"There's only one thing wrong with these two beautiful girls. They're wearing too many clothes."
So, Wendy thought. He wasn't going to be a wet blanket, after all.
Wendy looked at Beth. Beth looked at her, and winked broadly. She got up and came over and sat down on the couch beside Wendy. As the tall girl got up, Wendy had gotten a fleeting glimpse, between her briefly opened thighs, of dark-blonde hair. Smart girl, Wendy smiled. She wasn't wearing pants either. Wendy had whisked hers off in the cab. The driver, admiring her in the rearview window, had gone through a red light.
"So you think we're wearing too many clothes, Ralph?" Wendy asked. The urge to tease was rising strongly in her, now magnified by having all that healthy, horny young male body in the same room with her. With her and with Beth, of course. Share and share alike, she thought, magnanimously.
ONE
During the three years she taught at Shawnee College, Wendy Dahlberg earned an odd reputation among the men-friends she bedded with from time to time. "The Camel," they called her, and they were not talking, in the strictest sense, about hump. They had found that Wendy, like the camel who can cross wide stretches of desert without water, could go for long arid stretches without wanting or needing sex.
And, like the camel who slakes his thirst with an abundance of water when he reaches an oasis, Wendy, when she finally felt like fucking...
But Wendy found the academic life deadly dull, and quit it after three years. And she was months into her new life before the urge had built up in her to find herself an oasis.
When Wendy Dahlberg picked up the phone and" dialed, that warm summer evening, she knew what she was doing. She was excited, with a pulsing, daring, anticipating kind of excitement, but she knew exactly what she was doing.
Wendy Dahlberg always knew what she was doing. They hadn't called her "Ice" Berg in high school, for nothing, nor "The Cool One," as well as "The Camel," in college. "The Berg that sank the Titanic," at the office.
She was beginning to think there was no one home, after five rings. Then she heard the receiver lift, and, despite her practiced cool, her heart lifted with it. Not just her heart. She shifted in her chair and crossed her bare tanned legs, to squeeze the pulsing tingle in the warm luxuriant oasis of her moistening crotch.
"Hello," Ralph Horton said, his voice sounding crisp and cheerful. She knew the voice, right away, even though she'd only talked to him that one time, at the party four days before. Crisp and cheerful, the same way he looked. It was one of the reasons she was calling him now. But not the main reason. "Homy" Horton, one of the girls had called him, after he'd left the party, early, with his date.
"Wendy Dahlberg, here," she said, "as they say in England."
"I'll be God damned," he said. "I tried to call you, but the operator wouldn't give me your number."
"It's unlisted."
"Why?"
"I'm starting a new life, in this new apartment, and there are a lot of old acquaintances who should be forgot."
He laughed.
"That Auld Lang Syne stuff is bullshit. For the birds."
"For the birds past menopause," she said. "Anyway, you do remember me." She re-crossed her legs and touched her pantied pussy tentatively, with a fingertip. God, she was damp.
"Remember you? How could I forget?"
"Oh, balls. My ass is what you remember."
"That, too."
"That, mostly." She'd seen him looking at her ass, covertly at first, then openly, hungrily. Along with every other straight male at the party. She'd wanted them to look, or she wouldn't have worn those orange stretch pants. They'd been wasted on her fag date, but he'd served his purpose.
"What I called to ask you is, how do you feel about obscene phone calls?"
"They're all right," he said. "Whatever turns a guy on."
"I don't mean a guy. Obscene phone calls from a girl."
"I never got any. But I'm all for them."
"You're getting one now."
"Oh?"
"Take your cock out," Wendy said, in her huskiest, throatiest voice. "Take your cock out, and I'll start." God, she was excited. She re-crossed her legs again.
"I can't," he said, in a strained voice. "I can't even answer you."
"Oh, no," she said, slumping a little in her chair. "Don't tell me you're inhibited?"
"Not at all. Only I've got company."
"A girl?" Damn him, anyway. Horny Horton.
"No. My nephew."
She brightened immediately. There was hope, anyway. For a little later, maybe. "I can talk to you then, any way I want to."
"Anyway you want to."
She cradled the phone between her shoulder and her ear, uncrossed her legs, and slid down and forward in the chair, letting her knees drift apart.
"If you were here..." she said, and stopped a minute to think.
"Yes?"
"If you were here, would you like to fuck me?" Not much imagination, but it was good enough, for openers.
"Sure would." He was sounding crisp and cheerful again. For his nephew's benefit, she was sure. "You could, if you were here, you know."
"Could what?"
"Fuck me."
"Ah, yes," he said.
"When you do come over here, will you fuck me."
"Sure will. Can't think of anything I'd like better."
"There's only one thing." She was thinking better, now. Had her excitement under control. "What's that?"
"There's something I'd like you to do for me before you fuck me."
"Anything you say." He wasn't sounding crisp and cheerful any more. She was sure he was sweating. She put the phone on the floor beside the chair, stood up swiftly, and removed her pants. When she sat down again and picked up the phone, she could hear his voice, sounding frantic almost, saying, "Hello? Hello?" She smiled, and pulled her short skirt up over the white swell of her lower belly.
"Here's what I'll do," she said into the mouthpiece, her voice even lower, throatier, almost a whisper now. "I'll sit on the edge of my bed, with no pants on."
"Yes?" She could hear him breathing. She slid down in the chair and let her legs come apart, raising her head to look at her pussy lips opening pinkly in their crowning crisp bush of chestnut fur.
"I'll open my legs wide."
"Yes?"
"I'll part the lips of my pussy with my fingers. Open my twat for you. It's very pink and tender and sensitive, and moist. It's moist, right now. I'm looking at it." She was, too. She slid a fingertip across the swelling little eel of her clitoris, wriggling her hips a little in the chair.
"Oh, God," Ralph Horton said, in a frog's croak.
"When I do that, will you kiss my cunt for me?"
"Umm," he moaned.
"Slide your tongue inside and lick the warm, wet, slippery parts? The tender little wrinklings of my twat?"
"Oh God," he croaked again. "Before you slide your cock inside and fuck me, will you suck my cunt good."
"Yes."
"Eat my pussy."
"Yes."
"Lick it? Lap it? Gobble my cunt."
"Yes. Yes. Yes."
Abruptly, she took her finger from her slimed pussy and say up straight. Enough of this torture.
She had an idea.
"Has your cock started to swell up?" she asked. "Get stiff?"
"Started to," he groaned.
"Is it all swollen and hard?" .
"Couldn't be more so."
"Even if I kissed it? Tickled it underneath with my tongue? Took it all the way into my mouth and sucked it? I'd like to suck your cock, you know."
He didn't say anything. Only groaned.
"How old is your nephew?" Now she was the one who sounded crisp and cheerful.
"Sixteen. Almost seventeen. Why?"
"Old enough," she said. "Do you think he'd like to fuck me?"
She was so excited now, with her new idea, that she was almost trembling. The Cool One, she thought. The Cool One with the hots.
"I'm sure," Ralph Horton said. "But I know he's never..."
"A boy virgin?"
"That's what he's told me."
Too good to be true, she thought.
"Bring him over," she said. She listened through a moment's silence.
"Right now?"
"Right now. I'll fuck you both to a fare-thee-well."
"What's your address?" She told him.
"We'll be there in ten minutes," he said.
She squeezed her legs tight together as she put the phone back in its cradle.
Two hard cocks, she thought happily. The answer to a pussy's prayer.
TWO
For all her inner excitement and eager, horny anticipation, when she put the phone down Wendy was all at once completely cool, completely in control. First things first, she told herself. What to wear?
It took her no longer to make up her mind than it took her to get undressed-about six seconds. She took her sexiest garment off a hook in the closet and slipped it on over head-a very short, very flimsy, very loose flowered opaque reddish African night dress. The billowing loose hem hung down only far enough to conceal her pussy if she stood very still and did not lean back. After a moment's consideration, she stepped into a pair of flimsy, translucent, bikini-style white nylon panties. After all, the nephew was only sixteen. She didn't want him coming in his pants before the action started.
She pulled out the wide sofa bed, smoothed the covering blanket, and surveyed the neat surroundings of her studio apartment. Give the boys a better look, she thought, and went around the room, tuming on all the lamps, once or twice getting a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror on the wall by the door. She had to smile. Ralph Horton was an ass man, very evidently; but he was in for a bonus. Granted, that her high, ripe, rounded ass was a joy to behold, a delight to touch, she also had mouthwatering legs that had been giving boys hard-ons since she was a sophomore in high school.
Which she might still have been, at first glance, with that gamin face and wide innocent eyes and pert bobbing breasts. Nobody would guess she was twenty-six, until he'd looked into those wide, wise eyes, heard that throaty, knowing voice.
Her breasts were a delight all in themselves, and the garment did little to conceal them. It was cut loosely to the waist in front, far down under the arms, so that every time she moved, at least one breast was openly in view, in jiggling profile, from some angle. And even where cloth covered one lively white globe, the puckered pinkness of a nipple peeked through. Most teenagers are tit-men, she thought, looking at herself in the mirror with satisfaction. These ought to do something for him. Ralph's nephew, she realized with amusement, seemed to be more on her mind than Ralph "Horny" Horton himself. Oh well. Whatever turns you on, as he'd said himself.
She was getting out ice cubes for drinks when the downstairs buzzer rang. She held the button to the wall to let them in, and was waiting with the apartment door ajar when they got to the head of the stairs.
She grinned her greeting to them, held the door wide as they came in, and closed it behind them.
She turned to face them, her hand on the inside doorknob.
Looking at her, with all of her five-feet-three of delectable, ripe, sweepingly curved warm live flesh on brazen display to his gaze for the first time, Ralph Horton had trouble finding his voice. Wendy took him lightly by the elbow, and led him to one of the two easy chairs.
He sat down, still speechless, drinking her in thirstily. His nephew just as silently took a precarious, tentative seat on the edge of the opened bed.
"Well," she said, smiling, with one hand perched on one provocative hip, "don't you introduce people?" She looked at the nephew; her smile involuntarily getting wider, warmer.
He was a nice-looking boy, as tall as Ralph, but bony and awkward where Ralph was lean and smooth-moving. He had a lot of hair, brown hair darker than her own. More hair than his uncle, whose high forehead showed signs of getting higher. She figured Ralph for his early thirties, somewhere.
"Wendy, this is my nephew, Paul. He's as speechless as I am. You're a sight to strike strong men dumb."
"Or bring statues to life," Paul said, almost inaudibly, tearing his eyes away from her to look at the floor.
"Why, thank you," she said, and did an exquisite little barefooted curtsy, letting her hem billow upward, her breasts bob freely, happily, and very noticeably, under the loose light cloth. "Gin and tonic all right for you, Ralph? That's what I'm drinking."
"Perfect."
"Same for you, Paul? Or would you rather have a beer?"
"I could sure use a beer," Paul said, looking at her out of wide, strained eyes. She felt abruptly, fleetingly, sorry for him, he was trying so hard to look just at her face, not at the rest of her. Well, she'd make it up to him. Soon.
When she'd come back with their drinks, she sat down on her big hassock, and crossed her legs, smiling openly at Paul. He couldn't take his eyes away from the lively jiggling of her breasts, in no way concealed by the gaping slash in the upper part of her garment. And she'd given him a good, full view of both lively globes swinging free as she'd bent over and handed him his beer.
"I want you to understand that I'm not trying to embarrass you, Paul, when I ask you some things," she said. "I just want to know because I used to teach college students not much older than you. But I never really got to know any of them, on a personal level, and I'm pretty damn curious."
"Anything you want to ask," Paul said, almost inaudible again, his focus on the stiffening pinkness of her left nipple poking through thin cloth.
"What do you like most about girls?" Wendy asked, leaning back and casting a quick glance at Ralph. He was watching her with a look of patient amusement. Well, she thought, he'd have to be patient. His nephew fascinated her. It was a new experience for her, having a young boy-an innocent one, at that-right here for the asking.
"I like practically everything about girls," Paul said, his voice stronger now, his eyes on her face. "Only I don't have much experience with them."
"Don't worry," she said, "nature'll take care of that when the time comes." And the time was coming, a lot sooner than he knew. Or was he beginning to suspect? He was looking surer of himself every second. "Anyway, what specifically do you like best about girls? About their bodies?"
"I still don't know what you mean."
"Well, to be frank, among men there are those who are tit-men, and leg-men, and ass-men. They have preferences for certain parts of the female anatomy. Your Uncle Ralph, for example, is an ass-man." She grinned over at Ralph, and he grinned back. Wendy got to her feet, put her drink down on the hassock, and stood sideways to the two of them, so her ripe, rounded ass stood out in profile. She raised the hem in back up to her waist, and poked her ass out just a little further.
"Like it?" she asked.
"Love it," Ralph said. "Come here."
"You just wait. Paul?"
"It's lovely," he said, staring, "just to look at."
Wendy's excitement was rising, now, but under control. She was enjoying this; she was in no hurry at all, now.
"Would you like to feel it, as well as look at it."
"Jesus," Ralph said, and gulped noisily. She didn't look at him.
"Yes," Paul said quietly.
She stepped over and stood sideways in front of him, then, on an impulse, reached up to the elastic of her panties and slid them down far enough to bare the smooth white resilient globes of her ass.
"Jesus!" she heard Paul saying, in a choked voice, as she swung the twin ripe delights of her buttocks around toward him. "Jesus!" She felt his hands moving over the velvety resilient contours, lightly at first, then more slowly, pressing and caressing, as if his fingers were tasting the delicious snowy flesh-fruit. Another ass-man in the family, Wendy thought, and wriggled slightly, as Paul's finger traced down the intimate crevice between the cheeks, exploring lightly downward.
When the tip of his finger reached tentatively ' down and under, touching the few stray silken hairs, then the soft tender folds at the very underedge of her cunt, she wriggled again, not angrily, and put one hand on the back of Paul's neck and leaned over to whisper into his ear.
"Later," she breathed. "Let's save my pussy for desert." A new thought was being born in her mind: how to make a man of the world of this boy, in one easy lesson.
She stepped away from Paul's hands, and stepped out of her pants, in one swift motion. As she straightened, she noticed Ralph's strained features, the look of agonized hunger for her, in his eyes.
"Be patient," she said, smiling. "We've lots of time for everything you want to do. I want to do things with Paul, first."
"Anything you say," Ralph said, and shrugged. "You're worth waiting for."
She sat down again on the big hassock, facing Paul, her gorgeous legs in all their swelling glory pointing toward him, but with the knees primly together.
"Before you see any more of me, Paul," she said, "don't you think you should take some of those clothes off? It's warm in here."
"It sure is," Paul said, and stood, and was out of his clothes in ten seconds. Except for his shorts. The left leg stood out at a grotesque angle.
"Why, Paul," she said, coyly if huskily. "I do believe you've got a hard-on."
Paul stood where he was, looking at her, but not moving.
"Aren't you going to take off your shorts? Don't you want to show me your cock?"
Paul stood stock still, then shook his head, slowly. Embarrassment had taken hold of him, all at once.
Wendy let her legs come apart, slowly, as Paul stared. When her legs had come far enough apart so that she felt the lips of her pussy parting, opening the inner pinkness of her twat to the boy's gaze, she looked at him, smiling.
"I'm going to let you put your cock in there, in my soft warm wet pink cunt. I'm going to let you fuck me, Paul. Now can't I please see your cock?"
Without taking his eyes from the pink magnet of her pussy, Paul bent abruptly and stepped out of his shorts. When he straightened, his rigid cock stood out in front of him, in full glory, at a forty-five degree angle.
Wendy took a deep, surprised breath and opened her eyes wide. Why, it was magnificent! It was no boy-size cock at all. It was long, thick, pulsing upward, and looked rigid and strong enough to hang a heavy handbag on. But for all its size, for all its very evident rigidity and hardness, there was something different about Paul's stiff, thick cock that started a wave of strange new excitement washing over Wendy. And then she knew what it was: his cock was so young, so tender-looking, with its soft stretched sheath of parchment-thin veined skin around the marble-hard shaft, the glistening taut swollen head, pinkening now, getting darker as she watched, as if ready to explode.
Involuntarily, as her legs spread themselves wider and her pussy began to ooze, Wendy's mouth opened, and as it did, she knew why: she wanted to taste that delicious virgin shaft, and was torn between where to taste it first, in her upper or lower mouth. And then, in control again, she remembered her earlier plan. There was time for everything.
Paul was still gazing fixedly at her moist, pinkly pouting cunt. "Kiss it hello, Paul," she said, quietly. His eyes flashed to her face. He looked startled. "What?"
"Kiss my pussy," she said. He didn't move.
"If I kiss your cock first, will you?" He didn't answer. But he was staring at her pussy again, and the tip of his tongue appeared, briefly, as he licked his lips. A very good sign, she thought.
"Come here, Paul." She held her hands up, spread wide apart in a hip-high gesture of welcome. Paul moved woodenly toward her and stood close to her, between her opened knees.
She placed her hands gently on his lean, bony hips, and drew him closer as she leaned forward and down, with her tongue extended. With just the tip of her tongue, she touched the tiny wrinkled gathering of skin just beneath the cockhead, then licked back and forth across his undercock with a quick flurry of her softened tongue. She felt the boy's body so rigid. "Jesus!" he hissed. "Oh, Jesus!" She opened her mouth, then, and took in the whole swollen glistening pink head of his cock, closing her mouth warmly around the shaft, sliding her tongue back and forth across the velvety softness under the neck of his straining prick. Then, resisting the strong urge to begin sucking his delicious young cock in earnest, she drew her mouth away quickly. She knew with certainty, at that instant, that with one deep suck the boy would explode into orgasm. No fucking for this boy, she thought. Not quite yet. She had another little plan in mind.
"Now," she said, looking up at him and smiling moistly, her lips still tasting the tenderness of his cock, "will you lick my pussy?"
Paul looked quickly over to where Ralph was sitting-she'd almost forgotten about Ralph-looked hungrily back at her pussy, and sank to his knees between her spread thighs.
She leaned back slightly, put her hands under her buttocks, and raised herself slightly, as if presenting her pussy on a platter. Paul needed no further encouragement. He opened his mouth, extended his tongue tentatively to touch one moist peeping fold, then enveloped her whole twat in one deep, sucking kiss.
"Aah," Wendy said, and put her hands around Paul's head, gently encouraging him. "That's it, Paul. Kiss it. Suck it. Eat my cunt."
Paul began to lick, suck, gobble her twat as if he'd been starving for it all his life. Wendy's hips rose, wiggled, pumped, squirmed as the eager tongue sent shivers of sensation through her whole cunt-centered being.
But all at once she wanted more, much more; and she knew instinctively that Paul's exploding young cock was not the answer. But she'd take care of that, in short order.
"Enough, Paul," she said, putting her hand against his forehead and pressing him back. "Stand up again."
Looking at her, wondering, Paul got slowly to his feet, and once more she put her hands behind his hips and drew him closer.
"You can fuck me later," she said, "when you'll last longer. The way you are now, you'd come before you were halfway into my cunt. I'll just suck you off now. Take the edge off."
Paul didn't say anything. He seemed agreeable. She took the swollen-to-bursting, glistening head of his cock into her mouth, then some of the shaft, and started sucking softly, moving her head back and forth like a feeding bird, her lips moist and tender but tight around his rigid shaft, her tongue licking and smothering his undercock. His hips started thrusting forward spasmodically, as if he were fucking her mouth.
After a few long moments of delicious sucking, she realized Paul was lasting longer than she'd expected. And she felt a hand on her shoulder. She rolled her eyes upward and found herself looking directly at Ralph's hard cock, as big and as thick as Paul's, but brown in color, seasoned-looking. Business-like, she thought inanely. A veteran cock. And she knew immediately that that's what she wanted, right then, more than anything. A good, solid, veteran fucking.
"I can't stand it any more," she heard Ralph saying, in a tight voice. "Finish sucking him off on the bed."
She knew right away what he meant. With some kind of natural instinct, so did Paul. He backed to the bed and lay down in the middle of it, and Wendy moved with him, never taking her mouth from his cock.
She resumed her sucking on the bed, with her knees apart, her ass invitingly elevated. She felt Ralph's weight as he mounted behind her, felt the head of his rigid cock slide to the intimate crevice between the ripe resilient mounds of her ass.
Oh, God, he's going to bugger me, she thought. Fuck me up the ass. She put a hand around behind her to deflect his probing cock, but she'd been wrong. Ralph's cock slid down to the open, moist, waiting lips of her cunt, and started to enter the warm welcome there.
But just then, with a shudder, Paul came, trembling, his warm fluid spurting against the roof of her mouth and back into her throat. Feeling behind her, she closed her hand around the base of Ralph's cock, stopping its entrance halfway into her cunt, while she swallowed Paul's juices, swallowed again, and kept on sucking, until there was nothing but limp young prick between her lips.
Paul rolled away and stood up, as Wendy relinquished her grip on Ralph's cock and rolled over, letting it slip from her cunt. But only for a moment.
She lay on her back and spread her legs wide in joyous abandon, reaching out to guide Ralph's great straining cock to her ravenous cunt-mouth.
"Now fuck me, Ralph," she breathed, losing control completely now, for the first time in months. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me...."
THREE
Wendy took the swollen, glistening purple head of his cock between her thumb and forefinger and guided it to the wet warm pinkness between her tender parted twat lips. The thick, hard shaft slid slowly inward, deep into her ravenous, squeezing, gluttonous cunt. God, it felt good, that big, hard dork spreading the slippery softness of her fuck-channel, driving to the depths of her crazed cunt's need. She spread her legs wider, then hooked her heels inside his knees, levering her tingling twat-mouth tight against the hard base of his cock.
His face was just above hers, and he was smiling.
"That's it," she breathed. "Hold that beautiful big cock deep in there for a minute, deep in my cunt."
"Like this?" he asked, still smiling. He pressed his hips forward, and she felt the bone-hardness of his furred pelvic mound jamming even tighter, making small, exquisitely pleasurable, circular motions against her rapturous, responding pussy lips.
"Ah, sweet fuck," she moaned, mindless in her craving cunt's pleasure, in the tingling anticipation of the rapture to come. She heard herself almost babbling, in a hoarse urgent whisper. "Ram it home, ream my cunt, fuck me with every thick hard fucking inch of that big fucking cock. Fuck me slow, fuck me deep, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me..."
Her throat closed on her babbling as she felt Ralph's thick cock sliding slowly outward, until only the swollen hard head remained in the squeezing clutch of her inner cunt lips. She felt his hands come up behind her, holding her shoulders, holding her for the plunge, and she raised her hips, rolling her cunt upwards. He drove his cock slowly, deeply into her again, as her cunt opened and then clutched at the whole length of his stiff surging prick.
Her lips pumped joyously, in perfect timing, as he began to fuck her deeply with long, slow, driving strokes. Her slippery soft twat channel seemed to clutch and suck and hold his sliding shaft, on every out stroke, as if reluctant to let go, then squeezing and embracing every deepening stroke to her cunt depths.
Wendy's eyes were squeezed shut, as if to close out everything but the rapture in her hard-pumping cunt. She could hear the sound of Ralph's deep breathing mingling with her own panting moans. Ah, God. Ah, beautiful. Ah, deep-fuck beautiful. She felt that she was losing her mind to her delirious, pumping cunt, and she didn't care.
She became aware of the soft thumping sounds of her own hips and buttocks against the mattress, and knew that the slow rhythm had picked up, but that she was still fucking with him in a kind of crazed unison. She heard a slapping, sucking sound, too, and knew it came from the wild pounding of his heavy balls in the velvety crevice of her greedily pumping ass.
Her own moans were louder, now, becoming gasping little screams, and she knew her fingernails were raking the smooth skin of Ralph's back. But she couldn't help herself, couldn't stop, couldn't stop anything she was doing after her long-pent-up need to fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, her mind was saying, in time with the cock-lunges into her boiling, pumping, careening cunt. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck like crazy.
The pounding of her hips sounded as frantic as the frenzied struggle of an impaled moth, and then, all at once, her climax was on her, searing, pounding, choking her in a surging crescendo of rapture.
