Fifty million Americans wanted to fuck Jacqueline Armstrong. At least fifty million. If she'd had the same land of magazine and television exposure in France, fifty million Frenchmen-the French, they are a funny race-would have wanted to go down on her. And fifty million Frenchmen can't be wrong.
"Exposure' was a word that went naturally with Jackie Armstrong, known in millions of American households as The All-American Girl,' known wistfully, privately, to millions of horny heads-of-households as the AU-American Dream-Fuck. She reached those households over and over in the course of every year on countless magazine covers, and in a deluge of magazine advertisements and television commercials for a variety of products ranging from motor cars to miniskirts, from dog food to depilatories. And 'exposure' was the word for Jackie, because she loved to expose her mouth-watering body, as much of it as possible, as often as possible.
If the household phrase for her started with 'All-American,', in the various inside worlds of commerce she was known by a different assortment of tag lines. In the travel industry, for example, after a full-page advertisement for a cruise line had focused male risibilities on her long luscious legs displayed on a boat's rail, she was known as The Snatch That Launched a Thousand Ships.' In the automotive trade, after those same legs were shown invitingly spread as Jackie got from behind the wheel of a sports car, the slogan describing her appeal was There's a Fuck in Your Future.' All along Madison Avenue, whenever a product needed selling, the automatic cry was, "Let's use the Cunt Supreme-the Cunt that makes them want it, whatever it is."
They were talking about Jackie. Any time of the day or night, somebody somewhere was talking about Jackie. Thinking about Jackie. Having a hard-on over Jackie.
But despite her fame and fortune, Jackie Armstrong was not quite satisfied. Her 'exposure' was not enough. She was both a tease and an exhibitionist at heart, and what she really wanted, without knowing it, was the land of exposure that her agent handed to her on a silver platter one cool summer morning. Also without knowing it. He mentioned it only as a joke, to see how she'd react.
"You got an offer from Denmark yesterday," he said, riffling through a sheaf of letters on his desk. He walked his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other and glanced at her under lowered eyelids.
"What kind of an offer? From whom?"
"Some Danes. Some Danes with a sex magazine."
"You mean an offer to pose for some of those nude photographs?"
"Spread shots, they're called, honey."
Jackie was conscious of a sudden strange excitement.
"What kind of money?" she asked, playing it cool. "Danish money," he said, taking the cigar out of his mouth. "Good Danish money, plus good Danish travel expenses, but what difference does it make? You're not going to do it."
She was quiet for a minute, lighting a cigarette.
"I've always wanted to see Copenhagen," she said, dropping her match in an ashtray.
"You're crazy," he said, staring at her across the desk, "even to think about it. What about your vast, devoted, clean-living American public?"
"Fuck my American public."
"That's what we're doing, honey," he said. "That's what we're doing."
"Anyway that vast, devoted, clean-living American public has no business looking at dirty Danish magazines."
"You are crazy," he said, and shrugged. "But like we used to say in the Boy Scouts, it's your ass."
A lot of the modeling Jackie did was leg modeling, and legs were most often photographed with the model lying on her back, her legs in the air. The position did something for the softer, more voluptuous lines of the legs, the swelling of the calves, the trimness of the ankles. Not that Jackie's legs needed a whit of improving, but she was prepared to assume that familiar position when she walked into the Copenhagen studio.
In New York, or in Chicago, or in Los Angeles, when she was lying on her back with her legs in the air, the photographer was always very professional and circumspect and cautious about not taking shots that would show even a hint of crotch or panties, or, heaven forbid, hair. But now, as she came into the studio in Denmark, with the photographer and his assistant busy making arrangements for her full-color photographs, she wasn't even wearing pants.
When she raised her skirt and leaned back with her legs apart and put her pussy on open display for the first time-professionally-she found that she was trembling a little, with a combination of self-consciousness and excitement. The Danish photographer stood silent for a long moment, drinking in the sight. Jackie loved every second of his silence.
Raising his eyes heavenward, with a visible effort, the photographer finally spoke, in his oddly cadenced English.
"It's too lovely," he said, "much too lovely to be called a cunt. It's more like a flower, unfolding. An orchid."
She was deeply pleased. Jackie had studied her twat often, in the mirror at her dressing table, raising one knee at a time and opening her thighs slightly to get a better view. The hair of her luxuriant bush, nestling around her cunt, was extraordinarily long, fine, almost silken, and a glossy jet black, like the hair on her head. The dusky pink outer lips of her cunt were slender in repose, fuller at the center, then curving in to cleanly defined terminations both top and bottom, giving an impression of neatness and smallness. At the center, a hint of the inner lips showed, and when Jackie opened her legs the delicate folds blossomed, a brighter pink, like petals on a rose.
Evidently the same thought was going through the mind of the Danish photographer.
"For the first photographs," he said, "I would like to make some arrangements of the petals of that little flower. Do you mind?"
"Of course not," Jackie said, not quite sure what he meant.
She watched with mounting excitement as he knelt before her, spread her outer cunt-lips delicately with his fingertips, and licked her tender moist crevice gently, with just the tip of his tongue.
She felt her hips begin to move, involuntarily, as his skilled tongue moved deftly within the tender intricate folds of the quivering confines of her cunt. By the time he withdrew his tongue to step back to his camera, she knew that her outer twat-lips were swollen and parted, the inner petals wet and gleaming for the lens.
For almost an hour the photographer and his assistant took pictures of her, in every conceivable position, from every conceivable angle that allowed the camera to focus on the opened, inviting, pink, moist intricacies of her cunt. In her new-found excitement, she went out of her way to please, to open herself up, to spread her legs wide, to pose her pussy in every way that made it as soft, as welcoming as possible.
At one point her pussy's open welcome evidently became too much for the photographer's professional poise. He stepped away from his camera and toward her, starting to undo his trousers.
She frowned slightly and shook her head.
"Maybe later," she said. "Let's finish this job now." After all, she was a professional too.
But when the job was finished there was no maybe about it. Without a word from either of them, when they'd indicated that the shooting was over, she walked to the door of the studio and locked it, then turned and looked at them, celestially naked, and smiling.
"Now, you angel," the photographer asked, "what would you like to do?"
"Anything at all," she said, doing an exquisite little bump, holding her opened cunt up toward them like a bird dog at point. "Anything. As long as I fuck you both to a Danish frazzle."
They were fumbling frantically in their haste to strip off their clothes as she moved slowly around them, undulating her hips and preferring her pussy as the focal point of their stares, toward the large easy chair they'd used to pose her cunt to advantage in many of the shots. By the time she'd settled in the chair, with one leg draped over an arm, swinging lazily, her openly beckoning cunt pouting pinkly at them, they were both naked, their cocks rigidly, burstingly erect.
Me, she thought, smiling with satisfaction, The Ail-American Dream-Fuck. Also the All-Scandinavian Dream-Fuck. Her cunt oozing in anticipation, she appraised their ready cocks with expert eyes.
Her eyes widened with pleasure as she mentally measured the length and breadth of the photographer's howitzer of a hard-on. Thor, his name was, she remembered from the early introductions, and he was aptly named, and aptly hung. Or sprung. His mammoth tool sprang out from his tangled blond pubic growth like a sturdy oaken limb. It was the color of oak, too, and roughly the thickness of her wrist. She stared at it for a long moment, in delighted wonder, at the great shaft pointed toward her, toward her wet welcoming cunt, but higher, at eye-level. Behind and below the tightly-stretched skin of his apple-hard prick-head, the long, thick shaft seemed to diminish in the distance, like straight railroad tracks on a level plain.
She tore her eyes away from it to look at Thor's young assistant, Carl, who was visibly shaking in anticipation. His stiffly twitching cock was long, and slender, and white, and its brightly blushing head seemed ready to explode. It would explode, she knew instinctively, only moments after it slipped between the soft slippery lips of her greedy, gobbling, fuck-famished twat. She felt a wash of compassion for Carl. She'd take care of him, first. He'd last longer when he fucked her later.
"Come here, Carl," she said softly, then opened her mouth and beckoned him with the tip of her tongue as he stepped close, alongside the arm of the chair.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Thor step forward and drop to his knees between her spread legs. She moved her hips, bringing her pussy forward, to the edge of the seat.
"For you, my cunt," she murmured, "my juicy cunt, on a platter. Eat it. Gobble it."
And as Thor began to lick and suck and slake his thirst for her pussy, as the exquisite torment of his skillful tongue teased her toward inner rapture, she slid her full warm lips over the thrusting crimson head of Carl's cock, opening her mouth to take in much of the slender length, letting her tongue slide underneath, licking the undershaft, back and forth, with soft fluttering strokes.
"Aaah," Carl said, "aaah," and put his hand lightly behind her busily shuttling head. She sucked his eager cock gently, lovingly, wetly, using her tongue now to tickle it under the head, then lick up the pulsing undershaft with long, slow strokes. Her own hips were beginning to pump, as Thor gobbled the streaming juices of her tingling twat.
She could hear Carl breathing and moaning, in a ll sort of frenzied contentment, until his hips took on an urgency, and she felt his hands come up to rest over her ears.
Tm going to come, lady," he said, in his halting English.
A gentleman, she thought, and kept right on sucking, harder and faster, her mouth making soft slurping sounds as it slid up and down his tensing shaft. He came, then, in a series of pumping surges, splashing his juices in great gusts into the back of her throat. She swallowed, again and again, and kept on sucking, until he was dry. She looked up at him, and smiled tightly above the building rapture between her thrusting thighs. Carl stepped back and away as his cock lowered its head.
She felt a breath of air on the tender exposure of the moist membranes of her open cunt, as Thor lifted his mouth away and appeared beside the chair, still on his knees, where Carl had been.
He leaned over the chair arm toward her. His open mouth found a wet warm sucking welcome on her own, and his tongue plunged in and began a frantic tango with hers. She felt his hands enjoying her, all over her, sliding, squeezing, stroking, pinching at her hard inflamed nipples. She felt a finger sliding urgently into the slime of her quaking cunt.
She tore her mouth from his and lay back in the chair with an in-sucking gasp, opening her legs even wider, spreading her thighs in long-delayed, wanton need.
"No," he said, looking deep into her eyes. He seemed to be smiling, faintly. My God, she thought, a crazy Dane. What a time to make jokes.
"No, what?" She was squirming.
"No. Not here."
He was crazy. She was in an agony of waiting, of totally abandoned torment.
"Not in the chair. On the floor. There's more room."
Thank God, she thought, he wasn't crazy at all. She lid swiftly to the rug.
The photographer arched over her, bracing himself on his elbows, and she flung her legs joyously around his lean hips, hooking her heels behind him. His tanned face, smiling gently, was directly over hers, his eyes looking steadily into her own. She reached down and swung the great boom of his heavy cock toward her, bringing the hard clenched fist of the head against the hot swollen lips of her silently screaming cunt.
Thor eased the stabbing shaft forward an inch, two inches, until part of the head was engulfed in her wet quivering twat entrance. Then he stopped, holding his hips immobilized.
"Oh, please," she almost sobbed, between her squeezed-shut teeth. "Please. Put it in. Fuck me now. Fuck me deep. Just put it in."
"All of it?" He was smiling broadly now. Oh my God, Jackie thought. TV, never be a tease again.
"All of it. Every hard fucking inch of it." It was almost a prayer, the way she said it.
He began to slide the long velvet log of his cock into her then, slowly, an inch at a time. She unhooked her heels from behind and let her legs lie wide apart, spreading the red carpet of her cunt for his royal entrance, but as the thick rigid shaft approached the end of its first rapture-carrying trip into the depths of her gulping cunt-cavern, her knees jerked up spasmodically, and her legs began to flail around behind his back.
When the great shaft was fully imbedded, to the hilt, his pelvis grinding hard against her squirming, squeezing cunt-entrance, she hooked her heels behind him again and raised her hips, pushing herself tighter against the base of his jamming cock. His hands came up behind her, holding her shoulders, as he drew the shaft slowly outward, then plunged it in again. It seemed to reach even deeper as the walls of her cunt opened wider to accommodate the length and breadth of his gigantic, surging prick.
That's it," she breathed. "Deep. Fuck deeper."
He began to fuck her, deeply, with long, slow, driving strokes, and her hips rose and fell, rose and fell, in perfect time with his own slow rhythm, her cunt clutching and sucking and holding the slippery shaft as if reluctant to let go on every out-stroke, squeezing and embracing every deepening plunge to her inner depths. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and she could hear only the sound of her own hips and buttocks pounding on the carpet as the tempo of his fucking increased. She became aware of a slapping sound, too, from the wild beating of his heavy balls in the exquisite but sweaty crevice of her ass.
Her own moans were louder now, becoming gasping little screams, and she knew her fingernails were raking the smooth sldn of his back. But she couldn't help herself, couldn't stop anything she was doing. The pounding of her hips sounded as frantic as the frenzied struggles of an impaled moth. Her rapture swelled to a crescendo, then peaked in a blinding orgasm, searing, pounding, choking her in a smothering wave of sensation.
"Now," she screamed, "oh, God, now."
He drove his thick oaken cock deep into her in a pounding fury of lightning strokes, and as she shuddered and jerked convulsively she felt his hot juices spurting into her, gushing deep, flooding her deep cave of cock-loving joy. She put her arms and legs tight around him, and just hung on, as he kept the hard core of her ecstasy buried deep inside her cunt, letting the diminishing ripples of her passion wash over it.
It was a long time before the spasms subsided enough for her to let go of him. She lay back limply on the rug, looking up at him, as he drew his slackening organ out of the tender clutch of her sated cunt and got to his feet He looked down at her, lying stretched out on the rug, her legs still apart, her cunt oozing contentment
He smiled, but said nothing.
"To think," Jackie murmured, "that I was going to fuck you both to a Danish frazzle."
"There's still lots of time," Thor said, bending to uncork a bottle of Aquavit standing on an end table. "We're finished for the day."
Jackie sat up, and, miraculously, felt a faint tingling starting in the depths of her cunt a glowing of coals where she should be nothing but fucked-out ashes.
"Finished, you say?" she asked, as young Carl moved over quietly to stand close to where she sat
"For today," Thor grunted.
That's what you think," Jackie said, and reached up to stroke the rising length of Carl's lively, smooth-skinned cock.
CHAPTER TWO
Niles Wallach was there to meet her as she came through Gate at Kennedy Airport. When she'd cabled him from Copenhagen she'd known he would be, even though it was a weekday afternoon. She'd only known Niles three weeks but he had such an acute case of the hots for her she was sure he'd have met her plane if it had landed in Nome, Alaska. He took the under-the-seat bag from her hand.
Ts this all the luggage you've got?" he asked.
"We'll pick up the rest of it at the baggage place," she said. "Meanwhile I'd like a drink."
"It's nice you have luggage," he said, falling in behind her as she swung down the long cool corridor toward the terminal. "It'll shock the pants off them when we check into the motel. There's one less than a mile from here."
"You have a one track mind," she said.
"I'm a growing boy." Niles was around forty and several times Jackie had gotten the impression that he was getting sensitive about the stray gray at his temples. She turned to look at him.
"Why do you walk two paces behind me? You look like some kind of native gun bearer."
"I like to look at your legs."
"You're sweet," she said.
"Also your ass," he said. "Did anyone ever tell you, you have the nicest ass in the Western Hemisphere?"
"Gallant, too," she said. He took two quick steps and drew up even with her.
"Look," he said, "it's really your mind I admire, but how can we ever have a meeting of the minds if we can't even get together at the hips?"
"Niles," she said, "can't you get it through your head that I'm a respectable matron-type? I have a house in Larchmont and a son who'll be sixteen in three months."
He didn't buy any of it, she knew, but he let it go.
"You don't look much older than that yourself."
"Well, I am," she said. "I have a wrinkle."
"Where?" he said. "Where do you have a wrinkle?"
"Maybe you'll find out," she said, "sometime." She hated herself for playing this game, but it was necessary, she told herself. Absolutely necessary, this time. Niles groaned. There was nothing phony or forced about it
"The Lisbon Lounge is as good a place as any," he said, steering her by the elbow. "We can watch the airplanes."
The drive to Larchmont was as great a strain on Jackie as it was on Niles, but at least Niles had the driving to occupy him. She had nothing but her thoughts, and they were driving her wild.
She kept squirming on the low seat of the Mercedes, and the hem of her skirt rose further up every time she moved. Niles kept looking over at the glorious display of her legs, then looking back at the road, shaking his head. When they were crossing the Throg's Neck Bridge, he put his hand over her left knee, and with his fingers gently caressed the indescribably soft, warm inner swell of her thigh just above the knee. Despite the long, smooth, athletic swell of her legs, they were soft to the touch, she knew, and she wanted him to keep on stroking the smooth skin, sensitive now, as his hand moved slowly up between her thighs. For just a second she let her legs fall wide apart, wanting that hand to touch her where she needed it most, to feel the welcome probing fingers on the warm, swelling, wanting lips of her cunt, but then she clamped her legs together, squeezing his hand and stopping its progress. My God, she thought, if he feels how wet I am down there, hell fuck me on the grass right beyond the toll station.
"The Parkway Authority," she said aloud, "frowns on that sort of thing."
"What sort of thing?" Niles asked, frowning himself.
"Nothing," she told him. The man at the toll booth was looking in, grinning. She wriggled and tugged at her skirt.
"We'll be at your house in twenty minutes or so," Niles said.
"It's no good, Niles," she said, "even if I said yes. Bob is home."
"Who?"
"Bob. My son." He wasn't, of course, but she had to keep Niles from getting her alone now, the state she was in. Bob was away, visiting a friend whose folks had a summer place in Maine. And she had given the housekeeper the month off. But she was getting control of herself now. She had to, she told herself. This time, at least, she had to. She had long-range plans for Niles.
He didn't speak to her again, except to ask directions, all the way to Larchmont. When he pulled up in front of the house, he didn't even turn the ignition key, but left the engine running while he got her luggage out of the trunk and set it on the front lawn.
When he got back into the car she was still sitting there, waiting for him. She looked over at him, staring straight ahead over the wheel, and then she looked down. The left leg of his pants, halfway down to the knee, it seemed to her, was stretched taut, the tan tropical worsted lumped out where she knew the head of his cock throbbed. Oh, mother, he has a big one, she thought. How I'd love to have him slide that into me, right now. Here, in the car. On the lawn. Anywhere.
"You know something?" he said. "You give me a pain in the ass."
"No, I don't," she said. She leaned over and kissed him on the mouth, then touched his ear with the tip of her tongue. "I give you a flaming hard-on is all."
She opened the door and got out of the car quickly and ran up the walk, without even turning when she heard the car roar away down the quiet street.
After the car had turned the corner and gone out of sight, she retraced her steps and brought her bags up on the side porch, one by one. She wasn't the least bit annoyed at Niles for not carrying her bags inside. She didn't blame him. She knew he couldn't have, without looking ridiculous, with that erection. She felt guilty about that. Damp, too. God, she was damp, between her legs.
She got out her key and let herself in the side door off the porch, went into the living room, and lay back in the reclining chair near the piano in a comer of the room. She lay limp, relaxing, enjoying the cool quiet twilight of the big shaded room after the tense ride in the relentless sunlight. She could feel her excitement subsiding, her dampness drying.
She loved this room, this house. She had lived in it since Bob was six months old, when a doting, childless, widowed grand-uncle had turned it over to her and her husband after he retired and moved to Florida. The grand-uncle was long dead now, and she had gotten rid of the husband, promptly and mercifully, but she had kept the house. Her parents, her friends, everybody had told her how impractical it was for her to keep that big old house, just a girl with a baby son, but she was stubborn, and fanatically independent. Although the taxes alone amounted to more than an apartment in New York would have cost her, she never had money problems, even in the beginning. She was constantly in demand, legitimately, as a photographer's model before she was eighteen, and once had been on the cover of three national magazines in the same month, that fresh, ingenuous all-American gamin's face smiling up at people as if she wouldn't say Balls if she had a mouthful.
She had been able to afford the services of a middle-aged couple who had taken care of everything for the first ten years after her divorce, and after they'd left she'd found the housekeeper she had now. As soon as Bob was old enough, she'd sent him to a succession of private schools. Actually she saw little of him as he grew up, but he was bright, seemed to adjust well to the lack of parents, and now, approaching sixteen, he had the same defiant independence of spirit that she'd always had. She was enormously proud of him and enjoyed every hour they spent together. She didn't know him very well, she had to admit. Something about him now made her almost afraid to know him better.
Reluctantly, she slid out of the recliner and started toward the stairs. On the third step, she was suddenly aware of the sound of a shower running in one of the bathrooms on the second floor.
"Bob," she called, happily, and ran up the steps to the head of the stairs, where she called again. Then she knew he couldn't hear her, with the shower running. She opened the hall door to the bathroom between her room and Bob's, and called his name again.
The shower curtain had not been drawn and the lean wet tanned back under the shower was unfamiliar to her. So was the startled boy's face that turned toward her. The mane of hair was bright blond, even wet. Bob's hair was as black as her own.
"Mrs. Ranldn?" the boy said. She noticed that he kept his back toward her and spoke over his shoulder.
"Well, yes," she said. She hated that name, especially with the Mrs. Nobody who knew her ever used it.
"I'm a friend of Bob's," the boy said, and apparently realized he was shouting through the spray. He turned off the shower, still keeping his back to her.
"My name is Peter Dolan," the boy said, facing the wall now, not looking at her. "Bob gave me a key to your house and told me to stay here till he got back. He didn't think you'd be home so soon."
"I didn't expect to be," she said. "But that's all right. You're perfectly welcome. I'm glad to have you here." She almost said, "Any friend of Bob's is a friend of mine," but thought better of it. How square can you get? She hated the idea of kids thinking of her as a moldy fig.
"Finish your shower," she said, and the boy turned on the water again. On impulse, she walked to the far end of the big old-fashioned bathroom, put down the cover of the toilet seat, and sat down. The boy, his whole frame relaxing, started to turn toward where she sat. Seeing her sitting there, he turned away again abruptly, awkwardly, slipping and almost falling in the tub in his haste. She laughed.
"Don't be so modest," she said. "I often sit here and talk to Bob when he's taking a shower."
"Yes, ma'am," the boy said, soaping himself. He still kept his back toward her. "I just got back from a camping trip in Maine, near where Bob's staying. Hell be home in a couple of days."
