The seething passions that lurk within many individuals are often hidden beneath a veneer of normalcy, exposed only under extremely tempting conditions.
The woman who, after a few drinks at a party, takes on all clothes, male and female alike. The man who, during a strip show at a stag party, climbs up on the stage with the girl and performs with her in front of his friends. The couple who, while appearing to be staid members of the establishment, are secret members of the neighborhood mate-swapping group.
Pam Wilson is one of these outwardly proper and quite normal people. But within her lies a perversity that even she at first refuses to recognize, a perversity that haunts her dreams and eventually forces her to act.
WIFE ON CALL -- the story of one woman haunted by the perversity of the passion seething within her. Hers is a serious tale, and a reflection on the many problems facing our society.
The Publisher
Chapter One
Pam Wilson slinked one very slinky leg across her husband's body and she eased her pussy with sophisticated ease against the lump in his shorts. She put a hand on his waist, another on the side of his head, and she began to kiss him awake, the way he loved to be awakened.
Kerry's eyes opened slowly, fluttering as he awoke, and then he understood what the ticklish pressure on his mouth meant. "Hello, baby," he said, embracing Pam and angling his crotch into hers. It was all he got to say. She felt the sudden growth of his cock and she slammed her mouth down upon his, tongue jabbing furiously into Kerry's mouth as he sucked it just as furiously.
If he'd been lumpy between the legs a moment ago, he was absolutely rocky now, his dick as hard as granite, his balls big and swollen just beneath. Pam had already tugged up the tail of her nightie and she was rubbing his shorts with her bare flesh.
Kerry groaned and embraced her more tightly, and then he was moving his wife onto her back as she spread her legs to greet him. Was there any better way to start the day off? Pam didn't think so. Neither, from the way his hands attacked her body, did Kerry.
He pried his mouth loose and hovered above her, kicking away the comforter under which they'd slept. It wasn't anchored to the bed, and the swing of his foot sent it fluttering to the floor. Now they lay upon an uncovered bed, and Pam's nightie was slowly being lifted even higher, up the slight swell of her tummy, over the much more delicious swells of her tits. Kerry hiked the filmy garment between his wife's nipples and chin and for a moment he stared down at her almost completely nude body, the bulge in his shorts growing larger with each flicker of his eyes. "Jesus," he said, "most women don't look as good any time as you do first thing in the morning."
"I practice," she smirked, a slender hand reaching up to pet and stroke his pecker lump.
Ooooohhh, Jesus, he was hard! Hard and ready! She hooked her thumb in the waistband of his shorts and started to pull them down. "Hurry," she said. "It's almost seven o'clock."
And he had to be at work by nine. Thank God they lived so close to the plant! They could start the morning off right, and still have time far a nice breakfast together before he left for work. Pam tugged a little harder, and Kerry's rod sprang into view, standing up all big and red and ferocious, the way site loved to see it, the tip already moist and glistening with his pre-cum. She squeezed the tip of his dong until he moaned, and when her fingers came away they were damp with the sticky juices that already flowed from deep inside him.
He touched her pussy, and he smiled. She was damp, too, the lips of her cunt coated with a dewy ooze of moisture. God, when weren't they? His fingers slid up and down the gash of Pam's cunt, occasionally slipping through the meaty gates, and she said, "Oh, Christ, baby, don't make me wait any longer!"
Her hand flew to his cock and she began to play with him in a teasing, come-on-baby-let's-do-it fashion, sliding up and down his stiff quivery length in the slow, erotic masturbation she'd learned years ago in high school. "Mmmmm," Pamela moaned. "Mmmmm, it looks like you don't want to wait either!"
"Fuckin' A!" he grunted, throwing himself upon her. She groaned as he fell upon her body, but it was a groan of pleasure, and she spread her legs even wider, splitting her gash to its limits while he struggled to get his cock inside her.
"There," she sighed, "there! Put it right there! Ooooohhh, YESSSS! That's it, baby, that's it!"
And he was ramming deep, his big cock slamming through the tight clutching ring of her cuntal sphincter, going all the way. She could feel him banging on her cervix. Jesus, he was hot for so early in the morning, but so was she -- God, wasn't she always this hot? Pam's legs shot up into the air, toes quivering toward the ceiling, and Kerry made the final lunge, burying his dick in her cunt, and she enfolded him, wrapping her heels around his body, tying them together.
She remembered seeing dogs fucking when she was a child, fucking with such fury and passion that sometimes the bitch's cunt froze around the dog's prick and the animals had to be doused with water, shocked out of their fuck-fever, before they could disengage from one, another. Wouldn't that be a trip? she thought, looking up at her husband, sliding her fingers up and down his back. Wouldn't that be a trip? "Oh, faster," she moaned. "You can do it a lot faster if you want to, baby."
Pam reached lower, cupping the cheeks of his ass. She dug into the tight, hard-muscled flesh squeezing with all her might, and felt him tense and shudder in reply. The tips of her fingers moved into the crack of his ass and she started tickling his nuts from behind. Big nuts, she thought. Big nuts that went beautifully with a big hard cock. Damn him, he was the best! The fucking best! And she ought to know!
"Screw me like a whore," she panted into his ear as he chewed on her shoulder. Her fingers pinched at one of his balls. "Screw me like a whore. Get your hundred dollars worth out of me, baby!"
And did he screw her like a whore? Goddamned right he did! He loved to hear her say all the dirty words. "Fuck me," she whispered. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! Use your big cock!"
He really got horny when he heard her saying things like that. Most men did. Well, what the hell? Pam liked to say the words too, but even more than saying, she liked to feel it, a big fierce cock burrowing in and out of her snatch like a jackhammer gone bananas, and she clenched her legs on Kerry while she kept toying with his ass and his balls.
"Hurry," she moaned, "I'm almost there!"
"You're not the only one," he grunted in reply. God, he smelled so good this morning! All clean and fresh, but with an underlying texture of arousal, the sweat forming in his armpits and around the root of his cock, the sweat that she could smell, that made similar beads of perspiration form all over Pamela's body. They were great together, really great. She gave him all he could handle, and then some.
His cock rammed hard, fast, six or seven strokes a row that left her breathless, a hot explosion building in her guts. "Again!" she husked. "Again!" And he did it again, and this time she erupted around him, her pussy full of bubbly girl-milk, the muscles dancing along the shaft of his cock. "Come in me," she invited sensuously. "Shoot me full of your hot juicy cum!"
"I can't wait -- Jesus -- here goes..."
And he was doing it then, blasting her guts full of jism, fucking in and out through the combination of male and female juice that filled Pam's pussy, fucking with squish-squishes of excitement that made her toes tingle and the nipples of her tits throb against his hard, hairy chest. She lurched upward, sucking his pecker up her cunt, drinking the hot man-milk he fed her hungry animal of a hole, and they pressed together for what seemed an eternity, her legs tight around him, her cunt massaging his prick, their mouths glued together.
Kerry went soft at last -- she sighed -- and his dick began to retreat down her pussy tube, finally slipping out altogether. He yawned, then grinned, slid off his wife, and lay down beside her. Pam looked over, taking in his smug, satisfied expression. She touched his lips with her finger. "Stop smirking," she advised, "or all the guys at the plant will know what you've been up to. And before breakfast, yet! Sometimes I think you don't have a lick of moral sense."
"Let 'em eat their hearts out, too," he said contentedly. "Anyway -- I'd rather knock one off with you than eat breakfast. Any day of the week. If that's being immoral, then let's hear it for immorality."
"Rah rah rah," Pam giggled, snuggling close. She squeezed her thighs together, relishing the feel of hot cum as it leaked from the tender, well-fucked lips of her snatch. The bedsheets would have to be washed soon, or else they'd be spotted with jism. But what better proof of a good marriage could you ask for than cum stains on the bed linen? And she and Kerry had a good marriage. The best.
"Come on," she said, toying with his dong. She felt the slightest stirring of life in his tool and she looked up, surprise written all over her face. Pleasant surprise. But they didn't have time. He was floor supervisor. He couldn't afford to be late far work.
Kerry's cock seemed to understand. The momentary spurt of energy fizzled out and he was limp in her fingers-wet and appreciably thick, but limp all the same. "To the shower," she commanded, slapping his rump. "Separate shower, preferably. Unless you'd rather make good on your words and skip breakfast? I thought not. Go ahead. I'll hop to the kitchen and scramble your eggs for you."
He caught her by the hand, pulled her back for a kiss. His hand shot into her crotch and he delved in her sticky wet cunny with a skilled, experienced thumb. "Mmm," she said, "I think you've already scrambled my eggs for me, baby." He withdrew his thumb and sniffed it. "Not bad," Kerry went on. "Hey, why don't you put this on my eggs instead of ketchup?"
When he came out, she had his lunch packed and was just setting out the eggs, bacon, toast and tea. Kerry was dressed in his work clothes but as he walked by the stove he made a not-too-subtle grab for Pam's ass, and she wandered what kind of work he'd rather do this morning. He always seemed to get really horny about the middle of the week, and this was Wednesday morning. Twice last night before going to sleep, again when they'd both awakened to go to the bathroom at the same time and it seemed too good a chance to waste, and again this morning.
"Knock it off, stud," she advised in a mock-tough voice. "You can't afford to miss a day's pay, the way prices keep going up at the supermarket. And if you raise that thing for me again, I won't let you go before nightfall."
"Promise or threat?"
She sat down at the table with him, felt his knees bump her under the table. Their eyes met, and she saw the lust in his. God, it never seemed to go away, that look of lust! She grinned, then stirred sugar into her tea.
"One of the brass from New York is coming down this week," he said. "Today or tomorrow. Mr. Sheppard has warned me to be on my toes. I may get that promotion."
"Oh, fantastic!" she enthused. "I mean, it isn't as if you deserve it or anything. You've already shown the Company how to save three-quarters of a million a year! Do you really think they'd move you up to managerial?"
He shrugged. "It would be nice. I could trade in the work clothes for a Brooks Brothers suit, and we could maybe get the house paid before 1989. Even so, we're not hurting. Are we?"
"Not as long as we have each other."
"That's my girl." He felt her leg under the table, and Pam's cunt began to moisten. She felt her breath coming in short husky gasps as his fingers lifted the hem of her nightie and slid up her thigh, and she pulled her chair back. "Sorry," he apologized. "Hey, I'd better get moving."
She stood in the doorway, watching till his car turned at the end of the block, and then she went back inside, closing the door behind her. And, as she'd been doing three mornings a week for the past three months, she went to the telephone and dialed a number.
"Good morning," said a crisp female voice. "Logan Answering Service."
Pam Wilson said, "This is Patricia Wright. Have there been any messages for me?"
A moment of silence. "Yes. A Mr. Charles would like to meet you for an early lunch. Eleven o'clock, at the usual place. He has another appointment for twelve. A Mr. Ford wants to see you at one o'clock. The Capri. And a Mr. Webber wishes to make an appointment for two-thirty, at the usual place. Do you wish to leave any messages, Ms. Wright?"
Pam thought a moment. It would be rushing a little, but probably no trouble. "No. It's okay. Thank you very much." She hung up. It was going on nine. She'd better haul ass and make herself beautiful for that lunch date.
All of them were old friends... Mr. Ford, Mr. Charles and Mr. Webber. At least she wouldn't have to be breaking in a stranger today. She knew what to expect with each of them, and she could handle it with ease.
She turned on the shower and removed her nightie, her body already aglow with the anticipation of the day. "Hot damn," she said, stepping into the shower cabinet, "Patti Wright strikes again!"
Chapter Two
Pamela Wilson stepped into the shower, but the pink, scrubbed body that emerged belonged to someone else altogether, someone who liked to be called Patricia Wright. In some ways, she thought, I'm like a Mrs. Jekyll and Mrs. Hyde. She stood on the bath mat, rubbing herself dry with a soft, fluffy monogrammed towel, and then she walked to the full-length mirror.
She liked what she saw. She always liked what she saw in her mirror. Pam Wilson -- Patti Wright -- the same beautiful woman, no matter which name she was using.
Very tall -- five-nine in her bare feet, with a full, flowing mane of lustrous dark hair. Wideset, sparkling eyes, small chin, generous mouth that revealed gleaming ivory teeth when she smiled. Cream-colored skin that was too delicate to burn leathery in the sun come summertime. A generous figure, constructed on the lines of 38C-24-37, the hips just a shade narrow for her tits but a stunningly crafted piece of work indeed. Pam cupped her tits from beneath and lifted gently. Her breasts were large and full, but at twenty-six they hadn't begun to sag at all yet, and she was more grateful than words could express.
The nipples were enormous, large pink circles surrounded by a tracery of blue veins, and the tips of her nipples extended almost an inch when they were aroused. Pam rubbed those tips with her fingers until her nipples were aroused, and she was delighted to see that they still extended almost an inch. She squeezed her tits from beneath, squeezed until the nipples throbbed and tinged, and then she ran her hands down her smooth-skinned, slightly convex stomach, onto her pelvic bones. The tips of her fingers laced through the tangle of dark, matted-wet pubic hair that fleeced Pam's cunt, and she pressed down, tickling the lips of her gash.
She was wet, her hair fallen in soaked strands around her face, and she wasn't wearing any makeup, but she knew that she looked good, and Pamela was pleased with the knowledge. She held her breath a moment, saw the pink flush spread over her face. Mmmmm! She gave her shower-wet pussy one last caress, then hurried into the bedroom to begin putting on her face. If she was to meet Mr. Charles at eleven, she'd have to hurry. Pam sat down at her vanity table and began to apply mascara to her eyes. In a little more than an hour and a half she'd be in a man's hotel room, renting that man the use of her body for his sexual pleasure.
It was strange, in a way. She'd never considered herself a promiscuous person -- not as modem morals went. And she didn't feel the slightest dissatisfaction with her life as Mrs. Kerry Wilson, wife of a man who loved her very much, who catered to her slightest whims, who had never during their two and a half years of marriage relented in his sexual desire for her body or his love for her.
He wasn't her first man, of course. He'd never asked her for details about her previous sexual experiences, because to him it didn't matter. And she wasn't his first woman, either, not by a long shot. That didn't matter. She and Kerry clicked together and, almost from the moment she met the man Pam had known that someday he would be hers.
Pam was from a small town in the north-central part of the state. Her father was a foreman in the mines and she was one of four children -- two brothers and a sister -- all of them younger. She grew up much like any other girl of her generation -- puberty at eleven, and it was embarrassing at first, because of the changes in her body that seemed to smack her all at once.
At twelve she was taller than most of the boys, and her tits and ass were both already well developed. She used to get snickers and whistles from boys whose heads barely reached her shoulder, and that had its embarrassments, too, but as time went on and the boys started shooting up taller and taller, she didn't mind so much. She knew she was pretty, even without being told, but it was nice to be told, and she was, often enough. In high school Pam was a "B" student, cheerleader, homecoming princess, and very popular girl in general. She wasn't sure, then, what she wanted to do with her life, but at fifteen she discovered a delightful way to pass time while waiting to decide.
DuBois was a small town, but somehow she managed not to get a reputation for wildness -- at least, not a reputation that filtered back to her parents. And that was very nice. It meant that Pam could fuck discreetly and with carefully chosen partners who wouldn't go shooting their mouths off all over town. The only problem was the one faced by every teenager living at home -- where to get it on.
By the time of her graduation, Pamela Jean Barbour was an expert at finding places to get it on. She'd been fucked in cars, at drive-in movies, on Sunday picnics in the woods, once in an empty school classroom during lunch hour. And there was a crazy weekend, when her parents and siblings went out of state to visit Grandma and Grandpa.
Pam had invited her current boyfriend over; he'd told his parents he was going camping with some buddies, and the coast was clear.
They drank some of Daddy's bourbon and smoked a lot of grass, and she was positive, thinking back, that he hadn't gone soft once between Friday evening and Sunday afternoon. They hardly even took time out to eat. Well, maybe he had a sandwich now and then, since he was a hungry, growing boy, but Pamela took most of her nourishment directly from his cock, down her gulping eager throat.
By the time her parents came home she was walking bowlegged, and her jaw felt as if it had been permanently set out of line. But it was a good weekend, easily the best of her life to that time, and she relished the adventure of it. What if her parents had come home early, unexpectedly early, and caught her and Jimmy doing it?
Jesus, he'd fucked her in every room of the house! Once he'd sat her on the edge of the breakfast table and punched cock up her snatch until she creamed and screamed; it had dribbled out of her afterwards, that pungent, tangy cum of his, and she was positive that there was a permanent stain on the tabletop. A eighteen-year-old girl didn't get that many chances to flirt with danger, but this one was dynamite on balls.
She went away to college -- not far away, but far enough that it was too dangerous a drive on snowy winter roads, so Pam got to move out of her home and into a kind of freedom. Dorm life was, in its own way, more restrictive than life at home, but her parents were eighty miles away and no one really cared what she did on her own time. The two years she spent there were enjoyable ones, and she made the most of them.
Going back to DuBois was but of the question. She was a trained secretary now, with an A.A. degree, and she was free as a bird in the bargain. After a short stay with her parents, Pam moved again, all the way across state to the big, big city, in search of all the things young girls go searching for -- love, happiness, a job, a life -- and, in Pam Barbour's case, adventure, too.
She found an apartment, and she found a job that helped her pay the rent, buy food, and enjoy a few of the luxuries. She was twenty then, free to do what she wanted, and she did as much as she could. For awhile she ran with a crowd that was into a heavy drug scene, and she tried nearly everything still nourishing that sense of adventure and excitement that smoldered in her plush, full bosom. Drugs. Sex. At the time they seemed a natural combination.
With marijuana, sex was slow and dreamy, a lazy cock sliding in and out of her twit, her clit swelling and subsiding and swelling all over again, and her orgasms were equally slow and dreamy, protracted explosions she could, taste by the millisecond. With add, sex was crazy, colors coming to life all around her, weird beautiful pictures before her eyes, equally weird, equally beautiful music throbbing in her head, throbbing so plainly, so vividly she could see the music and hear the colors. With cocaine sex was like dynamite blowing out the side of a mountain, heat in the crotch and a cool, air-conditioned breeze fluttering through her brain.
But it got boring after a while, once she'd tried all the non-addictive drugs, and her friends eventually grew boring, too. For most of them, dope was the end-goal in itself. Most of the guys in her circle seemed to be drifting deeper and deeper into narcotics and hallucinogens, and it was fucking up their sex drives. They still enjoyed having girls around, but they had apparently forgotten what to do with them. And besides, after a few months, the nonstop psychedelic rock music that was a fixture of her friends' lives had begun to affect Pam's eardrums. She didn't think her hearing was quite so sharp any more, and that worried her.
And besides that, she noticed that her friends were basically dirty people, living in dirty apartments, and some of it was starting to rub off on her. Oh, hell, Pam thought, there's nothing new with those people! It's the same old shit every time I see them! I'm getting into a rut. She quit her job, moved out of her apartment, and went looking for something new.
And she found it. A new job, a new pad. Three or four times she changed jobs, each time moving into a slightly better position at a slightly higher salary, and most of those job and apartment changes were intimately connected with Pam Barbour's sex life. She tried shacking up several times, but it never lasted more than a few months. Boyfriends got boring when you saw them every day and every damned night too, and it always ended with Pam packing the guy's clothes and leaving them outside the door, the first thing he'd see when he got in from his own job. Well, why not? She hadn't formed relationships on a permanent basis with any of those men. And it was her apartment. She wasn't stupid enough to get into a position where she'd be the one to receive walking papers.
During one of her unattached periods she met Kerry Wilson, purely by accident. She backed into his car at a supermarket parking lot. They exchanged names and insurance companies and, just to be safe, telephone numbers. The damage was minimal, it turned out, and he called her the next night to report that fact and to ask her for a date. She'd found him quite attractive, even under the embarrassing circumstances of their first meeting, and she accepted.
When he brought her back to her apartment, Pam discovered that Kerry Wilson was far more attractive than she'd noticed at first glance. "You're very good-looking," she told him, lying on her bed waiting for him to finish undressing. "You have a hairy chest, which is something I really go for, you know, and -- oh, God, you have a beautiful cock!" He'd just pulled down his shorts and let his dick spring free, and the sight took her breath away. In a few moments, the insertion of that big cock in her hungry, wet cunt also took her breath away. She locked her legs and arms around him and fucked him till he screamed for mercy, which didn't come until morning.
They lived together for several months, much longer than she'd ever lived with anyone else, and the glow didn't evaporate. All day at the office she found herself lusting for her man, eagerly anticipating the moment when they'd meet after work and she could feel his hard, strong body tight against hers.
He was a couple of years older than Pam, an Army veteran, currently working blue-collar at one of the suburban manufacturing plants. Making good money already, he was ambitious. Some day he'd be white collar, she was certain. And when he finally brought up marriage, she said yes, yes, yes! Two years later, the glow still hadn't worn off, not in the slightest. It was perfect. All of it. She'd found what she wanted. Security, a home in the suburbs that would be hers and Kerry's in a few more years, and, most important, a man who was crazy about her, a man who drove her mad with longing. What else could she ever want or need?
She found out.
It was the afternoon a few months ago when she and Julia Cameron were supposed to meet for lunch and an afternoon's shopping in the city. Julia was an old friend from Pam's last job, married now too, and living with her husband and baby in a suburban home on the far side of the city from the bedroom community where Pam and Kerry and the bank shared ownership of a darling house. It had been too long since she'd seen Julia; there were a million things to talk about, a million new stores to investigate.
They were to meet for lunch at the Hartford House, one of the city's better-known hotels, and Pam arrived shortly after eleven, a little early. Eleven-thirty came and went, and there was no sign of Julia. Pam had a salad and then, after the lunch crowd thinned, called her friend. No answer. Shaking her head, Pam went into the cocktail lounge. A drink might help her pass the time. She ordered a sweet vermouth on ice, drank it, had another. The lounge was almost empty this time of day. The bartender tried to make small talk but she didn't feel like chatting. As she sipped her wine, Pam kept looking round, expecting to see Julia at, any moment.
"Excuse me," a voice said behind her, "is this seat taken?"
She turned around. A man was standing there. Apparently he'd just come in, while she was stirring the ice in her drink with a swizzle stick. Well-dressed, maybe thirty-five or so, graying at the temples, rather distinguished-looking, she thought. Probably a businessman in town for -- what else? -- some kind of business. Pam looked down the row of stools. The only one occupied was the stool one which her perky ass was planted. She smiled. It was a very old ploy.