"I'm coming," she almost screamed, her legs suddenly flailing free behind his back. "Deep-fuck me, deep-fuck me, deep-fuck me. NOW."
She felt Ralph responding, instantly, as he drove his cock to the roiling depths of her cunt, again and again and again, in a pounding fury of lightning strokes. She felt herself shuddering and jerking convulsively, and all at once his hot juices were spurting into her, gushing deep, flooding her quivering cavern of fuck joy. She wrapped her arms and legs tightly about him, and just hung on, as he kept his thick log of a cock buried deep inside her, letting the diminishing, squeezing spasms of her deliriously grateful cunt lick around it.
Minutes passed before Wendy's pussy spasms subsided enough for her to let go of him. She lay back limply, then, as he drew his slackening prick out of the tender clutch of her sated cunt, and got to his feet beside the bed. He looked down at her, lying stretched out in the middle of the bed, her legs still apart, her cunt oozing contentment.
"You're wonderful," Ralph said softly. "You're just as lovely inside as you are on the outside."
"Why, thank you," she said, smiling up at him. She felt the weight of a body press down on the edge of the bed on the side away from Roy. She rolled her head that way, lazily. It was Paul. Good God. She'd forgotten all about Paul.
"How about me?" Paul .asked, his voice high-pitched and excited. "You promised."
His cock was fully erect again, she saw, with some surprise. She'd sucked him off, she remembered, only a few minutes before. Five or six minutes, maybe, at the most. Ah, youth, she thought. This was something to be investigated.
"Sure I promised," she said. "And you'll get yours. But I'm all fucked out, for the moment. Can you wait a little while?"
"I can wait," Paul said, his eyes on the oozing pinkness between her parted pussy lips. "For that, I can wait. I've been waiting all my life."
"You're a good boy, Paul," she said. She reached out and gave his eager stiff young cock a friendly squeeze.
FOUR
On the way to the bathroom, she looked at her watch. Nine-thirty. The evening was young yet. So was Paul, very evidently. Wendy felt wonderful. Relaxed. Lazy. With the whole beautiful fucking evening in front of her.
Thinking of Paul, waiting impatiently in the living room with Ralph, she douched, then very delicately perfumed her pussy from an atomizer of Joy. Joy for me, for Paul, for Ralph, she thought. Joy to the world. Maybe she could make a muff-lapping lover out of Paul, on his first lesson. The thought excited her, but in a quiet, lazy way. She had all the time in the world, tonight, for all the' fucking and sucking she wanted. It was a good thought, after these last few grim months.
After a moment's hesitation, she put on a short terry cloth robe and belted it around her, before leaving the bathroom. No sense rushing from one act into the next, she thought. Savor them.
When she walked back into the big room, she saw with amusement that both Ralph and Paul had gotten back into their shorts. Same general idea all around, she thought.
"Everybody's formal again," she said, laughing.
"For a while, anyway," Ralph said.
"Good. Why don't we all have a drink?"
"I'll make them," Ralph said, standing up and picking up the empty glasses and Paul's empty beer can.
"Fine," Wendy said, sitting down in an easy chair facing Paul and crossing her legs casually. "We can be civilized for a while, while I rest up."
"Jesus," Paul said. "You deserve a rest."
Ralph came back with the drinks and handed them around before sitting down again. like Paul, he sat facing Wendy. She was pleased. Ralph still enjoyed looking at her, even after that exhausting, deep-dish fuck.
"Well," Wendy said, "what'll we talk about, while I'm resting?"
"Sex," Ralph said. "What else?"
"After the ordeal you've just been through?" Wendy asked.
"I can still talk about it. I'd like to hear about Paul's sex life."
"Ain't no such," Paul said.
"Don't embarrass him," Wendy said.
"It wouldn't embarrass me," Paul said. "Nothing could embarrass me now, with you two. It's just that I have nothing to tell."
"Nothing?" Wendy asked teasingly, raising her eyebrows as she looked over at him.
"I told you," Ralph said. "He claims to be a vir-gin.
"I am, dammit," Paul said.
"Don't you have a girl?" Wendy asked.
"Well, yes," Paul said, looking over at his uncle.
"Lovely girl, Nancy," Ralph said. "Just Paul's age. She's sixteen."
"I'll be seventeen next week," Paul mumbled. Wendy noticed that his hard-on had subsided in his shorts. Good. She hated to see him suffer as he must have been suffering while Ralph was fucking her. And Wendy was confident that Paul's cock would come up again, any time she wanted it to. But not right now. This was nice, sitting here drinking and talking, with all the cock a girl could want just a smile and a crook of a finger away.
"Good-looking guy like you," Wendy murmured, sipping her drink and looking at Paul. "Doesn't your girl-Nancy?-doesn't Nancy want to do anything?"
"You can talk plainer than that," Ralph said.
"We can all talk plainer than that," Paul said, looking boldly at his uncle and then at Wendy, "after the education you two just gave me."
"Well," Wendy said, grinning, "doesn't Nancy want to fuck?"
"I guess she does, all right, but she won't admit it. Not to me, and not to herself, even."
"Why not?"
"Beats me."
"How old were you when you started fucking?" Ralph asked, looking at Wendy.
"About eighteen, I guess, " Wendy said demurely, lowering her eyes. "But it was Paul we were talking about, wasn't it?"
"Sure was," Paul said, looking uncomfortable and crossing his legs. Wendy saw that he was getting a hard-on again.
"When you and Nancy are together," Wendy said, "she gets excited sometimes, doesn't she?"
"Hot as a pistol," Paul said. A little smugly, Wendy thought.
"What do you do, when she gets like that?"
"Play with her pussy."
"How?"
"I tickle and diddle her clitoris, and finger-fuck her until she comes."
Wendy uncrossed her legs, and squeezed her thighs together. There was a tingling starting in her twat, again.
"What does she do for you?"
"She gives me a little hand."
"Jerks you off?" . "Yes."
"Does she ever take your cock in her mouth?"
"Well, yes," Paul said, looking over at Wendy with something like defiance. "Just lately. She's sucked my cock quite a few times."
Wendy could feel lust rising in her now, like mercury in a thermometer left out in the sun.
"Don't you ever go down on her?" Wendy asked, finishing her drink. Ralph started to get up, to fix her a fresh drink, but she shook her head "no." She had other things on her mind, now.
"You mean lick her pussy?" Paul asked, grinning crookedly.
"Yes. Lap her twat, gobble her cunt, whatever you want to call it." Wendy was very, excited now. She let her knees come apart slightly, giving Paul a tantalizing glimpse of her perfumed pussy. She saw him lick his lips, just once, and let her knees drift slightly farther apart. Give him a better look at the tender treat.
"I never have," Paul said.
"Why not?"
"I didn't know how," Paul said. "Until tonight."
"Don't you think she'd like it."
"I think she'd love it."
"Sure she would," Wendy said. "And she'd love it even more if you gave her a real expert tongue job."
"I'm no expert," Paul said, unable now to keep his eyes away from the fur-framed pinkness at the confluence of her soft, discreetly parted thighs.
"You can get to be an expert," Wendy said softly, smiling tenderly at him, "in one easy lesson. I'll teach you everything you need to know."
She raised one leg and draped it over the arm of the chair, giving the boy an open view of her parted, pinkly pouting pussy.
"You won't forget what you promised me before?" Paul said, standing. His hard-on poked from the front of his shorts.
"I won't forget. I'll fuck you to a frazzle. Right after your lesson in lapping cunt. My cunt. My tender, juicy cunt."
"It's a deal," Paul said, in a choked voice.
He slid his shorts to the floor, stepped across the room to her, and dropped to his knees.
FIVE
Wendy moved her hips forward in the big easy chair, and raised the leg that wasn't draped over the arm of the chair, lifting the bent knee high and swinging it outward, spreading her feast of flesh even wider to Paul's hungering mouth. Her moist, open cunt was even with the edge of the chair's seat cushion, tilted upward, in the ultimate of warm, inviting welcomes. The boy's open mouth moved unswervingly, but slowly, as if savoring the anticipation of the taste of twat, toward the exquisite moist magnet of her juicy muff.
"Wait, Paul," she said, her eyes on the tongue that was protruding now, only inches from her supremely palatable pussy. "Don't start gobbling it yet. Let me spread it out for you, so you can see what you're doing. It's the only way to learn."
She reached down with both hands, and, with the tips of her fingers, gently spread the soft yielding lips of her cunt, opening and flattening the tender ridges and folds of bright pink inner flesh. Pussy on a platter, she thought inanely. Youth will be served.
"Now," she said, "touch it here, with just the tip of your tongue." With her forefinger, she touched the elusive little eel of her clitoris.
With the stiffened tip of his tongue, Paul touched the swelling bud of her sensation center, then ran his tongue up and down, then across, with swift, fluttery strokes.
"Ah, that's it," Wendy murmured, feeling her hips starting to wriggle of their own accord, her cunt lifting itself upwards. "Lick my clit, lick it up and down, back and forth. With your whole tongue, now. Aah, that's it." Oooh, it felt so good. A natural born nookie-nibbler, this boy.
"Now," she said, sounding to herself like an instructor in a college classroom again, "slide your whole tongue in. As deep as it will go. Into my cunt."
Paul did as he was told. She writhed a little more as his tongue plunged deep. Ah, delicious. She took her fingers away from the lips of her cunt, and placed her hands gently behind Paul's head.
"Now suck," she said. "Gobble my cunt. Eat my whole juicy pussy."
But Paul didn't have to be told. His whole mouth covered her cunt now, sucking, licking, kissing. His tongue stabbed deep, then withdrew to diddle her clitoris with fluttering little licks, back and forth, up and down, then slid deep again. His mouth never left the oasis of her bubbling, boiling twat, sucking thirstily, hungrily, as his tongue plunged and delved and explored.
"Ah, Paul," she breathed, through clenched teeth, "you'll never learn any more about sucking-cunt than you know now."
But Paul apparently didn't hear. He was too busy with his frenzied lapping of her pussy. And he was making a lot of noise-wet, sucking, slithering, ecstatic sounds.
Wendy put a finger on his forehead, urging his face away from its pleasure between her warm thighs. She was suddenly, urgently in need of a hard, reaming cock. J
"Enough of this foolish love-making," she said, looking into the boy's lust-glazed eyes. "Now, right now, let's you and I fuck. Fuck, do you hear me? Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Paul got to his feet and just stood there, looking at her, not sure what to do next. But there was nothing uncertain about his cock. It stood out from his slender body like a sturdy lower branch from the trunk of an oak tree.
Wendy stood up and let her short robe, which had been spread wide and forgotten beneath her in the chair, slide from her shoulders to the floor. She saw Paul's eyes focus on her naked, jiggling breasts, and glanced down.
Her nipples, poking out pinkly, contrasted sharply with the soft whiteness of the buoyant globes, like stiff wrinkled pointing pink fingers. A tit-man too, this boy, she thought. Leg-man, ass-man, cunt-man, and tit-man, all rolled into one neat young package. She'd remember that, but right now, there was only one thing to do. The further education of Paul.
"Lie down on the bed, on your back," she said, in an urgent whisper.
"But," Paul said, "I thought you were going to let me fuck you."
"I am," she said, smiling tensely. "We're going to fuck now. My way. I'll fuck you, this first time. Just lie down. Face up. Cock in the air."
Paul did as he was told with a look of wonder on his face.
All at once Wendy's need was not so desperately urgent. It was her turn to savor the sight of her pleasure-to-come, and "come" was the word.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and focused her gaze on Paul's upright, eager organ. God, he had a big one for a boy. A whole lot of lucky, palpitating pussies would welcome that prize of a prick in the years to come. And she would be the first. A shiver of anticipation ran down her back, puckering her ass-hole.
What she liked most about the look of Steve's cock, she realized, was the tender, unspoiled innocence of it. She leaned over, to look down at it. The swollen-to-bursting head almost glistened, a bright, blushing red, and the opening in its center seemed to be looking at her, like an unwinking eye. She'd had bigger cocks slide into her craving cunt, yes, and into her warm sucking mouth, but never one that looked so irresistably appealing, so joyously eager and young.
"I love your cock," Wendy said, reaching out and squeezing it gently, turning her head to look into Paul's face.
"Well, I love your cunt," he said. "It tastes so delicious I want to find out what it feels like when it swallows my whole cock."
"Swallows is a good word," Wendy said. "I want to eat up your big beautiful dork, when I take it into my twat. Devour your cock in my greedy cunt. And grateful cunt, Paul, don't you forget that."
"Please," Paul groaned. "Please. Can't we fuck now, and talk about it later?"
"One thing you have to learn," Wendy said. "A lot of the pleasure of fucking is in the anticipation, in what goes before."
Paul groaned again, but didn't say anything. His hand came up to brush one minutely jiggling breast.
Wendy let her hand slip loosely,' tantalizingly, down the straining length of Paul's cock. It felt like some kind of thick hickory handle, encased in a soft sheath of tender, sensitive, velvety skin. She was being a maddening tease now, she knew. But she was teasing herself even more than she was teasing Paul. It was punishment, but a tantalizing kind of punishment that she'd let explode into some frantic fucking, very soon now. And Paul would learn what it was all about. Learn that the waiting was worth it.
"It's like a mouth, you know," she whispered, looking into Paul's strained face, feeling the steady pulse of his swollen undercock against the warm sliding palm of her hand.
"What is like a mouth?" Paul said haltingly, in a tight, choked voice.
"My cunt, Paul," she said, in her husky, insinuating whisper. "My cunt is like a mouth, dear boy, with lips, and a little tongue, and a palate, a very soft palate. My cunt can taste, and lick, and suck, and gobble, and swallow. All in a soft, gentle way, you understand. My cunt is a very nice, warm, loving mouth, to taste and swallow up that delicious young cock of yours."
"For Christ's sake," she heard a voice saying, "go ahead and fuck."
She turned her head. Ralph. She'd forgotten about Ralph. She decided to ignore him. This was her party, now, hers and Paul's.
She still had Paul's cock in her hand. She started sliding it up and down, very slowly, moving the soft sheath of skin around the hard shaft. Paul's hand was behind her now, feasting on the soft rounded hills of her ass. She felt a finger sliding into the sensitive crevice between the mounds, and wriggled away.
"Just for a second," she said, "I want to taste your cock in my mouth again."
She leaned over, opened her moist warm mouth wide, and enveloped the swollen head of his cock, letting her tongue slide underneath to lick back and forth on the wrinkled sensitive shawl of skin just behind and under the blushing, delicious hard head.
"Mmmmmm," Wendy moaned, taking Paul's cock deeper into her mouth, sucking it and licking at the same time.
"Aah," Paul breathed. "Oh, Jesus, but that feels wonderful."
"For God's sake," she heard Ralph saying, "the boy wants to fuck you. Don't just suck him off again."
Ralph was right. The time had come. She didn't want Paul to explode without getting his cock inside her for its first taste of cunt.
She took her mouth away from the boy's slippery prick, giving the underside of it one last, loving lick, and sat up, shaking the hair out of her eyes.
"Ready, Paul?" she asked, smiling.
"Holy Christ, " the boy said. "What a question."
Wendy climbed up onto the bed and stood erect astride Paul's hips. She looked down, and with secret delight watched his face as he stared up at the moist pink welcome of her ripely parted pussy. She began to bend her knees then, and let herself down with tantalizing, deliberate slowness toward Paul's hickory-hard, upward-straining young cock, feeling her twat opening wider as her upper thighs spread and her knees came into contact with the bed.
She reached down to guide the bursting head of Paul's virgin cock to her open, oozing, ravenous cunt-mouth, but it was only token guidance. His straining cock, by pure instinct, would have found that safe, warm berth of her cunt in total, stormy darkness. Her twat was a flesh-magnet to the steel in his young cock.
Just before letting her hungering cunt take in the head of Paul's fevered cock, Wendy looked down. The rich brown triangle of her pussy fur was glistening with her wetness, the neat open cleft of her cunt lips showing the delicate, quivering little ridges of soft pink membrane inside. Her whole cunt, she noticed, from the lips inward, seemed a much deeper pink than usual. Paul's busy mouth and tongue, she supposed, had brought up her color.
She lowered herself a little more, slowly, until the hard swollen head of Paul's thrusting prick touched the open wet outer lips of her cunt.
She lowered herself farther with exquisitely slow timing, not touching the rigid shaft with her hand now, the need for even token guidance gone now, until the whole exploring young head of his straining cock was enveloped in the slavishly wet warm welcome of her cunt entrance. Then, inch by delicious inch, she lowered herself on the eager, thrusting young shaft, feeling the stiff young rod of joyously probing muscle sliding easily up inside her, spreading her slippery, tingling cunt walls, until it was all the way up, deep inside her, and her cunt was pressed hard against his up-thrust pelvic mound.
She raised herself slowly, then, feeling her cunt sucking greedily at Paul's rigid shaft, and when her inner cunt lips were at the sensitive neck of his cock, just below the head, she squeezed, contracting her cunt muscles once, twice, and again.
"Holy good Jesus Christ!" Paul whispered hoarsely. "Now I know what heaven means."
The boy's eyes were squeezed shut, and he started to raise his hips, to arch his cock deeper into the incredible, soft, smothering delicacy of her ecstasy-giving cunt.
"Lie still, Paul," Wendy said. "This time, let me do most of the work."
She let her cunt slide down his shaft once more, so the hard knob of his prick-head was deep up inside her again. Then she began to fuck him, ever so slowly, lifting her wetly clutching cunt up and away from his body deliberately, tantalizingly; her twat lips clung firmly around his shaft like the lips of a mouth, sucking. Then, when her cunt was up around the neck of his cock, she'd lower herself again, slowly, until he was fully imbedded. God, it felt wonderful to her, that stiff, alive, rock-hard young cock up inside her. Delicious was the word for it; she could almost taste it.
She had to smile. She was supposed to be doing this for him.
Wendy kept it up for a long time, sliding up and down slowly, tasting every inch of the strong young shaft, and there were plenty of inches to taste. Every once in a while she stopped her sliding, up-and-down fuck trips to squeeze his cock with practiced little contractions of her inner cunt lips.
Despite her sucking him off earlier, she had expected him to explode into orgasm fairly soon, but he seemed to have a remarkable amount of control, especially if this was really his first genuine fuck. But he seemed to have reached some kind of plateau of ecstasy. His eyes, she noticed, were half-closed, as if he were about to drop off to dreamland. And, at the same time, Wendy's twat sent her a message: some of the hard swelling was diminishing, the boy's cock was losing some rigidity.
Swiftly, Wendy wetted the middle finger of her right hand in her mouth, and reached down behind her. She probed beneath the soft heavy sac of Paul's full, firm testicles, found the puckered entrance between the cheeks of his ass, and pushed. Her finger slid past only token resistance up into his ass-hole, to the middle joint.
Paul's eyes popped open, and his hips arched in surprise. Wendy felt his cock swell, stiffen, and become as hard as granite again in her slippery cunt grasp.
"Now, Paul?" she asked. "Ready for the finale?"
Paul only grunted, and looked at her, and managed a grin. His cock was in her to the hilt.
She slid her finger deeper into his ass-hole and began working it in and out-all the while sliding up and down his shaft, faster and faster. Paul had learned fast; his hips arched upward as he pumped his long sturdy young cock up into her, meeting her every descent.
Impaled as she was on that superb young javelin of muscle, Wendy still had the feeling of being in complete control, as if the eager, super-willing cock pounding up into her, fucking her into a joyous jelly inside, were her very own toy, to play with, to pleasure herself with. Paul's cock, Paul's instrument, became her instrument, the bow to draw across the strings of her rapturous violin of a cunt. She was making beautiful music inside herself, sliding up and down in a rhythm of her own making. The hickory-hard head of his cock became a drumstick, beating on the tom-tom of her taut, vibrating cunt depths.
Wendy had a whole symphony going as she slid up and down, fucking with a frenzy on the stiff slippery shaft of Paul's ecstatic young cock; but gradually her selfish vertical fucking took on a jazz rhythm, her finger working in and out of his ass-hole on the offbeat.
Then, all of a sudden, Ralph was sitting naked on the edge of the bed with an unmistakable hard-on and an unmistakable need: and an unmistakable understanding that Wendy wouldn't let him down.
She didn't. Without hesitating, and without pausing in her frenzied fucking and finger-reaming of Paul's ass-hole, she leaned over, opened her mouth wide, and began expertly to suck Ralph's thick, veined brown cock.
"You're a good girl," Ralph breathed shakily, leaning back and starting to fuck her soft busy mouth with short, gentle strokes.
Being careful to keep up her lively sucking of Ralph's cock, Wendy began to ride her hips back and forth as well as up and down, giving Paul's pumping shaft a furious fucking; but he was game, and his hips kept pumping his cock frantically up into her, as if asking for more. Her lively, sliding clitoris ground against the hard mound at the base of his cock with every squirming thrust. Her inner cunt lips were squeezing, contracting spasmodically, clutching the slippery, sliding shaft. Then a shudder passed through her, from the inside out, and she heard a quivering moan starting deep in her throat, muffled only by the deep gag of Ralph's probing cock.
She could hear Paul moaning, too, and her private symphony reached a crescendo, then exploded in a climax of roaring sound rapturous sensation. Her hips were squirming, her cunt in a delirium, she was coming, and coming, and coming, in the wildest orgasm she'd known in a long time.
Her cunt muscles kept tightening and loosening, squeezing spasmodically; her climax went on in a sort of clenching delirium, in waves, over and over. She heard herself groaning and moaning in her private agony of delight, but she couldn't help herself, and she didn't care. Without thinking, just automatically, she kept up her practiced, expert sucking of Ralph's cock.
And then she was acutely aware of Paul's juices gushing up into her, immersing some of her inner fires, and a moment later Ralph was coming, spurting into the back of her throat. Wendy swallowed, and swallowed again, feeling that her cunt was doing pretty much the same thing with Paul's copious gushings.
Wendy slid sideways, at last, letting Ralph's slackening prick fall from her lips, feeling Paul slide from her sated cunt. Reluctantly, it seemed to her, tired as she was. She hoped, but dimly and feebly, that it was reluctantly.
She lay on her back, her legs apart, her cunt oozing sperm and contentment and looked wearily up at both of them, where they were standing, suddenly silent and awkward, at the side of the pulled-down bed.
"Well," she said softly, smiling wanly at Paul, "what do you think of fucking?"
Paul smiled, but his eyes were more than smiling. They glowed, in a kind of wonderment.
"I can't believe it," he said. "And you. I can't believe that anything or anyone can be as wonderful as you."
"Flatterer," she said, dropping her eyes demurely and covering her cunt with her hand.
"I mean it," Paul said. "You're much too good for a growing boy."
"You grew up fast. I have to tell you, Paul, you're a man now."
"Man or boy," Paul said, serious all at once, "I'll never be able to get away from it from now on."
"There's always tomorrow," Ralph said, twirling a lone small ice cube around in his empty glass.
"Tomorrow?" Wendy said, sitting up. "There's a lot left of tonight."
Ralph grinned at her, in open admiration.
"You're a brave girl, Wendy."
"No. Just a very healthy, very horny girl."
"No," Ralph said, not smiling now. "Just a very bright and honest girl. Frank. Forthright. Generous. And very, very lovely."
"Amen," Paul said.
"Gee, fellas," Wendy said, and stood up. "How about a drink?"
It was almost two in the morning by the time they put their clothes on to leave. Ralph said he was dead beat, and looked it, although he'd fucked her only once more after she'd sucked him off.
Paul, that miraculous young man, had fucked her three more times, each time seeming better than the last, if that was possible. And he didn't look tired at all as he and his uncle stood by the door, trying to find a graceful way to say goodnight. Or goodbye.
Wendy knew it wasn't goodbye, for Paul, anyway. She'd written him a little note, and slipped it into his pocket while Ralph was In the bathroom.
"Read it when you get home," she'd whispered. "I hope to see you again."
"Wild horses couldn't keep..." Paul had started to say, but Ralph had emerged from the bathroom.
"Well," Wendy said as she worked to open the eccentric door latch, "it was nice of you both to come."
She hadn't meant to use that phrase, but they all had to laugh. God, how corny can you get, at this tired hour of the morning? In mutual weariness, she thought, any damn fool little thing seems funny.