"I didn't see your luggage when I came in."
"I put all my gear in Bob's room."
"Let me soap your back," she said. She stood up and took the soap from him and rubbed it in small circles down his back, running it over the bumpy ridge of his spine, the long sinewy muscles along the sides of his rib cage, and lower, around the hollows on the sides of his buttocks. The boy was tensed as if ready to spring from the tub.
Jackie was starting to feel the way she had felt in the car coming back from the airport. This is awful, she thought. The boy can't be more than seventeen. She leaned forward, careful to stay out of the spray, and put the soap back into its dish and went back and sat down again, and watched the boy rinsing himself. There was something terribly young, terribly vulnerable, in the naked sliding shoulder blades. He turned and saw her looking at him, and to cover her sudden embarrassment she leaned forward and put out her cigarette in an ashtray.
She was wearing a summer dress cut low, straight across the front, and when she leaned forward the white upper slopes of her breasts swelled into view. When she sat back and looked up, the boy was staring at her, half turned in profile, and in the split second before he turned away again she saw that he had an erection. All at once she felt at ease again.
"Don't ever be ashamed of your body," she said, and laughed. "Bodies were meant to be seen, don't you think?"
He turned part way around and looked at her again. She was sitting with her legs crossed, the hem of her skirt almost to her hips.
"I sure do," he said, with a trace of boldness, and he smiled. "I sure do, Mrs. Rankin."
She laughed again.
"Let me dry you," she said. She got up and took a bath towel from the rack as the boy stepped from the tub. Standing behind him, she dried his head first, rubbing with rough vigor. like his own mother would, she thought, but the thought was fleeting. Standing straight, the boy was a shade taller than she was in three-inch heels, and she was over five-seven. She dried his back, his buttocks, his legs.
"Turn around," she said, and sat down again, holding the damp towel.
He hesitated a second, then turned around toward her, slowly.
His cock stood out stiffly from the curly young bush of blond hair, holding a forty-five degree angle above the horizontal. It was quite long, Jackie noted, and rather slender. The rock-hard shaft looked bridal-gown white, right up to the collar of soft skin below the head. The head itself was deep pink, and larger in diameter than the long cockshaft, like a knuckle-less fist above a stiff upraised wrist.
When the boy was completely faced around toward her, his cock was pointed up directly toward her face. The tiny eye in the center of the broad shelving head seemed to wink at her.
"I can't help it, Mrs. Ranldn," the boy said.
'It's all right, Peter," she said, and reached up with the towel to dry his chest. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. You should be proud of it."
When she had dried his chest and legs and belly she hesitated for a moment before touching the towel to his shaft. It was throbbing now, twitching upward every few seconds with a pulse of its own. Peter, she thought, how I'd love to have that young peter of yours pumping into me now. But she knew what would happen. The boy would be good for three or four strokes before he exploded. If he even got all the way in. Jackie knew what to do about that, though. Knew, right now, absolutely what to do.
She dried his stiff limb gently, lovingly, with the towel, and then looked up at him. He didn't move. He was looking straight at her, and his eyes showed white all around the irises, but he didn't move away. He was starting to tremble.
"Would you like me to kiss it?" she asked him, and smiled.
"Would I," he said, exhaling. Then, almost timidly, "Would you?"
She put her left hand behind his right hip and drew him closer. Tenderly, she placed her left thumb under his throbbing cock, at the base, and applied a very slight pressure so it stood almost straight up. She touched the soft wrinkling of skin at the neck of the shaft, just under the head, with the tip of her tongue, then gathered the sliding folds between her lips with tiny sucking kisses. All she could hear in the room was the drip of the shower and his breathing, fast and irregular, almost as if he were in pain. She took her thumb away from the base of his cock and let it spring straight out, then took the head into her mouth and ran her tongue down under the shaft, Belong, first back and forth, then sideways.
She put her hands behind his hips then and took the head and as much of the white shaft as would fit comfortably into her mouth and started sucking, moving her head back and forth like a feeding bird, her lips soft but tight around his shaft, her tongue licking and smothering his undercook. His hips started thrusting forward spasmodically, as if he were fucking her mouth.
Then, with a shudder, he came, trembling under her hands on his hips, his warm fluid spurting against the roof of her mouth and back into her throat. She swallowed, and swallowed again, and kept sucking, until he was sucked dry and she tasted nothing but limp young prick between her lips.
She sat back, looked up at him, and smiled.
He was looking at the ceiling.
"Why don't you lie down for a while, in Bob's room, while I take a shower?"
He left without saying a word, modestly snuggling a dry bath towel around his waist before he went out the door.
After she'd showered and dried herself she stepped back into her high-heeled mules, considered walking in on young Peter completely in the nude, and decided it would be too much of a shock to the boy's system. From a row of atomizers on a shelf over the washbasin, she selected a fragrance and delicately perfumed her pussy. You never can tell about the younger generation, she told herself. They're full of surprises.
She took a diaphanous short negligee-bed jacket from a hanger behind the door, and fastened it at the waist. The hem stopped at her upper thighs, and the thin transparent nylon concealed nothing. Her pussy-hair showed darkly through, and she noticed that the nipples of her pouting, full, still-young breasts were erect, pushing out against the light wispy cloth, each nipple showing through like a tiny stiff red cock.
She hoped Peter would be corning to life soon. She was sure he would. The seventeen-year-olds she had known as a girl, she remembered, invariably had made very fast comebacks.
She walked quietly to the open door of Bob's room. Peter lay on his back, sleeping. The bath towel lay open and his cock, shrunken now, sad and small, lay limp, cradled in the soft hammock of his balls.
Jackie walked over to the side of the bed, leaned over, and kissed him wetly on the mouth. His eyes popped open. She straightened up and smiled down at him.
"Want to sleep some more?" she asked him.
"No," he said, and struggled to an elbow to look at her. "No, I sure don't."
"Come into my room and talk to me." She led the way, letting her hips sway. In the doorway to her room she paused, and Peter bumped into her.
"Sorry," he said, then put his hand flat under the back hem of her wisp of a garment and ran his palm against the smooth white soft mounds of her ass.
"Jesus," the boy said reverently. She felt the head of his cock, stiff again, brush one cheek. He had forgotten his bath towel.
She went to the side of her queen-sized bed and placed pillows against the headboard, then sat down on the edge of the bed and lay back against the pillows. Slowly, lazily, she raised one leg, bent at the knee, and put her foot on the bed. She swung her bent knee back and forth in a short slow arc, and watched the boy's face as he stared at the furred confluence of her upper thighs.
Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the window directly on her lower body, accenting, she knew, the gleaming jet-blackness of her bush, the bright pinkness of the inner cunt-lips peeping through. Her petals, she thought, and smiled. Peter was staring hard, the whites showing again around his eyes, his cheeks bright red under his tan. His cock was pulsing and twitching upward, as if to reach a higher angle. Then Jackie saw what she hoped to see: he was licking his lips.
"Go ahead," she said. "Do anything you want. I'll like it."
He licked his lips again. She moved to the edge of the bed and lay back with her legs apart and her knees raised, her feet in the air.
"Go ahead," she said. "Kiss it."
He dropped to his knees beside the bed, his head between her thighs. The tip of his tongue touched her, tentatively, on a tender pink fold peeking out from between her pouting outer lips.
"Lick it," she said, her excitement mounting. He was so young. This had to be the first time he'd gone down on a woman.
"Put your tongue in there," she said. "Lick it, up and down. Then suck my whole cunt. Lick my cunt. Eat my cunt Gobble my cunt."
He began to lick then, licked and sucked and gobbled, and groaned in his excitement. She urged his tongue deeper, nudging him gently with her heels behind his back. Her juices were flowing, she knew, and his mouth was wet and gleaming every time he moved away to take a breath. Her cunt seemed on fire, her hips pushing the whole concentrated being in her twat forward to meet every thrust of his tongue, every sucking demand of his mouth. She could stand it no longer.
"Get into me now," she said. "Put your cock in there. Fuck me now, Peter. Please, quick, fuck me now."
She got back onto the middle of the bed with her legs spread and Peter knelt between her thighs. She took his straining cock between her thumb and forefinger, holding it at the neck, just below the swollen head, and guided it to the wet lips of her cunt. She moved it up and down in the soundlessly gasping entrance, wetting it, and guided it between the clutching outer lips, into the waiting inner lips.
Peter drove the entire length of it in with one thrust. She held him there, her ankles crossed behind him, the base of his cock jammed against the hair on her mound. She held her mound hard against him, grinding in small circles.
Then she released the pressure of her legs behind him, gradually.
"Slowly, now, Peter," she said. "Fuck me slow, slow, slow."
He drew his cock back until only the head was inside her, and she tightened the inner lips around the neck of his cock, once, twice, three times. She was even better at that now than she'd been in high school, when she was naturally tight.
"Oh, Jesus," he said again, and began to pump his cock into her, slowly, for the first few strokes, then faster and faster. He had forgotten what she'd told him about going slow, or couldn't help himself. But she was beyond caring. She met every frantic thrust of his cock with a thrust of her own, and soon they were panting and gasping in unison, while his cock whipped in and out of her with lightning strokes. She felt her climax starting deep inside her, and held him to her and screamed silently as he pumped and pounded. Then she clutched at him in the ecstasy of her orgasm, and felt him spurting inside her.
She lay still under him as the spasms subsided. Then, with the boy's weight still resting on her, she drifted off to sleep.
She dreamed of fucking Hamlet, the melancholy Dane. And making him happy.
CHAPTER THREE
In the morning, Jackie had to go into New York. It was late in the afternoon when she got home, and in the driveway was a red Volkswagen, its roof rack piled so high with duffel that the thought of going around a sharp turn in the car made Jackie shudder.
Peter met her as she came in the door, and for a fleeting second she thought he was going to kiss her. There was something proprietary about his manner. But he didn't. She heard the sound of young male voices in the living room.
"They arrived about twenty minutes ago," Peter said, jerking his thumb toward the archway to the front room. "And Bob called from Maine a while ago and said he wouldn't be home till tomorrow afternoon. Can we-can you-put these guys up overnight?"
"Sure," Jackie said. "There are two other rooms up there with twin beds. And on the third floor there's the big room the housekeeper lives in when she's home, and another room with a double bed."
"I didn't mean is there room for them." He was looking directly at her, and Jackie saw a faint flush rising at his cheekbones.
"Well," she said, smiling, and saw his flush deepen. He was blushing, actually blushing; and Jackie had thought that blushing had gone out with Louisa May Alcott and the parasol. "But aren't you a little tired today?"
"No," Peter said. "Never."
"You're wonderful," Jackie said lightly. "But I think it would look better if you introduced me to your friends. Or are they just Bob's friends?"
"Mine too," Peter said, and moved at her side through the archway into the living room.
The talking stopped and the four boys stood up as she entered the room. They looked at her in an awkward silence. They all wore blue jeans or faded khaki pants, and nondescript sport shirts, and every one of them needed a haircut. They exuded an air of youth and good health and a kind of smoldering animal vitality that Jackie sensed immediately. There was something almost frightening, she thought, about all that restlessly subdued young energy. They were all at least as tall as Peter, and the tallest one must have stood around six three. He was the only one who looked old enough, Jackie thought, to even have a senior driver's license. He had wavy chestnut hair, the tall one. He might have been all of nineteen.
Peter gave him some sort of seniority by introducing him first.
"This is Andy Ballinger," he said, and the tall boy nodded. "And..."
"First names will be enough," Jackie said, laughing. "Please. I'll have trouble enough keeping first names straight."
"And Hank and Steve and Walter." They all nodded, not taking their eyes off her. The one called Hank had his mouth hanging open, but she had no way of knowing whether or not that condition was permanent. He was a redhead. The other two were blond, blonder than usual probably because of the sun, but not as blond as Peter.
"And this is Mrs. Rankin," Peter said. "But even you guys had that figured out." She smiled at them and went over to the recliner and sat down, swinging her legs up, careful to keep her knees together under her short skirt.
"Sit down, please," she said. They sat, without taking their eyes off her.
"You're really Bob's mother?' the tall one asked. There was honest incredulity in his voice.
"Nobody else," she said, pleased despite herself.
"You look more like his sister," Andy said.
"Some sister," the redhead said. She was pleased to see that his mouth did not always hang open.
"Bob won't be back until tomorrow," Jackie said. "But I want you all to stay. There's plenty of room."
"We wouldn't think of putting you out," Andy said. The words did not come easily, and Jackie had the feeling that he was not used to using polite, middle-class clich's. She felt a sudden strong rapport with him. It wasn't easy for her either.
"I wouldn't think of letting you leave," Jackie said. "It'll be a party for me. I'm a sort of frustrated Pearl Mesta." Frustrated, Jackie thought Some word. "Besides, I want to get to know Bob's friends. I don't meet many of you."
"This bunch ought to be enough, for a while," Peter said. She looked at him sharply, but saw that he hadn't meant anything. He was just jealous of sharing her socially.
Jackie stood up.
"Ii you're anything like my son," she said, "you're probably all starving. I'll go out and get a couple of steaks, but you'll have to move the Volks, so I can get out of the driveway."
Andy started toward the door, digging for his car keys.
"You can bring whatever you need and take showers while I'm shopping," she said. "Take the two front rooms. There's one bathroom between them, and you can use the other one too while I'm gone." It gave her a tingling sensation inside, thinking of all that healthy tanned young muscle running around naked upstairs.
"Thanks very much, Mrs. Rankin," the sandy-haired one named Steve said. "You're much too good to us."
"It's my pleasure," she said. "And call me Jackie."
She nodded slightly with her head toward Peter, and he followed her out to the porch.
"I trust you haven't breathed a word to the boys about yesterday?"
"Don't worry about me," Peter said. Tm the original Sphinx."
She reached out and squeezed his resting cock, fondly.
When she got back from her marketing they were all back in the living room, fresh-showered, in clean shirts, looking younger in their neatness than they had seemed travel-wrinkled. They all smelled faintly of soap, or at least she imagined they did, from the look of them. And Andy, the tall one, had shaved; a tiny patch of toilet tissue adhered to a cut on one side of his chin.
"There's two cases of cold beer on the back seat of my car," she said, and Steve and Walter sprang up and headed for the door. "I hope you all drink beer."
"They sure do," Andy said. He's like a den mother with this group, Jackie thought And if she really wanted to show them how much she belonged on their scene, she should have brought them some pot, probably; but where would you look for it, in a supermarket?
"Peter, there's charcoal under the back porch. Maybe you and Andy could get a fire started in the grill, while Hank helps them put the beer in the refrigerator. I'm going up to take a shower and change." She sounded like a den mother herself, she realized. She turned for a second at the foot of the stairs and saw Hank looking at her with his mouth open again. He looked as if he wanted very much to come up and help her.
After she'd taken a shower and dried herself she stood in front of the mirror, completely nude, and looked at herself. She felt strangely exhilarated, having all those healthy young animals in her house. She saw her nipples start to tighten, in the mirror, and turned away quickly. Enough of that, she thought
In the bedroom, she started thinking about what to wear. Something appropriate for a den mother. A Mother Hubbard, she thought taking a wisp of a black net bra from a drawer and putting it on. Blue jeans and moccasins. Culottes and sensible shoes.
She drew on Bikini-size white nylon panties, and started rummaging through her sweater drawer until she found a thin, soft, bright-red sweater, and put it on. It fitted tightly over her breasts, snugged in sharply under them, and molded her waist and hips. They might as well have a den mother they can look at least, she thought defiantly.
In another drawer, she found bright red stretch pants to match the sweater. They fitted precisely as firmly as her skin, and the tiny ridges at the hips caused by the panties bothered her. She peeled off the stretch pants, stepped out of the panties, and pulled the stretch pants back on. That was better. There wasn't a wrinkle or a bulge anywhere, from hips to ankles. The hair on her pubic mound made a hint of a bulge at the crotch, before the pants dimpled at her cunt, then clung faithfully to every swell and contour from the waist down.
She turned sideways and looked at the mirror over her dressing table. Those bright red pants did something sensational for her ass, she noticed, making it stand out, round, tempting, provocative, a being all in itself.
Satisfied, she ran a comb through her tumbled mass of shining black hair, stepped into her ballet slippers, and ran for the head of the stairs.
She felt as young and innocent, for that moment, as her guests downstairs.
Almost.
CHAPTER FOUR
They were all sprawled around the patio, in chairs or on the grass, with beer cans in their hands, when she came out of the house through the back door. Their talk stopped and they stared in silence as she walked toward them across the lawn.
"Jesus," she heard Andy say, and saw him drain his beer can.
"The way I figure it," she said, "I'm sort of your den mother for this party, and you'll just have to make the best of it."
"Some den mother," she heard the blond boy named Walter say. He had a good profile view of the pert, incredibly pouting roundness of her rear, and his staring was pinpointed, concentrated, to the exclusion of the rest of her. Apparently, for Walter, her ass eclipsed all else in his world.
She sat down, cross-legged, on the grass. Walter looked bereaved.
"I don't know any girls your age in the neighborhood," she said. "The babysitters I had for Bob are all grown up now, naturally. So you're stuck with me."
No one spoke. The staring was getting awkward.
"The fire will be ready to put the steak on in about fifteen minutes," Peter said, finally. Andy unfolded his length and started toward the house, for another beer, Jackie presumed.
"Can you make me a Martini, Andy?" she asked him. "Real dry?" Greater faith had no woman.
"Sure," Andy said. "I make them for my folks when they can't get out of the chair any more."
"You'll find gin and vermouth on the first shelf over the ice bucket on the kitchen counter."
Her faith was justified. Andy made her an excellent Martini, and while she was having a second one when she made a salad, she put him and Peter in charge of broiling the steaks. They did a superb job.
Afterwards, as they sat around in the gathering darkness, smoking and drinking coffee-she thought cocoa would have been more appropriate, but had better sense than to suggest it-she insisted over their objections that she would do the dishes herself. She was the only one, she told them, who knew where things went, and she didn't want to spend the rest of the summer looking for some dish she wanted.
She relented, however, after she stood up and saw Walter straining his eyes in the gloom to feast his gaze on the delicious contours of her ass.
"All right, Walter," she said. "You can help me with the drying."
He was on his feet before she finished.
In the lighted kitchen, she faced him and smiled.
"Would you like to touch it, Walter?" she asked. She stood sideways, letting her ass stick out pertly. They couldn't be seen from out back. The shades were drawn.
Walter's face turned the same bright red as the round ripeness he couldn't take his eyes from, but he reached out one hand and patted her tenderly on the outermost curve. She relaxed all her muscles, and let her ass go soft and yielding. "Go ahead and stroke it, Walter," she said. "Grab a handful. You've been wanting to all day."
He came closer to her then, stood in front of her and reached around and stroked and kneaded the soft mounds with both hands. He moaned, softly.
"It's beautiful," he said. "It feels even better than it looks."
"Don't those pants get in the way?" she asked him softly. "Wouldn't you like to feel it bare?"
He looked at her in numb wonder.
"Come here," she said. 'Well have to be quick."
She led him into the pantry and closed the door behind them, turned on the light by the refrigerator, and unsnapped her slacks at the waist; then she zipped down the zipper, turned away from him, and slid the pants down over the swelling white globes.
He began to move his hands slowly over the smooth softness of each cheek, letting his little finger dwell in the intimacy of the crack between her cheeks. She put one hand against the leg of his pants. His cock felt like a long stick of wood.
She unzipped his pants and helped to release it. It stood up at an angle, the vermilion head pointing toward a corner of the ceiling. It was very long, and its surprising slenderness made it seem even longer. It seemed no thicker than an ordinary candle, and she ran her hand gently up and down the slim stiff shaft, making the velvety skin slide.
"Oh, God," Walter said. One hand had stopped stroking the soft skin of her ass and had found its way underneath. His middle finger had found the soft yielding folds at the bottom edge of her cunt.
"Not now, Walter," she said, fiercely. "Not now." She increased the speed of her hand on his cock, and jerked him off gently but deftly into a paper towel.
"Later, maybe," she whispered, as he was spurting into the paper. "Maybe later we can be alone and I'll let you put it between the cheeks. Maybe all the way in my ass. Would you like to fuck me up the ass, Walter?"
Walter didn't answer. He just looked at her. She kissed him on the ear, he slipped his prick back into his pants, and they went back into the kitchen and did the dishes. Just in time, too. Peter had become curious when he couldn't see their shadows against the lighted window, and had come in to investigate.
When he saw them at the sink, he went to the refrigerator and got himself a beer and went on outside without saying anything.
What would she do about him? Jackie wondered. She couldn't stand jealous men, but she knew how to handle them. But a jealous boy was something else again. You couldn't tell how he'd behave.
Later, they sat around the living room, listening to records and talking, but none of the boys seemed to listen very closely to the music, and every conversation ended lamely or trailed off into nothing.
It was the stretch pants and the tight sweater, Jackie knew. Every one of the boys had the same thing on his mind, and showed the same symptoms. Den mother, she thought, for the eagerest bunch of cubs yet. Her Hard-On Patrol.
It was true, too. Every time she moved, or walked across the room, or bent to change the records, they shifted around uncomfortably wherever they sat, trying to keep their stiff shafts inconspicuous.
And it excited Jackie. She couldn't help herself. At one point she dug deep in the record cabinet and found some old dance records, but not one of the boys would stand up and dance with her, and she knew why. They couldn't stand straight and let her see those stiff probes straining against their trouser legs.
The atmosphere became more charged as the evening wore on, and the strain on Jackie was as great as it was on the boys. Then, as Jackie was changing a record, she looked down and saw a damp stain beginning to show dark in the crotch of her stretch pants. Something had to be done. Right away.
"I'm going upstairs and get into something more comfortable," she said inanely, and for an answer got nothing but a look of mute agony from the boys.
In her room, she got out of the sweater and peeled off the stretch pants. Her heart was pounding as she unsnapped the bra. What would she do now? This was awful. Her son's good friends, Bob's own buddies, and every one of them wanted to fuck his mother. What was worse, his mother wanted to fuck them. All of them. One at a time or all together. She wanted those stiff eager young staffs sliding, pumping into her, squirting, up into her cunt, yes, into her mouth. She'd love to suck them off, every one of them, and in her mind she could see the look of straining ecstasy on their faces as she did it, licking, sucking, draining them dry.
