Then she was rummaging at the very base of his balls, back where the crack of his buttocks started. She was whirling fingers through the thick hair and occasionally pulling a cluster of hairs until he winced.
She was still laughing, deeply in her throat, as her hands marched up out of his crack, across his balls to the base of his prick. She gripped it hard and he almost shouted as she gave it a firm tug, back and forth. She stopped pulling at it, for she apparently knew as well as he how close he was to going off.
Instead she drifted back to his balls, feeling of the marbles inside gently, as though they were golden coins in a chamois pouch. She rolled them back and forth and this was almost as effective as jacking him off, so close to the brink did she bring him.
He was gasping now and his knees were losing their strength. He wanted to collapse and let her catch him, take charge, do as she would. He had no more control over his body. Apparently she knew, for she speeded up her activities.
Both hands were back on his cock, one on the shaft back toward the base, the other over his knob. "God, you're a big one," she whispered into his neck. "And I thought Scott was a big man."
She was stroking, not with violence, but with a steady pumping that would produce results quickly. She had a wonderful sense of rhythm and it was working on him.
It was less than a minute before he could feel his seed stirring fresh, ready to expend itself anywhere the master should direct. He held his breath and was frozen, yet steaming, in her encircling arms.
"You're coming," she hissed.
He nodded violently.
She was chuckling as she pumped a few last times. Then she leaped around in front of him, but she didn't lay down on her back, as he might have expected. Instead she was on her knees, pressing her breasts around his crotch. She seized his prick and stuffed the throbbing pink knob down the front of her bikini bra, tightly into the soft crack between her breasts.
Then he came, boiling and churning his sperm into her bodice, down into the fissure, where it flooded and then backed up until it was running over the top of her bra. Helen held him there, her eyes squeezed closed, and her lips moving as though in prayer.
Jim was also praying. He was praying that he could do this a thousand times more before he was too old.
CHAPTER TWELVE
"We usually nap in the afternoons down here. I hope you don't mind. Believe me, it's wonderful for ulcers and blood pressure."
Helen was speaking as the four sat in deep canvas chairs around the pool. She looked lazy, heavy-lidded, and so did Scott. Well they might. Each had put in a strenuous early afternoon.
Jim stared at them, feeling a bit lazy himself. After all, he'd had a couple of ejaculations himself and, although he knew he could take more, a little rest wouldn't hurt. He glanced over at Joyce. Her face was a mask, but he couldn't tell if it were a mask of stoic despair or one of hidden contentment. She was changed, he knew that. And he knew that he, himself, had also changed.
Scott said, "Helen's right. It's part of the unwinding...."
He stopped when they heard the car. It squealed out in front of the sprawling house. "Ah," Helen said. "The kids at last I was beginning to worry. They were running around in town."
They waited and a minute later a young girl and a boy bounded out into the patio. There were greetings, kissing and then introductions. They were good looking youngsters. The girl was Darla, a teen-ager and a junior in high school, doing very well, her father said with pride. She was young and sort of vampy, much like her mother-her step mother, Jim reminded himself. After all, Scott's children were only about 15 years younger than his second wife.
Darla looked brainy and also a bit bored. She might be an imaginative thing, Jim surmised as he looked her up and down. Already he was eyeing women differently, studying their bed potential almost automatically. She had a good young body, heavy in the knockers, slim hips. Her eyes were a strange light blue which gave her an almost mystic look.
Kenneth English was a senior in school and he was built much like his father, but not so heavy and minus the potbelly. He had the tanned skin and the sun-bleached hair of the surfer, and he was about three inches taller than his father. When Jim saw Helen looking at her stepson he saw a light in her eyes that was not too different from the light he'd seen when she'd looked at Jim.
Jim pursed his lips in thought. So, they were a swinging family. It was obvious. Ken went straight to his mother, Darla straight to her father. The girl squatted at his side and Scott stroked her shining brown hair. Then he was lazily rubbing her back, coming far down with his hand, almost to her ass. When she suddenly stood his hand slipped across her bottom with a playful pinch along the way.
The stepmother was kissing her stepson on the cheek, while his hand trailed into her lap. Jim could have sworn it rested right on her cunt. She wore only a bikini-another bikini, this one green, because the white one had been pretty well ruined.
They went on talking and soon the children, restless and anxious for activity, ran off. They were back in a few minutes, diving into the large pool with whoops, splashing and ducking one another. Jim thought he saw them doing some stroking and pinching just under the surface, but he wasn't certain.
"God, this weekend is going to cure me of what ails me," Scott blurted with a mighty stretch. "How about another drink?" He poured from a giant pitcher of martinis, filling glasses all around. Jim could already feel them and he knew Joyce could, too. Neither was much of a drinker.
"And what ails you, darling?" Helen purred at her husband.
"Tension. That damned office. Jim knows what I mean. Here a body can relax, do as he pleases. He can be a physical fitness buff or a sack time nut. Either way, it's good for the bones and the muscles."
"Have you had any exercise yet?" Helen asked him.
"Some," Scott said in an off-handed fashion. He was idly watching the children and he turned to look at Jim. "How about you, James, my boy?"
"I feel good. I've had some activity. Not a hell of a lot."
He felt Helen's slightly hurt gaze swing quickly to him and he smiled at her. She understood his understatement and she smiled back. Scott seemed to be reading her smile and so did Joyce. Everybody was smiling at everybody else, nodding and purring.
But there was a tension and only one tension. It ran between Jim and Joyce. The Englishes were in tune with each other, sorted out, in the groove. Even the kids seemed to have it all together with their parents. But Joyce and Jim hadn't solved all their problems-not yet.
"Well." Scott was stretching again and he climbed to his feet, looking slightly like a hairy bear in his swimming trunks. He beckoned to his wife. "Come along, dear. Time for our naps, or we'll turn into pumpkins at midnight tonight."