"Sure," she smiled. "Have a seat."
"I wonder," the man said, "if anyone's told Lynda Carter how much she looks like you." Pam frowned. Lynda Carter? Oh, sure! WONDER WOMAN, on the tube! The lady whose program Kerry never missed ("One of these nights," he'd say, "her boobs are gonna pop right out of that sexy costume, and I don't intend to miss it!"). Well, maybe there was a slight resemblance. Same dark hair, nicely-cute faces, excellent bodies. And it was a fairly original come-on. At least he didn't say, "You look very much like, etc."
His name was Richard Mason and he was from Cincinnati, here on business, just as she'd guessed. He bought her a drink and they chatted, and just about the time Pam decided Julia wasn't going to arrive and she'd better be on her way, Richard put his hand on her knee, leaned close, and said, "I would guess you for a cool hundred. Mmmm?"
It took her a moment to figure out what he meant. Oh, my God! Pam thought. He thinks I'm a hooker!
"Shall we?" Richard went on, giving her knee a little squeeze.
Pam shivered, and he must have felt that shiver run through her leg. He leaned closer still and kissed her on the ear. Where her hair was pulled back, and she could smell expensive after-shave, the hint of tobacco, and the general aroma of a handsome, attractive man in prime physical condition. "My room is upstairs," he whispered, tongue dabbing at her ear.
An elegant whore, she thought. He thinks I'm an elegant whore. He wants to give me a hundred dollars for a piece of my ass! She moved her head around, slid her leg out of his grasp. For a moment she was prepared to slap him in the face and tell him that she was a respectable married woman.
But she didn't. A whore, she thought. An elegant whore. Worth a cool hundred. Oh, Julia, she thought, if you don't come walking through the door right now, I think I'm going to-to... And then she looked round again, smiling.
"Does the desk clerk mind if we go up together, or would you rather have me come up by myself?"
She gave him his money's worth, stripping the clothes from her long, well-stacked body, rolling naked on his hotel bed as she waited for him to join her. "Mmmm, you've got a big one," she said with unfeigned enthusiasm as he dropped his shorts to reveal his erection. "Mind if I give it the taste test?"
He didn't mind. When she took his cock into her mouth he grabbed her head and tried to fuck bloody hell out of her throat. Pam sucked and tongued and rocked and rolled with his thrusting, gobbling up all he could give her, cheeks suctioned in tightly, pulling, dragging on the hard barrel of his rod as if she meant to suck him dry.
"Enough," he panted, fighting his pecker free. "I'm going to waste it if you keep on sucking that way."
"Waste?" she said, licking her lips. "It wouldn't be wasted. Not in my hungry mouth, darling. My grandmother was a barracuda. Or could you tell?" She lay back, fluffing her long dark hair, fingers twining through it, and her tits heaved excitingly as she awaited him on the bed. Her legs parted and the red slice of her twat showed among the dark curls of pubic fur. Richard looked at her pussy and she saw his eyes gleaming with lust. "Fuck me now," she told him. "Climb on me and fill me with your big hard cock. I want you to shoot your cum so far up my pussy that it runs out my can."
The words seemed to excite him. She knew that Kerry loved to hear her talk trash -- KERRY!! Oh, Jesus! Pam's heart thudded in her breast and she thought it was going to stop. What would Kerry think if he could see her now, his darling wife, stretched on a bed, begging a stranger to give her the meat?
She'd been faithful to him since the marriage, just as he'd been faithful to her. And now she was on the verge of committing adultery -- for money, no less! A hundred dollars, already tucked away in her purse. For a moment she felt sick and ashamed. For a moment she was on the verge of screaming, of telling Richard Mason it was all a terrible mistake, she wasn't the prostitute he'd taken her to be, she was just a simple suburban housewife who'd -- who'd -- who'd already sucked his cock like a hungry animal, who was reaching down to fig her own exposed cunt, making herself wetter, hotter, more ready to accept him when he shoved her full of that large, suckable, very fuckable tool of his! Pam swallowed her fear the same way she'd swallowed his dong and she said, "What, are you waiting for? Screw me. I'm yours. All yours."
And then he was upon her, lifting her legs as he guided his tool into her slit, and the backs of her calves came to rest against his shoulders and they strained together, Richard fucking into Pam, Pam fucking back at Richard with all her might and all her pussy too. "Jesus," she moaned, "give it to me! Fill me up!"
He could do it. He was long enough to stab deeply, but not so thick that her pussy ached with taking him inside. She began to hump and buck at him, cunt wobbling around his pecker, and she was sighing heavily, her nipples stiff and swollen. Moisture seeped from the parted lips of Pam's gash and that moisture made it easy for Richard to slide even deeper. Not as deep as Kerry could take her with his eight-inch dong, certainly, but deeply enough to let Pam Wilson know that she was being fucked and fucked well. He acted like a ferocious tiger, cramming her with his dick, and he had the right. After all, he'd given her a hundred dollars for the privilege, paid it over without a quibble or a haggle, and he was as excited by the thought of fucking her she'd been by the act of receiving his money.
"Harder, deeper," she commanded, rising to meet him, fucking with the same enthusiasm she gave Kerry in their marriage bed. Her pussy was alive with stimulation, the labia all swollen and sopping wet around him, fisted like a fleshy ring on the gristly bone of his dick, and she fucked furiously, trying to find something in her life with which this could be compared.
There was nothing. Not her bed-hopping of the premarital days, not even some of those wild dope-and-sex parties. The idea that she could give herself to a stranger for money was totally unlike anything in Pam Wilson's experience and she was thrilled with the knowledge, with the additional insight she'd pined on her own character.
Her eyes were shut tightly, hair fell into loose strands and clumps across her face, and little mewing sounds seeped through her half-closed lips. "Mmmm-mmmm..." she purred. "Yessss -- more -- oh, God, more, mooooorrrreee!"
But he was giving her all he had, mid she knew even as she moaned for a little extra, that what he had was sufficient. The come was forming in her guts. It would roll down her cuntal tube in a moment, drown the pair of them, soak the bed all the way down to the underside of the mattress probably flood the entire Goddamned Hartford House in the bargain. When she came wet, she came fuckin' WETTTTTT, man, and she was going to come so wet, sooo wettttt -- "Aaaaaeeee..." Her cry of orgasm was a moaning keen, burst from her suddenly ovaled lips, tongue fluttering like a red pennant in the aperture. Drool ran from the corners of her mouth and she was a tornado, swirling and spiraling as he tried to hold her down so he could finish his own act.
Pam made that as difficult as possible. She bucked and fought and tried to swallow him up her sucking gash, and when he did give up the struggle, squirt his juices into her bottomless pit of arousal, she was hardly aware of the ejaculation. She was still squirming and whining and writhing, and only the sudden deflation of his hard-on told her that Richard Mason too had gotten his money's worth from this bed battle. If he'd stayed up, she'd have gladly given him a second shot free, but his cock went soft and stayed soft.
Her pussy was full of cum -- hers and his -- all mixed and mingled together, and she smelled like a cheap whorehouse on payday night. She loved that smell and she lay on the bed, basking in it, while Richard went to the bathroom. When he returned, he was fully dressed. "Sorry," he said. "I have an appointment at two o'clock. Are you busy tonight? I'd like to see you again."
Her eyes enlarged but she tried to conceal the surprise. She knew she was good -- everyone had told her that as long as she'd been fucking -- but to meet a man who was willing to buy her cunt at one hundred dollars a crack? Whew!!
"I can't," she said, thinking of her husband, and he understood. At least, he understood what she meant him to understand. Prior commitment. "Maybe tomorrow?" she heard herself say aloud, and it took Pam's breath away.
"I'm flying home first thing in the morning. Listen -- could I have your number? I'm in the city several times a year and I'd really like to get together again. I travel a lot, and I'm not too proud to admit that I visit a lot of working girls, but I've never found one with your enthusiasm. God, I don't even know your name!"
She was going to lie, but she remembered her purse. It was monogrammed PW. "Patricia Wright," she said, improvising around her initials. "Meet me in the lobby in about ten minutes and I'll give you a number where you can reach me. All right?"
She hurried down on the elevator and went to the nearest phone booth. Thank God the hotel kept vandals from ripping off phone books! She turned to the yellow pages and ran her finger down the list of answering services. She'd known a girl once who worked for a place like that, said it was nothing but a pimping agency for call girls -- all the clients were hookers -- that whole scene. There! LOGAN ANSWERING SERVICE. That was it. She'd stake her life on it. She dialed the number, learned that Logan Answering Service was delighted to accept a new client named Patricia Wright. She promised to send a check for the monthly rate first thing in the morning and in return was given a phone number to which Patti's calls could be directed.
"Here," she told Richard Mason when he came downstairs. "Call me here next time you're in town."
He took the number she'd written on a slip of note paper and tucked it securely into his wallet. A wallet that was lighter by one hundred dollars. "I won't lose this," he promised. "I really want to see you again."
Pam smiled. "Hurry back, darling. I'll be waiting." And as she watched him walk away, she found herself thinking -- what in the name of God had she gotten herself into?
Chapter Three
It was a little past six when Kerry Wilson came through the front door of his home and, as always, Pam was waiting for him. Deliciously. He closed the door behind him and looked his wife up and down, his eyes starting to glow. "Missed you," she husked, extending her arms. "Really missed you." Her dark hair was piled up on her head, a lacy white ribbon twined among the girls, wispy ringlets hanging with apparent unconcern. Besides the white ribbon, Pam was wearing only a pair of thigh-top stockings, low-heeled shoes that lifted her eyes into direct line with her husband's, and four drops of Jean Nate perfume.
"One of these days I'm gonna surprise you," he told her. "I'll bring home some of the guys from work and there you'll be, all decked out like the total woman or whoever. C'mere, lady!"
She'd gotten the idea from one of those anti-women's lib books on how to be a passive, delightful wife. The philosophy was crap, in general, Pamela thought, but some of the hints for being sexier and more appealing were just what the doctor ordered. Like this one. Kerry loved her all naked and cunty, and the least she could do was to give him what he loved. She melted into his arms, her mouth open and wet, planting itself upon his.
Mmmmm! She could taste booze, on his breath. He'd probably stopped after work for a couple of boilermakers with, some of his friends. A few drinks always made him super-horny, and when he got super-horny... She rubbed her crotch against him, felt his cock grow inside his pants. Her arms laced around him and she kept rubbing. She slipped her tongue into his mouth and he began to suck lasciviously. Did that give him the right idea? Oh, she hoped so!
His cock certainly had the right idea! It was up big and fierce in his pants, straining to be free. He was holding her by the ass, fingers active in her crack, and he began to stroke her pussy from behind as she leaned even closer, tying her legs and arms around him, splitting herself wider. They were sucking the breath out of one another's lungs now, and her lips and chest ached from the passion of the kiss. Moaning low, Pam forced her mouth from his.
"What do you want to do?" he asked. "Fuck first, or eat supper first?"
Pam smirked. It was an old routine with them. "Oh, whatever you want," she sighed, "but supper isn't ready."
He laughed, and his hands flew to her big, bouncy tits.
She wasn't sure how long it took them to wind up on the fake-fur rug before the fireplace, and she didn't really remember undressing Kerry but there were his clothes, scattered from the doorway to the rug, and here he was, minus those clothes, his dick thrust up in giant erection, her small hot fists wrapped around the shaft as she eyed the beauty of his swollen purplish knob.
He was sitting up, his legs far apart, and Pam was on her hands and knees between his legs, using, her eyes alone to make passionate love to her husband's pecker. "Do it," he panted, "do it for me, babe!"
She tightened her fists on him, squeezing till the end of his dick grew moist and slippery with escaping pre-cum fluid, and then she began to lick him.
Slowly, very slowly, her tongue gliding across the tip of Kerry's rod like a movie being projected at two frames per second. She let her tongue meld with the throbbing spongy glans of his cock, and she treated herself to the excitement of his taste, of his male heat.
"Yeah!" he gasped, trying to fuck himself up into her mouth; "Don't stop now!"
She had no intention of stopping. Pam licked him again, the tip and the highly sensitive portion of the shaft just beneath the knob, and then she took his crown into her mouth and started sucking it with loud, greedy smacks and slurps. Her hands kept steady for a moment, but she couldn't hold them in place forever. Almost without knowing it, she found her fists beginning to slide erotically on his dong, rising and failing up and down the hard throbbing column. She could feel, too, Kerry's pulse beating inside his cock, beating at an ever-increasing tempo that certainly matched her own heartbeat, and she took her hands away quickly, freeing all his cock for her mouth.
Tongue swirling around and around inside her mouth, Pam lowered her head on Kerry until nearly all his dick was encased in her warm wet cavern. She heard him groan, and a little purring noise escaped her lips, vibrating around the almost totally immersed eight-inch tool. Pam cupped his balls neatly in one hand, planted the other amid the hair on her husband's chest, fingertips just brushing one of his nipples. It was the left nipple, and she could feel his heart pounding inside him, matching exactly the pulse that shivered and raced against her flying tongue, transmitted through the hot club of his cock.
Pam moved slightly as she pulled on his rod with her lips, and she managed to plant her snatch upon one of Kerry's bare feet. He was really into being sucked right now, but he wasn't selfish about it. As soon as he felt her pussy hair grazing his toes, he got the idea. His big toe traced the line of her gash as Pam rocked her cunt to help out that toe, and then he was in her, wiggling like crazy, and thank God he kept his toenails in good order! She pumped her pussy vigorously on his toe, squeezing him with every cuntal muscle she possessed, and her clit began to throb excitedly, pulsating almost as fast as Kerry's cock was pulsating inside her mouth. Time to get cracking, she thought.
"Ahhhh -- Jeeeesussss!" Kerry bellowed from deep in his guts as Pam began to move her head up and down his dick in fast sweeping plunges and lifts. She rammed down, swallowing nearly all of him in her evidently bottomless gullet, cheeks pulled in tight to make the suction a memory worth treasuring, and she lifted, freeing all of hit cock except the tip, which she nursed between her pursed, pouting lips, tongue flying around and around and around the swollen knobby crown. She used her tongue on his cum slit, she made her teeth gnaw with just the right amount of careless sadistic pressure on the sensitive ridge of his knob, she squeezed his balls in a constantly varying one-two-three rhythm that made the big stones rock and roll like bearings inside their tight sac.
He thrust up with his toe in her cunt, and she wished he could get his entire foot inside. But -- if not a foot, she was soon due to get a sweet, hot eight inches inside her, and that would have to do for the time being. Pam sucked up and down faster, even faster, and she kept her hand jiggly and unpredictable on his balls until Kerry's cock began to shake, rattle and roll in her mouth and she knew he was on the verge of shooting off.
Her hand slipped down from his chest, wrapped around the base of his dong, and she began to shuck him with her fist while her clutching lips made Goddamned sure he wasn't going to slip out now, not now! She worked herself on his fucking toe and felt warmth and cheer spreading through her pussy, oozy wetness already leaking out onto Kerry's foot. Pam stroked harder, faster, letting her fingers do the walking now, and she coaxed and pleaded with her gliding tongue, moving it back and forth across the swollen, fiery-hot knob of his dick. She began to hum, too, and it was the humming, apparently, that did the trick.
"YEAHHHHH!!" Kerry shouted, thrusting into her pussy with his toe, into her mouth with his cock. His ass started to swivel around, and having a rug here on the floor was a nice idea; it made things softer for him -- for her, too, if she happened to be on the bottom when they made love here in the living room. And as he started to move, so did his cock.
It swelled even bigger inside Pamela's mouth, and her tongue made one last foray into the cum slit before the slit was suddenly and deliciously full of cum. Cum that squirted from him in hot thick lashings, cum that invaded her mouth, filled her cheeks, oozed down her gulping throat as she tried to keep up with its abundance. She could, feel it rising through his shaft as she handled him, feel it blasting into her mouth as she sucked and swallowed, and she drank greedily, knowing that he had plenty more. He was young, strong, healthy -- there'd always be plenty -- and it belonged to her. Exclusively.
A gout of cum dribbled from Pamela's mouth as she released him. The sticky semen trailed down her chin, clotting here and there, and she gave his cock a tight wrenching squeeze that made him cry out in a deep voice but made Goddamned sure he wouldn't go soft. Not soon, by God! Not when she needed him, wanted him, hard and stiff.
"Fuck me now," Pam trilled, lifting her pussy from his foot. She threw herself onto Kerry, cunt rising as she straightened up his pecker, cunt falling as he slid into her wet gash without the slightest difficulty. "AAAGGGHHH!" Pamela screamed, romping down upon him as if she meant to suck his balls, too, up her twat. Her legs went around him and they fucked, Kerry still sitting up, Pam sitting on Kerry, and though the position didn't give them much freedom of movement, neither of them needed to move. She'd already blown his nuts for him, and now all she required was the steady, filling presence of his hard rod, glutting her tight cunt with its thick male bone.
The pleasure built in her womb, and Pam leaned back, her large, big-nippled tits lifting. They wobbled dramatically as her breath quickened, and Kerry was swift to dart in, his tongue and lips hungry for her boobs. Pam threw back her head, as he started suckling one nipple, and she ground her pussy down upon his loins, gobbling up the full stiff length of his pecker. Her mouth opened -- the same kind of red-lipped oval thar had swallowed his cock not long ago -- but this time her mouth was agape for her own selfish sake. She trilled a cry of gratification and her pink tongue fluttered in the air.
"Ohhhh yessss!" she squealed, and her pussy melted around him, hot snatch honey flooding her twat, coating the rod that filled her hole. She felt her nipples burst aflame, one of them in Kerry's mouth, the other trapped between his thumb and finger, and she wrapped her arms around him, smothering bet husband between those hot, sweat-moist boobs as she rocked in tiny but telling spasms on his stiff prick. She scissored on him with her clutching legs until her clit surrendered in abject exhaustion, and then she seemed to melt, just as her pussy had already melted. Warm and damp and sweet-smelling and full of love, Pamela Wilson embraced her husband, hugging him, kissing him, petting him, until his cock finally grew soft inside her.
"It's nice to have you home," she said at last.
"It's damned nice to be here," he replied. "Is this the treatment you always give guests?"
A quick shower seemed in order, and it seemed just as much in order to save water by bathing together. Or so it seemed, until they both squeezed into the tightness of the shower stall and Pam turned on the water, her lush ass bumping accidentally into her husband's crotch. "Uh-oh," she said, "I think you're getting out of control."
She turned swiftly, just in time to see his cock spring up. How could two people shower at the same time, anyway? Especially when one of them had the biggest hard-on she'd seen all day and the other one of the pair was quite hungry for that big hard-on? Every time they took a bath together this problem seemed to come up. Well, there was a surefire, never-miss answer. She took him up her pussy tube again, and it was a real kick to feel him all hard and stiff inside her while they soaped one another's bodies and sucked one another's tongues. He especially seemed to enjoy washing her tits. "Maybe I'll get you a pair for Christmas," she teased.
"What's this?" he said, rinsing soapsuds away with his hand. Pam looked down. She couldn't see anything. "A bruise," he said. "On the underside of your cutest titty. Black and blue mark, about the size of a fifty-cent piece."
"Oh." Pam tried to collect her thoughts, come up with a believable story. "I bumped myself today," she said, "while I was getting a bra out of the dresser."
"You ought to take better care of yourself," he said. "After all, you belong to me. Here. Let me kiss your little hurt and make it feel better." And, without breaking the cock-cunt insertion, he stooped, lifting her tit, and he lovingly kissed the bruise he'd discovered. Would he, she thought, be kissing my tit if he knew that he was the fourth man to kiss it today?
He was stiff as a board when she wiggled out of his grasp and left him standing in the shower. "Come back here!" he shouted. "You can't leave me in this condition. It's un-American! I knew this state should never have ratified the ERA. It's given women a blank check to destroy us men."
Pam stuck out her tongue as she dried herself and slipped into a short Japanese robe. "Follow me," she said. "I have plans for that disgusting specimen of your macho illusions. To the kitchen, about-to-be-destroyed male chauvinist! To the kitchen!"
When he came out she was in the kitchen. The steaks were broiling and Pam was busy tossing a salad. The French fries and anion rings were almost ready to come out of the oven, and a lovely dinner would soon be on the table. "You look obscene," she told her husband, pointing to the awkward distension of his short housecoat, distended where his cock thrust out in unsatisfied erection. "Obscene, but lovable. Come here. I want you to fuck me while I cut up the vegetables."
She leaned forward, her ass lifting slightly. Kerry grinned and hurried to join her. He pulled up the tail of her robe, and for a moment he was content to fondle her bare ass, tracing the curvature of her hips, sliding his finger up and down her crack. "This is a new one, isn't it?" he wondered, opening his robe so that his cock could bounce forth, free and ready.
"Not really," Pam replied. "I remember at least one time you balled me at the stove while I was stirring the chili. Of course, you were a lot younger and more virile then. I figured I'd let you off easy this eveningggggg-uullllpppp!"
He was in her then, driving his cock fast and hard and deep, and Pam jerked forward each time he shot the meat to her. "I don't think I'll let you off easy," he said, skewering her with his rod.
"Goddamned good thing for you, too," she groaned, dropping the knife and a half-sliced radish. Pam grabbed the rim of the table and braced herself, ass wiggling and twitching every time he filled her with his dong. "Maybe you're, not over the hill after all," she said huskily.
"Who the hell said I was?" he wanted to know. Kerry grabbed his wife by the ivory curves of her buttocks and began to work her rhythmically while he fucked. As if Pam needed the slightest bit of assistance! She was bucking at him like a machine shoved into overdrive, and she was familiar enough with her subconscious to know that some of it was compensation to reward Kerry for the wife he didn't know about. Some, but not all. God, he was so gooooddddd, the best she'd ever found, the best she'd ever find! When he slipped her his cock, as he was doing right now, she knew that her life had purpose. Pam Wilson's mind soared as her body exulted, and she felt a quivering orgasm burst suddenly in her belly, hurtling down the tube of her cunt, exploding all around Kerry's thrusting cock.
"AAAHRHHH!" she wailed, the table jiggling as she writhed against it. There'd be no need to toss the salad, she decided, watching the bowl of sliced and chopped vegetables jerk each time she lifted onto tiptoes and sucked Kerry up her hot clutching twat.