God, how she wanted all that hard young male flesh. But it was too risky. You couldn't trust a grown man not to talk, much less a boy.
Or could you? She thought hard, rationalizing swiftly in harmony with her running juices. Boys did have a strongly developed sense of honor, she'd read somewhere. They were idealistic, she told herself, much more so than a man. She touched her warm pussy with a finger, briefly, and her debate was over.
She could trust them not to talk. She had no choice, at this point. She had to.
Now that she had made up her mind, she felt calm, relaxed. She was in no hurry at all. Deliberately, she took a short, filmy wisp of a nightgown from a drawer, and put it on over her head. It stopped halfway between hip and knee, and what there was of it concealed nothing at all. The pink of her nipples showed through. So did the dark shadow of her pussy. So did every smooth curving line of her body.
Over the nightgown, she wrapped a plain, light blue silk robe, exquisitely cut to outline her body. It was simple, demure-and stopped at the knee, showing her lower legs to best possible advantage. She stepped into high-heeled pumps and went downstairs, humming, to the kitchen, where she made herself a tall Scotch and water, with a lot of Scotch and a lot of ice, and carried it with her into the living room.
Once again, conversation stopped. She sat on a hassock, facing the boys, and crossed her legs. They watched her. Hungrily. There was no other word for all that raw young lust.
"As a den mother," she said, "it looks as though I'm a complete failure."
Four of the boys shifted uneasily, but Andy, the tall, older one, seemed to relax, all at once.
"Let's face it, Mrs. Rankin..."
"Jackie."
"Let's face it, Jackie," Andy said. "You just weren't cut out to be a den mother."
"You're right, Andy, and I guess there's no use fighting it." She re-crossed her legs, and the robe fell away from her knees. "Anyway, I'm a lover, not a fighter."
That's the happiest thought I've heard in a long tune," Andy said. Jackie saw Peter looking over at the older boy.
"Well, anyway," she said, "so far my party's a total failure. And do you know why?" Nobody answered.
"It's because we're not being honest with each other. Nobody's saying what's on his mind. For instance-what were you just thinking about, Steve?" She swung her knees toward the blond boy sitting at one end of the couch, and looked squarely into his face.
"I was thinking about the softball team, back at camp," Steve said smoothly. You had to hand it to these lads, she thought. They didn't lose their cool very often.
"Sure you were," she said. "How about you, Walter?"
"I can't tell you," he said, uncomfortably. At least he was honest.
"What have you been thinking about, Peter?" she asked, turning to where he sat on the piano bench.
"You know what I've been thinking about," he said, defiantly.
"I sure do," she said, "because I've been thinking about the same thing. How about you, Hank?" She looked at the redhead.
He grinned, innocently.
"I've been thinking you're the most gorgeous human being I've ever seen up close," he said. She had to laugh.
That's what's known as a half-truth," she said. "But thank you, Hank."
She turned to face Andy, at the far end of the couch, uncrossed her legs, and let the knees stay a few inches apart From where he sat, she knew, he could see directly up between her thighs, to the shadow where the whiteness terminated. He was looking, hard, but she was pretty sure he couldn't tell whether she was wearing black pants or no pants.
"What have you been thinking, Andy?"
"I've been thinking," Andy said slowly, "how much I'd like to get into bed with you."
"Now we're getting an honest answer," she said. She let her knees drift further apart, and put her cunt on display. "But you can talk plainer than that."
"I've been thinking," he said, "how much I'd like to fuck you. So have all the other guys."
"Now we're getting somewhere," she said, and stood up and took off the robe, letting it drop to the floor. She pirouetted once in the short filmy gown, letting the skirt flare out around her hips, showing them a flash of dark cunt. "I've been thinking the very same thing, about all of you."
She saw Peter standing by the piano, a look of utter bewilderment on his face.
"I want you all to know," she said, "that Peter is my one true love. You can all fuck me, but Peter is my very own."
The look of bewilderment on his face passed away. It was replaced by naked lust. Walter had gotten up and was standing beside her, his hand under the back of her short gown, caressing the tempting white mounds of her buttocks.
"Later, Walter," she said, and reached down to give his slender stiff cock an affectionate squeeze. She raised the front of her gown a few inches, suggestively.
"Shall we show them, Peter?" she said. She could see his hard prick straining to get at her. "Here?" Peter said. "In front of everybody."
"Why not?" she said. Then she realized what might be bothering him. Everybody in the room was fully clothed.
"Why don't you all get undressed?" she said. "While I lock all the doors." She flipped her gown up as she left the room, and wiggled her delicious white ass at them.
When she got back, they were all standing. Their cocks stood out, stiff and quivering, in varying sizes, in varying angles. The sight excited Jackie, almost uncontrollably.
She stepped up and sat on the piano, facing them, and raised her knees and waved them lazily, opening her thighs for them to give them a better look at what they'd be getting into. Impulsively, Peter bent and kissed her full on the cunt, licking and sucking it hungrily. She squeezed his head between her thighs. The other boys stood around the piano-like for an evening of carol singing, Jackie thought-quivering with lust and impatience. They watched Peter's head bobbing, his tongue licking, eagerly, swiftly, with long, firm strokes, between the pink open lips of her cunt, and she saw the boys moving their tongues involuntarily between their lips, in sympathetic accord with Peter's. It felt so good, that mouth on her, but she opened her legs and touched Peter on the forehead.
"You're being selfish, Peter," she said. "Aren't you going to give the other boys a lick of your ice cream cone?" Peter sat back, his wet mouth gleaming, and slid off the piano bench. Andy took his place, not wasting a second.
"They laughed when I saw down at the piano," he said, leaning forward. They were the only words he spoke for quite a while.
He was very good at what he was doing, Jackie noticed right away. He reached his arms up around the outside of her thighs, and with his fingers carefully spread the outer lips of her cunt, exposing the soft, moist pink little hills and valleys of quivering, expectant, sensitive membrane. When he began to lick he did it gently, at first, keeping his tongue soft. Then, gradually, as he stiffened his tongue, he increased the pressure, paying special attention to the stiff little bud of her clitoris. The pleasure she felt was almost unbearable, but she wanted it to go on forever, and by force of will, kept herself from building toward a climax. Her hips were thrusting, writhing, and her legs, in the air in back of Andy's head, never stopped waving. Then she became slowly aware of wanting something more, something deeper inside her.
"That's enough, Andy," she said. "Let's all go upstairs to my room, where we can be comfortable, and give the other boys a chance."
Andy took his mouth away and stood up, reluctantly. His red and swollen cock, she noticed, had subsided to a semi-erect state, about halfway up, as if his lust had transferred itself partially to his tongue. Jackie got down to the floor, noting with some surprise that she was still wearing her high-heeled pumps. She drew the hem of her translucent gown down as far as it would go, modestly, and crooked her finger at the fevered faces turned toward her.
"Let's go, Beaver Patrol," she said. "Upstairs." She led the way, with Walter directly behind her, stroking her ass at every step on the way up the stairs. She stopped at the open door to her room.
"Steve," she said, "are you still thinking about the baseball team?"
"Softball," Steve said, moving close to her, touching her left nipple with the back of his hand. "I never was thinking about softball. Not after the first time you walked into the room."
"I wondered. You've been so quiet." She felt the eager tip of his prick just barely touching her stomach.
I'll never think about softball again," he said. He sounded as if he meant it.
"Would you like to be first? The meek, you know, shall inherit the-what's the word the boys used to use? The quim."
That's me," Steve said, and went into the bedroom. "Inheritor of quim."
"Why don't the rest of you wait in Bob's room until I call you? " she said. She laughed. 'You probably won't have to wait long, judging from the state Steve is in." They turned, reluctantly, their young bodies tense, and moved toward Bob's room. She stepped into her own room and closed the door behind her.
Steve was standing by the bed, watching her. In one swift motion she drew the short nightgown over her head and dropped it to the floor. Steve took a deep breath and drank her in, from her smiling, parted red lips, down past her firm, gently jutting, rose-tipped breasts, along the smooth curving whiteness of her belly and hips, past the gleaming blackness at her mound, the blossoming pinkness of her cunt, down the magnificent proud swell of her thighs, the incurving neatness of her perfect knees, the delight of her lower legs, the delicate slimness of her ankles. She kicked off her pumps and walked over and sat down at the side of the bed.
She had chosen Steven to fuck her first because he had the smallest cock Not that it was small, by most standards. Not one of the boys, she'd noticed, had been short-changed. But there was a delicacy, an innocence, about Steven's young prick that made it seem smaller than the others. It stood up and out from his body with a rigidity and stiffness that made her think she could hang things on it. Heavy things.
She leaned forward and took it in her mouth, wetting the head, letting her tongue slide gently along the lower length of it. Then she drew her mouth away and looked up at him.
"Are you ready, Steven?" she asked. "Tm ready right now." The excitement of Andy's tongue was still with her, keeping her moist.
Steven didn't answer, but got on his knees on the bed as she lay back and spread her legs. She reached out to guide the head of his cock into her waiting cunt, but he didn't need any help or guidance. His cock penetrated her, all on its own, in one eager thrust.
But he was too eager, Jackie knew, much too eager. He was breathing fast, almost panting, but his pumping thrusts into her came much faster than his breath. There was no way to slow him down.
Jackie wrapped her legs around his hips, clung to him with her arms, and let him pound away, raising her hips lazily to meet every third or fourth thrust of noisily shuttling cock.
There was something contagious in his uncontrolled excitement, and she found that her hips were moving faster of their own accord, her cunt rising and pushing to meet every stroke. But then, as her excitement began to build beyond control, she felt him speed up to a trembling, erratic rhythm she could not meet, and she knew the end was only seconds away, for him. Too soon, for her. Much too soon.
"Call Hank," she said, squeezing out the words. "Please."
But Steven was groaning now, deep in his throat. Either he didn't hear her or he couldn't call out if he wanted to.
"Hank," she tried to call out, but it was only a hoarse whisper. Then she got her voice back. Steven had it all the way up inside her, squirting.
"Hank!" she called, distinctly. Steven was lying still now, with her legs clutching him tightly. He was still spurting.
The door opened and closed, quickly, quietly, and the redheaded boy was standing beside the bed. His cock, Jackie noticed, was standing too. It was a deep solid vivid red, redder than his hair. It was longer than Steven's, thicker than Peter's. It was exactly what she needed. Right away. Right this second.
Anticipating her need, Steven rolled away from her, his slackening prick making a soft plopping sound as it slid out from between her greedy cunt-lips.
In a second, without being told, Hank was mounted between her legs, and his stiff shaft slid in easily to take the place of Steven's. She rose to meet it, hardly missing a stroke after Steven's frantic fucking.
Hank's cock felt much bigger than Steven's, inside her. It reached deeper, opened the slippery walls of pleasure wider. She gave Hank the fucking of his red-headed lifetime, holding herself at a plateau of ecstasy, keeping herself away from the peak of her climax, sliding and clutching and pumping the wet warm dream of her cunt around the rock-hard reality of his young cock.
Then, suddenly, Hank was coming-pushing, straining, spurting into the depths of her pit of joy. She wanted to cry. She wanted to call for Andy, but she couldn't make a sound above a moan.
Then, miraculously, Andy was standing there, beside the bed. His prick looked enormous, the head a deep violet in shade, the rigid broad shaft a seasoned brown, as if it had been out in the sun all summer.
"Are you ready for me?" Andy asked, teasing. Hank rolled away, to the other side of the bed. Steven had left, but she hadn't been aware of his leaving.
"Yes, Andy," she said. "Now. Bight away. Quick."
He got to his knees between her open legs, and lodged the head of his massive tool between her wet welcoming cunt-lips. It was the size and shape of a lemon, she thought. Only the color and texture were different.
She spread her legs wider and rose to meet his entering thrust. He worked it in slowly, an inch at a time, until she was distended and full, all the way up, deep inside. She could feel her inner lips and cunt muscles squeezing and contracting spasmodically about the thick shaft.
Andy withdrew the entire length of it, slowly, until only the head remained inside her, and held himself poised, the head just spreading the inner lips. Jackie quivered, and tried to suppress it, but Andy knewhe knew that she was just at the very edge. He thrust his great cock forward then, in one deep plunge, to the hilt, and held it that way stiff inside her, probing, filling her whole consciousness with blinding sensation.
Then she was coming, writhing, squirming as if to take in more of that huge rigid shaft, moaning deep in her throat. Still Andy held himself arched over her, letting her gorge herself on his immobile pole.
As her spasms subsided, slowly, Jackie became aware of Andy watching her face, smiling faintly. His huge cock, rigid and still inside her, was the beginning and end of her every sensation, the concentrated center of her being. He began to stir his hips slowly, grinding the base of his pelvic area against her tender mound.
"Now that you've gotten over all that girlish excitement, Jackie," he said, grinning now, "why don't you relax a while and really enjoy it?"
She was in no mood and no condition to argue. She lay still, feeling his seemingly endless, wrist-thick shaft sliding out of her, almost to the end, then slowly plunging back in, filling her with cock and contentment. She felt her hips starting to respond, slowly at first, rising almost imperceptibly to meet each long, deliberate stroke. She had thought she was finished with all sensation for a while, but she felt the feeling building inside her again, a much deeper, warmer, rounder, fuller pleasure than before. It reached to the very roots, not just the ends, of every responsive nerve inside her.
Without being conscious of it, she moved her legs to hook her heels inside Andy's, giving her the leverage she needed to pursue the dedication she was formed for. The exquisitely tuned and oiled machinery of her hips began to move in earnest then, complementing the slow, deliciously shuttling motion of Andy's own enormously accomplished machine.
They fucked slowly, deliberately, sensuously, for a long, long time, and Jackie lost track of everything except the delicately demanding suck of her cunt around Andy's in-sliding pole of smooth hard gristle.
Gradually, very gradually, in perfect accord, the rhythm of their strokes increased in tempo, and soon she heard herself gasping, unable to control the sound issuing from her throat. She was only dimly aware of the gasping words that formed themselves on her writhing lips.
"Drive it deep, Andy," she could hear herself saying. "Push that big cock all the way up to my throat Fuck me hard, Andy. Fuck me harder."
He drove the great shaft into her with renewed fury, faster, and deeper, it seemed to her, with every stroke. Then she was blind with sensation for a long second, and she had reached the point of no return. He held it still, deep inside her, as she writhed in her own exquisite agony, and then he came with her, pumping and squirting deep into her, bathing her secret fires.
Later, they lay very still, propped up against the pillows, sharing a cigarette. To Jackie, it was an unseemly intimacy, sharing a cigarette with this gangling nineteen-year-old she scarcely knew, but she had better sense than to mention it. Some things were difficult to explain, to young people. Anyway, all she wanted to do was sleep. She was very tired. Contented, deeply, but tired. Then she had a thought
"Oh my God," she said, and stamped out the cigarette in an ashtray on the bed stand.
"What's the matter?"
"The rest of the Beaver Patrol."
"Don't worry about them. They can wait a while."
"Not from the looks of them, the last time I saw them."
"Continence," Andy said. "It's a good thing for the character. Remember, they're growing boys."
"So're you."
"You've been peeking."
Andy was lying on his back, and his long, inert cock, hanging down limp between his legs, had started to come awake. It lifted slowly and lay on its side, then rose sideways and fell back, then rose again, like a drunk trying to get to his feet. Jackie watched it, fascinated. Then she made herself look away.
"Forget it, Andy," she said, but she couldn't keep herself from looking again. It was semi-erect, struggling to stand tall, to come to attention. Trying to throw its shoulders back, she thought.
"I can't forget it," Andy said.
"It's sort of at half mast," she said, fascinated again, "like the flag when a President dies."
"Nothing's dying," he said. "Look now."
She was looking. She couldn't help herself. His prick was fully erect now, enormous, redder than before, and she was excited again, despite herself.
"All right, you win," she said. "We both win." She raised the knee closest to him.
"Put it in sideways this time," she said.
He didn't have to be told twice.
It was a long, slow, comfortable fuck this time, delicious from beginning to end. There was none of the frantic urgency to mark their climax, as there had been last time, and this time Jackie was not tired when it was over. Sated, relaxed, but not tired.
"I'm going to take a shower," she said, heading for the door. She had looked down and found that her inner thighs were glistening wet. "Finish your cigarette and tell Walter to come in. If he wants to," she added.
She showered and douched, leisurely, lazily, and when she got back to her room Walter was lying on his back, completely nude, in the middle of the bed. His little pecker hung limp and shriveled from the sparse growth of blond bush, looking like a much-used, chewed broken red pencil. But it began to stir and swell and elongate itself even as she walked across the room to the bed.
"Get tired of waiting, Walter?" she asked him. She turned sideways to the bed to place her pert rounded rear end in clear profile.
"Not tired," he said. "Not tired at all." He sat up on the edge of the bed, stroking the white cheeks of her ass, and when she turned to face him she leaned over. Kneading the softness of her buttocks with both hands, he sucked her nipples in turn until they both stood out stiff, winking pinkly at him.
Jackie looked down. His slender young shaft stood straight up, the head pointing, begging, beseeching.
"Do you still want to?"
"Want to?" Walter asked, looking surprised.
"You know," she said. "Fuck me up the ass."
"Oh," Walter said. "Will you let me do that?"
"I'd love it," she said. She meant it. In her hand she held a tiny tube of petroleum jelly she'd brought with her from the medicine chest in the bathroom. She unscrewed the top, squeezed out a little of the colorless lubricant on her fingers, and gently anointed the head of Walter's throbbing cock.
"That should make things easier for both of us," she said, and climbed onto the bed and got onto her hands and knees, her round white ass elevated, tempting.
Walter got on his knees behind her and slid the head of his throbbing slim stabber up and down in the open crack between her cheeks. When he'd found the tiny opening, he pushed, tentatively. She felt it penetrate part way, and pushed back toward him. She felt the head go in all the way, her eager little orifice squeezing tightly around the collar of his shaft.
"Go ahead, Walter," she said. "Sink it in."
Slowly, gently, the boy urged his yearning young cock into the innermost reaches, until the white yielding cheeks of her ass were pressed flat against his hipbones.
"Fuck me hard now, Walter," Jackie said, through clenched teeth. "Fuck me hard, all the way up my ass."
Walter didn't have to be told. He pumped his long, slender, stiff wand in and out again, swiftly, furiously, groaning all the while. His balls made tiny slapping sounds against the soft lower expanse of her exposed cunt. She heard herself groaning, in unison with Walter, as she pushed backwards to meet every eager stroke.
And then Walter, in an ecstasy of pumping and groaning, was coming, and it almost seemed to Jackie that she was coming with him. She knew she couldn't be, but she felt a great excitement along with the intrusion. A sympathetic orgasm, she told herself later.
And now she was really tired, exhausted, completely spent, both emotionally and physically. There was a dull ache in her hospitable anus-not unpleasant, a lingering, nostalgic pain-a stretched and fulfilled feeling between her legs, and a weightless sort of giddiness in her head.
"Send Peter in, please," she said drowsily, as Walter went toward the door.
She was asleep when Peter came into the room. He closed the door and locked it from the inside, and slid into the big bed beside her, quietly, without waking her.
CHAPTER FIVE
When Jackie first began to come awake she lay still with her eyes closed, savoring her long night's dream. But when she opened her eyes and saw Peter asleep beside her, she knew it hadn't been a dream. And, as it all came back to her, she was filled with wonder that she'd been allowed to sleep all night, undisturbed, with no knockings and clamorings at her door. Then, looking at Peter's vulnerable young profile, so serene in sleep, she knew. Peter's being with her was like a Do Not Disturb sign on the door. Apparently her Beaver Patrol were gentlemen all, and they deserved some kind of group commendation. Jackie wished she had time to give it to them now.
Jackie looked at the clock
"Oh, balls," she said, then clapped her hand to her mouth as she got out of bed, swiftly. But Peter was awake, frowning sleepily at her. She slipped the blue robe around her white nakedness.
"Where you going," Peter said grumpily, "in such a big hurry?"
Tm late," she told him. "I can't make the only train that'll get me into the city in time for an eleven o'clock shooting, so I'll have to drive."
"Please don't leave me like this," Peter said plaintively. He threw back the sheet and exposed his stiff swollen cock.
Jackie tried to cover her laugh.
"I'm sorry, Peter," she said. "But there will be other tunes."
"When?" Peter said.
It was a good question, she thought, while in the shower. When, indeed? Bob was due home today, and there'd be no more chance for fun and games with her Beaver Patrol.
Bob. That started another chain of thought. With the cool spray hitting her, she started to worry.
Back in her room, she started dressing in silence, with Peter watching her hungrily.
"Pete," she said, finally. "I was very indiscreet last night. I let myself get carried away."
"Nobody's complaining," Peter said.
"I hope not. But I'm worried sick that one of you will say something about it to Bob."
"Nobody'll say anything," Peter said. "I can promise you that. Bob will never know a thing."
"If he ever did find out, you know, then I could never do that again. With any of you."
"I know. So do the others. They won't say anything to spoil the chances."
"I hope you're right."
"I know I'm right," Peter said. "I know those guys."
"Thank you, Pete. You make me feel better."
"Don't worry," Peter said. She was fully dressed now, and sat down at the dressing table to put on make-up. In the mirror, she could see Peter sitting up against the pillows, the sheet still down at the foot of the bed. His stiff vibrant cock, pointed straight at the ceiling, seemed bursting with life.
"Jackie."
"Yes, dear?"
"Before you go," Peter said, "would you do me one little favor?"
She looked at him in the mirror, for a long moment "Of course, darling," she said.
She got up and went over to the bed and climbed up on it, raising her skirt to give herself freedom of movement. On her knees, she bent over and touched the swollen tip of his prick with her tongue.
Then she opened her mouth, bent further forward, and, gently, sucked his cock till he came, sucked it dry afterward.
When she got home late that afternoon and swung her car into the driveway, the Volkswagen was still there, and parked at the curb in front of the house was a small green convertible, a foreign make that Jackie couldn't identify. While she was going up the walk alongside the house, looking backward, trying to figure out what kind of car the convertible was, she heard the door to the side porch open, and turned to look.
Bob was coming out onto the porch to greet her. She ran up the steps and hugged him, surprised, as he put his arms around her and squeezed. Bob was usually about as demonstrative as a mummy.