Helen didn't look quite as anxious for a nap as her husband did, but then she had 10 years on him. So she smiled with raised eyebrows at Jim and Helen, and then she laughed. "My old man isn't what he used to be."
"Like hell," Scott rasped and he slapped her on the bottom as she got up. She squealed and they began to walk off. "Jim, Joyce, please make our house your house for the next couple of hours. Swim, nap, hike on the desert-anything you wish."
Then they were gone and Jim and Joyce were left with the children and the pitcher of martinis. They refilled their glasses and drank, feeling even tipsier by the time the teen-agers pulled themselves from the water.
Darla and Ken stood over them, shaking water from their beautiful young bodies, then drying themselves with huge rough towels. Jim couldn't keep his eyes off Darla. She was coltish in her young awkwardness, beautiful in her body and incredibly appealing in the way she moved and smiled and spoke.
Jim also noticed that Ken had checked out Joyce. His eyes had moved up and down her bikini-clad body and he seemed to like what he saw. Jim wondered if these kids, at their tender age, were already swingers. He would have bet they were and the possibility of some personal involvement came over him. He felt his penis stir inside his bathing suit and he crossed his legs. A hard-on would be a son of a bitch to hide.
"You work at the bank," Darla said to Jim. Jim nodded. "Cashier."
"Good job for a young guy," Ken blurted. "Dad must think you're pretty good."
"I hope so," Jim said easily, but he felt somewhat offended by the teen-ager's manner. He was putting himself up equal with Jim because he was the son of the boss. "Are you going into the bank after school? Perhaps you'll be working for me-until you become vice president, of course." He shot his words out with some force.
Ken seemed to get the message and he backed off at once, lifting his hands deprecatingly. "Heck, no. I'm more interested in science. I'm not sure what kind. Believe me, Mr. Babcock, you won't need to worry about having me underfoot at the bank."
"I'm going to work as a teller next summer, though," Darla gushed. Her voice was sweet, quite low, thoroughly delightful
"Now that, I like," Jim said with a laugh and he looked over at Joyce. She wasn't laughing so much, except when Ken glanced at her, too. Then she pretended to be enjoying herself-for his benefit.
Jim heaved himself to his feet. "I think I'm ready for some sack time. Come along, dear." He lifted a hand to Joyce and she took it, also getting up from her deep chair. Jim could feel the martinis more and he knew he'd sleep like a stone. He could also feel the booze-induced passion. Sure, why not? A piece of ass and a long nap. Good for the muscles and bones, as Scott would say.
The youngsters stood aside as they paraded off the patio and Jim could feel their eyes following them. Now what the hell could those kids be up to?
They walked slowly down the long dark corridor until they came to their room. It was the first time they'd been alone together since their arrival at the desert home and Jim knew that each had learned many things, things which would need to be resolved between them.
In the bedroom their things had been laid out and hung up, by the maid Kitty, no doubt. Jim flopped on the bed in his swimming trunks, but Joyce elected to remove her bikini. She slipped into a loose pair of pajamas while he watched. He enjoyed looking at her body, but she didn't make it easy for him, as she often did. She kept her back half toward the bed and he had to be content to admire the curve of her buttocks.
Then she lay down by his side, carefully keeping a foot of distance between them. It was warm in the room and they needed no covering of any kind. Jim knew they hadn't lost all of their inhibitions, or they would have stripped themselves before bedding down.
He waited for several minutes before he asked his first question. "Um ... How did it go with you and Scott after I left the study?"
"You should know the answer to that, strong man. He did as he pleased. I can assure you, the $100 a week will be forthcoming."
"I wasn't wondering about the money."
"Then why did you give me to him, for kicks? I saw you sitting there, practically masturbating." Her voice was bitter.
He felt put upon at once. "What about you? Christ, he drove you out of your mind. Don't try to tell me you found the whole episode repulsive."
He listened to her shallow breathing. Good God, his head was swimming. They were half drunk. "All right, I can't lie about that. But I'm a woman, after all. When a man does those things to me I must respond." She was silent for thirty seconds before she spoke again. "Where did you go?"
"In here to change clothes," he uttered.
"For an hour? Admit you were with her," Joyce said.
He thought about denying it, but he wasn't really ashamed. He'd enjoyed it and if they were going to get any lasting benefit from their mate swapping it was time they told each other the truth.
"All right. We were together," Jim said glumly.
"Where?"
"In the linen closet," he shot back. "Good God."
"It wasn't what you thought," he sniffed. 'It was an accident. We stalked in there for a simple and pure reason: to find me a bathing suit. She kept looking and I kept helping her and ... well, pretty soon we got too close. She couldn't help herself. I know that."
Joyce made a sound. "Nuts to that, dear husband. Don't you know when you've been seduced?"
Jim was stunned. "But I did the seducing."
"Tell me just how."
Hesitantly, he related some of the graphic details to his wife.
"You see? She set you up, you poor naive thing. Scott told me she had hot pants for you and that she was going to trick you into making the first move. Apparently things went exactly the way she planned."
Jim bit his lips as he lay on his back, studying the ceiling. Joyce was also on her back, hands folded behind her head, breasts jutting beautifully. He turned his head toward her and admired the profile. In that instant he wanted her very badly.
"You know," he murmured, "there's something to the message they've been giving us. I enjoyed being with Helen, but I loved you more when it was over. I was actually hot for you, Joyce-just like I am right now."
She turned her head and their eyes met. "I know. Scott lectured me all the time he was fucking me, after we were alone...."
"Don't use that word," he snapped.
"Look, darling, if we're going to be sexual realists, successful swappers, we've got to treat sex in a down-to-earth fashion. That means telling it like it is. Scott was fucking me and that's a fact. And he told me about how he and Helen love to have people down here for their swap weekends. They do it in the city, too, but it's more dangerous because of his position at the bank and all."