"Will I be seeing you again?" Ralph asked, when she had the door open. He was ignoring his nephew, almost pointedly, with the question.
"I hope so," she said, with almost formal politeness. "Call me either here or at the office. I've told you where I work."
"When I was a little kid," Steve said, looking very awkward and very young now, standing by the open door, "every time we went to another kid's party, what they always gave us to eat was fricassee'd chicken. And peas. And when we left, I had a standard thing to say to the hostess. 'Thank you,' I'd say, 'for the chicken, peas and rice.'" Wendy couldn't help noticing how brown his eyes were. He was looking at her very earnestly.
"That was very nice of you," she said, feeling vaguely uneasy.
"So," he said, "what can I say now? Thank you for the chicken, peas and rice."
She squeezed his hand. What could she say?
They each bent and kissed her on the cheek, in turn, before she closed the door behind them.
SIX
Ralph called her at the office the next afternoon, a Monday. She'd been hoping that if he did call, it would be later in the week, after she'd had a chance to lay plans. She had some very special plans to lay.
"How about having dinner with me tomorrow night?" Ralph asked. He was giving himself one full day's rest, she thought, smiling to herself.
"Sorry, Ralph. Can't tomorrow night. And the couple of nights after that are sort of up in the air."
"All right. I'll call you later in the week."
"Good."
Well. That had been painless. She wasn't about to go out with Ralph on Tuesday night, because she wanted to be home by the phone. Because of her hasty little note to Paul.
"Dear Paul," she'd written, "Please call me at home Tuesday evening. 639-4998. And don't mention this to your uncle. Or to anyone, for that matter. Let's keep this just between you and me."
But she'd wanted to give him something to think about, to make him want to call. And she couldn't think of a better way than to write something that might, just possibly, give him a hard-on when he read the note, at home.
"As you must know, Paul, I like you a lot. And I love your beautiful hard young cock, love the way it keeps stiffening up again so quickly, and coming back for more, so I have something very special in mind for us, for you, and that lovely hard prick of yours. I'm keeping my pussy primed for it, all tender and soft and warm and juicy. Ready for you. Anytime, after you call Tuesday.
Yours for more generation-gap fucking, Wendy"
She was pretty confident about what the note would do to Paul. And she was sure he'd call Tuesday, but found herself thinking about it much more than she'd anticipated. Before Monday was halfway over, she was sorry she hadn't told Paul to call that night. But there were some old friends she had to have dinner with, so she'd just have to be patient. After all, she was a big girl now. Paul was the sixteen-year-old with the hard-on.
* * *
When Paul finally did call, on Tuesday evening, it was so late that Wendy had almost given up. And not easily. She couldn't remember ever being so eager to hear a phone ring, even as a teenager. Wendy picked up the receiver halfway through the first ring.
"I'm here," she said.
"Wendy?" Paul sounded younger on the phone than he looked in the flesh.
"Sure is. I'd almost given up on you. I was composing an ad to put in one of the Lonely Hearts columns of the swingers' magazines."
"I couldn't get any privacy with the phone earlier. I've been trapped all evening with my parents. They've finally gone to their room to watch the eleven o'clock news, or whatever they do after they retire for the night."
"Now, Paul," Wendy said.
"They can be an awful pain in the ass-parents," Paul said.
"I think I can remember."
"Anyway. When can I see you?"
"That depends," Wendy said. "I've been having a lot of wild ideas, the last couple of days. I've been doing a lot of constructive thinking."
"About me?" Paul asked, not sounding so young any more.
"Mostly about you. All my thinking started with you, anyway." Which was perfectly true, Wendy realized, surprised at herself, "Ice Berg," the girl who could Take Men or Leave 'Em Alone, all in a flap about a teenage boy.
"What's that mean?" Paul asked, sounding confused.
"Well, to begin with, I'd like very much to have you come down here tomorrow evening."
"Sure," Paul said. He didn't quite say "Oh, boy!" or "Hot shit!" but he sounded as if that's what he was saying.
"And I've been wondering," Wendy said, wondering now about the best way to phrase what she had to say, "have you any friends you'ld like to bring along?"
He was silent for a long moment. "I don't quite know what you mean," he said, finally.
"Well," she said, "you know I used to be a college instructor."
"No, I didn't."
"Well. I was. For three years. And I guess what it amounts to is, once a teacher, always a teacher."
"I'm still not sure..." Paul said, his voice trailing off.
"You thought I was a pretty good teacher the other night, didn't you?"
"Jesus," Paul said. "Don't put me on."
"And I enjoyed it as much as you did. So I've been wondering. Maybe you have a few young friends who'd like to take some of the lessons you took, the other night."
"I think I'm beginning to see," Paul said, and all at once his voice was trembling. "You mean we'd have sort of an orgy."
"In a polite sort of way, yes," Wendy said. "If you want to call it that. Do you know any boys who might enjoy a little friendly fucking with me?"
"I'll ask around," Paul said, finally. He had his voice under control.
"You won't mind sharing?" Wendy asked.
"No." He paused again. "It ought to be great. But you won't neglect me?"
"You're my love," Wendy said, almost meaning it.
"I'll be down there around eight," Paul said. "And probably won't be alone."
"Good," Wendy said. "I'll be waiting for you. You know what?"
"What?"
"My pussy's panting for you already," she said softly, and hung up.
SEVEN
For Wendy, the next day was a very long day at the office. One of the longest she could remember. But five o'clock came, at last, and she was one of the first into the elevator. She treated herself to a cab ride home.
The phone was ringing as she came through the door to her apartment. Oh, God, she thought. Something's come up. Of course something's come up, but Paul can't come over tonight.
It was Paul, all right.
"Listen," he said, "I can only talk for a sepond."
"Then talk," she said.
"It's my friends," he said. "They want to and they don't want to."
"What's that supposed to mean."
"Well, they're kind of scared."
"Of me?"
"They don't even know you. Of course not. But the whole idea."
"Well, Jesus. What'd you pick, nothing but vestal virgins?"
"No, they're not virgins. At least, they claim they're not virgins. But they'll be kind of-well, shy, at first anyway."
"Oh, is that all," Wendy said, relieved.
"They'll be all right, once we break the ice. But be kind of gradual with them, you know? So they don't panic."
"I think I know what you mean," Wendy said, smiling, "i.think I know exactly what you mean. I'll be very polite and proper, to start off. Then I'll just sort of tease around, for a while."
"Beautiful," Paul said. He hung up.
She'd forgotten to ask him how many friends he was bringing, she realized as she put the receiver back in its cradle. Well, what difference did it make, anyway? The more the merrier.
* * *
After she fixed herself some dinner and had eaten and killed all the time she could wash the dishes and straightening the place up, she started debating with herself about what to wear. She couldn't very well open the door for them stark naked, which is what she'd like to have done-it might scare the shy ones out of their wits. Or out of their hard-ons, which was worse. But she didn't want to greet them in something as sexless as a long housedress, either. It might take their minds off sex completely, and it would be that much harder to break the ice later. Break the ice. That was Paul's phrase, she remembered. Well, he didn't have to worry. She'd find a way.
She slipped into a white summer minidress that was so short her pussy would have been exposed every time she moved if she hadn't worn pants. She put on white ones, the briefest and sheerest she had. Her pussy showed through, but only as a dark shadow. No bra, of course. Her breasts bounced and jiggled freely, but the nipples showed through only faintly. She stepped into a pair of high-heeled mules, and she was ready.
She had just sat down to wait when the downstairs buzzer rang.
* * *
After Paul's warning on the phone, his friends were a surprise to her. They looked young, God knows, as they filed through the door she held open for them, but they went through the confusing ritual of introductions without a trace of shyness or awkwardness. Maybe her all-American, girl-next-door look in that summer dress had something to do with it, she thought. Maybe I remind them of their goddamn sisters. Ho. Some sister.
There were three of them. Somehow she'd been expecting two, but three were even better. They looked young enough and tender enough to eat. Which wasn't a bad thought. Her mouth watered. Not only her mouth. What she had before her, she thought, was a feast of young male flesh. A smorgasbord, if you happened to feel Scandinavian. Paul's friend Tim Wells was thin and brown-haired, smiling and cheerful-looking and completely at ease; he looked enough like Paul to be his brother. Sid Wexler was a muscular, stocky blonde boy. Ken
Lowry was a tall redhead, who looked a little older than the other boys, almost old enough to be legal, Wendy thought. They were all old enough to drink beer. Old enough to like to drink beer, anyway.
When they all had cans of beer in their hands and she had a Scotch and water in hers, they settled around the room, two on the convertible couch, which she hadn't pulled out to make into a bed, on account of Paul's warning, one in an easy chair, and one perched on the big hassock.
She sat in the other easy chair, and crossed her legs. There was no inconspicuous way to cross those spectacular legs, and the boys all stared, hungrily, at all that luscious curvature of bare tanned flesh.
"Well," she said, raising her glass in a toast, "to education."
They all looked mystified, but sipped their beer anyway.
"When you told me once a teacher, always a teacher, you weren't being serious, were you?" Paul asked. He looked a little worried.
She laughed.
"When I said, 'to education,' I didn't mean higher education," she said.
"To lower education, then," Paul said.
"Exactly. Lower education. Or low-down learning. There's nothing like it."
"You can say that again," Paul said, unable to wrench his eyes from the ripeness of her legs. She re-crossed them, slowly, putting them on abundant display. Four pairs of eyes watched them, hungrily. And she'd thought that all teenagers were tit-men.
But in that dress, of course, sTie wasn't giving the tit-men much to see. She could do much better. And maybe it would help to break the ice.
"It's a warm night," she said, standing suddenly. "And I'm going to get into something a little less formal. Then maybe you'll all get a little less formal." She looked at their faces, meaningfully, and found what she'd hoped for. A little confusion, a little Christmas Eve expectation, and a lot of raw young lust.
What was keeping them so polite, she realized, was that they didn't quite believe whatever Paul had told them. Seeing her in the flesh, they'd probably found her too much to believe. Too much, for any horny but hesitant growing boys, no matter what Paul had said. They were probably inclined to think, seeing her in the flesh, that Paul had been just fantasizing. Boasting.
Well, she'd straighten them out, and up, quick enough. She smiled at them before turning to sway and jiggled freely, too, in the deep-cut, diaphanous behind her, she shucked her dress and panties, lifted her short, loose, most revealing of all hard-on provokers from its handy hook behind the door, and slipped it on.
The loose flared hem swung and flipped at the approximate level of her now unemcumbered, living, breathing, pinkly pouting pussy. Her breasts bobbed and wiggled freely, too, in the deep-cut. diaphanous looseness of the garment that inevitably showed far more than it hid. Anything it hid, it hid only fleetingly, as if by accident.
Make their mouths water, the tit-men in the group, she thought. She opened the door and pranced buoyantly to the middle of the room.
Four sets of eyes opened wide. Four mouths dropped slightly open.
She stepped over to her chair, keeping herself in profile to the boys. But before sitting down, she faced them, bending forward and letting her breasts swing free and full and jiggling, on open display inside the falling-away front of her gown. When she sat, she crossed her legs in the same motion, so none of them got enough of a look to know that she wasn't wearing pants. A hint, maybe, a shadow of pussy fur, but only a flash look, at best. They couldn't be sure. Yet.
But they were turning into believers. There was a touch of perspiration visible on a couple of smooth young foreheads.
"Well," she said. "Like this informal little gown a bit better?"
"Jesus," the tall redhead said, gulping. Ken, his name was. She'd have to try to keep their names straight. "Jesus, come into focus."
"You can talk plainer than that," she said, smiling. She turned to Paul. "Can't he, Paul?"
"Sure he can," Paul said, "and so can you, now."
"It'll be all right?"
"It'll be all right, now," Paul said. He seemed to be reassuring her. The thought amused her. The tease in her rose to the surface.
"Well, group," she said. "You don't think there's anything unseemly about saying what's on our minds?"
"No," Ken said. "I don't."
"You have nothing against hearing four-letter words, and using them yourself, when the occasion calls for them?"
"No," the blonde boy said. Sid.
"Shit, no," Paul's look-alike said, grinning. Tim. She had all their names straight.
"Well, then," she said. "What were you thinking, just now, Ken?"
"I was thinking you're the most gorgeous-looking girl I've ever seen, in the flesh," Ken said.
"Thank you. That's all you were thinking?"
"Well." He hesitated, but only for a second. "I was thinking that I'd give anything to go to bed with you."
"That's very flattering," she said, looking at him without smiling now. "But can't you talk plainer than that?"
"What I want more than anything, right now," he said, not hesitating at all this time, "is to fuck you,"
"Well," she said, leaning back in the easy chair and swinging her front foot, "now we're getting somewhere."
EIGHT
She re-crossed her legs, very slowly and deliberately, letting her thighs swing open, giving them all a clear, unmistakable look at her beautifully available uncovered cunt.
"Now that you've all gotten a glimpse of what you're going to be getting into," she said, smiling demurely at the flustered group, "don't you think you all ought to be getting out of your clothes? After all, when we were all kids, and played doctor and nurse, the game used to be, 'You show me yours, I'll show you mine."
They, were all on their feet, getting out of shirts and trousers.
"When it comes to breaking the ice at a party," she said, to no one in particular, "there's nothing like giving the boys a little peek at a pussy, is there?"
"At your pussy," Ken said, sitting down again on the couch. He was wearing only his shorts. "It's beautiful."
"Delicious," Paul said, and flushed when she looked at him, smiling.
"You think my pussy looks good enough to eat, Ken?" she asked the redheaded boy.
"Sure does," he said boldly.
The others were all sitting again, wearing their shorts. Modest. Well, that was easily fixed. She was getting thoroughly aroused, with all that vibrant young male flesh strung out in front of her.
She uncrossed her legs and stood up suddenly, then pirouetted once, slowly, letting the short loose gown rise and swirl up around her hips and ass, showing them all a slow-motion flash of dark fur and moistening, duskily pink cunt. She was aware of Paul's tense features as he leaned forward in his chair.
She crossed the room and sat up on the edge of her wide, sturdy table, facing them. Then she leaned back, supporting herself on her elbows, and raised her knees and waved them lazily, opening her thighs, giving them a better look at what they'd all be getting their cocks into. They were all standing now, still wearing their shorts, but the shorts all poked out grotesquely, along one leg. The left leg, she noticed, every one of them.
"Since everyone of you has a hard-on," she said softly, "why don't you get out of your shorts? You should at least let me feast my eyes on those-fine young hard cocks. I'm going to fuck you all, you know, before the evening's over, if you want to fuck me." They were trembling in their excitement, she noticed, as they bent to strip off their encumbering shorts. She was almost as excited as they were. Or maybe four times as excited, she thought, as the four stiff young cocks popped into view. "Every one of those beautiful stiff cocks is going to slide into my nice, warm, wet, ever-lovin' cunt, you know. We can aah-fuck, ooh-fuck, ee-fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck till the sun comes up." She was whispering hoarsely, her thighs wide apart, her glistening pink cunt on open display.
Their cocks were standing out, stiff and quivering, in varying sizes, at varying angles. She wondered if her cunt was visibly drooling for them, the way she felt.
"You said something about my pussy looking good enough to eat, Ken?" she said, in a tight, squeezed voice. "Would you like to taste my twat, Ken? Kiss my cunt? Lick it a little, just for openers? I'll suck your cock for you, later, if you like. I'll suck each and every cock in the room."
Ken stepped over toward her, drew up a straight chair, and dipped his head between her open welcoming thighs. She felt the tip of his tongue touch the squirming pink tenderness between her parted pussy lips, then his whole mouth covering her cunt, in a deep, sucking kiss.
"Oooh," she breathed. "Suck it. Suck my cunt." She squeezed his head softly, warmly, smotheringly, between her smooth velvety thighs.
She was dimly aware of the other boys ranged in a semi-circle around Ken and the edge of the table, all trembling with lust and impatience. They were watching Ken's head bobbing, his tongue licking, eagerly, swiftly, with long firm strokes, between the pink open lips of her cunt, and she noticed that the boys were moving their tongues involuntarily between their lips, in sympathetic accord with Ken's.
It was a good sign, she thought. She had a good, eager class of natural born cunt-lappers here, for any stray moments when they happened to be too tired to fuck her.
Ah, it felt wonderful, that mouth on her cunt. But she opened her legs, releasing Ken's, ears from her thighs' embrace, and touched him on the forehead.
"You're being selfish, Ken," she said, laughing in the sheer joy of her cock-plenty. "Aren't you going to. give the other boys a lick of your ice cream cone? Or I should say, your ice cream cunt?"
Ken sat back, his wet mouth gleaming, then got up out of the chair. The blonde boy, Sid, took his place, not wasting a second.
"You might think I've never done this before," he said, and leaned forward. They were the only words he spoke for quite a while.
He was very good at what he was doing, Wendy noticed, right away. He was a practiced and dedicated licker of little teenage slits, evidently. He reached his hands up around her thighs, and with his fingers, carefully and lovingly, he spread the outer lips of her cunt, exposing the soft, moist, pink little hills and valleys of yearning, responding, tender membrane.
When he began to lick he did it with feathery strokes, at first, keeping his tongue soft. Then, gradually, he stiffened his tongue and increased the pressure, paying special attention to the sliding bud of her swollen, ecstasy-magnifying clitoris.
The tingling delight Wendy felt was almost unbearable, but she wanted it to go on forever, and by force of will, she kept herself from building toward a climax. Her hips were thrusting, writhing, pushing her cunt up and against the pressure of the boy's thirsty, sucking, gobbling mouth and probing, flailing tongue. She noticed that her legs, in the air behind Sid's head, never stopped waving, as a sort of signal acknowledging her joy.
But she was urgently, increasingly aware of wanting something more, something more deeply satisfying, in the ravenous cavern of her celebrating cunt.
"That's enough of this foolish foreplay, Sid," she whispered, trying to sound throatily, sensuously amused, but sounding, she was sure, as shiveringly eager as the boys all looked, with their moist lips and jutting, lost-looking hard cocks. "Let's fuck. Let's all fuck. Pull out the bed, somebody. We need a playpen, an ever-lovin' playpen, in this fucking nursery."
The convertible couch was out from the wall, wide and inviting, almost before the words were out of her mouth. If the lust-crazed candor of her language shocked them, she thought, it hadn't diminished the hardness of their stiff, up-pulsing proud pricks.
Except for Sid's. When he took his mouth from the moist morass of her vaporizing cunt, reluctantly, his tongue lingered for one last loving lick, and she noticed that his cock had subsided to a semi-erect state, about halfway up, as if his desire had transferred itself at least partially to his tongue.
As Wendy slid from the table and stood up, she noticed with some surprise that she was still wearing her high-heeled pumps. She drew the hem of her short, loose translucent gown up and over her head, and dropped it to the floor.
She heard the intake of breaths all around her, and focused her gaze, with excited and curious amusement, on the now-familiar, fond face of Paul.
He wore an expression of almost proprietary pride, but his eyes, like the eyes of the other boys, were drinking in the sight of her, from her softly smiling moist lips, down past her pouting, gently jiggling, taut-nippled breasts, along the ripe curving whiteness of her belly and hips, past the glistening crisp brown luxuriance of her mound, the blossoming pink delicacy of her cunt, down the magnificent, luscious swell of her thighs, the in-curving neatness of her perfect knees, to the throat-catching glory of her lower legs.
She kicked off her pumps, walked over and sat on the side of the bed, and looked from side to side at the array of hard-ons on a level with her eyes. Sid's cock, she noticed, had swelled to a fully erect state again.
"Now," she murmured, as if to herself, surveying that feast of stiff young cocks. "Who to fuck first? Eenie, meenie, minie..." Her eyes stopped at the scarlet, swollen tip of Tim's slender, rigid dork. It looked ready to explode. It was the smallest cock in the room, not that it was small, by any standard. But not one of the boys, she'd noticed, had been short-changed in the penis department. However, there was a delicacy, an innocence, about Tim's young prick that made it seem smaller than the others. More deserving. And it stood out from his lean body with a rigidity and stiffness that made her think that she could hang things on it. Heavy things. Well. A good place to start her fuck feast.
"Tim," she asked softly, "would you like to be the first to fuck me tonight?"
"Honored," he said in a choked voice, but he didn't move.
She reached out and drew him toward her, with her hands on his bony hips. Then, smiling up at him, she took his straining member into her mouth, wetting the taut swollen head, letting her tongue slide gently along the lower length of it. Then she took her mouth away and looked up at him again.
"Ready to fuck me, Tim?" she whispered. "I'm ready. My hot juicy cunt is ready for your cock, right now." The excitement of Ken's tongue was still down there where it counted, keeping her twat mouth moist and lubricated.
Tim didn't answer, but got on his knees on the bed as she lay back and spread her legs. She reached out to guide the swollen-to-bursting head of his slim ramrod of a cock to her hungering cunt mouth, but he didn't need and help or guidance. His cock slid into the delicious tender squeezing of her welcoming cunt, in one eager, trembling thrust.
"That's it, Tim," she breathed into his ear. "Fuck me with your beautiful stiff cock. Let's fuck, fuck, fuck."
But he was too eager, Wendy knew at once, much too eager. He was breathing fast, almost panting, and his pumping thrusts into her responding cunt came much faster than his breath. There was no way to slow him down, at least not just by trying to slow the beat with her own hips.
"Easy, Tim," she said. "Slow, slow'. Fuck me deep, and fuck me slow."
But he didn't appear to hear her, or if he did, he just couldn't control himself. Delirious, Toby thought, out of his mind with joy. There was something endearing about his puppy-like pumping. It must be his first fuck, Wendy thought. Oh, well.
Make the best of it.
She wrapped her legs around his hollowed, frantic buttocks, clung to him with her arms, and let him fuck away, pounding, trembling, groaning. She raised her hips lazily to meet every third or fourth thrust of his wetly shuttling cock. Crazed cock, she thought, thrusting her cunt upwards slowly, automatically. Tim wasn't aware that any other part of his body existed-only his ecstatic, rapturous, supreme pumping prick.
There was something contagious in his uncontrolled excitement, and gradually she found that her own hips were moving faster of their own accord, her cunt rising and thrusting to meet every fuck-starved stroke. But then, as her own excitement began to build in earnest, she felt him speed up to a trembling, erratic rhythm she could not match, and she knew that the end was only seconds away, for him. He was on the very edge of coming. Too soon, for her. Much too soon. Thank God for the boys warming up in the bullpen. Sid. The blonde boy with the educated mouth. The tongue with the taste for twat.
She rolled her head. Sam was there, right beside the bed. With a hard-on that was a sight for a horny girl's eyes.
"Sid," she said, her cunt thrusting upward to suck in Tim's explosion when it came, "stay close. Be ready."
"Right here," Sid said. "Never been readier."
Then Tim, trembling at the hips, drove his cock full-length into the hot moist heavenly haven of her cunt, and held it there, squirting.
"Sid," she said. "Ready?"
"Ready," she heard him say. Tim was lying, inert now, between her tightly clutching legs. His cock was still spurting.
She contracted her cunt muscles once, twice, and Tim took the hint. He rolled away from her, his slackening prick making a soft plopping sound as it slid out from between her stirred-up and ravenous cunt lips.
"Ah," Wendy said. "Oooh. Sid. Now, Sid."
NINE
In the wink of time it took Tim to get out from between her legs, Wendy took her first good look at Sid's cock. It was a deep, vivid red in color, from base to tip. And it was longer than Tim's, and thicker, and just as hard. It was exactly what she needed. Right away. Right this second.
In a second, without another word from her or anybody else, Sid was mounted between her legs, and his eager stiff red shaft slid in easily to take the place of Tim's. Though it was considerably bigger than Tim's, it slid in easily. Wendy gave it an exquisite little squeeze with her inner cunt-lips, by way of welcome.
Then her cunt was thrusting upwards again, hardly missing a stroke after Tim's frantic fucking. She wondered, for a fleeting moment, if she were imagining things; Sid's cock even seemed to feel much bigger, in the swinging heaven of her cunt. It seemed to reach deeper, open the slippery walls of pleasure wider.