"How are you, Mom?" he asked. "You look great."
Jackie was deeply pleased. She'd felt great, all day, and she probably did look great, too. All that exercise with the youngsters had probably done her a world of good.
"When did you get home?" she asked, and held him at arm's length, looking at him. "About half an hour ago."
"In that car, parked out front?" She nodded backward toward it. "Uh-huh."
"Where'd you get it? You aren't supposed to be driving yet, until you get your junior license."
"It's Valerie's. She drove me down."
"Who's Valerie?"
"I just told you. She drove me down."
"Oh," Jackie said.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"Don't mention birthdays or anything to her. She thinks I'm eighteen. Ldrove most of the way."
"How come she thinks you're eighteen?"
"I didn't exactly tell her I was eighteen, but she's seventeen, and you know."
She still had her hands at her elbows, holding him at arm's length. She looked at him carefully now. Looked up at him. He had to be an even six feet tall now, she realized. He was deeply tanned, and his coal-black hair was trimmed and combed, for a change. His features were calm, handsome, unblemished by teen-age flaws. His shoulders were broad, sloping, and his muscles smooth and hard. There was nothing gangling about him. He could be eighteen, easily. Jackie felt a twinge of uneasiness about this calm, assured young stranger.
"I know," she said. "Shall we go inside?"
"One more thing," Bob said. "Can Valerie spend the night?"
"She can stay in Agnes' room, up on the third floor."
"I thought so," Bob said. "She's up there now, taking a shower."
"What?" Jackie said, shocked. "Alone in this house, that young girl, with that tribe of rapacious Indians?"
"They aren't Indians," Bob said, and smiled. His teeth were very white against the tan. "Don't be so Victorian."
Jackie stifled her own smile.
"All right," she said. "I'll try not to be."
Valerie turned out to be a cool one. She almost tripped, missing a step when she first got sight of Jackie, on her way down the stairs to be introduced, but she regained her composure quickly. She sized Jackie up quickly, almost hiding any envy she felt.
She was a slim, tanned, clean-looking, open-faced blue-eyed blonde-right off the cover of Seventeen, Jackie thought, if you didn't look too close. She had nice legs and a pert little rear end, but Jackie was sure the boys had been more entranced by her truly outstanding feature, or features. Her breasts were remarkable-young, pert, buoyant, braless, joggling and bouncing when she walked.
She bent down a lot, too, Jackie noticed. She was wearing a cotton dress cut low and straight across the front, and the boys had trouble not looking at her when she bent to change records or pick up a magazine. They swelled, those creamy mounds, almost into full view.
And Bob looked at them, unabashed. The other boys had the decency to be embarrassed in front of Jackie, but not Bob.
For a while, after dinner, Jackie toyed with the idea of going upstairs and changing into something that would take the boys' minds off Valerie's provocative young bosom, but knew she couldn't do that, not with her son there. And anyway, she'd had enough excitement for one night. Maybe the boys hadn't, but she had. Around ten o'clock, after they'd turned over a stack of incomprehensible records, she said she was tired and was going up to bed.
She wasn't tired, she was bored. But she never had trouble sleeping, when she was bored.
CHAPTER SIX
Valerie never felt quite like herself, sleeping in a strange bed. There was something unreal about it, as if she were not really there, but somewhere else, watching a stranger wearing her skin, lying in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar place. And tonight, to add to her feeling of strangeness, she was wearing pajamas. Valerie just never slept in pajamas, but tonight it seemed like the thing to do, to give her a feeling of protection in this foreign room.
Protection against what, she wondered? Not Peter or Hank or Steve or Walter, or even Andy. Bob had told her that Peter would be sleeping on a cot in Andy and Walter's room, which meant that the five of them were in the two rooms at the front of the house, with Bob in his own room, with the door open, he'd told her, right across the hall from the foot of the stairs that led up to the room where she was sleeping.
Sleeping? She doubted that she'd do much sleeping tonight, even if Bob couldn't find a way to come up to her. It had been a terribly frustrating evening, with all those boys around, and her wanting Bob every minute, the way she did. And she'd been up to her old tricks, too. She couldn't help herself. She'd always been a tease, she knew, even as a little girL When they played "house" with the little boys, and "doctor and nurse," and they got to the part where they were saying, "You show me yours and I'll show you mine," a lot of the girls would stop playing the game and go home.
But not Valerie. She'd show them hers-but never before she'd seen theirs. She knew the size and shape and distinguishing characteristics of the pecker of every little boy in the neighborhood. She liked to play with one little boy at a time, after the fainthearted of her friends had been eliminated. She'd take off her pants and raise her skirt and spread her legs, and let them look at her naked hairless little slit from every angle. But she never let the touch it, much as they wanted to. She could always distract them by touching theirs.
She loved to diddle with the stiff little shafts-pushing them down and watching them spring up again, teasing them to and fro with her finger. Sometimes, when she was playing with those throbbing, pulsing, stiff little toys, they would start to squirt, and she loved to watch them spurting their colorless drops of liquid out onto the garage floor, or wherever they happened to be.
Once her mother had caught her doing that with a little boy, in her attic on a rainy Saturday afternoon. Her mother had given her quite a talking-to, after that, but Valerie hadn't been as repentant as she'd let her mother think. The only result of the lecture was that Valerie was more careful about where she went with the boys.
But she never did let them touch her, until high school. And it was in high school that she first heard the word "cock-teaser." She knew the word applied to her, but she didn't mind a bit. In fact, she liked it She even went out of her way to five up to it
By the time she was fourteen, Valerie had woman-sized breasts--full, proud, jutting out for all the world to admire. Especially all the male world at Templeton High School. She never started wearing a bra until her mother made her, and even then sometimes she took it off during the day. She let them joggle and bounce under her blouse or sweater, and wore short tight skirts and wriggled her rear end when she walked, and everywhere she went the boys followed her with their eyes, and mumbled to each other, and it seemed to her that the word "cock-teaser" was in the air around her. She loved it.
In her senior year her French teacher told her if she didn't stop wearing tight sweaters in her class, half the boys would fail their Begents. She took that as a compliment, and kept on wearing sweaters.
Steve Endicott, who was now trying to sleep, she knew, in one of the front bedrooms on the floor below her, had been in her English class during her senior year at Templeton, and she had taken a particular delight in teasing Steve. He had sat at a desk directly across from hers, two rows away, by the windows, and the seventh period sun had been behind him on her. She had made it a point to face him, all during class, while she appeared to be intent on what the teacher was saying or reading from her desk at the rear of the room.
She let her knees come apart as they faced toward Steve, and occasionally she would glance over and see him staring up under her skirt, at the converging shadow of her soft white inner thighs, and she'd cross her legs, sometimes carelessly putting one ankle on her other knee, giving him a good long look, all the way up to her crotch. A few times, feeling very daring, and excited, too, she'd taken off her pants in the girls' room, just before the seventh period, and had given Steve an. occasional glance at her pink blond pussy. Steve got terrible marks in English, his senior year.
When she went out on dates, she kissed with her mouth open, and used her tongue a lot, and loved the feeling of a hard-on pushing against her. She let the boys feel her breasts, and play with them all they wanted. Sometimes she let them kiss the nipples, and suck on them, and if she was excited enough, she let them touch her pussy, and even put a finger inside. But only a finger.
If they got very excited and the going got rough, she would unzip their flies and take out their cocks and play with them, moving the soft skin up and down between her fingers, until they came. She carried a big handkerchief with her, on dates, to take care of that.
And then, of course, there was the one time, that afternoon with the three football players, in the back of the car. She'd had to use her mouth on them, sucking them off one at a time. She had pretended that she hated it, but she hadn't at all. She'd liked the feeling of their hard cocks in her warm sucking mouth, and had used her handkerchief to catch them when they came. She didn't want that awful stuff in her mouth.
But she'd never let any of the boys put it into her. She'd stayed a virgin.
Until this summer. Until Bob. Ramses, his mother called him. What a funny name. Ram. She wished he were here right now, ramming it into her. Ram. Where the dickens was he? He said he'd try to sneak up, as soon as he thought the others were asleep. Maybe his mother was awake, or had left her door open, or something. The old bitch. Old spoilsport. But she did look as if she'd had some fun, in her time.
Valerie rolled from one side of the bed to the other, trying to avoid the temptation to touch herself. But she kept thinking of Bob. Where was he, anyway? She thought of the first time she'd finally spread her legs and let him get on top and put the head of his by-then familiar long stiff stem between the eager little lips of her pussy, and push. Ram. Ram was a good name, after all.
Instinct had taken over, she remembered, and she found her hips pushing back all on their own, and then in one blinding second of pain he was all inside her, and the pain was gone.
And then Valerie was lying on her back, she couldn't help herself, and her fingers began stroking the soft warm orifice between her legs, feeling its moistness starting.
She heard a tiny creak on the stairs, outside the open door to her room, then another.
She took her hand away, guiltily.
And, wraith-like, Bob was in the room, wearing only shorts. He looked unreal, somehow, in the moonlight that filled the room. But there was nothing unreal about him. Even in the unreal light, she saw the reality of his hard-on, poking out the leg of his shorts.
"What kept you?" she whispered.
"My mother."
"I thought she went to bed long ago."
"She was watching television in her room, and when she heard me come up the stairs, she wanted to talk. All these years I've hardly known her and now, tonight, of all God damn times, she wanted to have a heart-to-heart talk."
Bob slid under the sheet beside her and found her mouth with his own. She reached for his rigid cock and held it, gently, lovingly. She broke the kiss, then, curious.
"What did she want to talk about, for God's sake?"
"She thought it was time to tell me about the birds and bees, or something," he said. "Anyway, I think that's what it was. I kept steering her off the subject."
Her hand began to move, and as always she marveled at the velvet softness of the glove covering the iron beneath.
"Don't do that," he said, but he didn't push her hand away. His middle finger found her moist parted lips, and began to caress the hard little bud of her clitoris.
"Ooh," she said. "But what about your mother now? Don't you think she heard you come up here?"
"I heard her turn off the TV right after The Sermonette," he said, sliding his finger up her wet welcoming young channel. She raised her knees and opened her thighs wide to give him more room. "And I gave her plenty of time to get to sleep. She's a sound sleeper, my mother."
"That's good," Valerie said, letting her hips start to roll. "What do you suppose people that age do?"
"What age?"
"Your mother's age."
"Do about what?"
"About this," she said. "About sex."
"She keeps busy with a lot of things. I guess people that age don't even think about it any more."
Valerie felt him roll over onto his side and she raised one leg. He moved his hips under her upraised knee and she felt the taut slippery head of his rod moving up and down in the mouth of her pussy.
"I love that," she said.
"So do I. I could keep it up forever."
"You better not."
"We have all night."
"Yes, but we have other things to do all night."
"No hurry. It's a long time till dawn." Then she felt his head start to penetrate deeper. "Bob."
"What?"
"I just thought of something." He was halfway in her now.
"What did you just think of?"
"If we had a TV set up here."
"There is a TV set in this room."
"We could do it dog style," she said, "and both watch TV."
She giggled with him in the dark.
"After a while," he said. "We'll catch the Late Late Show."
Afterwards they lay back happily, side by side in the big bed, the room dark now except for the last rays of moonlight against the far wall.
"I feel sorry for those five guys asleep downstairs," Ramses said.
"And your mother," Valerie said. "I feel sorry for her."
"I never thought of that. But don't feel sorry for her. I guess she had hers in her day."
"I just bet she did," Valerie said. She felt him stiffen beside her.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing," she said hastily. "Just that she's such a beautiful woman. I never saw such gorgeous legs."
"She won some kind of beauty contest before I was born."
"Really?" Valerie said. "I didn't think she'd ever go in for that sort of thing. She's such a cool kind of cat So dignified, I mean."
"It probably wasn't much of a contest," Ramses said. "Miss Pickle Week, or something."
Valerie thought of something, and giggled. She hadn't meant to giggle, out loud.
"What are you laughing about?"
"Nothing."
"Yes you were. About pickles." Valerie giggled some more. She couldn't help herself.
"Would you like to do it with a pickle."
"No."
"I bet you would. All those warts and all."
"You stop it," Valerie said.
"All right. Shall we turn on the TV? With the sound off?"
"No," Valerie said.
They did it dog style anyway.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jackie was alone, and the big house seemed to echo and multiply her aloneness. With the young crowd gone in a last-minute crescendo of energy, it seemed as if a giant vacuum cleaner had been through the house, sucking it clean of life. After all the mindless, rootless, directionless young activity around her, Jackie thought she had never felt so alone. There had been one crisis.
"Mom," Bob had said, without preamble, as he sat down alone to breakfast. He had come downstairs long after the others had finished eating. "Mom, I have to ask you to do us a favor."
'What is it?" she asked, warily. She had learned long ago never to commit herself in advance, with Bob. He might want her to buy him the Whitestone Bridge.
"We need the station wagon." She noticed that he didn't say "your" station wagon. "The" station wagon made it community property, in Bob's mind.
"No," she said.
"How're we going to fit five guys into a Volkswagen?" Bob asked, plaintively. "There's Valerie's car."
'Tm going to ride with her only as far as her house, out on the North Shore. Then I'm going with the guys out to East Hampton."
"Can't Valerie drive you out?"
"She's got to go home. Jesus, what do you think she is anyway?"
That was a good question, Jackie thought. She'd never seen a girl with so much well-fucked contentment on her face as Valerie had had, that morning. She was almost smug about it, and Jackie was furious with her. Bob. Her baby.
"You're not even old enough to have a driver's license," Jackie said. "I don't want you driving the station wagon." Bob hunched his shoulders and screwed up his face when she mentioned his age, and Jackie remembered that he'd warned her he was eighteen, as far as Valerie was concerned. Valerie. That cradle snatcher.
"She can't hear me," Jackie said. "She went back upstairs."
"Well, who said anything about me driving? Andy's a good driver, and he'll do all the driving."
"How'm I supposed to get around?" Jackie asked him. "Call cabs all the time?"
"Andy'll leave you the Volkswagen," Bob explained. He was being patient with her. "What more do you need?"
"Nothing, I suppose," Jackie said. She'd lost again. She got her handbag from the table inside the door to the side porch, fished out her keys, took the car keys off the chain, and handed them to Bob.
"Just don't wrinkle it," she said.
"Thanks," Bob said, and got up from the table by straddling his chair and stepping over the back of it "The keys are in the Volks." He headed toward the front room, where the boys were waiting, jingling the keys in his hand.
He was getting cockier all the time, Jackie thought.
She wondered if the night upstairs with Valerie had anything to do with it.
Now, early in the afternoon, Jackie was starting to feel as lonely and empty as the house itself. There was lots to do, but she didn't feel like doing a thing. It was a hot day, warm even in the airy shaded house, and summer-afternoon ennui had her by the throat. Aside from house-straightening, there were calls to make, appointments to line up. The hell with it, she decided finally. I'll go to the club.
She was not a frequent visitor to the country club. She was practically the only single female member under seventy, and the other women did not make her feel welcome. They hated her, in fact, and took no pains to conceal the animosity. With the men, she got along fine, exchanging with them a great deal of what used to be known as "good-natured banter," in the Rover Boy books. When the men were without their wives, that is, she got along fine with them. When their wives were with them and Jackie was around, the men looked and acted extraordinarily tense, and gave the strong impression that they wanted very much to be somewhere else.
So Jackie didn't go to the club, often, but today she felt like it. She had no need to commune with the women. She could just take a dip in the pool and soak up some sun, by herself.
She dug out a bathing suit from a bottom drawer, found a beach towel and sunglasses and sun oil, and by the time she backed the Volkswagen out of the driveway her loneliness and her emptiness were forgotten. She was humming.
She changed into the suit at the club and walked slowly in the sun toward the pool, in her sandals, carrying the beach towel over one arm. Jackie's snug white suit was a one-piece job, almost translucent, cut high at the hipbones and slashed deep in front. Jackie did not like bikinis; considered them indecent, in fact.
There were three coveys of women along the sun side of the pool, away from the trees lining the golf course. Their conversation stopped when Jackie sauntered past, then started up again, in a different tone. Not one of them said hello. Jackie was elad, and even gladder that all the beach chairs on that side of the pool were taken.
There was one empty chair at the end near the diving board, and Jackie ambled toward it, passing two men off to one side, at a corner of the pool. There was a table between them, with tall drinks on it. The drinks looked good, to Jackie. She hadn't thought of that before. She knew one of the men, Tom something, but the other was a stranger, and she passed them without speaking.
"I want that for Christmas," Tom said, quite audibly as she passed them. She'd always liked Tom. He could be very funny.
"How would you like it wrapped?" his companion said, just as audibly.
"Not wrapped," Tom said. "I'll take it neat."
She stopped and turned and smiled at him.
"Is your tree up," she asked, "so early in the year?"
"My tree is always up," Tom said. He had a funny wav of laughing at himself, deep in his throat.
"It's an evergreen, then," Jackie said, laughing at him. "I should have known, you and your four kids."
"It's ever green for you, dear," Tom said. "Will you join us?" He dragged up a beach recliner without waiting for her answer, and she stretched out beside them, smiling.
"You're very gallant," she said. "You and your Christmas tree. Are those Tom Collinses you're drinking?"
"Yeah," Tom said. "Harold, here, is from Chicago, and they go for things like that in the provinces."
She smiled her hello at Harold.
I'll have a rickey, if you can find the man."
"There he is," Tom said, and waved the waiter over. I'll have a rickey, too. Time to get civilized."
Jackie was still amused by the idea of Tom and his Christmas tree when the drinks arrived. Tom was a youngish, very thin man with a sort of boyish joy about him, and she was pleased to be able to talk to him without his wife and brood of kids around. Harold was a tall, mild-looking man with rimless glasses who smiled gently and said almost nothing.
"I always have trouble with the stand on mine," Jackie said. "Every year, the damn thing tilts over further."
"Stand on what?" Tom asked her.
"Christmas tree," she said. "Remember talking about your Christmas tree?"
"Mine doesn't need any stand."
"You mean it stands up straight, all by itself?"
"Not straight," Tom said. "It hooks to the left a little, ever since I had it tattooed."
"Your Christmas tree?"
"Call it what you want."
Jackie laughed out loud. The idea of a tattooed cock pleased her tremendously.
"You're, just a sentimental fool," she said, "having it tattooed. I bet you cry when they sing 'Danny Boy.'"
"I do," Tom said. "But what's so sentimental about having the .thing tattooed?"
"A girl's name, what else?" Jackie said. She looked at him sideways. "like Ida. Or Flo. Or maybe Vi."
"Are you kidding? If I wanted to waste the space on a girl's name it would be something like Genevieve Casandra. Robsjohn-Giddings," he added expansively, and settled back in his beach chair, motioning the waiter for another round of drinks.
"Then it isn't a girl's name?" Jackie's curiosity was unquenched.
"Certainly not. I was born on the lower West Side, and all my sentimentality is for old Gotham town."
"So what's your tattoo?" Jackie persisted.
"New York harbor. With two Staten Island ferries, one coming and one going."
"I do admire a man who thinks big," Jackie said.
"On a clear day you can see Sandy Hook," Tom said.
Jackie had nothing to say. She lay back quietly in her chair, smiling, thinking about Sandy Hook.
"I had a tattoo once," Harold said, gently. Jackie looked at him closely for the first time, and realized that he had been humming quietly all through the conversation. He had the same bemused smile she had first seen him wearing and his rimless glasses seemed slightly fogged.
"What's your tattoo, Harold?" Jackie asked him. "Pike's Peak, I bet."
"Nothing so ambitious," Harold said. "A simple seascape, was all."
"You said 'was.' What happened to it?"
"It wore off," Harold said. He was still humming.
Jackie couldn't remember when she'd had so much good clean fun, drinking and talking laughing with Tom and Harold. After her fourth drink she got up, walked to the diving board, and plunged into the pool. She swam to the shallow end and back. She pulled herself out onto the edge of the pool without using the ladder, and was pleased that she could still do that. When she stood up, with her white translucent suit glued wetly to her, she noticed the women looking at her, and tossed her head. The hell with them. She knew that her pussy showed through the suit, dark and damp and friendly, and that her nipples were pinkly defined, but she didn't mind a bit.
Tom and Harold were watching her with open admiration when she walked back to them and sat down.
This waiter's awful damn slow," Tom said, clearing his throat. "Why don't we go to my place, where the drinks are always on the house? And you can set your own pace?"
"Good idea," Harold said.
Jackie had always been careful never to get involved with any of the men at the club, but today for some reason she didn't seem to care. For one tiling, she was having too good a time. For another, the episode with the Beaver Patrol two nights before seemed to have done something to her sense of discretion.
"I think it's a good idea, too," Jackie said. "Don't you two want to take a dip before we leave?"
"Might blur my tattoo," Tom said.
"I never touch water," Harold said, finishing his drink.
"I'll go up first and change," Jackie said. "Good idea. If we all leave together, there's no telling what the neighbors there will think." Tom nodded in the direction of the three knots of women stealing covert glances at them.
"Fuck the neighbors," Jackie said happily.
"What a depressing thought," Harold said.
Jackie was waiting, dressed in her short light cotton shift and high-heeled pumps and nothing else, when they came out on the club veranda, looking for her. With their hair combed now, in their crisp seersucker jackets, they were the picture of upper-middle-class respectability. Especially Harold, so tall and benevolent, with his rimless banker's glasses and benign smile. Them and their talk about tattoos, Jackie thought.
"It just occurred to me," Jackie said to Tom. 'Where's your family?"
"You trying to spoil my day? They're out in the Hamptons for two weeks."
"My son's out there somewhere, too," Jackie said, standing up. The men could not take their eyes off her. Jackie felt naked, but she was sure nothing showed.
"You have a son?" Tom said.
"You've met him. Bob. The tall dark-haired boy."
"Oh. Yes."
"Hard to believe," Harold said.
When Jackie got into the Volkswagen to follow them to Tom's house, Harold insisted on riding with her.
"In case you have a flat, or something," he said. He hummed all the way, gazing benignly at her legs. She had to be careful with the sldrt to keep him from seeing anything more than the smooth soft skin of her thighs. Everything in good time, she thought. She was enjoying herself thoroughly.