Jim sniffed. "I can understand that. As I said, Helen was very good and she gave me plenty of ideas, ideas that I can't wait to try on you."
Joyce's giggle was a familiar sound from the past. It was a sound he'd hardly heard from her since their honeymoon. He smiled at her and his eyebrows went up.
"I can't wait, either, darling. I'm not sure all of this is right for us, not yet, anyhow. But I know we've been at least partly straightened out today. I'd like to believe that swapping is good and healthy for our marriage because-and God forgive me for this-I sure as hell like a little strange meat in me once in a while."
"Joyce!"
She was looking at the ceiling again and so he did, too, because they were too embarrassed to look at each other. "That's right, honey. And I've got to tell you something else that's been bothering me. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, then it won't have been a wasted experience."
He stiffened. "What are you talking about?"
"I've had another ... urn, lover."
"I see."
"I pray you do. It's the milkman, but that's all over now. I felt guilty doing it with him behind your back. I wished many times that we would have been caught and you could have punished me. It didn't work because I couldn't share the experience with you, don't you see?"
Strangely enough, Jim did see. He'd felt the same way when he was shacked up with Sally at the office. If only Joyce could have been watching, he'd often thought, she could be learning, storing away things they could share together at home. "I know," he admitted. "I've felt the same way."
He felt her body stiffen. "You have? Who was she?"
"Sally. At the office. Scott's secretary. She sleeps around a lot."
"So does the milkman. All along his route."
Jim was able to force a brittle laugh. "Maybe we should mate them with each other."
He felt the bed shake as she also tried to laugh. But then they were silent, each very self-conscious. He knew that if they could only relax, now that they had confessed all, they could make it very well together. He waited perhaps ten minutes and then he draped his arm across her breasts.
She sucked in air and let it out very slowly, telling him that she was relaxed and ready, that it was all right.
He was about to wrap his fingers around a breast and begin making love to his wife when the tiny scratching sound came at the door. He rolled to his back at once and they lay side by side, like two Egyptian mummies.
"Quiet," he whispered. "Pretend you're asleep until we know what's happening."
"All right," she whispered.
His body was tingling, but he believed that something exciting was going to happen.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
He was able to see the door through slitted eyes in the semi-dark room. Joyce was breathing slowly and deeply, as though asleep, and he did the same. He suspected that she had positioned her head so that she could watch the door, too.
The knob was turning and then the door was swinging open in total silence. Who would it be? Jim wondered. Almost certainly Scott, back for another shot-unless it might be Helen, who had indicated that she'd be ready for more before long. Jim hadn't believed that either of them would be content to nap with fresh meat just down the hall.
He was so surprised that his eyes almost popped wide open. He took a second to get a good look and then he closed his eyes all the way.
It was Darla. She had been creeping in the door, still in her bikini, looking like some lovely forest creature coming to call in their camp. He kept his eyes shut as he rolled his head half away from Joyce. That way he could open his eyes a slit and not see his wife's profile at the side of his vision. He wasn't ready for that yet.
He watched as Darla crept up to the side of the bed where he was. Jim was pleased that he'd effectively cut off any view of Joyce, for Darla was gorgeous. She was probably 16 or 17 and, if she weren't a virgin, she sure as hell looked like one.
Not that he was putting down Joyce, but he wasn't ready to mix his women-not yet.
Now Darla was standing over him, still like a forest creature, studying his face closely. Her large blue eyes seemed to bore into him as she waited. Jim made himself he perfectly still and he controlled his breathing as best he could, keeping it deep and slow, and easy-difficult as that was.
Then she was leaning over him and through tiny slits of eyes Jim could get a good look at her. Wonderful skin that was velvet smooth with teen-age youth. Her face was un-lined, simple, direct, classic.
She eased herself down on her knees, just six inches from the side of the bed and less than a foot from Jim's shoulder. He didn't know what to do. He figured he'd play it cozy, pretend to remain asleep until the proper time-whenever that might be.
So he waited and her face drifted close to him. Her light blue eyes were fixed on his face, searching until they apparently were satisfied that he was out. Then she leaned back and slowly nibbled her lower lip.
He didn't see the hand. Instead he felt it touch his hip and then place itself on his belly. He had to work to not suck in his gut with reflex action. He kept on breathing as though he wouldn't awaken for ten hours. The hand rested lightly on his belly, very lightly. This wouldn't be a pushy kid. She was still in the years of exploration and that was nice.
The hand moved about slowly, along his ribs so she could count them, over his chest. She touched each nipple with a finger and he felt his crotch harden. Heavens, there was no way to hide that, not in his bathing trunks. She stroked his shoulders gently and she touched his lips, his forehead, his cheeks, his ears with a very gentle hand.
Then she was back to his belly and her ringers fluttered lower, over his trunks. He felt the touch of her hand on his crotch. She pushed steadily into the bathing suit, straight down to his hard-on and surely she knew what the hell that meant. Jim hoped she would believe he was having an erotic dream, or something crazy like that.
He tried to keep his breathing steady, but it was becoming more difficult. Then he worked on thinking about strategy. Even that was difficult, for she was pushing harder into his crotch. Then she was wiggling a small finger below his navel, where the cord of his waistband was tied in a bow.
She was pulling at the bow and when he felt it begin to loosen he sighed. She froze, but he went back to his regular breathing. She was still frozen and it was then that Jim was stunned.
"It's all right," a whispered voice said. "He's gone back to sleep."
Darla's lips hadn't moved. Somebody else was whispering directions to her. And he didn't think it was Joyce.
It was time for him to do something, Jim decided. He wasn't going to lay back like the fatted calf and let some slip of a girl seduce him and, with somebody else in the room, he was even less inclined to let her do it in front of an audience. He heard Joyce sigh.
Jim sat up abruptly, noting with satisfaction that Darla fell back on her bottom in stunned surprise. He looked the other way, toward Joyce, and it was then that he was himself stunned.