"Take it, baby -- you deserve a break today," he was quipping, still holding her firmly by the ass, ramming his meat up her tunnel. Meat! My God! She could smell the steaks cooking -- they had to be taken out of the broiler at once -- in just another minute they'd be overdone -- Kerry liked his meat the way he liked his pussy -- hot and steamy, pink and wet an the inside... "The steaks..." Pam moaned, breaking free of her husband's possessive hands and completely disimpaling herself from his prick. She heard him groan as she ran to the stove and removed the broiling pan. "Ahhh," she said, "just in time!"
When she turned around, Kerry was standing by the table where she'd left him, his face almost dead white, his cock thrust out in a blazing red erection which pointed its single eye at her in accusation. Pam was jelly from her tits to her toes, but her head was still in working order and she saw his problem at once. She'd worked herself off, cunt as juicy as the steaks they'd soon be eating, but he was still up and needed his release. Well, who could give it to him better than she could?
She moved slowly toward the table, cupping her breasts in offering, the nipples hard and pink. The sash of her robe had come untied and she was exposed fully, and the look in her husband's eyes told her that the exposure was gorgeous. He grabbed his cock and began to stroke himself passionately, his eyes full of his wife's beauty.
Pam's eyes flashed and she remembered something. "No! Don't waste it! I want to..."
She ran to the table, scooped salad into her bowl, and then she knelt before him, the bowl in one hand, his cock in the other. "What are you gonna do?" he asked, bewildered.
Pam giggled. "I'm trying a new recipe." She kissed the end of his dick, tasted the hot flavor of his sperm, and she knew that he couldn't hold back more than a few moments longer. The workout in her snatch had sapped his will power. She wrapped her hand around his rod and started stroking him quickly, her hand flying on his hot, stiff pecker. She leaned close and blew warmly across the end of him, and she felt a shiver run up his penile length. Kerry grabbed her by the head tenderly.
"I'm gonna..." he started to say, but by the time he got the words out they were totally unnecessary. His cum began to fly from the slitted end of his dong and Pam aimed him downward at the bowl of salad she held in her other hand. In moments the lettuce and endive and tomato and radish were thick and viscous with a coating of Kerry's jism.
"That's it," she encouraged, shaking his softening prick as the last few droplets of sperm fell into her salad. She looked up, smiling like a Raphael Madonna. "They say it's more nourishing titan oil and vinegar," she said, "and I know it tastes better." Her tongue appeared between her lips, just the tip of it, sliding slowly from side to side. "Tie up your robe," she added, rising. "You shouldn't come to dinner naked."
"Are you going to eat that?" he asked. "Really going to?"
Pam turned. "Why in the hell shouldn't I? I eat it from the fountain, don't I? And I think it ought to be delicious on vegetables. If it is, we'll maybe see about putting it on the market. Wilson's New Improved Salad Dressing. Drive Seven Seas and all the other companies right out of business."
He was still looking at her. With a smile, Pam mixed the cum into her salad, then daintily ate as much as she could pick up with thumb and finger.
"Mmmmm," she said. "Much better than oil and vinegar. Not so oily, not so vinegary." Before she could put down the bowl he was on her again. "The French fries and onion rings are burning," she said, "or they will be."
"Fuck 'em."
"My, my, I thought you only went for girls. Are you into vegetables too?"
He started laughing and she knew that it was over for the time being. Well, good enough. They could pick up where they'd left off when bedtime rolled around. And from the gleam in Kerry's eyes, his wife suspected that he might want to sack in a little early this evening.
Part of it was the cum for salad dressing trick. He watched her hungrily as she ate the semen-coated salad, and she ate with more relish than the vegetables deserved, licking her lips after each bite. The steak was perfect and he sawed into the rare-cooked meat, but she knew that he was thinking about and even more perfect piece of meat and how soon he could saw into it again. See? she told herself. What do you have to be ashamed of? You can give your husband all the pussy he can handle. You're not hurting him, you're certainly not hurting yourself.
And the money just kept building up. She'd spent almost none of it. Instead, it was in a savings account at a bank in the next community, picking up interest faster than she could keep track. Already her account contained five thousand dollars, and she'd only just started. A pretty nest egg, just in case they ever needed the money.
"How was your day?" she asked, pouring him another glass of red wine. He had more on his mind than red wine, she knew, and the playful caress of his hand on her bare leg proved Pam right. They might not even make it through THE BIONIC WOMAN this evening.
"Same as always. We're having trouble with one of the machines in Sector B. My last efficiency report recommended that we replace it, but nobody listened. Probably Sector B will be shut down first of next week so the mechanics can get at the problem."
Pam nodded. "I remember you telling me. What about the brass from New York? Has he arrived yet?"
Kerry shook his head. "Tomorrow, probably. The superintendent seems a little jealous because he knows that the head office is interested in me. Well, you can't blame him. He was about fifteen years on me, seniority-wise, and I'm just a fresh kid who's worked his way up from the mail room. And now, if things work out right, I'm gonna be up there, in line for his job if anything happens to him. Oh, I don't feel like talking about it. It's bad luck to wish and plan ahead of time. What kind of day did you have?"
"Oh," Pam yawned, "it was just a day, you know?"
"You look sleepy," he said.
She made a funny face.
"Well, maybe I'm the one who's sleepy, then. Why don't we go see if the box springs are living up to their guarantee, mmmm?"
"Mmmmmm."
Chapter Four
She hoped everything turned out well for Kerry on the job. He'd been working for the Company since his discharge from the Army and, though he had a college degree in business administration, he was still in the blue-collar ranks. And he was good, and he was efficient, too. He'd shown the plant managers a couple of ways to cut costs on simple day-to-day operations, and the least he deserved was a promotion to higher office. Not just for the money -- he drew eighteen thousand a year now -- but because he deserved it. Of course, Pam Wilson was just a little bit prejudiced. Kerry was her husband and she loved him very much.
She looked at him now, lying in the bed next to her, his body warm against hers. Warm? Not very long ago he'd been hot! Really hot! His cock standing up like a fencepost, ramming its way up her pussy from behind as he humped atop her and she groveled beneath him on the mattress, moaning, wailing, tearing at the sheets. He'd taken her deeply, savagely, possessively, and she loved it when he fucked her that way. It presaged even better things for the weekend, when Pam and Kerry could be together continuously from Friday evening until Monday morning, and she had a damned good idea how they were going to spend most of that time.
Mmmmm, she thought, snuggling closer. One of her hands moved low, under the comforter, and she clasped his sleeping cock in her warm fist. Even now, soft and completely fucked out, he was a fine figure of a man, his dick long and thick, bulky even in its soft state. She squeezed her husband's dong and felt a little pulse of blood in him, and she smiled, knowing just how easily that little pulsation could become an angry throbbing, the soft warm shaft erected into a veritable cunt splitter of a tool.
Using his cum for salad dressing -- that had been pure inspiration. She'd do it again, and soon, but not so often that the act would lose its novelty and delight for her husband. Pam closed her eyes and, still fondling Kerry's dick, began to relive her day.
Sometimes she liked to think of herself elegantly, as a "call girl"; at other times, only the "whore" would set up a delicious tingling between her legs. It all depended on how Pam -- or rather, on how Patricia -- felt, for wasn't it Patricia, after all, who went out to meet and screw strange men in exchange for money three afternoons a week? Of course.
Just think -- and think she did, lying in bed alongside her sleeping husband. Right now, somewhere in the USA, a couple of men were sitting over late drinks in a bar and one was asking the other about the action potential in this very city. "I'll be there on business next week. Anything good floating around?"
"Action?" the other man would say. "You want action? Grab something to write with and take down this number. Ask for Patricia Wright, tell her I sent you. She only works afternoons, and it costs a hundred bucks. Christ knows what she's drawing after dark! Or what she does! Anyway, Patti is good and clean and she's worth every cent of the hundred bills. If you have to steal an afternoon, steal it. I promise you, you won't regret it." And the number would change hands, scribbled onto a bar napkin or a slip of paper from a notebook, and the next time that man visited town he'd dial the number and make an appointment to get his ashes hauled but good by the girl who'd been built up so promisingly. Nor would he be disappointed.
Well, she supposed that was how numbers got around. It had taken about a week after her first trick for another man to call the Logan Answering Service, and she'd wondered if she had the nerve to go through with it, even after making the appointment.
But she had gone, met him at his hotel at the appointed time, and allowed him to fuck her in exchange for a crisp, brand-new hundred dollar bill. If anything, it was more exciting than the first time, and she'd come like a geyser. He'd gotten more than his money's worth, that second man, for she had fucked him like a mistress or a lover, not like a whore, and his swollen cock bunt, finally, deep inside her pulsating cunt with an appreciative fury that made her scream, made her climb up and down his supine body, most unprofessionally purring and mewing for MORE! Which he'd given her, of course, for he was a gentleman.
"I've dialed some wrong numbers in my time," the man said finally, lying next to Pam on the sex-rumpled bed, "but if I ever dialed a right number, baby, you're it! Are you free tonight? I have to eat dinner with a client, but afterwards I have an open schedule, and I can't think of any better way."
"Sorry," she apologized sincerely, "but it's not possible." She looked at his watch. It was after three, and she had dinner to fix at home. Pam slipped off the bed and started to dress.
"Well," he said philosophically, "if you can't, you can't. Here." He picked his trousers off the floor, took out his wallet. "This is a bonus, for being such a right number. Go ahead. Take it. You deserve a treat. Christ knows you gave me one!"
It was a fifty. So she was worth overtime rates. Pam took the money with a smile, added it to the hundred he'd already given her. And as she put the money in her purse, she knew that as soon as she got home she'd check with her answering service again, see if anyone wanted to book her for tomorrow afternoon. God, she hoped there was a call waiting!
Two weeks after taking on her first paying customer, Pam had visited at least a dozen different men, some of them more than once. And each of those men had rhapsodized over the dynamite intensity of her fucking, had marveled at the responsiveness of the pussy that seemed to find a joy in erupting orgasmically around the dick of a paying customer. And each of those men would be passing her name and number around, trading it back and forth among the community of traveling men, men happy to pay a hundred dollars for a fifty-minute hour in the arms of a whore named Patricia Wright who only worked afternoons but made up for the inconvenience with her enthusiasm.
She took care of herself. Every other week she visited a gynecologist downtown for a V.D. checkup. All her clients were clean -- she made sure of that and she didn't anticipate catching any social diseases from them, but it didn't hurt to make sure. Her tests had always been negative, and that was very nice, but just as nice was the gynecologist, a Dr. Steinman, who quickly caught on to her profession and insisted on taking out his medical fees in trade. Each negative V.D. test entitled him to a sweaty bout on the large, plush sofa in his private office. That, too, was adventurous and exciting. Pam had never balled a doctor before, and certainly not a doctor whose stock in trade was the pussy and its delightful workings. Sometimes she wondered if she shouldn't pay him a hundred dollars.
But it was only a passing fancy. He was good, of course. Why shouldn't he be? All his medical training was centered around snatches. He looked at them every day, fingered them, stared up them, diagnosed their ills and aches. Still, he didn't excite her the way Kerry did. Even after a sultry romp with Dr. Steinman, she was glad to get home to her husband and fuck him crazy, the way he liked to be fucked after a hard day on the job.
Just like today. She'd serviced three men this afternoon, and she'd enjoyed every minute she had spent with them, but it was still better -- much, much better -- to greet Kerry almost naked and let him ravish her on the rug before the fireplace. Anyway, Pam thought defensively, this little whoring gambit is just a passing fancy. I'll get tired of it one of these days and give it up completely. Right now it's just something that excites me and turns me on and helps me spend interesting afternoons that really get me hot for my husband. Who is it hurting? Certainly not me. What about all that money in the bank? The interest it's picking up, too? Over five thousand dollars, untaxed, untraceable, unreported -- clear, extra income, just lying there, waiting for the day when Kerry and I might need it. If he wanted to know where the money came from, she'd made up a story about savings bonds her parents and grandparents had given her in childhood. No problem at all.
And certainly no adjustment problems. Patricia, after all, was the whore. Not Pamela. Pamela was merely a hot-blooded wife with a hot-blooded husband and a very full sex life.
Today, for example, she'd finished doing her face, fluffed her hair, and slipped a few extra items of clothing into a small bag and gone out to meet her clients. Each of them was a repeater, so she knew what to expect, and the prospect was one to look forward to.
Mr. Charles was first. She met him at his hotel, smiling as she recalled his request for an early lunch. Some people might think him slightly warped, but not Pam/Patti. As long as he wanted to pay her, she'd be delighted to help him live out his pet fantasies.
In Mr. Charles' case, those pet fantasies centered around pussy and the eating thereof. But not just eating -- he had a whole production number he liked to go through. It began with Pam stripping sensuously, slowly, and for his benefit she'd gone the whole route with underwear and stockings and garter belt, just so he could get more glassy-eyed as she removed the plethora of clothing.
He was a smallish man, balding, skinny, and she'd never seen him naked. He refused to take off his undershirt and shorts, though he requested that she strip to the skin. If it was his scene.
Pam stretched out on the bed, finally nude. Her legs were open, her pussy on display. The front of his shorts thrust out, full of an erection, but he made no effort to haul out that erection and stab her with it. Instead, he sat on the foot of the bed, sighting up between her legs, small beady eyes glittering as he feasted on the sight of her pink gash.
"Oh, yes," he'd always tell her, "oh, yes, that's perfect, it's beautiful, so beautiful, I'd like to wrap it up and take it home with me..."
Then he'd begin. First by sucking and kissing her toes, his tongue sucking back and forth between them, around them. He'd suckle her ankles too, mouthing his way up each leg in turn, saving the pussy itself for last. He'd never touched any other part of her, not even the big breasts with their pink, ripe nipples. It was as if the only portion of woman that mattered to him was the region south of the navel. Well, if he was willing to pay for her pussy, Pam/Patti was more than willing to let him GET IT ON!
"I can't wait," he'd tell her, after kissing and licking and mouthing her thighs until every nerve in them twitched with anticipation and Pam's tits heaved with each gulping breath. "I can't hold back. Will you forgive me? Will you promise not to hate me afterwards?"
"I could never hate you, Charles," she'd told him the first time instinctively and, ever afterwards, by rote. "No matter what you did. No matter what." And she'd touch him gently, her fingers trailing lazily across his face as he blushed sweetly. He would smile then, and for the first time his ringers would dare to stroke the hair-fluffed mound of her twat itself. She suspected that he had some kind of pussy hang up. Maybe his wife reacted harshly when he tried to love her with his mouth. Maybe it was a holdover from childhood. Odds on, he was sublimating that hang up with Patti Wright and with whores in a dozen other cities. She didn't know and she didn't particularly care. Right now she was more interested in getting his mouth and her cunt into connection.
For his pleasure, she'd douched and touched up her cunt with a few drops of Jean Nate. Only, at the moment, the aroma of pussy dew was much stronger than the perfume she'd taken from the bottle, and she realized how, much she'd been anticipating her visit with Mr. Charles.
He had long fingers, slender for a man, and they moved across her pubic mound with precision and tenderness. Smoothing down the hairs, tracing the outline of her well-formed gash. She could feel her clitty throbbing inside long before he parted the lips and began to pet her volatile vulva.
"I know it's wicked," he would sigh then, "so wicked, so awfully wicked... But it looks so pretty, too, pretty enough to eat. May I? May I, darling? Eat it, I mean?" And to emphasize the request he would lick gently at the outer edges of her puffy pouting slash, the tip of his tongue scraping with a precision she found both irresistible and erotic.
"Yes," Pam would husk, coughing out the words. Her hands would come up and fit around her large breasts, cupping, squeezing until the nipples stood up like a pink barber poles. "I want you to do it. And don't feel ashamed, darling. I certainly don't."
"Thank you," he would reply, "thank you, my darling, you don't know how much this means to me."
And with that, he'd begin eating her. God, how he could eat!! His tongue stabbing into her hole, scooping out honey by the spoonful. His tongue gone mad, licking circles around and around her nubby clit, making the sweet love button hammer and pulsate. His fingers keeping the rest of her adjacent erogenous zones in heated, flurrying stimulation. He was good. Really good.
As he sucked and licked her pussy, he slipped his cock out of his shorts, fitted a fist around it, and began to masturbate. Pam watched, half conscious of what he was doing. The first time she'd tried to pull him closer, so she could do it for him -- it seemed the least she could contribute -- but he'd gotten all tense and nervous, and she'd stifled the urge quickly. He didn't want her to jerk him off, or suck him off, or fuck him off either, for that matter. Anyway -- it didn't matter. As his tonguing grew more intense she closed her eyes and forgot all about his cock, losing herself in her own pleasure. It was a nice way to make a hundred dollars.
"I have to go now," he'd always tell her when she'd spurted girl-goo all over his hungry mouth. "I have to meet somebody." She understood. He'd exorcised some inner demon once again, and he didn't want her around, reminding him of that struggle.
The first time she hadn't understood. She'd gone to him, embraced him, kissed him. Her swollen tits rubbed on his chest, her hands slid up and down his back, and she'd offered him more -- all the enjoyment of her body. "Don't you want to fuck me, too?" she had whispered into his ear, sliding a stray tendril of hair across his blushing face. "I want to fuck you. God, you made me come, darling! You made me come like a fountain!"
But it had been wrong. Once he was finished, he wanted nothing more from Patricia Wright except her speedy departure. He wouldn't even accept her kiss -- it was as if he felt his mouth too dirty to be caressed by her lips -- and he squirmed anxiously in her embrace. She could have held him, forced him -- God, she was four inches taller than he, for one thing! -- but it wasn't the right thing to do. He'd bought her time, she was there only to make his dreams come true.
"I'll see you again, won't I?" she asked him, hurrying into her clothes while he watched, ten feet away.
Mr. Charles only nodded, his eyes lowered, unwilling to meet hers. She wished that just once she could go to him, kiss the shame from his mouth, fish his cock out of his shorts and guide it into the snatch he'd eaten so splendidly. She wouldn't even charge him for it. But if he didn't want it, she wouldn't force it on him. Pam dressed and she hurried out the door. There was a hundred dollars, in twenties, in her purse, and she had two more clients to meet this afternoon.
"It's the adventure," she told herself on her way to meet Mr. Ford at the Capri Lounge, a secluded bar on a quiet side street downtown. "The adventure is what I dig. The money? Who gives a shit about the money? I certainly don't." On the other hand, she had to admit, the money was a big part of it. Ever since that first day, when Richard Mason had picked her up at a hotel bar, assuming she was an expensive hooker. And today, a few months later, part of her was an expensive hooker. Of course she didn't need the money; no matter how much it thrilled her to receive it. Still... if Richard Mason hadn't given her a hundred dollars for the temporary rental of her body, she wouldn't be here today, en route to meet her third sex partner of the day.
Mr. Ford, a lawyer from Chicago, was a referral from her very first trick. This was the second time he'd booked her, and she was looking forward to a session with him. Of course, the people who might consider poor dear Mr. Charles a weirdo would go apeshit if they had a look at Mr. Ford and his bedroom desires. Not Pam/Patti.
She entered the Capri Lounge on the stroke of one, and there he was, sitting at the bar. A really handsome, distinguished-looking man, just like his friend Richard Mason. The kind of man any woman would be delighted to be seen with in public. In his early forties, she supposed, with an excellent body for his age. Flat, muscular stomach, broad shoulders, athletic legs. God! She hoped Kerry was in such good shape ten years from now! And if she had anything to say about it, he damned well would be!
They shared a couple of civilized drinks -- this time didn't begin until they entered the hotel room, and it was pleasant to sip Scotch and make small talk with such a good-looking man in a public place -- and his eyes glowed with anticipation. She could tell he was really up for her, turned, on by the very idea of getting into her tight panties this afternoon. Mmmm, so was she!
Everything was ready in his room. The projector was set up, the screen in place. Mr. Ford enjoyed watching porno movies, and he liked to be loved while he watched them. The first time he'd brought a six-hundred foot reel of film, containing three super 8 short subjects, spliced together. All of them featured the legendary Johnny Wadd, a California stud whose cock measured well over a foot long when it was erect (and in these movies it seemed to be little else but erect and active). He fucked a beautiful brunette, he fucked a beautiful redhead, and he fucked a beautiful blonde, all in sharp, glistening color. The movies were well produced, well-photographed, and Pam watched in fascination as Johnny Wadd drove his huge prick up the delicate-looking asshole of pretty Linda McDowell, watching even more fascinated as the lady writhed in a beautiful approximation of sexual bliss. Being cornholed was one thing. Pam had done it often enough. But being cornholed by a tool the size of a fencepost? It sent shivery flutters up and down her body and she settled eagerly onto the cock of her client, Mr. Ford, romping up and down as he fed her hungry pussy and watched the movie over her shoulder. She hoped today's movies were as good as the last batch.
She and Kerry had gone to porno films once in a while; a twin cinema at the local shopping mail features them occasionally. Those she'd always found rather boring. Most of the actors couldn't act and it seemed rather silly to be in the midst of a crowd of theater patrons watching a film of people fucking and sucking. It was so much more fun to get her husband home and relive the movie with him in the flesh.
Somehow it was different on a trick, though.
There was complete privacy, and she was bare-ass naked, just easing her cunt down upon Mr. Ford's naked, erect cock as he turned on the projector, and it all seemed so natural. Maybe she should buy Kerry a super 8 projector and half a dozen dirty movies. God! They didn't need any extra stimulation at home! They had one another, and so far, that had been more than enough! Still...
Mr. Ford sighed as he reeled his cock up her pussy. She settled down upon him easily. He had a certain procedure about this, and she didn't want to stir him up too much during the first film. What he liked was to fuck slowly for about ten minutes, after which Pam would kneel, take his dick in her mouth, and suck until he squirted. On her first date with him, he'd explained that he wished to come in unison with his hero Johnny Wadd. When Johnny Wadd spurted jism onto the face of his partner in the final movie, Mr. Ford wanted to be spurting an equally hot flow of seed into the face of his play-for-pay girl Patricia Wright. Kinky? Maybe. Fun? Yes!
A challenge, too. She'd been just a trifle slow the first time, and Johnny Wadd's cum was already flowing before Mr. Ford's pecker vomited out its river of sperm, but it was only a trifle, and apparently he wasn't dissatisfied, for he'd asked her to come back and do him again. Well, this time she'd be a lot better.
Again he had three short films spliced together on a large reel. She could expect about forty minutes of filmed fucking and sucking, and her only problem was to keep him stiff until the end of the last film.