Tom's house was a long, low, ranch-type structure, set well back from the road. He led them directly downstairs, to a large cool pine-paneled room with a ping pong table conspicuous at one end and a bar, equally conspicuous, at the other.
"A room for both generations," Tom said expansively, motioning to the two ends of the room. "Which is yours?"
"I'm not much for games with paddles and balls," Jackie said.
"Don't talk dirty," Tom said. "You're a guest in this house." He went behind the bar, pulled out a tray of ice cubes from somewhere, and started making drinks. Jackie settled herself in a deep cool leather chair. She looked around at the comfortable clutter.
"I could settle down and spend a week in a room like this," she said.
"That's the best idea I've ever heard," Tom said. "Eleanor won't be back till a week from Thursday."
"I have to go back to Chicago tomorrow," Harold said sadly.
"Don't let me keep you," Tom said.
"Now, boys." Jackie took the drink Tom handed her, and sipped. It was much stronger than the drinks at the club. It suited her fine. She was filled with contentment.
Three drinks later, Harold was sitting on the carpet in front of her chair, stroking her calves, touching the softness above the inner bend of her knees. Watching them, Tom suddenly put his drink down on the bar and walked behind her chair. Tentatively, he slipped both hands inside the front of her dress. She didn't stop him. He cupped both globes in his hands and ran his fingers up over the nipples. She could feel them tightening, comings erect under his touch. He pinched the two hard, red juttings, gently, between thumb and forefinger.
"You have the most marvelous legs I've ever seen," Harold said, and bent forward to kiss the inside of one knee.
"Would you like to see more of them?" Jackie asked. It was a rhetorical question. The hem of her shift was already near the tops of her thighs.
Harold didn't answer. He just looked at her, still smiling that benign smile. His glasses were steamy.
Slowly, deliberately, smiling at him the while, she raised one knee, swinging her foot from side to side. She raised the knee higher, and very slowly moved her leg over until it rested over the arm of the chair, and felt her skirt ride back toward her hips.
Harold gazed down the smooth soft inner swell of her thighs to where the soft, dusky-pink lips of her cunt opened in the fur and smiled at him. Jackie slid forward and raised her other leg over the other arm of the chair, opening her cunt to him. The petals of her flower, she knew, would be pouting, pink and moist.
Harold began kissing his way up her inner thighs, tickling her with the tip of his tongue. Tom's hands were working furiously at her breasts, squeezing and kneading, pinching the hard angry buds of her nipples. Before she had slid forward, Jackie had felt the hard demand of his cock against the back of her head.
Harold got to his knees between her legs. The tip of his tongue touched the soft warm petals of her cunt, and a thrill started through her, the thrill she'd been building toward all afternoon. He reached his arms around his thighs and opened her cunt-lips further with his fingers. His mouth covered her whole pink pussy, his hard tongue probed up through the inner lips, and he began to suck her cunt like a starved man, groaning with delight. He gobbled and sucked and licked and groaned, and she found herself groaning with him. Without interrupting his licking and sucking, she closed her warm thighs around his head, and urged his mouth and tongue deeper into her cunt, pressing her heels against his back.
"Jesus," Tom said, "do something for me. Jackie. Please." He leaned over the chair.
She unzipped his fly quickly, and a truly magnificent rod popped out, long, thick, red, and pulsing. There was no sign of a tattoo, Jackie noticed inanely. But it did hook to the left. She opened her mouth to take in the big purple head, tickled down the under-shaft with her tongue, and began to suck his cock in earnest, as if she herself were hungry. She heard her own lips making greedy sucking sounds around the hard shaft, and all the while Harold was making slurping noises as he sucked away at her flaming cunt.
Jackie's hips were grinding, her pussy palpitating with nothing but joy, but she wanted more. She wanted the sensation to go deeper, much deeper. As deep, she knew, as the big wet cock in her mouth could carry it-and she wanted it soon, as soon as possible. And as soon as the had the thought, she knew a way. She took one last deep suck on Tom's cock, and drew her mouth away, holding it with her hand around its thick base.
"Tom?" she said, smiling at him with wet red lips.
"Don't stop now. Please."
"I want you inside me."
"I was inside you. Inside your mouth."
"I want your cock inside me. In my cunt."
Without speaking, Tom nodded at Harold. They could see the top of his head and his forehead and that was all. He had taken off his glasses, and he was licking and sucking and eating away at Jackie's cunt like a man gone mad.
"I can take care of him at the same tune," Jackie said. There's a way."
"Sure there's a way," Tom said. "You were just doing it."
There's a better way. Better for all of us."
"What could be better?" Tom said. "But you can show me."
"Is there a big bed upstairs?" The biggest."
"Let's go. Right now. Right this second."
Jackie put her fingers gently against Harold's forehead, and he raised his head and looked at her. His eyes had trouble focusing, without the glasses, and his open mouth and his cheeks were glistening wet.
"Yes?" he said. He smiled his benign smile at her.
"We're going upstairs now," she said. T have something for you."
"You sure have," Harold said. He leaned forward and kissed her cunt, wetly, then got to his feet. He was still fully dressed, and his seersucker jacket, wrinkled now, looked so incongruous that Jackie almost laughed aloud.
The corner bedroom?" Harold said to Tom, and when Tom nodded he turned to the stairs.
"In my youth they called me The Pathfinder," he said. "Let me lead the way."
He bounded up the stairs three steps at a time. like one of my Beaver Patrol, Jackie thought. It's a wonder what a hard-on does for a man.
Jackie followed slowly up the stairs, leading Tom with her hand around his cock. On the third step, his hand went under her shift to stroke her round buttocks, and his middle finger slid underneath and into the wet underfolds of her twat. Her hand still clutched his undiminished pole, and his finger was still exploring her warm wet soft little cave, when they got to the bedroom.
Harold stood by the side of the wide expanse of bed. He had thrown the spread down, and stood completely naked, his long cock standing out stiff and proud, with a slight curve upwards. It was slim, compared to Tom's thick shaft, as Jackie had hoped. Had almost known, somehow. It looked very young, for a man Harold's age, as it stood so rigidly curving up, pulsing slightly. Harold had his glasses on again, and he had wiped them. There was no trace of steam.
"Find some vaseline in the bathroom, Harold," she said. "I want you to use the back door. If you'd like to," she added.
"Up your ass?" Harold said. "Love to."
He was back in ten seconds with a jar of vaseline in his hand. The head of his prick was smeared but unbowed. Without another word, Jackie pulled off her shift and dropped it on the floor, kicked off her shoes, and got up on the bed on her hands and knees, her lovely white ass elevated and inviting.
She was conscious of Tom standing by the far side of the bed, his stiff throbbing cock looking red and angry with the waiting.
"Just wait one minute, Tom," she said. "One minute."
Then Harold was mounted on the bed behind her, his hands reaching around to squeeze her breasts. She felt his curving cock sliding up and down in the crevice between the heavenly white hills of her buttocks, seeking an entrance. She reached around with one hand and guided the taut eager pointed head to her welcoming hole. Harold pushed gently, and the head slid inside. Then, with one strong thrust, he imbedded his cock deep, far up inside her ass, his stomach flat against her cheeks, his balls bumping the soft underfolds of her cunt. She groaned with pleasure.
"Hold it there, Harold," she said. "Keep that lovely prick tight up my ass, all the way." Harold didn't have to be told. His hands were at her hips, holding the connection tight.
Together, they rolled slowly over on their side, and Jackie raised her top leg, opening her cunt for Tom. He lay on the bed on his side, and guided the deep purple head of his long thick cock to the swollen, open warm lips. They seemed to envelop it, sucking it in with a suction all their own. She felt the great tool slide up into her, bearing against the stiffness of Harold's hard staff, with only a thin wall of membrane between the two parallel sliding shafts.
When Tom was embedded to the hilt, as if by some prearranged signal, he and Harold started to withdraw slowly, in unison, until only the heads remained inside her-Harold held by the tight constriction of her stretched, sensation-filled ass-hole, Tom's by the throat by the inner lips of insatiable cunt. Then they plunged, simultaneously, driving deeply up inside her, their stiffness pushing against each other along the channels of her deepest joy.
For a delirious moment, Jackie thought she was going to faint. But she rallied, waving her free leg in her ecstasy.
"More," was all she could manage to groan. "More." They gave her more, driving up into her with a slow rhythm that made her think wildly of waves swelling and breaking on a beach. Again, again, again, they fucked up into her, in exquisite unison, their balls making slapping sounds against each other and against the tiny pink peninsula of flesh between her open orifices.
She didn't want it to end, ever. She reached the peak of orgasm once, came off it in shuddering spasms, and came again, and again, and again, and then found herself in one perpetual, open-end orgasm. She knew her mouth was open, and she heard the sound of groans and screams but she was not conscious of making the sounds herself. Along with the slow delirious rhythm of waves, she had the disembodied sensation of being underwater.
"Now, Harold?" she heard Tom say, from way off somewhere, and the rhythm increased, and she gritted her teeth to keep from screaming out her agony of delight.
Even the new rhythm kept up for a long time, with Jackie staying at a plateau of orgasm-and when they did come, shooting their hot juices up inside her simultaneously, she came with them, a pinnacle of orgasm on top of orgasm. She shuddered, again and again, as the inner spasms kept up, tearing at her insides until she thought she would come apart.
They stayed inside her, their long cocks motionless, as little by little the spasms subsided. When she was completely limp, almost comatose, they withdrew, slowly, gently, lovingly.
"Jesus," Tom said, rolling over on his back.
"Me, too," Jackie said. Her eyes were closed.
"Chicago," Harold said, "was never like this."
They were back downstairs, naked except for their shoes. Jackie found walking difficult, and felt so unsteady on the stairs that she held on to the railing.
"You've made me old before my time," she said.
"It doesn't show," Harold said, from the foot of the stairs.
"Never mind," she said. "It's a lovely way to grow old."
She went back to the leather chair and sprawled in it, one long luscious leg over the arm. The leather was cool and soothing against her bare skin. Tom made drinks again, and handed her one.
"When I think," he said, "that I didn't want to go to the club today. I only went to entertain my guest, here." He grinned at Harold.
"Consider me entertained," Harold said.
They had several drinks, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking and laughing quietly. Jackie had never felt so relaxed.
Slowly, then, almost infinitesimally, like water in a glass under a dripping faucet, she felt lust rising in her again. No, Jackie, you've had enough for one night. These poor guys are exhausted. Forget it Resign yourself. Think pure thoughts.
But miraculously, her feelings transmitted themselves to the men. Or lust hit them, too, independently.
Tom was sitting in front of her now, where Harold had been, and she still had one leg draped lazily over the arm of the chair. Surprisingly, considering her thoughts at the moment he leaned forward and gently kissed the open damp lips of her cunt letting his tongue caress the soft pink lips.
"Poor pussy," he said. He leaned forward again, and his tongue found the stiffening bud of her clitoris. He smiled up at her, his lips damp.
"And how about your poor little ass-hole?" he asked.
She hesitated, but only for a second, then put her hands in front of her knees and held them high and apart.
Gently, again, he leaned forward, and lovingly licked the crack between her buttocks. His tongue found the tight little aperture, licked it, slid slowly inside. The water in her lust-glass was rising faster.
Harold was standing beside her then, his cock coming slowly erect. She turned her head and took it softly between her lips.
That's a good girl," Harold said. She put a hand under the limp weight of his balls, and lifted. Her little finger found his ass-hole, and slipped inside. His cock became fully rigid, and she began to suck it with a slow, steady rhythm, her head moving back and forth, her mouth tasting and devouring his long slender shaft.
"Jackie?" Harold said. His hand was on the back of her head. Tom was making slurping sounds now as he sucked at her cunt.
She drew her head back from the cock in her mouth and looked up, the tip of her tongue touching the softness just under the head.
"What?" she said.
"Can I go in the front door this time."
"Absolutely, Harold," she said. "You don't even have to ring the bell."
It was a long, wonderful, memorable night for Jackie. For Tom and Harold, too.
Harold looked very tired when he left to catch the plane to Chicago in the morning. Tired, but happy.
His smile was as benign as ever.
CHAPTER EIGHT
For the rest of the week, Jackie was too busy to feel lonely, or to feel any need to make casual trips to the club and its swimming pool. There was a distinct soreness in her nether regions, too, that made her walk, she thought, with a self-conscious stiffness, but nobody else seemed to notice it. Harold might have, but he was in Chicago. Tom might have, but she didn't see Tom. Or hear from him, either, and she'd rather expected that he'd call. But when he didn't, she put it down as an attack of married-man's conscience, and was just as glad.
On Friday, in town, she concluded arrangements to make a series of TV commercials, the following month, wearing a swimsuit, to persuade people to come to colorful, carefree Caracas, on the one airline that took them there non-stop and crammed them with nothing but steak and lobsters on the way. Jackie figured she ought to get a trip to Caracas out of it, but the agency that handled the account didn't think it would be necessary.
On Saturday morning, Niles Wallach called. She had been wondering about Niles. Worrying about him, in fact. She thought she might have pushed his patience too far. Might never hear from him again.
When she heard his voice on the phone she couldn't keep the happiness out of her tone.
"I am so God damn glad you called," she said. "I thought maybe something had happened to you."
"Nothing ever happens to me," Niles said. "Did I get you up?"
"I've been up practically since dawn. I'm hip deep in housework now." She wasn't yet, but she would be. Any hour now.
"I can't quite picture it. But anyway. Will you have dinner with me Monday night?"
"Monday?" she said, and thought for a moment. "Sure."
"See you at Sir's. Around six."
She had a thought. A much better thought.
"Niles?"
"I'm still here."
"Just for a change, why don't you drive out here for dinner? We can do a steak out back, and sit around and listen to records. You've never heard my old records."
"You're right," Niles said. T never have heard your old records."
"Get here as early as you can, while it's light. We can have a long cocktail hour. A long, al fresco cocktail hour."
"All 'al fresco' ever meant to me was grass stains on the elbows," Niles said.
"There you go again," she said, "you and your one-track mind. Anyway, there's no need for any grass stains."
"You're sounding better," Niles said. "Much better. But I thought you said your son was home."
"He was, briefly, but he's away again. I don't expect him home till late in the week."
"Good for him," Niles said.
"I don't know if it is so good for him. I never know where he is or what he's doing, or what's going on in his head."
"Who does, with kids that age? They come out of it all right."
"That's not all," Jackie said. "He's got a girl."
"You mean he's getting laid."
"That's exactly what I mean."
"What's so bad about that?"
"Well," Jackie said, lamely, "he isn't even sixteen yet."
"Anyway, I wish you'd have a talk with him, sometime."
"About getting laid?"
"No, you jackass," she said. "But I think it's time a man had a talk with him. He doesn't tell me anything."
"This is the first time anyone ever considered me an advisor to the young," he said. "It kind of chokes me up."
"You want to know something, Niles."
"What?"
"I think I love you."
"Well I'll be a son of a bitch," Niles said.
Sunday night, Jackie had one of her infrequent attacks of insomnia, and tossed and turned and smoked and read all through the night. It was almost dawn when she finally fell asleep.
She was in a deep sleep when the ringing of the phone by her bedside awakened her. She opened her eyes and glared glumly at the clock. It was ten minutes to eleven. Good God, she thought. She had a vague idea that she ought to be somewhere, but she couldn't think where. She picked up the phone.
"Bide-a-Wee Home," she said.
"Jackie?" a female voice uncertainly. "This is Mavis.
"For God's sake," Jackie said, still foggy. "How are you?"
"Fine. And free as a bird. I just packed Charlie and the kids off to his folks."
"That makes two of us," Jackie said, feeling for cigarettes. The pack was empty. "Free as two birds."
"We talked about a visit last week, remember? I thought I'd drive down this afternoon."
"Wonderful," Jackie said, holding the phone to her ear as she put her head back on the pillow. "Get here early and we'll go out to the club."
"Good," Mavis said. Jackie dropped the phone into its cradle and went back to sleep.
It was around one o'clock when she woke again. She padded downstairs in a bathrobe and slippers and got the mail out of the box on the side porch. Among the bills was a card from Bob, postmarked 'Montauk.' The face of the postcard was a glossy photograph of a young blonde with awesome, jutting breasts that made a mockery of her bikini top.
"She's out here on account of her health," Bob had written on the back. "Bad lungs."
She had to laugh, despite herself. Some card, she thought, for a boy to send his poor old mother. He was getting bolder and bawdier every day. Then she read the postscript: "P.S.-The station wagon's running fine, but you could have emptied the ashtray. Be careful not to wrinkle the Volks. B."
She'd break his neck, when she got her hands on him.
It wasn't until she was making coffee that she happened to glance at a calendar on the kitchen wall, and realized suddenly what day it was. Monday. Niles was coming to dinner.
She ran to the phone, then had to get Mavis' number through information. When the call finally went through, and there was no answer right away, she started counting the rings after four. She hung up after fifteen. Mavis was on her way, and there was nothing she could do about it now.
She could call Niles at the office, of course. But he was out to lunch now, she knew, and what was she going to say to him, anyway? Don't come, because I've been an idiot and an old girl friend is going to be here for a few days? An old girl friend of Niles, too, she had a hunch. Oh, they'd make a happy trio during the cocktail hour-Niles with the hots for her, and her with the hots for Niles, and Mavis sitting there, the old friend, the young mother, the suburban matron. Suburban matrons probably had the hots, too, Jackie thought gloomily, with their husbands away. A mess, she'd made. She'd have to think of something. But what? Whatever she did come up with, she'd sure messed up her plans for Niles that evening. And Niles' plans for her, she was sure. How long would he put up with it?
But she'd think of something, she told herself. She always did.
She had her coffee and took a shower and was reasonably composed by the time Mavis pulled up in front of the house. She went out to meet her.
Mavis looked wonderful, Jackie had to admit, as she slid out of the car. She was all legs, like a colt. Her red hair shone in the sun, making the whiteness of her skin the more startling.
"We're having a little dinner party tonight," she told Mavis, as she helped her get the bags out of the trunk. "Mostly on account of my confusion about calendars."
"How's that?" Mavis asked.
"Instead of you and I having an unbroken tete-a-tete, tonight it's going to be a tete-a-tete-a-tete. A few days ago I invited Niles Wallach to come out here for dinner. Monday, I told him-and just a little while ago I realized that today is Monday."
Jackie saw a look of naked shock, then confusion, on Mavis' mannequin features. But the redhead recovered quickly.
"Don't let me break anything up," she said. "It's easy enough for me to drive back to Darien. I can always drop down later in the week."
"Don't be a nut," Jackie said. "We should have a fine time. Don't you want to see Niles again?"
"Yes, I guess so. It's been a long time."
They were at the door leading in from the side porch. Jackie opened the door with her free hand.
"There's nothing quite like an intimate little triangle of friends," she said.
They had a lot of talking to do, a lot of time to catch up with, and Jackie forgot about the evening ahead during the ride to the club. But when they were walking along the edge of the swimming pool, she spotted the solution to the puzzle of what to do about the evening, the way to de-fuse the bomb the evening might turn out to be.
Tom was sitting in his usual chair, alone, with a drink beside him. He looked up as they approached, eyed the slender form of the redhead walking at Jackie's side, and smiled a greeting of genuine joy.
"I was going to ask if there were any more at home like you," Tom said to Jackie. "But this is too much, for a boy with a weak heart."
"This is my mother," Jackie said. With that skin and that smile and that leggy form, Mavis looked about eighteen, instead of twenty-eight or whatever. "Her name is Mavis. Mavis, meet Tom."
"Hello, Mom."
"Hi, Dad," Mavis said. "That water looks so good, I'm going right in for a dip." She headed for the diving board, and Tom got up and dragged over two more beach chairs.
"A lesser girl than you would have to be jealous," Tom said. "She's lovely."
"Isn't she?" Jackie said, settling back in the chair. "How's your Christmas tree?"
"The needles are falling off."
"Tom, you could help me out of an awkward situation, if you would."
"Anything at all," he said. He looked at her without smiling, waiting.
"Come over to my house and join us for dinner tonight."
"Can't think of anything I'd like better," Tom said. "What's so awkward?"
"When I asked Mavis to come down today I forgot that I'd invited a friend for dinner. A man friend."
"Oh," Tom said.
"And he happens to have been a boy friend of Mavis', way back. She's married now, of course."
"Of course," Tom said.
"So you'd make it sort of a party if you came."
"I'm practically there," Tom said. "I'll be Mavis' date, the lucky girl."
"You get the general idea. And, Tom."
"What?"
"This is strictly a polite suburban patio party. Nothing horizontal about it, you understand."
"I understand. You don't know it, but on normal social occasions I am the almost-perfect gentleman. They don't call me Fats Fauntleroy for nothing."
Jackie had to laugh. Tom was probably the skinniest man she'd ever known.
Mavis came up to them from the pool, sleek and glistening wetly in her flesh-colored suit.
"You know something, Mom?" Tom said. "You're enough to make me forget my vows."
"What vows?" Mavis said, reaching for a towel.
"Any God damn vows," Tom said.
When they got home from the club, Jackie tried to call Niles at the office, but it was too late; he'd already left for the day. Jackie had just finished showering and dressing when she saw Niles' Mercedes pulling in to the curb in front of the house. She ran downstairs and outside to the car to meet him.
He was carrying a dozen long-stemmed red roses. Jackie took them and pulled the paper away from the tops and smelled them, abstractedly.
"They're beautiful," she said. "Niles?" They were standing on the sidewalk and she made no move to lead him inside.
"What's wrong?"
"I goofed," she said. "When I asked you to come out I forgot I'd invited Mavis Whittaker to spend a few days. Now she's here."
"Mavis?" Niles said. "Here?" She had expected him to be angry, momentarily at least, but he seemed to be vastly amused. She had never seen such an odd grin on his face.
"I invited a neighbor over, so you won't have two girls on your hands."
"I don't mind having two girls on my hands," Niles said, "but I'm all in favor of neighbors, too."
They were moving slowly toward the house.
"Niles? Do you play bridge?"
"Not if I can help it."
"Good. Neither do I."