It was Ken, the young son, the 18-year-old surfer who looked like a golden boy. He was crouched over the reclining figure of his wife and she was pretending to be asleep, just as Jim had been.
Jim saw with shock and dismay that Ken had his hand on Joyce. He'd already lifted the top of her pajamas so that he could untie the bow at her waist. He had the bow slipped free and the fly open and flipped aside. Even in the shadows Jim could see Joyce's blonde pubic hair, a triangle of curly fur fully exposed to the kid's gaze.
The youth's hand was on her cunt and the finger seemed to be looking for the route inside. Joyce, even while pretending to be asleep, had stiffened her body and Jim saw that she was lifting her crotch, making an arch of her middle so that he'd had a firm base to work on.
All this Jim saw in the faction of a second as he'd sat up and Darla had gone down on her saucy little behind. He snapped out his words like a whip.
"Get your hands off my wife!"
Ken gasped and straightened at once, while Darla was scrambling to her feet. Joyce then sat up, pretending to awaken with a start. She looked down at herself and at once she pulled her pajamas shut and slipped the top down over her crotch.
"What? What's going on?" she blurted.
"These punks have something in mind," Jim snapped. "Probably planning to go through our things. What are you, a couple of thieves?"
"Heck, no, Mr. Babcock," Ken blurted.
"Golly, that's not right," Darla agreed, her voice throaty with fear.
"Well, what then?"
The two young people stood at either side of the bed, their hands clasped behind them as their eyes were turned toward the floor. At least a minute passed in silence as Jim and Joyce sat up in bed waiting, their arms folded in disapproval and rejection.
"Well," Ken said at last, "it's our folks, I guess you could say. Right, Darla?"
The brown-haired girl nodded, her blue eyes catching some light from the shadows. "They told us to be ... uh, nice to you. You see, we've done this before. You might say that our whole family is looking for ... fun. Daddy said you two had a problem and that we could help them straighten you out."
"Who said you could help us with our problems?" Joyce snapped, her voice indignant. "What would you know about adult problems?"
They shrugged. "I suppose it's adult, but our folks seemed to think they were pretty basic," Ken stammered. "If you like, we'll take off and leave you alone. Honest. And we sure as heck didn't care about stealing anything."
"Hold your horses," Jim snapped and he felt a strange excitement come over him. It was not too different from the sensation he had when he watched Scott' with Joyce. Perhaps it was time for another lesson, and this time it could be a lesson they could both share.
Halfway to the door the young people paused.
"What did you come in here to do, if it wasn't to steal?" Jim demanded to know. "What magic therapy did you have in mind?"
They returned to the bed. It was Darla who murmured, "I thought out there around the pool you kind of liked me, Mr. Babcock. You and Mrs. Babcock. Is Kenny really so hard to look at straight on?"
Joyce shrugged. "Well, no, but what does that have to do with anything?"
"Our folks suggested we come in here and be nice to you," Ken stammered. "You know. Kind of mess around. After all, you're only a few years older than us. I'm already 18. How old are you, Joyce?"
"I'm 21 and it's none of your business, young man," Joyce snapped. "Besides, three years at our ages is a very large experience gap."
Darla giggled. "Not from what I've heard. Daddy said that was what you need, experience."
"Easy, Darla," Ken snapped at her. "We're supposed to be nice," He shrugged. "Well, that's about it."
Jim shook his head. "You really think a punk like you could do anything with my wife? You wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell of getting her worked up. Hell, she's a woman; you're an adolescent."
"We both could," Darla murmured. "Both!" Jim looked at his wife in startled amusement. "Could you imagine such a thing?"
Joyce gave her husband a funny look. Then she turned to the young people. "You think the two of you could help me solve my problems, right? What sort of problems?"
'You know, kind of loosen you up, help you relax. Like they do in the massage parlors, I guess, although I've never been to one."
It was Ken who spoke, but Darla was nodding with every word. Now she said, "We're supposed to be pretty good. At least our folks think so, and they've had a lot more experience than all of us put together, I bet."
Jim was more aghast than ever. He pointed toward the door. "You can just get your tails out...."
"Wait, darling," Joyce interrupted. "All right, I don't believe a word you say, but I think you should be taught a lesson. I defy you to cure me of my ills, whatever you might think they are. Go ahead, do what you will."
The youngsters looked at each other and then at Ken. "Well sir."
"Joyce, this is a lot of...."
"No, let's see just how adult they think they are. After all, we're here to learn. Isn't that the theme of this wicked weekend?"
Joyce was still sitting straight up, leaning against the headboard, her arms folded over her breasts. She looked like a Gothic portrait of outraged womanhood and certainly not like a woman who might be in heat.
Jim shrugged. "All right. Anything you want. I'll just sit and watch like a dummy. That seems to be my fate these days."
Joyce touched his forearm. "Not entirely, darling." She looked back at the two visitors. "All right, have your way with me, children."
Ken and Darla paused, licked their lips and then Ken came up to her side. Joyce kept her eyes on the lad and Darla held back, a step behind her brother. Jim watched, eyes wide, frozen outrage on his lips.
Ken leaned down and, cupping Joyce's face in his hands, he kissed her on the lips. She didn't seem to respond, for her arms remained folded and her cheeks looked as though they were made of wood. He broke the kiss and straightened.
"Do I consider myself cured now?" Joyce snapped, ice dripping from her words.
"Not quite," Ken answered.
He leaned over her again and this time he began to unbutton her pajama tops. He started at the bottom and slowly her belly came into view. When he reached her arms he gently unfolded them and placed them at either side of her hips, flat on the bed. Then he continued with the buttons until he had them all open. With a sweep of his hands he brushed aside the pajama top and Joyce was fully exposed from just below her navel to the top of her head.
There were three gasps as her breasts swept proudly into view like two ships of the line. They were wonderful breasts, perhaps not so heavy as Helen's, but higher and more perfectly formed. The nipples were rather small and delicate, being of a light pink. There was nothing animal-like about Joyce. She was an all milk-and-honey boudoir type female.