She gave Sid the fucking of his young lifetime, holding herself at a plateau of ecstasy,-keeping herself away from the peak of her pleasure, sliding and thrusting and clutching and pumping the wet warm dream of her cunt around the rock-hard reality of his rigid, driving cock.
She didn't know, in her pumping, thrusting, controlled fuck-rhapsody, how much time went by, but all at once she was aware that Sid, too, was coming-pushing, straining, spurting into her gulping twat depths. And she, herself, was at the trembling edge of orgasm. God. She wanted to call out, for Paul, for Ken, for anyone with a hard cock, but she couldn't make a sound above a moan.
Then, miraculously, as she rolled her head sideways, casting about for an immediate answer to her too-immediate problem, a cock came sharply into focus, seeming to loom over her from the edge of the bed. In her frantic need, it looked beautifully, gorgeously enormous. The head was deep violet in shade, the rigid broad shaft a seasoned brown, even on the tender, wrinkled, vulnerable underside. It looked as if it had been out in the sun all summer, carefully coated with Coppertone.
The lovely big prick grew out of the tall, redheaded boy, the one who looked older than the others.
"Are you ready for me?" Ken asked, his face serious. She knew he had to be kidding. He couldn't have misread the frantic, urgency of her thumping and groaning while Sid was coming. Where was Sid? He'd left the warm berth of her open thighs. In her desperation, she hadn't even noticed his withdrawal and departure.
"Don't put me on," she panted, weakly. "Fill my cunt with that big cock, Ken. That big, hard Ken-cock. Fuck me the rest of the way to heaven."
He got to his knees between her open thighs, and lodged the head of his big tool at the grateful entrance of her roiled, hungrily clutching cunt. The head of it was the size and shape of a lemon, she thought, looking down. SunKist. Only the color and texture were different. And she'd never seen a lemon with a vertical slitted eye at the conical end of it.
She spread her legs wider, bracing her heels flat on the bed as she raised her knees, and lifted her cunt to welcome his entering thrust. He worked his joy-giving thick shaft into her greedy, deliciously slippery twat-channel slowly, an inch at a time, until her cunt was distended and full-feeling, his great satisfier of a cock all the way up, deep inside her. Wendy could feel her inner pussy lips and cunt muscles squeezing and contracting spasmodically around the thick hard shaft. It was a trick she'd learned to thrill the boys when she'd started fucking in high school, but now she was doing it, or her cunt was doing it, just naturally, without her willing it. Love, she thought idiotically. Real love. Love of fucking, she knew. She vowed at that moment never to go so long without it again, as long as she could draw a breath. And as long as her cunt could draw in a stiff cock.
Ken withdrew the entire length of his shaft, slowly, until only the head remained within the clutch of her cunt entrance, and held himself poised, the head just spreading the inner twat-mouth. Wendy quivered, and tried to suppress it, but Ken knew he knew that she was at the very shuddering edge of orgasm.
He thrust his great cock forward then, in one deep plunge, to the hilt, and held it that way, stiff inside her, probing, filling her whole consciousness as well as her cunt with nothing but quivering, blinding sensation.
Then, uncontrollably, Wendy was coming, writhing, squirming, thrusting her cunt thirstily upward, as if to engulf more of that big rigid shaft, moaning deep in her throat. Still Ken held himself arched over her, letting her gorge herself on his iron, immobile cock.
As her spasms subsided, slowly, Wendy became aware of Ken watching her face, smiling faintly. His big thick cock, rock-hard and rigid in her weakly gulping cunt, was the beginning and end of her every sensation, the concentrated core of her being. He began to stir his hips slowly, grinding the hard base of his pelvic knoll against her wet, tender, matted mound.
"Now that you've gotten over all that girlish excitement, Wendy," he said, grinning now, "why don't you relax a while and really enjoy it?"
And she was supposed to be the teacher, Wendy thought, giving the boys a treat and a lesson at the same time. She had to smile, up into the face of the redheaded fucker arched over her.
She was in no mood and no condition to take a dignified mental stance with him, anyway. She lay still, her thighs and cunt spread in open abandon, and felt his seemingly endless, wrist-thick shaft slide out of her twat's soft clutch, almost to the end, then slowly plunge it back in, filling her once again with cock and contentment. Without her consciously willing the motion, she felt her hips starting to respond, slowly at first, raising almost imperceptibly to greet each long, deliberate fuck-stroke.
She had thought she was finished with all sensation for a while, but she felt the responding flesh-joy building inside her again, a much deeper, warmer, rounder, fuller pleasure, somehow, than the preceding delight. It reached to the roots, not just the ends, of every responsive nerve inside her.
Without being conscious of it, she moved her legs to hook her heels inside Ken's, giving her the leverage she needed to pursue the dedication she was so ideally formed for. Formed for fucking, she thought. Me. Wendy. Wendy the teacher. And never too old to learn. There was a lot more to fucking, after all, than meets the eye.
The exquisitely tuned and oiled machinery of her hips and cunt began to move in earnest then, superbly complementing the slow, delibrate, deliciously torturing shuttling of Ken's own enormously accomplished tool.
They fucked slowly, sensuously, giving each other the ultimate in pleasure, with consummate care, for a long, long time, and Wendy lost track of everything except the delicately demanding suck of her marvelously expert cunt around Ken's in-sliding pole of smooth, slippery, hard cartilage and muscle.
Gradually, very gradually, in perfect accord, the rhythm of their fucking increased in tempo, and soon Wendy heard herself gasping, unable to control the sounds issuing from her throat. She was only dimly aware of the gasping words that formed themselves on her writhing lips.
"Drive it deep, Ken," she could hear herself saying. "Push that big cock deep in my cunt, all the way up to my throat. Fuck me hard, Ken. Fuck me harder."
He drove his great shaft into her with renewed fury, faster, and deeper, it seemed to her, with every stroke. Then she was blind with sensation for a long moment, and knew, joyously, without regrets, that she had reached the point of no return.
He held his hard, stubborn prize of a cock very still, deep in the wet delirious flesh-trap of her cunt, as she writhed in her own private ecstasy, and then he came with her, pumping and squirting deep into her, bathing her silent, secret fires.
TEN
Minutes later, they were lying very still, she and Ken, stretched out on their backs in the middle of what Wendy called her castrated convertible couch, with their heads propped up against the pillows, sharing a cigarette. To Wendy, it was an unseemly intimacy, sharing a cigarette with this long, lean, redheaded, nineteen-year-old who could have been a student in one of her classrooms.
It was an unseemly intimacy to her, that sharing of a cigarette, but she had better sense than to mention it. Some things were difficult to explain, to the very young. Anyway, all she wanted to do right now was sleep. She was very tired. Contented, deeply, but tired. All fucked out, let's face it, she told herself. For a while, anyway.
She rolled her head lazily to look at the other three boys sprawled around the room, and started, suddenly, with a twinge of guilt. Paul. Dear Paul. She hadn't done a thing for her dearest horny young friend.
But he didn't look neglected, or in a frenzy to fuck. He sat carelessly naked and totally relaxed in the easy chair she'd occupied until she'd moved to the bed, with a beer in his hand, and Wendy noticed with relief that he didn't even have a hard-on. His cock wasn't soft, exactly, but it was hanging, long and Umber, against the soft cushion of his balls on the edge of the chair.
Paul seemed almost to read her mind, and he smiled at her.
"I'm sorry if I seem to have neglected you, Paul," she said, almost formally. "But I'm saving you for dessert. We'll do something very extra special, in a little while. When I get my strength back."
"It's all right," Paul said. "You're more than worth waiting for."
"Continence," Ken said, from the pillow beside her. "It's good for the character. Remember, Paul's a growing boy."
"So're you."
"You've been peeking."
Ken was lying on his back, and his long, inert cock, hanging down limp between his legs, had started to come awake. It lifted slowly and lay on its side, then rose sideways and fell back, then rose again, like a drunk trying to get to his feet. Wendy watched, fascinated, despite her weariness. She made herself look away.
"Forget it, Ken," she said, but she couldn't keep herself from looking again. His cock was now semi-erect, struggling to stand tall, to come to attention. Trying to throw its shoulders back, she thought.
"I can't forget it," Ken said.
"It's sort of at half-mast," she said. "Like the flag when a president dies."
"Nothing's dying," he said. "Look now."
She was looking. She couldn't help herself. His king-size cock was fully erect now, enormous again, dusky red now beneath the sun tan surface; and Wendy was excited again, despite herself.
"All right, you win," she said. "We both win." She raised the knee closest to him.
"Put it in sideways this time," she said.
He didn't have to be told twice.
* * *
It was a long, slow comfortable fuck this time, delicious from the beginning to end. There was none of the frantic urgency to mark the climax, as there had been the last time, and this time Wendy was not tired when it was over. Sated, relaxed, but not tired. A sort of second wind, she thought. Something for the boys.
They all looked at her, expectantly, hopefully, happily-but not feverishly-as she rolled over and got to her feet beside the bed.
"I'm going to take a shower," she said, heading for the short hallway toward the bathroom door. She looked down and discovered that the insides of her thighs were glistening wet. "Drink your beer while I take that shower and think up something new in the way of fun and games. For Paul, most especially."
She stopped in the arch to the hallway, turned, and smiled at him, a special, fond smile. He smiled back, looking as if he were ready for anything. No matter what it turned out to be.
Wendy showered and douched, leisurely, lazily, and she pranced nude except for her high-heeled mules back into the big room. She found Paul lying on his back, also naturally nude, in the middle of the big bed. Quite evidently he didn't want to be neglected any longer, and he was taking this obvious way of reminding her of her implied promise. His long young cock lay limber between his legs as she entered the room, but it began to stir and swell and elongate itself as she sauntered provocatively-hips saucily swaying, her pert buoyant breasts bobbing, her fur-framed pussy pinkly winking-around the room.
"Get tired of waiting, Paul?" she asked, coming to a stop beside the bed. She was turned in profile to him, giving him the heart-stopping view from the side of her gloriously ripe, luscious, perfect pouting ass. He was an ass-man, above all else, she'd just remembered, from the other night, and she knew all at once what the special thing was she had in mind for him. For both of them. A new, tingling excitement was rising in her, just thinking about it.
"Not tired at all," Paul said, glancing at his now-rigid prick. "Anyway, for you I'd keep on waiting even if it took forever."
Then, almost as if through extra-sensory perception, he sat up on the edge of the bed and started to stroke the velvety white globes of her ass. Then he stopped his caressing hands, for a moment, while he bent to kiss each rounded cheek, in turn.
Wendy shivered, as if in girlish delight, but it wasn't all playacting. She turned to face him, and leaned forward.
He took that hint, too. Still kneading and stroking the soft resilience of her ass, he sucked first one poked-out pink nipple, then the other, until they stood stiffly out, jutting like little red lady-like hard-ons, in ludicrous contrast to the round softness of her gently bobbing breasts.
Wendy looked down, into the straining, expectant rapture of the boy's face; then he glance dropped further. His rigid shaft stood straight up, the head a blushing pink. It seemed to be trying to tell her something. Something about the look of it was imploring, begging, beseeching.
"Do you want to?" she asked softly, as his hands explored the yielding delights of her ass, one finger tickling lightly in the tender privacy of the crevice.
"Want to?" he asked, looking confused.
"Don't be dense. You know you're an ass-man."
"I'm a your ass-man," he said, still looking mystified. "It's the loveliest ass I've ever seen. Or touched. I think I could come, just touching it."
"Well?" she said.
"Well, what?"
"You are being dense," she said. "Wouldn't you like to touch it with something beside your finger? Do something more than kiss it?"
"Ooh, Jesus," he said. "Would I!"
Dawn was breaking, finally, she thought. She almost laughed out loud. But even as her excitement mounted, the urge to tease came on strong.
"Wouldn't you like to slide the bottom of your cock along those nice soft smooth cheeks?" she whispered.
"Mmmmmm," he hummed, his hungry hands still feasting on the sumptuous swells.
"Then press your cock up along inside the warm crack?"
"Oooh, yes," he murmured.
"Then prod me? Push your cock in there? Fuck me up my tight little ass-hole."
"Oooh, Jesus," he groaned.
"Well, I'd like it too," she said, "having a real dedicated young stud like you fuck me up the ass."
She wriggled it, happily, and heard the boys around the room groaning in unison as she reached out to the, end table at the head of the pulled-out bed and picked up a small tube of petroleum jelly. With Paul's hands still feasting on the bounty of her exquisitely ripened rear end, she unscrewed the top of the tube, squeezed out an inch of lubricant onto her fingertips, and faced Paul, wriggling free of his caressing hands.
"This won't hurt a bit," she said. "It'll make things easier for that beautiful young cock of yours. So you can slip it into that tight place gently."
She reached down and tenderly anointed the enraged-looking, apple-shiny head of Paul's stiffly alert prick. She let her hand slide lovingly down the shaft, lubricating it. too, for the gloriously fleshly invasion.
"That'll make it easier and nicer and better for both of us," she said. She was teasing again, she knew, teasing them all, but she couldn't help herself. It was a very real part of her pleasure. "I like something a little different once in a while, and it's a well, different kind of a thrill for a girl, offering her ass-hole for some of the action, having a nice hard cock slipping up into her ass."
She was talking too much, she knew. Abruptly, she stepped onto the bed and positioned herself on her elbows and knees", the soft, snowy, rounded hills elevated. Then she reached back and separated the globes of her buttocks, spreading the luscious ripe mounds, opening to the eyes of every boy in the room the neat, tender, puckered orifice of her willing, welcoming ass-hole.
"Now slide that slippery cock in there, Paul," she said, her voice sounded strained and ragged in her excitement. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me up the ass...
ELEVEN
Wendy watched over her shoulder as Paul moved onto the bed and got to his knees behind her. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the pillow as she felt the hard exploring head of his cock slide up and down in the openly inviting spread crevice between her lusciously ripe, resilient buttocks.
When his slippery shaft-head had found its target in the tiny opening, she felt him push, hesitantly, tentatively. She made a conscious effort to loosen her sphincter muscles, and felt the triangular hard knob of his cock-head penetrate part way. She pushed back toward him, and felt the head slide in, her eager little orifice squeezing tightly around the collar of his shaft.
"Full speed ahead, Paul," she said, her words muffled by the pillow. "Fuck my ass good. Slide that slippery cock all the way in."
Slowly, gently, the boy urged his yearning young cock into her innermost intimacy, until the white yielding buttocks were pressed flat against his hipbones.
"Flick me hard now, Paul," she said, through clenched teeth, trying to encourage him further. "Fuck me hard, all the way up my ass."
But Paul didn't need any more encouragement, now. He pumped his hard slippery shaft in and out again, swiftly, furiously, groaning all the while. His free-swinging balls made tiny slapping sounds against the soft lower regions of her opened cunt. She heard herself groaning, in unison with Paul, as she pushed backward to meet every eager, driving stroke.
But the new-found excitement was too much for young Paul. All at once, in a frenzy of fuck-strokes, he was coming. And, strangely, it almost seemed to Wendy that she was coming with him. She knew she couldn't be, but she felt a great excitement stirred up in her by the frantically sliding action of his slippery hard piston of a prick. What it is, she told herself crazily, is a sympathetic orgasm.
She was enormously excited, now. She hardly waited for Paul to withdraw his cock before she flounced over onto her back. But Paul wasn't there, and seconds later she heard the shower running. He was back only a minute later, toweling himself.
She reached behind her, raised her hips, and swiftly placed a pillow under her ass. She glanced around the room, at Ken, at Sid, at Tim. Every one of them, she saw gratefully, had a hard-on. The wonder of youth, she thought.
"Whoever gets her first." she said, trying to smile through the urgency of her excitement. "Let's fuck, fellas."
She closed her eyes, raised her knees, and let her legs spread wide.
TWELVE
In the morning, Wendy woke up late, feeling lazy, with a don't-give-a-shit feeling about getting to the office on time. She lingered in the shower, relishing her remembrance of her marathon fucking with the boys the night before. Her eager-beaver patrol, she thought, smiling to herself as she toweled herself dry.
She was amazed to discover that the thought of the boys and their insatiable, always-ready-for-more-action pricks had an arousing effect on her. She'd have thought she'd be sated with sex this morning, jaded, tired of even the thought of it, after all that fucking; ready to go through another months-long stretch of celibacy, as she'd just done.
No such thing. It was as if a dam had burst in all that excess of sexual excitement and gratification. Already, now, first thing, in the morning, she was ready for more. And she wasn't even sore. Anywhere.
She'd expected to be, particularly in the area of her seldom-violated ass-hole. But she felt not even a trace of soreness there. And her twat should be stretched and weary, you'd think, after all that reaming by those enthusiastic, rigid young cocks. But it wasn't, internally, anyway. As she finished drying herself, she bent to take a good look at herself, and found that her pussy looked as fresh, as pert, as neatly, pinkly pursed as ever. Virginal-looking, practically, if you didn't know better.
Waiting for the coffee water to boil, she started wondering what it all meant, this sudden, wild, surging, almost uncontrollable lust for young boys. And she didn't have to wonder long. Halfway through her toast and coffee, she thought she knew.
She'd found the academic life deadly dull, especially those interminable hours in front of college classrooms, full of students as bored as she was with the whole routine. She'd found the kids themselves a drag, term after term, with their same stereotyped sets of hang-ups behind different, ever-changing faces.
So she'd never gotten to know any of the undergraduates-well, never as people, only the names that went with which faces. Even though she looked as young or younger than most of them, she had nothing to do with them outside the classroom. She limited her social life to her colleagues. Her sporadic sexual activities were confined to other young or youngish male instructors, assistant professors, associate professors. Well, there had been one forty-five-year-old full professor, and that had been the only worthwhile, memorable episode in her whole skimpy academic sexual experience. The others had been mostly coolly cerebral, or conversational, or earnest, and all of them had been dull, dull, dull.
She'd found the-likeliest of the lot, the passionately earnest, had wanted to make something meaningful out of every simple fucking episode. Deep. Lasting. She'd wanted no part of that.
Thinking of those three years now, she marveled at her short-sightedness. Day after day, week after week, month after month, she'd stood in front of roomfuls of infinitely willing young cocks, much like that wonderful array last night, and she'd done nothing, absolutely nothing, to partake of that feast ,of hard flesh and muscle. What a waste. She could have had the happiest cunt on campus.
Well, she thought, putting her empty coffee cup in the sink, no use crying over unspilt semen. From here on in, she wasn't about io do any mourning about opportunities passed over. With what she'd just realized about herself, she'd just go ahead and enjoy herself to the limit, any time she felt like it. For a while, anyway, as long as it excited her as it did now. The young ones, for her, with their insatiable lusts and their resilient, springing-up-for-more hard-ons.
A cradle robber, that's what she'd be called, she thought cheerfully, opening the door to her clothes closet. Cradle snatcher. Or the girl with the cradle-snatching snatch. She liked that.
She reached into the closet, hesitated, and brought her hand back empty. What she wore to the office usually was a slack suit, or a blouse or shirt and slacks, or even blue jeans.
Well, not today, she decided. She didn't feel as if she wanted to look sexless, today. She felt very much alive, eager, awakened, especially in the sex department. So why not dress that way? Let everybody know how alive she felt.
She took down a light, flimsy summer dress with a very short skirt, that she'd never worn. Her older sister had sent it to her, she couldn't remember when. Too sexy for Sylvia.
Wendy stepped into her sexiest shoes, then into white open-mesh bikini-cut white panties. She slipped the flimsy, revealing summer dress on, smiled to herself, and picked up her handbag.
She was ready for the office. The new, willing Wendy.
* * *
All through the day, Wendy got a lot of yearning attention from many sets of male eyes in the advertising agency where she worked as a combination secretary and creative assistant to the creative director. The longing looks made her feel somehow happy and horny at the same time. It was a good feeling. She didn't fight it.
The boldest looks of all came from Rafe, the tall blonde boy who worked in the mailroom, and made a tour of the office every hour or so with interoffice correspondence.
She liked Rafe, always had, from the first day she'd worked there. He'd made it a habit to stop often at her desk, making small jokes or aimless but pleasant conversation. Today he made twice as many stops at her desk as usual, and lingered longer.
"You look even lovelier than usual, today," he said. "You've got me all choked up."
"Thank you," she said. "I expect it's just that I'm wearing a dress, for a change."
"It's what's in the dress," Rafe said, his eyes feasting on the tender morsels of her nipples, showing in a shadowed but unmistakable way through the sheer dress. "Downright delicious."
"Delicious?"
"Delicious," Rafe repeated. "You look good enough to eat."
"Now, Rafe," she said. "Don't talk dirty."
"I didn't mean..." he said, then grinned. "Maybe I did."
"Rafe!" she said, enjoying her act. "We're in the office."
"Sure are, dammit," he said, and went away.
* * *
At five o'clock, when most of the people were leaving, Wendy decided to finish typing something she'd been putting off.
By six-thirty, she still had a few pages to go, but she felt hungry. She pushed back from her desk and went downstairs to the coffee shop.
When she got back, the cleaning women were just leaving, and she thought she was alone in the office. She'd finished what she'd been typing and was just fitting the cover on her typewriter when she realized she'd been wrong, about being alone in the office. Rafe stood by her desk, smiling at her. He had a paper cup in his hand.
"Would you like a drink before you go?" he asked. "We've got a bottle of vodka and some tonic, out in the mailroom."
"Sure," she said. "Best idea I've heard all day."
It was, too, she thought. She'd wanted to get a drink when she'd gone down to eat, but didn't want to take the time, with the rest of the typing job hanging over her.
"The mailroom's a messy place," Rafe said, as she stood up and smoothed down what there was of her skirt. Her luscious tanned thighs looked strangely out of place in the cold, efficient surroundings. "Why don't I bring your drink back here?"
"Good idea," Wendy said. "Wilton's office."
Wilton was her boss. He'd left around five-thirty. She went into his office and turned on his desk lamp and the two floor lamps. Without the overhead lights, his office was quite a pleasant place, with wall-to-wall carpeting, a long gray couch, and a couple of armchairs.
She was sitting in one of the armchairs, smoking a cigarette when Rafe came back into the office, carrying a bowl of ice cubes and a stack of paper cups. Behind him was Jason, the black mailroom boy. She liked Jason, too, but he didn't come around as often as Rafe did.
"I brought Jason with me," Rafe said, unnecessarily. "Had to. It's his bottle." Jason was carrying the vodka and a quart bottle of tonic.
"Good," she said. "Nothing like having a friendly little cocktail hour right in the office."
Rafe made her a drink-a strong one, she noticed approvingly, using Wilton's desk as a bar. After he'd handed the drink to her, he freshened his own drink, and Jason's, and the two boys sat down on the couch, facing her. They raised their glasses to her, or rather their paper cups.
"To after-hours," Rafe said, "and to the loveliest girl in the office. Or any other office, for that matter."
"Thank you," Wendy said, and took a deep swallow. It went down just fine. And she felt just as good as when she'd left home that morning.
"I told Wendy this afternoon," Rafe said, turning to Jason, "that she looked delicious, and she said what did that mean, and I told her. She looks good enough to eat."
"Amen," Jason said, looking hungrily at the delectable display of her crossed legs. Her skirt was nowhere, as far as concealment went. The hem lay across her lower belly and hips.
"I told you, Rafe, you shouldn't talk that way in the office." But she smiled broadly at them when she said it. She was excited all over again, for the skatey-eighth time in the last twenty-four hours. Cradle snatcher, that's what she was. Why fight it?
"It's after office hours," Rafe said. "So I can talk that way, if you don't mind."
"I don't mind," she said. "Tell you the truth, I kind of like it. But I'm a big girl now, and you're both so young."
"I'm nineteen," Rafe said.
"So'm I," Jason said. "Hardly any younger than you are."
"Me? I'm twenty-six."
"No!" Jason said.
"Hard to believe," Rafe said. "But when you were nineteen, didn't you talk pretty freely about sex?"
"I guess so. Sure. Younger than that."
"How much younger?" Jason wanted to know.
-"You mean how old was I when I started talking about sex?"
"Well . .
"Or do you mean, how old was I when I started to fuck?"
They both looked at her, startled, then started to smile.