Mavis was coming down the stairs as they came through the door. Jackie had elected to wear skintight slacks and a blouse as appropriate for outdoor drinking and charcoal cooking. Mavis had chosen to wear a dress-a short, light, simple cotton summer dress that made her look like a teenager. At least she isn't wearing a bow in her hair, Jackie thought. Her skin was dazzlingly white, unaffected by that afternoon's sun, against the bright burnished copper of her hair. She was incredibly lovely, Jackie had to admit, incredibly delicate, like a flower unfolding. Niles was staring at her. The bitch, Jackie thought.
Mavis hesitated at the foot of the stairs, then took three swift steps and put her arms around Niles. He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.
"It's been such a long time," she said, looking up at him.
"A few short years," he said. "You're lovelier than ever."
Tm going to find a vase for these roses," Jackie said. "And make us a Martini."
"A wonderful piece of thinking," Niles said. "If there's anything I like, it's a bright, practical girl."
"I'll practical-girl him, Jackie thought Both of them. She headed for the kitchen.
When she came back to the living room, carrying a tray with the tall pitcher of Martinis, they were sitting across from each other, not talking. After all those years, Jackie thought they ought to have something to say, instead of just looking at each other. She put the tray down on the coffee table by the couch. When they'd gotten back from the club, she'd put the glasses in the freezing compartment of the refrigerator, and now a frost had formed on the crystal stemware. Jackie thought she had never seen glasses that looked so inviting.
"You pour the Martinis, Niles," she said. "I'm a nervous hostess, and I hate to spill good gin."
Tm willing to bet you never spilled a drop in your life," he said. "But I'll be glad to pour."
He got up and came over to the coffee table and poured the Martinis lovingly, holding the ice back in the pitcher with the long glass stirring rod. He handed a brimful glass to Mavis, without spilling a drop, another to Jackie, and held his own up at eye level, looking at it with genuine affection. "Here's to old times," he said, glancing at Mavis. T don't think I want to drink to that," Jackie said, pretending to smile. To the future, then."
That's better," Jackie said, and took a long sip.
CHAPTER NINE
Tom arrived, carrying a quart bottle of gin, while they were still on the first Martini.
"A gift that gurgles," he said, handing her the brown-paper package.
"You didn't have to do that," she said. "But thank you."
"I have a morbid fear of running out of gin. I always carry a jug with me, wherever I go." Jackie led him into the living room. "You've met Mavis."
"I sure have," Tom said, and smiled at her. Jackie noticed that he couldn't help glancing at Mavis' crossed legs. Her mini-skirt stopped about a foot above her knee.
"This is Niles Wallach, Tom Rafferty."
Niles stood up and they shook hands.
"You have big friends," Tom said to Jackie. "I hope they're really friendly."
"I'm like an overgrown puppy," Niles said.
Jackie went to the kitchen, brought back another chilled glass, and poured it full from the remains in the pitcher.
"It's practically nothing but ice water," Jackie said. I'll stir up a fresh batch in a minute."
"How are you at broiling steaks?" Jackie asked him.
"I can do them myself but for some reason men don't like to see women cooking over charcoal. It robs them of their masculinity, or something."
"I feel the other way around," Niles said. 'Td be afraid of standing too close."
"You wouldn't have to stand very close," Mavis said.
Niles looked at her. So did Jackie. She was suddenly furious. Mavis never had been able to handle much liquor, she remembered, but now she'd had only half a Martini.
Tom got them off the hook.
"I don't seem to react that way when I'm cooking steak," Tom said. "And I don't like to brag, but I'm very good at it. People come from miles around."
"You're elected," Jackie said.
"I'm glad that's settled," Niles said, getting up. "Let me make this Martini."
Mavis became more animated on her second drink, and started telling stories about her days as a model. Jackie was glad she didn't start some dreary domestic ritual about her Husband and Children; it would have spoiled the mood. Jackie had forgotten how funny Mavis could be when she wanted to, and pretty soon she discovered she wasn't mad at the girl any more. So Mavis and Niles had done a little friendly fucking, years ago. So what? It would be her turn. Soon.
Mavis' long, slim white legs seemed to be flashing all the time as she crossed and re-crossed them, but every time Jackie was near Niles his hand stroked the roundness of globes under the thin tight slacks. Once, when no one was looking, his hand slid up between her legs and pushed briefly against her pussy. She pinched his ear, but didn't move away.
On the third Martini, they went outside and Tom started the kindling to get the charcoal going. Jackie would have been happy to put off eating indefinitely, but she was afraid Mavis would be out like a burned-out bulb for the rest of the evening.
They had one more Martini while Tom was broiling the steak, and then they ate, helping everything along with burgundy.
When they'd finished eating, they lay back in the darkness, content.
I'll make some coffee," Jackie said, getting up.
"Not for me," Niles said. T don't want anything to spoil the way I feel right now."
Jackie had a thought. A brilliant thought. The Martinis were still singing in her blood.
"How about a Stinger?" she said.
"Oh, wonderful," Mavis said, out of the darkness.
"Jesus," Niles said.
"I'm for it." That was Tom. Tom was for anything.
Niles went inside with her. She had an unopened bottle of Martell's she'd been saving, and she dug out a half full bottle of white cr�me de menthe from the back of a lower shelf.
"Mavis will wind up on her ass," Niles said.
"I don't know. She used to have great recuperative powers."
"We should worry. Tom looks as if he can take care of her."
"I'm sure he can," Jackie said, measuring the cognac into a shaker. Niles was standing behind her. He put his arms around her and cupped her breasts in his hands. She felt her nipples rising, and leaned back against him. She became acutely conscious of a great hardness growing against the soft swell of her ass. The back door opened.
"Mavis decided," Tom said, from the doorway, "that Stingers are an indoor drink."
"Mavis is right," Jackie said, and led the way into the living room, carrying the shaker. She turned toward them and started to shake the drinks. Tom and Niles stood still, smiling, watching her breasts bobbing up and down under her thin blouse.
Mavis sat down at one end of the couch, letting her legs spread. Her skirt was up around her hips. At her crotch, curling out from under the black strip of her panties, was a wisp of silken hair, bright coppery red against the whiteness of her inner thighs. Tom had seen it, too, Jackie was sure. He sat on the floor by the couch and put a hand on Mavis' slender ankle. Mavis looked down at him and smiled.
Niles got glasses from the kitchen and they finished their first Stingers quickly. Too quickly. Nobody was saying much and there was a distinct tension in the air. When Jackie came back with the second batch of drinks, Tom's hands were on Mavis' calves, and he was kissing the inside of one knee.
Jackie could stand it no longer.
"Since Stingers are an indoor drink," she said, "I'm going to get into some indoor clothes."
She ran up the stairs and got out of her slacks, blouse, and bra. She was wearing no pants. She got a summer mini-dress out of the closet and slipped it over her head, with nothing underneath it. She stepped into high-heeled red pumps and walked slowly downstairs.
When she came into the living room, Tom and Niles stared at her, hard. Her skirt came halfway to her knee but they both knew, from the look in their eyes, that there was nothing underneath it. My incandescent cunt, she thought. It gets them every time.
Niles had never even seen it, she thought. She went over to the couch and sat down beside Mavis, her skirt high on her thighs but her knees primly together.
Niles was sitting on a hassock, directly in front of her. Leaning forward to pick up her drink, she let her knees come apart. When she leaned back, she put one foot up on the coffee table, her knee high, giving Niles an unobstructed view of the pink, opening lips of her cunt. He licked his lips, staring. She moved her knee back and forth slowly, closing and opening her cunt for Niles to see.
"See anything you like, Niles?" she asked.
'Let's go upstairs," he said thickly.
"What's wrong with right here?"
He dropped to his knees in front of her, reached under her, lifting her buttocks with both hands, and pulled her cunt to his mouth. In one long, licking suck,-he gathered the whole soft wet delicious mass of her cunt-lips into his hungry mouth. But, suddenly, swiftly, as his tongue dug deeply into her, Jackie twisted away from him and got to her feet. She was abruptly frantic to have him inside her. After all this time of waiting and teasing, she wanted him immediately, this second, right now.
Niles was looking at her in astonishment.
"Upstairs, Niles, where we can do this right. I want you inside me, God how I want you inside me. Come on, Niles. Quickly. Please."
She was tugging at his hand as she led him toward the stairs. She was dimly aware of the spread of Mavis' long white legs and the back of Tom's brown head bobbing between them, but she couldn't have cared less about what else was going on. Her entire will and emotion and sensation were centered in the wet slit between her legs, and on Niles, and her total concentration made them one and the same thing.
They stumbled together up the stairs, and got to her bedroom somehow. Jackie turned on the lamp by the bed, kicked off her shoes, and pulled her dress off over her head. She dropped it where she stood, jumped into the middle of the big bed, and lay impatiently with her head on the pillow, watching Niles get out of his clothes.
He was undressing as fast as it's possible for a man to undress; it took him only a few seconds, but it was an eternity to Jackie. Still wearing shorts, with the left leg bulging grotesquely, he rolled onto the bed beside her.
When he leaned over her and kissed her, she opened her mouth hungrily, and her tongue sprang up to meet him. His hands roamed the smooth tender surface of her back, feasted on the warm yielding swell of her buttocks, teased and caressed the backs of her legs, her inner thighs. He untangled his tongue, unglued his mouth from hers, tongued the inside of her ear, bit the lobe. He kissed the side of her neck, her throat, while his hands kept moving over the whole quivering, responding surfaces of her body, caressing, squeezing, stroking, pinching. His mouth moved down to the waiting globes of her breasts, and his lips caught first one hard standing nipple, then the other. He took one nut-hard bud between his teeth, and bit gently.
Without taking his mouth from her breast, he rolled slightly to one side, raised his hips, and with one hand shoved his shorts down to his feet, then kicked them off.
Jackie looked down. Her eyes widened, like the eyes of a little girl on her first roller coaster plunge.
His cock was enormous, gigantic, immense. Jackie pushed against Niles' shoulder, getting him to he flat on his back, so she could feast her eyes on that tremendous rigid pole. She leaned over on one elbow, to study it closely, to tease herself with the sight of the great instrument that would soon play symphonies of pleasure inside her. She reached out and put one hand around the base of the shaft, as far as her fingers would reach. It was thicker, far thicker, than her wrist. She put her other hand around it, like a ldd choosing sides around the handle of a baseball bat. The entire neck of the shaft, with its droll collar of soft sldn, was still exposed above her hands, and above that, the giant head swelled upwards, the eye in the center staring unwinkingly at the ceiling. The head was as large, as smooth, as hard, as shiny and as red as an apple.
She was filled with an eager, pulsing excitement. Any woman in her right mind, she thought, would be scared to death the first time she saw that giant machine; but Jackie was anything but frightened. In all that quivering, wanting wetness of the chasm between her thighs, the way she felt now, she could easily engulf the Statue of Liberty, torch, ticket takers and all.
Niles' middle finger was sliding back and forth across the swollen tender twig of her clitoris, and her legs spread wider, all by themselves, it seemed, as her hips began to revolve.
"Now?" Niles asked.
"Now," she said. "Please."
He got to his knees between the wide V of her legs, and she reached out and took the hard shiny red apple of his cockhead between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand, guiding the great cumbersome rocket shaft toward the wet, waiting, swollen lips of her gaping, gasping cunt. With the head firmly lodged in the soft welcoming embrace of her outer twat-arms, she removed her guiding fingers, and Niles took over.
He launched the great rocket slowly, with an almost imperceptible forward thrust of his hips. It reminded Jackie of the berthing of a giant ocean liner. She groaned as the great liner slid along inside her deep opening slippery warm channel of quivering sensation, setting the shores farther back, widening the walls. When the shaft was imbedded half way up its length, Jackie felt full, stuffed, complete, and Niles stopped his forward progress.
"Do you want more?" he asked. He was leaning over her with his weight on his elbows, his face directly over hers. He looked concerned, and she realized that he wasn't just teasing. From the outside, she knew, her cunt still had that young, dewy, delicate appearance that had fooled so many men.
"I want all of it, Niles," she said, looking up into his eyes. "Every fucking inch. Every long, thick, hard, juicy fucking lovely inch."
Niles' shaft continued its deepening journey. Jackie raised her knees and spread them wide with her hands. Niles made one long, plunging, slow downward thrust, the pelvic bone at the base of his cock ground to a halt in her tangled wet hair, and the entire crowbar hardness of his telephone pole of a prick was inside her. The head, she thought, must be up past her lungs somewhere. Her throat seemed clogged. She could not have talked if she'd wanted to.
She embraced his hips hotly with her legs, her feet hooked tightly behind him. Slowly, he slid the shaft out until only the head remained in the grasp of her spasmodically clutching inner lips, held it there for a long moment, then sank it deep into her again in one long, sure, inner-probing stroke. She gasped, chokingly, and her hips rose to push her cunt-lips tight against the base of his shaft.
"Fuck me hard, Honey," she said through clenched teeth. "Fuck me deep, ream out my cunt with that great big wonderful cock. Fuck me like I've never been fucked before."
Niles began to fuck her then with a slow, steady rhythm, driving the entire length of his giant cock deep into her with every stroke, and her hips joined in his timing, bringing her sucking, gluttonous cunt up to greet his every in-stroke, grasping and holding and clutching wetly at the thick stiff shaft with his out-strokes. His hand found its way under her lifting buttocks, spread itself under the round, spasm-wrenched globes, and his middle finger slid into her tight, tiny ass-hole. The drawstring of her sphincter muscle loosed, unpuckering her anus, and his finger penetrated to the hilt, sliding back and forth against the outer wall of her vagina, tickling through the wall of membrane at the bottom of his own invading organ.
They fucked in perfect harmony for a long, long time-Jackie could not have guessed whether it was five minutes or five hours or five days-and she wanted it to go on forever, but she could not keep her surging excitement from mounting, climbing steadily toward a peak she could only guess at. She knew that Niles was controlling himself, and would wait for the moment of her orgasm before he let himself explode.
Gradually, then, Niles started to pick up the stroke, not shortening the thrust at all, but making it swifter, harder, more demanding, as he whipped her to a mindless frenzy with long lightning strokes of his heroic spear. He banged into her, again and again, with a thump, a jolt. Soon she was surging into a crazed frenzy, crying out soundlessly, as her inflamed cunt made wet sucking sounds around Niles' slippery shaft. Then she screamed, and her body went rigid, as she came, once, twice, again, and Niles' hot juices spurted up inside her. Her eyes were closed, but she saw skyrockets, first, then a great wall of red, as the spasms hammered in diminishing waves at her insides.
Niles waited until she was completely limp before he pulled out. Leaving the soft wet refuge of her cunt, his slackened prick made a soft, swampy plopping sound, like a wet cork being pulled out of the neck of a bottle. She got a pack of cigarettes from the bedside table and lighted one for each of them. Niles smoked in-silence, and she was almost through with her cigarette before she said anything.
"When I think now," she said, "that I've been holding you off all these weeks."
"Why did you do that? I almost wound up in a padded cell."
"I told you once, only it sounded childish. I like you too much. And like isn't the word I mean."
"I still don't get it."
"I figured once you'd made it with me you'd lose interest, and sooner or later I'd come to the sad day when I knew I'd never see you again."
"You're crazy. I could no more stop seeing you than I could stop breathing."
"I love to hear you say that." I mean it.
Gently, she squeezed the limp shaft that lay between his legs.
"You mean that the first time isn't the last?"
"Not by several thousand times," he said. "I hope."
"I hope so too." The limp shaft had rolled over on its side. It was starting to swell, slowly. Jackie felt her excitement rising along with it. It was a crazy, wild land of excitement. The Martinis. The Stingers. And Niles. Mostly Niles.
"Let's go downstairs," she said, suddenly.
"Sure," Niles said. "But why?"
"Don't you like some variety when you get excited?"
"Sure."
"Are you game for anything?"
"Anything at all. As much as you want, for as long as you want. As long as I wind up back here with you."
"Nothing could stop that," she said, and kissed him. "Nothing."
"Let's go," he said, getting out of bed. "You're not going to put anything on."
"What for?"
"I'm with you," she said. They went out of the bedroom and down the stairs hand in hand, like a couple of country lads coming home from a strawberry festival.
CHAPTER TEN
Mavis and Tom were both sound, knocked-out asleep when Niles and Jackie padded into the living room on bare feet. Neither of them had a thread of clothing on. Mavis, with her head propped in a halo of tumbled red hair against an arm of the sofa, was sleeping on her back, her mouth slightly open, snoring softly. Her legs were akimbo, and the silky red hair of her bush was moist and matted; a single, soft, moist pink fold peeped forth from the slit of her cunt. Even in sleep, her long, slender white body looked supple and pliant.
Tom was asleep in a semi-sitting position at Mavis' feet. His own feet had simply slid forward on the carpet until his head was resting on the back of the couch, and there he'd stopped. The hook in his cocktoward the left-was more pronounced when it hung limp, Jackie noticed. Tom's mouth was open and he was snoring, too-a coarser snore than Mavis', more like a trombone obliggato to the thin fragile melodic line she was carrying.
"A Stinger?" Jackie said, quietly.
"Why not?" Niles said.
Jackie poured the liquor, Niles dropped in the ice and did the shaking. His cock described a fascinating up-and-down arc, Jackie noticed. When Niles stopped shaking, it stood a little above half-mast. It seemed to be coming up a notch at a time, then dropping back a half-notch. She could soon fix that, she thought contentedly.
They took one sip from their drinks in the kitchen, then carried them into the living room with them. The tableau had not changed, although the tempo of the background music seemed to have slowed somewhat.
"I can think of a good way to wake Mavis," Niles said. His log of a prick stood out straight in front of him now, parallel to the floor. Jackie considered putting her drink down on the broad flat top surface of it, then reconsidered. The bottom of her glass was too cold.
"Go ahead," Jackie said. "I'll think of some pleasant way to wake Tom."
'Tm sure you will," Niles said. He put his Stinger down on the coffee table and walked to the end of the couch where Mavis lay with her head back, her lips parted.
Bending slightly, Niles touched the soft folds of skin just under the head of his cock to the tip of Mavis' nose.
Mavis opened her eyes, slowly. It must be like waking up on the deck of a sailboat, Jackie thought, watching the boom swing over you.
Mavis did not look anywhere else in the room. Her head moved from side to side, slightly, like a cobra's, but her eyes were fixed on the massive flute above her. She reached one hand and held it at the base. Her tongue reached up, pink and pointed, and touched the soft shawl of skin that was the part of Niles' wand he'd used to awaken her. With the tip of her tongue, Mavis tickled the underside of Niles' cock down to the base, then began to lick it, with long slow strokes of her full tongue, from the base to the head and back down again.
If she tries to take that monster into her mouth, Jackie thought, she'll have to unhinge her jaws, like a snake. Niles looked over at her then, and winked. She turned her attention to Tom. He was still asleep, snoring gently. For a long moment, she studied his long, limp, hanging tool: she was intrigued by the small hook to the left. She inched closer to him, on her knees between his legs, cupped her breasts in her hands, and brought them up under Tom's dangling prick, cradling it in the soft crevice of her held-together breasts. She jogged her breasts up and down, tossing the length of inert man-flesh an inch or two into the air, letting it fall back into its soft hammock with a tiny slapping sound.
The fourth or fifth time she flipped the cock up it did not fall back, but held itself out with a will of its own, swelling and growing, deepening in color.
She looked up into Tom's eyes. He was smiling. She wondered how long he'd been awake.
"What a great way to wake up," he said. "Beats those radio-clocks and snooze-alarms all to hell."
"Niles and I decided it was time for fun and games," Jackie said. "You've had enough sleep."
"You and Niles are absolutely right," Tom said. He looked over to where Mavis was holding Niles' giant cock with her two hands, licking and nibbling up and down the underlength of it like an ear of corn. She was unconscious of her widespread legs, the long red slit of her cunt, framed by the halo of coppery hair, the tiny fold of pink protruding at the center, like the tip of a tongue. Tom leaned over sideways and began to gulp at her twat. She spread her legs wider, groaned happily, and kept on licking and sucking at Niles' rigid pole.
Jackie leaned forward and lifted the limp sack of Tom's balls into her mouth, sucking them, rolling them on her tongue. His red swollen cock stood straight up now, touching the tip of her nose. She dropped his balls out of her mouth and began licking the stiff shaft, with full wet strokes of her tongue, from the base up to the head.
When she got to the head, Jackie leaned forward, raising her whole body and dropping her hands to the carpet. She took Tom's cock into her mouth, as much as she could, until the head was touching the back of her palate. She began to lick and suck alternately. She could hear Tom's pleased groans, muffled by the embrace of Mavis' slim white thighs around his ears.
Jackie loved the feel of the hard prick to her mouth, loved the sensation it gave her to have her lips around it, sucking it, licking it, gobbling it. But she felt incomplete, down at the confluence of her thighs, at the inflamed center of all her desires.
Niles, right then, must have been reading her mind, if you could call it that. Reading her lust, was more like it. He couldn't have been reading her pussy, from where he stood.
"Let's all four of us get down on the rug," he said, "right now. We can come full circle, as the expression goes."
Jackie watched him as he turned away from Mavis, the boom swinging away from her mouth, her tongue lapping empty air. Jackie gave Tom's cock one long deep suck, and raised her head to watch Niles.
He walked across the room and lay down on his side at the edge of the deep-pile white angora rug. Jackie understood immediately. Holding the base of
Tom's cock in one hand, she got to her feet and took a step backwards to where Niles was lying. Reluctantly, Tom took his mouth from its sustenance between Mavis' thighs, and followed Jackie.
Mavis sat up, looked around as if confused, then got to her feet and walked over and lay down on her side and continued her tongue-torment of Niles' wet weapon.
Jackie lay down on her side and raised one leg; Niles' mouth went immediately to her cunt, his head pillowed comfortably on her soft inner thigh. Jackie resumed her sucking of Tom's cock, inspired now. Tom's tongue was back at Mavis' pink open slit.
They lay that way for a long time, squirming only slightly, each mouth busy with its own busy pleasurable project, each organ of pleasure receiving the maximum of joyous stimulation from another mouth, another tongue.
Jackie heard Mavis coming, then, in a series of short gasping groans that seemed to catch in her throat, and at the same time she felt Tom's body stiffen and arch toward her mouth, as his throbbing prick slid deep and exploded into her throat. She reached up with one hand, grasped the shaft firmly, and milked it into her mouth, until Tom was sucked dry.