She looked very good and Jim wished the kids would get out. He wanted his wife for himself, but events seemed to conspire against this. Well, it might be as well for them to take another lesson, anyhow. He continued to watch, arms still folded as he leaned against the head of the bed.
Ken shook his head. "Geez, Mrs. Babcock, you look really terrific, doesn't she, Darla?"
"Super," Darla gushed.
Ken nodded as he leaned over Joyce again. His hands came right down on her breasts and Joyce flinched. "You don't waste any time."
"Dad says the girl is supposed to respond a little quicker each time. That is, if she's getting the message. So I'm not supposed to fool around so much."
Joyce looked wide-eyed at her husband. "I see."
The boy pressed his fingers into her breasts and at once Joyce took a series of short breaths. Her hands moved up over her legs and she gripped each thigh hard about six inches down from her crotch. Jim watched her knuckles turn white. "Oh, my God but I love that," Joyce exclaimed.
"A good sign," Ken breathed. The kid was already panting over her and Jim felt his own metabolism change. He looked across at Darla and the girl was smiling back at him. Her lips and eyes were bright with anticipation.
Ken quickly massaged the breasts, squeezing them and pushing them about. Then he took his hands away and he got to his knees, leaning over the bed. Joyce had slid halfway down the headboard and he planted his mouth on her throat. There he pecked at her, raining kisses that gradually moved down to the tops of her breasts.
Joyce was gasping now and she touched the back of his head once or twice as though to guide him. He slid lower and all at once he'd taken a nipple into his mouth and he was nursing on it like an infant. Joyce's eyes rolled up in her head and she cried out.
"Jesus God but I love it!" She was panting steadily. He suspended his nursing to smile up into her face but at once she gripped his head and returned it to her breasts, to the other nipple which he promptly accepted.
Then he abandoned her breasts and moved down her body, across her belly, sticking his tongue into the hole. When he untied her waist string and spread her fly open again, as it had been before, Joyce suddenly gripped his ears and pulled him away from herself.
"You're too fast. I might go off too soon."
"That's all right," he said with a smile. "You're not supposed to fight it. Right, sis?"
"Right, Kenny," Darla replied and she moved
"Right, Kenny," Darla replied and she moved closer, her light eyes glittering with pleasure. "I'm going to do my share, Kenny, whether you like it or not."
She leaned down and kissed Joyce on the lips and at that instant Jim watched his wife slip all the way back down flat. She was helpless, being attacked by the two young vultures and Jim's crotch was loving it. He had a hard-on that behaved as though it wanted to remove his bathing trunks so it could come out into the light.
Darla was kissing Joyce's nipples now and Ken was slipping his hand back inside her pajama pants. He was worming into the blonde hairs and then he was over her box. At once he thrust a long finger and it went straight up into Joyce's cunt. She cried out and sat up for an instant before they urged her back down again.
"God! He's all the way up into my stomach! I love it!"
Ken laughed and then the finger began to pump. It thrust in and then almost all the way. In again, then away out. Jim watched his wife being stroked this way for perhaps three minutes before her climax came.
Her body stiffened, shook and then she made a bridge of her hips, thrusting them toward the ceiling while his finger rammed down, hard, deeply into her. Through it all Darla was sucking at her nipples, moving from one to the other.
Joyce was coming. He watched her cunt close over the finger and suck at it as though it were trying to pull him even more deeply into her body. She gasped, cried out and gripped her thighs until it looked as though her nails would cut them open.
She gushed and his finger at last came out shining wet with her juices. Grinning, Ken licked his finger clean and Darla leaned away from Joyce at that moment.
The two younger Englishes grinned at each other, then at Joyce and then at Jim. "Mr. Babcock, your wife seems to be fully recovered. She's all woman."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jim shook his head as the youngsters wiped Ken's finger dry. Then they got a towel and cleaned up Joyce, wiping at her crotch until her blonde hairs looked bushy and clean. At no time did Joyce attempt to cover herself up again as the brother and sister turned their attentions to Jim.
"What about you, Mr. Babcock?" Ken asked.
Jim snapped the words. "Get the hell away from me, Idd. You think for one minute I screw around with boys?"
"What about girls, Mr. Babcock?" Darla purred as she walked around the foot of the bed. Ken stayed over on Joyce's side, idly playing with a breast Just as idly, Joyce lifted a hand and pushed it into the boy's crotch. At once his cock was storming about inside his pants, raging to be set free.
Meanwhile, Darla came to Jim's side of the bed and she sat gingerly on the side, peering down into his face. "Do I look all right to you, Mr. Babcock?" she murmured.
"You look fine, kid," he snorted. Good Lord, she looked like something from the sinners' side of heaven, all young, peaches and cream and those haunting eyes. His cock was aching to get into those tender lips between her legs.
She smiled like a Cheshire cat as she leaned down. She didn't kiss him, as he thought she was going to do. Instead she placed her face alongside his-he'd slid down to the point where he was flat on the bed again-and he felt her breasts pushing at him. They weren't large breasts, but they were hard, like apples that hadn't yet ripened. He knew she'd get larger before she was out of school.
Her hand pressed against his chest as she pushed herself up again. She smiled into his face like an angel.
"Did you feel them?"
"Of course I did."
She took his hands and lifted them to her bikini top. He squeezed her tits, finding they were indeed very hard and pointed. He could see the outline of her nipples. Her skin was a dark golden brown, as though she'd spent every day of her life out in the sun.
She turned on the side of the bed, presenting her back to him. He opened the knot of the bikini top where it was tied at the back of her neck. Then he opened the knot in the small of her back. The tiny garment fell away as though it had never existed.