The first movie was nice, and Pam found it reasonably erotic. A plumpish, short-legged girl with large breasts and silver-blonde hair began by masturbating herself, a finger buried in her curly-bushed twat. She wasn't extraordinarily pretty -- cute was a better description -- but she did an excellent job of conveying erotic arousal.
Before long she was joined by a young man whose face bore an almost satirically sullen expression. He presented the girl with a large vibrator-device and she lifted her skirt, rubbing the instrument across her burnt-gold beaver with delight showing on her face. In short order her man's pants were dropped to his knees and the girl had her hands on his cock.
The editing was abrupt and jumpy, but the message came across spectacularly. When the girl fed his cock into her mouth and began to suck, Pam felt a touch of envy building in her breast. The silver-blonde girl was extremely good, and she obviously enjoyed her work. Eyes closed rapturously, she sucked up and down the stiff, oversized cock, swallowing as much as she could take home, cheeks drawn in dramatically, her lips seeming to float up and down the man's pecker.
Pam moved slowly, erotically, on Mr. Ford's cock. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, and she was mounted on his lap, facing away from him. As she fucked up and down she reached in to add a little stimulus to her cunt and clit, but it wasn't really necessary. Mr. Ford was built beautifully. Not as thick or as long as Johnny Wadd, perhaps, but built like a man. A real man. Eight inches, and thick in proportion, he filled her cunt expertly, spreading the lips just enough to make the juices start flowing from deep inside, lubricating her sheath to help him stab further and further up it. Size-wise, he reminded her very much of her husband, and she'd never found a cock she loved as deeply, as wholeheartedly as Kerry's, but Mr. Ford was a close match.
The film continued, and she continued to ride her client as he desired, stroking his cock within her cunt in sensual pussy-shivers. On the movie screen at the far end of the room, the silver-blonde girl was being fucked and eaten in quick alternation. She and her quite willing partner shifted positions at the drop of a hat, though it was interesting to note that the girl didn't remove her turbaned scarf, nor did she do more than untie her wraparound dress. Of course, she wasn't wearing anything under the dress, so when it was untied, the lucky stud had a girl-full of goodies at his disposal, and he made use of all those goodies.
The girl looked as if she were totally stoned on sex. She sighed and moaned as she was fucked, and when she wrapped her hands and mouth around the boy's cock, it was Katy bar the door! After a dozen shifts of position, she took him into her mouth, eager fist flying on his dong, and she made his cum fly into her waiting orifice. A long sticky-looking trail of white cum dripped from her lips as she mouthed him, and her lips and cheeks were obviously moist with squirted semen as the film ended. Pam squeezed her pussy on Mr. Ford's cock, almost wishing he'd saved this film for last. The girl's enthusiasm had burst off the, movie screen and infected Pam. She lifted high on Mr. Ford's cock, then plummeted down, sucking him all the way up her sex-greased channel, and she felt him shudder inside her, as if he meant to blow his nuts, now. Oh, no! she thought. Oh, God, no! He'd never forgive her if she got him off too soon!
Why was she so excited? From watching a plump blonde girl screw and suck on a movie screen? The girl wasn't even what Pam would consider pretty. She was too big-breasted for her short frame, too thick in the thighs; her face too plain. But so enthusiastic!
The second movie began with only a second's intermission. It wasn't as good quality film, and it appeared to be threaded onto the reef in reverse. The setting was obviously California, but the billboard in the rear could only be read with a mirror, and the driver who picked up the hitchhiking heroine was on the wrong side of the road.
Pam settled down upon Mr. Ford, caressing him with her vaginal muscles. "Better," he whispered into her ear. "Don't fuck so fast. There's more to come." His hands were on her tits, pulling at the big stiff nipples, and she wanted so much to move, to bounce and rock and ride like a rodeo cowgirl on his bucking bronco of a prick, but her own pleasure was no more than an incidental. She had duties and obligations to her customer, and his pleasure came first.
The girl in this film struck Pam as much prettier than the other, despite a frizzy Afro-style wig she was wearing. Her body was long and lean, the breasts well-carved, the pussy very lightly-furred, as if it had been shaved recently and the hair only just started to grow back. She wasn't beautiful either, but she was attractive in a very 1977 fashion, and when the film cut from her entering the hero's van on a busy L.A. street to the pair of them naked and in bed, her body was equally nice to look at.
The man kissed her, one hand cupping her left lit, the other stroking, in long shot and close-up, the lightly-haired cleft of her pussy, fingers dwelling on the pouty-looking twat lips, occasionally slipping between them and plunging into the girl's slick, purplish vagina. She writhed in pleased response, her tummy moving softly, and Pam could almost feel those fingers on her own cunt right now -- but no, it was Mr. Ford's dick, and it was much nicer than fingers could ever hope to be.
But for all her promise, the girl proved to be less than adequate when it came time for her to suck her man's tool. Pam's eyebrows curled disapprovingly as the girl started sucking. She wasn't very good, and she didn't look at all comfortable with a pecker in her mouth. Of course, she tried, but it was clear that her talents did not lie in the direction of oral sex. When her man's passion grew, she resorted to the adolescent subterfuge of simply jerking him off, into her mouth. He touched her frizzy wig and she pulled back quickly, stroking him with her fist as sperm began to fly in thick lashing from the end of his cock. And as she watched, her mouth curled into a quizzical smirk.
"Do that for me," Mr. Ford panted, "but do it better. I know you can do it better, Patti darling, just do it, okay?"
Of course she could do it bettor, and of course she would do it better! Pam jumped off her client's heavy, swollen hard-on and she knelt between his widespread legs, her mouth moving up and down the barrel of his hot cock. She sucked at his balls, feeling them roll and twitch in her mouth, but she was careful not to suck too hard, lest he shoot prematurely. Slowly her lips began to ascend his rod, until the bulbous knob of his glans brushed against her mouth and she could taste the promise or his cream on it. Pam opened, her lips and pulled him inside.
She tried to watch the movie as she sucked, but she had a duty to her client that transcended her own interest in erotic cinema. Still, as she ate, she was aware of what was happening on the movie screen. The girl being eaten by her guy (and he ate her very nicely, much more skillfully than she'd gobbled him). Then the girl being fucked by her guy (and she fucked very nicely, her face expressing a sweet kind of rapture as the hard cock moved in and out her almost bare labia). A second orgasm, this time on her flat stomach, the man stroking his cock until all his watery cum had spurted upon her. Both of them coating their fingers in the stuff, tasting it. The man lying back, spent, his prick melted to a deceptively small stub. The girl beside him, not fully satisfied, or so it appeared. The girl picking up a realistic-looking rubber dildo, kissing its knobby tip, looking at the camera quizzically. Was she going to fuck herself with it? God! Was she, perhaps, going to fuck him?
Pam had one client, a traveling salesman named Mr. Dolan, who loved to have a vibrating dildo jammed up his ass while she gave frantic, furious head to his swollen cock. Pam sucked, and Pam watched, but she never found out what the girl intended doing with that rubber sex substitute, because the film ended and another one began.
She moved slightly, still mouthing Mr. Ford's prick, and she focused her eyes on the screen. This one she'd have to watch carefully, so she'd know when to make him come. Not too fast, not too slow. He wanted to squirt in tandem with the hard-cocked stud in the movie and she wanted to make him squirt just as he wished to.
However, as the last film got underway, Pam began to wonder if there even was a hard-cocked stud in it whose orgasm could be synchronized with Mr. Ford's. That would make it a good bit more difficult, she realized, and she turned both eyes toward the screen as she ate him, hoping to absorb the situation and figure out what (and when) she must do to him. Whoever said it was easy being a hooker? A man was fragile and easily hurt and bruised, whether he was a husband or a hundred-dollar trick.
The film began with two rather young girls on a picnic outing in the country. A red-checked tablecloth spread under a tree, food and wine, toasts drunk back and forth. They were pretty girls, too, Pam noticed -- the kind of girl who always made you ask yourself, "How did anyone like that ever get into a movie like this?" One was blonde, with the palest, most delicate face and features Pam had ever seen, the other a sandy-haired girl, more robust, more tanned, lovely in her athletic, long-legged fashion.
They drank to one another's health from champagne glasses, and then the sandy-headed girl yawned, threw back her arms, and commented in a subtitle that it was such a hot day -- why didn't they take off their clothes and enjoy it?
Her friend giggled at the idea, but in a matter of seconds both young women were stripped to the waist. The blonde girl was pale-skinned there, too, and her tits were cupcakes of sweetness on her breast, capped in rosy-tinted nipples whose tips were already stiff. The other girl was a little fuller of breast, but even put together, the actresses couldn't muster a pair the size of Pam's. On the other hand, they didn't have to test their boobs for firmness and springiness every day, wondering when the lovely full mounds would turn into drooping sags. There were benefits of being small-fitted.
"You have such lovely tits," the blonde said, touching an index finger to each of her friend's hard brown nipples. She pushed, as if the candy-drop nips were little buttons, and her friend covered the caressing hands with her own. Slowly the two women moved closer, their eyes shutting as their mouths came together, and then they were kissing hotly, each of them fondling the others bare breasts. The camera moved in for a tight close-up of the smooching mouths, showed off the tongues as they pulled back and forth, the dribbles of spit that formed on each woman's mouth. Clothed, the blonde girl looked almost innocent. Naked, hotly kissing her friend, she presented quite a different picture.
Pam watched with growing interest. The women were really into this, she couldn't help noticing. When they kind, when they, felt one another, you could tell, even on 8mm film, that they meant it. The sighs, the rolling eyes, the fluttering fingers, the stiffened nipples, the way bodies brushed together and clung as if they were glued. She felt a wetness oozing between her thighs and it was a pleasant sensation. Pam squeezed her legs together upon the puffy swell of her cunt and she made that pleasant feeling build and grow, and she didn't let up for a moment in her oral attention to Mr. Ford's cock.
The only problem was -- if this was a lesbian flick, as it appeared to be, how would she know when to make him squirt? Oh, play it by ear, she told herself. Or at least by tongue. You're a pro, aren't you? At least an afternoon pro.
The angle changed quickly, and the camera was suddenly very far back, an extreme long shot. The girls were still busy with one another, removing shorts, kissing, feeling, but they were tiny dots of flesh in the middle of the screen. A quick, blurry pan, and the camera was face to face with a rather handsome black man, tall and well-built. From the smile on his face he had apparently seen something which pleased him, and Pam smiled too, for the movie had finally taken shape in her head. No problem now, she thought. It's in the bag.
Back to the ladies. The blonde was on her back, legs wide, the sandy-haired girl kissing her stomach just above the small, triangular patch of dark-gold pubic hair. As she kissed, the other girl began to rub the blonde's cuntal slice, and the camera moved in close to show that slice, its lips prominent and deeply cleft.
Fingers spread those lips, revealing the violet pink flesh inside, and Pam watched with interest, still eating Mr. Ford. The camera kept closing in, as if the filmmaker meant to thrust his lens up the blonde girl's pussy, but somehow Pam didn't think that was likely. The sandy-haired girl eased a finger into the snug little pussy mouth and there seemed to be no room for anything else in those tight confines. She began to fuck in and out with her finger, and the blonde's flat stomach suddenly began to ripple in soft waves, her thighs trembling on each side.
The women were both fully naked now, and as Pam watched and sucked with equal commitment, they moved into a lesbian 69, the blonde on the bottom. The sandy-haired girl kept using her finger in her girlfriend's snatch but she brought her mouth into play as well, long pointed tongue shaking and tickling the clitoral nub at the upper end of the blonde's gash. From time to time she licked lower, casing her tongue into the vaginal mouth alongside her finger, but it was clearly a tight fit. And a pleasant one, if the ruddy, healthy glow of her face proved anything.
A quick cut brought the viewer's attention to the blonde, who was quite eagerly mouthing the cunt that had settled atop her sweet face. She didn't look at all innocent now. She licked pussy, then raised her straining head to let her tongue glide across the other girl's asshole, a tiny red pucker amid a forest of thick dark hair that completely filled her crotch and threatened to spill uncontrollably down her long legs. At the nine time she kept her fingers very busy on the sandy-haired girl's deeply tanned ass, pinching into the firm-looking buttocks, spreading them wide so that pussy lips gaped forth from the canyoned slit.
The color was excellent, and the photography was quite flattering to the two girls, who were lovely to begin with. Their skin glowed in the slightly diffused sunlight, and they moved upon one another with a becoming pace. Pam found herself strangely touched, not knowing why. She cupped Mr. Ford's balls in her hand and let the other hand drop between her own legs, where it found a twitchy, itchy, rather bitchy cunt waiting. Pam took a deep swallow of dong and thrust a finger up her snatch.
She wasn't sure why this particular movie was affecting her so strongly, but she knew that it certainly was. There was something quite beautiful about the lesbian cunnilingus the two girls were performing, about the interlocking patterns of the two lovely female bodies. It was softness mounted upon softness and she found it almost irresistibly erotic.
I wonder what it would be like? Pamela thought, still wolfing pecker. She had a busy finger in her snatch and a hard dick in her mouth, but her eyes kept returning to the screen and she found herself full of curiosity. How would it feel to slip her tongue into another cunt, to feel a feminine tongue nibbling its way up her own twat?
She'd never done anything like that in all her life; she'd never wanted to, for God's sake! Back home in DuBois, girls were too busy getting it on with boys to waste time fucking around with other girls. She'd not had a really close girlfriend since, oh, hell, since junior high, at the latest. But now, she found herself growing quite interested, and as she delved in her nookie with a stiff quivering finger she could close her eyes and pretend, almost that she was one of the women up there on the movie screen, that an alien female hand was caressing her cunt. But how about her part of the action? Shouldn't she be eating or doing something? Pamela tried to guess how a cunt might taste, but it was hard to fantasize orally when her mouth was full of a large, throbbing rod that drew nearer to gushing each time she suctioned it.
Cut again to the black man she'd noticed earlier.
He was still watching the girls, his face glistening in the sunlight, white teeth shining. One hand dropped to his crotch, and he rubbed until a lump filled out the front of his pants. He looked down at it, nodded, and moved out of the frame.
The next shot featured the naked bodies, one tanned, one lily white. A black hand entered the frame, came to rest upon the sandy-haired girl's back. "Hello, girls, need any help?" read a subtitle.
The girls came apart, looking up at the man, and the blonde's eyes were large in panic. But her friend was quite up to the occasion. Grinning broadly, she rose onto her knees and kissed the big hard lump in the man's pants. Then she unzipped him bid hauled forth an enormous, black tool, which she rubbed against her cheeks in a kind of ecstatic yearning.
"Care to join us?" she asked, looking up at him, indicating the picnic lunch spread out on the tablecloth and the naked bodies of herself and her blonde friend.
"Mmmm-hmmm," the man said, pulling off his pullover top. In another moment he was naked, in the pass, and the sandy-haired girl was planting herself atop him, guiding his hard black dick into her brunette-furred snatch.
"Aaaahhhh," she moaned as she plunged down burying his pecker in her hole. She fucked him with great agitation and energy for several moments, and then she arose, turning round to face away from him. He held his prick upright, and she took it home again, settling down with a pleased expression on her face. As she began to fuck, black hands came up to entrap her firm, tanned breasts, and black fingers began to squeeze passionately at her fat, thick nipples.
The blonde girl poured a glass of champagne and tipped the glass while the man drank the bubbly wine. When he was finished, she moved in and kissed him, her pink tongue licking the driblets of champagne from his lips. He captured her tongue and began to suck it. She pressed against him for a few moments, then retreated and offered him her small but perfect tits, first pouring champagne from the bottle across their small, pink-capped cones. He was as eager to suck her nipples as herd been to suck her tongue.
Meanwhile, the sandy-haired girl was still fucking furiously, her eyes closed in concentration. The blonde girl poured more wine on her breasts and gave them to her girlfriend, who proved that she could still appreciate a female body even when she was being fucked by as large -- as impressive -- a tool as the man possessed.
Somehow Pam found herself a little disappointed. The presence of the man had upset her mental rhythm. It was too bad the producers hadn't kept the film strictly girl-on-girl. She'd found herself really digging that scene, because of its beauty and novelty and erotic appeal, and now, with a man brought in, it was just like any other fuck film. She kept moving her finger in her cunt, but more from duty than desire. Most of her attention was being given to Mr. Ford now.
Oh, shit, Pam told herself. It doesn't matter what turns you on! You're just an afternoon whore. Your job is to keep the customer satisfied. So it's just as good the movie isn't turning you on any more. You can keep your mind on the job you've already been paid for, and you can do it right.
The sandy-haired girl withdrew quickly from the slick black cock. It glistened like polished leather in the sunlight and it jiggled about in lurching circles as she raised her cunt off it. The blonde girl was on her belly, head aimed into the man's crotch, and her small pale hand immediately seized the dick, firming it, holding it upright. She slid closer and opened her mouth wider than seemed possible, widely enough to suck in the man's testicles. And they weren't small nuts, either. Big, heavy-looking stones, encased in a large dangling scrotum, but they fit into her mouth with no trouble, it appeared, and she sucked them, hand closing and relaxing around the barrel of the cock.
But she didn't look particularly interested in what she was doing, or so it appeared to Pam. Oh, Christ, the woman reminded herself, you're reading your own attitudes into that stupid fuck-film girl. And she probably is stupid. For a whole afternoon of fucking and sucking and lesbian sex, she couldn't be getting more than maybe a hundred dollars cash. It probably took two or three hours to make the movie, and people all over America can buy it, watch it any time they please. She's a permanent fantasy fuck-object now, thanks to the miracle of film. While I'm getting a hundred dollars for fifty minutes of my time and when it's over, the client takes away nothing except his memories. Maybe, she thought, maybe I'm a fantasy fuck-object, too, but I'm smart enough to do it my way.
The sandy-haired girl came into frame above and her hand replaced the blonde's on the man's pecker. She opened her mouth and started swallowing and, incredibly enough, her mouth descended almost to the balls her friend was still sucking. And it was a long, thick cock, too, a real challenge for throat artists.
Pam watched another minute, while the girls continued in their oral manipulation of the man's cock and balls, and then, with care and expertise, she removed her mouth from Mr. Ford's dick. She kept her lips upon him, moving up and down, so that the rhythm wasn't broken for even a second, and she looked up at the projector. Not much film left. She'd have to hurry, if she wanted to do it the way her client preferred.
Mr. Ford didn't seem to notice that he was no longer shafting his way into Pam's mouth. His loin's still bucked upward as her tongue and lips moved up and down his tool, and his balls quivered where she held them in one cupping hand. His cock was dripping from her saliva and, when she ran her tongue across the fat swollen knob, she could taste a preliminary leakage of cum from deep in his nuts. He was on hair trigger right now, and she could pull him off just about any time, but it was most important to do it his way.
Pam looked at the screen again. The sandy haired girl was still sucking up and down, her cheeks drawn in tightly, her face reddening from effort. Suddenly, without any warning, she pulled the dick out of her mouth. Uh-oh, Pam thought. She was afraid she'd misjudged. If the screen stud was about to come, Mr. Ford wasn't. Not quite.
The blonde raised her pale pretty face and she had a champagne glass in her hand, probably the same one she'd given the man a drink from. She lifted the glass and the sandy-haired girl angled the black cock downward, until the big knob was aimed into the glass and, as the two girls watched smirking at one another, the man began to squirt.
His cum shot in big, thick lashings into the glass, coating the inside wails, and he shot another gout of his stuff each time the sandy-haired girl stroked him with her hand. Pam sighed, for she'd blown it again, so to speak, and she hurriedly fed Mr. Ford's rod back into her mouth, sucking him in a frenzy.
But wait -- it wasn't quite the end of the movie. Mr. Ford had his hand on her head, guiding her down upon his tool, and he thrust up, thrust more eagerly, and she could almost sense that he was waiting for something, something else, something that turned him on enough to wait for.
The sandy-haired girl watched as the cock finished spurting its gummy white sperm, and she looked at her blonde girlfriend. The blonde took the glass, tilted it from side to side, then raised it to her mouth. And drank. She turned the glass almost upside down, pouring all the man's cum into her mouth as if it were fine champagne. Her cheeks puffed out as she drank it, but Pam couldn't see the gulping that indicated she was swallowing the semen. Was there something else?
There was.
"Aaaagggghhhh..." Mr. Ford groaned. It was a deep, soulful groan, and he almost rose bodily from the edge of the bed, ramming his cock into Pam's throat cavity. She pulled back, letting his dong slip free, and she pressed his cock to her face, hand fisting around him. The cum was rising through his shaft. She could feel it. Everything seemed to be happening in milliseconds right now, time slowed to turtle's crawl, but that only made it more exciting.
She looked at the screen. The blonde moved her face toward the other girl, and mouths met just above the man's midsection. As the girls' lips touched, the blonde opened her mouth and spewed out a full helping of the cum she'd drunk from the glass. It ran across the sandy-haired girl's skin, some of it going into her mouth, some of it sliding down her chin, and there were white drippings on the man's belly where the sperm fell upon him.
And then there were white drippings on Pamela Wilson's face too, as Mr. Ford's cock literally exploded against her cheek. He came in a hot fury of semen that splattered her flesh and clogged at the entrance of her nostrils and seeped into her open mouth, and she caressed him and kissed him and licked away his cum while more flowed down the stiff, jerking barrel of his cock to take the place of what she'd already drunk, and on the movie screen the two girls were still sharing a cum-flavored kiss.
Of course he was putting himself into the movie, pretending that he was the stud up there on the screen. Pam was just a pussy and a mouth to get him off. But what the hell? Somebody had to do it, and the money and the pleasure did as much for her as they would for any other woman. She jerked him until her entire face was sprayed sticky with his cum, and she sucked his cock until it went soft in her mouth and he had nothing more to give.
Well, she had to be going soon. She was due to meet Mr. Webber, an she'd have to clean herself up before joining him at his motel. She'd also have to change clothes. For him, she wore a low halter top and star-spangled hot pants. He liked to make the most of her resemblance to TV's Wonder Woman, and she was happy to indulge. As Mr. Ford's limp dick fell out of her mouth, Pam found herself thinking only of the trick that lay ahead. The one just finished was history.
"I'll call you next time I'm in town," Mr. Ford told her. "I'll bring same more movies, too. Maybe I'll bring a lot of movies, and hire you for a whole afternoon. Would you like that?"
"Mmmmm, yes," she nodded. "I'd like anything that turned you on, baby."