"Make me another drink," she said, "and if you want me to, I'll tell you all about it." She was excited, all right. And she all of a sudden knew of a new way to tease.
Jason stood up and started to make her a drink,-while Rafe, very casually, stood up and closed the office door.
She was filled with a strange excitement, that had as much to do with the office surroundings as the prospect of teasing.
And she knew with a certainty that she could tease these boys into a lather.
Just by talking.
THIRTEEN
"Well," she said, watching the faces of the two boys eyeing her hungrily from the couch, "I guess I became acutely conscious of sex, of my own body, when I was sixteen. In high school, junior year. I was built then just the way I am now, a pound or two slimmer, maybe. My tits were a shade smaller, maybe, but very bouncy, you know? And I always had pretty good legs."
"Pretty good!" Jason said, his dark face shining. "They're spectacular. Luscious. Gorgeous."
"Anyway, I noticed how the boys were always looking at my legs. I wore very short skirts in high school, and went barelegged, except in cold weather."
"Sure can't blame them for looking," Rafe said, doing some looking on his own.
"I got me sort of excited," Wendy said, "the way they looked at my legs and my ass. So I started letting them see a little more."
"How?" Jason asked.
"In class, sitting sideways, I'd cross my legs a lot, very slowly, raising my knees high and wide, sort of casually, like this." She demonstrated, giving them a long, free look up along her inner thighs. "And the boys across the aisles from me would nudge each other when the teacher wasn't watching, and stare at my legs, up the open insides of my thighs under my skirt, all the way up to my panty-covered pussy."
"A teaser," Rafe said, lifting his eyes from the fleshly fascination of her legs to grin at her for a moment.
"I sure was. Then, one afternoon, I'd teased them all I could stand, in Latin class. I'd gotten myself all excited, not knowing exactly how. That's when I noticed that the afternoon sun hit me just right. Lighted up my legs, and was better than a spotlight up under my skirt. So I decided I'd give the boys a real peek at my pussy."
"Right in class?" Jason asked."
"Right in class."
"Good girl," Rafe said. "Something for the boys. But how'd you go about a project like that?"
"Held up my hand and asked to be excused. I almost chickened out when I got to the girls' room, but I was very excited and-well, reckless. I took off my pants and put them in my handbag and went back to class. The boys across from me were watching me very closely when I sat down, and I don't know if they were guessing what I'd done, but I didn't give them much time to guess. I lifted one knee, high and wide, and held it that way, showing them my furry little pussy for as long as I dared before I crossed my legs."
"I don't suppose you'd consider putting on the show for us that you put on for your classmates?" Jason asked.
"Well, right now I just want to tell you about it. Later, we'll see. Meanwhile, how about making us another drink?"
Rafe got up and got the paper cups together, keeping his eyes on Wendy and her ever-changing display of legs.
"What happened?" Jason asked. He kept shifting uncomfortably. Wendy knew he had a hard-on. She knew that Rafe did too.
"A lot of boys flunked Latin, that term. I kept giving them peeks at my pussy, all the way up until June."
"What else happened?" Rafe asked, handing her her drink and sitting down on the couch again.
"I passed Latin, all right. I got a B + , I think."
"You know I don't mean that. What happened after class, that first day you gave the boys a look at your twat?"
"It wasn't just a little peek," Wendy said, remembering, her excitement mounting, slowly but steadily. She was teasing herself as much as the boys, she thought, with this recital. It was something different. "What I gave them," she continued, "was a good, long look. Several good, long looks, with my legs spread pretty far apart, at my whole hungry, tender, pink little cunt. They had time to count the hairs."
They were both stirring on the couch, in an agony of erect discomfort.
"But what happened after class, that first day?" Jason asked again.
"It was the last class of the afternoon. Four of the boys were waiting for me on the steps outside the school. Anybody could see they all had hard-ons."
"Not only them," Rafe muttered, glancing down at the bulging front of his pants.
"Patience," she said, and laughed. "I may be able to think of something to do for your condition, later."
"Well, let's get this story over with," Jason said. "What happened, with the high school boys and their hard-ons?"
"One of them had a car. They wanted me to go for a drive with them."
"Did you?"
"Sure. I was very excited. Horny, if you want to know. I hadn't even put my panties back on, after class.
"Were you a virgin then?" Rafe asked.
"Practically. I'd been caught fucking a boy in a blueberry patch, by my mother, a couple of years before, and my mother scared me out of fucking for a long time."
"But did you fuck the boys from your Latin class?" Rafe asked, in exasperation. He looked ready to explode. ""No."
"What did you do?" Jason asked.
"Well, we drove around on back roads for a while, and the boys kept taking turns sitting in the backseat with me. I let them kiss me, and gave them a lot of tongue, and I let them feel me up, you know, take my tits out and squeeze them and diddle around and suck the nipples. I was very, very horny."
"That's all you let them do?"
"I let them feel my legs, and my ass, all they wanted. And they wanted to, a lot, all of them."
"What about your pussy? Didn't you let them touch your pussy?" Rafe was full of questions. He was in a terrible hurry for her to get her history over with.
"Well, yes, finally. I let them touch my pussy, and diddle with it. But I wouldn't let them put anything inside, not even a finger. I didn't want to be finger-fucked."
"Why not?"
"I had better ideas, even then." She smiled at them, mysteriously. "Let me finish. Finally we parked out on an old wood road somewhere, and got out of the car. God, those boys were horny, by then." Jason and Rafe groaned, in unison. "Hornier than I was, I think. If that's possible."
"Did you do anything for them?" Rafe asked, sitting still now, staring fixedly and hungrily at the in-sides of her thighs. She'd uncrossed her legs again.
"I jerked them off," Wendy said; softly, "one at a time. Some slowly, like this." She demonstrated, with her loosely closed fist, watching the boys' straining faces. "Some fast, like this. I loved it. I loved to see them come, spurting onto the grass. But I was still horny as hell. And by the time I'd gotten the fourth boy to come, the first boy's cock was hard again.
"Then what?" Rafe asked, in an agonized voice. "I made a deal with them."
"What kind of a deal?"
"I said if they'd go down on me, if they'd lick and suck my cunt, every one of them, then I'd suck them all off, suck every one of their cocks. If they promised not to tell anyone."
"And?" Rafe asked.
"They went for the deal. Wow, did they go for it!"
"High school boys?" Rafe asked, sounding a little surprised. "You got them to go down on you?"
"They loved it. They took turns, sucking and licking and gobbling my cunt until they were out of breath. I came twice. And then I'd had enough."
"And the boys?"
"I sucked them off, one right after the other, licking and sucking their cocks very slowly, making it last for them as long as I could. And I swallowed their come, every last drop."
"Didn't you ever fuck them?"
"No. Not until the fall term, anyway," Wendy said, smiling.
"Did they ever tell anyone about your sucking their cocks?" Rafe asked.
"Of course they did."
"Didn't you mind?"
"No. It was good advertising."
"Jesus," Jason said, taking a gulp of his drink. "What do you mean, good advertising?"
"I had all the dates I wanted, from then on. Two a night, if I felt like it."
"What happened on the dates?"
"I sucked a lot of good, hard cocks." Wendy said, smiling some more.
"And?"
"I love it."
"I mean, what did you get out of it."
"I had my cunt sucked a lot. An awful lot. And I loved that even more."
"You're a lovely lady, Wendy," Rafe said, putting his paper cup carefully on the floor. ""Now when are you going to show us what you showed the boys in your high school Latin class?"
"You really believed that whole story?"
"Does it matter?"
"No."
"It was a very arousing story anyway," Rafe said. "But when are you going to show us what you did or didn't show the boys in high school?"
"I thought you'd never ask," Wendy said, smiling happily.
She stood up, turned her back to them, deftly removed her panties, dropping them to the floor, and sat down again, facing Rafe and Jason.
Smiling, with the tip of her tongue showing between her lips, she let her knees drift apart, with tantalizing slowness.
Then, lazily, she raised one leg and draped it across the arm of the chair, letting her moistly parting pussy wink pinkly at the boys.
FOURTEEN
"I think that's the most tempting sight I've ever seen," Rafe said, getting to his feet, "and I'm a couple of years beyond being a high school boy."
He dropped to his knees in front of her and kissed the inside of one swelling calf, then moved his tongue slowly upward, making soft, small circles on the responding flesh of her inner thighs. Wendy could feel herself begin almost to purr as the tip of his tongue touched the soft, globes beneath the lower opening of her cunt.
"Eat it all, Rafe," she said, her voice suddenly tight. "You're a growing boy. Don't just taste here and there."
She spread her legs farther apart as his fingers came up and opened wide the softly swelling outer lips of her now-greedy cunt. His tongue came forward slowly, extended fully, and with one long, broad, hard stroke, licked the entire inner length of her twat, roiling the sensitive, responsive folds of quivering moist membrane.
Wendy felt her hips responding, all on their own, pressing her pussy to his mouth as his tongue probed deeper. His lips closed over the elusive eel of her clitoris, and as Rafe sucked and licked and gobbled her cunt, his mouth, lips and tongue worked together as a team to stir up the already stormy little pink sea of sensation between her furry twat-shores.
Then, squirming, Wendy was conscious of another sensation, somehow reminiscent of the busy evening before: one of Rafe's fingers was probing into the puckered entrance of her ass-hole. She let her sphincter go loose, welcoming the intruder, and his finger slid deep, wriggling and exploring.
Her mouth opened and a gasp escaped. This whole younger generation was full of surprises-Rafe was now finger-fucking her ass-hole while his tongue probed her cunt.
Wendy felt her hips twisting and thrusting in the chair, faster and faster, to meet the probing of Rafe's tongue, the suction of his mouth glued tight to her up-thrusting twat. Her ass twirled in minute, squirming circles to the added excitement of his diddling deep-plunging finger. She reached a plateau of pure pleasure, and stayed there, deliberately, not wanting to come this way, after all that build-up for the boys, while Rafe, hungry, full clothed Rafe, kept gobbling, licking, devouring the tender, wildly tingling delicate pinkness of her cunt. But Wendy had to have more-much, much more.
"Please, Rafe," she said at last. "Please."
Looking over at Jason sitting tensely on the couch, she raised one hand and crooked her finger.
"Your turn, Jason," she said. "But get your clothes off first, please. I want you to fuck me. Please."
Rafe took his mouth a fraction of an inch away from its moist, squirming sustenance and looked up at her. His tongue kept licking air. He didn't say anything. He didn't look capable of saying anything.
"Take a breather, Ralph," she said. "Let your friend have a little fun. Let him warm his cock in there. Let him find out if it feels as delicious as you seem to think it tastes. Let him find out the hard fucking way."
She sat back in the chair, her thighs wide open, and Rafe resumed his licking, lazily now. She was watching, in awed admiration, as Jason fumbled with buttons and zippers, and his sleek-muscled milk chocolate body came gradually into view. Jason's shoulders were wide and slightly sloping, his chest broad and flat and completely hairless. The muscles in his arms and upper body were long and smooth, not bunchy or knotty, but as he dropped his pants and undershorts he turned his back, smiling at her fleetingly over his shoulder as he stepped out of them and stood looking away from her for a moment, completely nude.
Her eyes traveled up from the floor, tasting the sight of his powerful swelling calves, his surging trunk-like thighs, and the high nervous bunching of his taut, concave buttocks. Jason turned to her then, slowly, and she took a deep breath of air.
His mammoth rigid cock throbbed upward, the swollen dusky-purple head winking a challenge at her with its single Cyclops eye. Her mouth opened involuntarily, and she closed it with a conscious effort as she smiled at him.
"Wheel your cannon over here, please," she said, then touched Rafe on the forehead, moving his head back. "Your feast is over for a while. Rafe. For dessert you can fuck me, a little later. If you want."
Rafe got to his feet, reluctantly, and managed a smile.
She transferred her attention to Jason, and focused on his huge swinging cock. She smiled, but it was an effort. She didn't feel like smiling. She felt like screaming out loud, in sheer joy.
Jason smiled, too, but it looked like an effort on his part also. She was glad to know that she wasn't alone in being less than casual about this upcoming fuck. A cock like that was a special occasion for any horny girl's cunt.
As he stepped toward her, she sat spread-thighed and immobile in the chair, staring in delighted wonder at the great shaft aimed so accurately at the wet open slit of her pouting pussy, at the core of her being.
Behind and below the tightly stretched, darkly gleaming skin of his apple-hard prick-head, the long, thick shaft seemed to diminish in the distance, like straight railroad tracks on a level plain, she thought idiotically. Jason's cock was roughly the thickness of her wrist, Wendy estimated, and the color of seasoned oak.
As Jason came close, she reached out and touched his monstrous limb with her fingers, then held it caressingly, possessively, between both hands. Not only was it the color of old oak. it was just as hard. With the bark off. Thank God, with the bark off. She had an uncomfortable moment, thinking of the rough sides of a tree trunk rasping and scratching its way along the tender walls of her twat.
His voice de-railed her train of thought.
"We're very flattered." Jason said, and for a moment she was confused, by the "we." Then she knew it wasn't the editorial "we." He was referring to himself and his great dark dork; partners, they were, in his mind. United in a very earnest team effort.
"It's magnificent," she said, giving the stout oaken limb an affectionate squeeze with her hands. She could have thrown her arms around it. "It's a beautiful cock. An enormously beautiful cock. I can't take my eyes off it."
"You're going to have to take your eyes off it," Jason said, being practical, "if it's going to do you or me or anybody any good."
"You're so right," Wendy said, and bent forward in the chair and kissed the dark noble shaft, licking the underside with her tongue, then taking the soft folds of skin in the gathered wrinkled shawl below the shaft-neck between her lips, moistening the unresisting sensitive mass with tiny, soft, sucking kisses, making her mouth very gentle and tender and warm.
"Enough," Jason said, his hands on her ears. She drew her mouth from his cock, stood up, tugged off her dress, and stepped out of her shoes as she moved over to the long couch and lay down, on her back. Glancing down, she saw that her taut nipples were wrinkled, puckered, stiffly erect, poking up darkly at Jason, who was watching her with something that looked like amusement on his face.
But only for a moment. He dropped to his knees beside the couch and pushed her gently back as she started to sit up to kiss him. When she lay flat again, his open mouth found her own mouth's eager, warm wet welcome, and his tongue plunged in and began a frantic, sliding tango with hers. She felt his hands all over her at once, it seemed, sliding, caressing, squeezing, stroking, pinching gently at her hard, inflamed nipples. Then she felt a finger sliding urgently into the waiting wetness of her quaking, craving cunt.
Wendy tore her mouth away from his and lay back on the cbuch with an in-sucking gasp, opening her legs, spreading her thighs and the lips of her cunt in a wide, wanton welcome.
"No," he said, looking deep into her eyes. He seemed to be smiling, faintly. My God, she thought, what a time to make jokes.
"No, what?" she was squirming, writhing, conscious of the warm, coarse fabric of the couch against the tender delicacy of her ass.
"No. Not here."
"Not here?" He was crazy. As long as they'd gotten this far, Wilton's couch was as good a place as any. Jason was either crazy, or cruel. A sadist, that's what he was. Wendy was in an agony of immediate desire, of quivering lust, of totally abandoned, unashamed torment.
"Not on the couch," Jason said, smiling gently. "On the floor. There's more room."
Thank God, she thought, sliding swiftly to the thick rug. He wasn't crazy at all. Far from it. There was more room on the floor.
Jason arched over her, bracing himself on his elbows, and she flung her legs joyously around his lean hips, hooking her heels behind him. His brown face, smiling tenderly, was directly over hers, his eyes looking steadily into her own.
Wendy reached down and expertly swung the great boom of his heavy dark cock toward her, bringing the gleaming swollen head against the hot swollen outer lips of her wet, soundlessly burbling cunt.
He eased the monstrous rigid shaft forward an inch, two inches, until most of the seemingly fist-sized head was engulfed in her slimed, quivering twat-opening. Then he stopped his forward thrust, holding his hips still.
"Oh, please," she almost sobbed, between her tight-clenched teeth. "Please. Put it in."
"All of it?" Jason was smiling broadly now. Oh, my God, she thought. I'll never be a tease again.
"All of it. Every long, lovely, thick hard fucking inch of it." It was almost a prayer, the way she said it-Jason began to slide the long, hard, velvet-sheathed log into her clutching, hungry cunt, then, slowly, an inch at a time. There were a lot of inches to slide in. Wendy unhooked her heels from behind him and let her legs fall wide apart, spreading the red carpet of her cunt for his royal entrance, but as the thick rigid plunger approached the termination of its first trip into the depths of her gasping cunt-cavern, her knees jerked up spasmodically, and her legs began to flail around behind his back.
When the great shaft was fully imbedded, to the hilt, his pelvic mound grinding hard against her sucking cunt-mouth, she hooked her heels behind him again and raised her hips, pushing herself tighter against him. His hands came up behind her, holding her shoulders, as he drew his shaft slowly outward, then plunged it in again. It seemed to reach even deeper as the walls of her cunt-sheath opened wider to accommodate the length and breadth of Jason's glorious surging monster of a prick.
"That's it," Wendy breathed. "Deep. Deeper."
Jason began to fuck her deeply, with long, slow, driving strokes, and her hips rose and fell, rose and fell, in perfect time with his own slow rhythm, her cunt lips clutching and sucking and holding the thick slippery shaft as if reluctant to let go on every out-stroke, squeezing and embracing every deepening plunge to her inner depths.
Wendy's eyes were squeezed shut, and she could hear only the sound of Jason's deep breathing, mingled with her own panting moans. Then, gradually, she became aware of the sound her own hips and buttocks were making, pounding on the carpet, and she knew that the tempo of their fucking had increased. She heard a slapping, sucking sound, too, and knew it came from the wild pounding of his heavy, swinging balls in the sweaty crevice between her pumping buttocks.
Her own moans were louder, now, becoming gasping little screams, and she knew her fingernails were raking the smooth skin of his back. But she couldn't help herself, couldn't help anything she was doing, any sounds she was making. The pounding of her hips sounded to her as frantic as the frenzied struggles of an impaled moth.
Then her climax was on her. bursting inside her, searing, throbbing, pounding, choking her in a thunderous, lightning-stabbed storm of roaring sensation.
"Now." she screamed, "oh, God, now!"
Jason drove his mammoth cock into her delirious cunt in a pounding fury of lightning strokes, and as she shuddered and jerked convulsively she felt his hot juices spurting into her, gushing deep, flooding her bottomless quivering cave of cock-loving joy. She put her arms and legs tight around him, and just hung on, as he kept the hard core of her ecstasy buried deep inside her, letting the diminishing waves of her passion wash over it.
It was a long time before her spasms subsided enough for her to let go of him. Wendy lay back limply on the rug, looking up at him, as he drew his giant slackening organ out of the tender clutch of her sated cunt, and got to his feet.
He looked down at her, lying stretched out on the rug, her legs still apart, her cunt oozing come and contentment.
"You ought to work late more often," he said.
"Aah, yes," she breathed.
She was too wonderfully weary at that moment to say any more. The way she felt, the floor was quite comfortable, and the cushioning provided by the thick carpet was quite adequate.
Still lying flat on her back, her legs sprawled apart, she let her eyes close.
* * *
She opened her eyes only seconds later, at the feel of a hard and hairy leg brushing the inside of her thigh, just above the knee.
Rafe was kneeling there, between her spread thighs, ready to mount her. She'd forgotten all about Rafe while Jason had been fucking her.
But Rafe hadn't forgotten about her. He was completely naked, his cock twitchingly erect.
"Ahh, Rafe," she said, sitting up abruptly. "Would you mind waiting a little while? I'm all fucked out, at the moment."
"Wait!" Rafe said, looking down at his rigid, straining prick. "I've been waiting."
"Maybe I can think of something to do for you, while you're waiting," Wendy said, smiling up at him."
"What?"
"Sit down, over on the couch."
He hesitated a second, then got to his feet, stepped over to the couch, and sat down. Wendy moved over to him, crabwise, sat Yoga-fashion between his spread knees, and leaned forward and took the inflamed-looking, red, swollen head between her full warm lips.
"Ahh," Rafe said, letting his hips slide forward to the edge of the couch.
Wendy took her mouth away for a fleeting moment, and smiled up at him.
"Like that?" she asked him.
"Love it."
"Well, it's the least I can do for you, while you're waiting."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you sucked my pussy before, didn't you?"
"Sure did. And it was delicious."
"So. The least I can do now is suck your cock for you, while you're waiting to slide it into my rejuvenated juicy cunt."
"I agree," Rafe said.
She leaned forward again, took his cock into her mouth, deeply, this time, and began to suck him off in earnest, with loving, tongue-fluttering skill. She gave his cock the sucking of its young lifetime.
And to Wendy, his cock was as delicious as her cunt had been to him.
FIFTEEN
Next day at the office, both Rafe and Jason stopped often at her desk, trying to persuade her that she ought to work late that night, too. Wendy kept saying no, politely. It wasn't that she'd had enough for a while or that she'd temporarily lost interest in sex. It was just that she didn't want to make a habit of fucking the mailroom boys, much as she liked them, in Wilton's handy office or anywhere else.
It was good to know that she could get all the grade-A fucking she wanted, any time she wanted it, right in the office. But she didn't want to make a habit of it.
The boys' frequent friendly pauses at her desk had an effect on her, however. By late afternoon, she was feeling unmistakably horny.
When Paul phoned, around a quarter to five, she was both surprised and pleased. Surprised, because she'd forgotten that she'd given Paul her office number. Pleased, because she liked Paul very much, and pleased because of the way she was feeling, at that particular hour. Paul was not the kind of boy who'd call her unless he had something on his mind.
"Are you busy tonight?" Paul asked. The impetuous young, she thought, don't waste any time.
"That depends," she said, from force of habit. A girl has to keep her options open. As well as her mind. And her legs, when the time is right. And lately, for her, the time was always right.
"Well, my parents are going out tonight. They've already left, to meet people for cocktails and dinner, and then the theater."
"So?" Wendy said.'
"They don't go out for a whole evening, very often. They won't be back till midnight, at the earliest."
"So?" Wendy said again.
"So I'm throwing sort of a cocktail party for some friends. Some of them are the guys you met the other night. Tim, Sid, Ken."
"Cocktail party," Wendy said, laughing. "With the accent on the first syllable."
"Could be," Paul said. "I sure hope so, but it all depends."
"On what?"
"On who else is there."
"I hope there'll be some other girls there," Wendy said. "Gang-bangs are fine, but only when I'm the hostess, and when I happen to feel like it, just once in a while. You understand me, I hope."
"There'll be other girls there," Paul said. "One, anyway. I know Ken's bringing a date."
"Good," Wendy said. "I'll be there, in an hour, or maybe less." She was shameless, she thought. A bunch of kids. And she didn't feel guilty about it, not a bit.
"Get here as soon as you can," Paul said, sounding very boyish, all at once. "What's the hurry?"
"The sooner we get the party started, the easier it'll be to have it all over by midnight. Before there's any chance of my folks coming home."
"And everybody turns into a pumpkin."
"What?"
"Nothing." Kids today had never even heard of Cinderella. They watched television while they were growing up. Or instead of growing up.
"But that's not the only reason I want you to get here as soon as you can."
"What's the other reason?"
"I want to see you, as soon as possible. I always want to see you, as soon as possible."
"That's very sweet of you, Paul," she said. "I look forward to seeing you, too."
She meant it. She felt warmly pleased, and very, very fond of the boy, as she hung up.
She felt horny, too, of course. But then, she'd practically always felt horny, lately. Ever since she'd discovered her very own fountain of youth.
Make that fountains, she thought.
SIXTEEN
The address Paul had given her was in the East Seventies. As she paid he cab driver, she noticed that there was a doorman in front of the canopied building, and it amused her, the contrast between this and her Greenwich Village four-flight walk-up. But it accounted for part of the confidence and sense of security she'd noticed in Paul, a confidence and composure she'd thought remarkable in a boy so young. Money wasn't everything, she mused, slamming the cab door, but it sure did a lot to ease the growing pains of a growing boy. Or girl, probably. She wouldn't know. Her own small-town, small-minded parents had been chronically only a short jump away from welfare. Poor, but proud.