She turned back and he looked at those child's knockers. Beautiful pink nipples, as delicate as Joyce's, which he now looked at in comparison. Yes, Joyce's mounds were heavier, more mature, but these were every bit as exciting in their way. He ran his thumbs over their peaks and the little nipples puffed up and snapped into even sharper points.
Darla looked down at herself and laughed. "Golly, Mr. Babcock, you're real good. They've never jumped out so quick before."
Jim smirked. "Perhaps I'm making you healthy, too, my child."
Darla merely blinked and then she was working at his waist, opening the string of his trunks and pulling hard. Jim lifted his hips so that she could jerk the trunks down to his knees. She paused and looked at his pouch. Jim looked, too. It was huge. His prick was pointing at the ceiling, aching for new action for the third time that day. It looked as fresh and eager to go as ever.
. He and Darla, and Joyce and Ken, for that matter, watched as the girl stroked his prick. Then she reached under it and found his balls, feeling of their tightness much as her stepmother had done a couple of hours earlier. "You're big," she whispered.
"So I'm told," he laughed. "Go ahead, make me well, if you still think I'm sick."
"I don't think you really are," she said with a sexy little giggle, "but I'm going to give you a routine physical anyhow."
She leaned down and pressed her breasts against his bulging prick. He angled his hips and thrust it between her tits, thinking this was a titty-pricky house. More cocks were shoved at breasts than at cunts. Ah, well, the pleasures of the idle rich.
Carla wormed her small body back and forth over his prick until Jim was ready to come. At that point he grasped her shoulders to halt her wiggling. "Sit up, my girl. I've had enough of this sort of stimulation. Don't you English women have anything more to offer a man than your knockers?"
"All right," she said with a delighted squeal. "I can give you something extra."
She began to rain kisses on his belly, working from her knees now, not touching his prick. She kissed his navel and then her lips were in his pubic hairs. Jim realized her target and he gasped with the pleasure of anticipation.
She slid down to where his flesh was terribly tender. He grasped handfuls of sheet and hung on as she wormed her nose and mouth down into his pubic hairs. Then she was kissing the very base of his cock. His nerve ends were singing a song in glorious harmony as her mouth drifted out on his shaft.
She was using her tongue, too, lapping on the shaft and making small slurping sounds against the skin. He looked over at Joyce, who was lying back while Ken fondled her breasts. She looked relaxed, lazy and cat-like. Yes, she had gotten rid of her inhibitions. She could now accommodate sex as though it were something that was always kept around the house.
Jim smiled and looked back down on Darla's sleek little head. It was still pecking at his shaft and then it was sliding out to the knob. He held his breath as she lapped gently at the pink swelling and. when she got over the little slit in its tip she paused.
She had lifted her head to peer up at him. "Am I doing it all right for you?"
Jim nodded. "I'll complain if things go wrong."
"I hope so. Daddy wants us to make things right for you. He says it's the little things like this that count." She giggled. "Not that there's much little about you."
Jim could only purr and stroke her hair as the small face bent to its task once again. She was opening her lips and then her jaws. She came down on his knob, taking the entire end of it into her mouth. He lurched with his hips and the whole thing was hooked inside, her teeth fixed above the flange.
He lay back, gulping and staring at the ceiling. It was so wonderful. He hoped that Joyce was taking notes. There was nothing degrading about this. It was simply a new dimension in sex, something special for those times when a little variety can keep the old ball game rolling along.
She was pulling on the end of his cock, her face pumping. Each time her head came up she would pull hard on his prick. The knob was hooked into her face like a fish hook in the jaw of a marlin. She pumped on and he felt himself ready to come again. Christ, how many times was it already today? He never would have believed he could have made it with such superman regularity.
He dug his heels into the mattress, gritted his teeth, tensed his entire body and then he rocketed his hips up into her mouth. The sound of muscle against bone could be heard, but Darla never let out a whimper. Indeed, she purred like a kitten as he managed his final swelling.
Then he came, hard, slamming, thundering into her throat. He could feel her tongue lapping inside her mouth, working at pumping the jism down her throat. She was hooked so tightly to his organ that not a drop escaped to the bed nor to his own flanks. She slurped and gulped like an expert and, in the midst of his ecstasy, Jim wondered how long she'd been at this sort of thing.
He expended himself again and again until at last he began to wear down. She continued to suck on him, not letting the cock loose so long as it had any size left. She lapped the tip, ripped into the little slit, and swallowed every drop. When, at last, he softened and she released him, his prick was cleaner than when it had gone into her mouth.
Jim lay back, gasping, sweating, drained of all of his fighting strength. He gasped for several minutes while the others commented over his inert form. He was conscious of their getting up and coming around to his side of the bed. All of them, stripping off their clothing as they came. Even Joyce, who now seemed to be one of the leaders, was shedding everything and giggling with Ken over some private little joke.
"Look at that man."
"I never saw such a prick."
"Oh, it's been bigger than that." That was Joyce who couldn't resist bragging about other times, other places.
"But such strength."
"How many times do you suppose he's gone off today? Maybe five or six?"
Jim smiled to himself. No, not quite that many, but if they want to think so....
"He really loved it, Darla. Daddy will be proud of you." That was Ken.
"Yes. If he has any sex hang-ups, you couldn't prove it by me. He seemed to love every lick and, believe me, I loved doing the licking. I think that's part of it, don't you? Each partner has to be really sincere."
Ken laughed shortly. "For sincere, read it horny. Each one has got to be in the mood. Naturally, somebody with real skill can get his partner in the mood almost any time." He laughed again. "Joyce, do you think you and your old man have got it made?"
Joyce laughed. "No doubt about it. I can't wait to get him alone."
"Not just yet. Maybe when the weekend is over. You weren't brought here to be off by yourselves. But we're glad you want it that way because that means you're over the top. You're truly cured."
Jim at last opened his eyes and smiled up into the three faces that were over him. "I hear a lot of noise but I don't see any action."