"Oh, yeah," he said, lying back on the bed. The projector was rewinding now. "This was perfect, Patti, really perfect. You did me just the way I wanted. I just wish I came through here more often."
"Well, don't forget to call me," she said, "any time you're in town. Maybe we'll spend an afternoon -- a whole afternoon -- together sometime soon. That could be a lot of fun. For both of us, mmmm?" She blew him a kiss from the doorway and started out. She'd have to bribe the desk clerk downstairs to give her the loan of a room where she could shower and change clothes. The only thing she hated was wiping the cum off her face. It felt so sweet and sticky drying on her skin, and the taste of it was still strong in her mouth. Damn, she thought, when Kerry gets home from work, I think I'll rape him.
Chapter Five
And of course she'd done just that. If you could call it rape. Kerry knew how to hold his own, as far as raping and being raped went, and her cunt still ached from the frenzy of fucks he'd thrown into her. How would he feel if he knew that three other men had used his wife's body that same day? One had contented himself with eating her pussy, another with squirting cum onto her face while they watched dirty movies, and the third had engaged her for an hour of fairly normal sex, seasoned by a little fantasy and wish-fulfillment. Mr. Webber and his Wonder Woman yearnings. He'd been a little rough today. His fingers had left the bruise Kerry had noticed on Pam's tit. Next time she'd warn him about marking the merchandise. But, oh, God, he'd torn off her clothes, and thrown her on the bed, and then rammed his cock up her, and if he was getting off by pretending to screw Wonder Woman, well, she could dig it too, and as his tight, grasping fist closed over her breast, she found herself lunging up, meeting his eager thrusts, her cunt melting around his hard, energetic cock. She'd scarcely noticed the pressure on her tit. Afterwards he'd even given her a bonus for the halter top and hot pants he'd torn apart undressing her.
Pam wanted to think that the knowledge wouldn't offend or sicken her husband -- that, on the contrary, it would make him stare at her with a newfound lustful appreciation. That he'd realize the basics of the situation, too. Other men craved her, were willing to pay for the use of her body, were glad to come back again and again, at a hundred dollars a crack. It was exciting to make secret appointments with those other men, even more exciting to meet them afternoons at various hotel rooms and ball their brains out. The money was great, too, and someday it would come in handy, she was positive. But it didn't mean anything. It was just something she did for kicks and amusement and -- well, for adventure, too. God, a housewife didn't have that many chances to meet adventure face to face and come out the winner.
Would Kerry understand that? She didn't know, and Pam decided that it would be far better he never found out. Anyway, it couldn't last much longer. Just today she'd found herself a little blase about meeting three repeat customers, knowing what they wanted, how to give it to them. Was afternoon whoring about to lame its excitement for her?
Well, she thought philosophically, if it does, it does. I'll find something else to do. Maybe I'll go back to masturbation. God, how long had it been since she'd needed to frig herself on angular basis? Since high school, at least! Maybe she'd buy one of those cock-shaped vibrators and a lot of batteries and spend afternoons trying to short-circuit the machine in her dripping snatch. Or maybe she'd find some other local housewife with nothing to do in the afternoon and see if the lucky lady would care to try out a girl-girl scene.
"What did I just say?" Pam murmured, turning over in bed. "What?" She blinked couple of times. It had been a long day, and that movie had been so lovely to look at. This time of night she was usually rather groggy, and more so tonight than normally. Her hand moved under the blanket, giving Kerry's sleeping cock a final squeeze of love.
"Night, babe," she whispered. "You'll probably be up first thing in the morning, if I know you, and I'd better get a little rest, too."
She snuggled closer, felt his warmth against her body, and closed her eyes, waiting for sleep to descend. The last thing she thought of before dropping off was how delectable the blonde girl's pussy had looked in the close-up scenes of that movie today. A pink gash, vivid and visible among the dark-golden hairs, and inside it was a slippery-smooth expanse of folds and crevices, with one small, exquisitely tight opening and a reddish clitoral bud sticking up like a tiny stiff nipple aching to be sucked.
She awoke Thursday morning to find her husband in the act of sliding his hard cock up her pussy. "Hey, what gives?" Pam grinned up at him, spreading her legs just a trifle so he could wedge more easily the tip of his large tool.
"I don't know," he said solemnly. "I dreamed about you all night, and when I woke up I had this enormous hard-on. Well, I can't even piss till I get rid of the thing, so I just thought I'd..."
"Don't think -- do!" Pam smirked, reaching down to touch the shaft of his cock. Mmmm, warm and stiff, and glowing with lust. Just the way she liked to see her man. Or men. "What are you waiting for?" she asked. "An engraved invitation? Show me how cunty your dreams were. Show me."
And so he showed her, burying his eight inches of hard gristle in her welcoming pussy, grinding at her till the hairs of their crotches were tied in a true lover's knot. She worked herself on him, milking his cock with knowing twitches of her snatch, and they rocked it back and forth, fucking, being fucked, until he squirted a thick morning load of cream into her invigorating depths and, alas, it was time for Kerry to get ready to go to work. Pam lay sighing on the bed after he'd gone to the bathroom, and she toyed with her sticky, cummy cunt. Mmmm, she thought, tasting the juices that flowed from her cunt, I wonder if there have been any calls for Patricia Wright? Well, she'd know, as soon as Kerry left for work.
Oh, damn it, she added mentally, I didn't say I was going to give it up now. I'll think about it later. Later.
She took a little nap after Kerry left, and consequently didn't get around to checking with her service till eleven o'clock. This was her last working day of the week -- she only sought adventure on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday and she called quite later than usual.
"Damn it," Pam said, biting her lip. The nap had cost her a hundred dollars. A repeat customer from Detroit wanted to see her at noon and she didn't have time to get to him now. But she knew where to reach him, and she'd leave a message. Maybe next time he was in town... "Any other calls?"
"Just one," the operator said. Only two bookings for today? Better than one, not as good as the four she'd handled one memorable afternoon. "It's from -- I think -- I didn't take this message, Ms. Wright, and I have the most awful time with Charlotte's handwriting. As nearly as I can tell, it's a Mr. Hagen. Yes. H-A-G-E-N. It could be McHagen, too, I suppose, because Charlotte just scribbles. There's an M and a squiggle and -- reference? Oh, yes. He mentioned a Mr. Pendexter -- does that sound familiar to you? I think that's what she wrote -- from New York City."
Pam nodded. Hagen or McHagen, he was a new customer and she didn't take new customers without a reference. Pendexter, though, was all right. He was a pussycat. Generous, and handsome enough to make the generosity seem a real treat. Half her clients were that sort of man -- good-looking, well-heeled, the kind of man a girl wouldn't mind being seen with in public. High rates kept out the trash trade, and references made sure she'd continue to deal only with the right kind of men. Well, if Pendexter had sent him, then she was willing, to give Hagen (or McHagen) a chance. He was at the Hartford House, room 1457, and he wanted to see her at two sharp if that was agreeable. Pam mused a moment, then decided that it was more than agreeable. First she dialed the Hartford House and asked for room 1457. It was always a good idea to talk to a new client before meeting him. That way she could get some idea of what he wanted. Bathroom sports, for example, were a no-no. Except for screwing in a tub. That could be fun, two bodies colliding all wet and soapy, a suds-covered cock slicking into a wet, foamy twat. But no pissing and shitting on one another. Or he might expect to screw her in the asshole, and that was also on the no-no list. Unless the man was very small-cocked. She'd take Kerry in her brown hole occasionally (though, thank God, he didn't try it very often, and only when she was really souped up) for love, but she wouldn't give it to another man of his size even for money. He might prefer some special costume or something. Once she'd balled a guy who got off on pigtails and knee socks. She felt silly dressing like a little girl, especially with her lush tits and ripe ass, but the customer hadn't complained.
There was no answer, and the switchboard operator advised her that the occupant of room 1457 was out light now but was due back shortly after one-thirty. Well, she thought, I'll just dress neat -- but sexy -- and see if that's enough to turn on Mr. Hagen. Or McHagen. If he craved anything else, he could tell her face to face, and she'd do her best to deliver within the restrictions. Pam went in to shower, douche, and get herself fixed up.
She was just going out the door when the phone rang. "Oh, darling," she said happily, forgetting all about Mr. Hagen and his needs. It was Kerry.
"Well," he said, and she could detect the pride in his voice. "You may be talking to the new assistant supervisor. It's not sewed up yet, but we've been talking each other round in circles all morning, and it looks good. Brass from the main office, hon." He laughed. "We're invited to a party this evening, about nine at the Murdocks'. Wait till you see the brass who came to check me out, kid. You wouldn't believe who -- oh. Mr. Murdock wants me. I've gotta run. Hey, it looks good, babe, really good. See you when I get home." He smacked a kiss into the phone and Pam could almost taste that kiss on her lips. Mmmmm, wasn't that great? Kerry deserved a promotion and she'd keep her fingers crossed for him all afternoon. And a party tonight? Did she have anything fit to wear? Well, she thought, if I don't, then I'll just buy something on my way home. Pam smiled and went out to her car. Forty-five minutes later, at eight before two, she was locking the door in the underground parking garage at the Hartford House.
It was two sharp when she stepped out of the elevator, according to the clock in the hotel hallway, and she stepped briskly toward the door she was looking for. 1457. Pam nodded, then tapped on the door. She was dressed properly, she thought, to meet a new customer for the first time. Poor boy cap with long dark hair falling from it around her face, midi-length coat, sweater, fashionable wool skirt, and low-heeled shoes.
She tapped again, and a distant, rather reedy voice from inside the room called, "Come in. It's not locked."
Pam opened the door and went into the sitting room portion of the suite. Small couch, chairs writing table, television set. The bedroom door was closed but she could hear sounds from beyond it, and there was a cigarette smell in the air. On the writing table was a bottle of Irish whisky, with glasses and soda. Pam sat down on the couch, crossing her long legs, not bothering to pull down the risen hem of her skirt.
"I'm Patricia Wright," she said. "You called me this morning. I tried to get in touch with you after I got your message but you were out. You mentioned Mr. Pendexter when you called my service, and that was an excellent reference. Oh, I couldn't get it straight from the service -- the girl who took the message is a functional illiterate, I believe -- is your name Mr. Hagen or McHagen?"
The bedroom door opened and so did Pam's mouth. "Neither," said the woman standing in the doorway. "It's Ms. Hagen."
Apparently it was. Pam tried to collect her thoughts as the woman strolled into the sitting room, but the only thing that passed through her mind was that Charlotte must have written Mr. instead of Ms. or Mrs. Or did that matter?
"There must be a mistake," Pam said finally.
"No." The woman shook her head almost unconsciously. "I called you. Jack Pendexter is a good friend of mine, and he recommended you in the highest terms. Sit down, please." And she came closer. Not knowing why she did it, Pam sat down again.
"I don't understand. What you want with me, I mean."
The woman laughed. "The same thing anyone wants when they book you, darling. Well, maybe not the same thing, but..." She slanted her head and looked at Pam through heavy-lidded eyes, almond-shaped, a deep sparkling green. Pam felt uncomfortable under that stare and a soft red blush began to spread across her face. "I think you'll do nicely," Ms. Hagen announced, planting her fists on her hipbones and straightening up.
She was attractive, in an almost careless way. An inch or two above average height, perhaps, but not as tail as Pamela. Her hair was russet-colored and swept lazily around her strong face. If faces meant anything, she was obviously a woman of will power and determination. The set of her chin, the firmness of her nose and cheeks, the confidence that smiled from her lips. She wore a jacket, slacks, and white blouse with a large scarf tied at her neck and, though the clothes fit her loosely, it was impossible not to imagine that tile rest of her body was as firm and confident as her face. Pam's flush deepened. For the first time in her new hobby, Pam Wilson was at a loss. She wasn't sure what to say or to think.
Ms. Hagen removed her jacket and Pam noticed the high thrust of the woman's nearest tit where the silk blouse clung and molded. "A drink?" Ms. Hagen asked, walking toward the table. Pam shook her head, then nodded. Ms. Hagen poured out two stiff jolts of Jameson's, added soda. "Sorry, there doesn't seem to be any ice."
Pam took her drink and sipped at it. When she raised her eyes Ms. Hagen was still there, only a few feet away, staring at her. Eyes like a cat, she thought, a prowling, hungry cat. Does that make me the mouse?
"Thank you for the drink," Pam said, "but I think I ought to be going..."
Ms. Hagen caught her hand, held it in a surprisingly strong, deceptively warm grip. "No, don't leave. Please don't." She put down her glass and glided close, so close that her body moved into place only inches from Pam. If I breathe, Pam thought, our tits are going to bump together.
"You're lovely," Ms. Hagen said softly, purring the words up into Pam's face, breathing out the scent of Irish whisky too. "Jack told me you were absolutely beautiful, with the softest warmest body he'd ever been next to, and that you were hell between the sheets. Show me, Patricia. Here, let me..." And with that she put her hands firmly upon Pam's tits, and there's no need to worry about the effect of breathing. Pam moaned, lifting up onto tiptoes as the woman's hands closed upon her swelling tits and she felt her nipples erect suddenly, savagely, against the fabric of her sweater.
"Oh, God," Ms. Hagen panted, "oh, dear God." She leaned closer then, her lips puckering, and she planted her mouth on Pam's bare neck, pushing aside a fall of almost-black hair to get at the skin. And when she took hold, she was like a leech, her mouth affixing itself, sucking, nibbling, her hands flexing on Pam's tits as the nipples just kept getting bigger and harder inside the sweater, bigger and harder, throbbing as they swelled, heating, bunting, burning...
Pam staggered, murmuring, "No, no," and then she was being guided backwards, Ms. Hagen prodding with her body, and almost before she knew it the couch sprang up to catch her and they were both on the small couch, half sitting, half lying down, and her sweater was being lifted by hot, eager hands.
Under the sweater she wore nothing but her skin and a dab of perfume on each nipple, and at the moment those nipples were fat swollen peaks of arousal, extended almost an inch in length.
Ms. Hagen raised her lips from Pam's neck and, before the startled part-time whore could cry out, those lips were planted squarely upon her own and a hot, passionate tongue was jammed into Pam's mouth, stabbing, dueling Pam's tongue, pressing as if it meant to thrust its way down Pam's throat. Pam moaned and bucked, and she sought to lunge up from the sofa, but Ms. Hagen slipped a leg between hers and she found herself pinned.
It certainly wasn't the first time Pam had ever been kissed, but it was the first time she'd ever been kissed with such soul-eating intensity. Saliva dripped from the other woman's mouth into hers, and that tongue kept jiggling around, and Pam closed her eyes, enduring, feeling as if she were drowning slowly in a vat of honey. Fingers closed upon her bare breasts and her nipples would have screamed, had they voices of their own.
But they didn't, and they could only twinge as those fingers plied them in a steely, expert grip, teasing the already extended nipples to even greater heights of excitement. Pam's tits dripped sweat and she felt Ms. Hagen's fingers slide about on the milky-white curves of her flesh, and each time that happened, Pam's tits seemed to balloon out a little more.
Ms. Hagen suddenly removed her mouth, giving Pam her first chance to breathe since this weird thing had gotten underway, but it was no more than a moment of freedom. "Uhhhh..." Pam moaned, and the moan died off as Ms. Hagen lowered her head and began to lick first one nipple, then the other, moving back and forth so quickly Pam couldn't tell which tit the woman was currently mouthing.
Ms. Hagen squeezed the boobs, making the nipples lance up pink and hard, inviting targets for her tongue, and she licked rapidly, closing her lips now and then to pull the nipple and suckle its rubbery point. Inside her sucking mouth, that tongue kept working, bathing the tit with saliva, and Pam could feel teeth -- small, sharp teeth, perfect teeth, exquisitely painful teeth -- digging softly but perceptibly at the flesh of her breasts again.
"Fantastic," Ms. Hagen whispered, delicately extracting her finger from a snatch that seemed reluctant to let it go. "And a cunt like a mousetrap. Ouch! Let me go, lover!"
"Uuuunnnnh..." It was all Pam could say. Her face was wet, as if she'd been crying her heart out, but it was only perspiration. She was wet between the legs too, dripping wet, and that wasn't perspiration. As Ms. Hagen's hand departed Pam replaced it with her own, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing the tingly ravine. And each time she stroked herself she felt a fresh reminder of the sudden blinding fury of the come she'd just gone through, and if she did it a few more times she could be there again, floating, if she did it a few more times.
"A hundred dollars, isn't it?" Ms. Hagen was saying. Pam looked up, eyes failing to comprehend. "A hundred dollars? For your services, darling. Isn't that the usual sum?"
Pam shook her head, still playing with her pussy. She wasn't naked -- somehow being naked would have seemed right and proper -- instead she was lewdly revealed, her sweater and skirt both yanked up to reveal her sexual parts, and she felt like a whore. But a partially satisfied whore, and that made all the difference. Slowly she allowed her hand to slide off her cunt. "You mean," she said, "that you want to hire me?"
Ms. Hagen nodded, sighing. "Came the dawn," she said with a hint of sarcasm.
"It's crazy," Pam protested. "You're a woman. I'm a woman."
"I think we just proved definitively that you are a woman, darling," Ms. Hagen replied. "Now let's see what we can do about verifying my credentials."
Pam tugged down her sweater. It didn't help. Her breasts were covered with perspiration and spittle, and the sweater clung to them, revealing every luscious curve and hollow, with the nipples vividly erect, punching out the fabric where it touched them. With her other hand she slid her skirt down. She'd worn no underwear today, as a special treat for her new customer, and now she wondered just who had gotten the benefit of the treat.
"What's wrong? Do you charge more for women?"
"I-I don't -- Ms. Hagen, I don't know how you got the idea, but I've never -- ever -- this was the first..."
"You're kidding." Ms. Hagen rose on her knees on the sofa and she stared intently at Pam's face. "You're not kidding. You've never serviced a female customer before?" Pam shook her head. Ms. Hagen took her by the shoulders. "Well," she said lightly, "you're a whore. Improvise. How much do you want?"
Pam gulped. She remembered that movie she'd watched with Mr. Ford yesterday at his hotel, the one featuring the two young girls on a picnic trip, and she remembered how much it had turned her on at the time. She'd even thought about it again last night, in the weird, free-association period her brain always went through just before she dropped off to sleep. But not seriously. She hadn't really wanted to try it. Had she? Pam moved her legs together, felt the upper curves of her thighs start to pressure in a sawing motion on the swollen, itchy puff of her twat. She closed her eyes, needing a moment to think without having to stare into those predatory green eyes...
"Sure, I'm a whore," she said, opening her eyes and looking Ms. Hagen full in the face. "And since you're getting my lesbian cherry, I think a hundred and fifty would be more in order."
Ms. Hagen smiled. Her eyes wrinkled when she smiled, and Pam found that quite fetching. All in all, Pam thought, Mrs. Hagen was an attractive woman indeed. If she was going to do it with a woman, for the first time, she could have done a lot worse than Ms. Hagen.
The woman stroked a fallen lock of hair back from Pam's forehead. "All right, Patricia darling," she said. "A hundred and fifty dollars it is. But I expect to get my money's worth from your lips. And from your hands. And anything else you care to throw in."
Pam smiled cockily. "I think you'll get your money's worth," she replied. "No one's ever asked me for a refund before."
Ms. Hagen leaned in, kissed Pam on the mouth. "Show me," she said. "Show me, Patricia."
Chapter Six
Ms. Hagen sat on the edge of her bed, sipping Jameson's and soda while Pam hurried out of her clothing. "Come here," she said, and Pam came obediently. "You have a beautiful body," Ms. Hagen went on, running a hand up and down Pam's torso, feeling her from tits to hipbones. She let her fingers glide over Pam's lower belly, the tip of one slithering through the upper reaches of dark pubic fur. "Your breasts are surprisingly firm for their size, and I love this tiny roll of pudge below your navel." She pinched it off, and Pam giggled in spite of her professionalism. "How old are you? Twenty-four, twenty-five?"
"Twenty-six."
Ms. Hagen nodded sagely. "I always wanted a body like yours," she commented, finishing her drink and putting the glass out of the way. "I always wanted those really big, bouncy tits, and an ass not too big but just big enough, and legs -- God, it should be against the law for anyone to have legs like those!"
"Mmmm," Pam cooed, stepping a little closer, "for the moment you have a body like mine, and you can do whatever you want with it, darling. I'm all yours."
"Undress me," Ms. Hagen said. She held out a foot, and Pam knelt to remove the shoe.
She couldn't be sure of her client's age. From the face, she'd have guessed middle or late thirties, but the body was something different. As the shirt and slacks peeled away, the essential Ms. Hagen came into view, and Pam found it a very edifying sight.
Ms. Hagen wore a bra and panties of pale pink under her clothing. They were sheer, wispy undies, and they veiled, rather than concealed the woman's sexual parts.
Her tits were small and round, high-set, like fresh-budded apples. They were capped by dark nipples, perfectly round, about the size of a dime. Pam stroked the bra cups, felt the hard little points of those dark nipples erect against her fingers. She'd never touched another woman's breasts before and it sent a special kind of thrill up and down her body to know that she had made those nipples harden so swiftly, so eagerly. They were stiff and rubbery where her fingers caressed, and she couldn't stop herself from leaning in and kissing the nylon bra and the trembling treasures inside it. Her lips closed upon a nipple and she sucked for a moment, tasting cloth and flesh simultaneously. By the time she moved to the other tit, she was tasting much more flesh than cloth, and the nylon was wet with her warm drool.
"Take it off," Ms. Hagen said, and Pam obediently stopped sucking. She tugged the cups free and helped Ms. Hagen pull the bra over her uplifted arms, and then she covered the naked titties with her warm, eager hands. They fluttered like frightened birds in her grasp and she looked at Ms. Hagen's eyes and saw the hard green jade melting into a liquid softness, like the shimmering surface of a woodland pool.
Pam felt herself sinking into that pool and she made no effort to break free of the spell. Yesterday this had been no more than a passing fancy, but today it was happening and she really didn't want it to stop. Anyway -- how many chances did she get to try something absolutely new, yet enticingly enjoyable, and be paid for it in the bargain? Her other tricks were one thing -- the frills might be a little kinky now and then, but basically she did, with her afternoon customers, only the things she'd been doing for years with plenty of other men. This was something else altogether, something for which she had no comparison. Yet. Her life as a part time call girl had finally led her into a really adventurous encounter and she wanted to milk it for ail the adventure she could derive.