The expert touch of Niles' tongue in her twat had Jackie at a plateau of sexual gratification, a sort of euphoria of the crotch. She was nowhere near orgasm. Neither was Niles, she saw, looking sideways. Mavis had somehow contrived to get the entire head of his cock into her mouth, but she lay still, her jaws open wide, with her mouth gripping the neck of Niles' cock without any sign of movement. The great shaft stood out with the hardness and permanence of a redwood limb.
She rolled away from Niles' mouth, and smiled at him.
"Would anyone like a drink?" she asked.
"I'd like a beer," Niles said. Mavis retrieved her mouth, wiggled her lower jaw back and forth, and sat up.
"Me too," she said.
"And me," Tom said, and stood up. 'I'll get them."
When Tom came back with the opened cans of beer on a tray, they were all off the floor, Mavis back at her corner of the couch, Jackie and Niles in easy chairs opposite each other. Niles' enormous hard-on pointed straight at the ceiling. We ought to throw a tablecloth over it, Jackie thought. Make a circus tent.
Mavis took a deep swig of her beer. She seemed to have gotten over, completely, the effect of the earlier Martinis and Stingers, and was smiling a smile of unaffected contentment.
"Jackie, is it all right if I play some of your records?" Mavis asked. T haven't heard them in a long time."
"That's a fine idea," Jackie said. "Niles has never heard any of my old-fashioned jazz."
"Not on your records," Niles said. "But I've spent the large part of a lifetime listening to it."
"Well, there's a bonus for you," Tim said. "Or for me, rather. I've been a jazz buff since McKinney's Cotton Pickers."
Mavis walked over to the record player, tall and slender and somehow awkwardly graceful in her white nakedness.
"Where are they?" she asked.
"There's a bunch of LP albums that are reissues of my old records, on the bottom bookshelf over the set."
Mavis took down two at random, took them out of their jackets, set them in the record player, and turned it on.
"A lot of the old 78's are in the cabinet underneath," Jackie said. Mavis bent down to look.
Her white, exquisitely shaped little ass, higher than the rest of her, was faced directly toward Niles, up close, and Jackie, further away. Mavis' feet were apart, for balance, her legs spread, and her cunt was completely exposed to view. It was almost as though she were putting it on exhibition, Jackie thought, and maybe she is. Niles was in the front row seat
Never, Jackie thought, had she seen a cunt look more vulnerable than Mavis' was in that position. The thin lips of her wet shining pink slit seemed to gape open, the little hills and valleys of her clitoris and inner lips soft, bright pink, wet and welcoming. It was an open invitation, Jackie thought, if she'd ever seen one.
Niles turned to look at her, a question in his eyes. His giant cock was throbbing noticeably.
"Go ahead," Jackie said. "It's her party, too."
The record player came to life with "You Took Advantage of Me," with Bud Freeman on tenor, Wettling on drums, Jess Stacy on piano, as Niles stood up. Without any hesitation, he took one swift step and lodged the huge head of his pulsing stiff rod between the soft open lips of Mavis' ravishing cunt.
"Oooh," she said. But she did not straighten up or turn around.
Then, to Jackie's amusement, Niles sank the entire length of his incredible, wrist-thick whang into the slender, fragile-looking redhead in one long, sure, plunging stroke, the lower part of his abdomen making a slapping sound against the little round white mounds of Mavis' buttocks.
She uttered one small scream, but it was a scream of sheer joy. She raised her hands and placed them on the edge of the record-player cabinet for support, to brace herself for whatever was to come: Niles grabbed and held her hipbones firmly, moving her around slightly to give Jackie and Tom a better view.
He began to fuck her, then, with long, steady, machine-like strokes, sliding his rigid rod out almost to the head, then slamming it back into her, his balls slapping against the back of her thighs. Mavis grunted and groaned with every in-plunging stroke, wiggling her ass with every withdrawal as if to arrange a better fit. Niles never slackened his swift tempo, withdrawing his wet glistening shaft and pounding it home again with a rapid, sure, steady rhythm.
Jackie, watching them, began to cross and uncross her legs, squeezing her thighs together. Her pussy was on fire, and she felt her juices gushing without putting out any of the flame.
Tom must have noticed her predicament, because he got up and crossed the room and got to his knees in front of her. She spread her knees wide, and without a word Tom leaned forward and began to gobble her cunt, licking, sucking, swallowing her juices.
Jackie reached out with both hands and caressed the back of his neck.
"Thank you, Tom," she said. "You're an angel."
Tom raised his face to her, smiling wetly.
"Don't mention it," he said, and went back to his eating.
She encouraged his efforts with her heels behind his back, all the while watching Niles pounding away at Mavis, who was now shuddering uncontrollably.
Suddenly Mavis gave out a series of gasping moans and sank to the floor. Niles' huge cock stood out, lonely now, stiff, glistening wetly, looking to Jackie as if it were a being all by itself, red now with anger. "Ballin' the Jack" rocked out from the record player. Mavis lay on the floor at Niles' feet, flat on her stomach, her legs twitching.
Niles, smiling now, looked over at Jackie.
"Would you like to dance?" he asked.
Jackie didn't know quite what he meant, but whatever it was, it had to be good. Tom's eager tongue had her on the verge of screaming, herself.
"Certainly," she said. Tom stood up, licking his wet lips, and Niles came over and stood in front of her.
Niles leaned over her and bent his knees, then guided the wet shiny head of his prick to the pulsing v entrance to her twat. She reached up with her legs and wrapped them around him, hooking her feet together behind his hips. He drove the great spear down into her, in one long effortless plunge, and put his arms around under her hips and clasped his hands together, ramming the outer lips of her cunt tight against his pelvic bone.
She put her arms around his neck and he lifted her easily from the chair and began to dance around the room, in perfect time to the music. His cock drove in and out, and she helped his fucking motion with the pressure of her heels behind him.
Tom was laughing and applauding, and Mavis sat up, looked, and applauded too, smiling broadly. "Ballin the Jack" ended, and they stood still in the center of the room, Niles holding her easily, fully imbedded, making almost imperceptible little thrusts into her while they waited for the next record to drop.
When the sounds of "Back Home Again in Indiana" surged into the room, Niles resumed his dancing, and Jackie went back to sliding back and forth on his shaft in time to the music.
Jackie finally came, screaming and laughing, during the fast furious rhythm of "That's aplenty," and Niles came with her, at last, squirting inside her, holding her tight, and she felt his knees begin to sag.
"Don't drop me," she said, still gasping and laughing.
"Never," he said, and fell into the big easy chair with her on top of him, still joined.
But loosely. Limply. Wetly. They were both sopping.
"I never was much of a dancer," Niles said, when he'd gotten his breath.
"Maybe not," Jackie said. "But tonight I think you've started a trend."
"And to think," Tom said, from the couch, "that when I was a kid I absolutely refused to go to dancing school."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Tom and Niles spent the night, Niles with Jackie and Tom with Mavis in one of the front bedrooms, but they did some nocturnal visiting and slept only in ragged stretches. In the morning Jackie woke to the sound of a shower running, rolled over, saw that Niles was not beside her, and went back to sleep.
She awoke again a few minutes later when Niles walked back into the room, wearing the blue shorts she'd seen him in the night before. They fitted him better now. She still heard the sound of water running, and rolled over to look out the window. It was raining, hard.
"I found your son's razor," Niles said, rubbing his chin. He had a patch of toilet paper stuck to a cut high on his cheek. "But I couldn't find any new blades."
"He doesn't shave very often."
"It's a good day to sleep," Niles said, looking out the window, "all day."
"Why don't we?"
"I have to sit in on a script conference at ten o'clock. That's one of the bad things about working in New York. They have a lot of old-fashioned ideas about office hours. Nothing like that out on the coast."
"You worked in California for a while, didn't you?"
"Yop," Niles said, putting on yesterday's T-shirt "And I have a standing offer to go back."
Jackie had a sinking sensation, deep inside her somewhere.
"Why don't you?" she forced herself to say.
"My option's up next week," he said. T could go, very easily."
He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at her.
"You want to know why I don't like the idea of leaving."
"Yes."
"You."
"Me?" She felt warm all over.
"I can't stand the idea of you in Larchmont and me in L.A."
"I don't know what to say," Jackie said.
'The cab fare," Niles said, "would be prohibitive." He was looking under the bed for his shoes.
Jackie got up and put on a robe and slippers.
"I'll go down and start the coffee and fix breakfast," she said.
"Don't bother."
"It's no trouble."
"Tom's up, by the way." Niles was buttoning yesterday's shirt.
"Says he has to get home and feed the cats. Also stay there in case his wife calls. He says she'll know he's not at the club, in this rain."
"Tom's a coward," Jackie said, from the doorway.
"In more ways than one," Niles said, grinning. "I'll be down in a minute."
After the men had left, Jackie and Mavis loafed over coffee and cigarettes for a while, then went back upstairs to bed. It was late afternoon when Jackie awoke, and still raining steadily. She got up, showered, dressed, and went downstairs, slowly. She felt rested, thoroughly relaxed and nothing but lazy.
Mavis was stretched out on the couch, her head propped up, leafing through a copy of Playboy. Bob had brought the magazine home with him. Jackie disapproved.
"How long have you been up?" she asked.
"About half an hour. If you can call it being up."
"I don't know about you," Jackie said, sorting records and putting them in their jackets, "but I'm as sore as a new bride."
"Me, too," Mavis said. "But it was worth it."
"Would it bother you if I played some music? Some quiet music?"
"That's a fine idea. Just listening to the rain come down is driving me up the wall."
Jackie put on three early Eroll Garner LPs. "I Can't Give You Anything But Love" pulsed quietly in the room.
"How would you feel about a whiskey sour? Or a Martini?"
"A Martini," Mavis said. "Lovely."
"Last night was what I would call a memorable evening," Mavis said, sitting up as Jackie put the Martini down on the coffee table in front of her.
"Yes it was." Jackie sat down at the other end of the couch and sipped her drink. It was ice cold and powder dry. Wonderful. There's nothing like homemade, she thought.
"I've been missing a lot, married to Charlie these six years. Or is it seven?"
"Every night isn't like last night, for us single people."
Mavis laughed.
"I have to believe that," she said. "But you know something? Sex is a funny thing." Jackie looked at her. "What's so funny about it?"
"I mean, you can get along without it for so long, or with just a moderate amount. Then all of a sudden, you get a lot, all at once. And all you want is more."
Jackie laughed.
"You're so right. You mean today, you're ready for more?"
"Not really," Mavis said, and shuddered. "Not today. I'm too sore."
"We'll settle for a cloistered evening, tonight."
"Suits me fine. Jackie?"
"What?"
"I've been faithful to Charlie the whole time we've been married. Until last week. I had a little extracurricular screwing, just last week, and last night I wanted it so bad I could taste it."
"It's like drinking with some people," Jackie said. "One's too many and a thousand's not enough."
"Not nearly enough," Mavis agreed, and finished her Martini. Jackie went out to the kitchen and stirred up another. With the rain coming down in the gloom outside, it was going to be an afternoon and evening of confidences. She could feel it in her bones. And she didn't mind a bit. She had discovered that she liked Mavis better than she ever had before.
On the third Martini, she found herself telling her redheaded friend about the night of exercises with Bob's friends, her Beaver Patrol. She thought Mavis would be shocked, but she wasn't at all.
"Sounds marvelous," Mavis said. "like a smorgasbord to a starving man. Or woman," she corrected herself.
"It was an eye-opening experience," Jackie said, sipping. "Not only eye-opening."
"Only one thing," Mavis said, hesitating. "Don't they-well-don't they come too soon when they're that young? I never had much experience with teenagers. I led a sheltered girlhood."
"Only the first time. After that they last longer. To tell you the truth, I didn't explore their full capabilities."
"I read in the Kinsey report on the male that they reach their sexual peak around seventeen or eighteen or somewhere."
"Kinsey was probably right."
"Gee," Mavis said, and was quiet for a long moment. She sipped her drink thoughtfully.
"When do you expect them back?" she asked finally.
"Why, Mavis."
"I was only daydreaming. A girl can dream, can't she?"
"They have to bring back the station wagon sometime this week. Probably not till the week-end, though."
"I have to be home by then," Mavis said sadly. "Oh, well."
"I'll make us another Martini," Jackie said, getting up. "Then we ought to start thinking about dinner."
"Why?" Mavis said. "I'm perfectly happy the way I am."
"Your daydreams would have to stay just daydreams anyway," Jackie said. "My son Bob will be with the boys this time."
"I know that," Mavis said. "I just like to think about it."
On Wednesday the sun was shining, and in the afternoon they went to the club. There was no sign of Tom at the pool, and Mavis was visibly disappointed.
"He's such a nice, funny guy," she said as she leaned back in her chair. "Why do all the nice, funny guys turn out to be married?"
"You're married yourself."
"So I am," Mavis said. "I almost forgot."
"Anyway, all the nice, funny guys are not necessarily married."
"You mean Niles?"
Jackie didn't answer.
"Niles can be a very nice guy," Mavis said. "Sometimes." They dropped the subject.
Tom arrived at poolside just as they were leaving.
"My wife and kids are due home tomorrow," he said, almost apologetically. "I've been resting up. And eating oysters." He grinned evilly.
"Good for you," Mavis said.
"A bad joke," Tom said, looking at Mavis. "Will I see you again?"
"It would be too risky."
"It's worth the risk. For me, anyway."
They were talking as if Jackie weren't there. She didn't mind at all.
"I don't know, Tom," Mavis said. "I'll see."
"Think about it."
"I will."
They left him looking forlornly after them as they walked away, their svelte hips moving, maddeningly, in unison.
Whatever Mavis did or didn't do about Tom, Jackie knew that she would see him again. If she wanted to.
CHAPTER TWELVE
When they came home from the club Thursday afternoon, Jackie's station wagon was parked in the driveway, dusty but undented, as far as she could see. She pulled the Volks up close behind the wagon and turned off the ignition.
Mavis looked at her, without opening the door or making any move to get out of the car.
"Does this mean that your Beaver Patrol is here?" Mavis asked.
"Some of them, anyway. Probably not all."
"I'm eager to meet your young male harem," Mavis said, still not opening the car door, "but for some reason I'm nervous about it, too."
"That's silly. Nothing's going to happen this time. Bob is with them, sort of a chaperone-in-residence. And in ignorance. You haven't met Bob, have you?"
"Not since he was seven or eight years old."
"He's changed some," Jackie said. "Come on."
She got out of the car and Mavis followed her across the front lawn and around the house to the porch on the far side. They were all there, overflowing the small roofed area, sitting in chairs, leaning against the wall of the house, draped over the railings. Andy. Peter. Hank. Steven. Walter. She was glad she remembered their names.
She introduced them to Mavis, who dazzled them with a smile. "Where's Bob?"
"We were going to ask you. He took off from West-hampton last night and said he'd meet us here this afternoon."
"With Valerie?" Jackie asked.
The boys were quiet. They looked at Andy.
"Never mind," Jackie said. That damn' kid. "He'll probably be along shordy."
She went up the three steps to the porch, fishing for her keys, with Mavis beside her. The boys made room for her to get to the door.
"Why didn't you go inside and make yourself at home? There's beer in the refrigerator."
"No key," Peter said. "The key Bob lent me last week, I gave it back to him. We expected he'd be here by now."
"The back door's always open," Jackie said. "But never mind."
It was cool in the house. The boys stood around awkwardly, as if they'd never been there before.
"Go inside and sit down, for God's sake," Jackie said. "I'll open some beer."
"I'm going to freshen up," Mavis said, heading for the stairs.
"You do that," Jackie said. "I forgot to tell you, Niles is coming out to dinner tonight."
"Oh, no," Mavis said, looking at her. Then she started to laugh, uncontrollably. Jackie started to laugh, too. She couldn't help herself.
God damn that Bob. She would break his neck.
If she ever got her hands on him.
Andy came out into the kitchen while she was opening cans of beer.
"Get a case of beer out of the pantry, will you, Andy? Put it in the refrigerator to get cold. I didn't expect all of you for another day or two, or I'd have had plenty in there to chill."
"We won't stay long, even if Bob doesn't show up today."
"You talk like a man with a paper ass-hole," Jackie said, and Andy turned and grinned at her from the doorway to the pantry. "Of course you'll stay, for the night at least. Even if that idiot son of mine never shows up."
When Andy had finished stacking beer on the lower shelves of the refrigerator, and turned, leaning against it, and looked at Jackie for a long moment without saying anything.
"What is it, Andy?"
"It wasn't Valerie Bob was with when he took off last night. It was a girl, all right, but it wasn't Val-ene.
It was not exactly news to Jackie, after the reaction on the porch.
"Well," she said. "He's probably taking a long time to tell her good-bye. He'll be along."
"I hope so," Andy said, "because Valerie's coming to meet him here, too."
"What?" Jackie said.
"Valerie. Here. She was out at Westhampton a couple of days ago and Bob told her to meet him here. Along with the rest of us. We're supposed to be taking off for Woodstock tomorrow."
"The silly son of a bitch," Jackie said.
Andy looked at her, grinning.
"I mean," she said, "that crazy bastard."
"That's no better."
'The nut," Jackie said lamely.
She jumped as the phone rang, the kitchen extension, on the wall right next to her ear. She picked it up, gingerly, between thumb and forefinger, as if it were poisonous, and looked at Andy with a strained expression on her face.
"Salvation Army," she said into the mouthpiece.
"Mom?" It was Bob. "I've run into some complications."
"You sure have," she said. "I hope it's nothing contagious."
"No worse than a bad cold," Bob said. "Don't be a smart-ass."
"You're the one that's being the smart-ass. I just called to say I won't be out there till morning."
"Where are you."
"In New York. Fun City."
"Get your irresponsible ass on a train and come on out here."
"In the morning."
"Now."
"I can't now. It's very comphcated. You know how women are."
"I've read about it somewhwere."
"Are the guys there?"
"Yes."
"Valerie?"
"No."
"Good. Tell her I'm with an old school buddy and his car broke down. It's in the garage and won't be ready till morning. Hell, tell her anything."
"When you do get here, Bob," she said, "I'm going to break your miserable neck."
But he had hung up.
Andy was still leaning against the refrigerator, looking amused.
"He won't be here till tomorrow," Jackie said.
"It figures," Andy said.
"What do we do about Valerie?"
"Steve will keep her amused. He's been wanting to get into her pants since second year high school."
"More power to him," Jackie said.
She turned and went out to the living room, with Andy behind her, carrying the tray of beer. And looking at her ass, she was sure. She was getting excited already.
She was looking out the front window a few minutes later when a green Ford convertible pulled up in front of the house. The car was strange to her, but Valerie slithered out, all legs, on the curb side. She had just slammed the door when Niles' gray Mercedes pulled up behind the Ford.
She watched as Niles caught up with the girl on the walk. They stood still for a minute, saying something, and then Valerie put out her hand and Niles shook it. He looked very tall beside the blonde girl. So now they're introduced, Jackie thought. That's nice. All she had to do now was introduce Niles to her Beaver Patrol.
When she went to the door to let them in, Mavis was coming down the stairs, wearing another low-cut mini-skirted summer dress. When Niles and the girl stepped inside, Jackie introduced Valerie and Mavis. They smiled and eyed each other. Valerie looked even more dewy and corn-fed than before.
She introduced Niles to the boys in the living room, and he shook hands with all of them, solemnly.
"I'm going to make a Martini," Jackie said. "Would you like a beer, Valerie?"
"I don't like beer much," Valerie said. "I drink Martinis all the time with my parents."
"Well," Jackie said.
"Valerie's a big girl now," Niles said. "Why shouldn't she have a Martini?"
"No reason," Jackie said, and started for the kitchen. Niles followed her, and started taking ice trays from the refrigerator.
"Our little tete-a-tetes sure do get crowded," he said.
Tm sorry, Niles."
"What the hell," Niles said. "I enjoy lads. Even big kids."
"You're wonderful," Jackie said. "I'll find a way to make it up to you."
"I know you will," Niles said.
They had a number of Martinis, drinking them much too fast. Mavis was flushed with the excitement of having all that eager horny young male flesh around her, and on the second Martini, Valerie started to get out of hand.
She was a natural-born tease, Jackie noticed, and a few swallows of gin effectively erased whatever inhibitions she might have had. She bent forward a great deal, to pick up or put down her glass, and her swelling young white breasts pouted joyfully above the confines of her low-cut dress. On her second Martini, she left the room for a few minutes, and when she came back it was obvious to everyone in the room that she was not wearing a bra. The pinkness of the upper aureoles swelled into view frequently, and Jackie was sure that Steve, sitting next to the girl, had a fairly unobstructed view of her pouting nipples, too.
She was surprised when Steve slipped down and sat on the floor by the coffee table, with an elaborately casual show of getting more comfortable. And then, as Valerie crossed her legs, slowly, with studied carelessness, they knew why Steve had moved to his new vantage point. Valerie had taken off her pants, as well as her bra. For an instant, the pink of her puckered little pussy winked at Steve, on the floor, and at Jackie, across the room, and at Niles, too, sitting on the arm of Jackie's chair. The innocent halo of curly hair around her young twat was a bright blonde. It looked as if it had been out in the sun a lot, Jackie thought.
She looked up at Niles, faintly embarrassed. He smiled down at her. "Looks like there's an orgy in the air," he said. Tm afraid you're right."
"Afraid?" Niles said.
"Well, not afraid. But I'm for it only if you are." Tmforit."
"Then I'm for it. On one condition."
"Name it."
"That you'll save me for last. I want to top off the evening with just you and me."
"Absolutely," Niles said. Jackie stood up.
"You and I," she said, "are going out for more beer and booze. They'll get off to a better start without us around."
She turned to Mavis, and noticed for the first time that Mavis wasn't wearing any pants either, Her skirt was up around her hips and when she moved her knees her framing of polished-copper cunt hair, against the luminous white of her thighs, was the focus of every eye in the room. Except Steven's.
"Can you get the party started, Mavis?" Jackie asked, "while Niles and I go out for booze?"
I'll sure try," Mavis said, crossing her legs. When they left, no one said anything about hurrying back.
They came back into the house by way of the kitchen, stashing the beer in the refrigerator. They made themselves a tall Scotch-and-water apiece, and Niles kissed her, his tongue probing deep. His rigid limb pressed sideways across her stomach.