"Would you listen to that guy?" Ken stammered, amazement on his face. "He can't get enough."
"Correct," Jim muttered and he flicked his eyes over the naked bodies. He wanted Joyce's the most, but he was going to save the best until last. So he reached for Darla, pulling her down on him, full length.
She came willingly, giggling over her shoulder at the others, who stood by smiling fondly, as though watching her go off to Sunday school for the first time. Jim pulled her down against his body, which was already drying off.
She was a big girl and he loved the settling of her weight on him. She crept into every hollow of his body as they touched, foreheads to toes. Her breasts fit snugly against his chest like a couple of firm apples. Her hips smacked into his and her cunt hairs tickled his crotch. Her belly and his were flattened as one. Their knees knocked together and their toes dug into one another.
As they wiggled Joyce leaned over them, her breasts dangling like grapefruit from an overloaded tree. As Jim watched Ken got behind her and he saw Ken's arms come under Joyce's, around her ribs and up to clamp two hands on her breasts. She loved it, her eyes rolling up briefly. But then she got back to her primary mission.
She was reaching for Darla's prone body, grabbing the young girl by the buttocks cheeks and kneading the firm and yet yielding flesh as though it were bread dough. Darla turned her head to look back. "Kenny...." she began to protest, until she saw who it was. "Golly, Mrs. Babcockl How groovy. I like it when another girl puts her hands on me. You should see what fun we have at school in the gym locker room when...."
"Kindly keep still, Darla," Joyce ordered. She was in command, her face strong. Jim was stunned. He'd never dreamed that Joyce would actually go after another woman. But he supposed it was all right. It was part of the rounding out of her sexual education.
Joyce worked on, shifting from the saucy buttocks down to the back of Darla's thighs. Then she was working inside the thighs, spreading the young girl's legs until Darla was panting all over again.
Joyce had her face down and she was kissing Darla's ass. Then she was kissing the backs of those thighs. She spread the legs wider so she could get her face between them. Jim could hear the kissing sounds as his wife's face vanished and slid up to nurse its way into Darla's cunt hairs.
Darla was looking straight down into Jim's face as they continued to balance themselves belly to belly. She was grinning like a TV quiz contest winner. "Mr. Babcock, Mrs. Babcock is simply fabulous. You wouldn't believe what she's doing to me. I never dreamed she could be so kind, so generous."
Jim smiled. "She's a wonderful woman, all right. I'm going to find out how wonderful for myself or die trying. What's she up to now?"
"Lordy, I think ... yes, oh, my God ... I" Darla was almost swooning and he kissed her several times to help keep the child from passing out. She opened her eyes and grinned tightly down into his face again. Then she was biting his nose, apparently increasing the bite pressure with each telling thrust from Joyce.
Then she went over the edge, jerking her young body against Jim, wiggling so much that he got a hard-on all over again. She was coming, squirming, her toenails digging into his ankles as she hung on. Her fingernails ripped the flesh behind his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her waist and balanced her while she roared over the cliff of passion and then gradually wound down.
Jim closed his eyes, contented, for he'd made it again, too. Not much, but enough to convince himself that he-and sex-were indeed super.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
He was off by himself, fully dressed now because it was almost dark. He was out on the desert, looking at the final western light in the sky, where the sun had set beyond the tall peaks of the Coast Range.
It was a good time, a time of peace, quiet, tranquility. And he felt wonderful. He'd showered, shaved, had a stiff drink and he felt as strong as he had all day. He was fully charged, ready to go, and he felt so damned purged, so healthy. He was aware of everything, as though his senses had been stirred after having slept longer than Rip Van Winkle.
He supposed it was the old variety routine. The spice of life had been his all afternoon and it had brought him back into the living world. He was no longer a drone, no longer an inhibited bank cashier who was afraid for his job. He was a man who was ready for anything, afraid of nothing, willing to face the unknown.
He chuckled out loud and the sound startled a rabbit who had been feeding behind a cactus not ten feet away. He watched the little ball of fur scurry away among the creosote bushes. Yes, he felt like a rabbit, too. God knew he'd tapped an apparently endless reservoir of sex in his loins. He could take on another body right now and give a good account of himself.
He turned back toward the house, which was a hundred yards behind him. Yes, it was a place built for erotic pleasure. The architect, whoever the bastard was, had made certain that there were plenty of private places, plenty of sexy views and intimate shadows. Almost nobody could be in that house for long without becoming horny. God knew it had worked for him and Joyce. Joyce.
It was time they had their time together, even though it was only Saturday night and they still had twenty-four hours before the party was over. Yes, he was cured. He wanted his wife. After he had his wife he would want to go out and play with his new friends again ... but that was part of the new package of goodies that had become their sex life.
He walked slowly back into the yard, picking his way among the plants that helped give privacy to the rear of the patio-pool area. As he got to the pool it was almost completely dark and the underwater lights were on, giving the pool a sexy glow from the bottom up.
In the far corner, where there was an iron table and chairs, the maid was placing empty glasses on a tray. The maid. Yes, Kitty was her name. Helen had said she was French. He went in her direction, casually, aimlessly, not knowing exactly what he had in mind. He only knew he felt sexy, horny, and that he could go another round with anybody in the house.
"Hi."
She jumped and the glasses rattled against her tray. "Oh, excuse me, sir," Kitty blurted, her accent very French and very sexy. "I did not see nor hear you."
He smiled and looked her over. She was tiny, hardly five feet, but she had all the curves and hollows and bumps in the right places. She was still wearing the black satin mini uniform that hardly came down over her crotch, and there was a tiny white apron at her front.
"Kitty, you're a fortunate woman," he muttered, still looking her over. Somewhere between 21 and 24, about his own age, and there was a wise look somewhere in the back of those startled dark eyes.
As he spoke he took the tray from her hands and put it down on the table. Then he stepped close to her. "Tell me, can we be seen from the house?"