She kissed Ms. Hagen, but quickly, as if she were half afraid of catching a germ from the other woman's lips, and it was a saucy, effective gesture. Ms. Hagen opened her mouth and tried to suck Pam in, but the older woman wasn't reacting fast enough, for Pam's lips had already dropped south, fastening for a moment on Ms. Hagen's sharp, firm chin. She gnawed softly but tellingly, heard Ms. Hagen moan, and her hands twisted with a gentle insistence on Ms. Hagen's small, hard tits. The hard nipples were like little burning coals in her palms and she crushed the upstanding tips with a passionate delight.
Pam stooped, unhanding the tits only to make them available to her lips. She opened wide, sucked in the end of a breast, and made her tongue swirl wildly around the thoroughly aroused nipple. Her mouth was full of saliva and it flowed onto Ms. Hagen's flesh.
She released the tit she'd been fucking, kissing her way through the wide flat vale of cleavage, and up the round rising curve of the other breast, leaving bright smears of lipstick on her way. It was only fair. Ms. Hagen had left lipstick all over Pam's neck, face, breasts and belly. She'd seen the smears when she undressed, and they excited her nearly as much as her own lipstick traces on the other woman's skin excited her now. Pam opened up again and sucked furiously on Ms. Hagen's right breast, pulling the nipple with her teeth until it seemed to stretch like putty.
Pam looked up, amid the circle of red kisses she was planting around Ms. Hagen's navel, right onto the heaving flat belly, and she said, "I really don't know what I'm supposed to do with you, or for you, or to you, or whatever."
"The hell you don't," Ms. Hagen panted, guiding Pam's hands to the waistband of her low-riding bikini pants.
"Mmmmm," Pam cooed, hooking her thumbs in the panties and tugging them slowly down. As she pulled, she pressed her lips to Ms. Hagen's abdomen and kissed each tantalizingly revealed inch of skin as the panties slid lower, until her lips were suddenly tickled by a fluffy bush of russet pubic hair that seemed to blossom like a sudden-blooming orchid.
Ms. Hagen shook her ass and thighs, and the panties fell to her knees. She grabbed Pam's head and steered it into her crotch, and she cried, "Now, now, for God's sake, eat me!"
Pam looked at Ms. Hagen's cunt, the first pussy she'd ever seen so breathtakingly close, and she found it a lovely sight indeed. There was an artistic perfection to this snatch, she decided, a ripe, fruit like swelling nestled between the upper thighs, split exactly in the center by a delicate-looking gash that the fluff of beaver couldn't conceal. In that gash, the inner lips were slightly visible, peeking forth modestly between the puffy outer flanges. She kissed the top of that slice, felt her lips meeting a trickle of moisture, already beginning to flow from inside, and the taste was exquisite. Her tongue shot forth, ran up and down Ms. Hagen's slit, and she licked up more of that trickling ooze of juice, licking it till her taste buds quivered in delight.
"Yes," Ms. Hagen moaned from above, still holding Pam's head, "I -- oh, do it, damn you, don't make me wait!"
Pam had no intention of making anyone wait, least of all herself. She put her fingers on the symmetrically cut lips, opened them, and nuzzled with her lips the emerging inner labia. They were slick and wet, and they seemed to open of their own volition when her mouth brushed them. She felt the hard bump of Ms. Hagen's erected clit, firm and hot against her lips, and there was a moment of delicious tickling on the rim of Pamela's mouth. She sucked in her breath, felt Ms. Hagen shiver against her, and then Pam stuck out her tongue, stabbed it into Ms. Hagen, probing as deeply as she could manage, right up the hot, wet sex tube itself. The muscles near the opening began to ripple and contract around her prodding tongue and Pam knew for the very first time how a man must feel, thrusting his cock up a responsive twat. She loved the knowledge.
"Pretty, pretty," she murmured into the pussy as she nuzzled it, and the vibration of her soft-spoken words made a fresh ooze of dew leak from Ms. Hagen's hole. Pam lapped at it with her frisky tongue, scooping inside to pick up more. The cuntal mouth dilated as she attacked it, and it winked open, pulling Pam back inside, treating her to the same kind of agitated rippling she'd felt so delightfully before.
"You know what you're doing," Ms. Hagen groaned, wrapping her hot hands around Pam's moving head. "And you had the nerve to tell me this was your first time."
Maybe Pam knew what she was doing, and maybe she was doing it just right, but if she'd felt like stopping she'd have explained that this really was her first time with another woman, that she was allowing her instincts, and her instincts alone, to guide her. However, she reflected, actions spoke much louder than words, and she decided to let action have its full rein.
Still holding the cuntal slice open with her fingers, she began to lick up and down, licking hungrily everything from clit to pussy mouth, dipping her tongue in wherever she could find a hole or a fold or a tiny crevice that seemed in need of lingering mouth work.
"Let me -- let me lie down," Ms. Hagen called from above. "I can't stand up much longer -- not if you're going to -- going to -- oh, Jesus..."
Still mouthing pussy, sucking and kissing and licking as if she'd been doing it all her life and not for merely the past five minutes, Pam guided Ms. Hagen back toward the bed. Fortunately, it wasn't far, and in just a moment the older woman bumped against the edge of the mattress and fell back, her ass coming to rest upon the waiting bed.
Pam unglued her mouth from Ms. Hagen's snatch reluctantly, and she hurriedly removed the woman's panties and shoes. There! That was a lot better! Now Ms. Hagen's legs were free, and they could be spread so widely that the delicious twat sliced open of its own accord. "Slide back," she commanded. "Make same room for me." Legs parted, cunt gashed open, Ms. Hagen sidled over and Pam crawled onto the bed too.
Ms. Hagen sat up, but not far -- only high enough for her mouth to make a fresh connection with Pam's. She accepted greedily the tongue that thrust into her, and she sucked it dry of the pussy juices Pam had lapped from her. Ms. Hagen sucked voraciously, and Pam recognized the frenzied technique. Heretofore she'd thought of that kind of mouth action only in terms of a cock rammed between her own lips, but it worked nicely -- very nicely with her tongue in the other woman's mouth.
She ground her lips against Ms. Hagen's until the friction threatened to set both their mouths afire, and her hand kept working back and forth, in and out of the hot, wet slice of Ms. Hagen's cunt. It was nearly as nice to feel that pussy convulsing on her finger, but the snagging muscle action only made her long for another taste, another long, thrusting insertion of her tongue, and she broke off the kiss hastily, moving down Ms. Hagen's body.
Again she visited the stiff dark nipples, sucking them until they scorched her mouth, and she licked a wet trail down Ms. Hagen's belly, bee-lining for the patch of russet fur and the sweet treasure it contained.
"Open wide," she said, and the legs parted eagerly, the inner labia thrusting to meet her oncoming lips. Pam kissed the vulva, then slithered her tongue up Ms. Hagen. Her hands roved up and down the quivering thighs. They were smooth and firm, well-muscled, in prime shape. Ms. Hagen might be ten years older than Pam, but she had the body of an athletic young girl, and working on it was a joy.
Damn the money, Pam thought. I've got to bring her off. I want to do it. God I want her to do me, too! This has nothing to do with money. It's lust, and, oh, Jesus, I feel so Goddamned lusty! My body is a volcano, ready to explode. If only she'd touch me again, touch me the way she did on the couch. I'd give her back the fucking money. Oh, please!
She moved her lower body, brought it closer to Ms. Hagen. Pam could smell the hot swampy arousal of her cunt, and she hoped that the pungent sexy aroma might give Ms. Hagen ideas. Still, she couldn't forget her own duties, and she kept licking, stabbing her randy, cunt-crazed tongue in and out, drinking pussy-honey by the spoonful.
"Ohhhhh..." Pam moaned, suddenly as a fierce hand clamped down on her pussy. It had to be Ms. Hagen's, for both her own hands were busy stroking thighs, tickling around the split ends of the woman's gash. She clenched her legs together on the clutching hand, felt its pressure increase, and milky cum began to leak from her in a trickle that threatened each moment to become a veritable river of cream.
One good turn deserved another. She licked faster, in the hole, out the hole, spilling drool in frothy bubbles, and she set up a fast, frenzied pattern of circles around and around Ms. Hagen's stiff red clit. The sex button was unmistakable, impossible to miss, too lovely to ignore. Her tongue slavered across it, she felt a responding throb, and then she was sucking the clit, sucking it as if it were a stiff, passion-swollen nipple hard and hot against her tongue, and she thought, There's something magical about this. Something wonderful and perfect. God, I'm loving her pussy just the way I like to have mine done. It's almost as if I'm bent over double, sucking myself off! When I lick her, when I kiss her, when I suck her, I can feel it in my own snatch, and it makes me hotter, God, so much hotter...
Some of that, of course, was due to the fact that one of Ms. Hagen's fingers was again delving in Pam's twat, reaming the tight, receptive hole with sure, slow strokes, coating itself further in hat inner juices with each thrust. Pam writhed as the nimble digit invaded her, and she flexed her thighs open and shut on the hand to which the finger belonged, gasping into Ms. Hagen's cunt with each ripple of excitement through her own body. Her tongue shot deeply as she gasped, and Ms. Hagen's own frantic writhing was a source of pride and pleasure to the determined young woman. If she was going to lose her bisexual cherry, there was no better way to lose it, Pam decided, her face bobbing up and down in Ms. Hagen's crotch.
Pam looked at the expanse of sex open before her, and she couldn't content herself merely with licking and kissing Ms. Hagen's twat. She forced her lips to abandon the juicing silt and she started to lick and nuzzle the sensitive region at the tops of Ms. Hagen's thighs. At least she was very sensitive there, and the current rubbing of Ms. Hagen's hand in that area was enough to drive her over the fucking wall! And she hoped that the gesture would be acceptable to her client.
It was. Ms. Hagen wailed, "Oh, God, do it agaaaaiiinnnn!" And Pam was delighted to do just that. Her tongue glided across the smooth, sweat glistening flesh, visited the nerve endings which lay so close to the epidermis there, and tickled lasciviously until a fresh ooze of cummy juices formed on the lips of the nearby snatch. Pam grazed it with her cheek, felt the hot musky dew collect on her skin, and she turned her face around, tongue burrowing into the sweet pot of honey.
Ms. Hagen jerked up, as if a jolt of electricity had just spurted through her body, and Pam saw the woman's small reddish asshole, almost hidden in the tight-clenched crack below the pussy. She thrust in with a stiff, eager finger, pronged the anus forcefully, felt its tight ring yield slightly. Pam angled her face deeper into Ms. Hagen's spread lap and she separated the buttocks, allowing her tongue to push lazily into the vicinity of the asshole. Again Ms. Hagen jerked, and the jerk seemed to bring her rectal opening and Pam's tongue into direct contact.
"Lick me," Ms. Hagen panted, "lick my ass! Kiss it! Suck it! God, do anything you feel like doing!"
For a moment Pam did lick her anus, and it wasn't so unusual; she did it for her husband, sometimes, when she was really pulling a production number on his cock and balls. Pam didn't expect the opening to taste of shit, and it didn't. Instead, there was a pungent, fleshy flavor, mingled with salty bubbles of sweat, and her tongue laved back again and again, revisiting Ms. Hagen's anus, teasing about as if she meant to bugger the woman with her frisky tongue.
"Ouch!" Pam squealed suddenly, and she twisted her lower body. "What are you doing?"
It was a silly question. There was no need whatsoever to ask it. Ms. Hagen's intent was quite obvious. She had one finger in Pam's pussy and, right now, she was busy trying to stick another finger up Pam's asshole. Pam moaned again, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to be finger cornholed, but in a moment it mattered not because she was being fingered in both holes at once, and she closed her eyes for a second, content to bask in the wondrous sensation of it.
Ms. Hagen moved her hand, each of those inserted fingers pushing like explorers through virgin jungle, and she felt the tips of them almost come together, only a thin wall of tissue separating them, the wall of slender flesh which divided her cuntal tube from her rectal chute, and the fingers kept pressing, as if they meant to tear their way through that barrier, and Pam opened her eyes and her mouth too, opened it in a scream.
She was coming, coming uncontrollably, both cunt and ass contracting muscularly around Ms. Hagen's fingers, a thick flood of milk oozing from her gash, and she wanted to lie there relishing that come, to feel her juice gushing, to feel her muscles working like well-tuned machines while her eyes throbbed in their sockets -- and her heart did ninety-five and blood rushed from her cunt to her heart and back again, so fast that consciousness was only a fleeting sensation, on now, off now...
But she had a job to perform, no matter how she felt, a job for which she'd already been paid, a hundred and fifty dollars, and the least she could do was split the money back again with Ms. Hagen for the job she'd done on her. No, the least she could do was give Ms. Hagen full value for that hundred and fifty dollars and by God, she'd give it to her, she'd give the queer bitch her Goddamned money's worth, she'd eat her pussy until it was nothing but a shredded gash, she'd suck her dry, suck cum till Ms. Hagen's ovaries collapsed inside her belly.
Pam raised her mouth and covered Ms. Hagen's twat and she sucked like a vacuum cleaner, her tongue shooting out now and then to flick neatly over the exposed, aroused clit or to shove its irresistible way up Ms. Hagen's cunt itself, ramming through the dilated hole, past the clenching muscles, into the slick interior of the snatch, where a wagonload of thick hot honey awaited her.
Pam sucked, and her mouth was full of cum and sweat and rubbery, quivering flesh, and there were loose hairs stuck to her tongue, too, but she didn't mind them, for she heard Ms. Hagen cry out, "God -- nowwww! I'M COMMIINNNNGGGG! DRINK ME DRY! SUCK ME! GODDDDD!"
And her fingers pressed as far as they could into Pamela, and the tips of her fingers seemed to meet, to touch one another, that wall of flesh between them melting away, and the two women clutched one another and rocked together, sharing their passion at the moment of its completion.
The last thought that crossed Pam's mind before her eyes snapped shut and her head went numb was, I'm glad I don't have any more clients this afternoon, because I am Goddamned fucked out!
Chapter Seven
Ms. Hagen lit a cigarette and took a solemn, thoughtful drag. She offered it to Pam who shook her head. "I don't smoke. But I think I could use another shot of that Irish whisky."
Pam sipped at her Jameson's, leaving a thin lipstick smear on the glass, and Ms. Hagen took the glass, drinking from the same place, so that a little mark of her own lipstick blended with Pam's on the rim of the glass. Somehow it seemed very appropriate; but how much more appropriate to merge their lipstick the right way, and Pam turned Ms. Hagen's face toward her own, mouth puckering.
"Mmmmm," she purred as their lips came together, warm, wet, tongues tangling languidly where they kissed.
"Mmmmm, indeed," Ms. Hagen sighed. "You're everything Jack Pendexter promised, and more besides." She slipped her arm around Pam and cuddled close. It felt weird, but so right to be lying there, another woman stretched beside her, hard, apple breasts grazing her flesh as a constant reminder of the sex they'd just shared. And between her legs was still another, memory, a sweet, sweet memory indeed. Pam's cunt ached and so did her asshole, but the aching was the most delicious she could recall in a long, long time. She brought her thighs together, squeezed them upon her snatch, and that aching spread through her body. Beautifully.
"Why did you call me?" she asked at last, while Ms. Hagen blew smoke rings into the air.
"If you still don't know why I called you, perhaps you belong in some other business. Of course, this is just a hobby with you anyway, isn't it?" Pam lifted her eyebrows quizzically. "Isn't it?" Ms. Hagen repeated. "I mean, according to Jack, you're only available afternoons. Which indicates that you have something else to do the rest of the day. Unless my eyes deceive me, that something else includes being a lovely young housewife to some man who has no idea how you spend your afternoons. Don't hold your breath that way. It's bad for your health. How do I know you're a housewife? Well, that white mark around your third finger, left hand, for one thing." Pam looked down quickly. There was a white mark, even though she'd left her wedding ring at home as always. She blushed.
"No matter," Ms. Hagen wept on. "You're very good, easily the best I've ever run into. As Jack said, balling you isn't like balling a whore at all. You don't mind if I call you a whore, do you? I rather like the word. It makes me feel depraved and degenerate when I go to one. And I do, occasionally. Not at home, because there's no need. You'd be surprised how many women in New York City are available, to a woman who knows how to gauge availability. On the road -- well, it's harder to find the kind of woman I enjoy being with, so I generally rely on whores. Mmmm, Patricia darling, you're in a class by yourself!"
Pam asked, "Are you on the road often?"
Ms. Hagen smiled and stubbed out her cigarette. "Occasionally. I haven't been here in God knows how long -- some company business that was delegated my way -- much rather be traveling to L.A., which is nearly as good as New York, but, ah Patricia, I don't feel this was a wasted trip. Not at all." She let her fingertips glide slowly across Pam's nearest tit and she smiled, again to see the nipple struggling to stiffen itself. Her fingers closed languidly upon the nipple and she squeezed till Pam moaned and covered her hand with both of her own, clutching Ms. Hagen to her throbbing breast.
"Are you a lesbian?" Pam asked, wishing the question didn't sound so inane.
"Not really," Ms. Hagen said, toying with Pam's boob. "I prefer women, of course, and I think I perform splendidly with them; but if the right kind of man turns up I'm very willing to spread my legs and let him shove his big hard cock up me. He has to be a certain kind of man, though. Macho, but not gross about it. Handsome, but not too pretty. I met one today and I may give him a tumble before I fly home. Shouldn't be too difficult to get into his pants, especially since he already has reason to be grateful to me."
She sighed, and Pam did too, for a basic realization had just occurred to her. No matter how exciting this afternoon had been -- for both of them -- she was still nothing more to Ms. Hagen than a casual whore, whose services the older woman had purchased at a specified price. As proof of that, Ms. Hagen was even now talking offhandedly about the possible seduction of some man, caring not at all that a little blaze of jealousy had begun to burn in Pam's breast.
Jealousy? Why should Pam be jealous? After all -- she was only a whore, rented out by the hour to anyone who could afford her price. But if she was only a whore, why had she responded so fantastically to Ms. Hagen and her lesbian lovemaking? Why had she performed spontaneously and excitingly actions she'd never really contemplated before in her life?
She looked at Ms. Hagen and found her exquisitely beautiful to look upon. Sex had softened the green eyes, made the strongly chiseled face relax tellingly. Pam's lipstick was still smeared on Ms. Hagen's firm, supple body, and Ms. Hagen's lipstick was all over Pam. If it weren't for Kerry, she'd never wash those smears away, she'd keep them as souvenirs of her lesbian defloration.
Kerry!
"Oh, my God," Pam said suddenly. "What time is it?"
"Almost four," Ms. Hagen said.
"I'm sorry," Pam apologized, dismounting from the bed and gathering up her clothes. "I have to go." She did, indeed. Kerry would be home from work soon, and there was that cocktail party tonight. She'd have to look for an appropriate dress. Oh, shit, there wasn't enough time! She'd make time. And the hundred and fifty dollars from Ms. Hagen was already earmarked for that new dress. God, Pam hoped she could find something before the stores closed and still get home in time to fix Kerry a decent meal. Maybe she'd stop at the fish and chips place and get a takeout dinner. Yes. That would give her a little extra time to hunt for a new dress.
"I'd like to see you again before I fly back to New York, Patricia," Ms. Hagen called from the bed.
Pam turned. For the first time since she'd begun her career as an afternoon call girl she wanted to throw her alias out the window. It hadn't been like whoring when she was busy with Ms. Hagen, and she wished she could be simply Pamela Wilson right now, not some invented creature named Patti Wright. Oh, the hell with it!
"I'm busy tonight," Ms. Hagen added, "but I suppose you are, too. Do you have any free time tomorrow?"
Pam chewed her lip. She'd never worked an extra day before, only her normal Tuesday through Thursday schedule, but this wasn't quite like working. Part of her was unsure, but the other part of her wanted very much to see Ms. Hagen again, and not necessarily on a business arrangement. She'd learned today that her body was capable of a great many new and delightful responses, and she wanted to indulge those responses again, as soon as possible. But did she dare? Was she getting into something she couldn't handle? "Call me," she said. "Leave your number with my service. If I can -- if I possibly can..." She couldn't say any more. Tugging her sweater down, Pam went out the door in search of her hat and coat and shoes.
She was in the kitchen when Kerry, entered the front door, and her heart slowed a telltale beat. The fish and chips were warming in the oven, and she was stirring a pan of mixed vegetables on the stovetop. God, how could she face him? Today, for the first time, she'd been unfaithful to him, in her mind and her heart, the only places it really counted. All those other days she'd merely rented out her pussy, but today she'd gotten involved. All the way down the elevator, constantly as she shopped for a party outfit, all the way home too -- she'd been thinking of nothing except Mr. Hagen and sex with her on that hotel bed. If she hadn't already spent the money, Pam would gladly have returned to the Hartford House and reimbursed the woman, then begged her for another go.
Of course the idea had been building in her head since yesterday, whet she and Mr. Ford watched his dirty movies, but she had never guessed that her mind curiosity would be fulfilled, and so Goddamned soon! Jesus! She had always known men were swapping her number around -- that was SOP for call girls -- but it had never crossed her mind that one of those men might pass the number along to a woman. Well, today she'd found out, and it had been fantastic. Kerry came into the kitchen and Pam swallowed the lump in her throat, wondering if she could possibly allow men -- allow any man -- to touch her again.
"Hi, babe," he whispered into her ear, and then his lips closed upon the lobe and she felt his warm, well-remembered tongue lick gently at her flesh. He put his hands on her waist and leaned against her ass, and she could feel something very hard and solid inside his pants. "Brought home a couple of things for you," he added. "Here's the other one." And his hand moved around in front and it was full of a bouquet of white roses, Pam's favorite. She smelled, sighed, and tried to collect herself.
Pam turned, took the roses. He was still leaning close, and now his boner, an erection that filled the front of his pants, pressed against her front. She'd bathed after coming home, mostly to remove the lipstick smears on her body, and right now she was wearing only a short robe and ice-blue panties. Kerry was fully dressed, but his cock was so blatantly erect he might as well have been naked, rubbing her the way he was.
"Are you all primed for the party?" he asked, kissing her neck.
"Mmmm-hmmm," she sighed. "But do we really have to go?"
"Ten-four," he said, undoing the sash of her robe. The garment opened and her tits spilled out, creamy-white, the pink nipples flushed still, in memory of the wonderful sucking and fingering they'd gotten a few hours ago from Ms. Hagen. One touch of his eager hands and her nipples stood up like pink flagpoles. "Oh, yeah," Kerry enthused, squeezing her nips between his fingers, his hands possessive and grasping on her flesh.