The proud part had served Wendy well. She stared the doorman down before pushing her way through the revolving door into the tastefully carpeted and richly appointed little lobby. Some of her friends, she recalled, had confessed to being awed by doormen, and headwaiters, and other presumptuously, spuriously haughty menials.
Wendy considered the people in positions like that pathetic, as well as phony, and the jobs they clung to, archaic. Even if she'd been dressed to look as if she'd just fallen off a motorcycle, she'd have felt no uneasiness with this doorman. And today, for the second day in a row, she didn't look as if she'd just fallen off a motorcycle. She was wearing a dress again-another dress that her sister didn't think suitable and had sent her-a dress as short, as flimsy, and as revealing as the dress she'd worn yesterday.
Maybe she looked to the doorman as horny as she felt, she thought, and the thought pleased her. Maybe some day she'd get a doorman to go down on her, just for kicks.
That thought pleased her so much she was almost visibly glowing by the time she stepped into the elevator.
* * *
Paul opened the door for her almost before she'd taken her finger off the buzzer. After she'd stepped inside and he'd closed the door behind her, he hugged her warmly. Confidence and composure he sure had, she thought, remembering her conclusions about him only two minutes before.
The tall redheaded boy she remembered so well got to his feet as they walked arm-in-arm into the big living room.
"Good to see you again, Wendy," he said. "You look lovelier than ever."
"Why, thank you, Ken," she said, smiling and doing a mock curtsy, aware suddenly of the brevity and airiness of the dress she was wearing. It made a mockery of anything like modesty or concealment. Her sudden awareness was caused by the presence of another girl in the room.
And what a girl! She was a startlingly pretty tawny-blonde, with white, almost translucent skin that evidently stayed that way even in summer, since it was now mid-August. Quite obviously the girl took no chances with exposure to the sun. She was standing at the far end of the room, by the windows, a tall girl with a body that was pliantly slender, almost fragile-looking. She had young, budding, un-bra'd breasts, and long, slim, exquisitely formed legs. It was difficult for Wendy to imagine her doing anything so indelicate as spreading those legs. like Wendy, she was wearing a dress, a light, pale-green summer dress with a skirt that stopped just below the hips, putting those lovely white legs on open display. Her legs were not quite as ripely spectacular as Wendy's, but they were longer, Wendy thought, with a touch of envy. She'd always wanted to be tall and long-legged.
"Wendy, this is Beth," Ken said, and the tall girl swayed with a model's graceful strut toward Wendy, to shake hands. The way her breasts jiggled and bobbed with every step made it more acutely obvious, to male eyes, that she was wearing no bra. Wendy wondered idly, as she let go of the girl's hand, if she was wearing pants under that short dress. Not that it mattered.
"I'm smashed," Beth said happily, turning to sprawl in an easy chair. "Drinking Rob Roys with a bunch of people before Ken came to drag me away. Ever drink Rob Roys?" The question was directed at no one in particular.
"Best thing to switch to after Rob Roys," Wendy said helpfully, "is plain Scotch and water. I'll have one myself, Paul, if it isn't too much trouble."
"No trouble," Paul said, moving toward the bar in an alcove in one wall of the spacious room. "There's someone-else here you know, Wendy, besides me and Ken. He's in the bathroom."
She started to ask who, then heard a door open and close. Wendy closed her mouth and looked in the direction of the sound.
Ralph Horton walked into the room, grinning.
"Well," Wendy said, hoping she'd concealed her fleeting, fraction-of-a-second shock. "Uncle Ralph. Are you chaperoning this weenie roast?"
"You know better than that, Wendy," Ralph said, smiling at her. "I've bridged the generation gap. I've been assimilated into the lifestyle of the young."
Maybe, Wendy thought, not saying anything, and maybe not. Maybe Ralph could turn out to be a terribly inhibiting influence on Paul's party. A. very wet blanket.
Oh, well. Play it by ear. She sat back comfortably on the couch, and sipped her Scotch, waiting for the rest of the party to arrive.
SEVENTEEN
When Sid and Tim arrived, only minutes later, they were without dates, but that didn't bother Wendy. The way she was feeling, she would have been glad to entertain the whole group herself.
But she had a strong feeling that the blonde girl, Beth, would be willing to do a share of the entertaining, no matter how things worked out. Wendy was very curious to see how things did work out, if they did at all. How the ice would be broken, and by whom.
She just sat back, her luscious legs crossed, and sipped her drink, and watched, an interested spectator. A very interested spectator with a case of the mounting hornies.
Once they were settled in chairs around the room, Wendy noticed with pleased amusement that the boys couldn't decide on whom to stare at, her or Beth. Their eyes drank her in, then switched hungrily to Beth, then came back to her. They were aware of Ralph's older, inhibiting presence, but only dimly. They never looked at him. They'd all met him before, and that was that. Ralph was openly amused.
"You know something, Ralph?" Paul said, tearing his eyes away from Wendy to look over at his uncle.
"What?"
"These are the two best-looking girls I've ever seen in the same room at the same time."
"They're the two best-looking girls I've ever seen in the same room at the same time," Ralph said, "and I've been in a lot more rooms with a lot more women than you've ever thought of."
"I bet you have," Wendy said, but she smiled when she said it. Horny Horton, they'd called him at that first party.
"Only one thing wrong with this pair," Ralph said.
"I can't see a thing wrong with them," Ken said. It was the first time he'd spoken, Wendy realized, since he'd made the introductions right after she'd arrived.
"There is, though. They're wearing too many clothes."
So, Wendy thought. He wasn't going to be a wet blanket, after all. He was going to be the icebreaker.
Wendy looked over at Beth. Beth looked back at her, and winked broadly. She got up then, and came over and sat down on the couch beside Wendy. As the tall girl had stood up, Wendy had gotten a fleeting glimpse, between her briefly opened thighs, of dark-blonde hair. Smart girl, Wendy thought. She wasn't wearing pants, either. Wendy had whisked hers off in the carx. The cab driver, admiring her in the rearview mirror, had gone through a red light.
"You think we're wearing too many clothes, do you, Ralph?" Wendy asked. The urge to tease was rising strongly in her, now. Magnified by the excitement of having all that healthy, horny young male meat in the same room with her. With her and with Beth, of course. Share and share alike, she thought, magnanimously. "I do," Ralph said.
"Let's see what the boys think," Wendy said, making a vaguely commanding gesture with her hand, the one without the drink in it. She and Beth were sitting side by side on the couch, with their knees primly together but their legs, Wendy's deliciously tanned and Beth's delicately white, with their brief skirts up around their hips, completely and spectacularly on open display.
As if in complete understanding of Wendy's vague hand signal, the boys slid from their chairs to the floor, moving crab wise to seat themselves on the carpet where they could look toward the girls at an upward angle. They reminded Wendy at that moment of even younger teenagers trying to see up under the skirts of the girls in the grandstand at high school football games. From the expressions on their faces, Wendy thought, their mouths should have been open, but they were too sophisticated, after the other night, anyway, for any such display.
Wendy turned her head to look at Beth, and saw that Beth was looking at her. As if they'd rehearsed the move, then, in precise synchronization, like a pair of incredibly sensuous, horny Rockettes, they let their knees come apart, and slowly, casually, freely flaunting their legs, opened their thighs deliberately, teasingly, and raised their knees and very slowly and casually crossed their legs, letting their tender vulnerable pussies pout pinkly at the boys.
"Holy good Jesus Christ," Paul said. "I need another beer."
"Me, too," Tim said.
"Me, too," Sid said.
"I need some Scotch," Ken said.
"Me, too," Ralph said, "even though I can't see what's going on." From his chair off to one side, he couldn't see what the boys had seen. But Wendy knew damn well that he knew what they'd seen.
"I'll get the drinks," Wendy said, uncrossing her legs tantalizingly, openly, in teasing slow motion. As she straightened up, she let the front hem of her skirt cling lingeringly at the soft swell of her lower belly, where it curved in toward her cunt, giving the boys a more leisurely look at her moistening, pinkly parted twat.
As she moved toward the bar, letting her hips sway, the globes of her ass jiggle temptingly, Wendy heard Beth suggesting that the boys get out of some of their clothes, it was such a warm evening. Out of their clothes, and into the spirit of things. They were all too formal, Beth told them. Beth was a little drunk, Wendy knew, but not so drunk that she didn't know how to get things moving, now that Ralph had made his move to break the ice.
When Wendy turned from the bar with a tray of drinks, the boys were all sitting on the rug in their undershorts, poked out grotesquely at varying angles.
"You all look much more comfortable now," Wendy said, "except for Ralph." Ralph was still fully clothed. Some kind of modesty, in front of these kids, Wendy thought. Oh, well. No sense fretting about Ralph. He was old enough to take care of himself, when the time came.
Wendy moved around the room, handing out drinks. She noticed that the boys made her bend a little when she handed them their beers, making it possible for the others to get a fairly gratifying glimpse up her miniskirt in back, of the fur-framed moist magnet of her tender, inviting pink cunt. The realization excited her, and she deliberately bent a little farther than was necessary, held each bent-over pose a cockthrob longer, letting their eyes feast briefly on the open pink promise of her moistly pouting pussy.
But the only one to slide a hand up her inner thigh and slip a finger between the damp outer lips of her twat was Paul. She stepped back as his finger started to slide up inside her wet, willing cunt, and looked at him sternly, like a teacher with a too-bold student.
"Now, Paul," she said. "Mustn't touch. Time for that, maybe, a little later."
"I'm just impetuous," Paul said.
Beth diverted their attention then.
"You're missing a lot, Ralph," she said, "sitting over there."
"I'm what's known as an innocent bystander," Ralph said. "Or by-sitter."
"Would you like me to show you what you're missing?" Beth asked. "Do a little informal modeling for you."
"Love it."
What's the girl up to? Wendy wondered. She didn't have long to wonder.
Beth swayed to the far end of the room, turned around in a model's twirl, and lifted the front hem of her skirt, delicately, with the tips of her fingers.
The boys stared. So did Ralph, obviously fascinated, Wendy supposed, by the coppery, silken blonde luxuriance of the rich growth of hair along the pink slash of Beth's visibly moist, tantalizing, tender-looking twat, the lips swelling now, parted slightly in a shiningly pink, petulant pout. God, Wendy thought, Beth's neat, glistening cunt looked so dewy-fresh, so tender and warm, so small, so young. So invitingly edible.
She saw Ralph's tongue come out, without his being aware of it, Wendy was sure, and lick his lips. Beth didn't miss the tongue's hint, and she did a tiny bump, lifting her open-lipped little dream of a cunt into up-thrust, beckoning, pouting pink prominence.
"Like my pussy, Ralph?" she asked, with a small teasing smile on her moist full lips. "Like the looks of my hot little twat? My juicy, warm, slippery, sucking, cock-loving cunt?"
"Love the looks of your hot little twat," Ralph said, licking his lips again. "Your tight little cunt."
Tight? Wendy thought, and stifled a laugh. Tight, my ass.
But she stared at Beth's open cunt, fascinated almost as much as Ralph and the boys. The deep vibrant pinkness of the girl's twat and the coppery-blonde sheen of the soft silken hair framing it were made brighter, more startling, by contrast with the whiteness of he skin of Beth's soft, slender, rounded ripe thighs, her long, curving lower belly.
"Would you like to lick my cunt, Ralph?" Beth asked. "Taste my pussy? Eat my twat to find out if it's as tasty as it looks?"
"It looks downright delicious," Ralph said.
Beth started walking toward him, holding up the front hem of her dress, keeping her pussy on display. The walk, Wendy noticed, was perfect. A slow-motion version of a model's slinky strut, and Beth was executing it one step at a time, beaming a bright lewd smile at the boys with each step.
Without taking his eyes from Beth's twat, Ralph started taking off his clothes, moving much more swiftly than the blonde girl's advance toward him. He was down to his shorts by the time she got there, and stopped, her up-thrust, open pink slit in its rich blonde muff only a few inches away from his face.
"Kiss it hello," Beth said.
Dammit, Wendy thought. She'd used those very words, with somebody now in the room, only the other day.
Wendy watched as Ralph leaned forward, like a man in a dream, extended his tongue, and began to lick up and down between the open lips of Beth's inviting delicacy of a cunt. Beth's hips began to undulate, pushing her tender flesh-feast eagerly against Ralph's cunt-hungry mouth.
She watched, fascinated, as Ralph's tongue extended into the vibrant pink glory of Beth's open, glistening, lust-wet cunt. Beth's head was thrown back, her mouth open, her eyes closed.
"Oh, God," Beth said suddenly, and stepped back. "I don't want to come like this."
Ralph's tongue was left lapping air.
EIGHTEEN
Wendy couldn't stand the strain of just sitting still any longer. Watching Ralph lapping Beth's cunt had made her unbearably horny, and the boys seemed to be in some sort of trance. She got to her feet and went over to the bar to make herself another drink, keeping a curious eye on the group while she did it.
For a long moment, after she drew away from Ralph's busy tongue, Beth stood still, as if frozen in position at the peak of her frenzy of lust. But she wasn't frozen, at all, and proved to Wendy in the next few seconds that she was a girl of resources.
Shaking herself out of her statue-like stance, Beth turned and moved over to the couch Wendy had just left. Wendy watched, in fascination, as the tall girl smiled at the boys sitting inanely in a row on the floor, then turned her back to them and bent over, spreading her hands flat on the cushions of the couch.
The hem of Beth's short dress slid high in back, exposing the full glory of her snow-white, perfectly formed young ass, aimed directly into the boys' staring eyes. Beth had her feet apart, her legs spread, and her cunt winked pinkly, wetly, openly, at all of them. She was putting it on exhibition again, Wendy knew, from a different perspective, angling for different results.
Wendy, at the bar, trying to keep her hand from shaking as she sipped her drink, thought she'd never seen a cunt look so vulnerable as Beth's twat looked in that position. The tender swollen outer lips of her moistly shining pink slit seemed to gape open, displaying the tiny soft ridges and folds and crevices of intimate membrane, all a bright blushing pink, wet and welcoming. It was an open invitation, Wendy knew. The boys couldn't miss the message.
The ice was broken; shattered, Wendy thought. It was time for the fuck festivities to start.
But no one was starting them. For some reason, the boys seemed to be suffering from an acute attack of the shys. Beth was still bent over, her legs spread, her open cunt all but beckoning, and not one of the boys had made a move to fuck her.
Ken, Wendy knew, must be holding back because Beth was his date, and he didn't want to appear to be selfish.
But Paul-there was no reason for Paul to be shy or backward about making a convivial move. She glanced in his direction and saw that he was looking directly at her, almost appealingly.
Paul stood up, his shorts poked far out in front. v He bent swiftly and stripped his shorts to the floor, then almost bounced toward Beth, his rigid cock waving stiffly in front of him, leading the way.
When he reached Beth he raised his hands to hold her by the hips, and, without hesitation, lodged the head of his bursting-hard cock between the hungering open lips of her ravishing, wet, pink cunt.
"Ooh," Wendy heard Beth murmur, but the tall girl didn't straighten up or turn around. "Whose nice hard cock is that, sliding into my pussy?"
"The loving prick of one of your admirers," Paul said, having trouble getting the words out.
"Which one?"
"Paul."
"Ooh," Beth said. "Aah. Good. We fuck at last, mine host."
As if it mattered to Beth whose cock was sliding into her, Wendy thought. Her own pussy was tingling like crazy, now, but she was in control of herself. Of herself, she felt, and the whole situation.
Calm for the moment, Wendy went back to watching.
Beth wriggled her ass slightly, as if acknowledging an introduction. The little wriggle served to lodge the head of Paul's prick more deeply between her twat lips.
Without any further formalities, then, Paul sank the entire length of his rigid, super-willing cock into the slender girl's super-willing wet cunt, in one deep, sure, plunging stroke. He's growing up fast, Wendy thought. The lower part of his abdomen made a muffled slapping sound against the resilient round white mounds of Beth's buttocks.
Beth uttered one small scream, but it was a scream of sheer joy. She raised her hands and placed them on the back of the couch, for support, to brace herself for whatever was to come. Paul gripped her hipbones more firmly, and, evidently being considerate of his friends, moved her around slightly, to give the rest of them a better view. . Paul began to fuck her seriously, then, with long, deep, steady, machine-like strokes, sliding his stiff shaft out almost to the head, then slamming it back into her, to the grateful depths of her cunt, his balls slapping against the upper insides of her slender, rounded ripe young thighs.
Beth grunted and groaned with every in-plunging stroke, wriggling her ass with every withdrawal, as if to arrange a better fit. Paul never slackened his urgent tempo, withdrawing his wet shaft and pounding it home again, deep into her hungering cunt, with a rapid, sure, steady fuck-rhythm. , Wendy, sitting now in an easy chair, still watching them, began to cross and uncross her legs, squeezing her thighs together. Her cunt was on fire with frustration and excitement, and she felt her juices flowing without putting out any of the fire.
Ken, the tall redheaded young man who had brought Beth as his date, noticed Wendy's condition. He got to his feet slowly, watching her.
"May I?" he asked, almost shyly, as if asking a strange girl for a dance.
Wendy smiled at him happily, sat up to lift her dress off over her head, and lay back in the chair, her legs spread wide.
Nineteen
Wendy watched, her excitement building, as Ken stepped toward her with maddening slowness like a man in an underwater movie. When he reached her, finally, he got to his knees between her spread legs, and, without saying another word, leaned forward and began to gobble her cunt, licking, sucking, swallowing.
Just for openers, she thought, her hips starting to thrust, in greeting and in gratitude. But she was acutely aware of wanting more, much more.
She opened her eyes and looked around the room, over Ken's busily bobbing head. Her gaze fell on Tim, Paul's look-alike, who was standing, totally naked now, looking bewildered as his eyes focused first on Paul, busily humping Beth from the rear, then on Ken, just as frienziedly busy lapping and sucking Wendy's eagerly up-thrusting cunt. Tim's slender, rigid, innocent-looking white cock stood out from his body at an upward angle, looking strangely like some sort of tender shoot growing out of his lean young teenage body.
The steel-tempered slenderness of Tim's yearning, poked-out prick, so lost-looking, gave Wendy an idea. A rapturously exciting idea. Now, if she could only get the idea across to Tim.
Her bubbling pussy pumping greedily against Ken's gorging mouth and tongue, she managed to catch Tim's eye, and smiled at him.
"Ken," she said, pressing her fingers gently against his forehead, "we can't be selfish. There are others at the party."
The redhead took his busy mouth away from her boiling cunt, regretfully.
"What do you want to do?" he asked, licking her pussy juice from his lips.
"You'll see," she said. She got up out of the chair and turned so her back was toward Tim, then bent over, her legs apart. Beth's position, she realized as she did it, but she, Wendy, was no copy cat. She was a girl with imagination, and the courage to indulge it. In the act of turning and bending, she noticed Ralph, sitting on a hassock in his shorts, sipping his drink. If he had a hard-on, it wasn't visible in his neat blue undershorts. Playing it cool in front of the kids, Wendy thought. The hell with old Ralph, for the time being, anyway.
She looked at Tim, with her face upside down, from between her spread legs.
"Tim, would you like to try something a little on the exotic side?" she asked. "Are you game for some action kind of out of the ordinary?"
He was staring hard at Wendy's luscious, ripe, rounded globes, the pink, open, vulnerable cunt below them, and, she hoped, at the little, neat, puckered pink-brown orifice half-hidden in the crevice.
Tim caught on quickly.
"Like you and Paul did, the other night?" he said, his voice cracking. She'd forgotten, for the moment, the rear-entrance episode with Paul at her place. "You'll let me fuck you up the ass?"
Let him? Ho. She didn't say anything, just held herself in that bent-over position, hoping her shadowed, modestly situated ass-hole looked tempting to the frustrated boy. She wished, unreasonably, that she could make her ass-hole smile encouragingly at the boy. Or wink, maybe.
"There's probably some Vaseline in the bathroom," Tim said, starting in that direction.
"It won't be necessary," Wendy said, crooking a beckoning finger at him from between her spread legs. She didn't want to bother to straighten up.
Tim came toward her and walked around her, his stiff, slim, up-tilted cock seeming to look her right in the eye. Without wasting a moment, she took the head and most of the rigid slender shaft into her mouth, soaking it with saliva. Nature's own Vaseline, she thought.
"There," she said. "Slide your prick in, Tim. Slide it deep up my ass."
Awkwardly, hesitantly, Tim moved around behind her, as she stayed bent over, wriggling her glorious ass temptingly. Wendy stopped wriggling as she felt him place the hickory-hard, glistening-wet head of his cock tentatively at the little pursed aperture of her ass-hole.
She spread her legs wider, bracing her bare feet flat on the carpet, opening the cheeks of her ass farther as he grasped her hips with his eager hands, and pushed, with determination. All at once his hesitancy was gone. Eager enthusiasm had taken over. Eagerness, and the irresistible need of his lust-swollen, too-long-teased cock.
Wendy groaned involuntarily as she felt his slender, hard, saliva-soaked cock slide deep up her ass, right to theT hilt, with that one strong, eager stroke.
She reached around and put her hands behind his buttocks, holding him close, tight, deep inside her.
"Beautiful, Tim," she said. "Your cock feels lovely, deep up in my ass. But let's not be selfish the way Ken and I were a minute ago."
"Selfish?" Tim asked, mystified.
"Yes. Let's not be. Let's share the fucking. Let's lie down, on our sides. Slowly. Careful, now. Don't let your cock slip out. Keep your beautiful prick deep in there, all the way up my ever-lovin' ass."
Tim didn't have to be cautioned. He kept his prick firmly, fondly imbedded in her ass-hole as they sank together to the rug.
Ken, who had been watching the proceedings with intense interest and a swelling, impressive, awesomely angry-looking red hard-on, got the idea right away. He lowered himself to the floor and lay on his side, facing Wendy. She raised her top leg high, opening her wet, pink, hungering cunt to him, to his swollen, explosive-looking cock.
He inserted it without hesitation or any trace of formality, and drove it deep into her impatiently waiting, ultra-willing twat with one long, firm stroke. Then he held it still, resting against Tim's taut rod through the thin, slippery wall of sensitive membrane extending inside between Wendy's tightly clutching ass-hole and cunt channel.
Writhing and squirming inside, between her wantonly widespread legs, Wendy was filled with a churning excitement, as well as two hard, probing young pricks. But her busy mind had thought of more to add to her fuck feast.
"Sid," she said to the blonde boy, "bring your nice hard cock over here."
Sid had been another naked, woebegone spectator, sitting alone in a chair with his strong, sturdy-looking dong pointing toward the ceiling. Or toward heaven, maybe praying, Wendy thought giddily. Well, she'd answer at least one of his prayers.
Moving with excited swiftness, Sid stood up from his chair and got down on the rug on his side, his legs partly between Ken's torso and Wendy's, his stiff, thick, crimson-brown cock touching the tip of Wendy's nose. She reached up to grasp the base of it with one hand, and took the purpling swollen head and about four inches of the stout pumping shaft into her mouth, in one long, deep, soft suck.
Wendy was filled with joyous sensation, filled with cock, front, back and above. In her cunt, up her ass, in her mouth, here, there and everywhere, cock and more cock. Pumping, thrusting, fucking her from every direction. For a few excruciating seconds, it seemed to Wendy more than she could possibly stand.
Trying to distract herself, she devoted all her attention for a few moments to Sid's long-frustrated prick, licking and sucking it with consummate expertise, but impersonally, just because it was a thick, hard young cock. For those moments, she let the lower locations of her flaming fuck-delight take care of themselves.
With a lot of enthusiastic, humping help from Ken and Tim, the lower locations of her pleasure, her joyously active cunt and ass-hole, took care of themselves. The boys were team-fucking her, in beautiful unison, like a crew of rowers in a racing shell. Ken, his slippery cock sliding ecstatically in and out of her clutching cunt, was rowing stroke, and Tim, his slender up-curving prick-oar up her ass, matched Ken's powerful strokes with precision as he put his back into it, ass-fucking her with noisy, buttock-slapping abandon. Thinking giddily of her crew-rowing metaphor, Wendy thought she knew where the word "cockswain" came from.