Her dark head swirled back and forth. "No, no, sir. You see the lights, they have been designed so that from the far side of the swimming pool one cannot be seen. There are clever shadows and lights that point somewhat toward the house to keep those inside from seeing over the pool lights if...."
"I understand, I understand," he smiled. "I feel very sexy, Kitty. Tell me that doesn't frighten you, because I wouldn't want to do that." Wow, he thought, he was moving in like a tiger, ready to drop her as soon as he got the girl backed into a corner.
Her dark hair swirled again and it was just light enough for him to see the white of her face, the gleam in her eyes and the half puzzled curve of her lips. But the curve went up, not down. "No, Mr. Babcock, I am not frightened. I have been with Mr. and Mrs. English for almost a year now and I have seen ... how would the young people say it? Yes, I have seen it all."
"Wonderful." He laughed in what he thought was a low and sexy way. "Then you don't mind."
He lifted the skirt of her little black uniform. "I've been wanting to see what's under here ever since lunch."
As it turned out, there was nothing under the skirt.
That is, nothing but Kitty and Kitty's little dark pussy, which was an incredible ball of fur wrapped tightly at the place where her legs were joined to her body. Jim stared at it for a minute and then he looked into her face.
"You're a servant, I'm a guest. But at this moment that means nothing. Do you get my meaning?"
Kitty nodded. "Yes. Darla and Mr. Kenneth told me that you are very nice, that you would never want to take advantage of a woman. You play the game of sex very fair, they said. Yes, I understand your meaning very clearly."
He grunted in approval and then he put his hand on her twat. She recoiled for an instant, a shocked gasp escaping her lips. "But you are so fast, faster even than the master. Mr. English likes me and he has had me come to him many times, even when I have not wanted to. But he has never gone straight to the ... how you say, straight to the heart of the matter so quickly."
Jim chuckled. "It isn't your heart I'm touching, Kitty."
She flushed. "Yes, I know. Do you not think I have the nerve ends?"
"Then you like it."
"You do not need to keep asking me that."
He wiggled his fingers, pushing her back until the edge of the table caught her at the hips. Good, he was in position to whip out his prick and pour it to her in less than five minutes elapsed time. It would be the fastest piece of tail in the West-French or otherwise.
But he hadn't reckoned on her own speed. He brought both hands into play the instant the table edge stopped her and in less than five seconds the French girl was going off. He stared in amazement as she flooded her juices over his fingers and he heard the stuff spattering to the concrete of the patio. "For Christ sakes!"
"I am so sorry, sir, but I am ... what you would say very French. That is why Mr. English keeps me. He cannot always um ... get it up is, I believe the American expression. So he likes to give me my pleasure simply. As you just have and, if I may say, I enjoyed it. Thank you very much."
Jim stared as she whipped her skirt down, picked up her tray and glasses and disappeared in the direction of the house.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jim stood in the darkness, breathing deeply for a few minutes.
It was just as well that Kitty was on a hair trigger, because he had his next load reserved for private pleasures, the pleasure of him and his wife. He went at once toward the house and, back inside, he poked about quietly. Most of the family was in the front room, where there was a roaring fire. The nights were cool on the desert.
Good. He didn't see Joyce in there and he hoped that she might be feeling as he felt at that moment. They'd hardly had a minute alone since their arrival and it was time that they each took-and passed-their final examination in free and unrestricted sexual pleasures.
He found her in the bedroom, seated at the dressing table, a flowing negligee draped over her body. She looked up as he came in and she was all peaches and cream, smelling of fresh soap and a touch of perfume. Her golden hair was still piled high on her head. She smiled.
"Hi. Just got out of the shower, feeling all clean and tingling and wondering where my man was. You must have felt my vibes."
Jim laughed. "I felt mine. That's why I came looking for you."
She laughed as he came over and knelt by her stool and her arms went quickly about his neck. "Oh, Jim, we're going to have such wonderful times...."
They said nothing more for the next half hour. Instead he lifted her and carried her to the bed, where he put her down as gently as though she were a fresh cake from the oven. Then he was leaning over her, plucking at the bow at her throat, parting the negligee and gazing into the almost virginal depths of her ripe body.
Yes, it was a ripe body, a body aching to be picked. Her hips ground slowly in a circle against the mattress and her breasts stood up, their nipples making their own peaks before he'd so much as touched them. Her belly sucked in and out, the navel bobbing like a cork and her breathing became unnatural, disjointed, heavy with the excitement of her anticipation.
"Jim," she breathed. "Please...."
He leaned down and kissed a nipple, scissoring the other between his fingers as he kissed her. She groaned and at once she was opening his shirt, half ripping it from him. Then she was clawing his belt, his zipper, jerking his pants down. His shoes clunked on the carpet and he was undressed in record time.
He got on the bed, sprawling over her on hands and knees and her hand went straight to his prick. She began to stroke him and in seconds he was up, hard as ever, wondering how he could do it all over again-but knowing for sure that he could.
And so they made love. She got him ready and he kissed her breasts, her belly, her navel and he freely dug his face into her thighs and crotch so that she was humming like a tuning fork when he was ready to enter her body.
He came down on her, his prick poking straight into her vagina, in to the hilt. They let themselves soak for a minute and then their rhythm took over. They flexed their muscles in beautiful unison for several minutes and at last they made a tight arch of their bodies, hanging them in the air above the mattress. Then the arch broke.
They came together, as one, in perfect unison, and at that moment Jim realized Joyce was the best of them all. Sure, he'd want to sample others from time to time, but when the games were over he'd always come back to number one-his number one girl.
Then Joyce was telling him the same thing. "Darling, you're the best for me and you always will be." She giggled as their final juices melted as one pool. "Of course, when we get stale we know that variety will add spice."
He cleared his throat. "Speaking of spice, why don't we get cleaned up and join the others?"
Joyce giggled into his shoulder ... and so they did.