Pam sighed again, her tits lifting, swelling, and then his mouth was on hers and she sidled away from the lit stove behind her. When they got to the dishwasher, Kerry braked her with his leg and one of his thumbs hooked in the waistband of her panties.
"I can't help myself," he said, tugging the little blue undies down, "you just do something to me. It's called 'hardening my pecker'. Feel?"
He leaned in again, and this time his pants-covered bone touched Pam's furry twat. She was exquisitely tender there, thanks to the rough, incredibly erotic handjob Ms. Hagen had given her, and the very touch of him sent shivers of pain up and down her stomach.
"We'd better hurry," he observed, unzipping himself and hauling out his cock. It was a struggle getting it free, because he was so hard and the pants fit so tightly around his cock, and before he could expose himself properly he had to unbelt and unbutton his trousers. But when he did, his big stiff dick lunged out, and the hot ruby tip bounced onto Pam's taut stomach. She lifted up the back, and his knob slithered through her bush, and she wondered if she could go through with this at all. Making it with a man -- even a man she loved -- now -- after what had just happened to her -- could she?
"What about dinner?" Pam moaned, one of her tits a prisoner in his kneading hand.
"We can eat any time," he smiled, "but right now I feel like fucking." Kerry bit her chin. "Oh, don't worry, kid. Remember -- we have that party to go to, and most likely we'll be too drunk to do anything but sleep when we get home. Mmmm, spread 'em for me, puss, spread 'em, yeah, let Daddy kiss you with his cock -- Jesus, you're soaking wet! Say 'ahhhh' -- oh, shit!!"
And with that he stuffed his tool up her slit, and she felt her cuntal walls expanding to make room for him, and suddenly he was in her to the balls and she was a live, squirming mass of flesh around him.
"Oh, Godddd..." Pam's voice was a quivery cry, and she had to grab his shoulders before she collapsed heavily upon him.
"Oh, Christ, you're hot inside, baby, and so wet I don't think I can get a foothold -- yeah -- screw yourself on me -- mmmm, baby, you're doing it -- fuck me, fuck me like a man -- suck it up your pussy, Pam -- God, do it, baby, do it for me..."
And, God, she was doing it, she was moving in quick, hungry plunges and lifts, dragging his cock all the way up her rippling, slippery-slick cuntal tube, then unsheathing him till only the fat horny head of his dong remained inside her, throbbing just within the portals of her pussy lips -- and then swooping down again, swallowing him with vaginal hiccups that made him groan as if his balls were caught in a tightening vise.
"Yes," she panted, "let me have it, Kerry, take me like a whore, screw me till I can taste your fat beautiful cock in the bottom of my throat..."
And she meant it. Oh, Jesus, she meant it! Her cunt slavered for him as it had never slavered before, and she couldn't get enough of the rigid organ he kept jamming into her. The itch between her legs grew with maddening speed and intensity, and he couldn't fuck her fast enough to quell that desperate itching.
Or could she? Pam lifted one leg, wrapped it around Kerry's calves, and she plastered herself to him, still bobbing up and down on the rigid stalk of his dick, her ass swaying from side to side as her pussy gobbled him with gusto. She reached low, into his undone pants, and grabbed a handful of his ass, her fingers slipping into his crack where they could get at his balls from behind. God, such big, lovely balls too! She wished she could be down on him right now, sucking his cock and his stones with a hot mouth and frisky tongue -- but she wanted it this way, too, his cock in her twat, big and hard and driving, sending her up the wall as he thrust, each stroke bringing her that much closer to ahot creamy come.
It hadn't changed. Nothing had really changed, Pam decided, her cunt twisting and twitching on Kerry's dong. She wrapped herself around him, drawing strength from his hard muscular body and his hard muscular dick, and she shared a little of her own weakness with him, but he was top enwrapped in his pleasure to notice. So much the better.
Oh, God, she thought, I've been such a fool! Going out day after day and whoring my body for the sake of money I don't need and cheap thrills I could have done without, too. But it was over. Today she'd crossed the line between adventure and danger, and the thought of how close she'd really come was a constant ache in her bosom, a flash of pain through her mind. Yes, it was all over. Definitely. Irrevocably. Patricia Wright had died sometime between four and six o'clock this afternoon and for Patricia Wright there would be no resurrection.
"I can't prop you up any more," Kerry muttered. "I've had a hard day. Let's lie down before my legs give out."
"Don't take it out of me," Pam implored. "Let me feel your cock inside me every minute of the day, every day, from now on. For God's sake, don't take it out."
He moved slowly, carefully, bringing her with him, and his pants fell as he settled onto, the floor. Pam ground her loins against him, making sure that his cock stayed within her clutching twat, and she came to rest upon his lap. Kerry lay back, thrusting up as his head and shoulders touched the floor, and he reached for his wife's pert, perky ass. She squealed when he grabbed her, and she began to ride him with a passion that made her stand-up fucking look tame by comparison.
She reared up, almost to the tip of his throbbing pecker, and she slammed down with sure, knowing wiggles of her ass, feeling him thrust to the very mouth of her uterus, the tip of his cock battering hard upon her cervix and her only regret was that she couldn't open a little wider and suck him up her belly, nestle his loving tool in the warm basket of her guts and, at last, feel him shooting off his load of thick cummy sperm deep in there.
"Make me come," she groaned, slamming down upon him. His nuts rocked beneath her when she plummeted, and the stones were big and thick, swollen with lust just the way his prick was swollen with lust. Pam wiggled about on him, squirming excitedly, allowing his dick to rotate inside her tight glove of a twat, and she felt the come begin to roll down her tubes, irresistible, totally irresistible, and the hot juices oozed from her gash, wetting his pubic hair and the base of his dong.
"AAAGGHHHH!" Pam whined, throwing her head back and rocking down, down, down upon him. She swayed where she rode high above her husband, and she'd have fallen if he hadn't grabbed her, one hand on her waist, the other on her ass, and she felt him thrust up through her orgasm, plunging deep into her cunt, but he couldn't make it a bit sweeter than it was already, and she tossed her long raven-dark hair about as she erupted atop him.
"Baby, baby, baby," he purred, "let me finish in your mouth, hmmm?"
Pam was vaguely aware of his words, and she was vaguely aware that he was helping her to disengage herself, and then she was lying reversed atop him and Kerry was pulling her pussy toward his face. She moaned as she realized what he had in mind, and she fucked his mouth with her hot, dripping pussy, screaming "YESSSS!" when his tongue shot up her. Before her blinking eyes swayed the red, swollen lance of his hard-on, and she grabbed it with both hands, opening her mouth into a lip-stretching O of passion that encompassed and swallowed him without a moment's hesitation. He plunged deeply into her mouth, almost the full length of his eight-inch tool entering her, and she began to suck him vengefully, her teeth and lips and cheeks and tongue, all working in harmony Kerry's dick.
He repaid her in kind, delightfully. His hands were on her ass and legs, stroking and tickling from her responses that made her head swim in abandon, and she sucked all the harder to demonstrate her gratitude. His tongue jabbed up her pussy so many times she couldn't keep count, and each stab was met by a snapping contraction of her vaginal muscles that threatened to jerk the tongue right out of his mouth and draw it inside her for eternity.
As he licked, as he fondled, his fingers brushed now and then over her anus, and she felt a mingled pain and pleasure. Pam couldn't forget how she'd climaxed this afternoon with Ms. Hagen's fingers digging into her pussy and asshole simultaneously, and she almost wished Kerry would jab his finger up her ass right now, make her squeal, make her scream, make her moan, but above all, make her come like a gushing fountain.
Oh, God, she was already doing just that! Her cunt humped down on his face, his nose burrowed into her black-furred delta, and his tongue lustfully explored the wet mysteries of her dreamy snatch. She fed his prick into her mouth and she sucked, but he still wasn't there and she was already, had been for so long it felt as if she'd been doing nothing but coming for most of her life. Pam wrapped her fists around Kerry's dick and she lifted her head, nursing on his knob as she shucked up and down in quick, frantic strokes. It wasn't much of a blowjob -- she realized that, realized she was doing little more than jerking him off into her mouth -- but he didn't seem to care and she couldn't wait another second for the flood of hot thick jism she knew he was about to bless her with, and so she worked on, lips tight around the knob of his pecker, hands flying up and down the shaft.
"MMMMMM!" he groaned into her twat, the vibrations whipping Pam into yet another explosion of orgasm, and then his own began. His cock engorged fantastically in her mouth, and suddenly she was drinking semen, scooping it with her tongue, pouring it down her throat while his cock shot out more and more and more of the viscous, sweet-tangy liquid to keep her full, full, God, so full! Pam moaned around his dong and she drank his love gift with a frantic, all-consuming need.
Yes! She thought. Yes yes yes!! Nothing had changed. They were still perfect together. And she didn't need anyone else. Her Kerry could supply all the adventure, all the fun, all the splendid sexual delight Pam Wilson craved. Oh, God, could he ever! She was strangling on the thick lashings of cum he squirted into her mouth, but if she'd died, there would have been a smile on her lovely face. As of this moment Patricia Wright was dead. Dead! She wanted nothing more, for the rest of her life, than to be a loved and loving wife to her man.
They finally ate their fish and chips -- the vegetables were a disaster, overcooked, burned, stuck to the bottom of the pan -- but Pam's tastebuds were so suffused by the cum she'd drunk that her food all reminded her, deliciously, of hot gushing semen, and there wasn't a Goddamned thing wrong with that.
After dinner Kerry went to shower and get dressed and, as soon as she heard him start to sing in the shower, Pam dialed the Logan Answering Service. "Hello," she said, "this is Patricia Wright, and I'm calling to tell you that I won't be accepting any more messages. Yes, I know I'm paid up for two more weeks, but that doesn't matter. Well, if anyone calls for me, tell them I've moved to Pittsburgh and left no forwarding address or phone number. Yes. Thank you very much." Sighing, she hung up the phone. It was as if a great burden had been lifted from her breast. She went into the bedroom and laid out the outfit she'd brought this afternoon with her last whore's earnings.
"Do you like it?" she asked Kerry, modeling the outfit for him. He nodded, eyes gleaming. "You don't think it's too -- sexy?"
"Hell, yes, it's too sexy! All I can do to keep from jumping your body right now! But I love it. Oh, baby, that's you!"
Of course it was. She'd known it was perfect the moment she saw it in a store window after leaving Ms. Hagen's hotel. And she'd known Kerry would like it, too. It was a lovely ensemble, composed of a silk slip-dress, long-skirted, low-necked, with little straps, the bodice tucked in right beneath her tits, to emphasize their heavy fullness. With it went a satiny bed jacket which gave the outfit a kind of boudoir ambience that Pam found irresistible.
"You don't think it's too daring? For a party at your boss's house, I mean?" Pam smoothed the silk across her tits. Because of the low cut it was impossible to wear a bra underneath and her nipples punched into the silk as hands slid across them. Pam took a deep breath, making her boobs lift, and she aimed them at Kerry, knowing how much he loved her tits.
He put down his shirt and came toward her. His own nipples were sticking out too, amid the hair that forested his broad chest, and she put her hands on them, loving the little stiff bumps beneath her palms. "I mean," she added, "do you want me to go around showing most of what I've got? In view of the company?"
"Fuck the company. And the Company, too. I want them all to know what a hot bitchin' wife I lucked onto. Jesus, Pam, I want to watch their eyes gleaming when they look at you, and I want to stand around grinning like a shit-eating dog because you belong to me. All of you. They can look, but nobody else can touch."
Nobody else could touch. Well, it was true now, even if it hadn't been true until maybe half an hour ago. Oh, forget it! That part of her life was totally ended. She had the future to consider now. And part of that future consisted of Kerry's upcoming promotion. He'd been coy and mum on the subject after coming home, even when she pressed him, but she suspected that the announcement would be made at the party tonight. "How about the big shots from New York?" she smirked, rubbing her tits and crotch against him. "What will they think of me?"
Kerry grinned. "Some of 'em might give you a second look. Some might not. Hey!" He slapped her ass playfully. "We'd better haul ass if we want to get there in time."
Pam squealed, just as playfully, and she wished they could merely strip off what clothes they'd already put on, pile into the bed, and fuck their brains out for the rest of the night. But if they had to go to the Goddamned party, then go they would.
The party was at the home of Mr. Murdock, the plant superintendent. It was a lovely house, in the most sedate section of the community, a stone-built Colonial with Grecian columns at the front. "We'll have a place like this someday," Kerry told Pam as they pulled up in front. He stroked hey leg, from knee to crotch, and again she wished they could skip this social engagement.
"Let's pay for our own house first," she suggested, sighing wistfully as he took away his hand and went around to open her door. Together, they entered the house.
There was a large, high-ceilinged ballroom on the ground floor, and in it the guests were congregated. Kerry took her around, introducing her to Mr. and Mrs. Murdock, other dignitaries from the plant, and to a couple of representatives from the New York offices. Pam had wondered if her outfit wasn't a little too disco-modern for this sort of party -- after all, the other women were mostly wearing party pantsuits or sedate cocktail dresses -- but without exception the men's eyes brightened at the sight of her, and each man who shook her hand seemed very reluctant to let it go.
"Was that the big shot?" Pam whispered as they moved past one of the New York people. "The one who's going to give you the upward mobility?"
Kerry shook his head. "No, these are just small fish. Actually, you'd be surprised to see who was in charge of the delegation the main office sent down. Rig business is supposed to be a man's game, you always seem to think, but -- oh, come on!"
A tall, russet-haired woman stood at the far side of the room, drink in one hand, cigarette in the other. She had her back to Kerry and Pam, but there was something about the way she stood that rang a tantalizing chord of memory in Pam.
"Dianne," Kerry said, and the woman turned, smiling. Pam felt the blood rushing out of her head, going to God knew where. She was dizzy, or so she felt, and one of her feet dragged as Kerry led her on. She didn't want to take another step. She wanted to turn around, to run out the door, to go home, and hide under her bed for the rest of her life.
"Dianne," Kerry repeated as they stopped in front of the woman, "I'd like you to meet my wife Pamela. Pam, honey, this is Dianne. She is our fairy godmother, you might say."
"Hello, Pam," said Ms. Hagen, offering her hand. "It's nice to meet you."
Chapter Eight
Dianne Hagen leaned in to kiss Kerry on the cheek. Or so it would have appeared to anyone watching from a distance. But Pam was close enough to see the woman's lips brush quickly across Kerry's mouth, and she was close enough to see a slight flush spread across her husband's face. Turning, the woman looked Pam up and down with amused green eyes.
"You must be very proud of your husband," she said. "It's not very often that the Company decides to elevate a blue-collar man to the executive suites. Only when it's a blue-collar man as qualified and deserving as Kerry. How do you feel, on the verge of becoming Mrs. Assistant Superintendent, Pam?"
So. The promotion was official. But, God, to hear it from those lips -- the lips she'd spent all afternoon kissing!
Pam looked at the woman, visualizing that body as she'd seen it this afternoon. And she could remember everything now hidden under the velvet trouser suit Ms. Hagen wore -- the small hard breasts with their small hard nipples, the tiny navel, slender hips and legs, the russet patch of fur between the upper thighs, the cunt -- oh, God, the cunt! -- that was a narrow, tight-mouthed red slice in the midst of that puff of hair. As surely as Ms. Hagen must now be recalling Pam's own body. Jesus, there was no mistaking the meaning in those green eyes. They were cool, calculating, totally in control of the situation, and Pam knew that in another moment she'd be sick, dreadfully sick.
Ms. Hagen was holding one of. Kerry's hands, talking to him in a light, casual voice while her eyes focused on Kerry's wife, and Pam felt a gnawing anxiety. Was her reformation all for nothing? Would Ms. Hagen, in another moment, mention in that same casual tone, "Oh, by the way, I met the most darling call girl today. You lucky devil, I had to pay a hundred and fifty dollars for the rental of her body, but you get her for free, any time you want!"
But she didn't. Instead, she took a step toward Pam and said, "That's a lovely outfit, Pamela. Oh, Kerry, dear, would you get me a refill, please? Irish and soda. I'd like to toast your advancement in the Company."
And then they were alone, but Pam didn't want to be alone with Dianne Hagen. Before Kerry could return with the drinks, she said, "Excuse me, there's something I have to do." And site moved away, as fast as decorum would permit.
"Pam," called Ms. Hagen, but Pam wasn't listening and she certainly wasn't going back to find out what Dianne wanted. A maid at the snack table directed her upstairs to one of the bathrooms and she hurried up the stain, barely able to hold back tears of shame and fright.
She'd been in the bathroom for about ten minutes when she heard a knocking on the door. The sound was an intrusion upon her thoughts, but her thoughts were so terrible that intrusion was almost welcome. Dear God, what had she gotten herself into with that ridiculous, adolescent thrill-seeking? She'd prostituted herself to the lusts of Christ knew how many different men and, today -- oh, God, today -- she'd really done it. She'd gone to bed with the female executive who was handling her husband's promotion. Oh, Lord, why couldn't she have given up afternoon whoring yesterday, instead of today? Why hadn't she simply walked out when she found that her final client was a woman, not a man? Why had she ever gotten started in the first place? So many questions, and there were no fortheoming answers to any of them.
Again the knocking. Pam wiped her nose with a tissue. "Just a minute," she said. "I'll be finished in a minute."
The door opened and Dianne Hagen stepped into the bathroom. She closed the door behind her and fiddled a moment with its lock. "There," she said. "Now we shouldn't be disturbed."
"Don't come in here," Pam said weakly. "Please, I'm already in," Dianne replied. "But with us, that's nothing new, is it, Patricia darling? God, I forgot! It's Pamela, not Patricia. Pamela Wilson, Patricia Wright. Not a very original name-change, but then, most people choosing aliases tend to stick with their own initials. Darling, you can't imagine how astonished I was to see you a few moments ago. And as Kerry's wife, no less!"
Pam backed against the sink cabinet. "Please don't come any closer. I'd really like to be alone, if it's okay with you."
"Being alone isn't good for you," Dianne purred, sidling against Pam. The hard breasts grazed Pam's arm, and the dark-haired young wife shivered. She stood almost six feet tall in her heels tonight, but she felt like a dwarf about to be stepped on by an elephant.
Not that Dianne resembled an elephant. Far from it. She was slender and lithe, and she moved like a cat, and very feline, too, was the glow in her green eyes, the curiously triumphant cast of her smile. She smelled of subtle, expensive perfume, and her body heat seemed to make the entire bathroom suddenly very warm, very steamy. Pam's lungs tightened and breathing became an act of great difficulty.
If breathing was difficult, moving was even more so. Pam wanted to step out of the way, but her legs were made of steel and her feet of cast iron and she couldn't lift them; couldn't walk, couldn't not even when Dianne ran the backs of her fingers along Pam's cheek and across her trembling lips.
"What are you afraid of?" Dianne asked. "That I'll spill the beans to your husband? Good God, how could I do that without advertising a few facts about myself as well? Besides -- I like you far too much." Her hand dropped and she touched Pam's top. "This is really attractive," Dianne went on. "I mean, it's really you. Sexy without being cheap. Is it new? My God, did I buy this for you? Oh, darling, I've rarely spent my money to better use. Here. Let me see."
And Pam hadn't the strength to protest as Dianne slipped the jacket off her shoulders. In another moment, Dianne was touching Pamela's bare arms and shoulders, her fingers toying with one of the slender straps. "I'll bet," Dianne added, "that you're not wearing a stitch of clothing underneath, are you? God, this looks like something you'd go to bed in, and I wish it was my bed you were en route to. Here, let me see."
"Please," Pam said, "I don't want you to see."
"But I already have. Could you have forgotten so soon?" Dianne purred through puckered lips and then suddenly her mouth was jammed tightly against Pam's and she was kissing with all her power and, though Pam willed her mind to resist, Pam could not will her lips to take that kiss without a qualm. She felt Dianne's hot mouth on her own -- her lips parted slowly, reluctantly -- and Dianne's tongue shot into Pam's mouth and there was nothing more Pam could do. She felt that tongue hit her own, hit it like an electrified cattle prod, and she wavered, on her feet and she moaned into Dianne's mouth, and then her arms enfolded Ms. Hagen and she swept the slightly smaller woman to her ample bosom and, tears forming in her eyes, she returned Dianne's kiss with all the lust and intensity she possessed.
Dianne's hands were free, for Pam was taking care of all the embracing, and Dianne put her hands to good use. She pulled the shoulder straps and Pam's dress top came falling down, the large, stiff-nippled boobs bouncing free, nipples vividly erect against Dianne's body. Dianne twisted her head to one side, and Pam moaned and shifted herself slightly, and Dianne seized one tit in a hot clutching hand, her fingers digging into the fragile breast tissue, squeezing, kneading, clasping, the nipple wedged tightly between two steel-like fingers and their hard knuckles. Pam felt her nipple begin to throb in that trap, and, she couldn't help herself. Her hands dropped down Ms. Hagen's back, she caught Dianne by the slender ass, and she pulled the woman to her as if she meant to swallow her in one gulping kiss.
Dianne was still pulling at Pam's dress, and it kept falling lower and lower, until it was a heap at her ankles and Pam's naked body pressed against Dianne's clothed frame. Dianne had been right on target. Under the dress Pam wore only her stockings, and Dianne's hand wasted no time in caressing a bare, warm buttock.
"So we meet again, Patricia," Dianne said with a smirk, drawing back to admire her handiwork.
Panting for breath, Pamela leaned against the sink cabinet. It was too late to cover herself, and probably pointless as well. She'd misjudged herself terribly and, as she looked at Ms. Hagen's twitching fingers, she knew that she wanted very much to feel those fingers on her body again, to feel them now, to feel them hot, eager, caressing. Her cunt began to leak a thin mist of dew and she cupped her tits, feeling the tense expectation that hammered in each beat of her speeding heart.
"I'm not Patricia," she said. "I never was Patricia. Don't call me Patricia any longer. Please."
"I won't," Dianne promised. "If you want to be Pamela again, that's fine with me. Pamela is a lovely name. I like to say it. But even more, I enjoy this," and she stooped, blowing a kiss at each of Pam's tits. Pam sighed, squeezed her boobs more vigorously, and the nipples seemed to thrust out of their own will, making delicious pink targets for Dianne's fingers and lips.