"Now?" he asked.
"Let's play games with the guests first," she said. They walked quietly into the living room, carrying their drinks.
Steve was frantically fucking Valerie under the piano. Only his wildly pumping, hollow-cheeked ass was visible, under the keyboard, and Valerie's smooth tanned athletic legs, clutching his hips.
"Oh-oh-oh," Valerie was gasping, each gasp punctuated by the slapping of Steven's balls against the crevice and inner slopes of her firm young bottom.
Mavis, too, was oblivious to their entrance. Her eyes were closed, as she lay lengthwise on the couch, her head propped up on one arm, her mouth sliding eagerly back and forth around Peter's up-slanting young cock. One hand gripped the base of the shaft, and the rest of it appeared and disappeared as her head shuttled back and forth.
Her legs were sprawled wide apart, one foot on the floor, and Andy was kneeling between her thighs, the back of his head moving in a slow rhythm as he tongued her cunt.
Hank was lying on his side, crowded against the back of the couch, as his hand squeezed one pert breast and his mouth made sucking sounds around the nipples. Walter was on his knees, nibbling and licking the other nipple.
Niles was stepping out of his pants, then his underpants. His rock-hard cock seemed to Jackie to reach half-way across the room, dwarfing every other visible hard-on in the room. And they were all visible, except for Steve's buried in Valerie's squirming little twat, and Peter's, partially concealed by Mavis' circling mouth. There were little mounds of clothing everywhere in the room.
When Niles was completely naked, Jackie lifted her shift off, over her head. Niles stared at her magnificent proud body, and shook his head slowly from side to side.
"You're sure we ought to dally with the guests?"
"It's the only polite thing to do," Jackie said. Her twat was wet, the lips swollen, itching for that monstrous tool of Niles'. But she could tease herself a while. Save it for later. She reached out and squeezed it just below the head.
"Just save as much as you can," she said, "for later."
"I will," he said. "But right now, I think Mavis needs more than a tongue, don't you?"
"Go ahead," she said. "Dispossess Andy, and I'll take care of him. And I'll see what I can do for poor Hank and Walter."
Poor Hank and Walter looked very happy, sucking at Mavis' up-pointed nipples, but Jackie had something better in mind for them. She delayed for a moment, watching as Niles stepped over and tapped Andy on the shoulder.
"May I cut in?" he said politely. Andy turned his head around and smiled wetly. "Jackie would like this dance with you."
Andy stood up and came over to Jackie as Niles lifted Mavis back up on the couch, and started to insert the huge head of his stiff thick cylinder between the open slimy lips of Mavis' bright pink cunt Hank, confused, took his mouth from Mavis' breast and stood up, his pecker throbbing, pointing toward the ceiling.
Jackie bent over, her legs apart, her exquisitely rounded white ass facing squarely in the direction of Walter, who was still engrossed in trying to swallow Mavis' left tit.
"Walter," Jackie said, looking at him upside down, from between her knees, "have you forgotten me?"
Walter turned around to look directly at Jackie's white rounded globes, the pink open vulnerable cunt beneath them, the tiny puckered orifice half-hidden in the crevice.
"I'll get the vaseline," he said, starting for the stairs.
"It won't be necessary," Jackie said. She did not straighten up. Walter walked around her and she took his long slender up-tilted branch in her mouth, soaking it with saliva.
"Now," she said. "Get it all the way in, Walter."
Walter took his position behind her, placed the hard pointed head of his slim cock lovingly at the tiny pursed mouth of her anus, held her hips firmly, and pushed.
Jackie groaned, involuntarily. She could feel it slide deep inside her ass, right up to the hilt, with that one eager stroke.
Walter didn't have to be told. He kept his stiff pecker firmly imbedded as they sank to the white angora rug.
Andy, who had been watching the action without any expression on his face, lay down on his side close to Jackie, facing her. She raised her top leg high in the air, opening her quivering pink cunt to him, and he slid his big tool in without hesitation, driving it deep into her with one long, firm stroke, holding it there, resting against Walter's slim rod through the thin slippery wall of membrane. Jackie was filled with a burning excitement.
"Hank," she said, her head against the rug, "bring your cock over here." The redheaded boy got down on the rug on his side, his legs between Andy's body and Jackie's, his throbbing red prick touching the tip of Jackie's nose. She reached up to hold the base of it with one hand, and took the crimson head and most of the throbbing shaft into her mouth in one long, deep suck. For the first time in her life, she felt filled with cock, front, back, and above. Here, there, and everywhere. It seemed for a few seconds like more sensation than one body could stand.
She devoted herself then to Hank's supplicating, pulsing organ of pleasure, licking and sucking it with tender, loving care, letting the lower locations of her pleasures take care of themselves. Andy and Walter began team-fucking her then, in beautiful unison, like the crew of rowers on a racing shell. Andy, in her cunt, was rowing stroke, and Walter, his long slim curved oar up her ass, matched the beat precisely, plunging deep, putting his back into it Now, Jackie thought I know where the word "cockswain" had its origins. She was getting giddy with pleasure, she knew, and wanted to laugh aloud. But her mouth was full. And busy.
Licking, sucking, gobbling the cock in her mouth... feeling the plunging, probing, driving thrusts of the stiff relentless shafts in the wet quivering morass of screaming membrane inside her... hearing, in her ears and inside her head, the growing and receding waves of sound in the room... the grunts, and gasps and groans of delight... Jackie felt that her brain was melting. She was one great palpitating mass of feeling, of sensation that transcended mere pleasure or fulfillment or mortal ecstasy. She wanted to scream, but she couldn't.
She had no idea how long it lasted. Hank was the first to come, squirting his young hot juices into her throat; she swallowed, swallowed again, and licked and sucked him dry, using her hand to milk out the last pearly drop. But by then the movements of her mouth were automatic. All sensation had shifted downward, to the plunging, driving strokes of the oars below.
Very soon after Hank's sated prick had slid from her lips, she was at the quivering, screaming peak of orgasm. She could stand no more, she knew, without losing consciousness.
"Now," she screamed. "Now. Walter, Andy, now!'
They raised the tempo of their strokes to a furious, pounding series of lightning plunges. Jackie exploded and came, in a never-ending series of thunderclaps inside her. She could hear her own gasps and groans, and was powerless to stop them.
Then Andy and Walter, with one last back-breaking stroke, crossed the finish fine together. For the first time, they broke their rhythm, and their juices spurted raggedly, warmly, deep inside her quivering belly.
They sprawled in a variety of attitudes around the room, the boys drinking beer, Niles and Jackie and Mavis and Valerie with highballs in their hands. There was not a stitch of clothing on anyone, nor a trace of self-consciousness. Jackie thought she had never seen such a relaxed group. She had just been told that there had been an applauding little cluster of spectators at the finish line of her regatta, but she didn't mind a bit. She was glad, she told them, that the boys' efforts had been appreciated by someone besides her.
"You might say that it's all part of growing up, all of this," Niles said. "And none of us ever stops growing."
"Jesus," Jackie said, and looked at Niles' cock Alone in the room, his was still red and swollen, although not erect. Jackie was pretty sure she knew why. He had brought Mavis to her climax, or climaxes, all by herself. He was saving himself, for later.
Then Jackie had a wonderful idea. A monstrous idea. She'd fix that son of hers. Him and his horizontal romance with Valerie.
"Don't you think, Niles," she said, "that you might help Valerie a little with her growing up?"
"Aw, honey," Niles said. It was the first term of endearment Jackie had ever heard him use. It was also the first time she'd ever seen him embarrassed.
Valerie looked over at them, from where she sat on the couch next to Mavis. Jackie noticed a faint flush of pleasure rising in her cheeks.
'Maybe Niles doesn't want to," she said. She raised one knee and hugged it, moving the other knee outward. Her puckered, pink little pussy opened in its nest of blonde curls and smiled across at Niles.
"Jesus," Niles said to Jackie. "Valerie's so young. She's what we used to call 'eating stuff.'" His enormous shaft was rising, stiffening, thickening.
"You can do that too," Jackie said. "It'll all be part of her growing up."
Valerie was looking at Niles' rigid challenge. Her eyes widened. "Holy mackerel," she said. But she got to her feet The girl has guts, Jackie thought. I'll give her that Niles stood up, preceded by his stiff standard. I'll get the vaseline," Walter said, and headed for the stairs.
"Eating stuff," Niles said, "means the dining room."
He took Valerie's arm and led her through the archway to the dining room table. The rest of them followed. That Niles, Jackie thought. He's full of surprises.
Valerie lifted her lovely little ass up onto the edge of the cloth-covered table and perched there, looking excited but confused.
"Lean back doll," Niles said. "Make yourself comfortable."
Valerie lay back, supporting herself on her elbows, watching Niles. Walter came into the room, carrying the tube of vaseline.
Niles drew up a chair and sat down at the table between Valerie's knees. Gently, he began kissing and licking the tanned, velvety skin of her inner thighs.
Jackie watched, fascinated, as his hands moved slowly around the outside of her legs, the fingers finding the soft wet hair of her blonde bush. Tenderly, the fingers opened the pink, puckered outer lips of the girl's little cunt Then his head obscured the view as he raised his mouth to the pink panting petals.
"Ooh," Valerie said. "That's so nice."
Jackie could see the back of Niles' head moving as he probed with his tongue, then drew back to tease her with the tip, then pushed forward again. Sucking. Gobbling. A tremor ran through Valerie's body, then another. Her head went back, and her hips began to squirm on the table cloth.
"Put it in, Niles," she murmured. "Please put it in."
He stood, pushing the chair back. Jackie moved swiftly to Walter's side, took the vaseline from him, and went over to stand beside Niles. She bent and spread the lubricant lavishly over the giant, shining hard head of his pulsing prick, down and around the whole thick length of the shaft.
"Sink it, Niles," she whispered in his ear. "She's all yours."
He placed the great head at the tender pink opening, and pushed gently. Part of the head went in, and Valerie groaned. He pushed again, and the head went out of sight. Valerie screamed, but it was not a scream of pain.
"More," she said.
Reaching his hands up behind her, Niles held her shoulders firmly, and eased half the great shaft into her.
Valerie's hips began to thrash on the table.
"All of it," she said. "Let me have all of it."
With one prodigious thrust, Niles sank the entire length into the ecstatic girl. She groaned, and fluttered and thrashed on the table like a moth impaled on a pin.
"Oh, fuck me, Niles," the girl groaned. "Fuck me, all the way in, deep."
Niles leaned over, his elbows on the table, his hands holding her shoulders, and fucked her, with long, deep, plunging strokes.
Valerie groaned, and grunted, and yelped. Her hips beat a fluttery little tattoo on the table, and her feet became a blur of motion.
Finally, with a tremulous shriek, she reached the peak of her orgasm, and came, banging with the flat of her hands on the table.
"Oh, hot dog," she was moaning, as Niles slowly withdrew. "Oh, sweet Jesus."
That'll fix her for Bob, Jackie thought. The cradle snatcher.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
In the morning, Niles left right after breakfast, grumbling about the uncivilized hours he had to put in at the office. Mavis packed, had a farewell whiskey sour with Jackie, and started back to Darien, saying she had a lot of things to do before Charlie brought the kids home. She looked radiant, driving off, Jackie thought. Or maybe refreshed was a better word.
By noontime, there was still no sign of Bob, and no phone call either. Valerie and the boys were too restless to sit still any longer.
"We're going to have to take off without Bob," Andy said to Jackie. "He knows where to find us in Woodstock if he decides to follow us up."
"Will you need the station wagon?"
"No. There's plenty of room in the Ford Valerie's driving. It's her mother's car."
"All right. Bob will be disappointed, but it's his own damn fault."
After they'd left, Jackie shook up another whiskey sour for herself, but it didn't seem to help. She felt very much alone again, in that big empty house.
She forced herself to eat some lunch, but that didn't help either. She tried to read, and found herself reading the same paragraph, over and over. She couldn't concentrate at all. She put on a stack of records, which normally cheered her up immensely, but even that didn't work. She turned off the record player. Damn that Bob, anyway. Why didn't he at least call?
Well, she was not about to spend the afternoon waiting for him. It was a nice, warm, sunny day. She got out her swimsuit and glasses and went to the club. In her own car, this time.
She had just pulled herself out of the pool after her first dip when Tom arrived, surrounded by his wife and four kids. She dried herself vigorously and stretched out in her chair, pretending not to see him. She began to feel as lonely here at the club, surrounded by people, as she had felt at home in her empty house. She made herself he there in the sun for half an hour, then took another dip and left.
It was only three-thirty when she got back to the house. Bob's Gladstone bag stood at the foot of the stairs, in an ideal location to be tripped over. She pushed it against the wall with her foot. At least he's home, she thought. Thank God for that. She went up the stairs swiftly.
The door to his room was ajar, and she looked in. He was stretched out naked on the bed, lying on his side, facing the windows, with his back toward her. She thought he was asleep, but apparently he had heard her coming up the stairs.
"That you, Mom?" he said, without rolling over.
"Nobody else," she said, pushing the door open and going into the room. She sat down on the side of the bed, looking at his smooth tanned back.
"They couldn't wait any longer," she said. "Andy, Pete, Steve, Valerie, all of them. They went to Woodstock without you. They said you'd know where to find them."
"I don't think I'll go," Bob said. "It's only for the weekend, anyway, and I'm sort of pooped."
"I'll bet," Jackie said. She reached out and traced down the line of his spine with one finger. His skin quivered.
"That tickles," he said.
She began making little circles on his back, lightly, with the tips of the fingers of both hands. She hadn't done that to him in years and years, since he was a little boy.
"That tickles more," he said.
She kept it up, loving the texture of his satiny bronzed skin against her fingertips. "Don't do that, Mom."
T used to do this to you all the time, when you were little." 'Tm not little any more."
She kept up the motion, with the tips of her fingers, but somehow the motion had become more of a caress.
"Please, Mom," Bob said. "Cut it out."
"Why?' she said.
"Oh, for God's sake," Bob said, and suddenly rolled over onto his back. "That's why."
Jackie gasped. His cock, stiff as a hammer handle, stood straight up. Her little boy, she thought, my God. It was as long as Andy's at least, and maybe a little thicker. A vein running up the side pulsed angrily.
She tried to get her voice under control to say something, but she couldn't. She found herself staring into Bob's eyes, and he didn't break the stare.
"Well," he said, "you see what you've done."
"I sure do," she said. She was still staring into his eyes, transfixed, but even as she stared she could see his stiff, throbbing penis, pulsing upward toward the ceiling.
"Well?" he said again. This time it was a question.
Without thinking, without a will of her own, as if she were in a dream, Jackie felt herself lifting her shift up over her head, slipping out of her pants. She wore no bra.
Bob finally dropped his eyes to her body. She was astride him now, standing on her knees.
"God, but you're beautiful," Bob said.
Without a second's hesitation, she took the straining hard head of his cock and inserted it between the warm, wet, open lips of her burning twat. Slowly, deliciously, keeping her mind a blank, her body receptive only to sensation, she slid down the whole length of his rigid shaft, until it was imbedded in her to the hilt. Then she leaned forward, slowly, until her breasts were mashed against his hard chest, and brought her legs together, between his, closing her cunt around his pulsing prick, capturing it, making it her own.
Now, with her whole weight on him, her cunt imprisoning his rod at an angle almost parallel to his own body, Bob began to drive it up into her, thrusting with a fury she had never felt before. She felt her own hips responding, in some insane rhythm that seemed to match Bob's crazed plunging.
She heard Bob gasping with every stroke, and she got her fingernails behind his shoulders, scratching, tearing, but it was nothing to the tearing that she felt at her insides.
There was no telling, for her, how long it went on, but suddenly she was screaming, and then crying, and her orgasm was pounding her insides apart. Then she felt Bob coming, in a series of belating gushes, and she lay very still.
Minutes later, she rolled away from him, got to her feet, and left the room. She didn't speak.
Neither did he.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
In her own room, Jackie closed the door behind her and lay down on her bed, waiting for the pounding of her insides to subside. She lay very still, trying to stay numb, trying not to think, but the pounding subsided very slowly. It seemed to have a number of resources for its pitiless, continuing pulse. Pure physical excitement. Emotional turmoil. And something very much like nausea.
When her internal torment had finally stilled, Jackie reached for the phone. She was grateful to find that she could dial without the handicap of palsied fingers. She was acutely aware that she was very close to coming all to pieces.
Niles answered, himself, on the first ring. Thank God, Jackie thought, for small favors. I'd wind up in a sobbing heap if I had to go through a playful conversation with one of those hip secretaries.
"I've got to see you, Niles," she said.
"What's wrong?"
"I can't tell you now. Fm too mixed up. And please don't ask me to tell you, right away when I see you."
"I won't"
"When I'm ready to, I'll tell you." If ever. She hoped she could postpone that day forever. "When do you want to see me?"
"Right away. As fast as I can whip that car into town."
"I'll be in Siro's in an hour."
"Not Siro's. Please, Niles. Your apartment."
"Whatever you say." He told her the address, carefully. He'd told her where he lived, before, but she'd never been there.
"I should be there before six," she said, "if the traffic isn't too bad."
"You shouldn't be driving the way you sound."
"Don't worry about my driving. I'll get to your place in one piece."
"That sounds better," Niles said. "I'll be there."
When Niles opened the door for her, she stepped inside, pushed the door closed with her back, and put her arms around him swiftly, clasping her hands together behind his back. She squeezed herself to him in a sudden frenzy of relief.
"Hold me, darling," she said. "Just hold me."
He held her, tightly, her breasts mashed against his rib cage. She knew he could feel her heart pounding against him. When the pounding slowed, he touched her chin, tilted her head up, and kissed her gently.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I can't tell you now." She took her arms, away from his back and clutched his hand, tugging him toward the open door of what had to be the bedroom.
"Just be with me," she said. "In bed. Right away."
It was a double bed, in the bedroom. Of course Niles would have a double bed. She pulled her dress off over her head, stepped out of her slip and pants in one motion, discarded her bra. She saw Niles watching her, his face a study. He was not taking off his clothes.
"You're absolutely lovely," he said. She was standing naked except for her shoes. Her breasts felt swollen, the nipples darkening red and pointing upward.
"Please, honey," she said. "Right now."
"It's rape," Niles said. Then she saw by the look on his face that he knew it was no time for jokes. He undressed quickly. When he was completely nude Jackie was still standing, at the side of the wide bed.
"Lie down," Jackie said. "Please. On your back."
He stretched out, watching her. His cock, long even in repose, lay inert between his legs like a garden hose dropped carelessly on a Larchmont lawn.
She knelt on the bed beside him, leaned over, and kissed him on the mouth, her own mouth open, her tongue darting out to find his. Their tongues met, entwined, wrestled wetly until Jackie broke the hold to insinuate her tongue in his ear. She began to kiss and lick her way down his body, kissing and sucking and licking at his chin, his neck, the hollow of his collarbone, the stiffening puckered dark skin of his nipples. She reamed his navel with her tongue hard and pointed, and drew a thin moist line down the middle of his belly, using her tongue as an artist does his brush.
Her cheek bumped into something hard, like a telephone pole. She turned her head and looked up, her heart pumping faster again. At the top of the great shaft she sighted up was the rock-like knob of his cock-head, the big shiny red apple, the apple of her eye.
She changed her position, getting to her knees between his legs, and began to lick her way up the satiny soft skin that sheathed the underside of his granite-hard pole, wetting it with broad loving strokes of her tongue. Niles lay very still She could feel his eyes on her, watching the workings of her tongue, her mouth.
When she got to the head, she hesitated only a fraction of a second. If Mavis can take that in her mouth, so can I, she thought. She opened her mouth wide and enclosed the whole gleaming head in the soft wet cavern of her mouth. Niles sighed, gently, as her tongue tickled his sensitive underfolds.
Jackie had gone as far as she could, she knew, or her pussy would drown in its own flowing juices. She got to her knees, straddling his legs, and moved forward, up his body toward his hips.
She raised one leg, as if mounting a horse, and fitted the apple of her eye into the wet palpitating folds of her angry-pink cunt. She held herself erect, then, and rode the elevator down the entire thick length of the oaken shaft.
It filled her completely, reamed her, cleansed her. All at once, every lingering whisper of Bob's young invasion was driven away. Forever.
"Ah, Niles," she said, and began her long, perpendicular round trip to paradise. Up and down, up and down, up and down. Niles clasped his hands behind his head and smiled at her.
There was no way for her to measure time, no way to count the thousands of round trips she made, but it was getting dusk outside the window when she knew the time had come. Niles was miraculous. His monument was as upright as it had been at the start
"Now?" she said. "Can you?"
"Yes. Right now. Can you?"
"I can't not" she groaned, and as she said it, Niles' warm juices were spurting inside her, and she was coming, and coming, and coming, and coming...
When she woke up it was dark in the room, but there was a light slanting through the open door. Niles was not in bed. She got up and found him sitting in a deep leather chair in the living room, naked, smoking a cigarette.
"I woke up a few minutes ago," he said, "and had to get up to make sure I was alive."
"You almost killed me," she said, smiling tiredly. She let herself down gently onto the arm of his chair.
"You almost killed me" he said. "But it sure is the only way to die."
He lighted a cigarette for her.
"Niles?"
"Yes?"
"I want to go to California. For good."
He looked at her for a long moment.
"So do I," he said. "The only thing that's been keeping me in New York is you."
"Can I find work to do out there?"
"If you want to. More than in New York. What about Bob?"
She got up and walked to the window and looked out without seeing anything.
"He's due back in school next week," she said. "I can send him all the money he'll need. He's big enough now to take care of himself."
"What about your house?"
I'll put it up for sale, with an agent."
"Well," Niles said, "I can be ready to leave by the end of next week."
"Me, too."
"Well take the Mercedes."
She turned from the window and grinned at him. "You could get arrested."
"What for?":
"Remember a thing called the Mann Act?"
"Shit," Niles said. He put out his cigarette in an ashtray, taking a long time doing it.
"You know what?" he said. "We could even stop somewhere in Maryland and make the whole trip legal."
She looked out the window again, still without seeing anything. She took a long time to answer him, and kept her back to him when she did. There was nothing messier looking on a girl than runny eye-makeup.
"There's an old-fashioned word for you, Niles," she said at last. "What's the word."