She was getting silly, foolish, delirious with fuck-delight, she knew, and she wanted to laugh out loud. But she couldn't. Her mouth was filled, with hard, thrusting young cock. And her mouth was very busy.
Licking, lapping, sucking, gobbling the cock in her mouth ... feeling the plunging, probing, driving thrusts of the synchronized shafts in her bubbling cunt and up her splendidly reamed, ravaged tight ass-hole ... hearing, in her ears and inside her head, the growing and receding waves of sound in the room ... the grunts, gasps, and groans of delight ... Wendy felt that her mind was melting. She was one great, palpitating mass of feeling, of sensation that transcended mere pleasure or fulfillment or even mortal ecstasy. If there was a heaven on earth, she felt, this was it. She wanted to scream out her joy, but she couldn't.
Wendy had no idea how long it lasted. Sid was the first to come, spurting gobs of warm sperm into the back of her throat. She swallowed, swallowed again, then licked and sucked his softening cock dry, using her hand to milk out the last pearly drop. But by then the movement of her mouth was automatic. All feeling, all sensation, was centered down below, keyed to the plunging, driving strokes of the oars of the tireless two-man crew.
Very soon after Sid's slackening, sated prick had slipped from her lips, Wendy was at a quivering, screaming peak of orgasm. She could stand not one bit more, she knew, without losing consciousness.
They raised the tempo of their fucking to a furious series of pounding plunges to the depths of her delirious cunt, the tight channel of her interior ass-hole. Wendy exploded, and came, a series of silent thunderclaps inside her. She could hear her own gasps and groans, and was powerless to stop them.
Then Ken and Tim, with one last backbreaking stroke, crossed the finish line together. In Wendy's head, the wild cheering of a crowd echoed and reechoed.
. At the end, for the first time since their cocks had both been inside Wendy, Ken and Tim broke their rhythm, and now their juices spurted raggedly, warmly, deep into her quivering insides, from two busy entrances.
While they were still spurting into her, Wendy remembered Ralph, who'd been sitting by so quietly, completely out of the action. She rolled her head, suddenly curious to see if all the activity was having any effect on the only adult male in the room.
It was having an effect, all right, Jesus, was it having an effect. '
Filled abruptly with a wild new surge of excitement, Wendy drew her ass-hole and her cunt swiftly, rudely, free of the two limp, friendly, residing cocks, and scrambled to her feet.
TWENTY
She was too late.
Too late, that is, if she didn't want to be rude to Beth, the tall, slender young blonde who'd come to the party as Ken's date. Beth had gotten to where Wendy wanted to be, right this second, and Beth had gotten there first.
Ralph had a hard-on, all right, and it was a thing of beauty. Wendy hadn't appreciated the size of Ralph's cock, that evening at her place, or maybe for some reason it was bigger, more swollen now. Now, it seemed to her a huge, magnificent brute of a brown, seasoned-looking cock. Maybe that was it. It had a veteran, heroic look about it.
Standing free, viewed from a distance of a few feet, it looked far more awesome than the other times she'd viewed it, so hastily, before her impatient, insatiable, ravenous cunt had gulped it in. Hugely erect, swollen, purpling hard, it seemed to dwarf the other cocks, in the room, limp and diminished as they were by Wendy's busy twat and mouth and ass-hole. And by Beth's prime young pussy, which had evidently drawn all the swelling from Paul's prick.
Ralph was lying flat on his back on the rug, a few feet from the hassock he'd been perched on. his shaft extended upward, perpendicular from his thick dark bush, seeming to grow from it, like some kind of granite monument, marked and weathered by a century's storms, but still standing sturdily, for the ages. All ages. And Beth stood astride it.
Slender, wide-eyed, dewy-mouthed, dewy-pussied, Beth posed for a long moment with one bare foot planted beside each of Ralph's hips, looking at once ecstatically excited, defiant, and challenging. There was something commanding about the open slash of her cunt, vibrantly red now, reigning not only over Ralph but over the whole room. And there was something queenly and commanding in the young girl's manner.
"I don't want you to do a damn thing," Beth was saying, looking down into Ralph's face. "Don't move a muscle, now. We're about to fuck, my friend. Fuck Fuck. Fuck. You understand? Your great big hard cock, fucked by my tight little twat, my juicy, cock-crazy cunt. I'll take care of all the fucking action, for both of us. I'm going to-fuck you dizzy."
Ralph, folded his hands casually under the back of his head as a pillow, and smiled up at the tall, tawny blonde. Patronizingly, Wendy thought. The bastard. Oh, the ungrateful bastard. After all, she'd called him, just those few nights ago, and if it hadn't been for her phone call, none of this would be happening. Bastard. Freshly fucked and reamed as she was, her cunt yearned for the feel of that great in-sliding shaft of thick, hard muscle.
Standing astride Ralph as she was, Beth's brightly glistening wet cunt seemed to flame in the middle of the now wetly, dark-blonde luxuriance of her bush. Her openly pouting pussy, looking small and tight and tender and innocently young no longer, appeared to be suspended, supported delicately on those long, slender, dancer's legs, directly above the purple bursting head of Ralph's impatiently rigid prick. That monster-looking cock, Wendy thought, trying to remember the feel of it fucking her cunt, deep inside. This girl and her tight little twat have met their match.
Slowly, deliberately, seeming to tease herself as well as Ralph, Beth bent her knees and let herself-her lewdly open-lipped pussy first and foremostdown, in one long, tantalizing but unhesitating descent, until the wet open-mouth of her visibly ravenous cunt engulfed the swollen apple-hard head of Ralph's fearsome cock.
For just a fraction of a second, Wendy experienced vicariously the shivering rapture of having that great probing monster of a cock fitting itself into her own wet, clutching, gulping cunt.
Wendy squirmed, and found that she was sitting down in an easy chair; and that Sid's blonde head was between her knees, his eyes on her face, questioningly.
"Go ahead," she said, smiling absently, looking back at Beth and Ralph fitting cunt to cock. "Lap my pussy, if that's what you'd like to do. Suck my juicy cunt."
Without a pause, Sid leaned forward and betan to gobble her cunt, with deep, licking, sucking devotion. Wendy raised her arms and laced her fingers behind her head, abstractedly, to encourage his efforts. She spread her thighs even wider, giving him more lapping room at the delicate flesh-feast of her tender, pinkly moist open pussy.
Wendy watched, fascinated now, as Beth's warm, wet, swallowing cunt made the long descent down Ralph's monument of a shaft.
Then, all at once, Beth appeared to go berserk, as if a jolt of electric current had shot through her, as if Ralph's big cock were a plug in a socket. Suddenly, wildly, through the socket outlet of her cunt, Beth was electrified.
Shuddering, the slender blonde closed her eyes, tight, squeezed shut, screamed, and gyrated her hips in a maddened circular motion, as if to escape the impaling, up-thrusting thick spear of Ralph's cock. At the same time, her cunt, with a mind and a crazed need of its own, demanded a deeper, and deeper, and deeper penetration, a greater, stretching fulfilling.
Wendy watched, quivering in her excitement, thrusting her hips and her cunt upward to take full advantage of the lively, searching, probing tongue in her own oozing quim, as Ralph lay back, his hips arched up from the floor and the entire thrusting length of his mammoth prick at the complete disposal of Beth's ravenous, gulping twat.
Wendy could see that there was no possibility of his matching any kind of rhythm or stroke to Beth's crazy, mindless cunt-frenzied gyrations. Wendy looked at the slim girl's normally lovely face. It was unrecognizable-the eyes squeezed shut as if in agony, the mouth twisted in a grotesque distortion of a grin, issuing groans and squeals that had no resemblance to any human sound.
Beth kept raising her hips, without stopping her circular grinding motion, and, before Wendy's astonished eyes, the girl's cunt lips would convulse visibly around Ralph's thick, slippery shaft, clutching and squeezing the rock-hardness with a death grip around the neck and throat. Beth's throat writhed, too, the Adam's apple riding up and down in a series of insane gymnastics triggered by the messages of hysterical rapture sent up from cunt-control.
With her writhing, squirming, squealing, gyrating, grinding, thrusting, pumping histrionics, the blonde girl seemed to be in a state of perpetual orgasm, a cunt gone completely mad.
To Wendy, experiencing her own pumping pussy's delight with the eager busy mouth sucking and lapping and devouring her own twat's tendertiess, Ralph's solid oaken shaft of a cock seemed to be an interested participant, but not much else, in Beth's frenzied fucking. His cock was sort of a supporting member of the cast, Wendy thought giddily. An umpire at a ball game, a referee at a fight. While Beth's electric, all-engulfing, all-devouring cock-crazed cunt was the spotlight attraction. The star of the show.
And the boys who were not occupied as Sid was, pleasuring himself between Wendy's luscious legs with the gourmet's delight of her tender, juicy, up-thrusting pink pussy, were arranged in a ragged semi-circle, staring in tense fascination at the bizarre fuck festival before them.
Thrusting her own cunt upward against Sid's mouth with an almost methodical rhythm, Wendy watched Beth's paroxysms of frenzied delight around Ralph's staunch shaft, and thought, when God made this girl, he made a cunt. An ultimate cunt. A cunt to end all cunts. The rest of Beth was just an afterthought. A beautifully wrought afterthought, but just an afterthought.
Ralph rolled his head, looking at Sid sucking Wendy's pumping, cooperating cunt, and grinned. It was almost as if he were a spectator, too. Watching the bobbing blonde head of the boy lapping and gobbling Wendy's delicately thrusting pussy, his grin broadened, and he looked into Wendy's eyes.
"I bet Beth's never had anything like that big cock of yours in her tight little twat," Wendy said, but it came out in a gasp toward the end, as Sid's tongue seemed to find an extra-sensitive exposed nerve in her squirming twat. Ralph put a finger to his lips.
"Sssh," he said. "You'll wake the baby."
"Fat fucking chance," Wendy said, her hips undulating, her cunt gently embracing the plunging tongue, her legs squeezing the blonde boy's head, lovingly. "Beth's in another world. Or in heaven, maybe."
Beth was emitting a series of gasping shrieks now as she made regular pumping trips up and down Ralph's thrusting shaft.
Suddenly Wendy wanted something substantial in her own cunt, something solider than a tongue. She put her fingers to the forehead between her thighs, and pushed gently. The wet mouth came up for air. The eyes were questioning again.
"Fuck me," she said simply. "I love the way you lap my cunt, but it's your nice, stiff cock I want now. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me."
Wendy got up and stepped over to the vacant couch, lay back with her legs spread wide again, her knees raised, and Sid mounted her without wasting a second.
His rigid, swollen cock slid in easily, into the urgent welcome of her almost steaming twat. Her legs enclosed his hips, and she drove her cunt up tight against the base of his pelvis, squirming, grinding. She'd give this nice young friend the fucking of a lifetime, Wendy thought. The fucking of his evening, anyway.
But it was over almost before it began. She'd been too stirred up, too ready, her impatient pussy ready to explode. She began to come in a series of trip hammer spasms, and felt her twirling cunt-cavern bathed with Sid's instantly answering, spurting balm.
Sid had been too worked up, too, she thought dimly, lying back and letting the spasms start to subside.
But relaxing wasn't easy, at that moment. Beth's time had come, too.
The girl's thin screams of crazed delight rang out, tearing at Wendy's tired eardrums.
TWENTY-ONE
For some strange reason, after the Ralph-Beth extravaganza, the life had gone out of the party.
First Sid and Tim left, making some mumbled apologies about having to go somewhere.
Then Ken and Beth left, politely enough, but showing signs of strain between them.
Then Ralph, looking as if the effort of getting dressed had been almost too much for him, made aimless, limping conversation for a few minutes, attempted a couple of feeble jokes, then gave up, in sheer fatigue, Wendy thought. He didn't even say good-night, just waved a weary farewell as he went out the door.
Wendy had slipped back into her dress somewhere during the departures, and the wearing of that token concession to modesty seemed to bring her back to reality, or at least to some of the mundane aspects of it.
"I'll help you clean the place up, before your folks get back," Wendy said to Paul. He'd made a token gesture toward respectability, too. He'd gotten back into his shorts, damply stained though they were.
"That's nice of you," Paul said, looking around the big quiet room. "But there's nothing to clean up. Nothing to do, really."
Wendy laughed.
"You just don't see anything to do," she said, moving around the room, putting pillows back in place, picking up empty glasses and beer cans.
"Oh," Paul said, and started to follow her around, looking useless.
"Never mind," Wendy said. "Just sit down, out of the way. I'll be finished in a few minutes."
Paul did as he was told. But he didn't look tired, Wendy noticed, when she had a chance to glance at him when he didn't know she was looking. He probably wasn't tired at all, Wendy realized. He'd been involved in a lot less action than the others. All he'd done was fuck Beth, once, period. And that had been back during the beginning of the party's confused and frantic activities.
Wendy emptied and cleaned the ashtrays, rinsed and dried the glasses, feeling relaxed and cheerful, padding contentedly on bare feet back and forth between living room and kitchen.
When she'd finished the chores she sat down next to Paul on the couch, gave his bare tanned knee a fond pat, and smiled up at him.
"Everything's in good shape now," she said. "Your folks'll never know you had company."
"They won't be home for quite a while yet, anyway," he said, and looked at her with something that appeared to be sadness. It was in his eyes, mostly.
"What's wrong, Paul?" she asked, letting her hand fall fondly to his knee again. "I don't know."
"Sure you know. Tell me."
"Well." He shrugged his lean bare shoulders.
"That was a pretty crazy kind of cocktail party, wasn't it?"
"A bucket of eels," she said, remembering.
"You couldn't hardly tell the players without a score card," Paul said, not smiling.
"Is that what's bothering you? The crazy mixed-up party?"
"Maybe. Partly."
"Well, it shouldn't. People should do whatever gives them pleasure, at the moment, and not worry about how outrageous it may look, to others. As long' as what they do doesn't hurt anybody else."
She sounded like a goddam Sunday School teacher, for Christ's sake, Wendy thought. Time to shut up. Her time for teaching the young was over, for good. And much better forgotten, for good.
"I said it was partly the party," Paul said, looking at her seriously. "But only partly."
"What else, then?"
"You."
"Me?"
"Yes, you."
"I don't understand," Wendy said, leaning forward to light a cigarette. The young were full of mystifying notions, as well as surprises.
As she leaned back, she found that Paul had lifted his arm so it draped around he shoulders. Awkwardly, somehow. like a high school boy on his first date. And Paul was hardly on his first date, with her. Something was bothering him, badly.
Wendy was, all at once, deeply curious to find out just what. But Paul wasn't saying anything. He was just sitting there, close to her, looking sad, with that clumsy arm around her shoulders.
"Why don't you tell me about it, honey?" she asked. The term of endearment had just slipped out, a complete surprise to her, but it sounded quite natural. And, unintentional though it had been, it seemed to have done something for Paul. Gave him his voice back, anyway.
"Well, to begin with," Paul said, his eyes steady on her face, "I like you very much. But I don't have to tell you that."
"No, you don't," Wendy said, experiencing an unusual feeling of warmth in her chest somewhere. "But I'm happy to hear you tell me. I like you a lot, too, you know."
"I didn't know, not really," Paul said, dropping his eyes for a second. "Anyway, seeing you with those other guys..."
He didn't finish.
"Oh, oh," Wendy said.
"What's that mean?"
"I hate to tell you," Wendy said. "A swinging member of the jet generation, like you."
"Tell me anyway."
"What you're talking about is an old-fashioned thing called jealously. Not just old-fashioned. Obsolete. Archaic. You know that. You've heard enough, or seen enough, or at least you've read enough, to know that."
"I don't know it," Paul said. "In my head, anyway. It's just that the rest of me doesn't seem to know it."
Wendy was quiet for a long moment, thinking.
"I don't know what to tell you," she said softly, at last. "What you were seeing was sex, pure and simple. Or maybe sometimes comples sex, not so simple. so simple. But it was just sex, sex for sensation, and absolutely for nothing else. Purely for physical pleasure."
"I know all that," Paul said. "In my head, anyway, I know all that."
"And what you're talking about is fhat old-fashioned jealousy, and I'm afraid that jealousy has its roots sunk in something deeper than simple, surface sex, sex for the sake of sensation."
"You're right," Paul said, looking at her steadily again. "You know you're right, and I know you're right. But just the same I didn't like it one little bit, watching you with those other guys."
"Paul, dear," she said, leaning more warmly into the curve of his arm, looking at him earnestly, "when you get sex mixed up with your emotions, when you confuse sexual pleasure with anything else, you're in trouble. You can give yourself a lot of grief, that way."
"I suppose so," Paul said, looking away, somber and sad. But he straightened up, after a moment, and looked at her cheerfully.
"You know something?" he asked, smiling now.
"What?"
"We've never been alone together, just you and I. Never before."
"That's right."
"This is the first time."
"Mmmmm."
"I like it, being alone together, just the two of us," Paul said. "So do I."
Paul leaned and kissed her, very tenderly, at first, and Wendy kissed him back, warmly. She felt his tongue moving into her mouth then, and her own tongue flicked to meet it. Their tongues dueled for a moment, then probed, then wrestled. There was nothing tender about the kiss, any more. It became sparingly urgent.
She felt his hand slide into the front of her dress, cup one lively breast. She felt the nipple stiffen, and let her free hand brush his lfip. Aah, she'd known it. He had a raging hard-on.
She broke the kiss, smiling. Her twat tingled, but she was tingling other places too.
But even now, feeling as strangely warm to this boy as she did, she had to tease a little. If only for a minute. It was part of her make-up.
"Would you like to put that nice hard young cock where it'll do the most good?" she whispered. "The most good, for the both of us?"
"Silly question," he said, in a choked voice, freeing a breast to suck the hard, puckered nipple.
"Slide it into my juicy cunt?"
He didn't answer. He was too busy, his mouth sucking, his hand sliding slowly up in the warm welcome of the soft, luscious flesh of her opening thighs.
"Would you like to fuck me now?" she breathed. "A nice, old-fashioned fuck, just the two of us?"
"Let's go into my room," he said, standing abruptly, then taking her hand to help her to her feet.
Twenty-Two
Wendy shed her dress on the way to Paul's room, and dropped it on the floor as she threw back the spread on the wide, soft double bed. They treated him well, Paul's parents, she thought. Well, so did she. Very few growing boys ever got so much as a peek at a prime pussy like hers, a jubilant, juicy, joyous pussy, ready for anything, these days, any time. Very few boys got to see such a prize pussy, a captivating cunt like hers, and fewer still got to kiss such a cunt, slide their cocks into it, feel its tender, squeezing softness, get the kind of all-out, expert, grown-up fucking and sucking she was giving Paul.
"What're you doing, anyway?" Paul asked, from the middle of the bed.
"Thinking," she said.
"About what?"
"About doing something different."
"I thought we were going to have a nice, old-fashioned fuck," Paul said. His swollen, reddened cock poked impatiently toward the ceiling.
"Sure we are," Wendy said, but she was remembering Beth. Beth and Ralph.
She stepped up onto the bed and stood with her legs apart, squarely astride Paul's face, her pussy on open display.
"Sure we're going to have a nice, old-fashioned fuck, Paul," she said. "But first I thought maybe you'd-like to play a little nice, old-fashioned sixty-nine."
"Sure," Paul said, staring at the pink open slit of her cunt above him. Wendy saw his tongue appear, licking his lips in anticipation of that fur-framed, tender morsel of moist, delicious twat.
She lowered herself, letting her cunt down directly on Paul's open mouth.
"Aah," she said, as his tongue plunged in and began probing and licking. "Do you love my cunt, Paul? Do you love to lick and lap my hot wet cunt?"
"Mmmmmm," Paul said, muffing away. All at once, Wendy wanted something in her own mouth, and swung around on the bed, reversing her position to get Paul's rigid cock deep into her own mouth.
"Mmmmm," Paul groaned again, adjusting his mouth to fit her streaming, smothering twat in the new, age-old sixty-nine position.
Occasionally, as Paul licked and sucked her squirming cunt, she felt his nose prodding into the soft crevice of her ass. It tickled, more than a little. So did the head of his cock, she was aware, when she sucked it especially deep, to the back of her throat. Enough of this foolishness, she decided suddenly. She never should have started it. She was just trying to get away from all the sentiment Paul was building up to, out on the living room couch.
"Now, Paul," she said, and gave the underside of his cock one last loving lick. "Now. That old-fashioned fuck we were talking about."
Almost without knowing how, she was flat on her back on the bed, her legs spread, and Paul was arched over her.
Tenderly, fondly, she took the straining hard head of his cock and inserted it between the wet open lips of her all-but-bubbling cunt. And as the hard shaft slid deep into her softly clutching cunt-channel, something very strange happened. She relaxed, completely. All her earlier frenzy was miraculously gone.
"Easy, Paul," she whispered, and pulled his head down to kiss his lips. "Easy, baby. It's lovely this way. Lovely."
* * *
It was a long, slow, delicious fuck. Until the very end.
When she felt the end coming, she drew Paul down toward her, and made him lie flat against her body, his hard chest pressing her breasts almost flat. Then she brought. her legs together, closing her squeezing cunt tight around his hard, thrusting cock, capturing it, making it her own.
Now, with his whole weight on her, with her cunt imprisoning his shuttling prick at an angle almost parallel to his own humping body, Paul began to drive it deeply up into her tight-squeezed cunt, thrusting with a young fury like nothing Wendy had ever felt before.
She felt her own hips responding, humping frantically, in some insane rhythm that seemed to match perfectly with Paul's own crazed, plunging cock. She heard Paul gasping with every stroke, and got her fingers around his shoulders, raking his back. But it was nothing compared to the wonderful raking his cock was giving the wildly responding walls of her ecstatic, quivering cunt.
Then she was screaming, babbling. "Fuck, Paul, fuck me deep. Fuck my hot juicy cunt, with your big beautiful cock. Oh, God. Fuck, fuck, fuck." She felt as if her insides were coming apart, as she came, and came, and came, and she felt Paul coming with her, in a series of blasting gushes.
Paul's cock was still gushing inside her when she heard the bedroom door open. She twisted her head sideways. It was the only part of her body she could move.
A tall, grimfaced man stood in the doorway, staring at them out of eyes that glinted like sheer ice in the dim light. A shocked-looking woman behind him stared, too, peering icy-eyed around his shoulder.
"I didn't know you had company, Paul," the man said, and his voice sounded like glass breaking. "Put your clothes on. Both of you."
He took a wooden step backward, and closed the door behind him.
TWENTY-THREE
She was still shaking as she walked into the living room, keeping her eyes straight ahead. She stepped into her shoes, scooped up her handbag, and headed for the door.
She felt, rather than saw, Paul's father follow her out into the hall. She heard him close the door behind them, hesitated, then stopped in her tracks, without turning around.
"One minute, young lady," Paul's father said.
She turned and faced him. There was absolutely nothing else she could think of to do. She couldn't-run. She wasn't a thief. And she wasn't a child. She was a grown woman.
"How old are you, miss?" he asked. "Twenty-two? Twenty-three?" His voice sounded a little more human than it had sounded in the bedroom, but only a little.
"I'm twenty-six," she said, lifting her chin.
"You look younger."
"Well, I'm twenty-six," she repeated. She had stopped shaking. She was glad of that, anyway.
"Well," he said, his voice softening a little, "I'm tempted to say 'Old enough to know better.' But I won't."
"I'm glad of that," she said. "There's not much else to be glad about."
"What's your name?"
She told him. Why not? He'd get it out of Paul, one way or another. "Where do you work?"
She told him that, too. What did he think she was, a hooker or something?
"Do you know how old my son is?"
"No," Wendy said. "I didn't ask to see his birth certificate."
"Don't..." he started to say, then stopped. "Paul's only sixteen."
"He looks older," Wendy said. It was a silly thing to say. But anything she said sounded silly, or stupid. Or both.
"Well, he isn't. He's sixteen, and distinctly a minor."
"He's a big boy now," Wendy said, defiantly. "Not to me, he isn't," Paul's father said. "And in the eyes of the law, he isn't." Oh, Jesus, Wendy thought. The law. "How did you meet my son, anyway."