"Pamela tastes even nicer than Patricia did," Ms. Hagen whispered, just before her tongue lolled across Pam's left nipple, just before her lips closed upon the nipple and pulled it savagely.
"Ahhhh..." Still cupping her breasts, offering them, as it were, Pam eased back, and Dianne's mouth opened wider, sucking at the whole end of her tit. She felt teeth and tongue and lips working in harmony on her flesh, and Dianne's hand was between her fidgety legs, a pair of digits playing slowly across the dampening gash hidden amid the fur.
"Yes, do it, please; do it," Pam cooed, and she sidled, removing one tit from Dianne's mouth but making the other fully available. Dianne leaked drool on the nipple as she nursed it, and it grew stiff and long in her mouth. Pam curled her fingers in the other woman's hair and pulled Dianne to her bosom, suckling her as a mother would suckle a baby, and she couldn't stop herself, couldn't persuade herself that it was wrong, because it wasn't. She loved what was being done to her, and she wanted more. All her good intentions thrown out the window, Pam Wilson began to hump her snatch up and down on the expert feminine hand that played with it. In a moment she was rewarded sweetly -- Dianne parted the tight lips and inserted two fingers up Pam's sopping twat.
"Oh, God, yes, that hits the spot," Pam whispered, pulling Dianne's face even tighter against her breast. Teeth were gnawing softly on her tit, and they seemed to scrape endlessly across the whole intricate pattern of nerves that made up the sensitive peak of her tit. And those fingers kept pushing in and out of her pussy, until the muscles danced and rippled in a rhythmic responsive action, and Pam felt tears flowing down her cheek. They were tears for the shame she felt here, now, and she could no more hold them back then she could will her body not to respond to Dianne Hagen's lovemaking.
"I know something else that will hit the spot even better," Dianne promised, kneeling before Pamela. "Spread your beautiful legs for me," she added, punching into Pam's cunt to emphasize the request, and by now Pam was in no mood to resist. She widened the gape of her legs and looked down, past her swaying, hard-nippled breasts, as Dianne began to make erotic oral love to her cunt.
First the fingers exited Pam's pussy, coming out slowly, and reluctantly -- as reluctant as Pam's snatch was to let them go. Dianne looked at her glistening fingers, and she looked up at Pam, too, and then she licked her fingers dry, sucking them avidly, bright eyes attesting her delight. "Delicious," she said, "and it makes me, oh, God, so hungry for more!"
"Take all you want," Pam said, giggly from hysteria, "but eat all you take." It was something Kerry used to say, something he'd picked up in the Army, and right now it seemed so apropos she had to laugh.
Dianne Hagen laughed too, and once again those green eyes were the emerald pools of quicksand into which Pam had fallen once today, into which she was ready to fall again, right now. The eyes transfixed Pamela and she felt breath catching in her throat, and she said, "Well, what are you waiting for? Aren't you going to do it?"
"Of course I am," Dianne replied, and she planted her fingers on the petals of Pam's cunt. It opened, and Dianne's face darted in. A hot, frisky tongue skated through Pam's gash, touching all her sensitive parts in its passage but not lingering on any of them long enough to make the rest of her feel slighted. A finger was toying with Pam's ass, and Pam couldn't keep from remembering how sweet it had been to be double-fingered this afternoon, and she found a new excitement building behind her tits as she anticipated that delicious prospect.
Her slit was up, of course, and on Dianne's second raid through Pam's cunt, tongue and clitoris made sudden, exciting connection and Pam closed her eyes, mewing. "Heyyyyy..."
She reached down then, and took over from Dianne, using her own fingers to part the lips of her twat, and she spread it as widely as she could. Dianne's tongue moved further up Pam's slot, stabbing into the hole that grew wetter with each additional plunge. Pam could feel the hot cunty juices moist and frothy on the flanges of her cunt, and some of it was her pussy drool mid some of it was spittle dripping from Dianne's mouth. Whichever, sand whatever the proportions, it felt delicious on her cunt and she let her fingers massage the wetness into the swollen lips and surrounding tissue, rubbing until her entire mons was a hotbed of arousal.
Dianne could feel that arousal building with each pass of her tongue, and she grew more venturesome in her licking. Again and again she whipped Pam's clitoris, teasing the pearly bud until it stood up like a hard, hot nipple, and she sucked it -- not continuously, but in alternation with her lazy, effective tongue work in and out of Pam's hole, so that the pleasure could swell, diminish, and swell again for Pamela. And it was good. Oh, Lord, it was good. Pam puckered her lips and sent out little trilling noises of contentment.
"I'm going to make you come, darling," Dianne said authoritatively. "I'm going to make you gush like a spring."
"Yes," Pam replied, "if you don't, I'll never forgive you. Oh, God, don't stop -- make me come, Dianne, make me come..."
And then she yelped as Dianne bunched three slender, supple fingers into a hard, thick boring tool and drove them up her pussy with an implacable thrust. Pam lifted onto her tiptoes and come down hard upon those inserted fingers, and they felt just like a short but oh so fat cock fucking the hell out of her snatch, and it was sweet, and sweeter still when Dianne planted her mouth on Pam's rubbery clit and began to suck it for all she was worth -- for all Pam was worth, too.
Her clit was awash in the spit of Dianne's mouth, and it was fully exposed to the hot wet swiping of Dianne's tongue as well. There was the faintest pressure of teeth on Pam's clit, and she whooshed breath through fluttering lips as she felt Dianne's incisors ride softly on her most delicate possession. Again and again Dianne's fingers shot up her pussy tube, and the flesh was slippery as melted butter around them. Pam could feel the leakage of juice from her hole and there was a dizzy sensation in her head. She staggered on her feet, as if she were going to fall, but she didn't fall. Instead she grabbed Dianne Hagen's head, used the kneeling woman as her brace, and fucked her orgasm onto Dianne's eager face.
Dianne was smoking, but the room had a ventilator and the smoke of her cigarette didn't linger, for which Pam was very grateful. The bathroom was a little too small and confining for two women and a smoldering Newport.
Somehow, now that it was over, it seemed only light and proper, what she and Dianne had just done. Actually, what Dianne had done. Pam's role had been that of recipient; Ms. Hagen had not even undone the buttons of her shirt and she'd asked nothing from Pamela except a few kisses and the correct responses.
"Two hours ago I thought I had it all figured out," Pam said, wiping her cunt with a moist tissue. "I'd decided that you and I, this afternoon -- that we were just something weird that had happened to me -- part of something that should never have beg in the first place. My husband came home from work and at first I didn't think I could stand for him to touch me -- not after the way I'd made love with you this afternoon and then he started and, Jesus, I couldn't hold still, I couldn't wait for him to get it in me! And while we were fucking, I told myself that I'd played with fate once too often. Kerry and I have a good life, so why was I prowling around, just looking for the chance to screw it up?"
Dianne nodded as she repaired her makeup. "You're right, darling. I know you're not the only housewife who thinks she can find a little taste of spice as a call girl. Admittedly, you were taking fewer chances than many of your professional sisters. You weren't out on the street hustling; you did all your business by telephone, with references required and high enough prices to keep out the trash and scum. Not much chance of meeting a weirdo who gets his kicks slashing you with a razor..."
Pam's face went dead white; she'd never even thought of that possibility. Dear God! And she'd seen that very plot line so often on TV cop shows! Her stomach churned inside her and she caught the rim of the sink for support.
"Don't get upset, darling," Ms. Hagen went on. "You just finished telling me you'd canceled your answering service and hung up Patricia Wright for good. But tell me this -- did you ever wonder if any of your clients might not be an executive or representative of our company? Mine and Kerry's? Someone you could perhaps meet socially, now that your husband is a rising star with the firm? Hmmm? What if I'd been a man and we'd come face to face downstairs? Could you have handled that?"
"Jesus," Pam whispered. "I don't know. It's something else I never thought of."
Dianne nodded smugly. "You're still an amateur, Pamela Wilson, but because you're such a promising amateur, I intend to take you under my wing. I like to feel that I have an investment in you, and I want to make that investment pay off. Mostly for me, but it should be fun for you, too."
"I don't see how," Pam said. "I mean..."
"You don't see how you can have an affair with me? Is that what you mean? It's simple. Do you remember what I was telling you in bed this afternoon? That my sexual preference is for women, of course, and you should have no lingering doubts about that, but that I can enjoy a man now and then, too. The technical term for me is 'bisexual'; however, I prefer to think of myself as a lesbian who can switch-hit on occasion. You -- well, I think you're basically heterosexual but you show a dazzling potential in my direction, too, and I aim to exploit that potential. And to exploit you, too, darling, exploit you deliciously."
"Anyway, I remember telling you that a man could sometimes give me a little tingle in the ovaries, that I'd met a man today who impressed me as good bedroom fodder. Is any of this getting through to you?"
"Kerry?"
Dianne's green eyes twinkled. "He is attractive, and you've been giving me some juicy details about his performance. Besides, he reminds me of that actor -- the one who used to star in all the motorcycle films after Jack Nicholson moved on to better things -- all man, all muscle -- I have a weakness for the type, just as I have a weakness for your type, tits and ass and soft sweet flesh. Did you see me kiss him downstairs? I did that so you could see. And he didn't pull away, not even when I brushed his mouth."
"It wouldn't work. You couldn't get next to Kerry."
"I can, if I want to. He's a man, Pamela, and any man can be had by a woman who knows how to take him. I'll be coming down from New York as often as I can manage -- oh, say, once or twice a week -- I'll have to keep track of how he's doing his job. The home office likes to be informed about potential executive material, and Kerry is definitely that, too. My guess is that I'll have him in the sack within -- mmmm -- ten days. Tops."
Pam's eyes enlarged. She'd never heard anything so cold-blooded in her life, as this woman, talking so candidly about seducing Pam's own beloved husband. Yet she wasn't outraged. If anything, the idea excited her, especially in light of what she and Dianne Hagen were to one another now.
"You'll have to do your part, of course. Freeze up a little. Find excuses not to fuck him. And when you do let him have a slice, be cool and a little bit distant."
"I don't get it. What's in this for me?"
Dianne laughed. "You really are an innocent! Don't you see? I'll make sure that you catch us, that you discover our wicked secret. You turn on the tears. And before Mr. Kerry Wilson knows what's being done to him, the three of us will be enmeshed in a cozy little scene that satisfies all our secret wishes and desires. Basically, you'll have him, with me on the side; I'll have you, with him on the side; and he'll have both of us. I've never known a man who didn't spring up like a radio aerial at the sight of two women going hog wild on one another. Anyway -- when we transfer Kerry to the New York office -- and we will, you can be assured, because he's going places with the Company -- it'll be that much easier. What do you say? Are you game?"
"It-it sounds -- it sounds exciting," Pam said, and the thudding of her heart behind the soft, full cushion of her left tit was like a drum beating inside her body.
"Trust me," Dianne said, "I can lead you to delights you've never dreamed of. If excitement is what you're looking for, you are guaranteed to find excitement. Only trust me."
"Okay," Pam said, sealing the bargain with a kiss.
"Now, then," Dianne observed, "why don't we go back down to the party before they turn off the lights and lock all the doors? Here. Your lipstick is smeared. Mmmm, let me smear it just one more time for luck, okay?"
"Okay," Pam giggled.
Chapter Nine
As a party, it wasn't bad at all. Pam smiled and made excellent small talk with the big shots from the local office and from the New York main office, and Mr. Murdock, who couldn't take his eyes off the low neckline of her dress, said, "Kerry, you and Pam are going to have to come out more often. Especially since you're going to be my right-hand man from now on. Catherine," he said, turning to his wife, "when can we have the Wilsons for dinner?"
For dinner? Pam thought wickedly. Talk about your Freudian slips! He was already eating her with his eyes and something told her that, if she were willing, Mr. Murdock would be only too happy to eat her with his mouth as well. If she were willing. And she wasn't. Pam had other fish to fry, tastier fish than gray-haired Mr. Murdock with his receding hairline and spacious belly. She couldn't for a moment imagine what it would be like to have his bulky body fucking atop her own in missionary position, and she wondered how slender, frown-faced Mrs. Murdock ever put up with such treatment. Maybe she didn't. After all, there weren't any little Murdocks running around.
"That sounds nice," she said, for it was the right thing to say to her husband's brand-new immediate superior at the plant. Come Monday morning Kerry would go to work in a coat and tie, and he'd have an office of his own, and he'd be making thirty thousand dollars a year, almost double his current salary.
And later New York? Dianne had virtually promised it. If he did the job he was capable of doing, Kerry's future with the Company was assured.
Dianne. Wasn't she doing some job on Kerry? It looked innocent enough from a distance, Pam supposed, and to anyone who hadn't shared that conversation upstairs in the bathroom, but Dianne Hagen was spending a lot of time talking to Kerry Wilson and she was doing some interesting things -- if you'd read "Body Language". The messages were subtle, but isn't subtle usually best? Pam talked to Mr. Murdock, watching surreptitiously over his shoulder as Dianne and Kerry chatted and laughed, and she thought, Yes, she's right, it could work. Kerry seemed very attentive to Dianne, and it couldn't all be due to the fact that she was the New York office representative who had final say about his promotion. Some of it had to be attraction. Sexual attraction? If not, it would soon be.
Somehow, Pam reflected, this promised to be even more fun than the short, happy life of Patti Wright, afternoon whore. For one thing, she wouldn't have to keep it all a secret from her husband -- once things got underway, of course. No need for deceptions and excuses. She could have her fun and Kerry could share in it, which was only fair and fair enough. After all, he was her husband and she loved him and cherished him. AU in all, the future looked very interesting. Pam Wilson could hardly wait for that future to get here. By summer she and Kerry and Dianne ought to be ass-deep in a delightfully different kind of relationship. Hurry, summer, she thought.
"Mmmm, it was a nice party," Pam giggled, flopping against her husband. She'd had a couple of drinks too many, not enough to make her sick, but more than enough to make her head swim with naughty ideas. "Do you think they liked me?"
"Damn right," he said, taking one hand off the wheel and putting it around her shoulders. The tips of his fingers slipped down to rest on the bare flesh above her low-necked dress, and she giggled again. It tickled. "I think you were the hit of the party. Mr. Murdock's eyes goggled out when he got a look at you, and so did everyone else's. Hey, what did you think of Dianne Hagen?"
"Oh, she seemed kinda nice, too," Pam said.
"I couldn't get away from her," Kerry sighed. "She acted like she wanted to throw a rope around me or something."
"I didn't notice you running," Pam pointed out, her hand settling onto Kerry's thigh. "Did you think she was pretty?"
"Not pretty," Kerry said, "but attractive, yeah. I mean, she's not a glamour girl or anything, she's too strong-featured to be Raquel Welch, and she sure isn't built like Raquel, either..."
But when she comes, Pamela thought, she tastes like warm milk. Like cream sherry. Sweet and tangy on the taste buds. Her tits are small and round and hard, like ripe apples, and when you suck the nipples you can almost feel moisture squirting into your mouth. But you'll find that out, darling, and soon.
Her hand covered his crotch and she squeezed the big lump she found there. Almost at once it began to harden in her grip and she leaned closer to him.
"What are you, doing?" he asked, not at all annoyed.
"Pull over," Pam said. "I think I want you to fuck me."
"Jesus Christ, baby! Can't you wait till we get home and into a nice warm bed?"
Pam laughed, then wiggled out of his embrace. She backed against the passenger door, then took off her coat. Kerry kept looking away from the road, staring at her. She puckered her lips and blew him a dozen kisses, then slipped one shoulder strap down. Part of the dress's bodice fell away and her right breast spilled out, bare and beautiful.
"You're making it hard for me," he said chidingly.
Pam reached into his lap. "And in the right place! Oh, pull over and fuck me! We haven't fucked in the car since the summer before last, when we went to the drive-in all the time. Remember?"
"How could I forget?"
"Mmmm-hmmmm," she agreed. "Hey, did anyone ever tell you that you look like the guy who used to play the gang leader in all those old cycle movies? Remember the one I mean? Big and broad-shouldered and mean-faced, but oh, Christ, so sexy. Bet he doesn't fuck the way you do."
"Oh, what the hell?" Kerry grinned as Pam let down her other shoulder strap and her left tit bounced free. She felt the car slow at almost the same moment his hand grasped one of her breasts and began to squeeze. "I see a parking lot up ahead. Can you wait just a minute?"
"Can you, tiger?" She covered his hand and pressed it to her titty. The nipple stood up, big and stiff, hot against his fingers.
He shut off the engine and slid across the seat. Pam lifted the hem of her dress and pulled his hand into her crotch. "Jesus, didn't you wear any panties tonight?" he asked.
"I forgot, them," she simpered. "You'd be surprised how easy it is for a girl to forget to wear her panties. Especially when she's thinking about the ride home. And I do mean ride. Oh, come on, get it out! I know it's hard and aching, but I have something to take care of all that!"
She dropped onto the floor, helping him undo his pants, pulling at them when he raised his ass. His trousers fell in a pile at his ankles and she pushed away the shirttail and the skirts of his coat, eager to get at his cock.
"You hardened up fast," she purred, blowing warm breath across his tool. "Did I do it all by myself?"
"Well, sure," he said, just a beat too slow to be entirely truthful. Maybe he felt more than a slight attraction to Ms. Dianne Hagen. He'd spent most of the evening with her. If that was so, good. It would make all the rest of it so much easier.
Pam could hardly repress a giggle as she started licking his balls, but the giggle became a sigh when her tongue dwelled on the swollen, lust-filled rocks inside Kerry's bag. He was sighing too, the way he always sighed when she mouthed his testicles, and it occurred to Pam that in the very near future he'd probably be sighing just the same way as Dianne Hagen began to use her luscious mouth on him for the first time.
"I want to suck you," she said, "but I don't want to suck you off. I want to climb on you and ride your cock till it shoots me full of cum. Promise you won't jump the gun on me?"
"Oh, baby, I promise! But suck if you're gonna suck, because if you don't, I'm gonna pull you up here and fuck you seven ways from Sunday."
"Okay, stud, you asked for it!" Pam opened wide and her mouth barreled down the stiff throbbing length of Kerry's dong, and she swallowed until the knob was almost in her tight throat. For a moment she stayed there, full of his cock, lingering until a gagging sensation began to form at the back of her mouth. That was the signal that it was time to begin sucking.
And suck she did. Her head lifted and fell with the rhythm and precision of a piston in a well-tuned engine, and she was a wet, narrow tunnel for his borer to ream out, her tongue a crazed flail around the shaft of his cock. Her back ached from the uncomfortable position she'd taken on the floor, the dash's underside hard against her spine, but she could move her head with no trouble and that's exactly what Pam did, sucking until she felt him throb in her mouth, felt him swell as if he meant to squirt right NOW!
Quickly she lifted her head, pinching him off just below the fat knob of his prick. "Aaaahhh," he gasped, for her fingers were right and pitiless, but she could feel the come-urge in him begin to subside, and that was what counted now. She still had to feel his dick ramming into her wet swampy twat.
"I thought I was a goner," Kerry confessed. "Jesus, you're hot as a two-dollar pistol. Did you meet somebody at the party who turned you on, babe?"
It was a good thing the car was dark, or he'd surely have seen her blush. Someone there had turned her on, in a big way, and very soon that special someone would be turning Kerry on, too. Was the bed at home big enough for three? If not, Pam decided, she'd draw some of her Patti Wright money out of the bank and buy a bigger bed.
"Hey," he said suddenly, his voice sharp, "I just saw a patrol car go by. Jesus, I hope they're not coming back..."
"Well, if they are," Pam said, "they're going to get the surprise of their lives when they flash a light through our car window. Just like a front-row seat at a porno film, huh, baby?"
And with that she rose, knelt astride his lap on the seat, and he held his cock upright while she positioned herself above it. Pam lifted her skirt, settled until Kerry's cock touched the crease of her quim. That was Pam's cue and she responded perfectly. She thrust herself down, ate his dick in one cuntal gulp, and leaned forward till her bare, warm tits enveloped his face. He grabbed her boobs and squeezed them together, kissing the cleavage between them, and Pam began to rock and roll on his cock, her pussy muscles already snapping at Kerry's hard male flesh.
Ah, she thought, it was nice to be doing it this way, in the car, almost in public. Even if it was late at night and they were the sole occupants of a parking lot. Not your big kind of excitement, but not bad, either. Soon, too soon, she'd have to undertake her share of. Dianne's scheme -- she'd have to cut down on Kerry's at-home pussy, make him all the more receptive to Dianne's advances when they came. God, as horny as he got, Dianne would be lucky to walk away from her first fuck, especially if Kerry wasn't getting enough from Pam. No more of those sweet pre-dinner screws, no more waking up with his cock inside her and her snatch a juicy tunnel of love. At least, not as many of them as before. She couldn't cut him off entirely. That would be suspicious, and besides, she couldn't live with no cock at all from him.
Anyway, it was only temporary. Dianne had it all worked out, and the plan was a good one. Within ten days, she'd promised. Jesus, can I stand it for ten days? Pam wondered. But it would mean the perfect resolution, wouldn't it? She'd have Kerry and she'd have Dianne too and they'd be like a family, almost, the kinkiest family you'd ever want to join. Yes, the rewards promised to outweigh by far the temporary drawbacks.
"Uh... oh," she panted, writhing on his pecker, "I just saw that cop car too. They've gone past the lot very slowly. Do you think we look suspicious parked here all by ourselves?"
"Christ, let's hurry! I don't want to be here like this if they come to take a look. C'mon, baby, let's get our rocks off so we can head for home."
"Mmmm," she purred back, moving her ass even more slowly, but with a tantalizing, milking action of her pussy. Pam's nut-cracker twat was in full control now. He couldn't get his cock out of her till she was ready to let him, cops or no cops. His eight inches were fully buried, completely trapped, in her juicy slot and she intended to keep him there until her needs had been satisfied. "Don't be such a chicken, darling. Where's your sense of adventure! You haven't lost it, have you, Kerry love?"
She hoped he hadn't lost his sense of adventure, because in a very few more days he was going to need it badly. But Pam knew, even as she fretted and fucked, that there would be no problems. Dianne Hagen would, do her number, Kerry would fall for it, and from that point everything was set. An adulterous triad, with Pam at the center. When she could count on that sort of thrill at home, there was certainly no further need to go hunting excitement as an afternoon whore. From now on, Pam thought, my place will be at home. And specifically in the bedroom. The best place of all. The very best place of all.