"What does that matter?"
"It matters to me. And it isn't just idle curiosity."
Wendy thought a minute. She'd met Paul through Ralph, of course. His uncle. What a mess that would be, if she told Paul's father. A whole big family mess. Worse for Paul. Ten times worse for Ralph.
"I can't tell you," she said, finally.
"You mean you won't."
"All right. I won't."
"Why not?"
"Never mind. I just won't."
"We'll find out anyway," Paul's father said, his voice hard again. "Not from me."
"From you, if we have to. The courts will get it out of you."
"The courts?" Wendy said, taking a sudden deep shuddering breath. "What are you talking about."
"You're twenty-six, right."
"I just told you that. Twenty-six."
"And Paul is sixteen."
"You just told me that."
"Well," he said, "maybe you don't realize it, but you're guilty of corrupting the morals of a minor."
"Corrupting..." she started to say, and closed her mouth hard. It was a long moment before she opened it again.
"I know you're upset," she said, trying to sound adult and reasonable. She noticed that his forehead was beaded with sweat. That helped. He was human, anyway. "You have every right to be upset. But as far as taking this thing to court-that's just plain crazy."
"You'll be hearing from us," he said, and turned to open the apartment door. "You'll be hearing from us," he repeated, "young lady." He shut the door hard behind him.
He was bluffing, she thought, moving slowly toward the elevator. Trying to scare her. If he wasn't bluffing, he was just plain crazy.
But her hand was shaking as she reached out a finger toward the elevator button.
TWENTY-FOUR
Wendy had a terrible time trying to sleep that night. She was still wide awake when the sky began to lighten, outside her front windows.
When her radio alarm woke her, she was sure she hadn't had two hours' sleep, and what sleep she had gotten had been nightmare-ridden. As she got out of bed and headed for the bathroom, one of the nightmares was still too real in her mind. In it, she was in prison, doing some vague kind of hard labor, hampered by heavy chains. Everybody wore chains, in the nightmare, even the guards. She hated the work, she hated the chains, she hated the other prisoners. She despised the food, and despised the clothes she wore even more.
About the warden in her nightmare prison, she had mixed feelings. The warden was a tall, cold-eyed, granite-faced enigma to her.
The warden was Paul's father. Mr. Shannon. Warden Shannon. He was the only person in the whole damn dream who didn't wear stripes.
Once in the shower, Wendy felt minutely better. The stinging spray washed away the nightmare, at least. A shower usually made her feel better, but on most mornings she felt a lot better to start with, before she even stepped under the spray.
Coffee helped, too. She kept shaking her head, strying to shake away the memory of Paul's father's face framed in the bedroom doorway, trying to tell herself that was all part of the nightmare, too. But it wouldn't work. The memory of the whole party, and the grim curtain scene particularly, were too vividly real. Wendy had the uneasy feeling that that bedroom scene would be etched in her memory for a long time to come.
She shook herself-it was getting to be a habitput her empty coffee cup in the sink, and made herself start going through the motions of getting dressed.
For the third consecutive day, she got into a dress. But this time not because she felt good, or excited, or up in any way. Or horny. Today she put on a dress because it was the easiest thing to get into.
* * *
It was a very busy morning at the Office, which was a good thing. Wendy didn't have too much time to brood over her troubles or over Mr. Shannon's threat. By eleven o'clock she had been so furiously busy for a stretch that she actually stopped thinking for a while about her real nightmare of the evening before, before her dream nightmare of the early morning hours.
And then the phone rang.
"Miss Dahlberg?" the voice asked, when she'd answered. She knew the voice right away, over the phone, even. Nobody else in the world would call her "Miss Dahlberg," anyway. That was enough of a clue. Her nightmares, both the real one and the dream one, came back in a rush. In spades.
"Yes," she said, suddenly sounding very old and very weary, to her own ears.
"Walter Shannon." He sounded quite crisp and business-like, this morning.
"Yes, Mr. Shannon." She hesitated. "I recognized your voice right away. I'm afraid it's a voice I'll never be able to forget."
"Well, maybe there's a way you can forget it."
"What's that?"
"Tell me how you met Paul. My son. My sixteen-year-old son."
"I know the son you mean, Mr. Shannon," Wendy said, suddenly icy-formal.
"Yes. Of course you do. I want to know how you met him."
"I know you do. But why?"
"I just do. And I can give you one good reason why you should tell me."
"What's that?"
"If you tell me, I'll consider not going to the police. I'll consider dropping the whole ugly thing. If you don't tell me..."
He let the silence hang there.
She'd never tell him, Wendy thought desperately. She couldn't. Ralph and Paul...
But she needed time to think. She could stall him a while. And if there ever was a girl who knew how to stall, it was Wendy Berg. Ice Berg. Unflappable.
"I have another call, Mr. Shannon," she said. "May I call you back, when I have a few minutes free?'"
"All right," he said. He was reasonable, at least. He gave her his office number.
"But be sure you do call back," he said. "You wouldn't like wearing the kind of clothes you have to wear behind bars."
God, Wendy thought. The goddamn man's been reading my nightmares.
"I'll call back," she said. "It may be this afternoon, but I'll call you, before the day is out."
"Good enough," Walter Shannon said.
Her hand was trembling once more, she noticed, as she dropped the phone back in its cradle.
Cradle, she thought. The cradle snatcher.
TWENTY-FIVE
A plan started to form in her mind even as she took her hand away from the phone.
But she'd need help with the plan. A willing accomplice.
Who? He'd have to be very willing, and she'd have to give him a good reason to be willing. That part was easy enough, but who?
And then she had her accomplice. The thought struck her so hard it straightened her up in the chair.
Ralph Horton. Horny Horton, who'd gotten her into this whole mess in the first place. Walter Shannon's own brother-in-law, Walter Shannon's own wife's brother.
Why hadn't she thought of him in the first place? He was up to his navel in this thing, even if he didn't know it yet. His navel? He was in this thing up to the base of his big cock, that's what he was in it up to.
Minutely pleased with herself, Wendy looked up Ralph's office number in the Manhattan phone book.
She had no trouble reaching him. Once she'd given the switchboard his name, she didn't even have a secretary to contend with. Ralph answered the phone himself. "Wendy, here," she said.
"Well," he said, sounding suddenly cheerful. "A happy surprise."
"Not happy, when you hear about it."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Has your brother-in-law called you since the party yesterday? Or your sister?"
"No," Ralph said. "Why?"
"I'll tell you why at lunch."
"Jesus, Wendy," Ralph said, sounding pained. "Any other time at all, but I can't make it for lunch with you today. I have a date. A business date."
"Break it," Wendy said. "What we're having lunch about isn't exactly frivolous. We're in trouble, both of us. It can be very bad trouble, if we don't get our heads together, real quick."
"But what..."
"I'll tell you about it at lunch. You know where Joe and Maria's is, over on Third Avenue."
"Sure."
"Be there at twelve, or as soon after as you can make it without getting hit by a cab crossing the street."
"You sound a little desperate, Wendy," Roy said, sounding faintly confused, himself.
"I am a lot desperate," Wendy said. "So'll you be, after I tell you what I have to tell you."
"I'll be there," Ralph said.
"Good," Wendy said. "Between us, we may be able to stave off disaster."
As soon as she'd hung up on Ralph, she picked up the phone again and called Paul's father. Walter Shannon. She'd have to remember he had a name other than Paul's father.
Even Shannon's secretary sounded grim, but she let Wendy through to her boss. Grudgingly, but without too much delay.
"Wendy Dahlberg again," she said. "I can't talk to you very well, from here in the office."
"I can understand that," Walter Shannon said. "Unless it's a very unusual office you work in."
"I'll tell you what you want to know, but you understand that I can't right now."
"When, then? I'm just holding off from calling the police, you know. My wife wanted to do it right away."
"Can you meet me after work?"
He was quiet for a moment, evidently debating with himself, weighing the question. He didn't trust her, one damn bit, Wendy thought.
"I suppose so," he said, finally. "Where do you want to meet?"
"My place."
"What!"
"Well, I'll be glad to meet you any place you say. But I was thinking of you. I didn't think you'd want to be seen in my company, out in public. Where someone you know might see us together."
"You're a bright girl, aren't you?"
"Never mind that."
"Where is your place?"
She told him. Slowly and carefully, so he could write it down.
"I'll be home by five-thirty," she said.
"All right," he said. "I'll try to get there around six, or thereabouts."
Good, she thought. Things were looking up.
"Just one thing," she said, quickly, to catch him before he hung up. "Yes?"
"As they say in all those movies, come alone."
"Of course I'll come alone," Shannon said. "Who'd I want to bring with me, on a mission like this? I want to get to the bottom of this thing, as they also say in all those movies. And I don't really want to put you in jail. My wife, however..."
"I thought you might think of bringing along a cop, or a lawyer, or somebody like that."
"No," Shannon said. "I'll be alone. As I told you, I want to get to the bottom of this."
You'll get to the bottom of it, all right, Wendy thought as she hung up. If things worked out the way they should work out.
And if Ralph cooperated, the whole screwy plan would work.
Would work? It had to work.
TWENTY-SIX
Ralph was waiting for her at the bar when she got to Joe and Maria's. Evidently the real urgency in her voice had gotten through to him over the phone.
Without wasting any time with amenities, they settled down at a table at the back of the restaurant, and Wendy filled him in on every thing that had happened at Shannon's the night before, from the time that he'd left. She spared him none of the details.
"Christ," he said, when she'd finished. "You poor kid."
"Paul's the poor kid," she said. "I'm supposed to be a big girl now."
"That doesn't make it any better for you."
"Well, it'll make it better for me if you'll help me with the plan I have."
She told him in detail. She took some satisfaction from the telling. It was so sure-fire. So practically fool-proof. So absolutely perfect.
But Ralph looked more and more uncomfortable as her plot unfolded. When she was finished, he looked steadily at her, through a long moment of silence.
Then he shook his head.
"I can't do it," he said.
"What!"
"I just can't. It's not that I don't want to. I'd do it if I could, for your sake and for mine. But I can't."
"Why not, for Christ's sake?" She'd had a premonition of something like this, but she hadn't been able to think of any reason why. Any reasons why Roy wouldn't be glad, or at least willing, to help her. Help them both.
"Don't you see? Suppose something went wrong, just a little bit wrong. And Walter saw me. Just a glimpse. Just for a fraction of a second, out of the corner of his eyes. He'd recognize me instantly. His own brother-in-law. And the whole goddam family'd be torn apart. Forever, and eighty-eight days more."
Thinking now, calmly, Wendy's anger subsided as quickly as it had flared up. Ralph was right. Ralph couldn't help, in this perfect plot of hers. Anybody else in the world could help, anybody who was willing. But not Ralph. He was practically the only person in the world who couldn't help, no matter how much he wanted to. She saw it clearly now.
"You're right, Ralph," she said, very calmly. "You just can't do it. I must have been a little crazy, thinking that you could."
"I'm glad you see it that way, Wendy. And there's nothing wrong with your plot. It's practically perfect. Except that we have to find someone else to help you. Because it can't be me."
She was minutely encouraged by the "we." Ralph recognized that he was in this thing as deeply as she was.
"I'll think of somebody," she said, pushing the linguine around her plate with her fork. "I'll have to think of somebody, quick."
"I'll think, too," Ralph said. "There's got to be someone who'll do it. When I come up with something, I'll call you, right away."
"Do that," she said.
Keep your cool, girl, she told herself. Ice Berg.
* * *
She found that somebody, practically dropped into her lap, around three o'clock that afternoon.
Rafe had just stopped, on his mailroom rounds, for one of his frequent little social visits. And when she saw him standing there beside the desk the shock of her sudden inspiration made her lose her cool so completely for a second that she dropped the envelope in her hand.
Grinning hungrily, Rafe feasted his eyes on her bare tanned legs as she bent to pick the envelope up.
"Rafe," she said quietly, pitching her voice so no one around could hear. "You could do me a big favor."
"Swim the Atlantic Ocean for you?" he said, still grinning. "Any time."
"I said a big favor."
He saw how deadly serious she was, and stopped grinning. He stepped closer.
"Anything," he said quietly.
"I'll do anything you like, later," she said, giving him a long, level look. "In payment." . "Not necessary," he said. "But I wouldn't turn it down, anything you have in mind. I'd love it, I know."
"Good," she said. "Can you get hold of a camera somewhere, this afternoon? A good one, that works?
With flash equipment, and everything you need for quick, simple, efficient indoor photography?"
"Sure," he said. "I have it in my locker, in the mailroom."
She looked at him, surprised. It was too good to be true.
"It's my hobby," he said, then grinned at her. "One of them."
"So you know how to use a camera," she said. "Beautiful."
"Fill me in," Rafe said.
She filled him in on the whole plan, swiftly but thoroughly. She didn't give him all the reasons for the bind she was in, the details of the evening before, but he didn't need to know all that. And he'd figure out enough of it by himself. He was over seven. And Rafe was anything but dense. There wasn't a dumb bone in his head.
"Got it?" she said, when she'd finished. She was writing her address and apartment number on a pad. She couldn't take any chances on any slip-up.
"Got it all," Rafe said. He looked very pleased, she noticed. Well, any growing boy with a sense of adventure would like being part of a conspiracy like this one.
"You won't have any trouble getting away so early, before the mail chores are done?"
"No sweat," he said. "Jason will be glad to cover for me. And I can come back, to help him finish up."
"Good," she said. "Jason earns my gratitude, too. Tell him. I'll do him a favor or two."
"I'll tell him," Rafe said. "He'll be more than pleased. He'd swim some oceans for you, too, you know."
"It's good to have friends," Wendy said, and meant it. From the bottom of her heart. And from the bottom of anything else she had. She was feeling better already. Much better. Maybe she'd even call Ralph, and reduce his naturally nervous sweats a little.
She took her downstairs key and her apartment key off her key chain, and handed them to Rafe, along with the slip of memo paper on which she'd penciled her address.
"Let yourself into my place before five-thirty," she said, "just in case my pigeon shows up early. like, if he's outside when I get home, he'll be coming up the stairs with me. You'll hear that there's somebody with me. So just leave the door unlocked, and get out of sight. I told you where."
"If you get home alone?"
"That's the way it'll probably be. Just let me in. Then you can go into concealment when baby comes."
"Cool," Rafe said, giving her a small wave of the hand as he headed for the mailroom.
She felt so much better she couldn't wait for the afternoon to end.
Not just better. Filled with excitement, and anticipation.
like a kid going to bed on the night before Christmas.
TWENTY-SEVEN
There was no sign of Walter Shannon out in front of her building when she got there around five-thirty. She hurried up the four flights of stairs, and Rafe opened the door of her apartment to let her in.
"I just got here a minute ago," he said, handing her the keys. He had a large camera bag hanging from one shoulder. "I guess I'll be ready for your guest. We'll both be ready."
"Sure will," Wendy said. "Any time he gets here. Would you like a drink or something?"
"Not now," Rafe said. "No sense cluttering up the place. Might make him suspicious. I'll just sit here with you and wait."
They didn't have long to wait. It was only a few minutes.later when the doorbell sounded, from the lobby. Wendy pressed the downstairs buzzer to let Shannon in and showed Rafe to the closet.
"I'll leave the door open a crack, so I'll know when to catch the action," Rafe said, making a place for himself among the hanging garments.
"I hope you won't be too uncomfortable in there," she said. "I don't think you'll have to be waiting too long." She reached out with one hand, before pushing the door almost closed, and gave his limber cock an affectionate squeeze, as a sort of thank-you, and as a promise of a bigger thank-you to come.
Wendy was holding the apartment door open as Walter Shannon reached the top of the last flight of stairs. He was breathing hard.
"I can understand what keeps you in shape," he said, as he came through the door. "Maybe I'd be better off with stairs where I live."
He turned, in the middle of the room, to face her, and she looked at him, without saying anything.
He looked much younger than he'd looked to her the night before, and much less grim. He was a man in his early forties, she judged, tall, not gray, and not at all fat. A good-looking man, and right now he looked uncomfortable. You couldn't blame him for that. He was in an awkward scene. Well, he'd forced the scene himself. Wendy would have been more than glad to forget the whole thing, last night. Forget it forever.
The silence, as they stood looking at each other, became awkward for both of them.
"Would you like a drink?" Wendy asked.
"This isn't exactly a social visit," Walter Shannon said, unsmiling. Wendy realized she'd never seen him smile, and maybe never would.
"I know it isn't a social visit," Wendy said, "but a drink might make it a little more civil. Easier for both of us. Scotch and water all right?"
"Well..." he said, as if debating whether to unbend that much, "well, fine." After another moment's hesitation, he sat down at one end of the couch.
After she'd made the drinks she handed him one and went around the room, turning on lamps, before she sat down in the easy chair facing him, and crossed her legs. His eyes took in that lively display of sumptuous, curving, bare tanned flesh, then, with an obvious effort, he tore his eyes away. No man who could see, and had all his other faculties, could not stare yearningly any time Wendy crossed her legs.
"Well..." he said, and leaned forward, waiting, evidently, for her to start talking, telling him what he wanted to know.
"Well..." Wendy said, and leaned back deeper into her chair, her short skirt slipping up to the termination of her ripe, gently swelling upper thighs. From where Walter Shannon sat, Wendy knew, it would seem to him that there was nothing else in the room to look at but her luscious legs.
He tried bravely not to look, but it was a losing battle.
"You were going to tell me," he said, "how you met my son Paul."
"Let me ask you something first."
"Go ahead."
He took a deep swallow of his drink. It gave him something to focus on other than Wendy's legs. She re-crossed them, slowly, casually, giving him a long, unhurried look up between her soft, shadowed, mouth-watering inner thighs. It was a gorgeous view, a spectacular sight for any man, Wendy knew. She was not wearing pants.
But he couldn't quite be sure of that, yet, the way she'd kept her legs moving.
"What I'd like to know, Mr. Shannon, is this: If you found out how I met Paul, if I told you, I mean, and your finding out meant nothing but a lot of grief for you and your wife, and maybe your whole family, would you still insist on knowing?"
He stared at her.
"Of course I have to know. I don't know what kind of supposition you're hinting at, but it sounds like something mysterious you've just dreamed up. Yes, I want to know."
"Look at it this way," Wendy said. "Paul won't tell you, will he?"
"No."
"Did he tell you why he won't tell you how he met me."
"No."
"He doesn't want to tell you for the same reason I don't want to tell you. For your own good. Yours and your wife's own good, and the rest of the family's, too. Believe me, finding out how Paul and I met will only bring you grief. You're much better off not knowing."
Wendy noticed then that his forehead was sweating, as it had been the night before. But for a different reason, she knew. He had just given up trying to keep his eyes off her. He stared, then drained his drink in a gulp.
"I'll make you a fresh one," she said, and got up, jiggling and bobbing, and took his glass.
When she brought him the fresh drink, she bent over, far over, to hand it to him, her buoyant breasts swaying freely, openly for him to see in their full, snowy, pink-tipped glory within the non-:Concealment of the loose, low, gaping bodice of her dress;
"I'll say one thing for Paul," he said, sounding faintly desperate as he sucked at his drink. "He sure picked out a lovely girl when he discovered you, however he did it."
"Why, thank you," Wendy said. She kicked off her shoes, brought the coffeetable closer to her chair, and put both bare feet up on it.
She watched as his eyes focused on the soft shadowed undersides of her bare thighs. She moved her knees slightly, bringing the shadowed pink ribbon of her cunt openly into his view, under the fallen-away hem of her miniskirt.
"Well?" she asked, smiling at him.
He didn't say anything. He just stared.
She let her knees come slightly apart, feeling the moistening lips of her pussy part. Walter Shannon stared in fascination at the glistening pink delicacy of her moistly opening, blossoming twat.
"Well?" Wendy said, again.
Walter Shannon only groaned, and looked at the ceihng. But he couldn't keep his eyes up there for more than two seconds.
She moved her knees farther apart, giving him a wide-open view between the softly tanned swell of her upper thighs, at the widely parted, dusky-pink cunt lips framing the bright pink wet tenderness between.
"Oh, God," Walter Shannon said. ' "Like the looks of it?" Wendy asked. "Oh, God," he said again.
"Tell me truthfully," Wendy said softly, "wouldn't you like to kiss it?" He groaned.
"It'll kiss you back," she whispered, trying to keep her face straight. "I'll make it open its lips and kiss you back."
He wrenched his eyes upward again.
"Just one little lick?"
His tongue was moving across his lips, his eyes casting wildly about the room. But always coming back to the bright pink magnet of her moist open cunt in its darker background of crisp dewy curls.
"No," he moaned, from somewhere deep in his throat.
"I'll open it up for you."
"No," he croaked.
"Make it easier."
"No."
"Tastier."
"No."
"Tenderer." She was whispering very softly, now. She moved her hands down between her elevated knees and spread-open thighs, and with her fingertips opened wider the soft yielding lips of her cuccu-lent cunt.
"Don't you really want to lick my twat?" Wendy teased.
"Don't ask," Walter Shannon said, trying futily to raise his eyes to the ceiling. "Kiss my cunt."
"Oh, Jesus."
"Or would you rather fuck me?" He only groaned.
"Slide your cock into my nice, warm, wet, slippery, squeezing, ever-lovin' cunt?"
He groaned, one last time, and stood up, and reached out for her.
"That couch pulls out," she said, smiling triumphantly.
Wendy lay back in the middle of the pulled-out bed, and spread her legs wide when Walter Shannon threw off the last of his clothes. For the moment she was mindless about who was about to fuck her. All she wanted was to be fucked. Fucked. Fucked. Fuck away all that fear and everything that went with it.
"Fuck me, Walter," she said. "Fuck me good."
Walter Shannon fucked her good. And she helped, from the very beginning, reaching out with one hand to guide the big glistening purple head of his cock to the soft willing wet lips of her ravenous cunt. She let go as his king-size cock slid into her cunt's snug, clutching embrace, and gasped happily as, with one long, sure, practiced stroke, he plunged it all the way home.
Wendy felt it sliding to the core of her being, her soul. It seemed imbedded all the way up to her throat, deep in the slippery grasp of her squeezing twat, into the deepest part of her aching need.
She hooked her heels behind him, as he fucked her with an expert, slow, shuttling motion. Wendy wanted that cock so badly now, so deeply, that she goaded him to greater, deeper-thrusting efforts with the insistent pressure of her heels against his naked, straining buttocks. He hooked his hands up behind her shoulders to keep her cunt from sliding away from his deep, pounding fuck-strokes, and she tightened the grasp of her calves around his hips, without shortening the unfettered pounding of his plunging shaft into her gulping, clutching, ecstatic, squirming cunt.
She didn't know how long it went on, but she heard herself gasping. "Deeper, Walter," she moaned. "Fuck me deeper."
He fucked the great shaft into her with renewed energy, faster and deeper, it seemed, with every stroke. Wendy hooked her hands behind his neck, making him bend forward over her as she felt her spasms beginning, and then for a moment she was blind with sensation, as she came, and came again, grunting and gasping, her hips writhing, her cunt grinding against the hard mound at the base of his big, hard, still thrusting cock.
"Aah, now," she said, in a high clear voice, remembering all at once where she was, and why.
Walter Shannon's cock was gushing deep inside her when the first flashbulb went off. His face showed shock, first, then terror, as his head twisted toward the flash.
The second flash went off as his cock, still spurting, was leaving the clutching, lingering lips of her cunt.
The apartment door had closed behind Rafe by the time Shannon got to his feet. He stood stock still, looking numb. Even in that state, it was evident to Wendy that he knew he couldn't give chase down four flights of stairs, balls-ass naked.
He dressed and left without saying a word. Without even looking at her.
* * *
Wendy made herself a drink and lay back in the easy chair, relaxed, content, the worry of the last twenty-four hours dissipated into thin air. Gone forever.
She was pretty sure Rafe would drop back up, when he knew the coast was clear. She owed him a lot, that boy. Jason, too. Maybe he'd come up later, too. They could have a little victory party.
And now there was nothing to stop her from seeing her young friend Paul, any time she wanted to. And his friends. And his father, too, if she felt like it.
